Author's Note: This takes place just after Fantine cut her hair, but before she pulls out her teeth-- essentially, before she becomes a prostitute. Sorry for any confusion.

CHAPTER 1

She took a lover, the first who offered, a man whom she did not love, out of bravado and with rage in her heart. He was a miserable scamp, a sort of mendicant musician, a lazy beggar, who beat her, and who abandoned her as she had taken him, in disgust. - Les Miserables

Javert always liked it when it rained. It was not that he was particularly enjoyed depressing weather; he just rather liked the sound of his boots hitting the wet cobblestones. The leather-clad soles gently slapping the puddles of rain gave him the warm, pleased feel only a simple joy can provide. The same exact feeling, he thought, you get when you arrest a criminal. Just the thought of it made Javert straighten up a little more and put more care into his already measured steps.

The only thing that dampened his mood was the lack of wrongdoers wandering about Montreuil-sur-Mer. Don't get him wrong, he absolutely loved his job whether or not there were outlaws wandering about. It just made him feel better to actually be arresting people. It made him feel like he was needed in the city, that he was improving the place he lived. And for the last two weeks, the most he'd found was a little boy playing a game with some of his urchins in the middle of the street when a cart was coming by. The people seemed too well-behaved… or perhaps Javert was just looking in the wrong places.

The only sign of life on the lane he'd just turned onto was a few dim lights glinting from within a small tavern. Well. The disappointment was clear on Javert's face. No one even loitered about the streets. It was a quiet, still night, and although there certainly were times when a policemen prayed for a night like this, tonight was not one of those. Javert trained his hawk-like eye on the tavern. There was uproarious laughter coming from within, and he could vaguely see a man toppling over his chair. Hmm. Well, if the crime wouldn't come to you… you go to the crime. Giving a furtive glance around the area, Javert was suddenly relieved there was no one in sight, and strode purposefully towards the establishment.

The wooden door flew open with a mighty bang, a cold wind barging into the cozy pub. Affluent men peered over their prostitutes' heads, trying to see who had entered the shop at this hour of night and why the hell he was keeping the door open when the chill was coming in. Even the bartender stopped cleaning the glasses. It was if everyone could almost sense the presence of Javert.

And they most certainly could. The moment the door opened, the women shrieked and ran out the back door. The sight was indeed a frightening one; a broad, enormously tall man dressed in a militaristic overcoat; crisp, alert eyes brooding out from under his dark brows. Even the most influential of the men shuddered under the policeman's omnipresent gaze. The entire tavern went silent.

"What?" Javert barked, his deep, harsh voice reverberating off the once intimate walls. "Hasn't a man ever walked into a bar before?"

Everyone nodded, their eyes wide with fear.

"Good." Smoothing down his coat, Javert took a seat at the nearest table which a few patrons were unfortunately seated at. The two men and their sweethearts looked horrified as the police inspector adjusted his already impeccable hat and gave them the most penetrating stare ever inflicted upon them in their lives.

"Good evening, monsieur!" one man drunkenly greeted, holding out a brimming glass of beer.

"Giroud," his friend hissed, poking him in the ribs. "Don't-"

"Good evening, monsieur!" Giroud repeated, looking enthusiastically at the stoic face of the inspector, oblivious to everyone else's despair. "How goes your fine night?"

His friend moaned softly.

"Are you breaking the law?" Javert asked.

"Um…" Giroud looked confused. "Not that I know of…" His companion buried his head in his hands.

"Then you don't need to speak to me."

From the back of the room, another conversation could be heard, and a feminine voice started to spiral out of control while a man yelled back.

"I'm not serving to that—"

"You'll serve to any patron we get!"

"He scares me!"

"He scares everyone! Get out, now!"

Shooting a vicious glare at her employer, the barmaid walked up, looking increasingly self-conscious and uncomfortable as she neared closer to the policeman. Giroud gave her a wink as she neared, but she didn't look. Her gaze seemed fixated on the table in front of the policeman.

"Anything for Monsieur to drink?" she asked, her voice cracking as every single, petty crime she'd ever committed jumped to her mind.

Javert gave her an almost bored look, as if a silly girl like her would ever know what was going on in his mind. "No," he said. "I didn't come here to drink."

Giroud let out a loud, uproarious laugh, slapping his hand on the table. Javert jolted as his nightstick clattered off the table. "Then what are you doing here?" he asked, still wiping the tears out of his eyes.

"Utterly and sincerely not enjoying your company."

"Hey!" From the back of the hall, a lumpy fellow with a stained shirt entered hesitantly. He appeared slightly pale, as if he were sincerely regretting even appearing in the first place. "It's fine if you've come in here for a drink, but you can't just terrorize the customers," he demanded, his voice shaking.

Javert stared.

"I mean… um…" He scratched his bald head. "I… don't arrest me?"

A noticeable change went over the policeman's features, and his stony exterior morphed into humbled acceptance.

"I apologize, sir. I… was under the impression there may have been some law-breaking this evening, and I was mistaken. I will leave your establishment if need be."

"Oh." The owner looked confused, especially when Javert took a respectful bow. "Well, if you put it that way…"

The other customers immediately bit back squeals and shook their heads vigorously.

"Wait. I think that means… leave?"

Everyone slumped in their seats, relieved.

Javert swept his hat off his head. "Certainly."

But at that moment, from the side door, a new couple entered. The woman was a blonde, pretty woman, except for the fact that her hair was completely shorn. At the moment, no one noticed. All anyone saw were her tears as her companion yelled angrily at her, shoving the woman through the door.

"Do you know what you did?" he demanded, taking her by the arm, his dirty and ragged clothes making her appear almost respectable by comparison.

"I… I'm sorry, I…" She seemed unable to finish her sentence.

"Answer me, or I'll—"

"I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking…"

"You never think! You don't just tell anyone what happened last night; that was strictly confidential!"

"I didn't know!"

A ringing slap echoed through the room, and the woman's sobs increased. The man pushed his scowling face up to the woman's, and she tried to pull back in disgust, but he fastened his grip on her white arm.

"Don't you ever do that again, or I will personally…"

But at that moment, a large shadow engulfed the man, and he turned slowly to find a humorless, hungry smile on the policeman.

"Good evening, monsieur," said Javert.

The terror written across the man's face could not have been starker.

"For a moment, I was under the impression this city had been taken by the Holy Spirit itself. Good to see someone prove me wrong."

Next thing the man knew, he was against the wall with his hands cuffed securely behind his back. The woman's shrieks escalated.

The inspector gazed on the criminal with a look of a vulture on his prey, his cool demeanor jarring the jolted man. "Now, I'll need to take you at the station," the policeman said calmly, his voice even and low as the woman's coughs wracked her chest. "It won't take too long. What's your name?"

"Roland. Roland... But please, monsieur." Roland kneeled on the ground, his eyes level with Javert's knees. "You do not understand…"

"Well, as I recall, you hit this woman across the face. Am I missing something?" Roland felt himself jerk upwards as the inspector took his collar and hoisted him to his feet.

Javert inclined his head towards the owner of the pub, who appeared completely bewildered. "Thank you very much for your excellent service."

The owner started. "Sir?"

Javert bared his large, white teeth, an animalistic grin spreading across his face. "I got exactly what I wanted."