Secrets Grow in the Dark (Les Miserables; Javert/JVJ; Cosette/Marius

February 11, 2017

This is a part of my Flowers in the Moonlight series, which is the sequel to my story Flowers in the Dark. To sum it up - Jean Valjean and Javert are a couple, and Javert doesn't die at the end of the story. This is about fifteen years post the revolution. Jean and Javert are living with Cosette and Marius and their children. The only ones you'll need to know (I think) are Victoria the oldest girl, about 14, Collin the oldest boy, about 12, and Gavvy 3(ish).

I'll admit this is more of a sickfic than a sneezefic. But, I really want the feedback as I go. Hope that is okay. OH! Trigger warning: child death. Bring tissues.

Part 1

Warmth rolled off of the flames in rolls as Javert sat before the fireplace gazing into it. His finger gently swirled his scotch as he let his mind go. Wondering has ceased hours before, and he didn’t care to chase it down. His chasing days were over. Even closed cases were putting themselves to bed. He was aging… even his mind was slowing. He felt as though his body was slipping into time. Soon it would be a though he would never existed.

He sniffed and cleared his throat. Without thinking about anything but washing the tickle out of his nose and throat, he downed the tumbler full of scotch at once. The menthol feeling caused him to cough a bit, but it did chase away the other sensations.

A sigh.

He wondered if it was his own. It could have been. But, he wasn’t paying that close attention to himself… or his surroundings. Just another sign of how much his mind was slowing. In his younger days he would know that. He would be able to tell who was coming down the hall by the weight of their footfalls and the length of their gait. But, now…

A hand fell on his shoulder.

He didn’t startle. There was only one person in the house with a hand that size. “Jean,” he whispered, his voice vibrating wetly. He cleared his throat and went to pour himself another tumbler of scotch.

“I think you’ve had enough.” Jean’s voice was quiet, his tone gentle. The harsh rasp that had recently become the norm was clearing.

He considered fighting Jean on the statement. He did not feel that he had enough, after all. He felt that if he kept dousing the prickles in his throat – the kindling to the fire that was going to take over his body, closing his airways and making him cause quite a spectacle of himself – then he would be all right. But, fighting the statement – even if he knew Jean would give into his wishes – took energy he simply didn’t have at the moment. A nod. But, he did not move.

Another sigh. This one he knew was not from him.

Jean sat in the chair next to him, and embraced his hand in his larger one.

Javert wished nothing more than to pull his hand away. It happened from time to time that Jean’s touch was painful – almost sharp. But, he had learned early on that the hurt feelings caused by inexplicably taking his hand away or saying that Jean’s touch hurt was not worth the few minutes of displeasure.

“You’ve caught cold,” Jean stated, his baritone voice sending a wave of cool comfort against the discomfort that Javert had been ignoring.

A nod. It was only a matter of time really. All of the children had been ill, and with them still having free reign of the house and the adults looking in on them, it was no surprise when the cold spread to the adults as well. It wasn’t a harsh disease, as far as these things went. In fact, it ran through most of the family with God-given speed. Javert had seemed immune, and took to caring for the youngest, Gavroche. It seemed to hit him the hardest, and Javert not at all. Not known for his caring nature by the boy that their child was named after, he would be damned if he was going to allow another child to be taken down in front of him.

And damned he was. Earlier that week Gavroche had stopped breathing. He had performed the resuscitative process on the boy, and worked to keep him breathing. But, by the time the doctor arrived he said it was too late. Javert had spent days trying to figure out what he had done wrong, even though according to Cosette the doctor said that there was nothing anyone could have done to stop it, nor had anything been done to cause it. It was just one of those things, apparently.

Javert had taken to drinking soon after, unwilling or able to cope with what he was feeling. He couldn’t look at the children, goodness knew what they would think. And under no circumstances could he face Marius.

Forgetting what Jean had just told him about drinking, he reached over and poured himself another tumbler of scotch. He blinked twice… waiting to see if tears would fall. There had been some, mostly when he thought of what to do with himself. Too cowardly to face the master of the house and beg forgiveness for not being able to save his youngest son. Too fearful of the scorn… the man had been there when the boys namesake had died, killed by one under Javert’s command. And now his son… his youngest son…

He choked a sob and swallowed the tumbler like a shot glass.

“The children would like to see you,” Jean offered gently, even though he knew Javert was not in a fit state to be seen.

“No,” he whispered, shaking hands pouring another glass. His hands trembled violently, as the emotions threatened to explode out of him.

“Cosette is worried about you. I am too,” he spoke gently.

No mention of Marius. Not a surprise. The man had lost his son… at the hands of Javert. He had lost someone dear to him because of Javert. Again. A sip of the scotch before setting it on the table.

“Marius wants to speak with you.” Jean’s voice was different in this. Something that Javert could not place. Something sinister lurking… something repressed.

“He wishes me dead,” Javert said. He thought of their home, now covered and boarded. The family vacationed there from time to time. They had brought up Cosette in that house, and they grew old together there. Perhaps he could retreat there. Perhaps…

“What? No!” Jean retorted, pulling his hand away.

“He has to. I killed his son.” The words were whispered, hollow and haunted.

“No, Javert. No.” A chill ran through Jean at the very premise of what Javert was saying. Assuming that it was the alcohol talking, he tried not to surmise the storyline that Javert was telling himself. He coughed a bit, the cold had run its course, but the grief in the house was palpable and the group had done their fair share of crying. It was draining.

Javert waited until the coughing fit ceased. “I’d take care of you, but I’d probably just kill you too.” Shaking so hard he was starting to spill his drink, he downed the current tumbler full and poured another one.

Unable to get through to Javert, drunk as he was, Jean sighed. “You’re not alone, Javert. You’re not the only one grieving this loss.”

But, I’m the only one who caused it, Javert thought, drinking another tumbler full. His brain finally reached the point he wanted it to. Words held no meaning… his emotions became a muddled mess of gray fuzz, stretching across his soul and dulling the ache in his chest. Finally, his thoughts quieted. Finally,

February 11, 2017

Part 2

Jean descended the stairs slowly, clearing his throat as he was hit by a gust of cool air. Cosette and Marius walked in, faces pale with cold and drawn with grief.

“How was your trip to the doctor?” Jean asked them, shutting the door behind them and giving them ample time to get their affects off. Normally a quick occurrence, they were moving as though their limbs were full of lead. Not that he could blame them one bit.

A letter was received earlier that day that the doctor had completed the autopsy and had the cause of death. Jean had thought that an autopsy on a child was uncalled for, but it wasn’t his decision to make.

Cosette walked down the hallway, going into the kitchen to make tea. She did not look at either man before going.

“I apologize for such a crass question. I don’t know what came over me.” Jean stated to Marius. His heart had broken and he didn’t know how to fix it. The pain of the later only magnified the former.

“It’s not you, monsieur. We have an identified cause of death. It was a surprise,” Marius responded quietly.

Jean’s heart dropped into his stomach. He wondered if there was some truth in Javert’s guilt. The fear that swirled within him was deafening. Following Marius into the kitchen, he sat down next to the other man as Cosette prepared the tea.

“How is Javert?” Cosette asked, placing a cup of tea before her father before taking a seat on the other side of the table.

“Not well,” Jean replied with a small sigh. He didn’t wish to cause the family any more hurt. But, he knew from experience when communication broke down within the family everyone hurt. “He believes that you wish him harm,” he stated to Marius. “He blames himself for the death.” Jean felt as though his blood was running cold, fearful that his tears would run anew.

Cosette and Marius shared a look.

“Tell him,” Cosette whispered.

“Unlike the rest of us, Gavroche did not merely have a cold. He had bronchitis and pneumonia. He didn’t have a chance without ipecac, or something else to expel the fluid from his lungs. Javert had no way of knowing…”

Both relieved and saddened, Jean wondered if Marius really did wish harm on Javert. “Javert is melancholy. He’s attempting to drink it away. I believe he may be ailing a bit as well.”

“I do not think ill of him, monsieur. Nay, I think that he did a fine job attempting to keep Gav-vy alive. But, in the end his poor lungs couldn’t handle it.” Marius choked a sob, and tears ran fresh as he bent his head and gave into the extreme emotions that flooded through him. “Do tell him I don’t blame him,” he said after the fit had passed.

“He won’t listen to papa,” Cosette said. “The only person who can tell him that is you – and possibly me. “Papa, would you like me to try?” Cosette asked, even though all she wanted to do was hide away. They had other children that needed tending to, and if Javert was despairing, she could not lose him too.

“I would …” he paused. He would be most appreciative if she did so. But, he didn’t want to burden her heart more than it already was. A deep breath. And another. He was fast losing control of his own emotions. Shaking his head, he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and let out a few strangled sobs. “My apologies,” he said, unable to look at either of the grieving parents.

A teacup was placed on its saucer, and he felt a heavier hand than Cosette’s on his shoulder. “I apologize, Marius,” he responded gruffly.

“None warranted,” Marius absolved him. “You are… we all… are grieving. Your grief requires no apology or forgiveness.”

“But, Javert feels as though he requires our forgiveness?” Cosette asked. Her papa and Javert had been so helpful with the other children. Talking to them and getting them through their day as Marius and she took their leave to grieve when they needed time alone. Javert coped with it differently than the rest of the family, but no less than Cosette had come to expect. He was more reserved with his emotions, but only maudlin when he was feverish. She already knew that these emotions were not dramatic, but the true core of what he was feeling. Years of living together had taught her that the one thing that they shared in common – above all others – was the feeling that love that was supposed to be unconditional would be taken away at a moment’s notice. Over the years, her insecurity over that issue had waxed away. She was not surprised that Javert’s own insecurities were rearing their head now.

“Yes,” Jean said. “If you’re not in a position to give it, I understand. You have yourselves and the children to care for. We’re not trying to be a burden on your grief and your time.” He didn’t know what to do about Javert. He desperately needed Cosette and Marius’ help. He felt thin arms encircle him from behind.

“Papa, you two are part of the family too. You have taken care of me, of us… we can do so for you two.”

Her kind voice was music to Jean’s ears, and he put a large hand over her own. Not for the first time he was struck by how appropriate Javert’s nickname for her was.

February 11, 2017

Part 3: Cosette visits Javert

Cosette knocked on the door to her papa and Javert’s suites. “Javert?” she called lightly. Pressing her ear up to the door, she was not surprised that she did not hear an answer. Turning the doorknob gently, she entered the room.

The fireplace in the sitting room was dying slowly, but still had a fair amount of heat roiling from it. Javert smelled heavily of liquor, an uncommon occurrence. His snores were deep and uninterrupted, giving her the impression that he was in a liquor induced stupor. But, she would not simply leave him alone. Grief on this level only stemmed from a combination of a deep love and a broken heart.

Sitting on the floor with her legs curled to the side, she put her head on his knee. Tears welled in her eyes not only for her loss but the loss that her family suffered and the pain that they suffered from the loss. She squeaked out small bursts of sadness as tears rolled down her face and wet Javert’s pant leg.

A slow hand came down gently on her head, then down part of her hair. The stroking ministration continued gently for a few minutes before a quiet, “My angel,” was whispered. “I’m so sorry, my angel. I deeply apologize that my ineptitude took your angel.” A strangled sob turned into a wet snort as he tried to be the strong man that he was supposed to be.

Cosette looked up at him, the fire behind her casting her face in shadow, but those large blue eyes were fixed on Javert with a look that he could not quite place. “You cost us nothing, Javert. Your love and attentions kept him alive longer than the doctor says should have been possible. Javert he had bronchiis and pneumonia.” Her voice was gentle, searching. There was no trace of the anger or exasperation that Javert would have expected. There was none of the hatred that he had cast upon himself. Her voice was soothing to his raw nerves and so much kinder to listen to than his own tone.

“Pneumonia,” he muttered to himself. He hand known that. It was apparent from the wheeze in the boys chest. He had gotten his bottle if ipecac which had since dried. Recalling the darkness that would settle in the prison as the disease made its annual rounds, touching each person with its long tickling fingers.

He had tried to add water to the concoction and feed it to the young child by the teaspoonful. But, the taste was vile and the child would not swallow it. He tried to squeeze the young man’s jaw to force it open, but couldn’t be too hard on him. He was trying to save the boy, not hurt him. He couldn’t live with himself if another grandchild was wary of him. He was only trying to help… despite the fear in those soulful brown eyes. Those eyes that would haunt him forever.

Shaking hands achingly reached for his nearly empty decanter of scotch. He needed these memories to flow away. Perhaps the pain would flow away with it.

“Heh-xtht!” He suppressed his sneeze, squeezing his eyes shut and making sure to keep his mouth shut. Shrouded in darkness, he found great relief there. He did not open his eyes again until he felt the decanter be pulled from his nearly cramping hands

He sighed deeply as Cosette placed a gentle kiss to the side of his head, her soft hands pressed gently upon his shoulder and back. It amazed him how much her simple touch could affect him. “Cosette my deepest apologis won’t fix what I’ve broken. But, could I … I would have born the illness for him. At all costs.”

The wait of her hands increased. “I know that you would have. But, that was not the will of God,” she reasoned gently.

‘Gods will be done.’ He heard the echo of the old mantra of the church as it resonated in his soul. He was such an abomination to Gods will. All of those years of misconstrued piety to show him to far he had stepped from the path of Gods will. The unempathetic way that he would tear apart families for the most trivial reasons. If they broke the law they were wrong. Intent meant nothing to him. He tipped his chin down, unable to look into those brilliant blue eyes and tell her that it was his fault that Gods will was to take their youngest child.

“Apologize to Marius for my part in Gods will, won’t you?” he asked, closing his eyes and retreating to the darkness once more.

Were he to look, he would see the soulfully sad look that Cosette was giving him. As much as she was grieving for her youngest son, she also grieved for the part of Javert’s soul that the young boy had taken with him to the grave. “I shall,” she promised him.

February 11, 2017

Part 4: Marius visits Javert

Cosette descended the stairs sadly. She had never seen Javert so distressed. Were he a less religious man, she would say that he was despairing. But, she couldn’t imagine him turning his back on God that way. She refused to believe it.

“How did it go?” Jean asked, standing as his daughter entered the room.

“He showed me tenderness,” she said, leading with a positive attitude. After a pause, she continued, “ But, he blames himself, as you said.” Turning to Marius, she continued, “He sends his apologies to you, personally.”

Marius rested his head in his hands and sighed. “I don’t have the patience for this,” he uttered.

“Perhaps that’s what he needs,” Cosette suggested. “Javert isn’t known for his gentleness. Perhaps he doesn’t know how to deal with the kindness and patience that papa and I are showing him. Maybe he needs a more firm hand to move him along.”

Jean shivered knowing precisely how sensitive Javert could be when he cared about the people involved. The absence of the love that he had come to expecet could have irreversible effects. “Cosette, I don’t think that it’s wise,” he warned.

Marius held up a hand. “I will seak to him.” Looking up at Jean he added, “Respectfully.” Marius knew wwhat it was to not be certain how one measured up in the eyes of another. For more than a decade he had the same concerns about how Javert viewed him. He was in a better situation than the other two to be direct with the grieving senior.

The legs of the chair scraped against the stone floor as Marius stood.

“Oh, here. Take these,” Cosette said, handing him two handkerchiefs.

At his peculiar expression, she explained, “One for you and one for him.”

Both eyebrows raised at the supposition that either would be that vulnerable around the other. Wordlessly, he took the handkerchiefs an ascended up the stairs.

Upon reaching the door to Jean and Javert’s suites, he was surprised to find it ajar. Brow furrowed, he knocked lightly. When there was no response, he pushed the door open softly.

Turning towards the sitting room, Marius was surprised to find that Javert’s chair was empty, as was the table next to it – save for the decanter and glass.

A sound akin to a rough swallow and sigh pulled his attention to the bookcase. Javert stood with his hand resting on a shelf, head bowed for a moment.

“Marius, you didn’t need to come,” Javert said, trying to collect enough of his thoughts to speak intelligently to the well to do young man. He didn’t need to turn to see who it was. He had been able to tell by the weight of the man’s footfalls and the length of his gait. “I’ve cost you a lot in life, haven’t I?” he asked, darkly, only vaguely aware that his words were slurring together.

“I don’t understand,” Marius answered slowly. Javert had cost him very little financially. And even all of those years ago, he had likely saved Marius’ life, allowed him to marry Cosette, and took care of his father in law as well as mentored the children. The man was only frightening to those who didn’t know him – and when he was angry. All in all, there had been so much gained that the cost of housing he and Jean was negligible.

As the silence stretched between them, Marius could not help but worry for the man. Never before had he seen him in such a state: drunk to the point of slurring words, avert was nearly engulfed in a cloud of alcohol vapour.

A dark, “Hm,” which would have been easily mistaken for an exasperatingly short, angry laugh, came from the older man. The forgiveness of the young…. He decided to be more clear in his statement. “This is not the first Gavroche that I have cost you, is it?” he asked directly, clipping his words at the end.

Marius’ jaw dropped slightly as he thought back to that fateful day when so many of his friends had been shot down. He blinked as he tried to recall where Javert was when his son’s namesake was shot down. “As I recall, you were not there. “ ValJean… Jean had already rescued Javert by the time that happened.

A deep sigh. “I may not have been there, but I was in command. I may not have shot him myself, but I might as well have.” His head was starting to pound. Turning to the side, he squeezed his eyes shut trying to escape to the darkness. But, all he could see was the boy’s dead body. Of all the revolutionaries who died, the one that affected him deeply was the death of Gavroche. That boy had so much intelligence, strength, and humor. He had diligence and was observant. He had hoped to see the boy join the military. But he was shot down by one of the army regulars. Pain mixed with guilt washed over him, and he became unaware of Marius’ whereabouts. “Heh-xsht!” The sneeze crept up and caused his head to bob. With that tears leaked out. He screwed up his face and turned back towards the bookcase. Curse this alcohol. He lost control of his emotions with two harsh sobs and several much smaller ones. When he opened his eyes, Marius was standing beside him offering him a handkerchief.

“We all knew the risks,” he said in an attempt to relieve Javert of the guilt he so obviously felt.

Javert took the handkerchief and then stormed into the sitting room, pacing in front of the fireplace. “And then I suspect you think I just killed your son. Just outright killed him because he reminded me of that boy I lost. The one that reminded me so much of myself as a youth?” Nearly yelling, his words were slurred together and he no longer had control of himself.

Marius stood still as he watched this. Everyone knew that Javert had a short temper, and all in the house had heard him yell about one thing or another, despite his best attempts to keep himself calm. “Did you?” he asked seriously. “Did you kill my son? “ His tone broached no room for assumptions that the question was rhetorical.

Javert stopped pacing and looked at the man, all of the grief that he had been carrying etched into the lines on his face. “I didn’t mean to let him die,” he said, tilting his head to the side and forward a bit. He swallowed. “I tried to get him to take my ipecac, but he wouldn’t swallow it.” He squeezed his eyes again, this time watching his grandson’s life slip away from him as breathing got too hard for his body to insist upon.

“Ipecac,” Marius whispered, confused. “Then you knew it was pneumonia?”

“I suspected,” Javert said. “I wasn’t certain of course, but that wheeze… I remembered it from when I worked in the prison. I had tried to rehydrate my old bottle, and it seemed to get to the right consistency. But,” he shook his head no.

Mouth slightly agape, shocked at what he had been hearing, Marius took the second handkerchief out and applied it to his mouth.

“I didn’t mean to cost you both of them. My intent was never to harm both of them… either of them.” At this point it was all the same in Javert’s mind.

Marius took a few steps backwards, and then looked at Javert, his eyes wide with the realization that the older man had known what ailment plagued his youngest son. He didn’t know how to deal with this new information and decided not to, leaving the room and slamming the door behind him.

Coming down the stairs quickly, he gave little thought to how his departure affected Javert. He walked into the kitchen with purpose and looked at the other two adults. “He knew. He knew that Gavvie had pneumonia.” Anger filled the room like a cloud building around them.

“Of course he did. He was a guard in Toulon… pneumonia was a common occurrence,” Jean responded calmly, trying to neutralize the situation. “It’s probably why he wanted to care for the boy personally.”

“He should have told us! He should have told us!” Marius shouted.

Cosette looked at her father, afraid to say that she agreed with her husband. Vibrant blue eyes moved back and forth between the two men as she held her breath, waiting to see what her father would say.

After a moment, he spoke. “Perhaps. But, he did what he felt was right.” Jean burned with anger. It made sense that Javert would know the signs of pneumonia. But, to not tell the family, or try to treat the boy, or … he shook his head. There had to be a reason. Even though Javert didn’t care much for children, he had stepped quite lightly into the roll of grandfather. So, why he wouldn’t provide care to the youngest family member? It didn’t make sense.

Rage filled Marius’ every feature. “Cosette come with me,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her out of the room. He lead her upstairs and into his study. “I’ve never showed you this,” he said, unlocking a drawer in his armoire. The lock clicked and he pulled a long drawer which squeaked for want of oil. Lifting out a shadowbox which had been covered in fabric, he brought it over to his desk. Despite the anger which still swirled around him, his hands were steady.

Placing the box down with a quiet thud, he drew a deep breath. Nimble fingers removed the fabric from around the case and opened the top. Inside were tufts of hair, each tied with ribbon. “These were cut before the revolution. We had all put them in one place and buried them so that those who survived could remember the others. He picked up a dark blonde tuft tied in black ribbon. It was coarser than the others and curled on itself. “This was Gavroche’s. He knew the risks… but his death never settled right with me.” His fingers graced the hair gently as his stare distanced.

Cosette looked at the tufts of hair. She hadn’t really known his friends or who they were, but she knew the names. They had been committed to memory as he told her stories over the years. She decided to make new ribbons with their names embroidered on. They deserved to be remembered.

Marius took a deep shaking breath and gasped out a sob, letting the curl fall from his fingers back into the box. Turning to Cosette, he sank into her comforting arms, holding her close. “My son is dead,” he gasped crying fat tears into her shoulder.

Edited February 11, 2017 by frenchposie

February 11, 2017

Part 5: The difference between piety and villainy

After the failed attempt at communication with Marius, Javert had given into the headache that had been lurking at the edges of his consciousness exploded in a starburst. He decided he had to stop being selfish. Although his companion and daughter had coaxed him to be more free with his emotions, it wasn’t befitting someone of his stature or his age. Dressing in the uniform that Cosette had made him – a replica of that which he wore as an inspector, but bigger to suit his softer aged body, he left their suites for the first time in days.

The haze of the wall sconces prickled at his chest, causing him to cough in an attempt to clear his lungs Oddly he hadn’t recalled being affected by the haze before. It didn’t matter. Swallowing the thickness in his chest along with his pride, he descended the stairs.

Jean was resting in front of the fireplace, staring at the flames. He turned back to see who was walking in, and turned back. He pulled the blanket off of the back of the sofa and wrapped it around his shoulders, as though a cold chill had walked into the room.

Javert sat in one of the armchairs, wondering if coming downstairs was a good idea at all. Perhaps it would have been better had he not. The smoke tickled his throat a bit, and he found himself stifling a few coughs.

“Grampere’s you’re here!” the children said, suddenly flooding into the room, excited.

Javert was thankful for their timing because it covered his sneeze perfectly. The weight of illness was certainly settling up on him, but he did not have the luxury of letting others know about the symptoms. He had drained enough from this family. He would not permit more attentions to be paid to him.

“We learned the most exciting thing today. Did you know that there were revolutions here in France?” Victoria asked, breathlessly. She smiled with excitement.

“Yea,” Collin added. “And we learned about you, Grampere Javert, and how you protected the city from the revolutionaries.”

The color drained from Javert’s face and he felt rooted to his spot. His eyes flickered towards the doorway, as he hoped that he could retreat from the room. But, Cosette and Marius were standing in the doorway, Marius looking as distraught over the news as Javert was.

The adults were struck silent, but they kids didn’t notice as they continued to tell about what they had learned. Their governess apparently had kept the revolutionaries names out of the lessons, and it was the first time the children had been excited about their studies since they all took sick. It was a welcome change, although the topic was not.

Javert swallowed and held his breath against the building coughs that struggled to escape. He suppressed a few, but found that with his anxiety behind it, he was able to hold his breath heart enough to keep his coughing at bay. “I didn’t enjoy keeping… “ What? The city safe? Of course he did. That was his pride and joy and what almost cost him his family. He coughed harshly, feeling as though something shifted in his chest. “I did not enjoy having to lead the army against the revolutionaries,” he explained. “It was my duty, but those boys were barely older than you are now… maybe only a few years. They did not deserve…” What? The way they met their end? They had staged and lead a rebellion, they deserved everything they got. “There should have been another way.”

“Your grampere doesn’t particularly like to discuss those times. They were difficult for everyone who lived through them,” Jean tried to appease the children. His gaze fell on his partner. Javert’s complexion looked ashen in the shadows of the flickering fireplaced.

“Collin, would you like an ethics question?” Javert asked, his voice straining against the cough that was struggling to get out. He had started preparing the boy for military training, and ethics was a large part of that.

The boy’s face lit up and he looked back at his parents proudly. “Boy, would I,” he answered, excitedly.

“What is the difference between piety and villainy?” Javert asked.

“One is good and one is bad,” Collin answered innocently.

Oh, how Javert wished it was so simple. While he enjoyed the respect that his family gave him, at this point he did not feel deserving. “Intent,” he responded. “Piety and villainy are two sides of the same coin. If ones intent is kindness, the result is piety. But, if it is for selfish reasons, the result is villainy.” He withdrew his handkerchief and blew his nose a bit, resulting in the suppression of four coughs. Neither the conversation nor the symptom suppression was doing anything for his headache, which was now starting to affect his vision and hearing.

“I don’t understand,” Collin said, fully engaged with Javert.

Seeing his attention completely on Javert, Jean decided to help with the lesson. Ever so carefully, he withdrew the boy’s pocket watch by its chain and palmed it, nodding at Javert when he was done.

Pained and exhausted though he was, Javert got up and twisted Jeans arm behind his back. “If this were a robber, I would be taking him into custody. With all of you as the witnesses to the crime, you could make certain that he would be in prison for a very long time.” The alcohol had dulled his balance causing him to put too much pressure on Jean’s arm and too much weight into his back, causing him to lose his balance and land heavily on his knee.

“What are you doing?” the children cried out in alarm.

“This man is a thief and I will bring him into the station,” Javert said in his best military voice, causing more than a few coughs to work their way out. A large cough at the end, caused Cosette to look at him kindly, those big blue eyes offering him more empathy than he felt he deserved.

“But, he has not stolen anything, grampere. Let him go!” Collin insisted.

Helping Jean up, and letting him lean on him to test his knee, Javert said, “Are you so sure?”

With that, Jean opened his hand to reveal the pocket watch. “

While the lesson was sound, the look of betrayal on the young man’s face was more than Javert could bear. “Now, if you didn’t know him wouldn’t you want to see him locked away?”

“Well yes, he’s a thief!” The accusation hung in the air before breaking into shards on the mistakes of the past.

“Ah,” Javert turned around and pulled out his handkerchief quickly. “Hah-Ahshoo! Do excuse me,” he rasped, his voice fast becoming tired. The inhabitants of the room blessed him, but he paid them no mind. “Ah, but why? If it’s because you want to keep the street safe for others, that’s piety. If you want to keep yourself safe, because of a personal wrong – that’s selfish. I…”he looked around the room: to Jean who was massaging his knee; to Cosette who was clasped onto Marius; to Marius who deserved so much better than him in his life. “I was no hero. I felt that people who had made mistakes were destined for a life of crime. I didn’t think people could change. I was judgmental and selfish. I was a villain,” he admitted.

The room became achingly quiet, with only the crackling of the fireplace to fill the room. Unable to handle the looks that the family was giving him, or the silence in the room, he pushed his way out of the room and out of the house.

He needed to take a walk.

February 14, 2017

Part 6

Javert walked briskly away from the house. There was a little lane down that wound through the grounds. He liked to take walks there during the day, and had done so often enough to have memorized the walk even in the dark.

Safely away from the house, he allowed a violent cough rip from his lungs. The roughness of the cough scratched his chest and his throat throbbed with harsh dryness. Giving into the coughing fit, he stumbled to the edge of the tree line, holding his hand out, grasping and reaching for a tree. Once his hand found one, he settled against it, allowing the paroxysms to overtake his body. When it ceased, he withdrew his handkerchief and tended to his nose which was now running.

“Grampere, please… come back inside. The night is cold, and you’re not dressed for it,” a voice in the darkness stated calmly.

He cleared his throat roughly, tired eyes making out the shadows from the darkness. Had he been a younger man, he would have heard the footfalls… he would have been able to make out the darker shadows in the lighter darkness. As it was, he only recognized the voice: Collin. “I am well enough,” he lied. “Come, walk with me.”

He started walking down the path, the corners of his lips turning up slightly as he heard the young man fall into step with him. “You are still planning on joining the military when you reach the age of majority?” he asked, ignoring the roughness in his voice.

“Yes, sir,” Collin responded, saying nothing of Javert’s symptoms.

“You, too, will be faced with decisions that call on mercy and justice. When I was a young man, I saw them as two separate entities that did not intermingle. It wasn’t until later in life that I learned that justice and mercy are two sides of the same coin. You cannot have one without the other.” His through itched, and he coughed harshly.

A hand on his arm. “We must tell mama about your cough. It’s not healthy.”

He considered lying to the young man. But, then he decided against. “The doctor will be at young Gavroche’s services. I will speak to him there. Until then, I implore you not to bother the other adults – they have enough to worry about without worrying about me.”

Collin looked at the silhouette of his grampere. While not a traditionally loving individual, the man had his own way of showing that he cared. Collin understood that this was his grampere’s way of contributing to the house- by asking Collin not to let the depleted adult resources be used on another adult. He had grown up on stories of his grampere’s service to France and several cities therein. Never before had he or the other children heard anything that would make him sound like a villain. Villains deserved to suffer. Heroes deserved to be able to maintain their pride. A sigh. “Yes, sir,” he agreed. “As long as you are not remiss in speaking with the doctor.”

In the moments that Collin had taken to consider his request, his nose had started to tickle. His nostrils quivered as he tried to suppress it as he had inside. But, a cool breeze blew and he was unable to keep his control in place. “Heh-eh… EH-Shoo!” The sneeze caused him to stumble forward and his felt Collin’s hand on his arm again. He cleared his throat again. “I will, son,” he whispered.

“Come… we’ll go straight to your rooms. You don’t need to face the family again this night,” Collin said, offering him a courtesy.

“Thank you,” he whispered, letting the young man lead him back to the house.

March 9, 2017

Part 7

Golden rays of sun fell on the small gathering dressed in black and gray. The world was a light with happiness and song, in stark contrast to the broken hearts of those assembled.

Javert could not recall the days between the promise he made to Collin and that of the funerary services. He knew that there were cases of children slipping into a deep sleep and waking up prior to being committed to the earth. He prayed that this would be the case this time.

Cosette’s sobs could be heard over the sniffles of the children and the others assembled. He looked over at the family, huddled near the priest and the headstone. He stood a bit away from the family, every so often making eye contact with Marius or Jean’s cold stare. No one had talked about his explosion, nor had any tension between the adults broken.

Hands clasped behind his back, he turned his gaze over to the family that he no longer felt like he belonged to. Jean hadn’t so much as come to bed in nights. Marius had ceased speaking to him all together. The only conversation he received was cold comfort from Cosette and pleas to tell the rest of the house how his ailment was progressing from his grandson. In its own way, it was good that Jean had not been coming to bed. There was no way he could keep his ailment hidden if he had.

As the casket was lowered in, Javert felt cold prickles coming up his spine. He believed it to be grief, but he knew it could also be the fever rash that had broken out the day before. Unable to cry for fear that it would set off another long coughing spell, he turned his attentions to find the doctor.

“Inspector, I do grieve for your loss,” the man said as Javert approached.

Giving the man a polite nod, he cleared his throat, clasping his hands behind his back. “I appreciate that thank you.” Leading the man to the side, he broached the subject of his health. “I’ve been unwell… a cough, fever… I um… it’s taking much to keep my composure.”

The doctor made eye contact and nodded as Javert spoke. “I can’t properly check on you here. But, I would not be surprised if you were coming down ill.”

Withdrawing his handkerchief, Javert coughed wetly, a crackling sound emanating as he took a breath in. As his breath thinned, he sneezed twice. While he was able to mostly contain the first, the energy that it took to do so drained him too much to keep the mounting, “Heh-Asckhoo!” at bay.

The doctor frowned as Javert tended to himself. “Forgive my saying so, but you should not be out in this weather. Do allow your family to take you home,” he instructed, making eye contact with Marius. The man needed to know what poor shape Javert was in.

“No,” Javert said, pushing against the breath that felt caught in his chest. “I can’t do that. They need … they don’t need me burdening them. Is there room at the hospital?”

The doctor nodded. There had not been a recent outbreak of anything, so he saw no reason why there wouldn’t be room there. “But, monsieur wouldn’t you be more comfortable in your own home?”

Thinking back on how he and Jean had not slept in the same bed in many days, how Marius refused to speak to him, and Cosette only did the most menial of tasks to care for him, he shook his head. “No, I don’t believe I would.”

“Well then,” the doctor replied, clearly taken aback by the request and the answer, “I shall pick you up after the services.” He watched as Javert walked towards his family, a slow limp becoming more pronounced with each step.

Back at home, Javert was restless. He quietly packed a small bag, and bristled when Cosette asked him about it when he put it near the front door. The doctor could not come to pick him up soon enough.

“It’s a cold case,” he lied easily. “A body has been discovered and the doctor and coroner want to see if I can recollect the person from any of my old cases.” His voice had become raspy and his chest felt as though a weight were sitting on it, making it impossibly hard to breathe. A gentle hand fell on his arm and he stiffened, clearing his throat lightly.

“I don’t believe your well enough for this,” she ventured, hoping that his temper wasn’t on edge. The loss of her youngest child weighed on her like an anvil pulling her heart down to the earth. But, it did not mean that she stopped caring about the man in front of her. As Marius explained more of their conversation to her, it seemed that Javert had truly done all that he could do – more than anyone ever expected him to. It was God’s will, and she could not wish ill on him.

A soft smile graced his hardened features as he looked into the blue eyes of his angel. He gently caressed her soft cheek with the back of his hand, reveling in the rare beauty that stood before him. “I won’t be long,” he said, his voice just as rough as it had been. Sweat beads rolled down his back, and he forced himself not to shake as goosebumps raised on his arms. Turning away from her suddenly, he grasped his handkerchief and sneezed violently into it. The sneeze echoed off of the walls of the foyer, but he did not notice amidst the horribly full coughs that followed. Still turned away from her he muttered, “I’ll be fine, Cosette.” Forcing himself to smile, which turned out much more like a grimace, he turned to her. “I’ll be with a doctor. I’m sure he’ll provide care if I need it.” He turned away again to relieve his nose. No sooner did he take a short yet clear breath than did he feel her hug him from the side. Instinctively, he wrapped his arm around her.

“Don’t die on me,” she whispered, her voice full of tears. “I couldn’t bear to lose you, too.”

He needn’t wonder how she knew that there was more than met the eye at his plan. More than once in her young life he had tried to leave the house ill. Once it nearly cost him his life and, in effect, hers. Kissing her on the head, he combatted the tears that clung like drops of melted sugar to his eye lashes. “I’ll be back in a week at most.”

“Cosette?” Jean came into the foyer. He paused awkwardly when he saw the two embraced and a smile crossed his tired features. Eyes that betrayed the little sleep that he had gotten creased at the corners, as he hoped that Javert had made peace with whatever demons he was facing.

Slowly, Cosette let go of Javert, her fine hand grazing his beard. “Be careful out there. The weather is turning sour, and…” she put her hand lightly on his chest. She didn’t wish to bring up her concerns about his health again.

Leaning forward, he kissed her forehead. “Jean, I will see you when I return,” he rasped, picking up his bag as he heard the carriage pull up.

Jean wrinkled his brow. Javert’s voice had not sounded so rough earlier in the week, had it? A wave of guilt roiled through him as he realized that he had basically ignored Javert since his insistence of villainy. There was no good reason for it – Jean’s knee was not greatly wounded, and he had not been surprised when muscle memory caused Javert to be more forceful than maybe initially planned. Anger simmered just below the surface at the uneasy feeling he had about Javert understanding that Gavroche had pneumonia, but that he didn’t try to treat it in any way, or tell anyone else about the ailment. None of that sat right with him, and blended with his grief the emotions created a bubbling sensation like a pot about to boil over.

“Javert I don’t think it’s wise for you to leave,” he said.

Javert paused. Casting a glance at his loved ones he frowned. Cosette’s eyes were wide and pleading, and Jean’s were deep and confused. It dawned on him that his family truly didn’t understand what he was going through. “It would be less wise for me to stay,” he said, walking out to meet the doctor.

March 9, 2017

Part 8

Colin watched as his grandpere Javert got into the doctors carriage and rode away. His heart was heavy and he felt as though he missed the man an immeasurable amount even though the carriage was barely out of sight.

Cosette and Jean walked into the kitchen where Marius was reading a few money notes. He was concentrating through the thin black wire reading glasses that were resting on his nose. Thick curls framed his forehead as he stared, unblinking. “I heard the door. I’m certain that no one would be crass enough to visit today,” he muttered, looking up.

“No,” Cosette responded with a shake of her head. “Javert was called in for a cold case,” she said, walking over to the stove to make tea.

“What?” Marius asked, shortly. “Why does he have to be like this? Can he not just grieve as the rest of us do?” He didn’t believe for a second that there was a cold case in town. As much as he enjoyed the older man’s company, he did not care one bit for these spurts of drama.

“Because he is not like the rest of us,” Jean explained. For a man who proclaimed himself a villain, he knew Javert felt things very deeply, with a strong imposter and guilt complex. “Marius please explain something to me,” he said, sitting down.

“Anything,” Marius said, taking off his glasses to give Jean his undivided attention.

“When you spoke with Javert, and he said he knew of Gavroche’s ailment… did he explain why he had not administered any sort of treatment?”

Marius squinted at the older man for a moment. “He did administer treatment. Ipecac and the like. That’s how I knew that he knew precisely what it was.”

Jean closed his eyes against the information, attempting to take comfort in the absence of the world. That was why it hadn’t made sense that Javert had not administered medication. It was because he had done so. Thick fingers pressed against his mouth, Jean opened his eyes. “So, he did not neglect the child,” he murmured mostly to himself.

“No, he did not,” Marius snapped. He didn’t wish to have this conversation again.

“Papa, didn’t Javert tell you that what happened?” Cosette asked, trying to break the tension that was filling the room.

Guilt washed over Jean like waves crashing upon rocks. He hadn’t been talking with his partner, nor has he been sleeping with him. He was so wrapped up in his grief and the supposition that the vindictive animal that he had been in the before times. It was a horrible assumption, and he should never had made it.

Now Javert was dealing with whatever horrors of a cold case and burying the feelings deep down. It had taken him decades to make Javert feel secure enough to show his caring side. He cared for that child emotionally and physically. Javert’s admission of villainy rang in his soul. Was that really how his partner viewed himself? Even after all this time?

“Papa?” Cosette prompted, her soft voice full of concern.

“No,” Jean answered softly, putting his hand down. “He did not. I did not give him the opportunity to.”

At Cosette’s confused look, Jean shook his head. Standing he embraced his daughter gently and went upstairs. As a grieving parent, she didn’t need to deal with his grief as well.

Soft foot falls entered the children’s play room, where the other children were sitting, still in their mourning clothes. They were whispering quietly to themselves. Once in a while, one of them would make a funny face and the rest would giggle quietly.

“What are you doing?” he asked quietly.

All of the children looked at him wide-eyed, as though they had been caught doing something bad.

Coming into the room, he made sounds of strain to sit down on the floor with them. “You’re not in trouble. Your laughter was a very pleasing sound. Please don’t stop.”

Victoria looked at her grandfather, somewhat afraid of his response, but knowing that it was her place to shield the younger ones. “We were remembering what Gavvy looked like when doing certain things. Like when he made a joke, or tried to put on his shoes, or dance.”

Jean’s brow furrowed and Victoria shrank back from him. He did not notice. Rather he was lost in thought about what an interesting way it was for the children to remember their youngest brother. He smiled. “Show me,” he whispered, allowing himself to get lost in the coping mechanisms of the children.

-----

Thick coughs that crackled in his chest emanated from Javert. Poorly muffled into his fist, he had a hard time drawing in air and felt weighed down by the veracity of his illness. He felt that if he could get enough force behind the cough, the thick liquid that felt as though it was beginning to drown him would expel. But, drawing in that clearing breath was quite laborious and he felt himself giving into the illness.

Attempting to find a comfortable sleeping position was all but useless. The creaky bed whined under his weight and startled him awake every time he moved. He had not realized how much solace he had taken beside his partner, nor how much comfort he took in the solitude of Cosette and Marius’ grand estate. Here he was vulnerable. Worse yet, he felt as destitute as he had been growing up. But, this is the death I had always assumed would come, should I live old enough, he thought. He had always thought he would die in the field, but knew that –unlovable as he was – the only way he would die as an old man was alone in his bed or sick in the hospital. I should consider myself lucky that it turned out to be the latter.

Another prickle in his chest. Another harsh, thick cough which sounded like it was bottoming out in his chest. Another crackle of breath and wave of dizziness. He started to allow himself to drift, vaguely aware of voices. But, not coherent enough to know if they were of good or of ill repute, and too ill to care.

--

“Now, girls, I know that you’re new to the convent, and even newer to the hospital but there are a few rules for you to follow,” the doctor explained to a new group of young ladies who had been turned over to the convent by the Province. Wards of the state that had aged out of the system. Girls who became women far too soon. He never particularly liked the idea that these young women were so soon given the opportunity to work with the ill. He didn’t know if they had come to the convent secure in their intentions. But, these were not his rules to make, nor his place to judge, as he had been so frequently reminded by the Mother Superior.

“You’ll treat every one of these patients with the utmost respect. You will not ask for information about their lives, but you will listen patiently and respectfully should they wish to give it. And, listen up girls for this is the most important – you will care for each of them no matter what they reveal to you. As you know, it is your employ to comfort the wretched, and in this hospital we take that vow very seriously.”

The young women all gave him a sign of understanding either in a curtsy, head nod, or utterance. Most were focused on the doctor, but one, a young slip of a girl with a curry mop of hair which stuck out from under her wimple in bushy bangs took notice to Javert, as he sputtered with each soft snore. When they had been dismissed, she made her way over to him. A gentle hand was placed on his forehead, causing him to jump most violently.

“Easy, easy,” she muttered. “Just rest yourself, your fever is quite high,” she said, wishing that there was a bowl of water nearby. She would have to work to lower his fever, but in the meantime, she would see about getting him comfortable enough to sleep well.

“Are you to care for me then? Leave off,” he chastised. “Some people are not worth helping,” he grumbled. An attempt to turn away from her became a trial as he coughed harshly, but to no avail. The congestion in his chest sat heavily on his lungs like the guilt of young Gavroche’s death sat on his heart.

Gentle hands turned him, so that he was on his back again. “Never you mind about the choices I make, dear. You just rest here,” she said, folding his pillow so that his head was slightly elevated. Observant brown eyes noticed the fine weave of his night shirt. This was not the quality generally given to the poor upon their admission to the hospital. Rather this was someone of consequence. She wondered how he had ever come to this.

Several hours later, Javert was in a position that he was finding quite tiresome. Both hands clasped over his mouth with a handkerchief between them, he gasped through deep and resonating coughs. His sinuses felt as though they were going to burst with congestion and he idly wondered if he was going to be able to maintain what little composure remained. He didn’t have to wait long however, as his body seemed intent on shaming him to the core. “Eh-YEH-EFFSHHH!” he sneezed wetly, thanking the stars that he had the handkerchief. A wet cough followed and he took the chance to rid himself of a bit of the head and chest congestion.

“Oh dear, that was a bad one,” the same young woman said, coming into view. She handed him a fresh handkerchief, but said nothing otherwise. She had found herself quite taken in by Javert, the man of mystery who certainly needed their help, but neither acted nor dressed like so many of their other charges.

He nodded his thanks, a few lesser coughs burbling up as he sneezed a stuffy sneeze into the handkerchief. His nose started to run and he dabbed at it with the handkerchief, unwilling to sniffle it. Not only was the noise disgusting, but he knew it would only cause him to cough more and he was quite tired of such things. “Thank you,” he whispered, wishing that it was Cosette rather than this… other woman… providing care. But, he had done the unthinkable and was no longer deserving of the care of his angel. The thought of never seeing her again became a real fear in his fever-ridden brain. His breathing became thick and his nose started to run anew.

“Now, just rest your mind,” the young woman said, sitting on the edge of his bed and wiping his sweat soaked bangs back.

He flinched away from the touch. He didn’t want her touch. She hadn’t earned the right to touch him. Hawk-like eyes narrowed as he arched his back away from her, rather like an alley cat whose territory had been invaded.

They sat like that for a few long minutes, his breathing becoming more labored as time went on. A pause of breath and swiftly his handkerchief was brought back to his face. “Kerssshhh!” A few deep coughs sounded like they were scratching his chest on the way out. He pressed against his chest, feeling as though the muscles were becoming overworked.

“À tes souhaits,” she offered quietly. He was a fine looking man, beneath the weight of illness. Were he clean shaven, and with a fine suit, he would clean up quite nicely. There was something familiar about him, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on what. “Here you go,” she said, handing him another handkerchief. “That’s better, yea?” she asked gently.

He looked over her. He didn’t figure that she was over twenty, even with her deep lines of worry. Her eyes held the solidity of someone who had seen too much. But, she was soft spoken and gentle. He wondered what had caused her to take to life in the convent. What had befallen to the young lady before him? He nodded and grunted his thanks. He closed his eyes with a wince as a ripple of malaise moved throughout him.

He wished Jean was there. But, that was a fool’s errand. The man had not spoken to Javert since his falling out with Marius. A pity, but not a surprise. Javert always knew that if Jean was pushed to choose, he would choose his family. How could he not? He had already lost one family, and to expect him to do otherwise was ridiculous.

“Can I help you?” a young woman’s voice asked. The domestic simplicity of the statement made him think of Victoria, his eldest female grandchild. Often she would ask him how to help. Although he had originally thought the request preposterous, it was explained to him that she was being polite since taking care of someone was not necessarily an inborn trait. He never really appreciated how lucky he had been with Cosette. For a man whose survival and employ directly related to his observation skills, he was appalled at how much he missed as he became older.

“Why would you want to?” he huffed, a small smile turning up at his lips. If these were nuns, he knew precisely how to turn them away.

“Because you’re ill,” she said softly, tenderly.

In a flash he reached up and grabbed her wrist, pulling it towards his chest. His grasp was strong enough to control her, but not strong enough to hurt her. He felt her fight against him, her eyes widening in shock and… there was something else lurking there, darker, just below the surface. Again, she piqued his attentions. Leaning in close to her, he whispered, “I’m a murderer,” before releasing her.

Eyes widened with fear, the darkness gone, she stood up and walked away, rubbing her wrist. He felt pleased that he had taken control of the situation. But, as he sat in the dim candle light of the windowless room, he felt a bit lonely as well.

March 9, 2017

Finally! Sneezing!

Part 9