Chapter Text
The Inspector with only one name had to walk very specifically up to the mairie at six in the evening, upon December the 3rd in the year 1822. He had to walk as if the underside of his torso did not exist, unless he wanted more blood to splotch his already stained underpants. It would be a daunting task for a normal, upstanding member of society: people would ask him if anything was wrong, thus ruining the covert operation. For Javert, it instead entailed the task of ignoring the undoubtedly gossip-summoning looks that the 'ordinary folk' of Montreuil were giving him. Let them talk; they weren't his concern anymore. But aside from this, he had no issue arriving at the manor. However, Javert did find himself wishing that he had taken some laudanum before making the trek, as the growth upon him had, true to its label, grown and became capable of making him ache even from simple movements.
He had promised himself that he wouldn't check his underpants for excessive bleeding anymore. Simply looking at the mess made his body roil in the hot dizziness that haunted him periodically, and now even moving around in public threatened his equilibrium. He had planned to move straight from his apartment to the mairie, no interruptions, no breaks. Now that he had arrived, he had to steady himself with a hand upon the wall surrounding the front door.
Javert could not ignore this anymore. The possibility that he might spread this plague demanded he stay away from the station; the fact that he was in increasing pain demanded he not patrol any faster, or in any other style, than the waddle of an elderly duck; the fact that this was in such a private area deman-...yes, demanded that he not go to the hospital. His inferiors couldn't handle him being absent forever. Javert needed help, and there was only one man who could help him.
The Man of Mercy.
He privately considered scooping up some of the snow and shoving that down his uniform instead. Surely that would be less embarrassing than actually going through with this. But, as it stood in reality, perhaps he would do so anyway, just to numb the pulsing pain that made him search for very creative (and attention-gathering) ways to sit down and stand up. Oh, if only illnesses were like criminals! Just pluck them off and toss them into cells! But no...it was now or never, and never was not an option.
By the stars, this was to be a fresh hell in unfathomable proportions. But at least he was dressed for it.
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Madeleine le Maire was running behind on a revision to the hospital staff training program. He had previously axed the notion of expanding the building for now, deciding that quality of care was a larger issue to tackle at this point in time. The Sisters were reasonable when it came to appropriate techniques, if not in how to regard the fates of the patients, so it seemed a worthwhile ambition. Perhaps this way, he could get the hospital squared away in enough time to pull the well purity problem to the front of his agenda at last. The townsfolk would never forgive him if he left that until Springtime. Well, actually, they might. It was hard to tell with them, sometimes.
Madeleine sighed as he crossed out yet another poor insight in the hospital plan. Where was Victor? How long did it take to put bags of money onto a carriage?
“Monsieur, just finished sending off the tax!”, said the lad of the hour, startling the mayor into dragging the pen over the wood of the desk. Would it have killed the boy to knock?! Or...was he just that focused for his writing? Now that was an amusing thought! “Oh, no! I'm sorry, I thought you heard me walk in! Oh, that's terrible...b-but anyway, Monsieur le Maire, the Inspector is here to see you.”
Really? So soon?
“I should have known that 'brief respite' would be true to the words.”
“Monsieur?”, interjected Victor. “I thought you said it was to be 'too good to be true'.”
With a chuckle, Madeleine replied: “That as well, dear boy. Send him in.”
Eugh...what now? Javert probably wished to reinstate himself after all: what a shame. He was enjoying the way the interim Chief Inspector delivered reports to him: inflection and storytelling and hints of emotional depth. Javert, loving to speak in one flat drone, had all the relatability of an abacus in this regard. As for relatability in any other regards...well, Madeleine was sure that was a mystery that would never be solved.
Hmm...Javert. What did make him take time off police work, anyway? If the workaholic were ill, Madeleine imagined that Javert would find a way to patrol and write reports from the safe distance of his apartment complex, or perhaps just ignore it altogether. Javert himself said that maintaining the peace of the town demanded 'vigilance beyond the complacence of comfort'. Well, what was wrong with comfort, in truth? Reviewing this gave no promising lead...the whole affair smelled of something surreptitious.
...No. He wouldn't. He couldn't have found proof of Valjean...! That wasn't possible, and Madeleine had him fooled besides! Not unless...not unless that visiting lawyer from the other day recognized him?! The Savoyard witness! Cold sweat already ran carelessly down his scarred back. He knew something about that man's gaze wasn't right! 'The utmost brotherhood between the magistrates and the barristers', pfft! as if that meant anything worthwhile or sincere. That condescending little fop was to be the death of him, all for a baguette and a window pane! Oh sweet Mary and Joseph, he could already hear the carriage for the bagne coming in his mind. Clopping hooves and rattling chains to send him off to the eternal sleep. Jean had to blink back tears...and swallow his growing rage.
Today was his last day as a free man? All the signs pointed to it. Javert would point to it too, wouldn't he? Today...Jean's world was shrinking down too quickly, too cruelly, focused into one dark blue spot that waddled into view from the side of the room. His stomach knotted, but Jean Valjean had to at least face the truth with some appearance of the mayor—wait.
Waddling?
Madeleine's stomach reasserted its prior shape as he took a deep breath. He had to roll his eyes at his own behavior. 'All the signs pointed to it', what nonsense was that? Honestly, Madeleine suspected he was torturing himself with those thoughts out of boredom. But a waddling Javert was not boring. What on earth could compel the man to parambulate so clumsily?
“Inspector Javert,” greeted Madeleine with the standard smile. “What brings you here today on your respite? Come, take a seat.”
Madeleine saw Javert immediately glance to the exit, as if planning to flee. Oh, this was going to be good. Anytime the fearless Inspector was anxious about...actually, he had never seen the Inspector anxious about anything. Eyes darting, hat in hands, hands fidgeting with hat, stock slightly undone, lips parted for mouth breathing, sweat shining off the face: all of this was part of Anxious Javert. This...this was new. This was an entirely new side of Javert. Oh, dear.
Javert did not sit down.
“...Is everything alright, Javert?”
“M-Monsieur le Maire, sir,” said Javert with unnecessary formality, making a lightning fast bow and...wincing as he got back up? Oh, no, Javert was sick, wasn't he? Poor fellow: former Toulon guard or not, illness affected all men the same. The Bishop would say so, and so that was what he said to himself. But still, the man was sick and breathing Madeleine's air! “I have come here this evening with a...with an unusual request, if I may, monsieur.”
There was no point in contemplating the maybe's and the what-if's anymore. Strictly questions and answers, or Madeleine would just confuse himself.
“Oh? What request is this?”
“I...that is, monsieur....um...”
“That is indeed an unusual request,” Madeleine teased. “I can't say I know how to fulfill it.”
Javert immediately flushed with anger and embarrassment: it was so deliciously obvious. Haha! That was what the man deserved for spreading illness in Madeleine's house! It was a good thing that he sent the portress on holiday, and Victor would be leaving soon as the winter cessation of activity began. This would make it easier to purify the house. After this 'request' of the Inspector's, he would send the man to the hospital and it would be done.
“I have developed an illness that I have not encountered before,” continued Javert as he seemingly regained self-control. “I would go to a town doctor or the hospital for it, except...”, Javert paused as the flush started to return, but leaning more toward embarrassment this time, “the site of the disease is in a very specific area. I-I would like to request that you...that you send for a specialist. I will pay, of course, but I need your connections, Monsieur le Maire. Four months ago, you said that your trip to Paris put you in contact with several medical professionals for the wealthy from the...Pharaoh's Tomb club, yes? If one of them is able, I would like their expertise. And I'll say it again, I'll pay for it.”
That was an unusual request, but mostly because of the person making it. Javert, wanting a specialist doctor of all things? Javert, showing interest in any of the magistrate's non-domestic dealings? Javert, referring to disease locations, voluntarily? None of this would matter for any sensible person, but this was not a sensible person before him (not for matters such as this, if nothing else). This was not as simple as Javert being paranoid about a disease that the doctor living next to him couldn't diagnose...hmm. Unless the man were simply delirious from fever. Jean felt himself going over to check the man's forehead but stopped as soon as it started: he wasn't wearing any gloves. This new Germ Theory of disease made things complicated.
As for the Pharaoh's Tomb, the pinnacle of leisure in Paris...he hadn't thought of it this week. The good people there had changed his life forever, and he was forcing them out of his mind. Complacency already, after the staff had taught him so much! That simply would not do. Still, the issue of the hour was Javert, not Valjean. Madeleine knew, like any well-informed gentleman, that their medical team was talented enough to handle almost any medical curiosity. But all the same, he knew what any peasant knew: there was no way on God's green earth that Javert could supply the francs for the expense. Madeleine already knew that Javert wasn't going to take this as an act of mercy, so...how exactly did the Inspector intend to 'pay for it', then?
But Madeleine would give Javert his doctor; that was a given. As for what else would be provided...hmm. Oh, dear Lord. Light filled Madeleine's brain with splendid wisdom, flowing down into his chest and belly as if to cleanse them of sin. This was it. Javert was the one Madeleine would use! It was perfect! And to break down the animosity between them...This was meant to be. All the evading, all the platitudes and fake smiling, all the irritating arguments against the virtue of charity, all the nightmares of being dragged to that hellmouth with the entire town spitting upon him all the while; now it would end with Madeleine demonstrating what he had learned from the best of the best. The Pharaoh's Tomb staff would be proud of him yet! He was euphoric; he had to keep himself from beaming as he continued the question and answer session.
“Have you gotten any opinions on it so far? This disease, that is.”
Javert's entire head was beet red.
“No.” Oh Good Lord, Javert! Madeleine's rush of joy was instantly choked at the thought of his Chief Inspector evading his doctor-neighbor out of shyness. “I...monsieur, this is how I want this to happen. Yes, I know this makes things more difficult for myself. But...”
Madeleine's pulse quickened at how desperate Javert looked in this moment. This was getting scary: why didn't Javert just say what he really wanted to say? It certainly seemed that he was building up to a selling point for the request.
“Please, Monsieur le Maire. I don't want pity, I will pay you back in full, but please understand me. This is becoming unbearable. I need your help.”
Javert begged. That happened in front of Madeleine, while he was awake, with no cock dangled in front of his mouth.
“Dear God, man, what kind of disease is this?!” Victor came back in at that time, and Javert looked ready to shrink into his uniform upon seeing Madeleine's personal assistant listening to the conversation. Words were flying out of the man's mouth before Madeleine interrupted: “No, no, don't try to stutter your way out of this. You could have seen a doctor and done this in the privacy of a medical office, but you came to me instead. If you want me to help, then you need to tell me everything you know. What 'area' is this illness housed that has you flustered to the point of begging?”
A long, very uncomfortable silence followed. Victor looked as if he could not decide whether to do his job or to let the tension ripple through him. Javert looked genuinely pitiable, still flush and probably having trouble breathing under the strain. For the very first time, Madeleine genuinely felt sorry for him...the mayor could have been glib about it, but the pain was clear on the Inspector's face. He had completely forgotten about the hospital revision work by this point.
“...It's on my...my...”
“Take it easy, Inspector,” said Madeleine in the calmest voice he had.
“...My sitter-upon.”
“...Pardon?”, asked Victor. Madeleine would have asked the same.
“My sitter-upon is in a great deal of pain, Monsieur...le Maire.”
Sitter-upon? Sitter, upon. Upon a seat--!
“Oh, sit-upon! I see! Victor, go get some ice for the Inspector's ass.”
Javert fainted.