17

Title: "Rescue"

Author: Darkover

Rating: T

Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

Author's Note: I am so sorry that this chapter took so long to write and post. I hope people have not abandoned this story. My profound thanks to everyone who has read it, followed it, and/or reviewed it so far. I greatly appreciate your efforts.

Chapter Six: "The Time Has Come To Journey On"

~ooo0ooo~

A lark was singing. Javert opened his eyes.

It was morning. The sun was shining through the window that he had asked Monsieur le Maire—no, Valjean, he is Jean Valjean, and now uses the name of M. Fauchelevent, or at least that is what the servant calls him—to leave un-curtained the previous night. Was it just last night? It was hard for Javert to be sure. Many of the events of the last few nights and days were cloudy in his mind; he found it difficult to recall time with any precision. While he remembered how he had been ready to throw himself into the Seine, because it had seemed like the only thing to do, the pain he had felt that night had been so overwhelming that he still shied away from it in his mind. The physical pain had been bad, but also what he deserved, or so he believed. The emotional anguish had been even more intense and agonizing, to the point of being unbearable. The only reason he had not gone through with…what he had been planning, was because Valjean had called out to him. He and Valjean had exchanged words, or at least he was reasonably sure they had, but he could not recall exactly what they had said to each other. This disturbed him, as did the fact that there were so many other recent events over at least the course of the last couple of nights that he could not remember with any clarity. Those that he could recall sometimes disturbed him even more. Of late he did not understand his emotions, which had become not only convoluted but unnervingly intense and difficult for him to control. Javert hated loss of control, which was one reason why he found the law so appealing. Following rules had been the salvation of his life, or at least he had always seen it that way. Certainly he was not accustomed to allowing himself to feel any emotions other than anger, or satisfaction at a job well done. Emotions interfered with one's duty, made one

(vulnerable, weak)

He looked over at the man lying next to him in the bed. Valjean was sleeping soundly; the sunlight from the window had not yet spread to his side of the double bed.

The stars. I told him about the stars, that is why the curtains are not closed over the window. What else did I tell him? Have I made a fool of myself? A memory came to him; sitting up in bed after being awakened by a nightmare, Valjean rubbing his back, soothing him as if he were a child. Javert looked away. What a weak fool he must believe me to be. And he embraced me like a brother, held me close and comforted me when I—did I truly tell him about that? He lifted a hand and ran it over his hair in agitation. Why am I thinking about the past now? Why am I dreaming of people and things I have not thought about in years? And why should Valjean be willing to comfort me, of all people—the man who pursued him for so long? He owes me nothing!

He looked down at his sleeping host. The man had changed from the 24601 that he had known. But then, perhaps Javert himself had changed, at least from the guard he had once been. Valjean said last night that I was changing. And certainly, he has changed, too. Once I would have said that either prospect was impossible.

Javert found himself wondering what this day would bring. Insofar as the Inspector could discern or recall, Valjean did not seem at all disturbed to be playing host to him, and had in no way stated or alluded that it was time for the Inspector to cease trespassing upon his goodwill and hospitality and go home. And indeed, although Javert still felt to some extent both guilty and embarrassed for continuing to inflict his presence upon the man he had pursued for so long and upon that man's daughter, another, more vulnerable part of him felt more comfortable here in this small household than he had ever felt anywhere else. The sensation of being cared for, while almost completely outside Javert's experience, was…not unpleasant.

Don't be a fool, he upbraided himself. Valjean is not doing this because he likes you or has any affection for you. It was because of what you were about to do at the river that night. Valjean stopped you for the same reason that he gives alms to beggars: out of pity, out of charity, out of a desire to do the right thing. One need not like cats to save a sack of kittens from drowning!

But…Valjean had said something about friendship. How they should try to be friends now. He had even suggested to Javert that the latter keep the rosary, not as a reminder of former delusions or mistakes, but as a sign that the two of them had become friends at last. But what does that mean? I have never had a friend. Everything about this situation is beyond me! For a moment, Javert felt a childish urge to lie back down, pull the pillow over his ears and the blankets over his head. It was all just too bewildering and frustrating. Instead, he took a deep breath and tried, as he always did when faced with a problem, to assess the situation logically. For the first time, it occurred to him to wonder about his host's reasons for making such a suggestion. But…perhaps Valjean has never had a friend, either. Could he be as…

(lonely)

as I have been? Again, what does it mean to be a friend? For I have never had one, not truly. What are my duties in such a matter?

Javert swallowed hard. It seemed that since that night at the barricades, he had been losing control over every aspect of his life. Valjean implied that this is because my life is changing, that I am changing, and he has assured me this is a good thing. Perhaps that is so, but it is still so difficult!

Another thought occurred to the Inspector. Now that we have agreed to be friends, does that mean that neither of us is alone any more?

This thought was simultaneously thrilling and disturbing to Javert, so he pushed it to one side in his mind and focused on something else.

Valjean and his daughter. She is not his child by blood, but I do not believe I have ever seen a man who loves his daughter more. And she loves him. There seemed nothing complicated about their relationship at all, although the Inspector wondered how much, if anything, the girl knew about Valjean's past, or about her mother.

What does she think of me? Does she know that I once tried to arrest her mother? That I have spent years pursuing her father in order to return him to prison? Javert flinched involuntarily at that thought. The girl is an innocent, as sweet and charming as she is beautiful, but how would she feel about me, what would she think of Inspector Javert, if she knew the truth? Does she have any idea that her mother was a prostitute, or that the man she calls father is really Jean Valjean, a convict from the galleys? Javert was not sure of many things at this point, but he very much believed that the girl knew little or nothing about either her mother or the man she called "Papa." Javert suspected even more strongly that Valjean preferred it that way.

Then what is my place in all this? Surely sooner or later, she will wonder how her father and I know each other. How much longer will Valjean want me around, an ever-present reminder of his past, a past he must surely wish to forget, a past of which he almost certainly wishes to keep the girl ignorant? Even if he…forgives me…he will not want me around any longer. If I am to be a friend to him, surely the best thing I can do is remove my presence from his household and his life. He has changed. He is a good man, and the girl has always been innocent. They deserve to live their lives unfettered by the past, and I am a part of that past. But…I do not want to go! I do not wish to return to my life as it was…to

(loneliness)

I do not know if I can bear it again. But I owe Valjean, he and the girl deserve better—Javert, you must go!

Involuntarily, the Inspector groaned aloud in frustration, and put his hands over his eyes.

"Javert." It was Valjean's voice. The Inspector quickly let his hands drop, turned his head and blinked as he looked at the other man. His host was awake, and watching him. Valjean sat up and placed a hand on the Inspector's shoulder. "What is wrong?" he asked, concerned. "Did you have another nightmare?"

My life is a nightmare. I do not know the right thing to do, I who have always known what I should do. Or worse, perhaps I lack the strength to do it. Javert said none of this aloud, but quickly schooled his expression into one of impassivity. "No. I did not."

His host's gaze did not waver. "Are you certain? You seem troubled."

"I tell you, Valjean, I am all right."

"'Jean,'" his host corrected.

"Pardon?"

Valjean smiled slightly. "If I am to call you by your name rather than by your title, it seems only right that you should call me by my Christian name."

"Of course, I understand. It would not do for anyone to overhear me call you 'Valjean.' Especially the girl. "Is Jean Fauchelevent the name you use now?"

"Actually, it is Ultime Fauchelevent. By I do not have so many intimates that anyone will notice, much less express surprise, if you call me 'Jean.'"

Javert felt perspiration on his forehead, and wiped his brow with the sleeve of his nightshirt. "Very well. Do not worry, I will not let you down."

Valjean looked at him curiously. "I am sure you will not," he said after a moment. He continued to study the Inspector. "Javert, are you sure you are all right? Are your wounds troubling you? You still seem to be in pain."

"I am recovering, thank you."

Valjean smiled and clapped the other man on the shoulder. "Of course you are. It is a new day, and a beautiful one. Come, let us rise and get ready for breakfast."

Javert nodded. This must be my last day in this house. And if I am to be a true friend to Valjean, this should be the last day I ever have any contact with him. Or the girl. This thought made the Inspector feel such an intense wave of sorrow that he was barely able to control another groan. He did not know if he had the strength necessary to keep such a resolution. For if a man, blind for as long as he could remember, were allowed a few days of vision, to see colors, shapes, and the world at large, then was told he must resume the mantle of darkness that had enshrouded him all his life, that man would be in agony at having to resume the blindness that had been normal to him before. Such was the Inspector's position, at least in his own mind.

You have always done your duty, Javert. This is just a different kind of duty, he told himself.

He went through his morning ablutions so automatically that, unusually for him, they were in the dining room being joined by Cosette before he was fully cognizant of his surroundings. She greeted both the Inspector and her father cordially, and soon they were all three seated at the table. Valjean said grace, and Toussaint served them. Javert ate the meal before him, but he was scarcely aware of the food or what it tasted like.

He was just about to mention that he thought it was time he returned to his duty when Cosette turned to her father. "Papa, I thought that we could visit Marius today."

Valjean tensed; not very visibly, but Javert noticed. "I do not think that is wise, my dear."

"Why ever not, Papa? Surely he has regained consciousness by now. If he has not, all the more reason why I should attend him, so that I may read to him, and perhaps help him to respond."

"It would not be proper, a young lady visiting a young man," Valjean temporized.

Cosette gave a small laugh. "But Papa, with you along, how could anyone accuse us of impropriety? Marius is ill, Papa, and think of how worried M. Gillenormand must be. You have always taught me that we must perform the corporal acts of mercy. Is not visiting the sick one of them?"

"Of course, Cosette, but if he is still unconscious, what can you do? And it would still appear…unseemly. I must think of your reputation."

Javert was not a particularly empathetic man, but years as a police officer had made him a sharply observant one. Now, studying his host, the Inspector thought; Something upsets Valjean about this situation, but it is not any undue concern over the girl's reputation. He does not like the thought of her knowing this young man. Perhaps, the Inspector thought shrewdly, he does not like the idea of his daughter knowing any young man. But then why did he go to the bother of rescuing the troublesome boy from the barricades, if not for Cosette's sake?

The Inspector cleared his throat. "Perhaps I could call on M. Gillenormand, and find out how the lad is faring." This was an offer that Javert would never in a million years have anticipated making, and he did not particularly want to make it now. But he could see how desperate the girl was for news of her young man, and how unhappy Valjean was at the thought of becoming any further involved. Perhaps this would be a reasonable compromise.

"I do not think that would be wise, Javert," Valjean said carefully. "A police inspector, calling upon the family so soon after the events of the last few days…" He let the words trail away, but the implication was clear; They will believe you have come to arrest him.

Javert looked away. "You are right. Forgive me. I…" he forced himself to say it. "I should return to my duty today, anyway."

Valjean regarded the Inspector, a tiny frown forming between his brows. "Javert, I do not believe that is wise. Your wounds are healing well, but…"

"Papa," Cosette interrupted, a sufficient rarity in itself to call attention to the state of her agitation, "Please do not forget about Marius. If you will not allow me to go, and you do not wish the Inspector to go, then perhaps you could go see him. I must know how he is, Papa!" The girl's eyes gleamed with unshed tears as she gazed imploringly at her father.

"Of course, my dear." Valjean smiled at her, although to Javert it seemed forced, and he saw unhappiness and anxiety in the eyes of his host.

The girl all but leapt from her seat. "Thank you, Papa!" She swiftly kissed her father's cheek. Valjean smiled up at her again, but his expression seemed strained, and his eyes were almost desperately sad. Cosette seemed too caught up in her own concern over her young man's welfare to notice. "Will you go see him this morning, Papa?"

"Of course. I suppose I should go as soon as possible," her father replied, with no visible trace of enthusiasm. He looked down the table at his guest. "Javert, please walk out with me."

The two men stood up. Cosette walked with them to the door, urging her father to find out what he could, to come home and tell her as soon as possible. Valjean continued to smile at her and offer reassurances, although Javert saw the strain in the older man's face and the unhappiness in his eyes.

Valjean closed the door to his home, and together the two men walked to the street. Once there, the Inspector started to move off in the opposite direction, but his host forestalled him. "Javert, I did not wish for you just to walk out with me. I would appreciate it if you would accompany me. I do not wish to do this alone."

The Inspector was surprised, but it was a modest enough request, and he owed Valjean for the other man's hospitality, if nothing else. "Of course."

The two men set off in the direction of M. Gillenormand's house. "I apologize for the walk," Valjean told him. "I fear you are still unwell."

"I am fine, Jean. I am a policeman, I am accustomed to walking a beat that is far longer and more difficult than this," Javert reminded him. "If you do not wish to walk, though, we could take a fiacre."

His host shook his head. "I am in no hurry."

"You do not like the thought of your daughter even knowing this boy, much less visiting him, do you?" Javert asked quietly.

Valjean did not answer.

"You saved his life," the Inspector said, as if thinking aloud. "You are no schoolboy, drunk on politics and romantic ideals. Surely, the only reason you went to the barricades was to save this Marius—"

Valjean's expression tightened; he glanced at Javert, and in that instant, guilt was plainly visible in the other man's eyes. In a flash, Javert understood everything.

"You did notgo to the barricades to help young Pontmercy at all. You went there to kill him."

"I—" Valjean stammered, and then covered his face with his hands. "Yes," he whispered. "I did. I almost damned myself."

"Jean…"

Valjean let his hands drop. "You must understand," he said urgently, almost desperately. "I received a message that night, a message meant for Cosette, and it was from Marius. Until that moment, I did not know that Cosette was even acquainted with a young man, much less that she was in love with one, and that he professed love for her. It was a shock. All I could think of was this was what I had feared for years, that a young man would come along and take Cosette, my only child, the treasure of my life, from me! And—and that is what it seemed to me, that this Marius was stealing my only treasure, I had to stop him—"

"Jean—"

Valjean continued in a rush, "Marius was at the barricades, there was fighting going on, he could die there. I realized that if he did die there, then Cosette would be upset, but then it would be just her and I again, as it had always been, indeed, she would have turned to me for consolation, I would not need to lose the child I love, the only person who has ever loved me—if I just took care of matters myself!"

"Jean!" It was almost a shout.

Valjean stopped. Javert put his hands on the older man's shoulders and looked him in the eye. "I understand. You do not have to explain any further. Now, take deep breaths. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Just breathe for a moment."

Valjean obeyed, but felt compelled to continue his explanation, saying miserably; "You don't understand. I was ready to commit murder."

"I do understand," Javert assured him. "I am a police inspector, after all. I know that people kill each other over love. Do not be so hard on yourself."

"But I could have…"

Javert gripped his shoulders reassuringly. "But you did not. The intent is not the deed, Jean. And not only did you not commit murder, you saved the young man's life, and at considerable hardship. You covered yourself with glory that night. Among other things," he added dryly.

Valjean stared at him. "Are you making a joke?"

Javert gave him a faint smile. "Perhaps. Am I getting better at it?"

Valjean started to laugh. The laughter increased, becoming louder and more hysterical, until Javert took him by the arm, led him up to a nearby lamppost and leaned him against it. "I told you, breathe. Just breathe, Jean."

Valjean did so, gasping as his laughter turned to tears, until he was forced to use his handkerchief to wipe his eyes and face. "Forgive me," he mumbled, embarrassed.

"There is nothing to forgive, Jean. On the contrary, you are probably the only man on earth who would set off with the intention of killing a man, and save his life instead!"

Valjean did smile a little at that. "I…changed my mind when I overheard Marius talking to himself. He felt his life had no meaning without Cosette, he was worried about her, not himself. I realized that she was no casual liaison to him, that he loved her. And she loved him. That made me ashamed that I had ever entertained such selfish and…murderous thoughts."

The Inspector nodded. "Do not be so hard on yourself. Bear in mind that you are not the first man to dislike his daughter's choice of beau. We all have sinful thoughts, Jean. The important thing is that we do not act upon them."

Valjean gazed at him with thoughtful admiration. "You have changed, Javert. There was a time when you would have said that such behavior was to be expected of a convict."

"I suspect we both have changed. But as I said, I know that people kill each other over love. That is one reason why I have been reluctant to have anything to do with it. The other reason, of course, is that I am inherently unlovable." He smiled briefly as he spoke the last sentence, having meant it to be at least somewhat humorous, even though he believed every word.

But Valjean just stared at him and said; "Javert, do not speak of yourself like that. You have become my friend, and I do not like it when anyone calls my friend unlovable, even when it is the friend himself. We are all God's children, and He loves us."

Only Valjean could say such a thing and mean it. The Inspector was tempted to add that it was just as well, as it would take divine forbearance to love someone like himself, but he was not sure how such a comment would be received. And Valjean has once again called me his friend. Perhaps my duty as his friend requires me to remain with him, at least for awhile longer…?

Aloud, he said, "Are you well enough to continue now? Should we take a fiacre after all?"

Valjean pushed himself away from the post and stuffed the handkerchief in his pocket. "I can walk," he said.

But as he moved away from the lamppost, he staggered a bit, as if the strength for which he was famous had momentarily deserted him. Javert reached out, caught his arm and steadied him. Together they set off.

TBC...