AN: the bad writing saga continues. Yes, this one is short I lost a whole chunk when my ipad glitched out :L

unbeta'd!

By the by, I'm using a traditional tarot deck for this fic since I can't actually find a detailed French-Gypsy one (if such a thing exists) but if anyone can advise me that'd be great :) Also, I'm not sure if being a debtor was a crime in France at the time, it certainly was on the decline in the rest of Europe but hey, it's a fanfic, right?

"Well I suppose there really isn't anything you can do," Jeanne said sorrowfully. "If we cannot afford to keep him..."

He knew that she wouldn't hesitate if he asked her to take the boy in. He knew that they wouldn't make it if he did. She touched his hand, "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," he murmured. "I don't know."

Jeanne shook her head sadly, "If we had more money... If I hadn't lost my job at the factory... If you hadn't been injured..."

Their whole life had been a string of "ifs"; if their parents hadn't died, if Jeanne's husband hadn't died, if he had the education for a better paying job, if if if. Valjean was sick of ifs. He clenched his fists on top of the bed sheets. "I can't do nothing, Jeanne."

She sighed and shook her head sadly, "Jean, what can you do? You have spoken to the doctor and you know the church won't take him. Maybe being with his uncle is for the best. He will be fed and clothed and you say he is a merchant? Perhaps one day he'll have a steady job."

"I know," he said quietly. "I know. But I cannot simply leave him, Jeanne. The man broke his arm."

Jeanne's grip tightened a fraction on the toddler on her lap. "I know." For a moment they lapsed in to silence and then she asked quietly, "Jean, I'll take him if you want, you know I will, don't you?"

"I would not ask that of you."

She patted his arm, "I have to go. The other children will be wondering where I am."

Michel materialised almost as soon as Jeanne had left. The boy grinned at him, he'd lost one of his two front teeth; it was absurdly sweet. How am I to leave him with that man? He will be ruined. He scrabbled up on to the bed, "Your sister looked nice today."

"You can always come and meet her, you know," Valjean said tiredly, shuffling over to make room for Michel.

"Yes," Michel nodded, pulling out a few pieces of paper and looking at Valjean expectantly.

Valjean handed him a ready inked pen, "So why don't you?"

Michel was already scribbling, practising signing his name over and over. "Hm?"

"Why don't you come out and meet my sister next time?"

Michel bit his lip, Valjean could see the conflict in his eyes; to lie or not to lie. "She might not like me." He said eventually.

Valjean smiled and ruffled his hair this again, "Of course she'll like you."

Michel seemed satisfied with this assurance "How many children does she have?" He asked, tracing his fingers across the scrawled words.

"Seven."

Michel's eyes widened, "Seven?"

He laughed, "Yes, seven."

"You must have a big house. My uncle's house is big but I'm not allowed to go in most of the rooms, just my one and the kitchen."

Valjean snorted theirs, a big house?

Michel looked up at him, "Will there be room for me?" He asked quietly.

Valjean swallowed, "Yes."

This will never work.

When Michel scampered in the next day Valjean slid his smile into place; Michel would be leaving in a few days, he couldn't stop Michel's uncle taking him he had no right and his leg was still in a bad way. But he'd do all he could once he was out of the hospital, he had to.

Valjean sat up straighter and leant over to the bedside table, he'd asked one of the friendlier nurses if she could procure a new book for Michel to practise reading. It was a collection of fairy stories, heavy and old and crumbling; pages were missing and torn in places but it was at least something. He grinned, holding the book up to the boy, "Look what I've got."

But instead of the gleeful grin he'd expected Michel was staring at him strangely, Valjean's smile faltered. "Is there something wrong, Michel?"

"There's a new boy on the ward. Lucien," Michel said in a carefully measured tone, his grey eyes searching Valjean's face. "He says he knows you, you and your sister. He says you hurt leg running away from dogs. He said you jumped down some stairs trying to escape. Is that true?"

Valjean closed his eyes briefly, "Yes."

"Why were the dogs chasing you?"

Valjean swallowed, there was no point in laying to Michel, he'd find out eventually. "I owed that man some money and I couldn't pay. He got upset." Michel nodded, a gesture Valjean assumed meant that he should continue. "He set his dogs on me when I couldn't pay."

Michel's eyes were very wide, "Are you a debtor?"

"No," Valjean said firmly. It had only been a little money, enough to tide them over for the winter months when work was scarce, he hadn't counted on the winter being so long though. "I'll pay him back as soon as I'm out of here." Summer was fast approaching, there would be orchards and farms needing help and then Autumn and the harvest. They would be alright, until winter came again at least. They had to be. "Don't worry, Michel." He smiled.

Michel swallowed, "He said other things too."

"Oh?"

Michel sighed heavily and looked up at Valjean with a long, dark look. "He said your house is tiny. That you don't have room for those who already live there." He studied Valjean's face and dropped his gaze, "You're a debtor and you're poor."

"Being poor is not a crime."

"No," Michel said quietly. "But being a debtor is. And if you're poor you will not be able to feed us all. My uncle has money at least..." When he looked back up his eyes were damp. "My uncle is coming tomorrow, I won't be going home with you, will I?"

Valjean stammered, he could not lie to the boy - what would the point be in that? "I'll come for you," he said weakly. "As soon as I am able, Michel. I promise."

Michel was shaking his head, breathing heavily. "Liar," he whimpered. "Liar."

"Michel..." Valjean began but Michel turned tail and fled the room.

Valjean rose to follow, reaching for the crutches by the bed. "Let him be," said an old man a few beds down. "Let him be, son. You did what you could."

Valjean glared at him, "I did nothing."

The old man shook his head, "It is better that he learn now how life will be to him for the rest of his days. For boys like him it won't get much better."

"How do you know?" Valjean snapped.

"That is what life is for most of us. Nasty and poor. No use filling his head with nonsense about being saved, all it'll do is give him false hope and nothing is so cruel."

Valjean was awoken early the next morning by a small hand shaking his arm insistently. It took a few moments for him to gather his thoughts and become fully aware of the worried brown eyes boring in to his, "Michel?" He murmured, sitting up.

Michel's arm was unbandaged. Oh.

"My uncle's here, " he hissed.

The man's voice rang through the ward, "BOY!"

Michel's whole body tensed, he pressed a card hard in to Valjean's hand, "You promise you'll come?" He asked, voice trembling.

"I promise," Valjean said (I will, I will, I will). "I promise."

Michel nodded once and pushed himself off the bed to scurry out of the ward. when he reached the doorway he turned to glance back, biting his lip. Valjean smiled as reassuringly as possible.

He turned the card over in his hand.

The Star.

Valjean's leg takes a further month to heal properly.

He gets a job as a tree pruner, and a farm-hand. He works all day, trudges home and falls in to uneasy sleep. He pays off his debt but he doesn't find Michel.

He's looked, god knows he's looked, but as time goes by he has less and less time to look for him. He asks around, ruffians and fellow workers, but no one knew of a little boy with olive skin and grey eyes.

In a few years a winter will come harsher than most, his nieces and nephews will cry and starve and one day Valjean will pass a bakery and his mouth will water and he'll think about his sister's children. He won't think, not properly.

And the rest as they say...