title: ink and starch

pairing: Javert/Éponine; mentions of one-sided Éponine/Marius

rating: T

summary: "her written words were wobbly and niggling, and yet her eyes could have cut through the finest steel." After the raid at the Jondrette's, Javert comes to know the oldest Thénardier daughter a bit better than he sought to. Gift fic for the amazing Stechpalme who currently writes a magnificent Les Miserables fanfiction entitled "To Keep A Soul". Check it out!

We'd be so less fragile
If we're made from metal
And our hearts from iron
And our minds from steel

three wishes – the pierces

*:::::*:::::*

aurore

The very first thing he noticed was that she had a fine lamina of dust on the tip of her nose.

In fact, the more he looked at the oldest Thénardier girl, the faster the realization came that every inch of her was covered in either grime, sweat, and dirt. Oh, and the muddy snow on her bare feet only added to her overall charm.

Perfect.

Inspector Javert gritted his teeth, not only to repress a handful of sarcastic remarks but to keep his quickly thinning patience in line. Had he taken the time to look out the window, he might have seen the first signs of the dawn: slowly, but surely rising warm colors on the ebony-blue sky. But alas, Javert had no time for beauty, not during the night, nor the days.

Or ever, for that matter.

He had time for small joys, however, and this girl – being the last one to be interrogated, being the last one to be caught- proved to be now one. He jotted some additional information about the Thénardier family and their aptitude for committing crimes frequently, yet with catastrophic or no results.

The Inspector stretched and made a pitiful attempt at unfolding himself from his chair.

Needless to say: he failed. His office chair once again claimed him as his victim.

"Your age, girl." he commanded while unceremoniously slanting back in his chair.

"Sixteen, monsieur."

Javert looked up from his papers to focus on her face once again. His face didn't flinch, but he was well suprised.

He thought her to be older, perhaps, because of her ever-sad eyes.

"Can you write?"

The gamine narrowed her eyes. This question was a tricky one. Éponine would have loved to see Marius Pontmercy impressed by her knowledge, but she didn't for a moment think that the Inspector 's seemingly innocent question was to be answered with an enthusiastic "but of course!". She hoped that Azelma had a touch of sense and didn't give away something this personal.

When she spoke, her voice was an octave higher, a bit rougher: that's how she usually deceived rich people on the streets.

Make them pity and lament the little illiterate girl.

"I am poor. Ne'er had the chance to learn anything like that."

Javert tilted his head, his face unreadable.

"Meaning no." she said, emphasizing the "no" with a subtle hand gesture.

"No." repeated Javert, his lips twitching. He almost smiled, wich usually meant something horrible.

"That's interesting, because," he continued nonchalantly. "I thought you were the one going by the name Éponine Thénardier. Do tell me, if I am mistaken."

He showed a clean piece of paper just inches away from her face.

Javert was suddenly aware that the only clean parts of her face were her eyes, and her lips. Her eyes became bright as they widened, her lips pale as she slowly licked them.

Éponine Thénardier was just as talented at switching her masks as Inspector Javert was at reading them. While her brain screamed at the sight of her undelivered letter to Marius, confessing everything, -starting with her love, ending with her story, interrupted by hidden emotional and carnal desires- she simply shrugged. She even allowed a coy smile to linger on her lips.

"I don't think that has anything to do with any crime."

Ha, let's see what he is going to do with THAT.

Javert smiled back tauntingly.

He fished out another piece of paper and waved it before her eyes.

Bastard.

It was the clean, starch-white paper of the beloved Marius: on which she scribbled THE COGNES ARE HERE with enormous, clumsy letters.

The similarity was undeniable.

"This..." breathed Éponine softly, though her eyes were furious. "letter is from my heart. Please, give it back, Monsieur."

The Inspector's sharp face contorted into a laugh, which was more like a feral snarl.

"If you would like me to deliver it, feel free to ask. Although, the letter must suffer some delay, I must say, since it's an evidence."

To be honest, Éponine wanted the absolute opposite of this. She never wanted Marius to see the letter: it was for her own foolish, girlish secret. When her life felt worse than normally, she would search her drawers for the letter and play with the idea of giving it to Marius, who, of course, immediately confesses his mutual love for her and promises solemnly that they would marry as soon as possible.

Harsh reality slapped her right into the face in the person of Inspector Javert, and the worst thing was, she probably deserved it too.

"Monsieur, I..." Javert muted her with a flick of his right hand. "I'm begging you, please..."

His fingertips were ink-stained.

Black, just like his heart, Éponine thought bitterly.

She let the guards take her away.

matin

Javert didn't leave his office right away after Levasse and Velant led the Thénardier girl to her cell.

He started to circle around the desk. The letters were still in his hands, both crumpled. He set the sole-sentenced one on his table, and examined the lengthier.

Truth is: Javert did not exactly read the whole text. He was conscious enough to know that this is not exactly public material - he stopped reading soon after "and your kisses is all I dream about" - regarding its content and its grammar.

The girl was clearly out of practice regarding literacy. Her letters were clumsy, childish excuses for words: she had severe spelling issues and was definitely not acquainted with the proper use of commas. Her sentences were either too short, or way too long, making it insufficiently complicated.

It was an interesting paradox. Meaning she was an interesting paradox herself, and the Inspector, who spent most of his life solving indefinite amount of cases, coiling up abstract happenings and crimes was drawn to setting this... thing right. Thing meaning the unfinished education of the gamine girl.

Javert hated paradoxical things because it made him question, made him ask why. He knew that some people believed in greyness amidst black and white, and that was not only a very dangerous territory, but also a forbidden one.

But, if her written words were so wobbly and niggling, why were here eyes so sharp that they could easily cut through the finest steel?

Lack of practice, Javert concluded. Practicing would solve the whole thing along with her infantile infatuation, and his current crisis with sending or not sending the girl to jail.

He felt like cheating with such a private tool. It was almost like he could sentence someone to a lifetime jail, just because they thought about sin. Which was an appealing idea, but still...

He collapsed onto his chair once again.

His head was throbbing with pain and exhaustion. Javert thought about getting home, but just as the idea was formed within his mind, he fell asleep.

Promises were clutched tightly alongside the letter in his hand.

crépusculaire

It could have been worse.

Éponine received a cell which she had to share with some rats and a handful of spiders. It also smelled of urine and mold, but was relatively well kept. Nothing could prepare her from the cold though, and the manly rags did little to preserve the heat that she might have had.

Her cell was next to Azelma's and far from their parents. Montparnasse, unfortunately, was in a cell that faced hers, so she had to bear with his shameless and almost constant ogling, but she could live with that.

She quickly memorized her two prison guards: Cavéne, a slightly plump and extremely ginger boy just a year or two older than Éponine. Papluis, a robust, aging cop with a love for music but no ears -he was literally deaf- whatsoever.

"I'm praying for this torment to end." Azelma muttered mockingly.

Papluis started to sing the seventeen-versed version of "Auprés de ma Blonde" at noon and didn't stop since. Éponine figured it must have been late in the day already, because the prison got darker and darker by minutes.

"Amen." she whispered back, lifting her eyes up dramatically. Azelma snickered and in the next moment they found themselves rolling on the floor with laughter.

"Hey, you two!" thundered Cavéne as he stepped into the room."Which one of you is the oldest Thénardier brat? He asked, then nodded towards Papluis to denote: it was his turn to guard.

Azelma sighed, but Éponine sat up, alarmed.

"I am."

"You will go with this imbecile to the Inspector's Office. Don't try anything, or else..."

His advice and voice faded away gradually as Papluis led her back to the room which she left only this morning.

Javert was sitting at his desk once again, though he must have taken a turn at his home, because he lacked the ink stains and looked cleaner and crisper than ever. He bid goodbye to the deaf guard with a grateful motion of his hand and stood up.

"Tell me," he asked sternly, abruptly."Do you believe in God?"

He looked up only to meet the poor, raggedy girl's confused stare.

One cannot imagine what exact thoughts whirled and churned in Éponine Thénardier's too young and too experienced mind. Did she relive her childhood in seconds? Did she remember the pretty dresses and dolls? Cosette? Was she staring so because she thought the Inspector barking mad at asking her this question in this state, this situation?

She nodded.

"Good."

Javert lifted a book from his desk and put it right into the empty arms of the girl.

Éponine blinked at the book, then mouth still agape, stared at the tall men incredously.

"What is this?" she was so overwhelmed by the absurdity of the whole scene that she forgot to address Javert formally.

"I thought you were literate." he stated sarcastically.

It was the Bible.

She trembled. The Thénardier family went to Church in the past, once or twice, to show how good Christian souls they are, and Ponine figured that they were all baptised. But this was a whole new level of knowledge in faith and reading.

The girl sniffed the book and ran her hands through the cover. It was exceptionally beautiful: the spine of the book was lined with something she figured is gold, though she never touched one.

Then she realized her hands were dirty.

Éponine Thénardier started to cry.

With as much dignity as she could, she híd her face in her rags which smelled horribly. She sobbed silently and almost dropped the book.

"What is the..." started Javert, then stopped in mid-sentence. His eyes became softer, and he pulled out a starch-white piece of linen from the sleeves of his uniform.

"Here."

He took the book while Éponine, half-ashamed, half-grateful accepted the cloth. She wiped the layers of filth from her face and hands carefully and thoroughly, though she didn't dare to look at it afterwards.

"Why..." she tried to ask, but the Inspector's gaze went cold once again. She didn't want to stretch the line.

"The evidence was not accepted." said Javert. "You will be out in two weeks, if not less. If you don't read it until then, it's your loss."

She didn't remember the rest of the day, but dreamed of spring skies and flower fields.

nocturne

They met a month later after the release.

In such closure, Éponine could clearly see the sharp angles of his face, could realize how truly towering he was. He had faint traces of silver in his dark hair and upcoming wrinkles near his eyes, which shone intensely under his ever-serious frown.

It was almost midnight and she caught him on his patrol duty, in one of the most terribly lit alley near Saint-Michelle.

"Never thanked you, Monsieur."

"Well, I never delivered your letter."

"You never truly read it, did you, Inspector?"

"There was nothing to read. The letter was jibberish."

"There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Chris..."

His mouth twitched.

Éponine, encouraged by this sign, tip-toed, and very gently, very quickly tried to kiss Javert.

Her lips bumped on the right side of his face, just at the corner of his lips.

It was a moment: she caught the fragrance of soap and street-dust, tasted cleanness, and warm human contact.

She ran away from him faster than ever.

end