Work Text:
Javert hated surprises. He liked things neat and scheduled and normal. He liked to know what to expect. And most surprises in his life tended to be things like “Oh, the mayor of this town whom you were excited to meet because of his good reputation is actually a vicious convict” or ambushes by the Patron Minette. Despite life always proving him wrong, he expected life to follow a certain logic and rhythm, ordered and good, and deviations from this order did not please him.
Javert also hated his birthday. For him, any mention of it called to mind two things: the circumstances of his birth and the amount of time he’d spent trying to make up for them with no real, measureable success. (And, he’d mutter if he were in a particularly foul mood, how long it had been since he let Valjean slip through his fingers, since apparently that had happened very shortly after the date of his birthday. Go figure.)
Enjolras was well aware of all these facts, but he was also an optimist. And so, despite Javert grumbling every time Enjolras surprised him with a cup of coffee or brought up his birthday, he had decided that a small surprise for Javert on his birthday was still in order.
Thus, he came up with the plan. He told Javert that the night of his birthday he wouldn’t be able to meet him at the tavern as they often did on Saturday nights when Javert got off early, because he was meeting with his group of “thinkers” (or idiot schoolboy rebels, as Javert called them). Javert nodded and, after his typical comment that Enjolras should stop associating with such lowlife scum (ignoring the fact that Enjolras was their leader, not just an associate), said it was fine. Because he hated his birthday and would instead go home and get some paperwork done.
And Enjolras said, as usual, “Your paperwork is just another chain used to oppress the people.”
“My paperwork is highly important right now. But it’s not for your ears,” Javert said when Enjolras raised his eyebrows. “Go and gab with your idiotic schoolboy rebels. I’m sure your talking will be ever so useful in uplifting the state of the city.”
And that was how the conversation ended. But Enjolras had plans.
On the day of Javert’s birthday he went to a store and bought a very nice watch. He was not so fond of watches himself—time, and strictly ordered schedules, were another way people chained themselves down and restricted themselves. But it would suit Javert, especially with the shiny silver chain that made Enjolras think of handcuffs. It cost a pretty penny, but Enjolras had been saving up. He got it wrapped in brown paper with a plain brown string—Javert didn’t like fancy niceties, and wouldn’t appreciate any sort of ribbon or gift wrapping. Then he went home for a while, and when the sun began to set, he went to Javert’s house and knocked on the door. As he expected, Javert was not home, and as the man had no housekeeper (“the day I can’t keep my own house is the day I’m unworthy of my post”), he was locked out. He sat down on the doorstep to wait.
The evening was chilly. It was not quite winter yet but very near, with frost appearing every morning. It had snowed a week ago, though the snow had fallen light and soon melted. And tonight it seemed it would be a cold one again. Enjolras gathered his coat tight around himself and wished he’d thought to wear his warm cloak. He didn’t wear the thing to student meetings as he thought it best to show his red and black clothes, the symbol of their small revolution, but practically speaking this coat was not very thick.
Javert had said he would be home early, though. So he would not have long to wait.
He fiddled with the string at the ends of the box. He’d bought it on a whim, really—planned all of this on a whim—but when he thought about it, it was a little presumptuous to buy Javert something so expensive. Javert might think Enjolras was implying some sense of superiority. He commented sometimes about Enjolras being from a wealthy family, not really understanding anything about the people. And Enjolras knew he was self conscious of the fact that despite being an inspector he still was not all that well off. Yes, a watch might have been a bit much.
Too late now, though.
A wind danced on the street. It danced over Enjolras’ limbs too, creeping through the seams of his coat and leeching straight through his pants so that the material felt rough against his legs. Maybe he should have worn boots, too, instead of shoes. They would protect more of his legs. He got up and paced. The movement helped, but it also made him more anxious.
It was presumptuous, too, for him to have bought anything for Javert at all. They had only been lovers for the past six months, and even then, lovers was a strong word for it. At first it had only been debating and fucking, then later a little more fondness, but still…Javert probably didn’t consider them to be lovers. He probably considered Enjolras to be simply an odd acquaintance, convenient for sex but still mostly annoying.The only gift Javert had ever given him was paying for coffee or a drink when they met up. And the watch was quite expensive.
The wind had died down now, but still, the air was growing colder. The sun had entirely set, leaving the lamps as the city’s source of light. “And the stars,” Javert would insist if he were there. “The stars and the moon are the most constant lights.”
He had tried, once, to point out constellations to Enjolras on the roof of a tavern. “Orion’s belt,’ he said. “See those three stars? Orion is a hunter, and his bow is forever ready to shoot down his foes.”
But Enjolras was at the end of a long day, and he was not in the mood to discuss Javert’s odd obsessions with stars and mythology. He pulled Javert away from the wall and kissed him, beginning to unbutton his jacket.
Javert said, “Not now, boy.”
Enjolras said, “My desires do not run to your timetable.” He pulled Javert’s coat off and dangled it over the edge of the roof until Javert snatched it away and dropped it safely on the floor.
“I am not in the mood for these games.”
“Then let’s not play, and instead get down to business,” Enjolras said. “You know we are not here to talk about stars, are we?”
He gave Javert a challenging look. Javert met it, and for once instead of angry he looked tired. Looked his age. But he said, “No, I suppose a boy like you would have little interest. Very well, we shall do what interests you instead.”
Enjolras felt a pang of embarrassment for a moment. But then Javert grabbed him and kissed him, even rougher than usual, and he forgot all about it.
That evening was, maybe, a summary of their relationship.
Now, on Javert’s doorstep, he looked up at the stars. He still had no idea where Orion was. But, he told himself, if Javert wanted to talk about something like that tonight, he would be patient. He’d even put up with Javert’s rants about justice and the corruption of the city, for one night. Time enough to prove him wrong in the future.
He sat down on the doorstep, tired of pacing. Leaned against the door, and waited, as the evening grew longer and darker.
“Boy? Boy!”
He was shaken awake by a rough hand on his shoulder. He blinked, and found Javert’s face only an inch away from his own, eyes wild.
“Inspector?” he asked. Six months together, and he still called Javert by his title. When he tried to do otherwise, Javert scowled at him, and while that should not have put him off really (titles, he believed, should not stand between people, who should all be equal), it was hard to think of Javert in informal terms. He was, very much, the inspector.
Javert sighed and straightened. He pulled Enjolras to his feet too. “What are you doing here, boy? Your business must have been urgent, to sit here waiting.” He put a hand on Enjolras’ cheek, frowning. His hand was warm, very warm.
“I came to visit,” Enjolras said.
“You told me you would be busy tonight.”
“I wanted to surprise you.”
“I hate surprises,” Javert said. “How long have you been sitting here, you fool? You’ll make yourself sick.”
“You said you would be home early…”
“I had work,” Javert snapped, “that kept me at the office. You can’t…” He took a deep breath. “We should go inside.”
He unlocked the door and dragged Enjolras in, shutting it and locking it behind him. Despite himself, Enjolras shivered at the sound of the locking. Javert kept a neat house, and the door was always locked, especially when Enjolras came over. It locked with a key on both sides, and it always made Enjolras shiver to know that Javert controlled whether he came or went.
So he shivered. But then he kept on shivering, and realized that he might, perhaps, have started sooner than he thought too.
“You need a thicker coat,” Javert said. He lit the lamp on his dining room table, and the room became a bit cozier. It was still cold. Javert went to the fireplace and began arranging logs.
“I did not expect to be kept waiting.”
“I don’t come and go to please you. And I had no reason to expect you would be waiting.”
“Well, you said you would be home early, and generally you’re a person who can be taken at his word.”
Javert lit the fire and glared at Enjolras. He pulled Enjolras into a seat near the fire and shoved his own thick coat at Enjolras’ chest. “I won’t have it said it’s my fault when you die of hypothermia, because the real cause, no matter when you die, will be your own idiocy.”
Enjolras flushed. Javert noticed, and added, “At least you’re looking a bit less white. Maybe you won’t die after all. Stay here.”
He disappeared and reappeared with a piece of bread, which he gave Enjolras. Then he disappeared again and returned with a bottle of wine and two cups. He poured the wine out and offered Enjolras a glass. “You’ll need warmth in your blood faster than you’re getting it. Drink it down.”
Enjolras drank, and sighed. He had imagined he would drink with Javert tonight, but not exactly like this.
Javert crossed his arms. “Now, what was so important that you had to see me tonight instead of going to your damn student meeting?”
“It’s your birthday. I was trying to be nice.”
“I hate my birthday and you know it. What is this, some sort of joke?”
Enjolras held out the parcel. “Here, I brought you a gift. You might try to be appreciative.”
Javert raised his eyebrows. But he opened the present, and examined the watch for a long minute. “This is…”
“Bought secondhand,” Enjolras lied, “I saw it in a pawnshop and thought of you.”
Javert gave him a long look. He was known to be very good at sensing dishonesty. But Enjolras only smirked and added, “Because of your stupid obsession with punctuality.”
“Punctuality is an important quality in a man of good moral character,” Javert retorted. He ran his fingers lightly over the watch’s chain, evaluating, delicate. “Well, it was not a bad choice. But standing outside my house in the freezing cold certainly was. Your idiocy will be the death of you, and quite likely my death as well.”
“I’m insulted. Give me the watch back.”
Javert stuck it in his pocket. “You gave it to me as a present and so it is now my legal property and you have no right to demand it.”
Enjolras tried to scowl as if serious, but instead he laughed. It came out maybe a little too high and exhausted, and Javert looked at him worriedly. He waved a hand. “It’s late, my friend.”
“So it is,” Javert said. He sat down on a chair across the room. “Well, your intentions were good even if your follow-through was idiotic. Warm up, and get some rest. You’ll stay here tonight.”
“What?” Enjolras had never been allowed to stay the night before.
“I’m not letting a sick man walk halfway across the city in the dark in a bright red coat, a ripe target for every thief and murderer in every back alley. You’ll sleep with me.” Javert nodded. “My paperwork was done at the office, so I see no impediment to it.”
Enjolras’ instinct was to argue against Javert, but he was tired, and he’d promised himself not to argue with Javert on his birthday. So he relaxed in the chair as best he could (it was hard wood, not very relaxing), pulled Javert’s coat around him, and said, “Very well. I’ll stay.”
Javert smiled, and his smile was perhaps a tinge less wolfish than usual. Though it still retained a little of its predatory nature. He stalked over to Enjolras’ side and tilted his head up, but only kissed him briefly on the forehead. “Good boy.”
And while Enjolras wanted to feel insulted by such a condescending compliment, he could feel his mouth smiling back.