A/N: Thank you to everyone (Nimue I Am, frustratedstudent, AmZ) who has reviewed! Also – updates will probably be a little less frequent in the future, just to let you, my readers, know.
A/N 2: This takes place before the Gorbeau Tenement fiasco, just to clear that up. I realized after typing this up that the time might be a little confusing. This does follow canon time.
Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables nor any of the characters from Les Miserables mentioned in any of their forms.
Chaos is one of those states of being that defies everything. The world lets loose, and the people lose all semblances of order and moderation.
Javert let a smile break out across his features. For once, his desk job might just be as exciting as a night time patrol. Indeed, the station resembled the dark streets of Paris at night. People of all statures ran about, trying to restrain each other and trying to restrain the perpetrator of the crime. The little boy himself was still being held by his other arresting officer, but that state might not hold for long. He was getting a look in his eyes, the very same look he had had before he punched Laplaie.
Javert gathered his papers, unfinished and finished alike, and dropped them into one of his desk drawers. He stood, leaving his coat where it was over the back of his chair. Weaving in between all of the hustle and bustle, he made his way over to the boy. The boy noticed his maneuvering immediately, instantly setting himself on guard. His back stiffened; he tilted his head up. He held his arms at his sides, but his fists were clenched tightly in anticipation of an attack.
Javert had not intended such a response, but he did suppose he looked at least slightly menacing. Better menacing than weak, at any rate. This way, he would seem to have the upper hand, which was important when dealing with criminals. Though, it struck him that he had no idea what the boy had done to deserve his arrest. That would certainly be a good place to start in his attempts to regain some sort of order within the station. But first, he ought to learn the boy's name. Perhaps he had a criminal record.
Javert did not bend down to be at eye level with the boy. Instead, he stayed where he was, back straight and arms crossed tightly across his chest.
"Well, you have caused quite a commotion, haven't you?" he asked, tone jovial and carefree. Threatening could come later if needed.
"I'm no' talkin' to ya," the boy retorted. "You're a nark." If the boy had been older and more mature, he might have looked to be holding his ground. However, since he was still quite young and his face yet unwrinkled, he looked simply juvenile.
"Perhaps," Javert replied, without commiting to a specific response. The boy was just trying to mess with him anyway. "But tell me – what is your name?"
"Why should I?" he said. "An' 'perhaps' isn't no proper kind o' answer!"
"It works fine for whom I am talking to, at least," Javert said, meaning every word and implied insult. Better to break him down a bit and lower him off of his high pedestal. "But, what is your name? Surely you have one!"
"I do, bu' why should I tell ya? You'll jus' write me down as some thief…"
"Is that what you are, then, a thief?" Javert asked. "I really must know your name."
"Perhaps," the boy sneered. Javert sighed. This was getting absolutely nowhere.
Suddenly the boy's face broke out into a worried sort of grimace. "Ya aren't gonna be lockin' me all up, are ya?" he questioned, voice rising just a little. Javert straightened up. Finally, the boy was going to reveal something.
"I might not, if you tell me your name and what you have done to get arrested," Javert said, almost bargaining. Anything to get the boy to speak truthfully.
"Well…" the boy began, slightly nervously. He twisted his hands in each other.
"Go on, please," Javert prompted, excusing the small wait in exchange for hopefully good, verifiable information.
"M'name's Gavroche," the boy, now named, said.
"Is that all? No surname?" Javert asked.
"I used to have one."
"How is that possible, Gavroche?" Javert questioned, slightly puzzled.
"Jus' the way I said i' to ya. Don't have one no more. My father's alive, bu' he doesn't wan' me. Nor my brothers," Gavroche said, straight and as honest as possible.
"Then, please tell me what your surname used to be," Javert said. The mist was clearing, but still, the boy was vexing.
"Thénardier."
Well, that sure changed things. Inspector Javert knew the name, and he knew the family as well. The father was an innkeeper in Montfermeil. He and his wife had had several children, but Javert could not remember the younglings well. He mostly remembered them for being involved with the case of the prisoner and later convict Jean Valjean. The Thénardiers had been very well versed in treachery and deceit.
"Thank you, Gavroche Thénardier," Javert said. "Where do you live?" He knew that the answer was unlikely to be a street address, but one could always hope. In any case, the more questions he asked, the closer he would probably get to the root of the problem: why Gavroche had been arrested and brought by such force to the station.
"Streets, 'course," Gavroche replied, totally unashamed. "My father an' all the others live in some 'partment," he went on, answering Javert's next unasked question.
"Do you know where that is, Gavroche?" Javert asked. He knew he really ought to be writing all of this down, but he did not dare. The boy might get frightened and bolt.
"Yeah."
"Well, are you going to tell me?"
"Will ya 'rrest them?"
"It is possible, depending on the circumstances." If Gavroche was going to be truthful, Javert figured he could allow some truths of his own. Better not to lead the boy on only to disappoint him later.
"Okay."
Javert was surprised at Gavroche's positive response. Sure, Thénardier was neither a caring nor an honest man, and Gavroche had mentioned that he had thrown him out. However, to willingly deliver one's family member to the uncaring hands of justice…That took a certain amount of bravery, something Javert had not expected in Gavroche. However, he had not exactly expected it in himself either, when the time had come and he was faced with a choice much like Gavroche's.
"Monsieur?" Gavroche asked, jolting Javert back to the present. He nodded, shivering a little.
"Go on, Gavroche," he murmured.
"They all live a' Gorbeau."
"I know the place," Javert said. "Oh, how I know the place."