Chapter Text
Javert awoke with a rare sense of satisfaction and a desire to remain in bed for longer than was wise, a desire that was completely foreign to him whose duty was his religion. He had slept surprisingly well, considering his distress at having accepted the mayor’s infernal invitation. Yet the room exuded welcome—no doubt Monsieur le Maire had gone to great lengths to create such an air in his guest bedroom, knowing the man and his penchant for charity—and he had fallen asleep gazing at the painting of mesmerizing waves overlapping and in perpetual motion hanging on the opposing wall.
The only incident during the night—if it could even be called thus—was a strange and curious dream. Javert rarely dreamed. When he did, it would be more correct to term those dreams nightmares, and he had always understood them. He was a man who understood suffering.
This dream, however, he could make no sense of.
Javert had never been a religious man. He respected the church for the authority it wielded, and that was all. Yet, for some unfathomable reason, his sleep had been visited by the tale of Marie Madeleine, the sinner who repented of her sins, and who was absolved by Christ himself. The mercy on Christ’s face bore a startling resemblance to Monsieur le Maire, who shared the name of the sinner. He did not know what his subconscious mind wished to tell him.
He attributed this oddity to the mayor’s recitations of the bible last night which he did not hear, and paid it no more mind.
Despite the vaguely disquieting dream, his slumber had been restful. Much more so than it would have been in his own room, which was simple, cold, and bare. He did not believe in wasting money on such frivolities as firewood or decorations.
A frightful realization rose within him then. Perhaps it was not accident and carelessness, or even his own foolish heart that had caused him to remain so late at the mayor’s home. Perhaps it was all a carefully orchestrated ploy by the mayor to force his unwanted charity upon him. His pride recoiled, and he deftly severed this line of thought.
It was not only his pride that was injured. He found that his heart could not withstand the pain of the mere possibility that he was nothing more than another charity case to the mayor.
He did not want to know what this may imply.
~ * ~
They broke their fast in silence. The mayor, considerate man that he was, did not inquire after Javert’s reticence, perhaps assuming it to be nothing more than his usual taciturn disposition. Javert tried not to read too much into the way the mayor’s eyes had scanned his form when he exited the guest bedroom, no doubt trying to ascertain the quality of his repose.
Afterwards, he politely thanked the mayor for his hospitality and made to leave for work.
It was the mayor himself who retrieved his greatcoat at the door. It was the mayor who stood patiently waiting, holding the coat in both hands, while Javert froze in shock.
Surely the man cannot mean to dress him? Javert knew the mayor cared little for conventional propriety, but this still beggared belief.
It was widely known that the mayor considered himself a servant to all men. Javert never took that rumour literally.
When it became clear that the mayor would be willing to stand there all day if Javert did not acquiesce to his service, Javert sighed and gave in to a will more stubborn than his own. He allowed the mayor to help him into the heavy greatcoat, to do up each button with excessive care, all the while desperately ignoring the physical reactions this unsought proximity had inspired in him, or the twisting and fluttering of his traitorous heart.
At last the torture was over. The mayor bade him farewell.
It was with hurried steps that Javert left the mayor’s house, his haste strangely like escape.
None had ever told him of the futility in trying to escape from himself.
~ * ~
Every city and every town, from the shining capital Paris to the newly developing Montreuil-sur-Mer, had its gutters. Prosperity, or even moderate good fortune, had never been universal. The wealth of some must come at the deprivation of others. Such conditions persisted despite the mayor’s numerous attempts to alter this law of human society.
Montreuil’s gutters were filled with the poor and wretched, thieves and drunkards and prostitutes, men and women who scorned the mayor’s generosity and kindness, who refused to earn an honest living despite the relative ease to do so in Montreuil than in most other cities of France. The mayor’s ever-expanding factory accepted all who were honest, willing, and of good character. Not a high requirement, in Javert’s opinion, yet obviously too much to expect from those who delighted in rolling in the muck of depravity and sin.
It was Javert’s self-appointed duty to patrol said gutters on certain nights. He accomplished this task without complaint, his distaste at its inhabitants warring with his satisfaction at causing those very inhabitants to scatter and scamper before his formidable figure. He enjoyed—as much as he permitted himself to enjoy anything—keeping order in the part of town which needed it most.
Tonight was one such night. Everything was proceeding as usual, until his sharp eyes spotted a familiar profile which by all reason and logic should have stayed as far from this place as possible.
Javert really should not have been so astonished to see the mayor in this particular corner of Montreuil-sur-Mer. He ought to be more surprised that he had not encountered the mayor in his patrols before. Yet that did not stop the flare of concern and annoyance he felt at the mayor’s blatant disregard for social norms, and worse, his personal safety.
He approached the mayor before his mind could advise against it.
“Monsieur le Maire, you should not be here.” Only belatedly did he realize that he had given what almost amounted to a command to his superior, and just barely suppressed a wince at the mistake. Before he could apologize, the mayor had already responded.
“And why, pray tell, not, Javert?” He sounded genuinely confused. And not at all surprised to see Javert.
At least it did not appear that he had taken offence, Javert noted with relief.
It was with some effort that he forced his tone to be more respectful. “It is not proper, Monsieur, for a man of your standing to walk amongst such filth. This is no place for one such as you.”
At his words, the mayor turned melancholy, seemingly lost in thought. “I was of their lot, once.”
Javert did not know if he was meant to have heard the whispered words, or if the mayor even meant to have spoken them. He shifted slightly, uncomfortable at this strangely intimate confession. He chose to pretend deafness.
“Begging your pardon, Monsieur le Maire, it would be best if you do not present the scum that dwells here the temptation of your purse.”
His words roused the mayor out of his reverie. The mayor bestowed upon Javert that damnable, charming smile of his.
“My purse is open to whoever has need of it, my friend.”
Javert cursed under his breath. The mayor was more amused than insulted.
Javert could not be blamed for the long-suffering sigh that emerged from his throat. “Monsieur…” He did not know what to say that might possibly cause the mayor to change his mind.
The mayor appeared to take pity on him, but his assent to leave was not unconditional.
“Escort me home, Javert?”
Javert closed his eyes. He could already predict that this would no doubt be followed by a supper invitation that he would be likewise unable to refuse, and perhaps even the offer of the warm, welcoming guest bedroom. It was becoming harder and harder to delude himself that this was not merely the manifestation of the mayor’s accursed charity. Yet in spite of the bitter knowledge, his desire to spend more time with the mayor easily overrode the screeching protests of his pride and dignity both, and it was with the weariness of utter resignation and surrender that he breathed the damning words,
“As you will, Monsieur le Maire.”
His senses filled with the mayor’s enthralling presence, Javert was not conscious of the pair of eyes upon them, which noted and catalogued their every movement.
The owner of the eyes, well-concealed under the shadow of night, smiled.