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Javert looks down at the sight in front of him, and drops his head into his hands out of despair.
“Valjean,” he eventually manages to grit out, “I know you are fond of exasperating me, but even so I find it hard to believe that you have managed to get your wings into such a state when I groomed them for you only a week ago.” Lifting his head, Javert casts a mournful glance at the rumpled mess of feathers sprouting from Valjean’s otherwise admirable figure. The man in question only offers him a sheepish smile and shrugs, which causes a few more ragged feathers to flutter onto the floor. Javert purses his lips at the sight and impatiently herds his former enemy into the one chair in his Spartan apartment, and immediately sets about straightening the demon’s bedraggled plumage, plucking out the feathers that he deems as lost causes.
He stubbornly refuses to notice the way that Valjean seems to lean into his touches. He most definitely does not acknowledge the warm glow that suffuses through his own chest at the feeling.
“Do you know, I do not think I have ever met a demon as unconcerned with their personal appearance as you seem to be,” Javert mutters angrily as he works through a particularly difficult patch.
Valjean chuckles and turns his head to him. “I imagine most of my kind would shudder in horror if they ever beheld my wings1,” he says with that damnable smile. “It is fortunate indeed that I have you to take care of them for me, mon ange.”
Sometimes Javert has to stop and marvel at what his life has become. He, a feared archangel, regularly has tea with Valjean, who was once one of the most dangerous demons2 to roam the Earth. He takes walks in the park and feeds ducks with Valjean. He grooms Valjean’s wings. He gets called pet names and enjoys it.
“You’re damn well right you are,” the angel snaps. Or rather, tries to. It comes out more as a sort of embarrassed mumble accompanied by a rising flush. Valjean’s gentle smile, damn him, turns into a full-blown grin. The flush grows worse. Javert yanks harder than he needs to on a tuft of primaries in revenge, and the resulting yelp more than makes up for his embarrassment. With a wounded look, Valjean turns back to face away from his friend, allowing Javert to continue his task in peace.
They continue in silence, and soon Javert is smoothing out the last of Valjean's unruly feathers. He conjures3 up a bottle of oil and begins liberally applying the contents to his companion's outstretched wings. Valjean hums contentedly as the angel’s fingers stroke over his feathers. Javert rolls his eyes.
"One would almost think you ruin your wings on purpose, the way you seem to enjoy this so much," he remarks drily. Under his hands, Valjean's wings twitch. Javert narrows his eyes. He knew those wings had been even more disastrous than usual. "Valjean," he begins, "If you have been rolling around in filth to make me serve you, so help me I will-"
"No! I haven't!" Valjean exclaims as he jumps up from the chair to face Javert. At the other man's unimpressed glare, he hastily continues, "Well, perhaps I have been out flying more, but..."
"But what," Javert replies testily when Valjean does not seem inclined to continue.
Valjean looks at him helplessly. "Flying was my greatest pleasure before, well. I Fell. After that, I couldn't even spread my wings for fear of discovery. It's only thanks to you that I am allowed this freedom now, and I cannot help but take flight whenever I can." He steps forward and looks at Javert hopefully before continuing, "If this is truly inconveniencing you, I apologize, and I won't come to you anymore for this. Forgive me?"
For several moments, Javert doesn't make a sound, and Valjean is beginning to develop that constipated look he gets when he suspects that Javert is about to send him somewhere unpleasant4. Suddenly, the angel shifts and Valjean flinches back.
"You really are insufferable," Javert sighs. There's a rueful smile on his face, and Valjean blinks in surprise. Javert just shoos him back into the chair and continues applying the oil. Valjean slowly relaxes under his ministrations, and after a few minutes Javert deems him acceptable. As Valjean stands up and folds his wings away, Javert clears his throat and looks a little abashed as he says, “There is nothing to forgive, Valjean. I overreacted, and I am sorry.” The demon turns to look at him incredulously, and Javert smacks his arm. “Shut up. I am capable of apologies, you know.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Valjean chuckles. He gazes at Javert with what the angel thinks is entirely too much fondness before breaking into a wide grin and adding, “I do admit that I enjoy it immensely5 when you do this for me. It’s a nice change to have you pamper me for once, instead of the other way around.”
“You- What- You do not pamper me!” Javert splutters.
Valjean sighs dramatically. “I suppose I will have leave the cranberry clafoutis I baked for tonight’s desert to the gamins, since I have no use for such a thing. I had thought that the great archangel Javert might enjoy it though, especially when it’s been so long6 since the last time he’s had his favorite dessert, but if he insists on resisting temptation…” Javert cannot restrain a distressed whimper at the prospect. Sensing danger, Valjean hurries to ask, “You are coming to dinner tonight, yes?”
Recovering, Javert huffs and replies, “When have I ever missed one, Valjean?” If he has to be honest with himself, he doesn’t think he could handle the disappointment on Valjean’s face if he did. Damn the man.
Relieved, Valjean embraces him and turns to leave. “I’ll see you tonight, Javert.”
“There had better be clafoutis there7, Valjean!”
Valjean only laughs as he descends the stairs. Javert watches him go until he disappears from sight, and his hands linger over where Valjean had clasped him.
***
As he walks back towards Rue Plumet, Valjean lifts his head to the sky and smiles. It's taken many centuries for them to reach this point. He can wait a few more for Javert to finally admit to what they both feel.
1 On the other hand, most other angels behold Javert’s flawless wings and immediately develop an intense feeling of shame over their own inevitably lackluster specimens. His trips back to Heaven always result in a sudden epidemic of suspiciously well-groomed feathers.
2 Mind you, he can still boil blood with a glance and snap bones like they’re twigs. Most other demons leave him alone simply because they’re terrified of him.
3 Not that Javert usually uses his holy powers for such trivial purposes. But when a certain demon insists on showing up to your home unannounced looking like a chicken that has just been through a hurricane, they can be quite convenient.
4 The last time, Valjean was dropped into a public women's bath for spitting out Javert's attempt at baking a tart.
5 Javert most certainly does not enjoy the feel of Valjean’s soft down under his hands. No sir. He does not.
6 Two days, actually. But one day is long enough when it comes to Valjean’s pastries. Among the great laws of nature: objects of greater mass exert stronger gravitational pulls, the universe is expanding, and Jean Valjean is a fucking fantastic cook.
7 There are two, in fact. Valjean felt inordinately guilty for teasing the angel, and baked another immediately upon returning home.