His first sensation was heat.

His next sensation was comfort.

That's when he knew things were wrong. There wasn't supposed to be comfort in Hell.

Javert opened his eyes, unsure of what he might see, but he thought he had a pretty good idea. Of course, his suspicions were immediately confirmed by the sleeping man in the corner, the bed he laid on, the fire in the fireplace, and the clothes he wore. The man stirred, looking towards Javert and stopped short of smiling. Javert pretended not to notice. "Good, you're awake… I wasn't sure that you'd regain consciousness so quickly…"

This remark made his blood boil. He was Inspector Javert, not one of the awful man's charity cases, and he couldn't stand to lie in the bed of a convict, nor could he stand the humiliation of painful retching in front of said convict.

Jean Valjean was over him in a second, holding out the trash can that lay next to his side dresser and rubbing Javert's back soothing, cooing gently words of encouragement and reassurance that he was going to be alright. Dirty water from the Seine erupted from his body, making the whole experience completely miserable for poor Javert. After a moment of hideous dry heaving and splutters of incoherent "shits" and "fucking Seine!" and a mixture of other colorful curses, Valjean tried easing Javert into the pillow again, to which Javert promptly swatted the other man away. "I do not need your help to simply lie down; I am not a fucking crippled!" He barked viciously.

Valjean held up his hands in defeat, returning quietly to his chair in the corner. Javert glared with suspicion; didn't he jump into the river? Wasn't he supposed to be dead?

As if Valjean had read right through Javert's eyes, he said quietly, "You jumped. I couldn't watch you throw your life away after I had just saved it. I saved your life for a reason that night, Javert. Your life means something." His words felt like rocks upon Javert's shoulders. Javert acted as if he felt nothing; Valjean pretended not to notice.

"You can't be God to everyone. Who would've known…? Jean Valjean, a driver to a drive-by… a saint! Saint Jean! Saving lives and giving out money to whores and-"his angry rant was interrupted by a violent fit of coughing which shook the bed, his face turning a mahogany shade. Jean shook his head, exasperated, and walked out of the room with a clear intention of coming back. With Javert's suspicions confirmed, Jean came back into the room with a cup that looked like tea with a greenish tint to it.

"Here," Valjean offered Javert the steaming mug. "This should help the nausea and migraine."

"I don't need your mothering and smothering! And besides, I don't even have a-"

Suddenly, his head began to be beating itself inwardly and the light singed his whole body. Javert shook and gritted his teeth, an unapproved groan of pain escaping his lips. As if Valjean had used magic, the tea seemed suddenly appealing. Javert took the mug without any more questions.

"See you drink all of it now," Valjean stated, looking for some more wood to shove into the blazing fireplace. "It should also help get you some rest, and you need all of the rest you can get."

Javert nodded grudgingly, bringing the scalding liquid to his lips and burning his throat quite furiously. Javert moaned at the sensation, yet didn't stop; for he felt suddenly a sense of relief wash over his body.

Relaxation soon took over his body whole body, and he disappeared into the abyss once again.

Valjean was reviewing on his laptop a few critiques of War and Peace when Javert awoke next.

Javert's body was dubbed in sweat; he groaned and thrashed as if he was being attacked. Valjean immediately went straight to the icebox, finding the item he set out for, and pressed the first cool ice pack on Javert's abdomen, the next to rest on his forehead.

Valjean retrieved a glass of water, and very hurriedly returned to Javert's side, where the man awoke and desperately took the water without question. Valjean watched, feeling pity for the man as he drained the glass in a feverish attempt to stay cool.

"Would you like Tylenol? Anything at all?"

Javert grunted shaking his head. "Just NyQuil if you have it… please…" Javert tried to lie back down, whimpering silently and flipping the rather large comforter off of his warm body.

Javert felt hot and cold, clammy yet dry; it was the absolute worst feeling Javert had ever experienced. He rarely got sick due to a life of nothing except immune buildup in the police force, but when he happened to catch a bug, it was utter hell.

Valjean left the room in haste; he believed to have some NyQuil in the bathroom's mirror cabinet. Retrieving said medicine and walking back to the room, he heard his cell phone ring.

Valjean once again entered the bedroom, handing Javert the bottle and answering his cell phone. "Hello?"

"Dad! Hi!"

It was Cosette. "Oh, dearest me, hello my child! How are you?" he smiled; he rarely forgot, but since Cosette had been staying with Marius to help him recover from a bullet wound that had stopped him of living his normal life, she'd been staying with him and caring for him; driving his places, running his errands, taking him to physical therapy. Normal things a fiancé did for the spouse. From the start of her stay, she called him every Tuesday to check up on him; make sure he wasn't dead.

"Well, I've been thinking maybe we could all go out for coffee today? Lunch on me?"

Valjean smiled sadly; outings with his daughter and future son-in-law were quite frequent, and they had always been rather enjoyable. "I'm sorry, Cosette, but I've been delayed today. I'm… I have business to attend to here at home." He said with a sad smile.

"Oh. Well. That's okay. We can do it later this week then."

"However," Valjean replied quickly before she had to go, "I would like some coffee from the store and chicken broth. A loaf of bread would do nice. Could you do that for me? My cars outta gas and I'm delayed from leaving the house until further notice."

Javert watched with intense eyes after swallowing the medicine; his conversation with his daughter seemed so natural, like it happened all the time. Valjean hung up the phone when Cosette had agreed to bring him groceries. Valjean quickly noticed the bluntly given glare that he was receiving and sighed heavily. "Yes, Javert?"

"What were you really in for?" Javert blurted out without thinking. "The records state that you were involved in a drive-by unknowingly, but Valjean, I can't believe that for a fucking second." A cough from Javert, regain of composure, and, "Tell me, what Jean Valjean did to put himself behind bars?"

Valjean sighed, plopping himself onto the chair and opening his laptop again. "Theft. Writing a few hot checks here and there and not paying my tickets. The files on me should also state that I was released on parole a few years early due to good behavior. Never once did the guards come across to find me making trouble." Valjean scowled in concentration at the computer. "Sleep. I'll be working for a few moments anyway, and Cosette will bring your dinner soon enough. Perhaps your fever will break and you can down some broth and bread."

Javert didn't object.