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Chapter Text

Valjean honestly didn’t know how it happened. One minute, he and Javert are passionately debating different interpretations of the Bible and the next they’re staggering up the stairs towards the bedroom with their lips firmly attached. As was said before, Jean Valjean didn’t know how it had occurred the first time, but the many other times he awoke to find Javert curled up beside him could be remembered with perfect clarity.

What had started out as a close friendship had developed into a stable relationship, and Valjean couldn’t have been happier – if he ignored one important thing. Although Cosette and Marius knew of and supported their friendship (“I’m so glad you’ve got Inspector Javert with you now, Papa,” Cosette had exclaimed, “It is a comfort to know you won’t be alone.”), they knew nothing of the more recent developments and the guilt was starting to eat at Valjean’s heart, even if keeping quiet was the right thing to do.

This topic had come up a few times, and as Javert and Valjean lay curled around each other in the darkness, it was about to breach the calm again.

“Javert?” A tired ‘hmm’ was the only reply the ex-convict received. Hopefully this was encouragement to continue.

“I am unsure about keeping our relationship from Cosette.”

He was met with silence.

“. . . Javert?”

More silence.

“We need to discuss this, Javert.”

An annoyed huff of breath ghosted over Valjean’s neck. An improvement from the stifling silence, at least.

“You know she will inform the idiot Pontmercy, don’t you?” His lover’s voice was sharp and cold, cutting through the blackness like a butcher’s blade.

Valjean sighed – this turn in the conversation was becoming all too familiar. “Marius is not as bad as you think. He loves Cosette very much.”

“His love does not make up for his idiocy.” He could feel the police officer’s disapproving stare on him in the gloom, “And we are now off topic.”

“Cosette may not tell him. She wants us to be happy, and this” - he gestured towards their tangled forms - “is what makes me happy.” Dread suddenly swallowed Valjean, “Are you happy, Javert?”

“If I was not happy, I would have left.” A warm hand brushed (Javert would never dare call the action a caress) against his jaw and the older man relaxed into the sheets.

“It is your happiness she wants Valjean, not mine. If you wish to tell her, then do so in the far future when she has enough sense not to tell the idiot.”

“The boy’s not an idiot.”

“Anyone who asks his father-in-law about having sex with the man’s daughter is an idiot. How could he not know?” The part about Marius’ former friendship with medical students was left unsaid.

“He didn’t know his father and his relationship with his grandfather was strained at best. I think everyone just assumed he knew what to do.”

“That is no excuse as to why he asked YOU – his bride’s father – about relations.”

The realisation that there was no way he could win this area of their discussion was not at all new to Valjean. However, it was the topic that sprung new thoughts in the man’s mind.

“You are right Javert, he should not have asked me.”

“Thank you.” The sickly smugness in Javert’s voice made Valjean wished he’d left the shutters open. Then maybe Javert would see his glare.

“And I will not tell Cosette – at least not now. She does not like to lie, especially to Marius, but his naivety in this subject could be a hindrance on his judgement.” As Valjean spoke, the words finalised in his head until they were strong enough to beat away the guilt he had previously felt. He would tell her, just not now.

“You say ‘hindrance’, I say –”

“Don’t you dare, Javert.”

“Fine, fine. Deny the truth now, Valjean, but you'll admit to the boy's idiocy one day.” Javert grumbled into his shoulder as he shifted to sleep, dozing off in seconds. Valjean frowned to himself, hoping he was making the right choice and quickly joined his lover in dream land.

Chapter Text

The next two days were uneventful, yet they would stay in Valjean’s memory until the day he passed on. With Javert, he could experience a closeness he’d never had with another person, and a weight he never knew he’d been bearing had finally left. The ex-convict could actually understand why Cosette and Marius had been so mushy with the other. Granted, Javert would never be described as ‘cuddly’ or even very affectionate; but seeing the other man’s eyes soften when Valjean wrapped his arm around him, or Javert making him a cup of tea exactly the way he liked (milk, no sugar, the white cup with two chips by the handle), was more than enough for Valjean to parade a soppy smile for the next hour or two.

Jean Valjean felt as if he and Javert were separated from the rest of the world, cradled in their own little pocket of the universe - which was precisely why that on the third day a knock on the door and Cosette’s voice apologizing for their lateness was enough to make the old man drop his book.

Thankfully, Javert had been there to answer the door to the smiling couple whilst Valjean learnt how to breathe again.

“Inspector, you are looking well.” Smiled Cosette as the trio entered the living room. A pink-faced Marius followed behind his graceful wife, his eyes firmly on the back of her head. Valjean worked hard to keep his frown under wraps – the boy really did need to forgive himself.

“As are you, Baroness Pontmercy.” Javert replied respectfully, stiff and uncomfortable with his lover’s daughter.

The inspector was saved from further awkward talk with the young woman when she spotted Valjean sitting rigidly, but smiling, on the sofa.

“Papa!” She exclaimed, her previously contented smile stretching to a full grin. Valjean soon found himself engulfed in a warm embrace, and his strained from found how to relax.

However, Valjean realised too late that this left Javert with a problem – a gangly, awkward, fidgeting problem that refused to look at the, if possible, even more uncomfortable looking Inspector. The older man could only watch on, helpless, over Cosette’s shoulder as she chattered in his ear, at the shuffling boy and the stiff policeman. It was amusing, in an odd sort of way – Javert’s irritation with Marius, and Marius’ fear that he would be arrested by Javert. A cycle that would surely end in tears.

“. . . Papa? Are you listening?” There was no malice in his daughter’s voice as she pulled away from her father, instead only faint amusement when she witnessed her father’s eyes flicker away from the two other persons in the room and back to her.

Valjean smiled, this time his full attention on the young woman’s face hovering a short distance away like a sun. A welcomed similarity to the old man, for Cosette, in all her radiance and warmth, was the sun in his life. “I’m sorry my dear, it appears my mind is drifting in my old age.”

He purposefully ignored the disbelieving snort from the other side of the room.

The concern that took hold of Cosette’s features was not fast enough to cover another emotion that had taken residence for the briefest of seconds.

“Are you alright papa?” Her eyebrows knitted further, even as Valjean patted her hands, a movement which had reassured her in the past, “Are you feeling well? How silly of me, I should have asked you earlier. Are the charity proje-”

Valjean cut her off with a smile – it was one he could never stop, the familiar stretch of his lips that came about whenever his Cosette committed a crime of sweetness and care.

“I am fine, my dear.” He spared a look for the two men by the window, who were still pointedly aware of each other even as they tried to forget the other’s existence, “Come, and let us enjoy our meal.”

This was a welcome distraction that he would have used earlier – if he had known of its existence. Only the smell of chicken had brought the thought of eating to his mind.

This was another thing he’d have to thank Javert for very thoroughly.

Dinner was horrid.

Oh the food had been splendidly cooked, the wine well picked and the company welcome, but fate must have been conspiring against Jean Valjean. Either that, or he had sinned greatly.

Although he had tried hard with the seating there are some things you cannot avoid, and this time it was Marius, Javert and a rectangular table. Valjean had taken his customary seat at the head of the table, and to spare Marius the pain of facing a glaring Inspector all night, had placed the boy at the other end facing him. Marius had not looked thankful. If anything, he looked more like a timorous mouse, and only his wife’s encouraging smiles on his left had coaxed him into looking directly at his father-in-law about halfway through the meal.

This had been fine. Marius should not feel fear or such embarrassment in his home, but that could be fixed in time – especially now, after that dinner, Javert refused to be in the same room as an ‘irritating idiot who wouldn’t know his brain from a pillow’.

Cosette, in an attempt to diffuse the tension, had brought up the subject of hobbies. She spoke with a passion only the young can have; she had taken up embroidery and flower pressing, but when it had been his turn to talk of his never-ending free time, he drew a blank. Valjean spoke all he could of his charity projects (an anonymous hospital donation here, a few repairs in the local schools there) and his garden, but must of his time had been spent learning about Javert in new ways. Valjean had babbled out an explanation about not really remembering much except those and Javert that sounded falser than a womaniser’s declarations of love, but thankfully she seemed to believe him.

It had only gotten worse when she asked Javert the same question.

“When I am not at work, I spend most of my time with your father.” Javert had said, sounding completely nonchalant for all the stiffness in his shoulders.

Valjean was enjoying himself. He was surrounded by loved ones and eating a lovely roast chicken. What more could he hope for?

“Really?” The surprise in Marius’ voice put a nervous butterfly in Valjean’s stomach, “Do you not do anything else?”

“The only thing I do, I do with him.” Javert’s eyes widened even as the calm words slipped innocently from his lips. Valjean had stopped his choking before it was noticed, but it was to the expense of his shirt. Damn – wine stains would never come out.

Valjean could hope for that to never have happened.

“That must be interesting!” Cosette’s enthusiasm and sweet smiles would have made him swell with pride only a father could feel if this were another conversation – any other conversation.

The only reply she received was Javert’s somewhat strained conformation as he tried not to choke on air.

“What do you do?” Marius probed, the demure nervousness leaving his frame altogether to be replaced with honest curiosity. His food was finished, he had nothing to distract him from Javert’s odd mannerisms.

Valjean’s only prayer was for Javert not to say ‘each other’. Javert took a bite of his food, looking thoughtful throughout the whole process. The alarm bells began to ring in the older man’s head.

“We go out,” The smirk forming was panic worthy, but shock held Valjean in place. He couldn’t interrupt anyway, it was too late, “we help each other relax and we are attempting many other strenuous activities, but find there is not enough time during the night to do so.”

“Why at night?” Cosette’s question was so innocent, so unassuming. But all the same, he begged whoever was listening to please end this. His only salvation was that the couple were not looking at him – their interested stares had no room for him, only Javert and his thoughtful mouthfuls.

“The neighbours are less likely to complain at night and won’t come knocking – we make a lot of noise and prefer not to be disturbed. On my many days off I’m trying to teach him how to ride a horse. ” The sly glances Javert sent his way were obvious and lewd; how could Marius and Cosette not see this?

He could confirm that he and Javert would not be riding horses for a while.

“Wow, is it hard?” Cosette’s eyes had widened with a child-like curiosity, but it was forever tainted in Valjean’s mind.

Javert’s decidedly evil (Valjean ignored the part of his mind that supplied the term ‘sultry’) smirk widened. “Very.”

In that small moment of gilded silence, Valjean seized his chance. “E-enough about us, what about you Marius?”

Javert’s smirk never faltered or left him for the rest of the meal, no matter how much Valjean ignored him – it was like a brand on his skin for the world to see, obliterating the number with ‘JAVERT’.

“We will be back on Saturday, Papa.” Cosette kissed his cheek, “Say goodbye to Javert, for me.”

Javert, who was currently sulking in the master bedroom and scrubbing his neck with a piece of wet cloth. Javert, who had left the room in a huff as soon as desert was finished. Javert, who had gone red when Marius had enquired after the ‘odd bruise’ on the Inspector’s neck. THAT Javert.

“I shall my dear, but you and your husband best be going now. The hour is quite late.” The patience in his voice sounded false and forced, even to his own ears.

Cosette, either oblivious or ignoring her father’s stress, left with a smile. Marius stayed behind a moment longer, simply staring at Valjean with a heat rising to his cheeks. It was better than the boy staring at the floor.

“Would you tell the Inspector I’m sorry, Monsieur?” Marius finally blurted out lamely, “I should not have enquired about his work.”

Valjean blinked, stunned. Marius really was that inexperienced.

“I will tell him, Marius. I’m sure he will not take it to heart.” The boy relaxed slightly, his shoulders slumping in relief and something lighting in his eyes. It was enough to make Valjean smile in return.

“Goodbye, Marius, have a safe journey home.”

“Thank you, Monsieur Valjean.”

Both parties parted with unexpected smiles.