VIII: Relief Follows Need

She was soaked through…wet and cold and sobbing. Her throat was raw, her lungs ached, and her eyes burned. The cold, slick stone of the shipyard outcrop supported her feet, yet there was only one wall to her left that she could use to steady herself. Aimée's hand was stiff as it pressed against the wet stone, her palm flat against the slime. Out in front of her, several massive ships groaned in their keeps, the prisoners inside for their rest. Sails became saturated and heavy with rainwater and Aimée could see the canvas start to bow from the weight. Salt from the sea clung to her skin, and she could already start to feel her lips start to chap. The air around the girl had stilled, no breeze, even near the bay where she stood, and the rain dropped quickly and heavily onto her head straightaway. Thunder still roared and grumbled overhead, and by this time it was black as pitch outside, the moon hidden by rain-laden clouds.

Aimée had screamed the last of her curses to the ocean. Her voice had died away long ago, and now she had no desire to speak. Bruises were probably starting to form on her arms, no doubt caused by her own hands as they clutched her biceps. Her body was trying to find comfort in itself. As she sat alone, the rain finally started to lighten, turning from a monsoon to a soft patter.

A lantern cut through the pouring night, a small, bobbing light through falling ocean spray and raindrops. She pressed herself as much as she could against the slimy stone, worrying about her already weak knees in case she needed to run. Even in her crippling grief, she remembered what her mother had said about the shipyards, especially a shipyard at night….

"Men do not care about you, Angel…out by the ocean, women are prizes to be mounted and sold." Rapists, thieves, and madmen.

Footsteps mingled with the patter of fat raindrops against the stone walkway, heavy boots that clunked with every step. The rain started to lessen more, turning from teardrops to a narrower mist.

The shadow that held the lantern was very straight, broad shoulders and stiff spine. As her eyes adjusted to the lantern's approaching glow, she saw a stubble covered jaw, straight nose, and pale green eyes.

Javert looked at her for ages. Minutes passed in silence around the two of them, his jaw set in a hard line as he noticed how soaked through she was…how her eye still looked swollen and sickly yellow as the bruise started to break. She looked smaller than he remembered…dimmer, like she was fading away before his very eyes. Aimée's stormy blue eyes were rimmed with red and her nose was starting to grow rosy from cold and grief. Javert took a small, cautious step forward, holding the lantern at arm's reach to try and see the girl through the rain.

"Mademoiselle Lamenté?" His voice was quiet, cautious. Javert feared that if he came any closer, she would bolt.

Aimée looked at him through the raindrops, her body pressed close to the stone wall. He was wearing a thick coat on over his uniform, the raindrops rolling off the thick wool. The man opened up the front of his coat and pulled out a folded blanket. He set down the lantern and approached her, one hand clutching the blanket and the other raised cautiously.

"Mademoiselle Lamenté, I'm going to give you this. You need to get warm."

Blinking, she approached him like she was a small child, her eyes wide and shoulders shaking. The hand that took the blanket was pale. Javert couldn't help but stare at her fingers, long and elegant as they grasped the fabric.

"How long have I been out here?" Aimée asked then, wrapping the cloth around her.

Javert swallowed as he picked up the lantern off the stone. "It's well past midnight, mademoiselle."

"Where's my father?"

At first, he didn't want to answer her. He cast his eyes downwards, and bowed his head. "He is at the funeral home, Mademoiselle Lamenté."

She sniffed and felt a lump form in her throat, but she was out of tears, too exhausted to sob once more. "The baby's dead."

Javert nodded. He wanted to say something, to comfort her, make her safe, but he was at a loss. He did not know how to do any of those things, barely even knew how to speak to someone naturally, free of formalities. However, as he looked at her, broken and spat on by God, his heart stirred and a vicious wave of protectiveness flooded him. Javert's green eyes zeroed in on Aimée, like she was a tiny dove in a nest of snakes. He needed to reach out to her.

Instead, his arm was stiff as it wrapped around her shoulders. To his surprise, she huddled closer against his side, bringing her blanket-covered hands up to her mouth. He saw weak tears start to roll from her eyes and wondered how long the child had cried.

"Come…we need to get you dry," Javert murmured, steering her towards the stairs that lead up to the shipyard wall.

Aimée leaned into Javert's side, craving both the warmth and stability. She felt like she couldn't walk by herself, not with how much she was shaking. Her feet were shuffling and the going was slow…one stair at a time. The rain slicked off the coarse blanket and she finally felt dry, save for her tangled mess of hair.

If under any other circumstances, she would've blushed at being held so close by a man. Javert's side was strong, and his arm wrapped around her shoulder protectively. She was turned into him, almost pressing her head against his chest, and walking was almost awkward, but they managed to pick their way underneath the dark, raining sky. Javert looked down at her and she felt the stubble from his chin brush against the top of her head.

"I'm bringing you back to your house, mademoiselle." Javert felt the need to explain himself.

At the mention of her home, Aimée shook her head violently and pushed herself away from him. "I'm not going home!" she found herself screaming at him. Her fists desperately clutched at the blanket around her shoulders. Images of the blood that slicked the floor flashed through her head and behind her eyes. "I'm not going to that house…not now."

Javert was at a loss. "I…I understand," he stumbled for the words, "Shall I bring you to Beaudet's?" he assumed that the mayor was a family friend.

She shook her head, "The Beaudets are pigs. I don't want to go back there."

Silence flowed around them as they stood apart. "I'm sorry, mademoiselle…do you have anywhere else to go?" Awkwardness started to blossom and thrive in the air around the two. Javert realized that he was alone with a young woman at night. This was not the formal way that kept him comfortable.

To his despair, she shook her head as an answer to his question.

Javert bit the inside of his cheek, such was his habit. He thought as he regarded her, bundled up in the coarse blanket he had grabbed from his own closet. She was cold, hurt, and filled to the brim with more sorrow and pain than most people were cursed with after an entire lifetime. Attacked and then makes her way home to find horror and death. He thought of the smiling girl that had thrust flowers into his face that first day in the market.

"Can…can I stay at your home?" Aimée asked meekly, bringing her hands to her face again as her eyes flitted to the ground. She would've flushed from embarrassment after she asked the question, but the color had left her face.

Javert swallowed his shock. His eyes quickly left her face as they darted about in the night, trying to find something to look at as he struggled to find the answer.

"You can go and get Anna," Aimée quickly said, "She went back to the house…she can take care of me. I just can't stand to go home or to Beaudet's. I'm sure I can stay at the church if it's too much trouble." She was backtracking quickly, embarrassed that she had suggested a ridiculous thing. Staying at the now prison overseer's house.

Javert knew that there were no beds in the church save for the Sisters' quarters. Aimée would no doubt be sleeping on a wooden pew under God's cold scrutiny. The inn notoriously housed degenerates and there seemed to be no other option. But the inappropriateness of it all unnerved him, made him grow uncomfortable. A woman in Javert's home? The home of a bachelor that lived alone among dust and bareness? Yet, his home had a fireplace which provided warmth, a kitchen that provided food, and a strong door that provided safety.

"Come…you can stay," he finally said formally, nodding towards the center of town. Aimée, newly snapped out of her trance of exhaustion, stood near him again as they walked, yet he kept his arm at his side.

When the odd coupling made it to his house, the rain finally stopped and the thunder pitifully rumbled in the far distance, barely reminding them of its presence. He reached into the pocket of his coarse outer coat and pulled out a bare brass key. Once the door was unlocked, he walked in before Aimée and picked up the matches that he kept by the doorway. He lit the lamps of the main hallway and walked towards the main sitting area and started to pile wood and kindling for a fire in the stone fireplace. Once the kindling took, he pulled the armchair over close to the hearth and gestured to it when he stood and saw Aimée standing in the doorway.

"You need to get warm," he instructed as she padded over with tired little steps and curled up in the chair. She looked so small to him under the shapeless blanket, only her head sticking from the cloth bundle. "I'm going to retrieve your housemaid."

He turned on his heel and left then, ducking back out into the damp air, leaving the girl with his fireplace. By this time, it was well past two in the morning and Javert was expected to be at the shipyards once dawn broke over France, but at this time he just wanted to make sure that Aimée was safe and sound in a dry, warm bed. Javert thought as he walked. Thought about when he saw her sprint past him as he was heading over to her house after leaving Beaudet's mansion. Javert had called out to her, his voice loud and strong, yet she completely ignored him as she continued to sprint. He actually skipped a step as he contemplated going after her, but thought better of it. What if someone in the town had seen him sprinting after the girl? Instead, he walked to her house in order to see if Gérard Lamenté was home. Javert would never admit that he actually went to the house to make sure that her father had not struck her. He was beginning to feel protective over the girl, an old watch dog. He shook the ridiculous thought from his head. He was merely making sure that the citizens of the city were safe. A man hoping to live in the law can't let the defenseless struggle with their own devices if they need help.

When he approached Aimée's home after she had gone, he was unnerved to see the door swinging on its hinge, wide open to the world. Completely against his normal character, Javert stepped inside, only to find the house deserted.

"Monsieur Lamenté? Madame Lamenté?" he called, his voice a little gravelly from yelling at Aimée moments before. An unknown force pulled him up the narrow staircase. Javert knew that it was wrong of him to be walking through a home, uninvited, yet his feet continued to move. He walked down a hall on the second story, found that all the rooms had been emptied, and went down the other side of the home. There, he found a little room, stuffed to the brim with pictures, ribbons, and other coveted little treasures. With a small smile of knowing, Javert pictured a little Aimée pinning useless knickknacks to her walls. The smile quickly left as he turned back into the hallway.

The man did not hesitate as he discovered another narrow stairway that lead to the attic. He stood in the doorway for two solid minutes as he looked at the blood, his face as hard and even as stone. Javert was no stranger to tragedy and injury; he had seen inmates get crushed to death before his very eyes. Seen men beat each other with the chains that connected them, hang themselves from the bars of their cells. Yet this…this dried battleground of blood and mess even made him feel sick and unnerved. Javert quickly left the house.

Javert walked to the hospital too slowly. He had missed Aimée again. Her father was a zombie, catatonic to even his questions. The nurse was the one that told him the girl had fled the hospital only moments before he arrived. Ever since then, he had been scouring the town, trying to find her. As the rain grew stronger, so did his worry.

With an abrupt stop to his recollections, Javert found himself standing in front of the Lamenté's home once again. The door was closed and through the windows, he could see the dim glow of candlelight. His knocks were solid against the wood.

The woman who entered was young, red-haired and green-eyed from the Irish blood that no doubt flowed through her veins. How she ended up in France was a mystery in itself, no doubt her family was trying to escape poverty.

"Mademoiselle Anna?" he asked, giving her a little formal bow.

She nodded, "Oui."

"Mademoiselle Lamenté won't be able to return to this home tonight, but I came to request your help with her. She is back in my home. There was no other place for her to stay. I have guest rooms for you and the mademoiselle."

Anna nodded quickly, the nod of unquestioning obedience from years of being a house servant. She disappeared upstairs for a quick moment and returned with a bundle of cloth Javert could only assume was dry clothing. "Where is Master Gérard?" she asked as she retrieved a simple cloak from a small broom closet and shut the door, turning a small brass key to set a lock.

"He left the hospital and is at the funeral home."

"Melanie Lamenté was a good woman…kind," Anna said, her face an even slate, even in sadness.

Javert stayed quiet, but walked quickly.

By the time they made it back, Javert instructed Anna to go to the kitchen and warm some soup that he had left over from the day before. There was bread in the cupboard and the fire was easy to start in the kitchen hearth. When he ventured into the living room, the fire had reduced down to a few small flickering flames with glowing embers. Aimée was curled up where he had left her, her head lolled and resting on the side of the armchair. Her tired eyes were closed, one yellowed from Anton's fist, the other dark from exhaustion. Javert was swept with relief as he watched her sleep, and he even dared let the corners of his mouth turn up in a small smile. He gently laid two more logs on the fire, the heat feeling good on his rough hands. He brought over another chair and sat on the other side of the fireplace, a courteous six feet from the sleeping Aimée. Once seated, Javert struggled to undo the high clasp of his uniform and the stiff collar finally released its uncomfortable grip on his neck. Javert's sigh was long and weary.

The flickering of the flames cast an orange glow on Aimée's face, and her bruises were almost unnoticeable.

Such a strong child… Javert thought as he looked her over, his head leaning back against the chair and tilted slightly to the side as he watched her sleep in subtle fascination. No, not a child after this…a woman. A strong woman in the cruel face of harsh fate. He decided he liked the way that sounded and made a mental note to write it down if he managed to remember. Her hair was matted, her eyes puffed, and her dress filthy from the muddy city streets. Aimée twitched in her sleep and her head slumped to the other side of the chair, her mouth hanging open as she gave a soft snore. Javert closed his own eyes as he smiled fully, releasing his control and formalness in pure relief. She was safe, even if she was staying in his own dusty home.

Cracking his eyes open again, he pulled out the handkerchief from his coat pocket. Her strawberry stains were still streaked across the white linen. Javert held it in his hand, remembering how happy she looked as she awkwardly spun with Mayor Beaudet as they danced at his birthday celebration. Now she looked so little…so frail, almost as if she had never once smiled and joy was a stranger to her. She must not have been eating at Beaudet's, she looked thinner than Javert remembered, her cheekbones highly pronounced and her neck wiry as it disappeared underneath the lumpy blanket.

A log popped in the fire and Javert turned his weary eyes to the flickering flame. His eyes were heavily lidded, half closed, and his jaw started to go slack. Finally giving in to exhaustion, he let his head fall forward and released a small snore, his stained handkerchief still clutched in his fist.

Anna brought a tray of soup and bread into the living room only to find Aimée and the man asleep facing the fire. She didn't know exactly who the man was, but he seemed kind, albeit a little stiff and stern, his hard jaw covered in beard and his eyebrows heavy against his forehead. Right now, he looked less intimidating, his mouth hanging open slightly and his chin touching his chest as he slept. Aimée was curled up tightly in a ball, her head and toes sticking out from underneath a heavy blanket.

Anna made her way over to her master's daughter. Setting the tray down on a small table that sat next to the fireplace, the servant gently shook Aimée's shoulder. She cracked her eyes open and looked up to try and see who had woken her.

"Oh, Anna…I'm so glad to see you," Aimée murmured sleepily, a smile caressing her chapped lips. The unforgiving sea salt had dried her skin.

"Here, eat some soup, Miss," Anna said, retrieving the bowl and bringing a spoonful of broth to Aimée's mouth. The servant girl smiled as Aimée started to eat. "I was very worried about you," Anna said as she continued to feed her young friend, "I…cleaned upstairs and waited for your arrival, but you never came back."

Aimée was quiet as she ate more soup, not even wanting to think about what sat upstairs in the attic.

"This man showed up," Anna continued, looking over her shoulder to the sleeping Javert, "Told me he had you here, in this bare house. So I came with him to take care of you. Why are you here, miss?"

"I would rather die than go back to that house right now," Aimée spat with sudden grief driven anger. "Did Father ever find you to ask about me?"

"No, mademoiselle, he never arrived back to the house."

That time, the soup tasted bitter as Aimée swallowed. "I'm not hungry anymore, Anna. Thank you. Do you think we could find a bed?"

"There has to be one in here somewhere," Anna replied, helping Aimée up and leading her through the living room, past the sleeping Javert. Aimée watched him as she walked by, amazed to see how gentle his features looked as he slept. She wanted to watch him for longer, but Anna quickly led her out into a hall. Anna retrieved a small bundle of clothes from the hallway table.

"Maybe here?" she asked, opening the first door they stumbled across. It was a tiny broom closet. "Alright…not there."

They mistakenly opened up the door to a study, another closet, and a pantry before they found an unused bedroom. It housed a large bed and Anna left Aimée standing in the doorway to ready the sheets and blanket. Thankfully, there was no dust on the bed and linens were clean. Next, Anna went and checked the small wardrobe that sat in the corner. It was empty, so that meant that this was indeed a guest room. She beckoned for Aimée to come closer.

"Let's get you into some dry clothes, Miss Aimée," the servant suggested, taking the blanket from Aimée's clutched hands. At first, she found herself not wanting to let go, but finally released the cloth after she came to her senses. The gray day dress she wore was utterly ruined. Mud caked up the skirt nearly to her knees and ran soaked through. The laces were challenging to undo when damp. Anna finally removed the dress so Aimée was standing in her chemise and petticoat. Anna turned her back politely as Aimée stripped the rest of the way and put on the clean, dry chemise.

"Come, miss, come lay down," Anna said softly when the girl finished changing. The girl sat and Anna ran her fingers through her dirty hair, trying her best to get rid of the largest snarls. In the morning, she'd have to run back to the house to retrieve a hairbrush and a day dress for Aimée to wear.

"You don't have to call me 'Miss' all the time ,you know," Aimée said as she got under the covers. "We're friends…or, at least, I think we are."

Anna gave her a kind smile. In times like these, she would gladly call the resilient child her friend. "Yes Aimée, we are friends." Then, she got up to leave to try and find a different room so she could get some rest as well.

"Anna? Could you stay?" Aimée asked, sitting up from the mattress. "After my mother…after today, I don't want to be alone. I need a friend right now…."

Anna's heart melted for the girl, she thought of what it might feel like to be blessed with a little sister. "Yes…if you don't mind it, I will stay."

Aimée shimmied over to the other side of the bed and lay on her back as Anna climbed in next to her. They both stared at the ceiling.

"Are you religious, Anna?" Aimée asked after a moment of silence.

"I believe there is a God, yes, as for what kind of god, I don't know."

Aimée scrunched up her face as she tried to process her friend's answer. "When I was staying in Beaudet's house, Sister Elliot kept telling me stories of God and Jesus. How he healed the blind, made the poor rich…even raised the dead."

"Miracles such as those are few and far apart, mademoiselle," Anna gave the formality out of habit.

"I know…but I wish they were common. Do you think there's a heaven?"

"I do."

"Do you think my mother's up there? And my baby brother? I hope he was at least blessed in death so he can sit by God."

"I don't believe that babies have to be blessed in order to go to heaven. They haven't had the chance to commit any evils. As for your mother, Aimée, there is no one in this world more deserving of endless paradise than Melanie Lamenté."

At these words, both servant and daughter shed tears of remembrance until they fell asleep.