Chapter Text
April 4, 1817
The day had barely just begun, and the commissioner of police had informed inspector Javert of another escaped prisoner.
"Corbin Javert has escaped from a mental hospital. A criminal and an alcoholic who has succumbed to insanity. He escaped at about 3:00 am and has been at large for hours," the commissioner told inspector Javert.
"Do you know where M. Javert was last sighted, or what he looks like?" Javert asked of the criminal in question who happened to share his surname.
"He's in his early 60's. Unusually tall, blond. And he just has that crazy look in his eyes. Some guards at the mental hospital call him 'keyhole Corbin' because his eyes are so distinctive that you could recognize him through the keyhole of an asylum door."
"I'd take it he's hard to miss," said Javert.
"Monsieur Javert is definitely hard to miss, but I haven't a clue where he would go. I'll send you and one of your colleagues to try and find him," the commissioner said.
~~
About 45 minutes later, Javert found an unstable-looking old man in an abandoned furniture store lighting an ottoman on fire, his graying blond hair getting dangerously close to the flames. He saw the man turn around and stare at him in shock with vivid blue eyes, which were just like his own. That had to be the "keyhole Corbin" that the guards at the asylum were talking about. Upon seeing the police officer, Corbin slowly got up and walked towards Javert with his hands visible. He was essentially turning himself in.
"You got me now, René," he said.
The fact that the man called him by his first name caught Javert's attention. Nevertheless, Javert handcuffed him and took him to a fiacre where his colleague was situated. Surely that would make for an awkward carriage ride.
~~
"I must say, you got him rather quickly, Javert," the inspector's colleague said to him. At the name "Javert", the convict of the same name grew more tense as he was being escorted into the fiacre.
"Where are we going, René?" Corbin asked Javert. Corbin had only said his first name twice and it was already annoying to the inspector.
"We have not decided whether you will spend your time in prison or an asylum, so we are taking you to the police station for the time being. Although if it were my decision, you would go straight to jail, monsieur."
"Quit acting like you don't know who I am!" Corbin snapped. "At least I recognize you. Javert ain't a common name, y'know. And you look just like Jenya."
That was a name that Javert hadn't heard in a long time: his mother's. Javert did have thick eyebrows, a prominent nose, and long dark hair like his mother, who was a bohemian who traveled to France from Transylvania. But the fact that the man knew his mother's name raised even more suspicions. Clearly no one from France was named Jenya. Javert knew what the most probable explanation for that was, but he didn't want to think about it.
"Do you know where Jenya is?" Corbin asked after along time of silence.
"No, I do not," Javert replied. "I do not know where she is, or whether she is dead or alive."
"Can't you go and figure that out, René?"
"No, I'm a police officer, not an investigator."
"Isn't it ironic? I never would have thought one of us would end up a police officer," Corbin said with some spite in his voice.
"What do you mean 'one of us'?" the younger Javert said.
"René, I am your father." He said it.
"I know that," said the inspector. "That won't stop me from arresting you."
It somewhat reminded him of a convict from two years ago named Jean Valjean, who told him his entire backstory as if that would make a difference. Javert had a troubling backstory too, but he turned out okay, so clearly no one should use that as an excuse.
"That's okay," Corbin said calmly. "I am not trying to get your sympathy. Jail is a place where I belong. There are a lot of things wrong with me. I see things that are not there. I'm illiterate. I cannot have a job, so I must steal."
"I'm sorry for how much of a disappointment I am," he said, in tears. "Me and Jenya failed to be good parents. I really am sorry, René."
"You may know me as Javert," the inspector said, completely tired of being called René by his estranged father, albeit slightly resentful that he shared a surname with a criminal. Javert dropped his father off at the police station and left without saying a word.