AN: I know it's been forever. But here's part two of three, anyways. I was at a pretty busy, secluded job for the summer then got clobbered with things to catch up on when I got home, for what it's worth. Excuses, excuses. So, Chapter 2 - In Which This Shipping Fic Actually Gets Shippy.
The ride to Montfermeil was anything but pleasant; the road was bumpy and long, the diligence Valjean had hired with some cash he had stowed away – just in case, he explained, mildly embarrassed by his justified paranoia – small and uncomfortable, with hard seats and little breathing room. Maybe it only felt close and warm in there, Fantine reflected, because of the silence that sprawled between her and Valjean like an overgrown cat, large, ill-tempered and completely still. She had many questions, of course, but few of them were easy or simple and she had little energy for further intrigue. They'd just escaped the police together, for God's sake. That was all the excitement she could comfortably take. Actually, she wasn't particularly comfortable with that. Say what you want about her, the old her, who had real work; she may have been poor, she may have been tricked by the Thenardiers, but she had a real job. She had been an honest woman, law-abiding and peaceful. Now look at her. A whore, running away with a convict she barely knew. One who happened to be a reputable businessman and mayor, but still. He was a living paradox, sitting beside her in the dark, overheated carriage: a convict in charge of a town, a thief beloved by all, an outcast who had become not only part of the community but a pillar of it. If that was possible, she decided, anything was, for her and for anyone. Maybe that was why she wanted so badly to believe him.
Then again, the drawn and uncomfortable look on Valjean's face told her that he was uncomfortable as she was with all this. "I'm very sorry, mademoiselle."
"Sorry for what?"
"For disappointing you. For not being who – what – you expected."
She sat in silence. How could she respond to that? Her first instinct was to make him feel better, to say that she still liked him. But what if it made him feel condescended to?
"I suppose that what I should really be sorry for is the rules concerning – um, personal conduct. The ones I put in place at the factory," he continued. Was it just the lack of light, or was he blushing at the very mention of a sexual topic?
"Why should you be sorry for those? You meant to keep a moral standard." She sighed. A standard that she had long ago failed to keep.
"I realized things weren't ideal because of those rules. Your earlier mistakes shouldn't disadvantage you, let alone make you destitute."
"I can't consider it a mistake. It gave me Cosette, right?" It came out of her mouth easily, as if she was back in the hospital, talking to M. Madeleine, the one she knew. But this was still him, she supposed. Or you could say that Madeleine had never existed. "Something that brought me my daughter can't possibly be a mistake."
"You're right – I should have looked at it that way. God must have willed it, to bring you your little girl." He smiled for some reason, his faith in this view of things complete. "And maybe He brought me to you, to bring her back to you."
"I should have looked at this -" she motioned all around her - "that way."
"There is always a reason." Fantine turned those words over in her mind. She wanted to have faith, the way Valjean seemed to, but somehow, she didn't feel fully convinced. What kind of plan would bring her to that horrible place she'd been, sick and desperate in front of the cold and unforgiving law? Her daughter ill and fading, miles away from her? She pushed the thought away, and in a few minutes she managed to fall asleep.
A hand shook her shoulder, yanking Fantine from slumber. Reflexively, she yelled, and lashed out in the general direction of the hand, hitting the bearded face of some man – no, Valjean.
"I am so sorry, Mademoiselle." Valjean was the one who had shaken her. They were still in the carriage, parked outside an inn she'd recognize anywhere – Cosette's inn! She must be just inside!
"And monsieur, I'm the one who should be sorry." She didn't know why her reaction had been so violent, but it had been her first instinct. Probably all those nervous evenings on the streets of Montreuil. "We're here!"
"Yes, I think this is the right inn. Le cabaret du sergeant de Waterloo." A sign annonced that very name, painted with an image of a soldier "After you, Mademoiselle."
She was here. Finally here. After all this time, Fantine was ready to walk into that building and see Cosette. It was almost too good to believe. She ran up to the front door and knocked, without so much as waiting for Valjean.
"Welcome to the -" the man who came to the door was a short, rumpled thing. He smelled of ale and looked as if he hadn't washed in a week, which made his ridiculously colourful clothing and overdone jewelry all the more humorous. "Well, well, well. If it isn't the street rat's debtor mother. I expect my payment, missus." He crossed his arms and gave a grin that showed his rotten teeth. Fantine recoiled at his breath.
His wife bustled in behind him, probably upon hearing "payment" mentioned. She was a massive woman, and blocked the entire doorway on her own. It was a funny contrast: humble but neat Fantine, tiny and innocent in comparison to the giantess and the thief. Valjean had came up behind her as she told the unsavoury pair, "Yes, of course I'm going to pay you what you're due."
"Oh, got a man to pay for you?" Asked Mme. Thernardier. "Well, come on in."
"Yes, yes. Have a drink, take a chair," the man started, pulling out a seat for Valjean but not Fantine. "Allow me to go get the girl and the bills, yes?"
"I know this type," Valjean whispered to Fantine as they sat down. "I'll pay up." She smiled gratefully. Apparently he really was going to live up to all his promises. They stayed in awkward silence, watched by Mme. Thernardier. Fantine could almost see the gears grinding away in the woman's head, trying to figure out what her relationship with Valjean was, most likely jumping to the filthiest conclusions right off the bat. Oh, well. Fantine was used to that kind of thing. Valjean probably was too, come to think of it.
Then M. Thernardier came back in with Cosette, and it was all drowned out by joy. It was worth it. Every moment was so worth it, just for this. "My little Cosette!"
"Maman!"
"I love you so much, dear." She just
"Very touching. Touching doesn't come cheap," began the innkeeper. "Especially not little, um, gems like our dear Cosette." He came up behind the mother and daughter and scooped little Cosette up, hugging her. She squirmed, trying to get out of his grasp. "I've been like a papa, haven't I, my little dear?"
In reply, she hit him on the arm. Valjean stifled a laugh. "Well, monsieur, that's very good, but -"
"Yes, yes. Let's get down to business. I think that, by my humble calculations," the innkeeper began, dragging a beer-stained notebook out of his back pocket, "it should be 40 francs. Minimum."
"That's a year's wages for some workers," countered Valjean.
"Medicines are so pricey, sir -"
"She's so thin. But she's not sick," observed Fantine, turning back to Thernardier.
"Well, we have a humble existence here, but we have shared all we have, taken care of her in sickness -"
Valjean's expression darkened. "Have you been lying to her about her daughter?"
"Cool it, Monsieur. Not at all. She got better, that's it," rejoined Thernardier, taking on an exaggerated tone of insult and hurt.
Valjean merely made a noise like he was thinking, but Fantine had spent months worrying herself sick and scraping for money. She wasn't going to just let it go – this scum had robbed her! "What happened to the money for dresses? She's dressed in rags and has no shoes!"
"Hey, she went through them very quickly. Rugrats are tough on clothing. Little Colette -"
"It's Cosette, with an s, and that's bull-"
"What Fantine means to say is that the standard of care for Cosette" - he overpronounced the s - "obviously doesn't match up to the amount that has been paid. We would like to see some receipts," Valjean interjected smoothly.
He's trying to keep this from coming to blows. Well, it damn well should. "We're not giving you another sou until you account for all the money I have sent!"
"Listen, woman. We didn't keep all your maudit records," interrupted Mme. Thernardier. "I'm going to make this very simple for you. You'll pay the exact sum my husband has asked for, or you're not getting your precious little girl."
"You've used my child for labour! I would bet every sou I have that you've been abusing my girl -"
"Nonsense! You hysterical whore -"
Valjean stood up. Despite the fact that we was neither tall nor normally intimidating, the women became silent and stared at him. His features set in an inscrutable expression of seemingly unforced calm, he said, "Here's your payment. Take it or leave it. Fantine, we're going." He clapped a bag of coins down on the table, punctuating his last sentence. He walked out without turning around, trailed quickly by
"Goodbye, Courgette," shouted Thernardier after the little one.
The trio continued walking – quickly - while they talked."Thank you, Monsieur. I owe you so much – if you hadn't paid a ridiculous sum, if
"Please, call me Jean," replied Valjean. "And you can call me Jean, too, Mademoiselle Cosette," he added, patting the little girl's shoulder affectionately. "Actually, why don't you two catch up while I go get something? Wait here."
He ran off into a nearby store, then emerged a few moments later, holding a little blonde doll, which he showed to Cosette. "I got you a little present, Cosette. Do you like her?"
By way of reply, Cosette grabbed the doll eagerly and hugged it to herself.
"What do we say when we get a gift, dear?" Fantine chided her daughter gently.
"Thank you, thank you very much." She gave Valjean a big hug. "Is Jean my new Papa?"
Fantine and Valjean looked at each other, dumbfounded. "Um, well."
"I would love to be, Cosette," said Valjean, weighing his words carefully. If Fantine found this to be too much, an intrusion, he didn't want to force her to disappoint Cosette in the process.
"Yes. Yes, he is," said Fantine, looking far away as she said it.
Look at us, walking along like this. People would take us for a little family, out for a stroll, thought Valjean. No. I shouldn't let myself hope for so much... but, still...
They agreed to go to Paris. It had been Fantine's idea to live in the centre of the city, so that she could search for work sewing or in a workshop. To blend in among the movement and the hustle of the city, she claimed. Valjean could tell that she still loved the place, even if her time there had ended badly.
The ride to Paris was much better, for Valjean at least. The daylight part of the ride passed with little children's games and pleasant conversation between the trio. Valjean found Cosette's imagination and sense of fun so delightful – he literally couldn't remember being this happy. Eventually, Cosette fell asleep between the two adults, who kept looking at her as if she was their own little miracle. On an impulse, Valjean offered his hand to Fantine. He didn't really think about it – if he had, he probably would have gotten nervous and not done it – but she took it. Just like a family.
The diligence ground to a halt and they got out. "Let's look for somewhere to stay for the night." Fantine nodded sleepily. He picked Cosette up without waking her and started out into the city.
"I remember this area. Let's go down this street, there's an inn around here somewhere. I think." It had been years, maybe she was wrong. But how else would they find something? It was double fare if they asked the diligence driver to take them further, the money was running low.. they would just have to search. In a place as busy as Paris, there was always somewhere to stay. Valjean shrugged – He had decided to give her what she wanted. So the little group carried on, moving in silence through the warren of streets that made up the outskirts of Paris. It seemed to Valjean like it could go on forever, all shadowy lanes and dark paving stones and stone buildings. Maybe it was that he was tired, but it felt like wandering along in a dream.
"Halt. Police." The call made Valjean pause. It was a voice he would recognize anywhere. Javert. Valjean's head swivelled around reflexively, a prisoner answering to his guard. Yes, it was Javert. But he was calling to someone else, a drunk who had been running down the street. A look of understanding passed between him and Fantine, then she shook her daughter awake.
"We need you to walk," she whispered. "Be silent."
Valjean muttered a prayer under his breath, simultaneously pulling his hat down over his face.
A few moments later, a shadow seemed to follow them. Valjean's heart skipped a beat. He would be dragging Cosette and Fantine down with him, if he didn't get away. But that was if he was really spotted – maybe Javert had been preoccupied, maybe he hadn't glanced in the right direction – but it was Javert, Javert saw everything, and Valjean knew in some silent, instinctive part of his being that he had been seen, like a rabbit sensing the dog watching him. The family continued across a bridge, hastily paying the toll man, and continued to wander through the streets. Yet his nervousness just wouldn't abate.
He scooped the little girl up in his arms, carrying her down the street and gaining speed. Fantine kept up, but with an obvious effort. Hoofbeats rang out from a few hundred metres behind Valjean, closer by the second, and he hugged Cosette as tight as he could, terrified of dropping the little girl. He dashed as fast as he could, slipping into the first alley he could find with Fantine hot on his heels.
Oh, dieu non. A dead end. What now? Thinking fast, Valjean scooped Cosette up and boosted her onto the top of the wall. Her little arms barely reached as she jumped for the ledge about half a metre over her head, but she grabbed on and clambered over. "Like climbing a tree," she called down, totally ignorant of how her voice could betray her guardians. Fantine was the next up, and she hushed her daughter, lying flat against the wall. The hoofbeats were ever closer – Valjean took a running leap onto the wall, managing to grab on, and with Fantine's help, pull himself so that he was lying flat beside her atop the ledge.
"24601!" Javert's voice echoed through the streets, chilling the adults to the bone. Fantine lay there in total silence, staring up at the impassive stars, listening hard to hear if the merciless pursuer was still coming – but the hoofbeats grew fainter, and there was silence like a tomb. Fantine managed to breathe again, letting out a deep sigh of relief. Fantine realized, as they lay up there in the darkness, that Valjean's hand had been clamped tight around her arm the whole time. Her first instinct was to jerk away, but somehow she didn't. She heard laughter, only realizing that it was her own a few moments later.
"What's funny?" A rushed whisper.
"Nothing, really. Funny-odd more than funny-humorous."
"This is very odd," he agreed. "So odd."
Odder still was that a nunnery lay on the other side of the wall, and that the caretaker at the nunnery – an elder by the name of Fauchelevant - knew Valjean. He explained, in hushed and reverent tones, that Monsieur le Maire had saved his life back in Montreuil-sur-Mer.
"God rewards good deeds," commented Valjean. "It's his plan. This nunnery will be a good home, won't it? At least for a while."
"Yes. But still, it's quite amazing."
He nodded, looking pensive. "Yes."
Time at the nunnery passed surprisingly quickly. Fantine found that she enjoyed life there, getting to do productive work alongside the sisters. The place was calm and quiet, and Cosette was attending the convent's school – she was a very quick study and progressing very well. The nuns did complain that she was a bit loud, energetic during classes and constantly chatty. Fantine worried about her daughter, like all mothers. Her progress delighted Valjean. Valjean worked as a second caretaker, and Fantine cooked and ran errands for the nuns. It was quiet, in a good way; the kind of quiet that allows space to think. Fantine and Valjean settled into a comfortable routine, working most of the day, and taking a walk in the garden after putting Cosette to bed. One evening was a little different, though.
Valjean leaned towards her, his hand on her shoulder, getting closer, going for a kiss – she jerked away, without though, out of pure instinct.
"I'm sorry. It just reminded me of -"
He knew what she meant without explanation. "That was not my intent at all, Mademoiselle. I am – I try to be – different."
"I know. I know you're different, I appreciate that about you. I know this is not – not that." She sighed deeply. "But still." She knew intellectually that this was Jean – the gentle, kind, caring man who had done everything for her, that she appreciated and cared for in many ways – but still, on a reflexive, unconscious level, the past still burned her. She still jerked away from his warmth, mistaking it for the heat that had burned her as a young woman and again in Montrueil.
Valjean apologized profusely. "I didn't mean to pressure you at all. I beg your pardon, please forget it even happened."
