8

Title: "Little Girl Lost"

Author: Darkover

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: The characters of "Les Miserables" were created by Victor Hugo, not by me. I am borrowing them only as a tribute to his genius. This story was written for love, not for money.

Summary: While walking his beat one night, Inspector Javert finds and rescues a little girl. One shot, although it is part of my "Rescue" universe.

~ooo0ooo~

It was night in Paris, and Inspector Javert was walking a beat through a particularly dark slum—the street lights were never lit in this part of town—when he heard the noise. It was not a loud noise, and it sounded like a whimper of fear, but Javert brought his cudgel to bear anyway. "Police," he said sharply, identifying himself. "Who is there?"

From the other side of a mound of garbage, a small girl peered out at him. Javert guessed her age at about five or six, no more than that. There was no one else about; the sound could have come only from her. She was wearing a nightgown and nothing else. Her eyes seemed huge in the darkness, and she whimpered anew at the sight of him.

"What are you doing out here by yourself?" he demanded.

The child cringed, clearly frightened by the harshness of his tone. Her lower lip quivered and tears sprang to her eyes. The Inspector sighed. He did not want her to cry. Gentleness did not come easily to Javert; he had known so little of it in his own life, and he was accustomed to dealing mostly with people who would have viewed such a characteristic as a weakness. But he made an effort. He lowered his cudgel and spoke in a quieter voice. "Do not be afraid of me, child. I am a policeman. Part of the duty of a policeman is to protect little girls. Do you understand? I want to help you."

The child gave him a dubious nod. She did not seem completely convinced, but at least she did not cry. "Is that why you carry that big stick?"

"Yes."

She seemed to be studying him. "I like your hat, Monsieur. Can I try it on?"

"No." She flinched again, and he realized he had sounded more abrupt than he intended. In an effort to make himself less intimidating to her, Javert squatted down so that he was closer to her eye level. When he spoke again, his voice, though gruff, was not unkind. "What is your name, child?"

"I'm called Cosette."

"Your last name?" he asked, a bit impatiently.

She seemed puzzled by the question. "Just 'Cosette,' Monsieur."

Javert tried a different tack. "What is your mother's name? Where is she?"

"She is with God, Monsieur. At least, that is what Papa said."

"I see. And what is Papa's name?"

She looked at him as if he were mad. "'Papa,' Monsieur!"

The Inspector took a deep breath. He was aware that he was not good with children, and it was precisely because of responses like this that he was not. "Where is he now?"

Her lips trembled again, as did her chin. "I don't know, Monsieur. I woke up from a bad dream and called for Papa, but he didn't answer. I got up, he was gone, I went outside to look for him, and now I can't find my way back home!" She began to cry.

"Stop that," Javert said, not harshly, but his tone was so authoritative that she was momentarily surprised out of her sobs. In a sudden burst of inspiration, he added, "If you behave like a good girl and don't cry I will let you wear my hat."

She stopped crying and looked interested. "Truly, Monsieur?"

"Truly." He took care not to move as she reached out shyly, removed it from his head, and placed it somewhat lopsidedly on her own. She smiled at him, blinking away the last of her tears.

"Cute" was not a word or even a concept that Javert was very familiar with, but gazing at her, his habitual frowning expression softened. He stood up and held out a hand. "Come."

She took it trustingly. Together they began to walk, although Javert had to reduce both his stride and his speed of walking so that the child could keep pace.

"I don't suppose you know your address," he said with resignation.

To his surprise, she rattled it off without hesitation. It was perhaps a mile away, although with a lot of twists and turns along narrow and unlit streets. Javert knew the city of Paris, especially its slums, far better than most. He also understood how a small child, not very familiar with the neighborhood, awakened suddenly from a bad dream, and alone in the dark, could easily have become confused and lost her way.

Glancing down at the child, he was reminded anew that her small feet were bare and that she was inadequately clad against the night air. He thought of removing his greatcoat and wrapping her in it, but she was so small that it would have swamped her, and trailed after her on the cobbled street like the train of a long gown.

At that moment she looked up at him. Perhaps she thought he was annoyed with her, for she said softly; "When I go for walks with Papa, I don't usually have to know how to get home, because he always remembers. And if we go very far, he usually carries me back home on his shoulders."

Without a word, Javert swung the little girl up onto his broad shoulders, tucking his cudgel under his arm and adjusting her position with his own careful grip as he did so. Cosette squealed with delight at being up so high, clutching at the hat to keep it on her head. All traces of her tears were gone. She felt safe now, as she did when she was with her Papa.

They made much better time after that. As Javert and his charge approached the Gorbeau apartment building, he saw an old woman standing before the entrance, casting glances up and down the street as if looking for someone. At the unusual sight of a little girl riding on the shoulders of a most formidable-looking policeman, the old woman stopped dead and stared, but as Javert carefully lowered the child to the ground, the old woman exploded in a torrent of castigation, all of it aimed at Cosette. "You little Mademoiselle! Your father comes home to find you gone, rushes out into the streets looking for you, and all the time, you were just playing!"

The Inspector interrupted, "Are you this child's grandmother? Or a relative of any kind?"

The old woman was taken aback by the coldness of his tone. "No, Monsieur."

"Then you have no authority to scold her," he said brusquely, which instantly silenced the woman. Javert continued; "Her father has gone out looking for her, you say?"

"Yes, Monsieur," the old baggage said meekly.

A small hand clutched his; Javert looked down to find Cosette smiling up at him. "It's all right now, Monsieur. I live here. I can go inside and wait with Catherine for Papa to come home." As she spoke, she took off the hat and handed it back to him; the Inspector put it back on automatically.

"Who is Catherine? Your sister?"

She giggled. "Catherine is my doll, Monsieur!"

Javert turned his intimidating gaze back to the old woman. "I trust that you can make yourself useful, Madame, by taking care of this child until her father returns? I must return to my duties." His tone indicated that it was an order, not a request.

The old woman's head bobbed in a hasty nod. "Yes, of course, Monsieur!" She wanted no trouble with the police, and Javert was quite intimidating even for a policeman.

He nodded curtly. "Thank you, Madame. And please advise this child's father that he should do a better job of watching over her."

The old woman actually curtseyed. "Yes, Monsieur."

"Monsieur l'Inspecteur," he corrected her, and then looked back down at Cosette, who was still gazing up at him and smiling. "Go straight indoors and get back into bed," he ordered, "before you catch a chill—" He stopped in mid-sentence, out of astonishment, because the child had thrown her arms around him in a hug.

"Goodnight, Monsieur! Thank you for bringing me home."

"You are welcome." Javert actually gave her head an avuncular pat, and then stood and watched as the old woman accompanied the little girl back into the apartment building. Then, hefting his cudgel, he turned and walked away.

A few minutes later, Cosette was safely in bed, hugging Catherine to her. The old woman was in the next room, where she would wait until Papa came back. "What a nice man that policeman was, Catherine," she said confidingly to the doll. "I wish Papa could have met him. I think they would be friends if they really knew each other, don't you?" The doll's porcelain face gazed back at her. Cosette smiled, snuggled down into her bed, and went contentedly off to sleep.

~ooo0ooo~

Author's Note: To all purists out there, I know that Cosette would have been at least eight years old at this time, but in my version, and Hugo might agree, she was so undersized from years of living under the neglect of the Thenardiers that Javert believed her to be younger than she truly was. This story is more book-verse than 2012 musical, but I still imagined Russell Crowe as Javert, because I was inspired to write this story when I saw a digital drawing on DeviantArt entitled "Cosette and Javert," by an artist called tyakki. The drawing shows Javert, looking like the Crowe incarnation, carrying child-Cosette on his shoulders. Cosette has his hat on her head, and appears delighted; also, her feet are bare. I loved the drawing, and found myself wondering under what circumstances Javert might have met Cosette as a child and given her a ride on his shoulders. Thank you, tyakki, for the inspiration!