Synopsis: Javert survived the Seine, and yet his life ended that night. Can he be saved, and find a place and a purpose again? Maybe with a little help from his... nemesis? (This story is the first in a series, but can stand alone.)

Disclaimer: I don't own Les Misérables, nor am I making any money with this.

Author's Note: I realize that in the book, Marius studied law. But then he never did anything with it and decided to work as a translator instead, so for story purposes it is, and always has been, medicine.

This is dedicated to the fantastic Michelle Mercy, whose stories made me want to start writing fanfiction again, and whose help and encouragement made me actually do it. :-)

Wounded

Cosette screamed. She was backed against a wall, surrounded by three ruffians who leered at her and seemed intent on taking more than just her purse. She tried brandishing her basket in a feeble attempt to keep them away, but it was torn from her and flung into the muddy snow at the mouth of the alley. The ruffians came closer and closer, already she could smell the breath of the tallest one, a mixture of garlic and cheap wine. His hand reached for her blouse, his companions laughed at her distress...

Suddenly, the ruffian's eyes glazed over, and he fell like a log, mere inches from Cosette. Behind him stood a tall man with steely grey eyes, brandishing what appeared to be a broken-off table leg taken from the debris littering the alley.

The other two thugs spun around to face the assailant. The one on her left, a short, dark fellow, drew a knife and stabbed at the taller man. For a moment, Cosette thought she saw him flinch, but then the makeshift club hit the ruffian on the forearm with such force that Cosette was sure she heard bones breaking. This was followed by a quick punch in the face. Blood shot from the ruffian's nose. With a howl of pain, the man turned and ran.

The tall man advanced on the third ruffian, with a smile that was almost nonchalant. "So, friend," he began pleasantly, "would you like to apologize to the lady, or…" He raised the club.

The third man seemed to see no point in sharing his companions' fate. "I'm sorry, Madame!" He sketched a quick bow towards Cosette. "So very sorry!"

The tall man grinned, and something about it reminded Cosette of a wolf. "Go. And think twice before you try attacking helpless young ladies again."

Without another glance, the ruffian turned tail and ran.

Cosette breathed a deep sigh of relief. For the first time, she had a chance to look at her rescuer properly. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with long, dark hair kept together by a ratty ribbon that might once have been velvet. He wore black pants and boots and a shirt that was clearly inadequate in the winter cold. All of his clothes were torn in several places and visibly needed to be washed.

"Monsieur….th… thank you!" Cosette stammered, carefully stepping towards him around the unconscious ruffian at her feet. The mere thought of what those men would have done if this stranger had not intervened made her tremble. "I… I owe you… I…"

Dropping his club, the man turned to her and bowed. "You owe me nothing, Madame. It's any decent man's duty to defend those in..." He flinched again.

Looking down, Cosette realized that the right side of his shirt, which had been turned away from her until just now, was cut, and stained red. The man was pressing his hand to his side, and blood was seeping between his fingers.

"Monsieur! You're wounded!"

"It's nothing. A mere scratch."

"My husband will take care of it. He's a doctor."

"That won't be necessary," the man insisted, though Cosette noticed that under his olive skin, he was turning pale.

"Please," she tried, recognizing the stubborn pride in the refusal. "I…" she blinked her eyes at him with all the guilelessness she could muster. "I was hoping you might walk me home anyway. Those other two might still be nearby."

He bowed to her politely, making more blood seep from the wound. "The streets are not safe, Madame, especially for a lady. I shall walk you home." After a moment's hesitation, he added, "And if your husband might be so good as to take a look at the cut…"

Cosette nodded quickly. The stranger offered her his arm, and she took it, more from worry about his balance than her own. Slowly, they made their way through the snowy streets.

xxxxx

They barely talked on the way. Cosette was focusing on helping the man and looking around for the ruffians, and her rescuer was obviously fighting hard to stand up straight and walk with even steps. By the time they reached the steep front steps of her home, Cosette could feel his strength flagging. He was slumped over, barely setting one foot in front of the other. She was not sure if she could get him inside by herself. To her relief, she spotted her father's face by the front window. "Papa! Papa, come quickly," she shouted.

Seconds later, the front door opened and her father's frame filled the doorway. With one glance, he took in her disheveled state, the slumped man, and the blood. "My God, Cosette, what happened?" He hurried down the stairs.

"I was attacked. They tried to…" She gulped, but pushed her fear down for the moment. "This gentleman saved me, but he was wounded, Marius has to…" Cosette suddenly realized that her rescuer had looked up at the sound of her father's voice. He had straightened up and let go of her arm, and was now staring at her father fixedly. "You!"

Her father returned the stare with equal parts surprise and disbelief. "Javert…" he whispered.

"You are Inspector Javert?" Cosette was confused. The man who had hunted them for most of her childhood, the man her father spoke of only in hushed tones… she had never actually met him before.

The man turned his stormy grey eyes to her. "I used to be." He made her a small bow, briefly nodded to her father, and turned on his heel.

"Wait! Your wound…my husband…"

"Javert, please. You don't need to leave."

The man turned back and looked straight at her father. "What I don't need, Valjean, is any more of your pity or charity." He turned back and started limping down the street as quickly and erect as his state would allow.

He did not manage twelve steps before he collapsed.

xxxxx

Javert awoke lying on a soft, clean bed. This was so unexpected that he almost started upright, but the sharp pain in his side threw him back. Looking down, he realized that he was wearing a starched cotton night gown slightly too small for him, and a thick pair of woolen socks. He felt a bandage around his chest. The bleeding seemed to have stopped. Glancing around the room, he spotted a nightstand with a washbasin and a pitcher of water, a grated window overlooking a garden, a chest of drawers with a mirror, and two chairs. His own clothes were lying on one of them. They appeared to have been laundered and mended. In the far corner of the room was a door. He could not see from his position whether it was locked.

Slowly, memory returned. He had heard a woman cry in an alley. On sheer instinct, he had moved in to help, been wounded, she took him to see her husband, and… Valjean! The woman was Valjean's adopted daughter, Cosette. And her husband, Marius… Javert remembered the night of the barricades, the injured man he had helped Valjean get home… Marius Pontmercy. Javert sighed. Bloody great. Once again, he had stumbled right into the middle of Jean Valjean's life. The one place he had tried so hard to escape from.

Escape – well, clearly that was the only option. Very slowly, he sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and held still until the dizziness lifted. Ignoring the pain in his side, he fished for his pants, which were still somewhat damp. But he discovered there was no way he could bend over far enough to pull them on; the same went for his boots.

No matter. He couldn't stay here. Very slowly, keeping a hand on the bed frame for balance, he got up. He made one step towards the door, then another. On his third step, the dizziness overwhelmed him and he fell, pulling the nightstand on top of him and spilling water everywhere. The basin hit the floor and splintered into a hundred pieces.

Javert cursed quietly. Seconds later, he heard heavy steps running towards the door. It flew open, and Valjean stood in the doorway, looking down on him with a mixture of confusion, anger, and amusement.

"Javert…" he sighed. "Take it from an expert on the subject: you're in no condition to run away."

Javert just glowered at him mutely.

Valjean carefully stepped over the pieces of broken china and squatted by Javert. He pushed the nightstand off him and looked him over. "Did you make it worse?" he asked matter-of-factly.

Javert considered the question for a moment. He did not believe in showing weakness to his enemies, but figured there was no point in pretending to be strong while you're lying on the floor, wet and buried under a piece of furniture. "I think it's bleeding again," he admitted.

Valjean sighed and put one arm around his shoulders. "I am going to pick you up. I realize you don't want that. I'm sorry, but I don't care. We both know you're in no position to fight me. So do us both a favor and just hold still."

As much as Javert hated to admit it, Valjean was obviously right. He would only hurt himself worse if he struggled. Resigned, he turned his face away from Valjean and stared out the window, trying hard not to think about what was happening.

With surprising gentleness, Valjean picked him up and carried him back to the bed. He set him down carefully and covered him with the blanket. "You're all wet. I'll get you a new nightgown."

"I'm not changing in front of you!" Javert spat.

Valjean raised an eyebrow. "How do you think you got into this one?"

Javert sputtered, and, to his horror, felt his cheeks flush.

"I will be right back," Valjean stated simply, and left.

Javert stared at the ceiling. What was going on? Here he was, weak as a kitten, and being taken care of by three people who each had more than enough reason to hate him. He sighed. The world of Jean Valjean. This is exactly why I wanted to escape from it.

Valjean returned within minutes. He brought a new nightgown, some bandages, and a broom. He pushed most of the shards aside as he came over to the bed. "Well," he said, "let's get this over with."

"No." Javert was determined not to undergo another humiliation at the hands of this man.

"Javert. You're hurt. You may be bleeding. You're wet. You're actually shivering."

Damn, the man was right. It was not until he said it that Javert felt shivers running up and down his spine, and cold sweat on his forehead.

"Please," Valjean said gently. "You saved my daughter. Please let me help you."

Javert wanted to point out that he had not started this whole "saving each other or people important to each other" thing, but found his teeth were chattering too hard. Painfully, he sat up and raised his arms.

Quickly and carefully, Valjean pulled off the nightgown and checked the bandage. "I think it's already stopped again. Marius will have to look at it, but he's doing rounds in Saint Michel."

"R…rounds?" Javert asked, his teeth still chattering. Despite his resistance, he was grateful to slide into the dry and warm nightgown Valjean was holding for him.

"Yes," Valjean explained, getting a second blanket from the chest of drawers and covering Javert. "My son-in-law is a doctor, as you probably gathered. He tries to visit as many of his bedridden patients as possible at home. We only take in those that are extremely sick, or that have no one to take care of them…"

They both paused, the words hanging between them leadenly. After an uncomfortable minute, Valjean resumed. "This is his clinic – L'Hôpital de la Charité. Cosette and I help him run it. I suppose we all felt the need to do something constructive after the devastation of the riots."

Javert threw him a glance that clearly promised more questions for later, but right now, he was simply too cold and dizzy to concentrate.

"I'll get you some tea," Valjean said. "He should be back any minute." In the doorway, he turned around and threw Javert a stern glance. "Stay put."

Javert sighed and settled back. Valjean was right. He was in no condition to run. For now.

xxxxx

The next time he woke up, Marius himself was by his side. "Ah, Monsieur, it's good to see you awake!" he exclaimed. "You're running a bit of a fever, nothing too serious. But I must insist that you don't try to leave again without my express permission."

Javert opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off.

"Monsieur, you saved my own life and my wife's – in fact, you saved both her and my father-in-law from fates worse than death. So I can assure you that you have my everlasting gratitude. However, I'm also your doctor now, whether you like it or not, and I've sworn an oath to do whatever it takes to make my patients healthy again. If you don't give me your word that you will obey doctor's orders – well…" He gestured towards the set of restraints dangling off the sides of the hospital bed.

Javert was outraged and humiliated, and yet, he realized that the man was only doing his sworn duty. That he could respect. He gave a curt nod. "If I have your word that you won't keep me here longer than necessary."

"Of course not." Marius squeezed his hand. "You should rest now, Monsieur. I've seen to your wound, it seems to be all right, but you're still weakened and I don't want this fever to flare up. Cosette will bring you food later." He stood and made to turn. "Unless you need anything else, Monsieur?"

Javert shook his head. He could feel his eyelids getting heavier.

"Rest well then. I will check on you later."

xxxxx

When Marius came downstairs to the kitchen, both Valjean and Cosette jumped up. "How is he?"

Marius shrugged. "The wound is deep, but it should heal with time, and the fever doesn't seem too bad. But…"

"But?" Cosette gently urged. Though she knew that Javert had hunted her and her father for many years, right now all she saw in him was the man who had saved her in that alley.

Marius addressed himself to Valjean. "Did you happen to look closely at him when we cleaned him up and bandaged him?"

"No closer than I had to. I knew he'd hate it."

Marius sighed. "He's... well, 'starving' would be an exaggeration, but certainly severely malnourished. It's like he hasn't eaten properly in…"

"Eight months?" Valjean suggested, drawing them all back to the horrible memories of the night the barricade fell.

"Precisely."

Valjean sighed. "Maybe the rumors of his death weren't quite as exaggerated as they first seemed when we saw him."

Cosette had gotten up and begun to busy herself at the stove. "How long will he be here?" She cracked some eggs into a pan.

"He promised to obey doctor's orders and not to leave until I said he could, but he also made me promise not to keep him longer than necessary. So… a few weeks, I'd say."

"Well, that's plenty of time to get some meat back on him." She turned to her husband. "He promised to obey doctor's orders?"

Marius nodded.

"Six good meals a day is your orders, right?"

Marius smiled, and kissed her on the forehead. "My love. So caring." Off her look, he added, "Yes, of course it is."

Cosette set the plate, some bread, and a cup of milk on a tray. "I thought so." She began to climb up the stairs.

Marius remained with Valjean. "Monsieur, are you sure that this is what you want? I could refer him to colleague, I…"

"Monsieur le docteur, I am perfectly certain. What this man did to me was all simply part of his duty. But what he did for me, for you, and today for Cosette… We owe him more than he would ever admit."

Marius nodded. "I need to go out again and check on M. Rigel. His strength is failing, and I promised his wife to come by once more before nightfall. I might be gone a while – send for me if I'm needed. Most of the in-house patients should be fine during the night, but if M. Javert's fever rises, I need to know."

Valjean nodded. "We'll keep an eye on him." As Marius left, he picked up a knife and started dicing some carrots. With so many people to cook for, Cosette could always use some help with the simpler kitchen tasks, and it was only two hours until supper.

xxxxx

Javert watched Cosette leave, taking the empty tray with her. He felt embarrassed – the pain and fever made his hands shake too badly to use a fork properly, so she had simply fed him like a babe. Strangely enough, she had managed to do so with such naturalness and grace that it wasn't until now that Javert realized how humiliating that actually was. Maybe the fever was clouding his thinking more than he realized. He lay back with a sigh.

Suddenly, he became aware of another problem. One much more humiliating than the last. One he definitely did not want help with. He tried to ignore it for a while, but soon came to realize that it was going to overwhelm him if he did not act soon. And he couldn't, wouldn't allow that to happen.

Painfully, he sat up on the edge of the bed again, and looked around. He estimated the distance to the door a mere ten steps – but he had no idea what lay behind that and how far it might be to the specific room he sought. Still, he felt stronger now that he had eaten, and besides, he had no choice. He got up and took two steps.

This time when he collapsed, Javert managed to leave all the furniture standing. I must be getting better at it – after all it's the third time today, he thought to himself, a sardonic smile on his lips. Still, he was sure that the crash from his body alone would bring someone to his door ere long. Probably Valjean, to make the humiliation complete.

He had barely finished the thought when the door opened and Valjean looked at him with a sigh. "I though we'd had this talk. Damn it, Javert, you are in no condition to run." He strode over and picked him up, this time without preamble or apology, but his hold was still gentle. He set him back down on the bed and wrapped him in his blankets. "I thought you promised Marius that you wouldn't leave until he said you could?"

"I wasn't…running away," Javert hissed. The pain in his side had flared up again. "I just needed to…" he stopped and, to his horror, felt his face turn red again.

Valjean watched him for a moment. "Oh," he said evenly. "You should have said." He bent over and fished a bedpan out from underneath the bed.

Javert simply stared at it in horror, then at Valjean. "I won't."

Valjean rolled his eyes. "This is a hospital, Javert. We've seen it all before."

"But…you're… I... not… you…" Javert hated himself for stammering, and yet found himself unable to phrase a coherent thought between the dizziness, the fever, and the sheer humiliation.

"Well, if you prefer, I could get Cosette to help you," Valjean offered with a small smile.

Javert blushed an even deeper shade of red.

"And there's always my son-in-law, but he's out on rounds again, so you might have to wait a few hours…"

Javert groaned. Valjean was just being cruel now, he knew it. Unable to look up, he just shook his head and gestured towards the pan.

Matter-of-factly, and without any comments or pointed looks, Valjean helped him to position himself. "I'll give you your privacy. I'll be back in a little while." Valjean left the room.

Javert felt a rush of gratitude. Not only was Valjean taking care of his most embarrassing needs, he was indeed doing his best to make it as easy as possible on him. Javert's thoughts flashed back to Toulon, where no one, including him, had worried about the convicts' privacy or sense of shame, and they certainly had not been let off the chain and left alone to attend their physical needs. It would have been so easy for Valjean to get him back for this now, but he had proven himself above petty revenge. Again.

xxxxx

Valjean returned a few minutes later to clean up. Javert found himself still unable to look at him, so Valjean left him alone for a while. But he soon returned, carrying a slice of pound cake and another glass of milk.

"I just ate."

"Doctor's orders. You need your strength to fight the fever."

Wordlessly, Javert took the offered food and started eating, breaking off small bits with his left. He would not have admitted it, but he was ravenous. Over the past months, he had gotten used to subsisting on almost nothing, but now that he had eaten real food again, his body demanded more.

Valjean sat down in one of the chairs and watched him eat.

After a while, Javert quietly said "Thank you, Valjean."

Valjean laughed softly. "Now here's something I never thought I'd hear you say."

Javert caught himself almost smiling at the absurdity of the situation. He threw Valjean a quick amused glance.

"No need to thank me, though. Cosette baked it."

Javert shook his head. "I don't mean for… I mean…" He felt himself start to flush again and fought it down, determined anger at himself overcoming his shame. He forced himself to look Valjean straight in the eyes. "For before."

Valjean shrugged. "It's part of what I do here. My duty." He smiled, with what Javert realized was real gentleness in his eyes. "I'm sure you understand."

Javert nodded mutely.

They sat in silence for a while, Javert slowly eating. Finally, Valjean spoke up.

"Javert, I'm wondering…" His eyes were searching.

"Yes?"

"You…you don't have to answer this if it's too personal…"

Javert barked a short laugh. "I think we crossed that bridge a while ago." He noted a strange flicker in Valjean's eyes at the word "bridge," and suddenly had a sinking feeling that he knew where this was going. "What is it?" he asked harshly.

"Eight months ago… after the barricade… the Moniteur… they printed…"

"My obituary?" Javert guessed.

"Yes. And a brief article. They said you'd jumped off Pont Notre Dame…"

Javert interrupted, a tone of defiance in his voice. "They were right." His eyes were daring Valjean to make something of it.

Instead, Valjean hid his face in his hands, and made a sound Javert thought was almost a sob. "Oh God..."

Javert just stared at him, lost for words.

Valjean looked up, and Javert could have sworn his eyes were shining with unshed tears. "I am so sorry I drove you to that. I swear to you, that wasn't what I wanted."

Javert snapped at him "You think it was because of you, 24601?" The number escaped him almost automatically. It was nothing but an attempt to put distance between himself and these huge, understanding eyes.

Unfortunately, Valjean understood it as such, and his eyes became even gentler. He held his gaze steadily, and to his shame, Javert found himself the first to look away. "Fine," he growled. "So it was. And as you can see, it went the way my plans involving you usually go."

"What happened?" Valjean asked, his voice a mixture of concern and curiosity.

"I don't even know. I jumped, the current got me, I thought it was all finally over… next thing I know, I'm lying on the riverbank, it's midday, there are lots of people hurrying by, and my coat and purse are gone." He shrugged. "So the gamins must have paid some attention to me, if no one else did. I wanted to just go and try again, but... I couldn't. Not in front of all those people, you know?"

Valjean nodded. Javert had always been proud in life, of course he would carry that even into death.

Without really knowing why, Javert continued. He had not talked to anyone in so long, suddenly all it took was the patient interest of a man he had despised for thirty years to make him open up. "I hid in a basement. I was going to wait for nightfall, then try again. But that night, the streets were full of patrols – the riots had just ended, and the police and army were both out in force. I didn't want to run into them. So I waited. And then, the next day…" He shrugged. "I woke up, and suddenly I realized that I couldn't do it anymore."

"Your will to live was back?"

Javert snorted. "Hardly. But… I also didn't have the strength to die." He sighed. "Go ahead, 24601. Call me pathetic. We're both thinking it. Too weak to go through with the one thing I'd intended to do for over twenty years, then too weak to end it all. Damn the bad luck that made me wash up on the bank." His voice was a hoarse whisper.

"Bad luck?" Valjean asked quietly. "Like the bad luck that made us run into each other, again and again, in places hundreds of miles apart, over twenty years?"

Javert looked at him. "What are you saying?"

"I don't believe in luck, Javert. But I do believe in providence." Valjean got up and walked through the door. "Call if you need anything," he said and closed the door, leaving Javert to his thoughts.

xxxxx

When Marius stopped by later that night to check on him, he found Javert deep in thought. Before he had a chance to ask him how he felt, Javert spoke up.

"This place... your hospital... you treat the poor? For free?"

"Yes," Marius nodded. "Well, mostly for free. Some pay us a little, if they can, or do some work for us – laundry, cleaning, carpentry, that type of thing. But we don't demand that if they don't offer. It's a lot of work, though, for three people."

Javert raised an eyebrow. "There's just the three of you?"

"Well, we used to have a servant, Toussaint, but she left us two weeks ago – she was getting too old for this kind of work, so we found her a less strenuous position as a portress. We haven't hired anyone new – that's one expense less. But now we're doubly grateful for any help given in lieu of money."

Javert looked at him searchingly. "But it's expensive... running a hospital?"

Marius sighed. "Oh yes. We run mostly on donations. My grandfather helped by putting us in contact with a lot of his rich and influential friends. Still, we could never even have started this place if my father-in-law hadn't paid for the house and the initial set-up cost. Without his money, or rather, M. Madeleine's money..." he stopped short and looked at Javert, slightly panicked. "Maybe I shouldn't have said that."

Javert laughed, a short, harsh sound. "Believe me, Monsieur le docteur, I know all about M. Madeleine." Softly, he added "I knew before anyone else."

"That he did," Valjean's voice came from the door. He shot Javert a rueful smile, then turned to Marius. "How's our patient?"

"As well as can be expected. I'm still a little concerned about the fever," the young man replied. He turned back to Javert. "Monsieur, if you start feeling worse, if there's dizziness, or cramps, you must call out for help. Even if it's the middle of the night. Things like this can get worse fast. Do you understand?"

Javert nodded curtly.

Marius rose. "Then I leave you to your rest. Good night, Monsieur." As he walked past Valjean, he bade him good night as well, briefly putting a hand on his shoulder.

Valjean closed the door and sat in one of the chairs, apparently settling in.

Javert looked at him critically. "What are you doing?"

Valjean smiled. "Staying," he stated simply.

"Staying?"

"I know you better than to think that you'll call for help just because you need it."

"I told your son-in-law..."

"You told him that you understood. Not that you would do it."

Javert shot him a quick glance, half exasperated, half amused. "You're much too good at seeing through my thought processes, Valjean."

Valjean grinned back openly. "I've had twenty years' worth of practice. You're not an easy man to escape. It takes some thinking."

"I'm glad to hear that." Javert's gaze became thoughtful. He was bored, and not tired after sleeping most of the day, so he decided to ask a question that had been haunting him for years. "While we're on the topic of you evading me, where did you hide it?"

"Hide what?"

"M. Madeleine's... your money? It was never found, and trust me, we tried."

Valjean smiled and shrugged. "I buried it. Under a chestnut tree bandaged with a zinc band, in the forest near Montfermeil."

Javert snorted. "Simple, yet brilliant. The police force can hardly busy itself by digging up every tree in France every time someone's money disappears."

"That's what I thought."

"And yet, I should have known. Montfermeil, the girl... I should have figured it out."

"Even you can't know everything about me," Valjean said with a grin. Javert fancied he saw a small gleam of pride in his eyes.

"I knew enough to arrest you in Paris and send you back to the galleys, didn't I?" he replied with a slight sneer.

Valjean smiled, without any bitterness. "Temporarily."

"I recall reading the news of your death. By drowning, too." Javert remembered feeling a brief flash of something almost like admiration when he had first realized that Valjean had managed to escape from Toulon by faking his own death, thereby not just evading but actively preventing all pursuit.

"Yes. So there's one more thing we have in common." Valjean smiled. "How did you find me again? Everyone thought I was dead, so surely there couldn't have been a warrant?"

"I heard rumors of an apparently poor man living in Saint Medard, with a little girl no less, passing out generous amounts of coins wherever he went. 'The beggar who gives alms'?" Javert almost smiled. "Who else was that going to be?"

Valjean shook his head. "I should have known it'd draw too much attention."

"Wouldn't have stopped you. Charity is more important to you than your personal safety."

Valjean looked up at him, surprised. "I'm not the only one here who knows the other too well." Laughter glittered in his eyes.

Javert forced himself not to return the smile. "Twenty years of playing cat and mouse will do that, I suppose." He settled back into the pillows; he was beginning to feel drowsy. "So you seriously intend to just sit there all night, watching to see if I need the doctor?"

Valjean shrugged. "Won't be my first sleepless night." He smiled. "Not even the first one because of you."

Maybe it was the ridiculousness of the situation, maybe it was the fever, or maybe the pain medication, but Javert could not help himself: he laughed. A real laugh, not the short, bitter noise he usually substituted. "What has the world come to?" he finally managed, "that you're now guarding me?"

Valjean joined the laughter. "We've been through so many bizarre things, what's one more?"

Suddenly, Javert's laughter turned into coughs – big, heaving coughs that shook his body. Valjean was by his side in an instant, gently rubbing his back and helping him to sip water.

This closeness was too much for Javert. As soon as the coughs subsided, he tried to push Valjean away with what little strength he had. "Get away from me, 24601," he snapped.

Valjean got up and retreated to his chair, an expression in his eyes that was almost... hurt? Javert surprised himself by feeling vaguely guilty. Unable to admit this, especially to himself, he simply lay down and shut his eyes firmly. As he was drifting off, just at the edge of sleep, he could have sworn he heard Valjean's quiet voice saying "Sleep well, my friend." But that was impossible; he must have imagined it.

xxxxx

The fever did rise during the night – about an hour after midnight, Valjean summoned Marius. He examined Javert and concluded that there was nothing much they could do, except try to lower the fever and let Javert's body do the fighting.

Valjean spent the rest of the night putting cold compresses on Javert's arms and legs, and sponging his face with ice water while his patient tossed and turned, only half-aware of his surroundings. A few times, Valjean felt Javert's eyes resting on him, searching, questioning – but whenever he asked him if he needed anything, Javert just turned his face away and squeezed his eyes shut.

At dawn, the fever broke. Relieved, Valjean sat back in his chair and watched Javert finally sleep restfully.

xxxxx

Javert kept thinking it must have been a dream. Or rather, he kept wishing it had been – he knew fully well that it was not so. He had only dim memories of Marius by his bedside, but he knew that Valjean had been there, all night, trying his best to cool him down, gently washing his face, talking to him soothingly.

No one, in all of Javert's life as far as he could remember back, had ever been so caring, had ever treated him with so much gentleness. The few times in his life when he had been ill, he had mostly been alone at home in bed, with a doctor dropping by maybe once a day for a few minutes. The one time he had been seriously wounded, and spent a few weeks in a police hospital, the nurses had taken care of him efficiently, no doubt - but it had been quick and impersonal, mere maintenance of his physical body. The care and concern that Valjean had displayed...

It made no sense. Not from anyone, but least of all from the man he had hunted all across the country for decades. How could Valjean, Valjean of all people, care what happened to him, want to allay his suffering, show so much concern, so much...

Javert stopped himself before his thoughts drifted to a place he simply could not deal with.

xxxxx

Over the next few days, Javert slowly began to regain strength. Marius still checked in on him several times a day, and both Cosette and Valjean kept bringing him food, tea, and extra blankets, talked to him about the daily business of the hospital, and continued to display a level of care that Javert felt entirely undeserving of.

The worst part was still the closeness – being washed, needing help to attend private physical functions – but with time, Javert began to notice a change in himself. While he still hated the dependency, and blushed at the mere thought of some of the things that had been done for him, he found a small voice inside himself that did not detest the attentions. A small piece of him was beginning to respond to the warmth, the unfamiliar nurturing, the gentle care. A little, soft part that had been locked away for all of Javert's life, a part he had not even known he had, was beginning to... thrive. More and more often, he caught himself smiling at Cosette or Valjean with real gratefulness, found himself unable to make the scathing remark he would have thought appropriate mere days before. It was a subtle change, and no one ever commented on it, but as days turned into weeks, Javert found that at least to himself, he could no longer deny it.

So he tried his hardest to ignore it.

xxxxx

When he started to complain that he was bored, Valjean brought him books and the Moniteur. When he started to complain that he felt useless, Cosette brought him simple tasks he could do from bed – bandages to roll, pins to sort – he grumbled about the nature of the tasks, but if he was honest with himself, he had to admit he found himself oddly glad to feel at all useful. It had been a long time since he'd had even the slightest feeling of accomplishment.

Once Marius allowed him out of bed for short periods of time, he could often be found at the kitchen table, chopping vegetables with Cosette or helping Valjean to write and address letters asking for donations – he had large, clear handwriting that proved very suited to the task. He even added the addresses of a few police officials he knew to be interested in charity work, but refused to write to anyone himself who might recognize his handwriting. Valjean did not press the point.

xxxxx

It was one such afternoon, they had been stuffing and addressing envelopes for an hour, when Valjean sat back and looked at Javert searchingly.

Javert seemed uncomfortable under the sudden scrutiny. "What is it?" he asked impatiently.

"I was just thinking... how much we appreciate your help." Valjean was torn between not wanting to make Javert balk at what he would consider too much praise, and really wanting to drive home a point.

Javert nodded gruffly and made to continue, but Valjean was not done yet. "So I was wondering..."

"What?"

"Well... you're getting better every day, it won't be long now until Marius proclaims you fully recovered..."

"Thank God," Javert muttered, with a surprising lack of conviction that made Valjean slightly more hopeful.

"And I was wondering – do you still intend to leave?" He was loath to see this man, whose intelligence and dedication he had always respected, waste himself as he had for the past months. And he was sure that that was exactly what would happen if Javert found himself alone on the streets again, without a task or anyone who cared.

Javert stared at him. "Obviously. What kind of a question is that?"

Valjean pressed on hastily. "Because you know – you don't have to. There's room for you here, and really, your help means so much to us..."

Javert interrupted him with a short, bitter bark of a laugh, "Yes, I'm sure you really want me around for ever and ever. Don't even try it, Valjean, I've had enough of your pity. As soon as Monsieur le docteur says I can go, I'll go."

Valjean sighed, and inwardly damned the man's pride. "Go where?" he asked bluntly. They both knew Javert had no home to return to.

Javert shot him a bitter glance. "Worried about me, 24601?"

"Yes," Valjean said simply. "I was almost the cause of your death once, I don't want to be again. Besides, this isn't just pity – we really could use your help here... especially with Cosette's delicate condition."

Javert paused. "Madame is..."

"In the family way, yes. She just told me this morning." For a moment, a blissful grin spread over Valjean's face. "I'm going to be a grandfather." He half-expected Javert to point out that he was not Cosette's real father, and would therefore not be a real grandfather, either. Javert's actual reaction surprised him.

"Congratulations," he said with a smile that seemed more than simple forced politeness.

Had the past weeks taught Javert that blood connections were not everything, that people could care about each other, and take care of each other, no matter where they came from? If so, there might be hope yet.

Valjean's face became serious once more. "So you see, we really could use the help. Won't you at least consider staying?"

Javert was folding a letter, and pressing down so hard he almost ripped it. He stared at the table, brooding. Slowly, he began, "Monsieur le docteur told me once that some of the people you treat here pay you back... with work?"

Valjean nodded, a sudden flutter of hope in his heart. If he could appeal to Javert's pride... "Yes. Medicines are expensive, and so's labor. And there's so much to do here. We try not to press the point, but the care we provide is actually quite costly..." He stopped, pretending to suddenly catch himself. "But no one has to do anything."

"I assume that most people never truly repay their debts? I know what hospital stays cost elsewhere in the city, surely repaying a bill fully would take... many weeks?"

Valjean nodded, and pretended to sigh. "It would help if people were a bit more... No, what am I saying. It's not that they don't want to. They do what they can. But they have families to take care of, homes to look after." He did not say "unlike you," but thought Javert heard it anyway.

Javert's eyes flashed with something Valjean couldn't place. "Well, I do repay my debts. Always. In full."

Valjean simply nodded, not daring to interrupt. Was it working? Was Javert letting it work?

"So... seeing how I've been here for weeks... the level of care I received..." he was staring at his hands. "It seems only fair that I'd... stay for a while. To work. Until my debt is paid off?"

Valjean nodded, fighting hard to keep a relieved smile off his face. "That would be... appropriate."

Javert sighed, Valjean could not tell whether with exasperation or relief. "Then I will. Work off my debt. For a while. Maybe until the baby comes or... well, as long as it takes to pay Monsieur le docteur back." His face was the unreadable mask Valjean had become so familiar with over the years.

Valjean couldn't fight it anymore. He was smiling like a lunatic. For Javert's sake, he tried to make his voice sound steady and serious. "Thank you, Javert. Most people aren't this... correct." He knew he had hit the right word when Javert threw him a quick glance, a peculiar mixture of relief, gratefulness and haughty pride.

"Well," Javert said, the same strange mix of emotions in his voice. "Then let's get back to work. Some of us have debts to pay off." He pulled the list of addresses closer to him and set to copying them with a vengeance, not throwing another glance at Valjean.

Which was a pity, for he missed Valjean's smile of happiness and content. Javert was going to stay. For a while, first, and then... they'd see. Valjean knew he'd do whatever he could to prevent this man from wasting away in the gutter. But for that, he needed time – time he now had. Grinning, he started sealing the envelopes Javert pushed towards him.

The End