An hour passed, and Javert found himself walking out in the cold again with his hands to his side; this time he didn't take his holster, sword, or hat with him. He had no need for it since he was going over the mayor's house. The last few times he had brought it, Madeleine told him to leave them home and now worry, he was safe in his presence. Javert did feel safe in the man's presence. But the thought of him being the convict name Jean Valjean made his stomach churn and bile rise in his throat. A part of him was satisfied with what he was doing with Madeleine, getting so close to him and allowing his superior to touch him in ways no one else has before; allowing him to be kind and even love him. It was so unlike anything else, it was the first time for this kind of experience for Javert.

Before he knew it, he found himself at the mayor's doorstep and rapping his knuckles against the wooden door to be let in. After a few moments, Madeleine opened the door and grinned when he saw who it was behind it.

"Come in, come in. Dinner is right in the kitchen, it's just finished," Madeleine led the inspector into the house as he usually did; closing the front door behind him so the cold air didn't get into the house. A warm fire cracked near the relaxing area, illuminating the room and making it feel settling and warm. But they were to go there later, for now they went into the dining room. Javert took his place on one side of the small table and Madeleine on the other. It became a regular practice now, they knew exactly what to do.

On the table was a setup of soup and bread, and two glasses of water near the edge of the plates. It looked delicious, Javert had to admit. This meal was often eaten between the two, and he had to say it was well made.

Picking up his fork, he took a spoonful of the broth and vegetables; blowing on it before he placed it in his mouth. It was a burst of flavor, and he hummed; approving of the dinner.

They sat there and ate in silence for a while, both of them glancing at each other now and then. It wasn't an awkward silence, it was normal. It was long past awkward, but there was still that underlying tension that suggested something was wrong. Javert glanced up at Madeleine when he began to eat his bread, but when the man caught the inspector staring at him, he averted his gaze elsewhere. He didn't speak of thinking he was a convict at all, he didn't bring up the topic. It was obscene to think such a thing about the mayor of the town especially. He had to respect him, do what he asked and report to him; do his job.

They had finished after a while and Madeleine had spoken up.

"Let's go relax, shall we?" He suggested, and Javert nodded. They got up and left the plates there for Madeleine's housekeeper to clean and made their way into the living space near the fire; taking their seat in the padded arm chairs and getting comfortable.

Javert let out a small sigh of relief as he got to sit down, having been walking around all day. A wave of tiredness swept over him, and Madeleine seemed to notice when he glanced over at the inspector.

"Are you feeling alright, inspector?" Madeleine asked, placing his book aside on a small table. He raised an eyebrow and rested his hands on his lap with a concerned expression on his features; his eyebrows furrowed and his lips pressed into a thin line.

"Yes, I am fine," Javert reassured him, letting out a yawn; covering his mouth with his palm as he did so. One of his hands absentmindedly rested on his stomach. It was odd to think that a living human being was inside of him. "I'm just tired, is all." That was true. He was feeling exhausted, wanting to lay down and sleep the night away.

"You should rest," Madeleine pressed even if the inspector said he was fine, getting up from his chair and stepping over to the other man. "Come, you should lay down."

Javert was going to protest, but he stood up himself and followed Valjean to his bedroom. He was used to being led to the certain room, doing the usual and making himself comfortable. He unbuttoned his uniform jacket and slipped it off, draping it on a chair in the corner of the room, also kicking off his shoes and placing them near the chair so no one tripped over them and fell. Valjean did the usual also, taking off his jacket and layers of clothing so he was just in his underclothes. Javert couldn't help but stare since he was finished undressing first. The man had a defined back and broad, strong shoulders. There was always something that got to him though, that made him feel disgust and even more thrill when he partook in perverse acts with the mayor—his scars. The man's wrists were bumpy and darker than the rest of his skin; his back covered in thick white lines that were still faintly red around the edges. This is what threw Javert off, which made him as confused as ever. He was the mayor, the inspector kept on telling himself that. Though the man reminded him of a convict, and he felt terrible for thinking such a thing. He never spoke of it, not yet, at least. He kept it to himself, only thinking it over in his times alone and when he found himself staring at the man's scars. He remembers those times in bed when he smoothed his lips over those scars, and Madeleine had flinched back slightly. But Madeleine ended up apologizing and they went back to what they were doing and giving each other pleasure.

Madeleine always had his shirt buttoned up all the way to his neck and his sleeves always pulled down to hide these scars, for he felt self-conscious and afraid that someone would notice them. Especially the inspector. But he knew that Javert has seen them from their times in bed when he kissed them, looked him over and admired him when he wasn't looking.

Javert admired the mayor. He was kind and good-spirited, everything that he himself was not. Whatever happened, no matter who it was, if someone was in a time of need, Madeleine was there to help them. He gave money to the poor freely; giving away many francs a day. He even went into lengths such as breaking into people's houses, only to leave money on their tables where they would see them when they woke up or got home. This has happened to Javert a few times before, but he declined the offers and Madeleine would find the money on his desk in his office in the morning when he went to start the day. Javert didn't want to take from this man, didn't want his sympathy. But Madeleine didn't cease these offerings and gifts for the inspector, no matter what he said to decline and push away the objects and money. Javert hated getting sympathy, especially from someone that reminded him so of Valjean.

Valjean was a convict. He was strong, dangerous; not a force to be reckoned with. Javert remembered watching him get into fights with other convicts while they were working. The winner would always be Valjean, and the loser would end up bloodied and bruised. He was one of the most feared convicts out of all of them, but the guards were rough with him. He was constantly chained up and restrained, and they always made him carry the heaviest objects. Javert remembers right before he was on parole and let him go, he made the man pick up a flag. He expected for Valjean—24601—To pick up the soaked material of the flag itself and drop it in front of the prison guard. But no, the man braced himself under the thick wooden pole to rest strain himself; resting it on his shoulder and slowly rising to his knees, going a few steps and then dropping it in front of Javert with a fierce look in his eyes. He made it look like the flag pole was as light as a feather.

Now, Javert found himself sitting down on the bed and pulling the covers aside; settling onto the mattress and pulling the blankets up to his shoulders. He was encased in warmth, comfortable. He let his eyes close for a split second before he felt more weight on the bed and arms wrap around his waist; warm puffs of air on the back of his neck. Javert was hesitant, but found himself settling down and relaxing in the other's arms. His hands still clutched the blankets up to his chest, but both of the men's legs were tangled together; against each other. Javert let out a sigh and allowed his eyes to close yet again, but he didn't fall asleep right away.

"You may sleep, rest," Madeleine planted a kiss to the back of Javert's neck; nuzzling the skin slightly. Javert let out a breath and only nodded in response. He was torn between telling the man now about his secret, but he couldn't bring himself to say those words. He knew that in the morning he would be throwing up again, most likely. It's been happening almost every day to every other day since a month or so back. He hated morning sickness, hated throwing up when his stomach was empty of anything other than dinner the night before. He usually didn't eat breakfast now since he was just going to throw it up again, so he just settled on a glass of milk or water to keep him until lunch time.

Madeleine's breathing was steady on the back of his neck; warm puffs of air against his skin. He was comfortable and relaxed under the sheets and in the mayor's arms, and he found himself falling into a deep sleep in no time, the last thought on his mind having to do about what would happen in the morning.

I hope this chapter was okay! I'm actually serious about this now, and this is actually fun to write oh my god. But yeah, I'll be working on the next chapter over the next few days. I'm going somewhere Wendesday for spring break, but I'll try to work on chapter 4 and on when I can! uwu