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Chapter Text

   Humans rule the country of France. Everyone knows the stories of vampires and their reputation in society: Merciless killers who suck you bone dry just to live a little while longer. Some still do not believe their existence, many declare them monsters of the underworld that have no chance in surviving in the regular world, and ought to be jailed at any opportunity.

   Many vampires kill their prey, very few decide to spread their curse. Woe is the poor man who is bitten, and yet not granted the peaceful mercy of death! Instead, he is cursed to hide from the sun and never look at himself in the mirror again. Woe is he, woe is he.

   Prison is unjust all on its own. Those once men are treated like beasts, and thus become so. Vampires are treated worse. They are caught and chained, some even put in the sunlight for far too long just for the guards to have a laugh.

   But even so, there are regular men, those who are wrongly accused and punished, that are put in prison for a long while. Too long.

   Regular men who wanted a chance to protect their families. Who wanted to make sure that they were fed and kept warm during the harsh, merciless winters.

   Jean Valjean was once a part of those regular men, desperate to get a morsel of bread to save his sister’s children, just so that they would be able to live another day.

   He was unsuccessful, of course. Perhaps if he had begged the store owner, he would’ve been able to get that bread, instead of ending up in Toulon, where men become beasts.

   Jean-le-Cric , they called him. Known for strength like no other. By his third year there, he’s learned to keep his head down and not defy the guards when they ask something from him. He knew his place.

   And yet, it does not stop him from trying to escape.

   He cannot explain why he did it. Perhaps he thought he could still reach the children after all the time that had passed. Either way, he didn’t even make it to the walls before he was caught.

   The punishment was deserved, he knows.

   A few months in solitary, followed by regular whipping and whatever else the guards feel like doing to him that day. It is painful, but Jean Valjean does not regret a single bit of it.

   Seven years added to his sentence. Nine to go.

   By the fifth, he tries again. He does not care for the children this time, the children that he no longer knows the names of after so many years of labor and pain. Jean Valjean cannot even remember his own birthday anymore.

   He’s planned this out ahead of time. He knows the entrances, the exits- the rooms, the cracks that the guards always fail to check.

   Well, all guards except for one.

   There are men, and there are vampires. Those are the two species that hold France, the sacred country, in both hands and claws alike. And yet, there is another creature, one that falls in between the cracks not unlike the very ones at Toulon.

   Not a vampire, not a human. What are they? In a way, society hates them more than the full, devilish vampires that haunt the underworld, if only because it looks as though they cannot pick a side to live on. They do not need blood, and yet they crave it all the same. The sunlight burns, but it is not so horrible that it will kill them. They are miserable, living in the limbo of the two halves, toeing the line between mortal and immortal.

   There are many cruel guards at Toulon, those who punish prisoners just for the fun of it. They gawk at the men and kick them down like dogs just to get a reaction out of them. Then, when the prisoners rebel, that is the time to take out the whip. Then, the prisoners are truly sorry. They beg for mercy, curl in on themselves and weep the tears of a thousand men.

   And yet, despite these unfair and cruel guards, there are few that look past their own feelings and personal amusement to instead follow the guide of the law. They are not unjust. They never exceed punishment past what is necessary. They are, in many ways, the law personified.

   The species we have spoken about, those that are seen neither as monster nor man, are not found commonly. The gutter, mostly. Prisons, too. And yet, who would have guessed to find one in prison, and yet not be the one being bars?

   There is one guard that never fails to check in-between the cracks of Toulon, and his name is Javert. No more, no less.

   Why does it matter who this guard may be? To Jean Valjean, he is the same as any guard in France. He is a threat, a nuisance.

   Javert is from the gutter. He is of the species we speak about, and is therefore hated by many. Well, it is not as though there is much proof of him being a part of them. Perhaps people think this because of his unusually pale skin, or maybe because the shadow that is always cast over his eyes, or the hat that he always wears and has never taken off unless in the dead of night.

   When Jean Valjean tries to escape for the second time through the cracks of Toulon, he cannot go unnoticed. Javert is the one that sounds the alarm.

   And yet, Jean Valjean runs as fast as he can. Once he passes the walls, he finds himself at a crossroads. Jump into the water, which could prove deadly if gone wrong, or surrender to the guards.

   He doesn’t hesitate as he dives in.

   Valjean has always been a strong swimmer, it is one of the upsides to his tremendous physical strength. He cannot hear anything as he swims deeper, faster- he is free. He has succeeded.

   He thinks that nobody has seen him flee, that the guards must believe him having gone into the woods, which is in the opposite direction and perfect for Valjean to escape and start anew.

   And yet, as he comes up for a moment to breathe in a deep breath, he cannot help but feel as though there are eyes on his back, watching him with silent, keen observation.

   Javert checks the cracks of Toulon. He watches as Valjean jumps the wall. He is there, beneath the tall grass, when the man jumps into the water and begins to swim away.

   When he rejoins the guards, they ask him why he did not swim after the man and pull him back.

   “We would have both drowned,” Javert growls, baring his teeth. They are sharp, almost unusually so. Another tally to add to the list of peculiarities.

-

   By the time Jean Valjean reaches the shore, the sun is set, and the sky is darkening. He cannot see much in front of him, but he continues on anyway. It is quiet, peaceful for the first time in years, and he breathes in deeply. It smells of salt, but it has never felt so good to fill his lungs.

   He continues on for perhaps another hour before finally making it to a small town. It looks deserted, but the lanterns are lit alongside the road, so there must be occupants.

   Valjean is not yet out of the woods when he hears a sound behind him. The rustling of a bush. Likely an animal. It cannot be the wind- the trees are too still. He does not turn around, but uneasiness still grips at him. It is all the years at Toulon that make him stiffen at every sound, afraid that guards will be there to punish them.

   He hears it again, closer, and he realizes that that is may not be an animal at all. Animals do not follow you unless they are predators, and there are no wolves in this part of France.

   So what must it be? He stops and turns around, bracing himself with his fists up for any sign of danger.

   It is still again. Nothing can be heard except the slight chirp of a cricket.

   Valjean is as stiff as stone with how uneasy he is, and carefully lowers his fists when he realizes it may have just been an animal after all.

   And then, just as he is turning away to continue his journey, something lunges out at him.

   The claws that grip his arms and shoulder are sharp, painful as they dig deep into his flesh. He roars out and thrashes around, hoping to get the beast off of him.

   But its grip is too strong, and he can hear the heavy breathing, feel the two strong legs that straddle him and lock him in place, and he realizes too late that he may be face to face with a murderer. Even Valjean’s immense strength cannot pull the man off. He is iron against his body. But that does not stop him from trying anyway.

   He lets out a cry as two sharp fangs suddenly pierce his throat. Ah, so it is not the murderer you may find in a small town such as this, it is a vampire. Valjean struggles as he feels the blood begin to seep, thrashing around as much as possible to try and get away.

   For a moment, he succeeds in tearing the vampire off of him, and that is when he makes a run for it. He feels blood continuing to fall, and he is becoming increasingly lightheaded, but he continues all the same. The town is so close- if he can just call for help-

   But his breath is stuck in his throat as the vampire lunges at him from behind, knocking them both down onto the ground in a beastly manner. This is not a brawl, this is a fight for his life, and Jean Valjean will not lose.

   They struggle for another few minutes, until Valjean has lost far too much blood and is beginning to black out. He is still thrashing around as much as he can, but there is not much fight left in him. He feels odd, his fingertips are vibrating and pulsing with the quick beat of his heart, and he feels as the vampire takes his opportunity to continue sucking at the wound he has created.

   He has fought so hard in Toulon, swam for hours, all to be killed minutes away from a village where he could have started anew? God is unfair, he thinks.

   The last thing he sees is the moon, shining up above him, before he passes out and submits himself to the terror that is the vampire.

-

   When a search party is sent out to look for Jean Valjean, Javert is the one leading the band of guards. He keeps his hat low so that it may shield his eyes from the restless sun that beats down upon them. Even in this baking weather, his gloves are upon his hands, gripping his pistol tightly.

   You must be burning, another guard once said to him as they stood watch in Toulon as the prisoners worked their labor.

   I am perfectly well, Javert had assured briskly before quickly tuning out any other words said by the man.

   He leads this band of guards because he was the one able to smell the blood. It had sent goosebumps racing up his arms, his tongue watering. As we have said before, the foul race that he belongs to does not require blood to live, but lusts for it all the same. It is the curse that they must live with.

   When he had first caught wind of it, Javert had grasped the silver rosary around his neck so tightly he almost fainted. Damn his primal urges! If he could not control himself, he was no better than the scum that birthed him.

   As they make their way out into the woods on their horses, scanning through every bush and tree for any sign of the escaped convict, Javert tips his head back, taking a deep breath. The rosary sickens him, the silver of it making him constantly nauseous and aching. He is grateful for it, though, because it allows him to behave more like a human than his strong will would ever push him.

   Most guards have figured out that Javert is likely part vampire. The appearance and behavior is more than enough to give it away, and yet nobody has said anything about it. Not to his face, anyway. They gossip behind his back, of who his parents must’ve been, of what he does when he leaves the barracks in the dead of night. They are pointless rumors given by the clueless.

   He smells the blood, closer this time. He follows it like a hound, not bothering to tell the others. The site must near. Perhaps it will give clues to where the convict had gone, who he has killed. Javert does not know what the man had gotten in Toulon for, but he knows well that nothing can come good from these type of beasts.

   When the smell is so pungently near, Javert cannot help taking hold of his rosary again. They are near a small village- The devil must’ve killed a helpless man who had been returning from a day of work. Javert calls to his men as he moves a bit into the woods, farther away from the town.

   When he finds the crime scene, he thinks he will throw up right then and there.

   It is a bloody mess. Literally. Blood is smeared along the ground and plants, pooling beside a tree where it lays, splattered, practically shining as the sun beats against it. Atop a patch of green grass is a ripped and ragged cloth of red with the unmistakable tag of Toulon.

   It is a disgusting sight that sends more than one guard turning and heaving into a nearby bush. They have all seen their fair share of blood in Toulon, yes, but there is something about this scene that is so off-putting that makes them unable to handle it. Perhaps it is the idea that a convict has escaped purely for the purpose to kill the innocent, and that this is the result.

   Javert pulls his hat lowered upon his eyes, muttering out a curse. His horse huffs and stamps its hoof against the soil. Javert runs a hand along its neck to calm it.

   “He was here,” an officer says, nauseous at the sight of the blood. Javert stands tall, unfazed. “Must’ve murdered a poor guy last night.”

   “Escape and murder of a citizen,” Javert mutters to himself. “The bastard must be long gone by now.”

   “Then where’s the body supposed to be?”

   The men look around briskly, almost afraid to touch anything within fifty feet of the blood stains. Javert sighs and crosses his arms over his chest.

   “He must have dumped it someplace, or eaten it.”

   “Eaten it? Like hell! He wasn’t a cannibal,” a guard retorts. Javert glares at him, eyes practically glowing underneath the casted shadow.

   “Desperate times call for desperate measures.” He says back calmly before looking back at the bloody area. “Well, there is nothing for us here. Tell the others to return to the prison. We will notify nearby towns to be on the lookout for our convict.”

   As the guards move along on their horses, calling distantly to the other parties, Javert stays behind, once again scanning through the bloody scene. It is tempting- it always is- but he does not so much as touch a blood-smeared blade of grass before throwing his legs over his horse.

   His father could have been a murderer. He likely was if he was a vampire. Javert remembers his mother, her skin tan and teeth dull. She was not a vampire.

   Therefore, the only explanation for his nature is that his father must have been a vampire. Javert is glad to never have met him- any vampire he has ever met has only proven him right about their foul nature. They are truly beasts. Uncaring for those they kill, some even smiling at the corpses they had sucked dry without a drop of remorse.

   Any meeting with a vampire only strengthens his wish to be nothing like them. Javert strives on human food, he has never once tried blood intentionally (Save for his own), and he never plans to. He will do everything in his power to make sure that he stays in control of himself.

   When he makes it back to Toulon, he sends out a report to all police stations in nearby towns to be on the look out for prisoner 24601.

   The man will be caught, and that is something Javert swears on with his own life.

Chapter Text

   Javert is a dedicated man. He does his job, and he does it well. He rises through the ranks of Toulon quickly, and soon, eight years later, he realizes that not all convicts can be caught.

   Eight years. He has asked all across France about anyone that may have seen Jean Valjean, and was met with a dead end each and every time.

   Javert realizes now that- and it is the only scenario that makes any sense at this point- that the blood he found must not be that of a victim, but of the convict himself. He must have been killed. And yet at the same time that makes no sense because a convict as strong as Jean-le-Cric cannot have been killed by a simple workman-

   He has obsessed over it for too long. A year ago, thanks to his patron Monsieur Chabouillet, Javert had left the gutters of Toulon and became an inspector.

   You deserve it, Chabouillet had said with a smile. Javert returned it, flashing his terribly sharp teeth. The pride he felt was immense, unmatched- he would finally leave the gutters he was born from and never look back.

   He has grown his hair out now. It is dark, long past his shoulders. Now that he has left Toulon, he has his own attire:

   He wears an old, ragged pork pie hat, its brim wide and chipped at the edges. Upon his frame is a Inverness cape coat, his collar held high and strapped together by a leather belt. Beneath that, his silver rosary, that he has had since he was a child. A plain dress shirt and waistcoat beneath, along with solid leather gloves that never leave his hands. At his waist, a belt that holds the basic necessities to ward off vampires.

   It is not the look of an inspector, no, but he has never been known for his regularity. He does not take most regular cases of theft and violence- no, most of the cases he takes surround vampires. Therefore, he cannot don the usual greatcoat and top hat- he must be agile, free in his movements to fight and sprint.

   With all the time that has passed, and all the new cases given to him, he has had little time to think about Jean Valjean, the escaped convict whose disappearance makes little to no sense given the context.

   Javert is to be stationed at a small town called Montreuil-sur-Mer. It is a poor town- or at least was, until recently- on the opposite side of France from Toulon. A new mayor has helped the town get back on its feet, turning it from a place of poverty to riches. It catches Javert’s eye, and he is glad to be stationed there.

   When he arrives, he is noticed for his past speciality in vampire cases, and is informed about the specific wing of the police station solely destined to apprehend them.

   Javert’s head cocks to the side, looking at the officer with surprise. His mouth twitches oddly into a half grin, showing the slightest glimmer of his fangs.

   “A separate department dedicated to vampire hunting? And why is that so?” He asks calmly, slightly adjusting the hat that rests on his head. The officer shifts uncomfortably underneath his gaze, but straightens his back and continues.

   “There have been too many incidents involving vampires around here in Montreuil, Inspector,” he explains, his voice tight. Javert can practically smell his fear. “They seem to be attracted to the town, but we do not know why. There seems to be a great deal around here, and so we had designed that department a few years back. It has been a tremendous improvement.”

   Javert nods, fiddling with a stray chain at his belt. “I see. I believe you are aware from my papers that I specialize in vampire attacks,” he informs. The officer nods and turns to grab said papers.

   “Yes, I saw that! It would be quite helpful for us,” he says, eyes flickering between the folder and Javert. “And I see that you are dressed for it, too.”

   Javert gives a thin, sarcastic smile, and tips his hat. “Is there anything else I need to know, Monsieur?” He asks while fixing the position of his gloves. The man shakes his head, and Javert bows a farewell before taking his leave to his new apartment.

   The town is not bad. It is bigger than the villages he has been in before, and the streets are filled with people of all occupations.

   The midday sun is beating down the streets, and Javert pulls his hat down further. The sun does not burn him as it would a vampire, but it feels odd against his skin, like something that is very clearly not supposed to be there. It makes him itch and thrash, and he would much rather hide beneath the shade of hat if it meant that he could better function.

   He has been at Montreuil-sur-Mer for a little less than a week now, still getting settled into his new apartment and the police station. Those he has spoken with have all been uncomfortable in the proximity of his gaze, feeling as though there are a dozen eyes on them instead of just two.

   Yes, Javert is now an inspector. He is proud of himself for rising above Toulon and making his patron proud. But it is not as though the past can be so easily erased- in every case he must deal with blood, and every time it teases his instincts, tempts and dares him to lose his control. The rosary he wears has never been tighter around his neck.

   Because he has not been here long, he has not had the opportunity to meet the new mayor. Javert is quite eager to meet the man who seemingly brought Montreuil back to a proud and prosperous town, if only because he wants to prove to him as well that he is stronger than he seems.

   We talk of Javert and his eight years, but there is another part of the story we are missing. What had happened to Jean Valjean after that terrifying night of his escape? What of the vampire?

   We can say that Jean Valjean is not dead. Quite the contrary- he is more alive than any man in France! Except, that is a comparison that we cannot use any longer.

   He is no longer a mortal man. What happened to him after the attack?

   We have said before that there are few vampires  who, rather than kill off their prey, instead choose to spread their curse. The number is small but mighty all the same.

   Woe is Jean Valjean, a man wrongly accused who wanted nothing more than to be free and start anew. Now he is cursed, forced to transform into the beast that so many men of France despise.

   He was left in the very spot he was caught in, left to bleed out once the vampire had finished his meal. When Valjean awoke, still before daybreak, he underwent an agonizing transformation. It felt horrible: His once regular canine teeth stretched out, proving to be more sharp than the blade of a knife. His senses heightened all at once, all of a sudden he was able to hear the rushing of the water a few miles back, the chirp of crickets and whispers of wind above him. Everything was much too loud, and he could smell the blood surrounding him- his own and the vampires, but he could not figure that out- and he felt something in him thirsting for it, clawing at it with all its might.

   Once Valjean got himself under control, the sun was barely peeking over the edge of the horizon. Still in agony and suffering, he had run into the woods, able to hear and feel everything much more enhanced than he ever would have if he had remained a human.

   For two months he fell into a state of desperation. He tried to eat the food he was used to; It tasted horrible in his mouth and he could not help but spit it out. He had stolen a coat and hat so that he would not burn under the everlasting gaze of the sun. Only at night, he ventured out through the streets of whatever village he was currently staying in so that he may find a source of blood for him to feed upon. By the first month, after not having fed single time since his transformation, he went to the field of a farm and killed a horse.

   The taste of blood was not what he expected it to be. Yes, he had tasted it before, on accident when he bit  the inside of his cheek or had a split lip, but to taste it properly in this new form… It tasted, somehow, bitter and sweet simultaneously, repulsive but refreshing, shameful but relieving. Valjean’s strength returned to him, and he was able to move faster, quicker than he would have ever been able to if he had remained a human.

   We do not repeat these words to show that being a vampire is better than staying a human. What Jean Valjean had gone through was something that happens to very few, but is punishment greater than anything that the judicial system of France would be able to enforce. To be forced into immortality and feed on living creatures rather than the wheat of the Earth is much, much worse than the lash of Toulon.

   He had no knowledge of how to control himself and the immense strength he has gained since his transformation. A brawl with a group of drunkards had shown Valjean that he could easily pick up the weight of five men, all with almost just one hand. His strength frightened him, and he wished he never left the claws of Toulon. He would have remained a slave, but at least he would have remained human.

   He was afraid to ask anyone for work, for surely they would see through his disguise and declare he be killed in front of the entire town! Valjean had fallen into a life of theft, unable and unsure how to pick himself up. He wandered only at night, ate only once a month so that he would stay weakened enough to resemble a human, and stole from the shadows when he needed a cover from the sun. His claws were sharp and cut through fabric with astounding easiness.

   It was not until one frigid night in a small village that he had had enough. He knocked on the door of every inn in the town to ask and plead for a room, just for the night. They saw his pale face and hollow cheeks and immediately turned their back to him.

   Turned down by everyone, Valjean had no other choice but to simply sleep upon the streets. The coat he had stolen was not thick enough to be deemed comfortable, and he thought that he very well might die that night.

   But there is the unexpected mercy that we find in so little people in our lives, one that acts as a beacon of light in our hours of need. Those who go out of their way just to help, and end up saving a life without even realizing it.

   Passing through those streets was a bishop. He had just come from giving alms when he caught sight of the sorry man curled up on the walls of his church, visibly trembling from the cold. coat spread over his broad back and head.

   It should be noted that Valjean, entirely unfamiliar with his newfound nature, did not realize that the frigid weather would not kill him. He thought himself still human and vulnerable to the extreme temperatures of France, unaware that vampires could in fact not be affected by them at all.

   Nonetheless, he felt cold all over his body, and it was not until being invited into the warm building by the bishop that he realized there was no true effect. The mind plays tricks on us when it is exhausted and pained.

   The bishop smiled at him and took him by the hand to guide him inside. Valjean was confused, he meant to protest, but the thought of a bed to sleep in after these two months was an opportunity he did not want to waste. He voiced his thanks, multiple times.

   “Have you any want of food? You must be starving,” the Bishop had asked with another smile, the crows-feet at his eyes creasing with the movement. Valjean stared at him, dumbfounded. How can it be that the man does not see the vampire before him? Ashamed, Valjean shook his head and instead asked for a bed.

   “Of course. Come this way,” the Bishop guided him to a small room with a sturdy, one-person bed on the far wall, and said his farewells before leaving Valjean to himself. The vampire could scarcely believe it. He, a beast, given the chance to sleep in a bed for the first time in nearly a decade.

   But for all his amazement, Valjean could not sleep. He was plagued with the thoughts of shame and hatred, not only at himself but the cruel world that has turned its back on him and refused him a chance to live. Well, perhaps it was to be expected.

  Something within Valjean broke as he suddenly jumped out of the room. The church was quiet and peaceful, but it did not stop the vampire from tearing open the cabinet door that hid he silverware.

   He had seen it when he first arrived, the way it glittered across his eyes, tempting him to take them. He would sell them. By God, he needed the money, Bishop be damned! In a silent frenzy, he reached for them. The initial touch was the spark of the flame, searing his hand like he had instead touched smelted iron instead of a silver plate. It must be his shame. Yes, the shame he felt of his life and choices had morphed into something he felt physically, even if it was not true. It was silver, nothing else. Valjean grabbed them again, daring to wince in silence at the blinding pain as he stuffed them into a stray, empty bag.

   Once gathered, he jumped out of the window and ran.

   He did not run far, for the unforgiving grasp of police officers were inescapable and painfully firm upon his arms. He was all but dragged back to the church, where the Bishop was watching with sad eyes. When the guards dropped him onto his knees, the Bishop then excused them and, instead of cursing him to Hell, gave Valjean a silver rosary, he smiled once more. It burned in his palm just as it had with the silverware.

   Valjean couldn’t understand what was happening within his chest. He could not breathe, and he could hear the blood rushing in his ears like a river. He looked down at the silver rosary in his palm, focusing on the way it stung his pale skin. When he looked back up at the Bishop, the man took his hands in his.

   “You are a vampire, yes?” He had asked calmly, patiently waiting for Valjean to reply. The vampire stared at him, then at their clasped hands. He could feel the rosary pulsing between them, steady and botherful. He nodded.

   The Bishop hummed in understanding before scanning over Valjean again. His gaze was calm, but too overwhelming. Valjean had dipped his head in shame, shaking with tears.

   “Silver is harmful to you,” The Bishop started. If he had stated it as a question, not even Valjean himself could have answered. The vampire now understood why it had hurt so much. So it was not only his shame, but his cursed nature too. The bishop continued, “Why do you steal it if you do not care for it?” Now, a question was asked, and Valjean could not respond. After a minute, the Bishop clicked his tongue and squeezed their hands together before opening Valjean’s palm to show the rosary.

   “Take this rosary, as well as these two candlesticks,” he had said. “and learn to control your nature. You are God’s creature, and I buy your soul with this chance. Fall not to the evil of your nature, but instead rise above it. You are free.”

   And with that, he took a step back from Valjean and motioned with his hands for the vampire to leave. Valjean stared, his mouth agap. If tears could fall, his face would be drowned in them, for never in his life would he have expected to be forgiven by a Bishop for stealing his silver.

   From there, he left the church reborn. He travelled France until he got to the town of Montreuil-sur-Mer, where he set up as a merchant. He took a new name, Jean Madeleine, and never showed his nature. He feeds only once a month, on cattle, so that he may remain weak and in control. He cut the tips his elongated ears with a blade, along with his hair and beard so that he is not noticed by the police (Though surely, they have presumed him dead already) and always keeps a hat upon his head and coat around his shoulders, even in the scalding heat of summer.

   He looks almost human, save for his hollow cheeks and pale skin. He never smiles with his teeth, and he lowers his head when he speaks. It is a perfect illusion, and he is able to start a new life.

   He earns money from his merchant stand, climbing the ranks of Montreuil until he is a known regular, and is one day asked to be mayor.

   Eight years later, he sits in the office of his factory, hair stark white and coat a thick kind of wool that allows no sun or snow to surpass it.

   He has not yet met with the new inspector of Montreuil-sur-Mer that has arrived only a week ago.

-

   When Javert arrives at the police station on Thursday, he is met by the same officer that introduced him. The young man is out of breath, having just run across the street to get to him. When Javert sees him, he breaks into a lopsided grin, his sharp teeth enlisting terror into the officer’s bones.

   “Inspector,” he starts, taking a step back from Javert. “I was told to ask. Have you met with the mayor yet?”

   Javert frowns, his smile vanishing faster than it arrived. “No.”

   “Oh! Damn, how could we have gone without that?” The man curses to himself. “Uh- come with me, inspector. I’ll lead you to his office so that you may get acquainted with him. He was wondering when he would be able to meet you!”

   “I see,” Javert hums. He does not care who this mayor is, or why he seems so determined to meet Javert. He is here to do his job, no matter who is in charge.

   As they continue walking, Javert realizes that the road is familiar. The idea that the factory is their destination is increasingly growing, and Javert sneers.

   “You do not mean to say his office is… inside the factory?” He snarls, his pale face contorting as he bares his teeth in confusion. The officer nods.

   “Yes. He owns the factory. Surely you’ve read of it, inspector?” He asks as they continue to walk. Javert lowers the brim of his hat as the sun peeks from the clouds and mumbles something to himself.

   “Hmm. Yes, I suppose I have.” He says with a sigh. When they reach the factory, the officer guides him through the halls and stairs until they reach a hall with a heavy wooden door leading into the office. At the front they are greeted by a short, heavyset woman. She smiles at them and excuses herself into the office, likely to announce their visit.

   Javert hears a deep voice on the other side of the wall. He runs his tongue over his sharp canines, taking a deep breath. The rosary around his neck makes him feel constantly lightheaded, as though the room is swaying before his eyes. He has gotten used to it of course, so that he may be able to suppress the vampire urges that threaten to rise.

   When the woman returns, she gestures for them to come inside. Javert allows the officer to lead the way.

   When he sets eyes upon the mayor, it is like lightning splitting the sky and thunder cracking the peaceful air.

   We have all had the sense of deja vu when it comes. Like the part of a book you have read before, or of a show that copies another. It is uncanny, at times, how similar the events are. For Javert to see the face of the mayor, with his curly hair and hollow cheeks, sparks something terrible within him, as deja vu is wont to do. He knows that face, he thinks. He’s seen it before.

   It is a face of a convict.

   He must have been staring, for the officer beside him taps his shoulder and asks if he is alright. Javert snaps out of his reverie.

   “Officer Lambert,” the mayor greets with a thin smile, his lips pressed together. He then turns to Javert. “And this must be the newcomer!” He says cheerfully. Javert immediately dropping his hat into his hand so that he may bow in greeting, holding it for a moment before rising, keeping his back perfectly straight. He drops the hat back onto his head and puts his hands behind his back.

   “Monsieur le Maire,” he says a bit forcefully. “It is a privilege to finally meet you.”

   The mayor smiles again. The officer beside Javert decides to speak up, stepping forward.

   “Monsieur Madeleine, this is Inspector Javert. He will be the one to give weekly reports, starting next week.” Lambert explains. Madeleine listens with interest, running a hand over his beard subconsciously. He does not look towards Javert, and yet, the inspector cannot help but stare at him, looking over his features as Lambert continues to speak.

   It is clear that he is not a normal man. His skin is pale, his cheeks vacant as they would be on a malnourished slave. His eyes are dull and sparkling all at once, their color an unusual shade of green. A look at the rest of his head tells Javert that the tips of his ears- both of them!- have been jaggedly cut off, while his hair is overgrown on the sides and curls around his face.

   Javert’s own ears are slightly elongated, since his born nature had demanded it of him, and it makes something in him ask the question: Who is this mayor?

   His appearance is enough to spark questions, but the fact that Javert so very well knows that face makes the hair on the back of his neck rise, sending a shudder all throughout his body.

   “I look forward to working with you, Inspector,” the mayor says, rising from his chair to hold out his hand. Javert glares at it before taking it in his own gloved claws, holding it firmly. His face breaks out into a twisted smile. He does not miss the way the mayor’s eyes widen at the sight of his sharp teeth.

   “And I you, Monsieur le Maire. Thank you,” Javert says with another bow, before exiting the room. Lambert follows him and leads him back to the station.

   Javert fiddles with the silver rosary upon his chest as he settles into his bed for the night. He has not stopped thinking of the face of Madeleine; He knows that man, he knows him very well.

   Usually, deja vu is a feeling that lasts for a few moments before disappearing once more. But he has been feeling suspicious for the past few hours, so very certain that the mayor is in fact not a mayor at all.

   It is not only the idea that he is a convict in disguise, but given the other hints, Javert thinks that he may very well be a vampire as well. No one cannot be that pale with chopped ears and not be a suspect.

   Javert decides as he falls asleep that night that he will not give up so easily. Jean Valjean may be presumed dead, but that will not stop him from finding out everything he can about this mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer.

Chapter Text

   Many of us are familiar with the aspects of gossip and spying. To ask seemingly innocent questions and store every bit of information in the back of your mind so that you may use it to your own advantage whenever the time comes.

   When gossip circulates around us, we cannot help but hear it. So Monsieur Deniau has had an affair without his wife knowing? Or that Madame Leon has supposedly quit her job because it is said that she is marrying rich? Pointless gossip, all of it, but it circulates nonetheless. Those who hear it cannot help it getting stored in their minds. It is human nature to speak to one another, of course.

   But as said before, asking the right questions can get you the right answers. Two months, Javert has been stationed at Montreuil-sur-Mer. It has proven busy work for him, for Lambert was right when he said that the town attracts vampire attacks. He thrives in the work, quickly earning a name amongst the thieves and underdogs of the town.

   Why do we discuss the likes of gossip? What has it to do with Javert’s time in Montreuil? You will remember that our inspector has pledged to find out all there is about Monsieur Madeleine, through gossip or otherwise.

   He is not surprised to learn that the mayor is entirely misanthropic; He spends little to no time outside, they say, unless it is cloudy or the dead of night.

   Hasn’t got a mistress, a woman had said as Javert was passing through patrol one day. He hears more, like how the mayor has never given a real, open smile, and how his cheeks are awfully empty for a man of such stature. He is the mayor, after all: If there was anyone in the town to have enough to eat, would it not be him?

   This is what Javert has learned from the gossip of the town. The women here are awfully talkative, and it both helps and irritates the inspector. He has taken time to get to know the mayor on a one-to-one basis as well.

   They are present in the mayors office, similar to their first meetup, except now Javert is alone. He bows as usual, before adjusting the rosary around his neck.

   He finds Madeleine staring at him. To any man, it would be nerve wracking. But Javert is no ordinary man.

   “Is something wrong, Monsieur?” Javert asks, standing tall and staring right back. Madeleine snaps out of his daze, his eyes coming back to life. He shakes his head.

   “No, no. I just wonder, inspector, why must you keep so much equipment?” His eyes shift to scan over Javert’s frame, effectively changing the subject. Javert frowns and presses a finger against the rim of his hat.

   “I am aware it not the usual inspector attire, but Monsieur will remember that I specialize in dealing with vampires,” Javert says rather pointedly, staring him down to look for any semblance of a reaction. He finds none.

   “Ah yes, forgive me,” Madeleine hums, taking a huff of breath. “Now, shall you get on with your report?” He sits back in his seat, looking up expectantly at Javert. The inspector quickly begins to recite the list of arrests and grievances of the town, staring at the opposite wall with his hands firmly placed at the small of his back.

   “…And there has been a report of another sighting of a vampire in the outskirts of town. That is all, Monsieur le Maire.” Javert finishes with a curt bow and waits to be dismissed. Madeleine’s eyes narrow.

   “Another vampire? That is the sixth one in two weeks,”  he mutters, perhaps to himself. Javert cocks his head.

   “Is there a problem, Monsieur?” He asks. Madeleine then looks upon Javert, eyes unexpectedly sharp. If Javert was another other man, he would be intimidated.

   He looks back at him with suspicious eyes, waiting for an answer.

   Madeleine’s eyes snap away, and he puts a finger at his mouth. “It is just that, that is more sightings than usual. I do not know what can be attracting them,” he says as he stares at the wall.

   Javert’s eyes flicker to the side, as if the mayor has just missed the most obvious detail. He refrains from speaking, though, for it would deem impolite in front of a superior.

   After another moment of silence, Madeleine sighs and waves a hand at Javert. “That is all, inspector. Thank you.”

   “Monsieur le Maire.” Javert bows once more before taking his leave. He glares towards the secretary that sits at the desk on the outside wall, moving swiftly out of the factory.

   Outside, he hears the usual glimpses of gossip amongst the townspeople. Madeleine’s pecularities are noticed and excused by the town, if not still heavily spoken of. But now it seems there is a new interest amongst the people: Javert. In ways, the inspector is much more odd than the mayor. It looks like he does not hide his nature: The spiked ears, the long canines, the rosary and shadow upon his face that hides his eyes. He looks more like a vampire than most have ever seen.

   Javert has heard the mutterings about him. The more he hears, the closer he holds his rosary. It is almost as effective on him as it would be on a pure vampire, rendering him almost permanently lightheaded and nauseous. He does not show his discomfort, since he had learned so long ago how to live with it. He does this to himself so that he may control himself; we have already explained that he despises the vampire portion of him, and so this is the only way that he may be able to repress it. He is a martyr.

   When people ask about it, he merely says he is a man of God. It is not a true answer- in fact it could not be any further from the truth- but it is one that satisfies the curious.

   He is only glad that the mayor has not asked further questions about it. He is not the one who is supposed to be under investigation here. Javert would almost be ashamed if he spoke about how long he had been watching the mayor- his face, his every move really- but he defends it and chalks it up to mere observation. No more, no less.

   He has never cared what others say of him. It happens here, it happened in Toulon. He is there to do his job, not listen to whatever the nearest mistress has to say about what she thinks of his personal life!

   He is swift to run down the streets of Montreuil and make it back to the police station. His desk is a mess of papers and victim’s blood samples (That test his urges and would be a problem if he was not so very well in control) and belongings from the past vampire attacks.

   He settles himself down for a night of work. Javert does not sleep as much as he should, constantly keeping himself on the edge of exhaustion. The copper smell of blood in the glass vials fills his nose, and for a moment the room sways and his head swims so violently with nausea that he must put down his pen and take a deep breath.

   He works until the sun has set past the trees. When he takes a look out of the window, peering over the blinds, he sees that the town is cast in the familiar twilight light, just before the sun disappears for good. He glared back at his untidy desk, debating whether or not he should spend the night to finish his work.

   The work of an inspector is much more than he ever had as a prison guard at Toulon. When he had been given his promotion, his patron had warned him that it would be an intense workload.

   “At times, you will spend more time resting at your desk than at your bed,” Chabouillet had explained. Javert had bowed deeply and vowed that it would never be something he would dread to do; the work of an inspector was something he would always take as a privilege.

   And he still does, eight years later.

   But still he decides to pack up the files and leave them for tomorrow morning. There is a lingering stench of blood in this office, and he cannot stand it much longer. He carefully places the vials into his drawer so that he may know where they are the next morning and hastily steps out of his office.

   The halls of the police station are clear of vile stenches, and he finds himself able to breath a deep breath. He ignores those who voice a farewell to him and quickly steps out onto the streets.

   Because of the hour, they are nearly empty, allowing Javert the rare occasion to take off his hat. Without it, one is able to get a proper look of his face. His nose is straight, and his face is somewhat long. His skin is slightly tanned, but pale for the gypsy breed that his mother was and what he takes after, and the elongated tips of his ears are must easier to see. Upon his left cheek is a long scar that travels from the corner of his eye down to the end of his sideburns, and beneath his eyes are heavy lines that prove his martyr behavior. (He does not sleep nor eat besides what is necessary, he is careless in fights.) And lastly, his hair is long and dark, with a few silver strands beginning to show. Perhaps it is stress, but he does not mind either way. It falls past his shoulders, and his sideburns are neatly kept.

   All in all, he looks more like a vampire than a true one does, but he cares about his appearance, and makes sure it is well enough hidden from the townspeople so that he will not be asked questions.

   We are told never to judge a book by its cover, and that is true. There is more than meets the eye when it comes to people, no matter their origin. A man may look brawny and rude, when he is really just a farmer with a soft smile and loving family.

   However, in this case, those who first judge Javert would not be too far off from the truth. He looks rude and terrifying, and anyone who said such would not be wrong. Javert is distant and curt with everyone in Montreuil, whether they are a victim or coworker.

   Only the mayor and his patron have the status of being treated well by Javert. He is patient, then, because they are superiors, and he knows his place well. To be disrespectful to his superiors is to forget his position, to lose the privilege of his job.

   When he arrives to his apartment, he puts his hat back on so that his landlady will not say anything. He slinks past her and quickly glides up the stairs to his door. His blinds are almost always shut, except for the dead of night where there is no sun to threaten him, so that he may see the stars of the night sky.

   He hangs his hat and Inverness coat beside the door and removes his belts of equipment so that he may get a moments rest from the nausea that seems to permanently rest at his doorstep. Javert drops onto his desk and pulls out a small, leatherback journal from the drawer. He flips to a page, where on the top, written in bold letters, are the words:

M. MADELEINE

   Beneath and beside the bolded letters are dozens of notes and writings, all details and notes of gossip that he had heard of the mayor. To the left are questions and the notes of the general knowledge of vampires.

   The entire page is a spiderweb of connections and notes; anyone who took a glance at it would think that Javert had gone mad.

   He has been working on this page since the very first week of his employment at Montreuil-sur-Mer, gathering any and all information he can. It has proven helpful.

   He writes a few more notes before shutting the journal and tucking it away into the drawer of the desk.

   A week later, it is time to report to the mayor’s for his weekly report. He takes long strides through the streets until he gets to the factory. There, Madeleine is furiously at work, head lowered over a paper he is currently vigorously writing upon. Javert waits until he is beckoned, standing tall in the corner and taking the moment to run his eyes over the mayor for any sort of clues, convict or vampire.

   He finds nothing out of the usual. When Madeleine lifts his head, he startles at the sight of the inspector, and clears his throat. “Ah- Inspector,” He gestures for Javert to come closer. “I apologize to keep you waiting.”

   “No need to apologize, Monsieur. I am at your disposal.” Javert responds with a bow. “Shall I give the weekly report?”

   Madeleine seems distracted. “Yes. Yes, go ahead.”

   Javert stares at the opposite wall as he once again gives the details of the cases and incidents of the week. For such a small town, there is an absurd amount of crime.

   When he is finished, he gives his bow and patiently waits for Madeleine to give his input. Instead, the mayor is looking at him with curious eyes, the pad of his thumb against his mouth. Javert feels himself stiffen.

   “Monsieur?” He asks after a minute. Determined to regain control of the situation, he hastily adds, “Will you permit me to look at the time, Monsieur le Maire?”

   The haze from Madeleine’s eyes disappear as he meets Javert’s. He runs a hand over his chin, where white hair rest.

   “Of course, inspector. I hope the meeting is not boring you,” Madeleine says with a sheepish smile. Javert shakes his head and takes out a silver watch, cracked and broken beyond use. It makes the hand beneath the leather threaten to shake with its familiar power to weaken him, but he holds steadfast.

   There is no need for him to check the time. It does not matter to him. The damn thing does not work anyway! He nonchalantly points the watch at an angle so that he may catch the reflection of the mayor.

   And yet, he finds none. And Javert knows that he is not holding it wrong, for he has done this with multiple others- this is not a fault in the watch; this mayor has no reflection.

   Javert masks his reaction. He looks back up to see the mayor waiting for him and realizes that has been taking too long. He takes one last glance before snapping the watch shut and tucking it back into his coat.

   “It is no bore to serve the mayor,” Javert says as he puts his hands behind his back, addressing Madeleine’s last comment. He is biting back an animalistic grin; he has found a massive clue, one that adds up nearly everything he had noticed.

   “Well, I am glad. But surely I am not keeping you from something?” Madeleine asks, eyes dark and wide. Javert shakes his head again.

   “No, it is merely that I am scheduled to meet with a newlywed couple shortly after this.” Javert explains. When Madeleine gives a confused look, he clarifies, “Their house was recently broken into. I have been called to find the burglars.”

   The mayor stays silent for a few moments before leaving the recline of his chair to rest his elbows on his desk. His hands are firmly put together, resting on the tip of his nose.

   “Inspector, will you accompany me to my home on Tuesday?” Three days away. “Now, I know it is an odd request- likely not appropriate for a mayor to ask of his peer- but I have been meaning to ask you something on a matter of safety.”

   Javert is momentarily taken aback. Then, he dips his head into his collar. “Monsieur le Maire will remember that I am not a peer, but a subordinate.” He said. When Madeleine makes to object, Javert quickly adds, “and I would be honored to direct you to your home, Monsieur. But, is this matter of safety not fit for the police?”

   Madeleine waves his hand dismissively. “It is not that. It is merely that I need a professional’s… wisdom, if you will.”

   Javert almost openly sneers at the word. So the mayor is calling a vampiric, gypsy inspector wise? It is nearly enough to make him laugh aloud. Instead, he nods.

   “It would be my pleasure,” he says, and gives one last bow before making his way out of the office.

   In the span of half an hour, Javert has gained a multitude of information.

   It is said that curiosity kills the cat, but Javert has always been irritated by figurative language that spreads throughout the people and dutifully ignores it. However, in this case, it will be the truth. Javert is well aware that taking these risks in front of the mayor, along with writing down his observations where someone may very well find them if they broke in, is a dangerous game and punishable by arrest or, in extreme cases, death. To spy on the saving grace Monsieur Madeleine of Montreuil-sur-Mer is not an easy nor acceptable task, and Javert knows very well the consequences. But it is the deja vu that irked him out of his mind, for he does not get those fits often. He has a right to be skeptical, he thinks, and therefore has no plan to stop any time soon.

   And now there is the matter that in three days, he will leave his shift not to return to his spartan apartment, but to fall into step by the mayor’s side and lead him to his house, where he is to apparently give wisdom on a matter he does not even know about yet. Javert has half a mind to see this is a threat rather than a favor; a ploy to get Javert’s defenses lowered so that, at the moment he least expects it, the vampire will pounce and aim for his throat, and sink his lengthened fangs into his main artery and suck him dry-

   It may very well be a long shot fantasy, but Javert has good proof to assume that the mayor is not a human. He is surprised that no one else has mentioned it, for how can one see the hollow cheek and ruined ears, as well as the peculiarities of never entering the sun, and not raise a few questions? They are not just coincidences- They cannot be!

   And then there is the matter that, along with being a vampire, Monsieur Madeleine may very well be an escaped convict as well. It would line up perfectly- the pieces coming together in Javert’s mind: To escape from Toulon, only to be hunted and transformed into a vampire the very same night, and leave a bloody path that only truly leads to a dead end that the measly guards of Toulon cannot figure out.

   Yes, Monsieur Madeleine may very well be Jean Valjean. It explains much, and yet, at the same time, he cannot announce it until the proof is clear enough for even the densest of civilians. To openly claim that the kind mayor is not only a convict but a vampire as well-! The townspeople may have Javert’s head instead of his!

   It means nothing yet that Javert writes down the peculiarity of a missing reflection in his journal and tucks it away for the night, for nobody can read or understand it as he does. What he sees with his own two eyes may be seen as absolute buffoonery in the eyes of anyone else.

-

   On Monday, Javert arrives at his desk after a tiring patrol. More incidents, between whores and vampires alike, and the inspector is surprised that he has not yet dropped from exhaustion. Yes, he may be somewhat supernatural, and not need the same amount of food and rest so that he may register as human, but it leaves him constantly drained; every week is hassle. But he has happily accepted this job of inspector, and he will be damned if he does not do it to the best of his ability.

      But still, it is tiring work. He throws his hat to the side of the desk and, just as he is about to begin the desk portion of his shift, Officer Lambert knocks on his door and opens it a crack big enough for him to push his head through.

   ”Inspector? Madame Marie has asked for you.” He says, eyebrow arching at the momentary sight of Javert without his hat.

   The inspector rises from his chair and adjusts the collar around his neck. “I’m coming,” he growls, as Lambert has already ran ahead to meet back with the woman. Outside the station, Madame Marie is standing with her hands crossed over her chest. A glimpse of her neck is bandaged, where a vampire had scratched her with its claws. (A scratch is better than a bite!)

   Javert pulls his hat lower and gives an inaudible wince when the sun hits his neck. When the woman sees him, she all but throws herself upon him. Javert cannot help the quiet groan that escapes his mouth: She reeks of garlic.

   “Oh, inspector! Thank God. There’s a brawl at the tavern- the vampire! He’s returned!” She shrieked, terror dripping from her words. Javert allows her to lead him to an inn a few streets down, where, through the stained windows, there is rightly a brawl.

   “Stay here, Madame,” Javert commands as he takes out his pistol and loads it. His men are already pushing inside, yelling the usual commands that no criminal ever listens to anyway. When he pushes his way in, he nearly faints, unprepared for the revolting smell lf alcohol and garlic combined. Surely the vampire can smell it as well, but if he does, there is no way to tell. He fights admirably against the three men that are surrounding him, throwing punches and failing to land any that turn the tables of the fight.

   It amazes Javert as he momentarily watches the vampire ward off three men, that he could gain half of his strenght if he took better care of himself. No silver, no malnourishment or exhaustion, and he could very well defeat any criminal that dared to disrupt the town.

   However, if he was to become that strong, he would be at risk to lose his self control. It is bad enough that the town gossips and spreads rumors about his nature, but if he was to lose control of himself in a fight and succumb to the nearly irresistible smell of blood… He would be beheaded, surely.

   Javert wastes no time coming between the men, throwing himself into the brawl. In his hands is a silver knife, its blade jagged and chipped but painfully sharp. Knowing what the must do, and excluding any feeling of remorse or doubt, he deals blows with his knuckles until he and the vampire are the only ones left in the brawl. The three other men have been torn away by the other officers, and now against the walls of the tavern are dozens of men and officers, all watching, some cheering for, the fight.

   The inspector plays his cards well; he is fast enough so that the vampire cannot deal any blows upon him, and when he has managed to get the beast to turn around and expose the sides of his frame, Javert mercilessly plunges the silver dagger into the flesh.

   Immediately the vampire screams in pain, for the silver is not enough to kill him but just close enough to keep him in constant agony, and he topples over Javert, who wills himself to hold the weight of him.

   He hears his officers cheer for his victory before coming to help arrest the vampire. It was not the most challenging fight he has had against a vampire, but it has left him with a large number of bruises and a split lip. He still smells the blood emitting from the wound of the vampire, and it takes all of his might and willpower not to go mad right then and there.

   Instead, he brushes off Lambert’s concern and moves to pick up his hat- it had fallen during the skirmish- only to find it absent on the ground. Angered, he allows his men to take care of the arrest and cautiously makes his way outside. If he could curse the sun, he would.

   Coming out of the tavern proves challenging, for the sun is beating down on his head mercilessly. There is no sign of his hat, on the ground or anyone, and he scowls at the fact that he has lost it. Townspeople give him their thanks and blessings as he storms out of the building, but he pays no mind to it.

   He is about to make his way back to the station to get his spare when he feels a large, rough hand grab at his shoulder. It spins him around, and Javert is suddenly face to face with one of the men from the original fight. On his face is a shit-eating grin, and Javert’s scowl deepens further than he thought possible.

   “You’re that inspector, aren’t you?” The man asks, keeping his tight hold on Javert’s shoulder no matter how much the officer tries to shove away.

   “Yes. That is I,” Javert replies, eyes squinting against the sunlight. The man glares at him, looking at Javert up and down. His grip suddenly tights and moves up to Javert’s neck, pulling him closer to the man’s face. They are nearly the same height, but the man is brawnier than him.

   “Y’know, I ain’t ever seen eyes like yours before…” He says, eyes locking with Javert’s. “They ain’t brown, they ain’t blue… Hell, it almost looks like they’re red.” He says before suddenly releasing his grip. Javert gives an audible growl, and quickly puts distance between them.

   Beneath the shade of his hat and away from sunlight, Javert’s eyes are only seen as a shade of gray, unable to be determined in the false lighting. But, much to his curse, when they are in direct sunlight, Javert’s eyes turn a faded shade of red, unlike anyone’s. It is why he never leaves a building without his hat, just for the risk that someone may see the irregular color and ask questions. Just as it is happening now.

   “They are my eyes,” Javert says dismissively. “They are hazel.”

   He had phrased it so that it would be the end of the conversation, but the man will still not let him leave. Instead, he suddenly moves closer to the side of Javert’s head, inspecting his ears.

   “Your ears are pretty sharp, too. Ain’t never seen ‘em like that on anyone else. And your teeth- I saw ‘em while you were fighting in there.” The man says, pushing closer and closer into Javert’s space. The inspector is overwhelmed all at once, for no one has suspected him like this for a long time, and the man smells so horribly of alcohol that he finds he wants to retch.

   Angered, Javert shoves him away. “Monsieur, step back this instant. I am of the police, not some specimen for you to inspect!” He growls, but making sure that he does bare his teeth like he is wont to do. “You were a part of that brawl, and I can have you arrested if need be.”

   The man stares at him with wide, blue eyes, his dirty mouth curving into a nasty grin. Then, he barks out a few laughs before grabbing Javert by the collar again and pulling him forward, causing the inspector to lose his balance. If the man was to let go now, Javert would fall flat on his face.

   ”You look odd. Almost like a—“

   And then the man is reeling back, for Javert has just struck him across the face with a closed fist. He is fuming, and grabs the man so vigorously by the wrists he nearly hears a crack of a bone.

   In the end, Javert arrests all three of the men, two for the original brawl and the third with the addition of harassing an inspector of the law. Filth, all of them! He prays that nobody has heard the brute’s declaration, and keeps his head down as he makes his way back to the station, exposed. To be without his hat on his head is like to be without a shirt on his frame, and he ignores any comments or questions that the officers shoot his way when he arrives back to the station.

   He is entirely unaware that someone had, in fact, seen the entire harassment scene play out. The man had watched from a safe distance, sheltered under the cover of a roof. Javert was unaware that the man had nearly gone over to help the inspector and break apart the situation rapidly unfolding between them, even if it meant risking himself.

   The inspector was entirely unaware that this man was Monsieur Madeleine.

Chapter Text

   To give false accusations to someone’s face is to show that you do not respect them. Of course, that may not always be true, for things can always be said in the heat of the moment that are later regretted, but for the sake of this story, it is true.

   When the brute had interrogated Javert, he had nearly given away his cover. Javert is a solitary man, and although he dismisses the gossip, to be truly identified as a vampire in this world is to be assigned death. We have seen how the townspeople handle vampires- either run from them, or kill them.

   It is what makes Javert’s blood boil and curse both himself and society. Yes, it was not his choice to be partially vampiric, but it does not change the fact that because of it he is a constant danger to society. To always crave blood and constantly keep yourself in control is no easy feat, and at times, Javert feels himself slipping, ever so slightly. It is frightening.

   And what if the town soon finds him out? He has a feeling that the brute is not the only bold one to openly question Javert- something is going to happen soon, he knows it.

   Today is Tuesday, and Javert has been assigned to escort Madeleine to his home. He had learned from a secretary that he leaves the factory a little sooner than Javert leaves the station, which is surprising since he always leaves after sunset.

   The paperwork has been exhausting. Cursing himself for his stupidity yesterday, Javert has refused both sleep and food more than usual, working through the night and into the day. When he leaves the station, he thinks he may pass out from exhaustion.

   His walk is sluggish but falsely confident as he walks down the streets to get to the factory. There, Madeleine is outside, his white curls glowing from the warm lighting of the nearby street light. Over his shoulders is a thick wool coat, a dark olive green that contrasted against his pale skin. Upon seeing Javert, he smiles, waving him over.

   Javert quickens his step, quickly crossing his street and coming to Madeleine’s side. He bows deeply, putting his hands behind his back.

   “Good evening, Monsieur le Maire.” He greets, trying to hide the exhaustion from his voice. Madeleine does not seem to notice it, and instead motions for Javert to rise.

   “Please, inspector, there is no need for the formalities. Come,” he begins to walk slowly, and Javert matches his pace. “How is the work?”

   Javert is unused to casual conversations. He has not had much practice in his life, for who would befriend an odd one out such as he?

   He walks stiffly, keeping his eyes on his feet. “It is long. Time consuming.” He says shortly, unsure how to add more.

   Madeleine gives a lopsided grin, though he should have expected that Javert would be unaccustomed in conversation.

   Silence stretches out over them as they walk through the empty streets of the town, quiet expect for the nearby rustle of leaves and the sound of their shoes against the cobblestones beneath them.

   “Where have you worked before Montreuil, Inspector?” Madeleine asks after a few minutes, and Javert stiffens and internally sighs at the attempt of conversation, but he is of no place to deny the mayor of answers, so he will supply them.

   “Toulon.” He says, and suddenly the idea that he may be able to figure out more of this man pops into his head, and he knows that he will succeed if he plays his cards correctly. “I worked in the prison. Have you ever been, Monsieur?”

   The question is posed to seem like Javert is asking the mayor if he has ever been to the prison itself, and Madeleine carefully treads around and ignores it. “No, I have never visited the town. It is by the sea as well, isn’t it? So the smell of the salt water must not nauseate you,” he says with a forced, quiet laugh. He does not look towards Javert, but he can guess that the man is scowling.

   “No, it does not.” Javert responds with a growl as they turn a corner. He wracks his brain for any other way to slip through the cracks of the mayor’s defenses, but there are only so many ways he can get through without becoming disrespectful. Convict he could be, but if for any reason Javert is wrong, it could prove deadly to his rank in the police. He is already on thin ice, what with being part of Gypsy scum and born in a prison.

    There is a beat of silence before Madeleine awkwardly continues, “But jumping from a prison guard to an inspector… that is no easy feat. You are quite diligent; something rare to find in the police of this town.”

   Javert is about to make an acknowledgment when he sees something flash at the corner of his eye. He stops in his tracks, mayor forgotten, and glares into a dark alley.

   “Inspector?” Madeleine asks, but his voice is lost in the churning gears of Javert’s mind. He can see something- hear someone-

   “Inspector,” he asks again, daring to put a hand on Javert’s sleeve. He snaps his head back to the mayor and shakes his head, similar to the way a dog would to get the water off of his fur.

   “Monsieur,” he steps back and bows. “I apologize.”

   “Is everything alright?”

   Javert nods. “Yes, everything is well. I simply thought I saw… Something.” He finishes with a huff, embarrassed at how foolish it sounds when it comes from his mouth. Madeleine puts his hands into the pockets of his coat and continues to walk.

   “Never mind it,” he dismisses. “Now, where were we? Oh, yes!- I am very pleased that we have someone as diligent as you defending our town.” he starts again, smiling up at the darkening sky. “In fact, I saw the arrest you had managed yesterday; quite impressive!”

   Javert’s brow darkens at the recollection of the arrest. “It was merely a brawl, Monsieur. It is my job to defend the town and arrest the guilty.” He says robotically, as if reciting something straight from the original paper of the law.

   Madeleine’s happy tone diminishes as fast as it comes, and his head dips again so that his eyes are hidden by his curls. “Who knows who else might have gotten hurt if you had not intervened. You deserve the credit, inspector!”

   Javert scowls and stops in his tracks. “With all due respect, Monsieur, I do not need your praise. I did not do anything extraordinary; I am the head of the vampire control, and therefore I will carry out my duty as needed. Praise is not necessary, and frankly, not welcome.”

   Madeleine stares at him with wide eyes and mouth a little open before it warps into a tight, strained smile.

   “Forgive me, Inspector,” Madeleine says softly, and Javert rolls his eyes in a way that he will not be able to see.

   “There is nothing to forgive, Monsieur le Maire.” He says, putting his hands behind his back like he is wont to do.

   They do not make it ten feet before Javert stops once more to look around. He narrows his eyes and looks into the shadows, desperately trying to see what the hell is following them.

   Madeleine follows his movements and furrows his brow. “Come this way,” he says sharply, all but wrenching Javert into a nearby alleyway by his hand.

   Before the story can progress any further, some context must be given.

   The reader will remember that Javert had fought and arrested a rouge vampire only yesterday, along with a man who had loudly interrogated and questioned his complexion.

   Because the interrogation had happened outside, in the middle of the bustling, cobblestone streets, the questioning words were not hidden. They were heard, in fact, by many.

   As rumors are wont to do in a small town such as Montreuil-sur-Mer, multiple townspeople began to examine Javert from afar as he had walked back to the station house. They had seen his face clearly for the first time, elongated ears, hollow cheeks and all, and too had questioned.

   You see, it was just as Javert had feared: The people of Montreuil had their concerns of the inspector since he had first come to the town. Truly, you cannot blame them; if you were to live in constant fear of a hidden monster, only to be greeted by an inspector who never ventured out into the daylight bare and had a face more terrible than that of a dog, you would not be easily assured that he was a normal man.

   That is why, out of fear for themselves and their mayor, a dozen or so of the townspeople had gotten together and planned to find out the truth by pinning the man down on his way back to his residence. Fear can make people behave irrationally and forget the respect they must give to those who protect them, as well as the consequences that their actions will bring.

   That being said, what Javert heard in the shadows of the streets was not simply ‘nothing’, but instead the townspeople readying their confrontation. The fact that Monsieur Madeleine was walking with him was a coincidence they had not thought of.

   They thought their mayor in danger of being in such close proximity with a deadly vampire.

   Before Javert could follow Madeleine into the shadows of the alley, they are immediately surrounded and raided. Javert is ruthlessly taken by the shoulders and dragged into the illumination of the streetlights, two strong workmen holding his arms tight behind his back with no leeway for escape, despite the inspector’s thrashing and struggling.

   Javert believes that they are being mugged, and is about to call out and look for Madeleine before an unknown voice calls out amongst the commotion:

   “Stand back, Monsieur le Maire! We’ve got him!” The man yells, and takes Madeleine harshly by the shoulder to move him away from the commotion. Javert’s hat is knocked off and equipment stripped away from him, before he is thrown mercilessly onto his knees. His dark hair is beginning to fall out of his queue, disheveled strands falling over his face. He grits his teeth and spits out, “What is the meaning of this? Get off of me!” He roars, thrashing his shoulders to make his point.

   He sees Madeleine taken away from the crowd and sees his mouth moving in concern, but that is not his main focus at the moment. He is circled by the townspeople, captured and entirely helpless. He grits his teeth but keeps his head high, for he will not be seen as weak in front of these people.

   One man steps forward and throws a finger in Javert’s face. “You’re no inspector. You’re a fraud, a vampire!” He yells, and the crowd around cheers in agreement. Javert feels his heart sink, but he attempts to keep his expression neutral. He does not do so very well.

   “What is this nonsense? Release me this instant!” He snaps, thrashing around once more. Suddenly his head is whipped to the side, and there is an aching pain forming on the right side of his face. He would have fallen were to not for the brutes holding him upright, and he sways on his knees, feeling blood well up in his mouth. He spits it out onto the cobblestones, the red taunting the grey and landing a little on another man’s shoes. He stares back up at the man; he is not as afraid as he should be.

   “You aren’t fooling anyone,” the man declares loudly. “Just look at you! What do you take us for?”

   Javert internally sneers and moves his head to spit out another mouthful of blood. It drips from his chin as he looks back up at the man, his teeth gritted together and red with his own blood.

   “This is absurd,” he growls. “You haven’t any proof, and here you are assaulting an officer of the law. You’ll be arrested for it- all of you!” He barks angrily, but his words do not seem to have the right effect. Instead, the man in front of him laughs, and begins to pull something out of the leather satchel he had kept around his body.

   At first, Javert feels dread sink in when he realizes it may be a firearm, but when he sees the bulbs of garlic and the vial of blood, he almost screams.

   There is only so much hiding and evading Javert can do before he is finally proven to be his twisted kind. In an unexpected fit of strength from his panic, he manages to slip his way out of the grasps of the men, if only for a moment, and makes for an escape.

   But then he is thrown down, tackled and knocked against the cobblestones and sure that he will bruise tomorrow. The men capture him again and put him back into his place, hands somehow gripping tighter, and Javert is suddenly aware that he will likely not make it to tomorrow.

   “You dare to come into our town, pose as an inspector, and think you won’t be found out?” The man growls before shoving the bulbs of garlic in Javert’s face.

   While it is true that most repellents for vampires are weakened on him, that does not mean that they hold no effect. Especially in such close proximity, Javert can feel what little strength he has left himself begin to drain. He wills himself not to react, but the overcoming smell of the vegetable allows a pained groan to slip past his defenses and lips. He cocks his head away, but there is a painful hand in his hair, and he cannot move.

   “Stop this!” He hears someone yell, but he is not aware of who said it. Strange, that he has been trying all this time to unmask the mayor as a vampire, only to be raided and proven that he is no better.

   Really, he did not expect to last forty years. It is longer than he ever thought he would make it to, and for that he is somewhat grateful. But truly, how long could a cursed wretch like himself truly last in a world such as this?

   Just as he notices the edges of his eyesight begin to dim and edge closer to darkness, the garlic is tossed off to the side and he is allowed to breathe in a fresh lungful of air.

   And then, a cork is popped off, and the vial of blood is spilled all over the man’s hand, and is now waving in his face.

   Javert belatedly realizes their plan. They have weakened his defenses with the garlic, dulled his senses and self-control, so that they may catch him off-guard with the blood. It is a clever trick. Javert did not see it coming.

   At the sight of the red, the iron smell, Javert feels that cursed primal urge rise up from the depths of him, clawing its way up like an untamed, rabid beast. It makes its way up his body and forces itself into his throat, all the way to his mouth, where he lets out an animalistic growl and a shove forward. The man quick pulls his hand away, and Javert’s head sinks with shame. The crowd around gasps in fear, and the man lets out a piercing laugh.

   “So it is true! The inspector of Montreuil-sur-Mer is a vampire!” He declares, once more waving his hand in front of Javert’s face, where the inspector barely manages to himself back. His eyes are half-lidded and hazy, but piercingly red; his control is slipping, slipping, and the more he stares at the blood the more he can feel the crave claw its way up so that he may lose himself entirely, lost in a haze of animalistic, feral want.

   Why did he never venture out into the fields and feed on livestock? Even a calf would have been sufficient! None of this would have happened if he had kept his urges fed so that they would have never been given the chance to escape.

  Really, blood has never had this large of an effect on Javert until now. He is weakened beyond usual, so much so that he is sure his legs will not support him if he stands, and in such a pained state it is so easy for things to slip past his once impenetrable defenses. He wants to back away, to turn his head and sneer at the fools who surround him and want to desperately to prove that Javert is nothing but scum. He calls them fools, but they are right. They are the first to question him to such a degree, and it will prove deadly.

   Despite it all, he squeezes his eyes shut and holds his breath so that he may hold back the taunting call of the blood. It is not enough. He is going to lose himself in the tide, sink past the point of no return, become the monster he so desperately tried to refuse-

   “ Enough of this! ” A voice suddenly bellows from the crowd, and Javert recognizes the voice as Monsieur Madeleine. The mayor pushes through the crowd and into the circle of angry townspeople, who have begun to chatter amongst themselves and share a multitude of collective gasps.

   “Monsieur, stay back! Look at this beast, it is not safe for you!” Another man says, placing a hand on Madeleine’s shoulder and making to pull him back, but the mayor does not budge. He is furious, raving.

   Javert does not look much better. His head is dipped, his hair a mess and frizzled, with his body twitching and thrashing about like a madman. His eyes are closed.

   “Release the inspector at once! This is unacceptable, and I will not standby while a good man is attacked in such a way!” Madeleine roars, and if Javert had his eyes open, he would say he looks like an enraged lion, his white curls a mess around his face and his eyes and mouth twisted in fury.

   “But he is not a man at all! Look at how he reacts to the blood- like a dog to a bone!” The ringleader pleads, and just to prove his point he brings his hand to pass right under Javert’s nose, making the man’s face bunch up and thrash his shoulders around to try and restrain another primal growl that manages to slip past his lips.

   “Release him this instant , or I will personally see that every one of you are arrested for your crimes.” Madeleine has stopped yelling, but his calm is enough to make even Javert’s hairs stand up straight with chill. It is the eye of the hurricane, and Madeleine is prepared to fight each and every one of these citizens. “How do you expect a man to react when you have thrown him onto the ground and forced his hand? The inspector has reacted this way because he is allergic to garlic, can you not see that? He needs medical attention, now!”

   The man sneers but looks down at the sorry sight of Javert, and motions for the two workmen to release him. Their hands pull away, Javert drops onto the cobblestone street, body limp. Madeleine drops onto a knee to inspect the injuries done, but first looks up to the people.

   “If any of you dare come near the inspector again, I will see to it that you do not see another ray of sun for the rest of your days. Am I clear?”

   The crowd’s silence is more than enough of confirmation. They mumble their understandings and pull away until it is just Madeleine and the inspector.

   Javert has not stirred, but he is panting, desperately and blindly clawing at the gray stones of the street. Madeleine places a hand on his shoulder and timidly calls his name. He does not expect to sudden be thrown backwards, back roughly hitting the stones.

   Javert is atop of him, hair in disarray and falling in cascades over Madeleine. His eyes are a bright red, like wine put up to the light, and his fangs are bared. He has lost control of himself, and Madeleine would panic if he were not more cursed than the man above him.

   “Javert,” he calls, shocked to see the man is such a state. He hadn’t the slightest suspicions that Javert might have been a vampire, and to be seeing it so close is nothing short of astonishing.

   Madeleine lightly shakes his arm, but it is no use. The grip is iron. Javert is a crazed beast above him, and Madeleine is quick to realize that he will kill him if he finds his chance.

   Madeleine makes sure that he doesn’t.

   In less than a moment’s time, the mayor has managed to change their places. Now he is pinning down a struggling inspector to the stones, holding him down with a strength that can only be classified as inhuman. He is crazed, clawing at Madeleine’s arms and trying so desperately to slip away, but it is of no use.

   “Inspector!” Madeleine calls again, but seeing as it is no use, he must resort to stronger methods. He slaps Javert across the face, hard enough to daze him, and bends down to yell, “Javert! For goodness’ sake, get a hold of yourself, man!”

   The hit has proved helpful, for the red in Javert’s eyes suddenly begin to fade, and the stiff body below him begins to give way. The hands that had clawed up to Madeleine’s throat drop limp onto the ground.

   His eyes are wide and dark as he stares up at Madeleine in horror, shame flooding his senses. His mouth moves silently before he can finally strangle out the words.

   “Monsieur,” he gasps as he closes his eyes and throws his head to the side. Damn it all! If he is not to be publicly executed, he is to be revealed by the mayor. In a way, it is worse.

   Madeleine moves off of Javert but still kneels beside him, watching him with dark eyes. “Have they hurt you? Are you injured, inspector?”

   Javert trembles at the title. “Do not play this game, Monsieur…” he chokes out, unable to move from his current position. There is dried blood at his chin, his hair is sorry sight, and he has been stripped to his waistcoat, belts of equipment and Inverness coat forgotten. He is more exhausted than he has ever been in his life, none of his limbs will move even if he tried. And yet, the sight he makes is not nearly to close as to what he is feeling.

   Imagine if you have a secret nobody else has ever known, and you have safeguarded it with every precaution you have ever known, only to have said secret revealed to everyone by one nosy person who had stuck their nose too deep. The dread is unlike anything you have ever felt before, and you truly think you’d enjoy death more than having to face those who you have lied to.

   In the present moment, that is what Javert is feeling.

   That dread, along with the painful shame of having allowed his nature to get the best of him, as well as trying to attack the mayor, has caused such turmoil in the inspector that he cannot even will himself to open his eyes.

   “There is no game here,” Madeleine urges, panic bubbling in his throat. The sight of blood from the raid has almost made him lose himself as well, but  he had fought through the growing urge so that he may protect Javert from death.

   And he knows that the night would have ended in death, because he knows what people do to his kind.

   Javert tumbles onto his stomach, attempting to push himself up with his arms and immediately failing. It is no use, he cannot feel his arms or legs. “Monsieur, do not stall the inevitable.” He says with a heavy sigh. “If you do not have a weapon upon you, there are silver bullets upon my equipment.” He lazily pointed somewhere to the left before dropping his head upon the cobblestones.

   Madeleine regards him with a horrified look. “Javert, I am not going to kill you. Please, have they injured you?”

   Javert does not respond for a few minutes, his mind sluggishly attempting to catch up with the words the mayor has just spoken. It’s odd; everything around him is muffled and imperceptible, and his vision swims in front of him. He does not keep his eyes open for long.

   “What do you expect repellents to do to a creature such as myself, Monsieur? I must be punished, eliminated for my nature. As I have said before,” the words are beginning to slur together now. “There are silver bullets within my belt.”

   Madeleine cannot believe the words he is hearing. He stares down at Javert, mouth agape and eyebrows blown upwards. Javert has hidden himself well for so long, and now he is not even putting up a fight. Madeleine’s heart aches with the fact that the inspector believes it is the mayor’s right to kill him; it aches that he thinks so little of himself that he is not meant for anything more than shame and death.

   He grabs Javert by the shoulders and hoists him up to his knees, unsurprised to find the man’s body limp and unresponsive. His eyes are open, barely, and in the warm light of the streetlight flame above them, are a drained sort of pink. He looks dead, the shadows harsh upon his hollow and haggard face, and Madeleine’s heart trembles with pity.

   “I told you that I refuse to kill you. Come to your senses, inspector!” He examines Javert for a moment and looks him over. “You mustn’t be alone with your injuries. Come, you shall stay at my home for the night.” He grabs Javert by the underarm and makes to bring him up, but the man struggles out of his grasp immediately.

   “Monsieur, are you truly going to allow a beast such as I in your home? Do not be stupid, kill me rather!” Javert growls, suddenly grabbing Madeleine by the lapels of his coat. The world distorts before him, and Javert can still smell the nearby blood, having dripped from the man’s hand, and his senses are so overwhelmed that he feels as though he is underwater.

   Madeleine watches as he sways and drops to the ground once more, now unconscious. He has seen what repellents can do to vampires, he has seen them go mad and run for miles just to get away from them, but Javert’s reaction is different.

   Yes, he has been weakened, but Madeleine has never seen a vampire take a bulb of garlic to the nose and not immediately scream or pass out. And it cannot be that Javert is stronger than most vampires- well, perhaps it can be, but the haggard, depraved look says otherwise- and it has Madeleine wondering about the man. Does Javert truly have such self-control that he would manage to resist blood?

   No, not entirely, for the man has just tackled Madeleine minutes ago, with eyes so red he thought he would be used for him to feed. He is thankful that Javert was weakened enough not to fight him.

   Now there is the problem of getting to the house. Madeleine’s home is still a ten minute walk, but there is no other option as he does not know where the inspector lives.

   Double checking that the man is truly unconscious, Madeleine places his hands underneath his body and pulls him up, making sure that the man’s head rests upon his shoulder. He means to take Javert’s equipment as well, but there is a multitude of repellents upon it and Madeleine can feel himself getting lightheaded at the smell of them. He kicks them into the far side of the alley and hopes that no one will steal them until he returns in the morning.

   He keeps Javert close against his chest as he hurries home, hissing each time the silver rosary of Javert’s knocks against his chest. No amount of clothing will fully take away its effect on him.

   The mayor is forever thankful that they did not run into anyone else during the walk home. He all but sprints up to the door of his home and knocks as loud as he can with a limp inspector in his arms.

   Sister Simplice opens the door, terrified at the sight, and motions for them to come in. “Monsieur Madeleine!” She cries, eyes darting between him and the policeman. “What has happened? Is that the inspector?”

   Madeleine nods, his puffs of breath too loud for the quiet environment of his residence. “He is injured, Sister. He will be spending the night here.” He explains before hastily moving up the stairs. “Will you please bring a basin of warm water up in a few minutes?”

   Sister Simplice nods and disappears into the kitchen. Madeleine makes his way up the stairs and into the guest room, shoving the door open and gently placing Javert upon the bed.

   Madeleine looks down at the man for a moment, considering. Then, he carefully places a hand at his forehead and gently pushes away the stray strands of hair that have escaped from his queue. His hair, though in disarray, is extremely soft.

   At that moment, Javert’s eyes begin to flutter open. Madeleine takes the hand back as though burned, and clumsily turns around so it may look as though he is doing something else.

   Javert lets out a pained groan, barely audible, and does not make to move. He is aching all over, and he cannot find any power to rise. His eyes shift over to the side, seeing in the darkness the hunched over shape of the mayor.

   “Monsieur?” He calls weakly, surprised that he is alive. His eyes move to the unfamiliar room, scanning the sparse space that is void of any personal belongings. The mayor turns around and comes to stand over Javert.

   “You are awake. That is good,” he mumbles, perhaps to himself. “How are you feeling?”

   Javert ignores the question. “Why haven’t you killed me? What am I doing here?” He growls, face twisting in anger and frustration. Madeleine smiles.

   “Again, I repeat, I shall not kill you. You are here because you are injured, and weakened, and I cannot have my inspector ill.” Madeleine repeats softly, and he gently holds Javert down when he tries to get up.

   “I cannot be here. Monsieur, I am dangerous-“

   “I do not think it wise for you to leave, inspector. Please, stay the night. Sister Simplice will be coming up shortly with a basin of water so that you may wash yourself off a little bit.”

   Javert shakes his head. “Monsieur, have you any idea what has just happened? Since I was a child I have tried to hide myself from the world and make it seem as though I am a normal human, just as the rest of you. Well, no more! They have revealed me as the beast I am, and they will not stop until I am exiled at the town square!” His eyes are piercing as he stares up at the mayor. “You would do well to kill me now, Monsieur. No one will know, no one will question! Even if they do, you shall be seen a hero- yes, a hero for killing the creature that has tainted this precious town!”

   He has once again grabbed onto Madeleine’s coat and is barely managing to stand. Madeleine does not move away from the contact, and instead slowly shakes his head. Were Javert not in a state of panic and derangement, he would notice that Madeleine’s eyes are practically glowing in the darkness, dim, but apparent.

   “Javert, a vampire you may be, but that is no reason for your death. You have brought safety to this town, and you should be commended, not punished. It is not your fault that you must be a vampire; you are still a man, just as any one of us.”

  “Ah, if it was that easy!” Javert cries, dropping back onto the bed and putting his head in his hands. “It would be simpler to say that I am nothing more than a vampire, or nothing more than a man, but you see, Monsieur, it is not so!

   If I was to be nothing but a man, this debacle would not have mattered, and I would not be here, urging for death. If I was nothing but a vampire, then I would not be in the police at all, but instead some stray that lurks on the outskirts of the town, feeding upon livestock whenever it pleases me! But instead of either, I am a cursed mixture of both. My mother was a human, my father a vampire, and as a result I was created. I am half of each, I am affected and yet at the same time not; it is a hell, Monsieur, and you ought to kill me now, so that I may trouble you no further!”

   His troubled rant ends with a short huff, his head lowering in shame as he waits for Madeleine to respond. The mayor is taken aback, surprised at the sudden depiction of what- who- Javert truly is.

   But there is no malice when the words finally make sense in his mind, just pity. He looks down at the being below him, and slowly lowers himself to his knees so that he may be looking at Javert eye to eye.

   “Javert,” he says softly, attempting to coax the inspector from his shell, and he flinches when Javert suddenly explodes into speech again:

   “I am a fool. Do you know, Monsieur, that I have been trying to gather information to prove that you are a vampire, and a convict? Yes, it is true! I have been thinking of you as nothing more than secretive scum, while in truth it is I! I am the one who should be interrogated, who deserves to be beheaded and tossed to the side, laughed at and forgotten!”

   His voice is too loud for the night, bouncing between the walls, and Madeleine winces at his volume and the hatred in which he speaks with. He knew that Javert had been investigating him- of course he did, it was quite easy to see!- but he has never thought ill of him for it. He is doing his job, and he is in fact right about it all, and Madeleine cannot blame him for being suspicious.

   “Javert, will you look at me?” He asks softly, and Javert trembles. Slowly, his eyes find Madeleine’s, slightly red in the night and slightly lidded by exhaustion and guilt.

   “I do not hold it against you if you have done private investigations of me. I do admit that I am a secluded and rather peculiar; you have a right to be suspicious. And from what you have said, it is not your fault at all that you are part vampiric. You have not chosen this life, so who can blame you for it?” He asks softly, almost daring to bring his hand up to cup his cheek but instead opts to keep it down at his sides. Javert looks to protest, but Madeleine will not allow it.

   “I will not allow the townspeople to harm you, inspector. You put your nature to good use, and you are needed here. Do you understand me?”

   Javert sits, beyond confusion. That the mayor, the very man who Javert has hated and examined for so long, is not currently slitting his throat is something that he is unable to comprehend. He has admitted his wrongs, everything that he should be punished for, and instead he is being praised? By the very man he has wronged! The very man who has saved him despite all, and has welcomed into his home without a single protest or sign of anger.

   A man cannot be this forgiving, he thinks. This is not an act of goodwill. Only now does Javert notice his dimly glowing eyes and realizes that, perhaps, it is not just generosity, but perhaps an understanding. A relatedness. All that he has found out about the mayor, perhaps he is not a vampire, but perhaps is not fully a human either.

   Could it be that Madeleine is like him? Cursed to be both species, and still hiding in plain sight. It is not like he can ask him, for surely he must feel the same shame that he does- yes, that is it! That is why he has not thrown Javert out the door or killed him just yet.

   Pained, he slowly nods. Madeleine smiles and gets back to his feet. Sister Simplice knocks on the door a moment later and brings in the basin, leaving it off to the side before hastily exiting.

   “You must wipe your face. Please, stay the night, Javert. I fear you are in no condition to venture home alone.” Madeleine says as he brings the basin to Javert. The inspector eyes it and takes the dampened cloth, squeezing it in his hands and feeling the water run through his fingers.

   “Very well, Monsieur le Maire.” He mutters softly. Madeleine makes his way to the door.

   “Do you require any supper?” He asks as he holds the edge of the door with his hand. Javert shakes his head.

   “No, I require nothing. I will be gone before dawn.”

   He smiles. “I will walk with you, Inspector.” Then he closes the door, and Javert is left to himself.

   He wipes the blood from his chin and mouth, belatedly realizing that the split lip he had earned yesterday has now reopened. The basin turns a murky red as he rinses the cloth and brings it back up to wipe as his face. A touch of his right cheek proves that there is a nasty bruise growing, likely from the punch, and he can also feel a few others forming upon his body from his struggle.

   He realizes that he does not have his coat, hat, or equipment with him, and he does not know where he has put them. Angered, but too drained to do anything of it, he puts the basin off to the side and kicks off his boots so that he may properly lay in the bed.

   Javert does not recall ever being this tired. He can still feel the strum of the his carnivorous need for blood, faded but not quite gone, but it is cast to the side as exhaustion takes the throne. A moment after he puts his head upon the pillow, he is asleep.

Chapter Text

   After a night of intoxication, you will awake in your bed the next morning and be unable to recall the prior night’s events. Who have you been with? What have you done? You awake with a headache and a foggy memory, unable to clear the haze from your mind.

   But vampires are incapable of getting intoxicated in this story; alcohol does not ruin their mind and memory, it holds no effect upon them. If that is so, why do we mention it?

   The feeling that one has when he awakes from a drunk night is one similar to what Javert is feeling. He does not know where he is when he awakes, he does not know who has brought him here or what has happened. He does not know what he has said, or what he has done. All that he is aware of is his head and body is aching and his arms not moving when he tells them to.

   When they finally work up, he rubs his hands over his face and pushes his hair out of his face, throwing his legs off the side of the bed and sitting up. He must look as horrible as he feels, but there is not much to be done about it. The sleep has done him good, given him back a little strength, but he is still much drained.

   He is lucky that there is a bathroom connected to the room. He tidies himself up and, in that moment, raises his eyes to the mirror so that he may see himself. The eye bags and hollowed cheeks are pro intent on his face, and his expression is so severe that even he would be taken aback to see it through the streets. The candlelight does not illuminate in his favor, and he breathes a heavy sigh as he begins to wash his face and tidy his hair.

   He now realizes that blood has stained his shirt and waistcoat, a few smears and droplets making their presence known when he bends down to tie his boots. When he makes his way down the steps, true to his word, Madeleine is awake and dressed, sitting in the parlor with a book in his hands. At the sight of Javert, he starts, but then seems to remember the events of the night before and relaxes again.

   “Good morning, Inspector. Can I get you anything to eat?” Madeleine asks, rising from his chair to come to the policeman. Javert frowns and shakes his head.

   “No, Monsieur, I am fine. If it is no bother to you, I would like to make my way to the station.” Javert says stiffly, now aware of how exposed he is. He has told Madeleine everything, and yet the man has not made any move to kill him. He is being friendly to him, something that no one has ever been to him, and Javert does not know how to handle it. His first instinct, the one that he wants to follow, tells him to run and get to safety, but there is a force that is keeping him at Madeleine’s side. Why?

   Madeleine gives his everlasting smile and nods. “Allow me to walk with you,” he says as he reaches for his coat. Javert is aware of how pitiful he must look in his eyes: Wearing nothing except his bloodied waistcoat and shirtsleeves, a bruised, cut up face. His cheeks burn with shame.

   As they walk down the street of the house, the sun has not even peeked from the horizon, and so the town is still enveloped in darkness. Both men are glad for it.

   “We ought to discuss last night,” Madeleine mutters, raising his head but not quite looking Javert in the eyes. The inspector scoffs and drops his head to the ground.

   “What is there to discuss? I am a pathetic creature, and I have been justly revealed of it. I will not be surprised if there is a mob awaiting me at the front of the station house.”

   He speaks of this so casually, as one would talk of the weather, and Madeleine gawks. They stop in the middle of the street as he puts a gloved hand upon Javert’s forearm. Shudders wrack his body and he makes to move away, but he is frozen.

   “Why do you speak of yourself so? No one will suspect you, I have tried to make sure of it.” Madeleine assures and drops his hand. Javert looks at him, confused.

   “What do you mean?” He growls. If he were a dog, his fur would be bristling, sensing danger. Madeleine takes a step back from him.

   “To make them release you, I had assured that your reaction to the garlic had been nothing more than an allergy.” He explains. “I have known people with allergies to the smell of garlic,” he lies. “And they relented.”

   Javert stares at him, unable to comprehend what he has just heard. Something in him boils up and claws at the walls of defense and solitude he has built around himself. To think that Madeleine has not only spared him of death, but has been the sole reason he escaped the mob in the first place! It is unthinkable to Javert, and yet, it is how it happened.

   He composes himself with a curt turn of his head. "Well," he huffs, for he cannot thank him, "that will not be enough to stop their suspicion. They will come for me eventually, and then your words will not be enough." Javert speaks as though he is talking of the weather, and it baffles Madeleine. The mayor's face creases in bewilderment, and he shakes his head.

   "I will make sure they do not," he assures again. "Your secret will not be revealed. If anyone decides to question you, I will warn the other officers of what has transpired last night."

   Javert suddenly starts. "No!" He hisses, and Madeleine is lost. "You will not say a word of that night. Monsieur, it is bad enough that I must hide away from them; do not make them turn their eyes to me. Do not make me the center of the station! That they already question my apperance and my skills as a hunter- this will only prove them right, and I will be forced to flee."

   Madeleine's chest aches with sudden understanding. For years, he has scourged and starved himself, kept himself on the brink of exhaustion just so that no one would suspect him. It is true that upon seeing Javert, even in Toulon all those years ago, when he was still a convict, he had thought the man a vampire. Perhaps it was not his fault, but it was just so obvious! The shadow upon his face, covering his eyes, has always been a sign of something inhuman.

   But now, looking at the man without his gear or hat and simply in his shirtsleeves, he realizes that he is nothing of the monster his conscience has made him out to be; rather than being forced into vampirism, he was born into it, without a choice, and still paid the price.

   Vampire or not, Madeleine knew in his heart that being punished and judged since birth was no one's fault. At least he had had twenty some years of freedom as a human, a impoverished tree pruner but human nonetheless; Javert had never had the chance. Even if he attempts to hide himself, his disguise is not as opaque as it ought to be, and the mistake is paid through the wary and skeptical eye of others.

   What must it be like, he wonders, to be forced to hide from the sun when he was just a child? What cruel, unreasonable oppression and abuse did he have to face from the other children, from the adults?

   He has never known kindness, Madeleine thinks with a furrow of his brow. He has never been given a helping hand, a shoulder to rest upon. Always he has been on alert, never allowing himself a moments rest in fear of the beastly nature taking a hold up on him, making him blood-thisty. Madeleine knows, for he goes through the same problems himself. It is like a siren call, beckoning you further and further; lose your wits, and you will fall into it and you will not be able to climb your way out. You will get lost in yourself, in the monster that you try to convince yourself does not exist, and you will succumb to it and die to it. It is a fatal game, and there are few who try to toe the line so closely as do Javert and Madeleine.

   They are more alike that Madeleine has initially realized. He looks at Javert with a solemn face, and nods slowly. “I understand,” he responds to Javert’s panic softly. “I will not speak a word of it.”

   He sees the inspector relax, just by a fraction. “I still do not understand why you do not throw me into the belly of the beast.." He muttered, and Madeleine nearly heaves a sigh.

   "Because I understand what you are going through," he says with as much bravery as he can muster up. He puts a tenative hand on the man's shoulder and feels both of them simultaneously stiffen up. Javert suddenly looks at him with a revived shine in his eyes, and Madeleine must stop himself from shrinking away in fear. Those eyes are terrifying, a raging sea of blue that seems to pierce right through his disguise.

   "So it is true," Javert mutters, his voice dangerously low. Madeleine feels his heart seize up in panic; it takes everything he has to keep his expression neutral. Javert's head dips, low, staring into Madeleine's eyes with an intent that the mayor can not decipher.

   “Pardon?” He asks, his voice cracking and shaking despite himself. He takes a hand from Javert’s shoulder, watching it straighten on its own accord. Javert's eyes do not leave his as he holds his head up high, and he is no longer the dejected man that Madeleine has had to save.

   Javert does not answer for a long while. After what seems like ages, finally his eyes fall off to some thing off to the side, and Madeleine is sure that a burn mark has been left on him.

   "You are the same as I," he concludes in a hushed voice, and Madeleine panics. Before he can voice anything, Javert continues. "You are a human, but you are also a vampire. No?" He abruptly clears his throat, his eyes still unblinking. "I have seen your ears; they are chopped up. You do not leave your factory until sunset." He looks down at Madeleine's hands. "You are scarred. Am I wrong, monsieur?"

   Madeleine does not know how to answer. He had believed Javert to announce him a full vampire and run for the station, but it seems that that is not at all what he thinks. Javert is not himself at the moment; he is weakened, he is confused, and he seems to have come the conclusion that Madeleine is of his nature. The tightness in his chest releases, just a little, because he now realizes that a new path has opened in front of him.

   After a long time, he nods. "No," he whispers. "You are not wrong." It is not a lie, not completely.

   Somthing in Javert's expression shifts, his eyes finding their way back to Madeleine's. "I see," he mutters. Though the mornin is frisk, the air between them is suffocating, and the mayor must steel himself not to move away. Javert clears his throat again, surprised to find it so dry. "How have you become mayor?"

   Madeleine frowns. "How do you mean? I have worked, Inspector; I have worked through every trouble, just as you, so that I may earn a promising life.” He says the words with more malice than he intends, but Javert has looked at him as if he is of a different world, and it ignited something defensive within the vampire. Javert does not shrink away, in neither shame nor surprise, and he silently thanks God for it.

   “Hm,” he hums, before turning on his heel. “I must be going, Monsieur. The sun will no doubt be rising soon.” The inspector says briskly, slightly hunching his shoulders as he makes to walk away.

   “Uh, inspector,” Madeleine calls, and the man stops in his tracks to throw one piercing eye his way. Madeleine smiles, his face creasing in something he does not know is fake or not. “Be well, please. I will see you at our next meeting.”

   Javert stares at him for a moment, thinking, before nodding sternly and walking off. Madeleine watches until he disappears down the street, and looks down at the scarred hands that he had pointed out.

   You may ask, why did Madeleine lie? Why did he not deny it, save himself from damnation, and continue the lie he has worked so hard to maintain? Why would he lie to the very man who seeks his arrest?

   He does not know.

   He has no answer to these questions, nor the dozen others that plague his mind. Perhaps it was because he pitied the man, for he knows what it is like to always be on edge, unable to trust anyone. He does not trust Javert, not even after this, for this was not an act of friendship, but rather an act of duty. Javert has climbed the ranks of society all of his life; none of it is not his fault.

   But what if it had been Madeleine? What if it had been he that was seized and interrogated? Would Javert have intervened?

   Perhaps, perhaps not. Out of duty, maybe, but upon seeing his reddening eyes, he would have likely killed him then and there, on the spot.

   Out of duty. That is all it was. Javert does not seem to keep himself in good condition, only enough so that he may be operational, so it is seen that he is alike Madeleine in the sense that he wishes to hide and play pretend as much as possible.

   But lying to the inspectors face? Pretending that he is not full vampire, but only half? He has no excuse for that, not completely.

   He walks to the factory with his head down, contemplating through the empty streets.

-

   They do not see each other for a week.

   Javert has taken extra measures to stay away from Madeleine, even going so far as to change his patrol route so that he is multiple streets away from the factory.

   He has been thinking, this past week.

   So his suspicions are true: Madeleine is a vampire. That is true, and yet, there is a sudden barrier preventing him from calling him out. Javert has never believed in protecting one’s own race- perhaps because he has never found another like him- and yet, this may very well be what is stopping him. And, there is the everlasting debt that Madeline has saved him from oblivion- how could he forget about that? He hasn’t. It has plagued his thoughts, made him unable to shut his eyes and sleep.

   The town does not mention the attack that had taken place only seven days prior, but Javert does not stop himself from baring his teeth at those who send suspicious glances his way. He wishes to arrest every one of them, but he does not want to report the incident, so he lets it be.

   As for his wellbeing, Javert has taken extra precautions for himself and tied himself to his desk so that he does not succumb to any of the lasting effects of his curse. The other officers ask why he has not been out on patrol, resulting in a rise of vampire attacks, and he merely brushes it off with an excuse that he had been injured a few days before. Fortunately, it holds them off.

   When the time comes for their weekly meeting, Javert loathes to make the walk. He trudges on, eyes bright even under the shade of his hat, and if his gait is a little slower than usual, no one seems to notice. By the time he gets to the factory, he is captured by that unknown feeling, that lingering sickness of debt having fixed itself into the creases of his stone chest.

   Before he can fully comprehend it, he is admitted into Madeleine’s office. Javert is stiff on his feet, awkward as if he is a child in a man's body, and his stomach plummets when their eyes meet one another.

   Madeleine smiles, his mouth straining and creasing in a way that is so clearly forced. “Good afternoon, Inspector,” he greets warmly, and something in Javert’s chest lurches out in pain. He is not used to the breathlessness, and he quickly averts his gaze to a nearby corner that is suddenly deserving of all of his attention.

   “Monsieur le Maire,” Javert bows, keeping his head high. He waits for Madeleine to proceed with their default pleasantries and such, but they do not come. When Javert gains the courage to look back at the mayor, he is staring at him, scrutinizing him. His body becomes more rigid with every passing moment.

   After that feels like an eternity, Madeleine mumbles from his desk, “You look quite ashen. Have you been well, this week?”

   Javert must remind himself to not let his jaw drop in terror. Instead he straightens his back further, and opts to ignore the comment.

   “If you will permit me, Monsieur, I believe I shall start the report.” He says briskly, his face carefully blank. Madeleine frowns, but permits him to start with a wave of his hand. Javert quickly go through the report, supplying short and hasty details in a way that he hope is not too noticeable. By the end of it, Madeleine's expression is such a storm of concern and frustration that Javert can almost laugh at how comical he looks.

   "If that is all, Monsieur," Javert bows and makes to turn, but Madeleine objects.

   "Another moment of your time, Inspector," he calls, but does not miss Javert's scowl. "It will not take long.” He clears his throat, waits for any sign of objection, and is glad when he finds none. He continues, in a low voice, “You do not look well. Has there been any more trouble? Hopefully no one has confronted you again?"

   Javert barely stops the growl in his throat. Still, he shakes his head. "Monsieur, this is hardly the place," he huffs. "I will be taking my leave."

   Suddenly Madeleine's hand is on Javert's arm, holding him back. He stifles a cry of surprise and stumbles at the sudden weight. When he turns, Madeleine's brows are still creased.

   "What is the meaning of th-"

   "Come for dinner tonight."

   The words are clumsy, blurted out so quickly that Javert almost misses them. He blinks, all expression gone from his face, as he processes what they mean. When he does not give an answer after what must've been a minute, Madeleine shrinks away, hand leaving Javert's arm.

  "Forgive me, I was out of line. Nevermind it, Inspector." He says defeatedly, and Javert thinks that if either of them had the blood for it, they would be blushing. Javert stands awkwardly as Madeleine sits back down, still not having moved.

   What could the mayor want to do with him? Javert's intal thought is instinct, that the invitation is a trap, and the man is simply luring him over so that he may attack him or cast him out. And then he suddenly remembers that the mayor has had ample opportunities to do such things, and yet has not done a single one. He has asked him to dinner for his wellbeing. Or?

   "Inspector?" Madeleine asks after another minute. Javert has not spoken nor moved. "Javert?" His voice somehow becomes smaller, and it is enough to snap Javert out of his reverie.

   "Why?" He croaks, and his word is more like a dog's snarl than anything else. Madeleine seems surprised to even gotten a reply; his eyebrows shoot up and he rises a little in his chair.

   "Why?" The mayor parrots, a crooked smile forming upon his lips. "Because I wish to know how you are doing. I will not force you, of course, but I would hope that we could sit down together; not as colleagues, but rather friends. Do you object?"

   Javert's thoughts come to a screeching halt.

   He openly stares at Madeleine, something like disgust and shock mixed into one expression. Friends. Is that what they are? Friends who have saved the other from oblivion, avoided for a week, and is now asking for a night in each other’s company? Javert has never had a relationship closer than mere coworkers, but he has an idea that that is not what friends do with one another. The feeling in his chest grows, swells and swells so suddenly that Javert scarcely thinks he is having a heart attack. His expression becomes blank, slowly, and he find no pleasure in the tightened look that Madeleine holds.

   He cannot quite take in a breath when he finally nods after what must’ve been minutes. He bows, dipping his head low. “I will be there, after night fall.” He decides in a low voice. “Monsieur le Maire.” And then he leaves, all but running out of the door.

   Madeleine falls back onto his chair, letting out a sigh. What did he just do? Invite the one man who is single-handedly the biggest threat to him over for dinner? So they may simply chat? Madeleine puts his head in his hands, wincing at his stupidity.

   This was a mistake.

-

   True to his word, Javert leaves the station after the night has captured the sky, bright stars scrambled as far as the eye can see. He pulls his hat from his head, holding it to his chest as he looks up at the clear, clean sky.

   How beautiful the stars are at this time. Javert has not know any other sky better than the one he looks at now; always, he has been forced to wait until the hours of night to venture out. His mother had warned him, told him that it was not safe and that the outside was dangerous. He did not believe her at first, captivated with curiosity as all children are, and he had paid the price.

   There are burn marks on his wrist. Special chains, made specifically for vampires, made of pure silver. They had forced them upon him when he was barely four years old, and he had held them regularly until he was twelve.

   The scars have warped over time, twisting into his dark skin as he has aged. He does not like to look at them, prefers to keep gloves over his hands if only to avoid them and pretend that they are not there. Perhaps if he can work hard enough, he can erase the sins of his parents.

   The walk to Madeleine’s house is a slow one. Partially because he wants to see the night sky, and partially because he does not know what to expect out of his meeting, and he is afraid- even if he will not admit it to himself. He cannot recognize fear as a standard emotion for himself, so it falls unregistered through him, but it is the truth.

   What does his mother look like? He cannot remember, honestly. It has been years since she has ever crossed his mind. Every now and then, yes, because no one can truly wipe their mother from their mind, but it startles him each time. He should not be thinking about her. Most of the time, he does not even have coherent thoughts about her. He only goes through the same questions he has been unable to answer since his early adulthood: What does she look like? What was her name? Her age? Did she truly care for a vampiric scum that had no choice but to be thrown into the world? Perhaps he can answer that last one- the only reason he knows anything about the stars is from his mother. This, he can remember. He also remembers the stories and lessons she had given him over vampires, not ignoring his nature nor shunning it, but instead teaching him how to control it, somewhat. That was a good thing, Javert decides.

   But lessons of pointless things such as this have no place in the eyes of the law. What she did or did not do had no effect when one thing was certain: she was a lawbreaker. That is certain, and that is all that matters. Human or not, you have no right to break the law; there is a choice. There is always a choice.

   Javert puts his hat upon his head against when he reaches the door of the mayor. That odd something in him makes him momentarily freeze, forbidding him to knock upon the door. But he wills over it quickly, and uses the knocker to give three equal hits.

   Madeleine opens the door with a grin, one he reserves for all of those he is well acquainted with. Javert recognizes it from the way the mayor has smiled at women walking down the streets or in his factory. He scowls.

   “There you are, Javert. Come in,” he ushers him in with a wave of his hand, quickly closing the door behind them. Javert stands awkwardly before Madeleine gives him the go ahead to remove his outerwear, to which he removes his hat and Inverness coat, awkwardly hanging them on the rack at the door.

   “What of your gloves? Surely you do not mean to stay in them all night?” Madeleine asks before they can reach the parlor. Javert momentarily stumbles, looking down at his hands with a gutted feeling. He has never taken off his gloves in front of someone else before. Especially not a superior.

   “If it is all the same to you, Monsieur-“

   Madeleine cuts him off. “Please, enough with such formalities! We are here as friends, Javert. Call me Jean- or Madeleine, if you must.”

    Javert scowls at the informality. “If it is all the same to you, Madeleine,” and he chooses the surname just because it is the closest thing to formal for him, “I would rather keep them on.”

    Madeleine frowns. “You will be hot with them on, and you will feel more relaxed without them.” He offers, lightly pushing the subject a little further. I do not want to feel more relaxed, Javert thinks to himself as he debates. Madeleine will see the scars, and he will wonder what has happened to him for them to form. But another glance at the mayor’s hands announce that he, too, is scarred. Perhaps…

   Javert gingerly tugs off the gloves and puts them into the pocket of his coat. His fingers are long and slender, one could almost call them elegant if they were not so large and ruined.

   Madeleine makes no comment as Javert feared he would. “There we are,” he smiles when Javert cooperates. “Now come, to the parlor!”

   He is unusually enthusiastic, Javert thinks as he allows himself to be led into the room. Like the rest of the house, the room is incredibly spartan, almost as bad as Javert’s own quarters. He takes note of it, as he does with everything, as he settles in the chair assigned to him.

   “My housemaid does not work this late into the night, so I hope you will forgive me for the emptiness of the house.” Madeleine starts casually, stiffly settling on the other fauteuil.

   “I had not noticed. I have not been here during the day, so.” Javert returns simply, hands awkwardly folded over one another as if to hide them.

   “I suppose you are right.” Madeleine agrees with a short laugh- Javert can tell he is nervous; he cannot sit still for more than five seconds at a time. Then, he shifts, “Well then. How are you doing?”

   Javert notices the trap that had been obviously since the morning at the office. He has brought him here so that he may be backed into a corner, so that he will be forced to talk to the man and stop avoiding questions. Yes, it was a painfully obvious tactic.

   What is increasingly alarming, though, is the fact that Javert, despite overseeing this, has allowed it to happen.

   “Fine, Monsieur le Maire,” he does not fidget- he never has- but he is carefully still, almost stone-like. He does not give a longer answer. He does not want to.

   Madeleine does not seem satisfied by the response. Why must he always want to talk about Javert’s wellbeing? Honestly, it’s rather tiring at this point that their only conversation topic seems to be him.

   Javert does not answer when Madeleine poses another question towards him, instead dropping his head and scowling. Madeleine takes the hint, the last of his sentence dying out to a whisper. Then suddenly, and for some reason Javert was unable to see it coming, the mayor comes up beside him and puts a hand on his shoulder.

   The inspector's head shoots up, alarmed and meaning to jump away, but Madeleine's grip is steadfast. "Javert, what is the matter? If you are uncomfortable, please know that it was never my intention." He stumbles a little, head dropping in guilt. "You are by no means forced to be here. If you wish it, you may leave." Javert is surprised at the declaration, looking at Madeleine with wide eyes. Saddened, Madeleines hand falls from his shoulder and he gestures to the entrance hallway. "I know you are a busy man. I will not hold it against you." His smile is tight, incredibly fake.

   Javert considers it. He stares at the front door, watches how it coaxes him to get out and flee before the mayor can ask any more questions. His eyes dart back to Madeleine, his face still unchanged. There is a very clear decision here, and he knows what he must do.

   But there is something in him that barks at him to halt.

   He cannot leave Madeleine's house like this. For multiple reasons- one, it would be incredibly rude, to leave a superior's presence without having come to a comfortable and agreed upon seperation, and for reasons that Javert still canot place, it would not sit well with him.

   And why not? It is not his job to care for the mayor's feelings.

   And yet, how incredibly rude it would be to be invited to the man's house and not provide any sort of conversation, any sort of politeness!

   All of this, but there is still something else.

   We will remind the reader that both Javert and Madeleine are solitary men. They do not have friends, have never had them, and are therefore unused to this meeting that, by Madeleine's words, is a simple meet up as companions. Perhaps it is Javert’s conscious that will not let him leave, a sort of idea that he is indebted to Madeleine for saving his life. And Madeleine, though he has no debt to pay, feels something along the lines of pity for Javert, because all he has seen for the man is a loneliness and bitterness he aches to mend. Javert fascinates him- not in the way a child would be interested with a bug, but the way a physicist would be with a theorem: he wants to figure him out, understand him.

   But such a desire comes with unspeakable risks.   It is incredibly thin ice to walk on, but he is nothing if not strategic. He will find a way- he always does.

   Having made up his mind, Javert remains seated. “If I may be so bold, Monsie— Madeleine, I will stay. I have been disrespectful, and incredibly rude; allow me to make amends." He has risen from his seat and is currently bowing as far as he can go, his chest heavy. He hears Madeleine make a quiet rebuke, and soon he is being hoisted back upright.

   "There are no amends to be made," Madeleine sighs as he sits back dwon in his chair. He is more relaxed now, somewhat softer. He is quiet for a moment before he begins to laugh, his shoulders lightly shaking with the quiet chuckles. "In all of my time, Inspector, I have never known someone as formal and devoted as you."

   Javert does not see the amusement. "When one is with a superior, he must always be formal." He says candidly.

   "Always! Such steadfast words," Madeleine laughs.

   "There would be no hierarchy without said words," Javert bites back. He is being painfully disrespectful, he knows such, but it simply rubs him the wrong way to hear the mayor speak so nonchalantly about rules- rules that Javert himself must enforce!

   "As always, you are right." The mayor smiles, his voice light against Javert's bark. There is a pause before Javert suddenly shifts the conversation,

   “Do you carry a rosary with you?” He asks, staring at Valjean with faded, red eyes. A discomforted face passes through the older man’s face before disappeared a moment later.

   “Yes, I believe I’ve taken one from my factory. But it is not silver, it is wood and beads.” He adds in a muttered voice, “I still do not see the reason to harm yourself as you do.”

   Javert rolls his eyes. “Oh, spare me the concern. You know well what would happen if I didn’t!” He barks. “You saw what those men did. I nearly lost myself in bloodlust- I nearly bit you.” His voice becomes smaller, reserved. “I have not lost myself like that before. Not for years. If I had done something to you, I…” he stumbles for a moment, testing the words before finally spitting them out: “I would have killed myself if I had put you in harms way, Monsieur.”

   Madeleine’s mouth falls open. This is entirely unlike the inspector- and he makes to say just that, but Javert continues.

   “I will be blunt: I have had my suspicions of you, Monsieur. I have watched you, waiting until the moment you slipped up so that I may catch you for what you are. But you see, it is not that simple anymore. To be clear- You have saved my life. Only God himself knows what that mob would have done to me had you not intervened. So you see Monsieur, because of this, how can you expect me to live with the idea that I might have killed you?

   “But I suppose it is different now, considering you are like myself. To be honest, I had not thought that there would be another one like I- Perhaps it is a thing to be thankful for, but it still does not relieve me from my actions.” He has begun pacing, running his hands through his whiskers. Suddenly he stops, staring at Madeleine with piercing eyes. “You ask why I harm myself? You have seen what happens if I do not. For both our sakes, you would do well to cut this off now. Say the word, and I shall leave. You do not need to burden yourself with my presence.

   “For it is one thing to stay in my company, but to invite me to your home, smile and spark conversation as if we are equals- there is no need for such falsities, Monsieur. I have been hated all of my life; you would not be the first one to banish me.” He clears his throat, still clawing through his whiskers. “But even if you do decide to object, as I’m sure you will, for reasons I still cannot understand, I only ask that you do not treat me with this false kindness. Be rude, be short- for it is I who owes you, and therefore, as your Inspector, I will do whatever you ask.”

   His rambled speech ends with a huff of breath, as his shoulders momentarily sag before righting themselves again. Even after baring himself like this, he meets Madeleine’s eyes, standing tall at attention as if he has just delivered a report rather than vowed his devotion.

   Madeleine must take time to understand what Javert has just said. It baffles him that a single comment can make a man rave as much as Javert has, but it has given him information he has not expected to hear.

   How can it be that Javert is truly willing to work under Madeleine? The mayor knew very well that Javert did not trust him, nor like him; the very idea that the inspector is now offering all that he is to the man, just because Madeleine has saved his life. It is not unlike how a dog would begin to trail after a man who has just fed it food.

   He is rather uncomfortable at the fact. Yes, he wants to get closer to Javert, despite the dangers it brings, but at the same time, he does not quite understand what the inspector wants from him. Madeleine will not be rude- it is not in his nature- nor does he plan to use Javert for his own personal gain. He has never understood men who do that.

   And what is worse- it seems that Javert has fallen so deeply into the lie that is Madeleine’s half vampiric nature, rather than full, that he is truly ready to throw himself to his knees and bow his head at the command of Madeleine. It frightens him, he does not want that, and he does not believe in the slightest that it is something Javert deserves. But arguing with the man will not prove fruitful; as smart as the inspector may be, he is more stubborn than mule.

   Carefully, he forms his words. “Inspector,” he starts, clearing his throat from its gruffness. “I appreciate your devotion. Truly, I do. You have always been an outstanding member of the law- and though you will not agree with it, your nature proves to be more of an asset than a fault- and you are correct in the idea that I refuse to treat you unfairly. What have I to be cross for? That you have had suspicions of me, mistaken me for some convict? I would rather have an inspector who notices such crucial things than one who is blind. I know you do not think highly of yourself, but won’t you remember that I am the same as you? If you truly believe myself to be so perfect, so much so that you think yourself to be a burden, why do you not regard yourself with the same standard? I am not saying to have an ego, but some self-preservation would be welcomed.”

   He smiles, glancing down at the rosary that rests around Javert’s neck. “You are a dutiful worker, but Montreuil would be lost if you were to be hurt. Do you understand that, Javert? You are an asset to me, and though I am glad that you have announced your devotion- not to me, but more to the law- I do not want you to degrade yourself so. You have your rosary, your repellents- fine! Let it be so! But to speak of yourself so horribly, as if you are nothing but scum underneath a bridge! That is unacceptable.”

   Javert has been watching him with wide eyes, glaring but finally clear, and Madeleine relishes in the fact that he has finally managed to break through to the man. He continues, steadfast.

   “Moreover, there is no debt to be paid between us. I did not protect you in hopes of such. I saved you because you are a good man, the best I have ever known. Will you accept that, Javert? I do not want your devotion if it is only out of debt. And, I will not claim that I do not know how it is to lose yourself, but that is no reason for penance. Your will is stronger than any I have ever seen, so grant yourself the moment of weakness! You did not harm me then, and I know you would not. Even so, I would not let you!” His chuckle is short-lived, his expression quickly dropping back to his normal, mayoral smile. “There are no debts to pay, no punishments due, no harsh words to be spoken. Though, I do wish that you will not only see this as a duty. I meant what I said earlier, that I would like to get to know you better. As friends, not coworkers.”

   Javert takes in the information silently. He has sat back down, tugging almost frantically at his whiskers, as he listens to Madeleine’s words. When the speech is finished, he tenses, staring at the wooden floor as if it has personally offended him. He was silent for a few minutes, comprehending all that had passed between them. Madeleine welcomed the silence. He too, thought over it. Yes, it would be better to have Javert as an ally than an enemy.

   After an eternity, Javert quickly huffed out his words. “If it is all the same to you, Madeleine, I believe you had promised a dinner.”

   The humor is dry, but it is enough to spark a laugh from Madeleine. He grins, mouth wide with relief, and gets up from his chair. “Yes, you are right Inspector. Forgive me for my inhospitality.”

   Javert rolls his eyes. “I do not think that is possible for a man such as yourself.”

   Madeleine laughs and leads Javert into the dining room. The dinner is a meager soup that the housemaid has cooked up, made up of mostly water and a few vegetables.

   They sit across from each other at the table. Both seem nervous about eating, almost as if they are afraid to bear their teeth. Javert scowls when Madeleine smiles at him and haphazardly comments on his eyes, how they look in the golden light of the lanterns and candles. The conversation between them is no longer as strained as it once was- there is an understanding between them, a bridge built. Friends.

   When it grows late, well past midnight, Javert bids him farewell, bowing his head deeply in thanks and gratitude.

   "Thank you for coming tonight," Madeleine says as he holds up Javert's coat for him. "I am glad that we've... Worked things out." He clears his throat, eyes flickering about. "Will you come next Wednesday? If you wish, we could share a drink, perhaps discuss work if you feel so inclined.”

   Javert regards him with an upturned nose. Considering his words, he nods as he places his hat upon his head. “That would be agreeable. Thank you for your hospitality, Monsieur le Maire.” He bows again, then, twisting his mouth, amends awkwardly, “Madeleine.”

   The mayor grins like a little boy, nearly giddy. “Until then, Monsieur l’Inspector. Be well.”

   Javert’s mouth is upturned as he begins to walk off. In the brightness of the streetlights, he is not as scary as Madeleine had once thought. Though, perhaps that has more to do with what has occurred tonight.

   Though once his jailer, Javert doesn’t feel nearly as terrifying as he did a week before. He is a mystery figured out, nothing but a man now. How interesting it is, this feeling arising in his chest. It is not anxiety, more like a relief to it, and Madeleine smiles to himself. Without the intimidation and suspicion, Javert is actually quite good to converse with. He is educated in topics Madeleine would never have guessed, and throughout everything he discusses things as intensely as a lawyer would. It is amusing; keeps the conversation alive.

   The evening was a much bigger success than he had thought it would be. Once terrified, now Madeleine was genuinely looking forward to another evening with the inspector.

   How odd it was, this thing in both of their chests. Madeleine had thought he had lost the ability to feel for another; Javert was sure he had been born without it.

   An odd thing, indeed.