Hey guys! Another chapter for you all! Your support means so much to me and it makes me so happy that all of this grew to what it is today, glad you enjoy!
XXXIII: Preparation
Aimée puffed the hair out her face and wiped her nose, which tickled from the dust. The plumed feather-duster in her hand pushed the dirt from the shelves and counter of her shop, the tiny particles dancing like shining snowflakes in the late afternoon sun. Business had been slow, so Aimée had decided to do some cleaning. She never enjoyed it, but it was something to do. She was sweeping the back room when she heard the opening of the front door. Peeking her head around the threshold, she smiled when she saw Javert standing in the doorway. He looked around awkwardly, his back straight as a board. His big, black horse was tied up outside.
"Hi," she said, walking over and smiling at him. She wanted to reach out and touch his face or wrap her arms around him in a hug, but the look on the man's face made her pause. "What's wrong?" Aimée asked, wiping her hands on the front of her dress and setting the broom against the wall.
Javert looked at her, his downturned eyes shining with worry. "I can't stay for long, mademoiselle."
"Is everything alright, Javert?"
She watched as he swallowed, glancing around before he turned and locked the door. The shades were drawn and he approached her, gently taking her arm and leading her to the couch that sat in front of the fireplace.
"Please sit," Javert instructed, extending a hand and watching as Aimée sat down slowly on the cushion. Her eyes were concerned as she watched him. Feeling the need to keep moving, Javert started to pace.
"Javert, I don't want to ask again. What's going on?"
"General Lamarque is dead."
"So?"
"He was very popular with the people, they rallied for him," Javert glanced at Aimée and hurried to sit next to her, taking her slender hands up in his rough, calloused ones. She looked down and noticed for the first time how the skin of his left hand was scarred lightly. She ran her fingers over the patch of scarred tissue and looked up into his eyes when he spoke again. "I have no doubt that revolution is going to break, Aimée. It's about to start."
Aimée had known, of course, but she hid it well. Éponine had stopped by earlier that day to share the news and to check in on her. The young boys had received the rifles without trouble and Aimée had a thick envelope of francs hidden under a shelf in the back room. The amount of concern and worry in Javert's face made her want to cry, to confess to him, tell him her secret life, but she couldn't do that. Couldn't risk losing him again.
The sapphire ring felt hot against the skin of her finger.
"What will you do?" she asked, pushing the thoughts away and glancing over Javert's anxious face.
Javert looked away and Aimée watched as he bit the inside of his cheek. She was unaware as he wrestled with his own secrets. Could he tell her what he was about to do? Tell her about his orders to go undercover in the lion's den?
"I…I've been assigned."
Aimée pulled her hands away from his as she stood, looking down at him with roiling ocean eyes. "Where? Where are you assigned?"
Javert shook his head and wiped a hand along his face. "That's not important," he said, looking at his feet.
"What do you mean? Of course it's important!" Aimée fired back.
Javert didn't look up at her.
"Tell me." She waited as he sighed and she watched as his shoulders slumped. He looked so unlike the Javert she knew. He was ragged…he looked scared. "Javert…."
"The Chief Justice has ordered me to go undercover. To the barricades, should the young men decide to build one. Wherever their base will be."
Aimée felt he throat constrict. She saw the pistols and bayonets laid out and glinting at the table in the ABC Café. She pictured the rifles piled and stacked in cupboards. Men hunched over making bullets and measuring gunpowder, chanting revolution like crazed boys.
"No. You can't."
"I've been ordered to."
"I don't care!" she screamed, her own fear gnawing at her self-control. "You could get killed!"
Javert looked up at her and saw with painful clarity how her eyes shined. "Aimée, I was commanded to do so. It's my duty."
He had chosen the wrong words.
"Your duty? They use you like a pig to slaughter so you can get what? The falsified peace-of mind that you did your duty? Why do you owe them your life, Javert?"
"I will be in a disguise, Aimée."
"What? A hat? A scarf? A big coat? You think that could work? None of those things can stop a bullet."
Javert's eyes pleaded with her. He was angry at himself, he should've stayed quiet. The news had upset her, made her worry when she didn't deserve to. Javert rose slowly but nearly stumbled when he watched her back away from him, a stormy fire still brewing in her dark eyes.
"You can't do it," Aimée stated, shaking her head and crossing her arms. She knew her words held no authority, would change nothing, yet she felt the urge to declare it to herself. "I won't let you."
"Then I will be arrested for treason," Javert said, feeling the cloth of his trousers brush against his palms.
"So? I'll shoot that Chief Justice and be put in prison too. Then we'd be safe together."
"You'd hang," Javert stated.
Aimée frowned and looked up at him. Javert's heart panged when he saw the child from Toulon in her face, in her smooth cheekbones and straight little nose, in her dusty blonde hair and slender neck. She looked so young to him still, so full of life and so wanting.
"Let's leave Paris then," she said, approaching him hopefully. "Tonight. I can pack quickly, I don't have many things, we can-"
"Aimée, we can't leave. I can't abandon the law. I am not a deserter, nor am I a coward."
He saw the tears brim up in her eyes and wished that what she had suggested was possible. Wished with all of his heart, with everything he had. If he could, Mattieu Javert would have swept her up in his arms and carried her to the nearest town, just to be together, just to be happy.
"I just…I don't want to lose you again," Aimée sniffed, wiping her eyes and her voice a cracked little whisper. "I can't."
Javert stepped towards her, his arms extended, "Come here," he murmured. Aimée looked like a frightened child, rooted to the spot. Javert sighed and his voice grew quiet and low, smooth as the silk that lined her dress. "Chérie…."
Aimée found herself stepping to him and allowing herself to be wrapped up in the strong warmth of his arms. She felt the warm air of his sigh blow across her forehead. The hot pinpricks of tears stung at her eyes and she tried to sniff them back, but soon they were dampening the cloth of Javert's coat. She felt him rub the tense muscles of her back gently.
"What happened to your hand?" she murmured after a little while.
"Hmm?"
"Your hand. It looks scarred."
Javert was quiet for a moment and Aimée almost thought that he wouldn't answer her. But then, as he twirled his fingers through her hair, he spoke. "That night, the night of the fires back in Montreuil, I ran inside to try and find you. My hand was burned."
"You went into a burning house for me?"
"Yes, mademoiselle,"
Aimée's arms tightened around Javert's strong chest and she clung to him.
"I cannot stay the night," Javert said quietly after some time. Aimée smelled his musk and shoe polish and wood smoke and closed her eyes. "But I need you to promise me something. Promise me that you will stay inside the house tomorrow. Don't leave. Stay here, upstairs, lock the doors if you must, stay away from windows. I don't want you getting hurt."
Aimée found herself nodding before she could stop herself. She knew it was a lie.
To try and ignore her conscience, she spoke into the buttons of his coat. "Promise me you'll be safe…promise that you'll return to me, Mattieu."
Pressing his lips to her forehead, he murmured, "I promise."
Aimée pulled away from his embrace and tilted her head upwards. Their kiss was chaste, more of a statement of love than a flurry of passion or lust. Javert's arms ached when he let them slip from her once they drew away from each other. He wanted to stay…wanted to just stay and look at her, watch her beauty and bask in the warmth of her love, but he needed to go. Needed to plan with his men.
"I love you," she called to him as he turned to open the door. "More than anything on this earth."
Javert felt his throat constrict and at first, he struggled to speak. "I love you too, Chérie," Javert finally said, giving her a bow before unlocking the door and stepping back out into the street.
Aimée watched the empty doorway for a while, her fingers running over the little bump of the sapphire ring. Then, she quickly turned to the back room, grabbed a shawl, and slipped out the back door.
"We can't discuss our plans with you," a boy with mussed dark hair said, his eyes narrowing.
Aimée glared right back. "I've supplied the weapons, I think I deserve to know how and when they're being used, Grantaire."
"Enjolras, back me on this," Grantaire said, turning and looking pleadingly at the leader.
Enjolras regarded her behind his dirty blonde locks, his face gaunt and older than his years. "I have trouble trying to figure out why you're so curious now, Aimée. Before, you made it clear that all you wanted to do was supply us. You said you were loyal to the money, not the cause."
"I see now how the people are affected. I want to help."
"I believe her," the rich boy with the sing-song voice ventured. His name was Marius, if she remembered correctly. "Why should we turn her away?"
"She's not one of us," Grantaire growled, shooting Marius a dirty look.
"Neither am I," Marius offered, holding his hands up in a shrug. "My family's rich, yet here I stand, helping all of you for a better, brighter future."
Grantaire took a swig from his bottle and leaned back in his chair. "You are too trusting, dear Marius. And your head, light with the passing fancies of love."
Aimée ignored the teasing and met Enjolras's gaze. "If you don't trust me, then ask Éponine. I helped her grow when she was a child and I watch out for her now. Can't you trust her?"
Enjolras sighed and blinked. "I can't tell you everything, Aimée, I'm sure that you can try to understand my reservations. But, I can tell you that, if you really want to be a part of the cause, go to Lamarque's funeral procession tomorrow. It'll be at noon."
"That's it? That's all you're going to tell me?"
"I can't go and tell our plans to everyone, Aimée, even to smugglers. Just trust me. The funeral. Tomorrow. At noon," Enjolras nodded to her in a way that told her the conversation had ended. She frowned and stood, towering over the seated schoolboys, their pistols lying on the tables like the toys of children. Too frustrated for words, Aimée turned and disappeared down the stairs.
Below, the café rumbled in a murmuring din of men and women as they drank and talked. She wove her way through the crowd. Her hand was on the doorknob when she heard a small voice call for her.
"Aimée, wait!"
She turned just in time to see Gavroche push his way through a couple of patrons, a ruffled badge pinned to the corner of his grubby jacket. Once he reached her, he looked around nervously, wringing his hands and biting his lip.
"I can tell you what they're going to do, but not here. Can we go back to your shop?"
Aimée nodded and extended her hand to the boy. He took it and they stepped out of the ABC Café and into the street. People moved around them, the sunlight low in the sky but still casting a warmth on their skin. Gavroche caught sight of a group of boys scampering across the road ahead of them and he quickly pulled his hand away from Aimée's, puffing out his little chest as he did so. Aimée smiled, noting that the boy's pride was bigger than he was.
Back at the shop, Gavroche seated himself up on a stool behind the counter and Aimée went upstairs to retrieve a glass of milk and a plate of sweets. She watched as he gobbled down the treats and chugged at the glass of milk, white clinging to his upper lip when he was finished.
"Now, what are you going to tell me, Gavroche?" Aimée asked, watching as he wiped his face on his already filthy sleeve.
"They're going to storm the parade tomorrow," Gavroche said, flicking at a crumb as he spoke. "Enjolras, Marius, Grantaire, all of them. They're going to march with General Lamarque's casket, they have flags and everything!"
"And what's supposed to be the purpose of this?"
"I dunno. Make the police mad, I guess. Enjolras said that they're not going to shoot until the police do."
So the schoolboys' righteous plan for equality was provocation. Aimée looked at Gavroche, who started to whistle and swing his legs from his perch.
"And where will you be in all of this, Gavroche?"
"Right there with them! I'm going to help my country, show the people equality and justice! Marius will take care of me, and Enjolras."
The brightness in his eyes at the prospect of revolution unnerved Aimée. The poor boy had no idea how cruel war will be. No doubt he hardly understood the idea of death.
"What will they do if some policemen actually fire and a fight breaks out?"
Gavroche tapped his fingers on the countertop. "They're going to go back to the Café and build a barricade. Blocking off the street with chairs and wood and stuff. They're going to block off the road so the soldiers won't be able to get us. Then we'll fight from there.
"Gavroche, I don't want you there. I want you to find somewhere safe and hide. You're just a boy, no fighting. You could get hurt."
She watched as Gavroche rolled his eyes.
Aimée reached out and ran a hand over his matted hair and down his grubby cheek. Her words were falling on deaf ears, and she was painfully aware of that. She knew that the second Gavroche left her house, he would scamper back to the Café. Back to the guns and bullets and men that sat upstairs and plotted rebellion. Gavroche thought he was one of them, but he was not. He was a boy. A grubby, thin, little boy who called the streets home. She grew angry at Enjolras and the others, allowing a child to get swept up in violence beyond his years, allowing him to put himself in danger without fully knowing what could happen.
Aimée sniffed and pulled her hand away from his face. "Just…please. Be as safe as you can, Gavroche. For me."
He nodded, "I'm sneaky, Aimée. No one will catch me."
She prayed to God that his words were true. Truth often spoke from the mouth of babes.
"Go on then, get out of here," Aimée said, straightening and tossing her head towards the door. Gavroche hopped from the stool and strode his way to the door, pretending to be much bigger than he was. He gave Aimée a low bow and smiled at her. Aimée noted the gaps in his grin from missing baby teeth. By the time the door shut behind him, the boy was lost in the crowd outside.
Aimée turned back and saw the dregs of milk settled in the bottom of the glass and the crumbs from his treats sitting on the plate. Her throat tightened as she thought of the little boy and she felt as if she could cry.
"I want all of you armed," Javert's voice boomed. In the high-ceilinged hall of the Palais de Justice, the Inspector's words echoed like thunder. "All of you. Pistols, rifles, swords, clubs, whatever you have. If those foolish boys think for a moment that they can start a revolution in my city, they are mistaken!"
Soldiers and officers lined the walls and Javert paced between them, his back straight and shoulders back. His hands were clasped behind him and a sabre hung at his hip. He glanced around at his men with cold green eyes.
"Mounted cavalry will be at the front and rear of the funeral procession. Between them will be officers and soldiers on foot. If conflict should break out, we will not shoot first, is that understood?"
The crowd boomed with a resounding, "Yes, Sir!"
"Good. Draw your weapons, threaten them if you must, but I will not have a revolution started by a shot from one of my own rifles. However, once they fire, that is an act of war. Wars should be fought. Show those schoolboys what happens when they try and break the law. The law will break them back!"
Javert retreated to the front of the hall and looked over his men, lined and in uniform. He felt the hotness of pride start to swell in his chest and he lifted his head higher. "I will be undercover in the crowds. Officer Hoight will be commanding you tomorrow. You are to assemble here at the Palais at nine o'clock, is that understood?"
"Yes, Sir!"
"Good. Should revolution break out, show those schoolboys that they are toying with something more dangerous than they ever could have imagined. They will wet themselves like the children they are! We will end this foolish revolution before it even had time to get started!"
Cheers echoed around him and Javert's pride bloomed again and for a moment, he forgot how upset he was about going undercover. He felt the anticipation for tomorrow twinge at his nerves and make his fingers tap against each other behind his back.
"I want all of you to eat a good dinner tonight and get some sleep. Well rested soldiers are good soldiers. At ease, men. You are dismissed."
The soldiers broke their lines and began to head towards the door, excited, cocky murmurs of tomorrow floated through the cavernous hall and met Javert's ears. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hoight step from his spot in the corner and approach.
"You have a gift for words, sir," Hoight said, standing next to Javert and crossing his arms in front of him. Javert looked straight ahead, watching the last few soldiers slip out the door.
"Thank you, Officer Hoight."
"How are you feeling about going undercover?"
"It's my job. It has to be done. I was ordered to do it and I shall oblige."
Hoight shook his head and looked down at his polished shoes, his ugly face downturned. "I wouldn't be so willing if I was in your shoes, Inspector."
Javert turned to look at him, his brows furrowed. Hoight looked up and stared down the hall, not meeting Javert's eyes.
"I owe you an apology, sir. Under your command, I acted like a stubborn fool, speaking with disrespect and unprofessionalism. The way you responded to Legrande, even though I knew you were unhappy for the assignment and Legrande is a fool to make you do that, showed me how I should act."
Javert turned back and the men were content not to make eye contact.
"I wish you safety, sir," Hoight said, rubbing a hand over his ugly face. "Paris will be in trouble if something happens to you. I sure as hell can't lead anything."
Javert swallowed and nodded, not really knowing how else to respond.
"Yes, well…get some rest tonight, Inspector," Hoight said after a bout of silence. He turned and extended his hand.
Javert watched it for a moment before he extended his own and the two men shook, their grips strong. Hoight gave Javert a curt bow before he drew his hand away and made his way down the hall and towards the door. When it shut behind him, Javert noticed how lonely he felt in the ornate gut of the Palais de Justice.