Jean Valjean dipped his cloth in the bowl of cold water again, before wringing it lightly and laying it back upon Javert's forehead. The man had a mild fever, but in reality it was the least of Valjean's concerns at the moment. The man also had a broken leg, which had a bad infection. He was also unable to sleep peacefully.

This was, he knew, due to his recent ordeal. The inspector had been trapped in a coffin underground for an unknown length of time. It had been mid afternoon when they had retrieved him from the box, white as snow. He was not entirely convinced of how aware Javert was of his surroundings, but the doctor had informed him he was dehydrated, injured, infected and he could not expected to know what was going on.

Girard had been arrested. Mayor Madeleine would ensure the man did not escape again, not after his treatment of the town's inspector. Valjean was torn between wanting him to serve his sentence, to be kept away from the public, yet horrified that the man would be killed. His life would be taken, and someone had to break God's Law: Do not kill.

Valjean just focussed his attention on Javert; cleaning the wound as he had been instructed; dripping water into his mouth; keeping an eye on his fever. The doctor had set Javert's leg. He had splinted it and bandaged it, leaving the mayor with instructions to keep the other from moving on it. Valjean would do that. He did all that the doctor ordered, and he did his best to chase away nightmares too.

Javert seemed to have a lot of night terrors. On several occasions, he had lost control of his bladder. Valjean was glad the inspector was not aware of what was going on. He was a private man, and would not like the idea of being undressed and washed by anyone.

Valjean had done this though, cleaning the whole of the man's body. All of it. Every. Inch... it was the strangest form of self inflicted torture. When Valjean forced himself to sleep, his dreams were filled with Javert's bare skin. He was not unconscious in these dreams, but awake and demanding. Commanding. He had had dreams of Javert riding his body, using the same motions he saw when the inspector rode Gymont. This was not helped by sleeping in the same bed as Javert, but there was little he could do about this. He was unwilling to leave Javert's side; the room only had one bed and it was too small to drag another one in.

He slept by Javert's side, waking on several mornings to find the man had curled up over his chest. There was something wonderful, yet terribly saddening by it. to feel the man he loved (and he was capable of admitting this, at least to himself) curled up with him, but to know the man had no idea what he was doing, and would not lie there comfortably if he did.

Valjean had started reading his favourite Bible verses out to Javert; he was not going into work, and he did not want to simply sit and watch the man. He had spent the first hour sitting there, but he had been unable to get the image of how they had found Javert out of his head.

He had seen the officers searching for shovels, had heard them shouting and making a racket. He had gone to inquire as to the problem. They had informed him they had caught a convict, Girard, and that they believed him responsible for Inspector Javert's disappearance. He had felt a brief pang of pity for the man, wondering if he had been made unwelcome by others when he had been released from Toulon. He had then been informed the man was a murderer and had escaped his carriage on the way to the guillotine. His feelings of concern had disappeared, turning to horror when he was informed where they believed Javert to be: buried alive.

He had hurried to the graveyard, falling to his knees by the hole the police were digging up to shout down. He had ended up sitting there for nearly two hours, shouting down because the officers believed that if Javert would respond to anyone, it would be the mayor. He had been most frustrated, and he had given up any hope of getting a reply.

Javert had responded though. It had just been an odd noise, a sort of painful croak. It had been enough. Valjean had ordered them to hurry, then grabbed a shovel and helped as they took too long. He kept his talking up though, wanting to hear more evidence that Javert was down there. There had not been any more noise, not until they had uncovered the man.

Valjean pushed Javert's hair back gently, before taking back the cloth to rewet it. Javert had been half insensible when they had pulled him out. His clothing had been dirty, and his trousers soiled. Valjean had been unable to resist holding the man close though. He had managed to catch the words Javert had been whispering through bloody lips. It had just been the same word, over and over: Worms.

Javert shifted, and his eyes flickered slowly open.

"Javert? Are you awake?" the man seemed to be though. He was not dazed; looking about uncomprehendingly as he had been the other few times he had awoken.

He made to whisper something, but his dry lips peeled slowly apart, and Valjean jumped up. He scooped up a cup of water, helped Javert to sit up, and carefully tipped it into the man's mouth. After a few moments, Javert's large hands came up to cover his own around the cup.

Javert looked at him, a confused frown upon his face.

"Monsieur?"

"Javert. I am relived you are awake. I was most concerned."

"Monsieur?"

"Just Madeleine, please. Say what you will."

"You... found- Oh! Girard! Did someone get-" Javert's words were cut off by his vicious coughing. Valjean firmly rubbed his back, allowing the empty cup to drop onto the bedding as he moved to support his inspector.

"He has been rearrested. Do not worry."

Javert smiled slightly, just a twitch of his lips, but it showed his relief. The man tilted to the side, falling into Valjean's chest. His eyes shut, and his breathing evened out. Valjean let him sleep.

He left a note downstairs for the doctor, before heading to bed. The man would be along tomorrow afternoon, but Valjean was hoping to get plenty of sleep, now that he knew the head injury Javert had received had not damaged his mind.

He slept beside Javert, taking comfort in his warmth. He offered the man comfort too, when he awakened, frightened that Girard would harm his men. Valjean settled back to sleep once Javert calmed down. He could not help pressing a kiss to his hair, his feelings of love for the man overwhelming. He was a wonderful person, even if in his dreams, he did keep muttering about worms.

Valjean made a mental note to ask about that. He could not really connect it to anything, as he did not recall the inspector ever having much of an interest in them before. They had had several evening meals together, and during these they had discussed all manner of things. Worms had never been one of their topics.

He shut his eyes, dreaming of Javert never mobbing out, but living with him from now on... it was an impossible dream though. He had never heard of his inspector taking a lover, and the man had taking an awful lot of convincing to simply come and share a meal with him, it would never be so easy.

It was a sweet dream though, one he would keep with him.

In the morning, Javert was most disagreeable. Although the man had made no comment as to waking up upon Valjean's chest, he had not liked the idea of remaining in bed. When he learned he had lost a week, the man had been even more determined to get up. Valjean had pinned his shoulders to the bed and tried to get the man to rest. He had insisted that his leg would not heal properly if he did not.

It took several more days, but the idea of being unable to do this job ever again forced Javert to lie still. Unfortunately, he lay there with little grace. He whined and squirmed and moaned worse than a sick child. The man did not mix well with in activity. He forced the man to eat, this was difficult as well. He claimed to be full after a few mouthfuls of whatever they were eating.

If Javert was ever sick again, Valjean was heading out of town on business.

Except, this sick Javert enjoyed cuddling into his chest, waking or sleeping. He was capable of smiling; he even answered Valjean back several times, with sharp wit. Valjean did not want to miss out on any chance he could have to see this again. He also had a tendency to press his face into Valjean's neck. He would allow his body to fall in whatever uncomfortable position to manage it.

Valjean had to admit, he was greatly enjoying himself. If Javert did not keep stopping to cough and retch, and if he spoke with more than a thin voice, it would likely be close to perfection.

The only thing that would move it those last few inches would be to have Javert kiss him. He was quite aware the man would not though.

Valjean had discovered over many months of getting to know Javert that the man had little self worth. He genuinely could not understand the idea that anyone could care for him. The past few days had simply reinforced this notion.

It tore at Valjean's heart. He wanted to tell Javert he was loved. He wanted to smother the man in kisses morning, noon and night. He wanted to hold the man close and chase his demons away.

He could not though. Javert believed the man he slept beside was Jean Madeleine; an honest, if somewhat eccentric philanthropist who only wanted the best for his town. Valjean tried very hard to be this man. He truly did want the best for the town; he wanted it to thrive, to be a safe haven to those who needed somewhere to relax. He knew his habits were viewed as odd, and he tried to avoid telling lies. He was aware his being here, though, was the biggest lie of all.

The man who slept beside Javert was Jean Valjean. He was a pious, loving man, but he was not honest. He allowed himself one concession every night; he would press his lips to Javert's forehead, sometimes, to his cheek. He loved Javert dearly, so while he held the man close, while he helped him recover, he would not kiss his lips. He would not declare his love.

To declare his love, then have Javert discover in the future his lie? It would not end well. He would like to think he could live out his days as Madeleine, but it could not last. Hopefully, one day he would tell Javert that he, as Jean Valjean, loved him with his whole heart; it was not to be anytime soon though. He would not confess his love, and then have Javert later question the truth in every word he had said.

It would destroy the man, and that, in turn, would destroy Valjean. For now, he could keep Javert safe from the enclosing walls in his sleep, and the overpowering darkness that held him in its grasp. He would love Javert in silence.