Hey guys! Ok, about to address the white elephant in the room. I would've loved, LOVED to write about what happened once the last chapter dropped off, but, i fear, i'm not comfortable enough in my ability to do that scene justice. Here, it's heavily implied, i did my best, but this story is so important to me i didn't want to ruin it with a scene poorly written or tasteless. So, please, forgive me, i'm so sorry, but here are some heavy implications. Also, things are starting to heat up, rebellion! Once again, thank you all SO SO SO VERY MUCH for reading! I'm overjoyed whenever i get a review notification in my email and i hope you all enjoy!

XXXII: The Prayers of Duty

The mattress held him suspended in a soft, enveloping comfort and the ceiling hung above him, a blank canvas of cream-colored paint. Javert's arm was brought back to support the back of his head and his other hand rested on his chest, feeling the soft rise and fall of his lungs and the slowed thumping of his heart. The room felt small to him, enclosed and cozy. The soft breathing next to him in the darkness reminded him he was not alone. Turning his head to the side, Javert looked at Aimée Lamenté, curled up on her side, her hair splayed down her back and in her face like tangled gold. Her cheeks were flushed and lips rosy as they gently parted with each sigh of breath. The thin fabric of his own undershirt sat loosely around her small form and Javert couldn't help but look over the soft curve of her breasts beneath the cloth. He swallowed, the vividness of what they had just done still flashing behind his eyes. Even as he lay on the bed, in the wake of passion and lust, his chest constricted with every breath. He could still feel her body pressed against his, her smooth skin burning wherever it touched him. Aimée was incredible to him, a goddess with so much power it shocked him at first, but he had soon found himself instinctively holding on to her, kissing her, and running his hands over her perfect form. When Javert had first touched her in just the right way and was rewarded with a faint gasp that puffed against his skin, he was completely engrossed in her, lost to the world.

Javert watched as a strand of hair fell into her face and she wrinkled her nose and swatted at it in her sleep when it tickled her skin. He remembered the warm puff of her breath on the skin of his neck and he closed his eyes. When he sighed, his mouth was curled up in a contented smile.

Javert turned his head back to gaze at Aimée's ceiling and his smile fell away. His mind started to reel about the situation he had found himself in. He was supposed to be on patrol, but instead he was sharing the bed of his new fiancé. What was he going to do? Rebellion was on its way, he was not naive, he knew that a conflict was inevitable. How could he keep her safe? How could he keep himself safe? Getting harmed or killed was not an option for him. Before, Javert had put little consideration into his own life in the face of the law, but now…with Aimée…he found something to fight for.

A small murmuring noise caught Javert's attention. He turned his head and watched as Aimée's blue eyes cracked open in the gloominess. She sat up, the large shirt covering her knees, and rubbed her eyes like a child. Tossing the wild hair out of her eyes, Aimée looked at him sleepily.

"You're still up?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Just…thinking," Javert said, swallowing and watching her fiddle with the cuffs of his shirt. Javert pulled himself upwards into almost a sitting position, his trousers loose on his hips. He had pulled them on when Aimée had finally fallen asleep in his shirt. He realized that seeing her in his simple white cotton stirred more of a reaction than the fanciest of gowns. The neckline hung loose about her, exposing the skin of a shoulder and the shadowing of the dip between her bust made him blink.

Aimée huffed and looked him over sleepily. With a little yawn, she climbed on top of him, straddling his waist, her strong legs on either side of his body. Javert couldn't help but smile at her as she reached back and pushed her wavy hair out of her face and bit her lip. She leaned over, bracing her hands against his bare chest, and gave him a soft, lingering kiss. Aimée felt the butterflies rise in her chest when she felt his fingertips stroke softly over the skin of her legs. She pulled away and searched Javert's face.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked.

Javert glanced at his fingertips as they traced little circles and patterns over Aimée's skin. He sighed. "There's rebellion in Paris, I'm sure you've heard of it…tensions are getting high."

Aimée swallowed, her secret growing in her throat and making it hard to breathe. She wanted to tell him the truth…that she was responsible for smuggling arms into the city, but the words refused to be said.

"I just want you safe, Aimée," Javert murmured earnestly, placing his hands flat against her thighs and looking up into her ocean.

Aimée nodded and traced the lines of the muscles in his chest with a finger. "I know."

Javert brought his hands to her face and claimed her mouth in another kiss. When his tongue traced along her soft bottom lip, Aimée opened her mouth to welcome him. Javert sat up fully, Aimée sitting in his lap. Moving his hands away from her face, he reached them around and slowly ran them up underneath the fabric of the shirt, the smooth expanse of her back bare against his fingertips. A little moan escaped her lips and Javert felt her smile though the kiss. Bracing her in his arms, Javert flipped her down on the bed, bracing himself over her with one arm as the other slid down her side and rested at her hip, the hem of the cotton shirt tickling the back of his hand. Shivers ran down his spine, following the gentle, trailing scratches of Aimée's nails.

Javert's head began spinning again, spinning with the obsession of keeping her safe, of keeping her far away from the stirring rebellion of the people of Paris. He broke away and watched her, his breathing heavy. Aimée's body was arched slightly into him. Her eyes were questioning and Javert sighed, leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, her nose, her cheek, and finally her chin. Then, Javert turned on his back and pulled her over to him, wrapping her tightly in his arms and holding her close against his body. Aimée rested her head on his chest and felt the light dusting of hair against her chin.

"You're scared, aren't you, Javert?" she asked, swirling her fingertips along his skin as she listened to the thumping of his heart, as low and thudding as a drum. The truth of her job solidified inside her, sitting like a lump of coal in her gut.

"It would be a lie to say I wasn't," Javert murmured, his fingers trailing through her hair.

"Well…there's nothing we can do about it now…" Aimée observed, pressing herself closer to him, nuzzling up underneath his jaw. "So, let's get some sleep."

"Yes, mademoiselle," Javert smiled, letting his arm slip from her hair to wrap lazily around her.

"Where were you last night?" Hoight asked, staring at Javert as the two officers made their way across the bridge. "Sir? Sir!"

Javert snapped back to attention , turning to look at Hoight, his jaw set and mouth downturned in his signature stony frown. "What?"

"I was inquiring as to where you were last night, Inspector, you never returned to your patrol."

"I was filing paperwork," Javert lied flawlessly. He had a reputation for meticulous files, so his fib was very believable, especially to a man like Hoight.

The late afternoon sun shone down lazily on the two police officers, and Javert felt the black wool of his jacket press around him uncomfortably. He could feel the dampness under the brim of his hat. The stiff collar dug into the skin under his chin and he often sighed, trying to breathe out the heat of the day. The river below sludged by lazily in its cement banks, the cloudy waters wafting up unpleasantly beneath them.

No matter how hard Javert tried to focus on his daily patrol, his mind was elsewhere, back in Aimée's home, back in her bed….

"What did you do with that street rat you found last night?" Hoight asked, coughing and spitting from his saddle.

Javert's brow creased in anger and he glared at Hoight with a growing distaste. Street rat? Unbeknownst to Hoight, his words were poorly chosen…very poorly chosen. However, Hoight was stupidly staring straight ahead, completely oblivious to the way his commanding officer was watching him.

"She was questioned, then let go when she had no information."

Hoight grunted and nodded, checking a back molar with the tip of his tongue and spitting again. "It seems to me that we spend more time going to the Palais de Justice than actually patrolling the streets."

Javert scowled, "We were summoned. If reporting back to your command post doesn't suit you, Officer Hoight, feel free to seek other forms of employment."

Hoight actually looked at Javert then, his broken nose crooked and squashed against his face. His eyes were narrowed and Javert picked up on the annoyance in his face. Pulling his horse to a stop, Javert regarded his partner.

"Is there something else you wanted to say, Officer Hoight?"

The two men sized each other up, Hoight sitting as high as he could in his saddle, yet Javert was still a head taller and the look in his eyes demanded obedience. Hoight lasted a full twenty seconds or so before he crumbled. "No sir, sorry, sir," he muttered, casting his eyes downward and waiting until his commanding officer rode on in front of him. People stepped aside, their heads down when the two men passed. The looming form of the Palais towered familiarly ahead of them, the sun glinting off its ornate architecture.

Two men opened the gate for them and took the horses when Javert and Hoight dismounted. Javert moved the muscles of his neck, trying to loosen the stiff collar, before he climbed the steps. He was unconcerned if Hoight followed or not.

A clerk took them to Chief Justice Legrande.

"You asked to see me, sir?" Javert said, standing in front of the raised pulpit in an empty courtroom, his hat removed and tucked beneath his arm. He had just straightened from his bow and looked up to see the tough, gaunt man look up from some papers. Legrande leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands to his chest, two ruby and gold rings glinting on his fingers.

"Yes, Chief Inspector." The Chief Justice failed to notice Hoight standing slightly behind Javert. Legrande pursed his lips momentarily, looking as if he had eaten something sour. "I'm cutting straight to the point, Inspector. General Lamarque is dead."

Javert was silent.

"This means, Inspector, that the people are going to riot." Legrande sniffed and stood, the sunlight that streamed through the window bleaching his muttonchops even more, and his skin looked white. "I want you to go in."

"In, sir?"

"Yes. Undercover, in disguise."

Javert felt the air in his throat catch. "Sir, that-"

"I do hope you are not refusing this order, Javert," Legrande said, standing in front of the inspector and clasping his bony hands in front of him.

Deep inside, Javert felt anger start to bubble. He was unused to being talked to in this way, and it irked him that Hoight was there to witness it.

"No, sir, I was not refusing. I just feel that someone else would be better for the task."

Legrande gave an unpleasant little smile and turned away from him, stepping slowly around the room, taking great notice to the ornate filigree of the ceiling. "And why would this be?"

Javert swallowed, but before he could speak, Legrande turned back to him, about ten feet away, his back near the base of the pulpit. "Is it because you are a commanding officer, Javert? Do you think yourself too valuable to Paris to go into the dangerous places your duty commands you to go?" Hoight sniffed and shifted his weight. Legrande ignored him and took a measured step closer, well-rehearsed and unpleasant. His black robes hung about him like falling ink.

"True, you are a very important man to this city, Chief Inspector. And that is why we need you. The most training. You've been two years out of this city, out on your crusade against the smugglers, you know their ways better than anyone here."

Legrande's twisted praise sat like ice in Javert's gut. His eyes narrowed and he couldn't help but clench his fists. "I am recognized in this city, Your Honor."

"Then pick a good disguise, Javert. I would suggest a hat," Legrande remarked, cocking his head to the side and watching Javert with glinting onyx eyes. "Maybe a shave."

Muscles tightened in Javert's jaw and he thought back to the first time he had met with Legrande, down in the stinking dungeons below their feet. He couldn't throw himself into the depths of rebellion like that, couldn't thrust himself deep into the lion's den without the means of support. If anything were to happen to him…. The image of Aimée sitting alone in the darkness, waiting for his return, pulled at his heart, clawed at it like an attacking dog.

Legrande neared him, silent as death across the marble floor. He smelled of the dank underground when he met Javert's pale green eyes. "You will not refuse this, Inspector. Do I make myself clear?"

The harsh command of duty crippled Javert's resistance. "Yes, sir."

A smile spread across Legrande's thin, pale lips. "Are you a religious man, Javert?"

It was hard for Javert to stand still with this man so near him. Nevertheless, he nodded slowly. "Yes, I am a man of God."

Legrande nodded and glanced at Hoight. "If you are so concerned about your personal safety, I suggest you pray. A little faith never hurt anybody. Lamarque's funeral will be tomorrow at noon, I expect you to report here tomorrow morning before you are placed undercover. Understood?"

Javert gave a curt bow, his eyes glaring into the marble beneath his feet. He turned on his heel and strode out the room, throwing the doors open with more force than what was required. Hoight stayed behind with Legrande. The thump of his boots down the ornate hall pounded along with the pulse that roared in his ears. He thought about going to his office, but was worried what he might do to his papers and files in his anger.

The black Frisian was waiting for him patiently, the reigns tied to a bar near the guard's post. Untying the horse and pulling himself into the saddle, Javert sat impatiently while the guards opened the gate. Kicking his horse into a swift gallop, Javert charged his way out of the courtyard of the Palais de Justice.

People heard the clack of his hooves and hurried out of the way, watching him in the wake of his hurry. In about ten minutes time, Javert slowed the Frisian in front of the towering spires of Notre Dame. Tying up the horse, he stored the wide hat in a saddlebag and climbed the steps of the church. Pigeons fluttered overhead, cooing at each other when they looked for a place on the massive church to roost. The massive thick doors were propped open and the stifling air inside was allowed to escape outside. Javert passed through the doorway with his head bowed, feeling God's heavy scrutiny on his shoulders.

Inside, the extremely high vaulted ceiling made even the quietest of footsteps resound though the church. The sunlight passed through the massive stained glass masterpiece that hung above the heads of bowed sinners, washing everyone in shattered red, blue, and gold. Even in the daytime, the priests kept the fat, waxy candles lit on heavy gold candelabras. Two priests were making their way around the patron saints, a thurible swinging on a chain in front of the first. Latin chants left their lips silently and the masking scent of incense curled around them.

Javert neared the front of the church. The massive circle of elaborate stained glass felt like the giant, all-seeing eye of God, watching over His children. Over the years, God had become an uncomfortable being to the Inspector. Javert did not doubt His existence, but he had grown to fear Him rather than worship. God's actions had not been kind over the years…in fact they had been quite cruel.

Pushing back his discomfort, Javert craned his head back as he gazed up at the perfect detail of the Rose Window, hoping that someone would hear the prayer he was about to speak. Javert knelt in the gaping center of Notre Dame, not caring who saw him or what people would say. Crossing himself and casting his eyes upwards, Javert began to pray.

Please help me keep her safe. Help me protect her. Help me keep her happy, Lord, to do that I must live. You have taken her from me too many times, Lord. Taken her away and have forced me to find her once more. Was it a test? Have proven myself? Let me stay safe in this mission…I have someone to live for now. Do not let me leave her again, Lord. I pray to You and St. Michael the Archangel…let him watch over me, let him help me protect this city and the woman I love, against the evils of rebellion and anarchy. Heavenly Father, I ask that You watch over me, guide me to safety, let me come back to her.

The chants of the priests grew louder and Javert bowed his head, crossing himself before he rose again. The church rose above him, a gaping cavern of religious power and obedience. Javert turned, feeling the giant stained glass window staring into his back.