Fic: No Worse Than Any Man - Les Miserables
Title: No Worse Than Any Man
Fandom: Les Miserables
Word count: 1532
Notes: This is a companion piece to What Sort of Devil, wherein the same scene is viewed from two different points of view.
______________________
I came to the barricades with a purpose, but it seems God moves in mysterious ways. My selfish purpose was to find the one my little Cosette loved, but the first face I saw among the many thronging the barricades was none other than him. Javert.
Fiercely determined, he has ever come a step behind me, no matter where I went. He knew my number, my name. Even in the darkest streets of Paris, where one must strain to see, I always feared my shadow would find me once more.
It was from him that I fled for my child, and now, it was he who waited for me, when I sought the one Cosette loved.
He was bundled below as I was pulled down among them, and I understood all too quickly. For the law, he had come, and they knew it. I had no doubt that he would be killed or used as a bargaining chip, a figure of the authority they were rebelling against.
It would be so simple to allow them that: to kill a man who would have betrayed them all.
I would have to run no further. Cosette and I might rest, and for a time, we might live like any other father and child. All I needed to do was say nothing, standing aside while the man who was only doing his loyal duty was killed like a dog.
I did not know if he saw me there, but they knew I had seen him. This, they said, was the warning. If I spoke against them, moved against them or did anything that was not in keeping with their cause, I would share the fate of the other grey head upon the barricade.
The chance to prove myself came unexpectedly in their little battle. What could I do but fight alongside them? I had not yet earned their trust. Nor had I found the one I had come for. If I was to stay, I had to earn my place, so I fought with them.
It was barely a victory, but they were children and claimed it as one, their success. In the heat of their joy and their gratitude for my aid, I knew I had a choice. They had an enemy who might yet be dealt with, and I would never know truly what had become of him.
I asked for his life, and it was given in the throes of victory.
Even as I descended into the alcove where they had cast him, I wondered what I could do. To kill him would be the wise man’s choice, but I have never been called wise. It would be foolish to release him, but what manner of man would I be if I killed him, bound and unarmed as he was?
He was half-consumed by the shadows when I entered the room, bound upright to a broken chair, and for a moment, there was silence. He turned his eyes towards me and I heard my name. He was the only man who knew it and who remembered it, even if it was with loathing.
It seemed strange that my greatest enemy was also the one constant in my life that remained. I had grown so used to him, my eternal shadow, that I could not imagine what a life without his presence would be.
“We meet again.” It seemed such a mundane thing to say, so simple. Were we friends, such words would have been fitting, but we were not friends. As much as we were to one another, we could never be friends.
His disdain and bitterness was unchanging. “You’ve hungered for this all your life,” he whispered, straining against his bonds. As strong and proud as he was, he was bound and helpless. Pride won out, though, and there was no fear in him as I neared. “Take your revenge.”
Wise or foolish, I knew what I could do and what I could not.
Strange that he still did not understand, as I drew the blade from my coat.
“How right you should kill with a knife.”
I remembered, then, the words he had once spoken of his youth. He was born among the dregs of society. No wonder he did not believe a man can change. Bred among them, he must have seen the worst of all men. There was no trust in his body, no belief that God could intervene.
I knelt behind the chair, and though he strained to hide it, I felt his shoulder tremble under my hand. I sliced the cords from his arms. “You talk too much,” I said to him, wondering how he could ever think me a killer. I had spared him before. Why would I kill now, when he was helpless? “Your life is safe in my hands.”
The ropes fell away and he leapt away swiftly, whirling on me, wary as a wild animal. “I don’t understand.” It was more a gasp than spoken.
I sighed then, slipping the knife away to show I was in earnest. “Get out of here,” I said softly. I had other matters to tend to, upon the barricade. He could not stay, and I had no time to fight over the fact I had not slit his throat.
He stood still, staring. “Valjean, take care,” he whispered, stepping closer, slowly, unsteadily. He sought refuge in the only task he knew, then. “I’m warning you...”
I gestured to the shadow, half my attention on the students moving about above us, wary of disruption. It was as if he wished for death. How often had he and I come to words? How often did he push and push, seeking some response I could and would not grant?
“Clear out of here,” I repeated, my voice still low, yet it was not enough to persuade him.
The dark eyes continued to stare. “Once a thief, forever a thief,” he hissed. “What you want you always steal.” He strode forward, his expression dark, and I wondered again if perhaps those were the lessons of his childhood speaking out from his past. “You would trade your life for mine? Yes, Valjean! You want a deal!”
It seemed madness that he could be so dogged, in the face of all other evidence. I had spoken nothing of trading lives, of escape nor freedom. I had been running for far too long to care about that any longer.
Yet, my hand was snatched, my own pistol crushed to my palm and he forced me to push the muzzle beneath his chin. “Shoot me now for all I care,” he said, a strange glitter in his eyes. Perhaps it was madness or simply desperation. “But if you let me go, beware! You’ll still answer to Javert!”
His wild cry caught the attentions of the students, and in my haste to silence him, I forced him back against the wall, holding him fast with my own body until there was calm again. His hands pressed to my ribs to drive me off, but I was stronger.
“You are wrong,” I whispered, tired of his defiance, of ignoring what was said and done to him, of his blindness, “and always have been wrong. I’m a man, no worse than any man.” I sighed, hoping that for once he would listen. “And you are free, and there are no conditions. No bargains or petitions.” I could feel the sweat of his brow against my own, his flesh cool. I swear he trembled, though I know not why. “There’s nothing that I blame you for.” I shook my head, and acknowledged his loyalty, “You’ve done your duty. Nothing more.”
The hands pressed to my ribs again, and I stepped back, allowing him his freedom. There was a brightness to his eyes, and he watched me with uncertainty and confusion. No small wonder. He expected death and violence after so many years of hunting.
But we were both too old for this game any longer.
“If I come out of this alive,” I said quietly. “You will find me at number fifty five, Rue Plumet.” It seemed wrong yet at the same time perfectly right: offering an invitation to the man who had been my enemy for so long. The man who still remembered who I was. And with an invitation manners must go. I bowed my head slightly, knowing he would never give up, not if he remained as stalwart and unchanging as he always had been. “No doubt our paths will cross again.”
Blank eyes stared at me, as if I were mad. Perhaps I was, surrendering myself thus, but I was growing old. We both were.
With the pistol, I gestured towards the shadows, urging him on. Flight was his only choice, unless he wished to incur the wrath of the young army above us. “Go.”
He cast a dark look at me, then turned and fled. Raising the pistol, I fired at nothing, hiding his escape and my crime with an illusion of murder. He was gone, but he would find me again. He always does. A shadow is an impossible thing to lose.
Fandom: Les Miserables
Word count: 1532
Notes: This is a companion piece to What Sort of Devil, wherein the same scene is viewed from two different points of view.
______________________
I came to the barricades with a purpose, but it seems God moves in mysterious ways. My selfish purpose was to find the one my little Cosette loved, but the first face I saw among the many thronging the barricades was none other than him. Javert.
Fiercely determined, he has ever come a step behind me, no matter where I went. He knew my number, my name. Even in the darkest streets of Paris, where one must strain to see, I always feared my shadow would find me once more.
It was from him that I fled for my child, and now, it was he who waited for me, when I sought the one Cosette loved.
He was bundled below as I was pulled down among them, and I understood all too quickly. For the law, he had come, and they knew it. I had no doubt that he would be killed or used as a bargaining chip, a figure of the authority they were rebelling against.
It would be so simple to allow them that: to kill a man who would have betrayed them all.
I would have to run no further. Cosette and I might rest, and for a time, we might live like any other father and child. All I needed to do was say nothing, standing aside while the man who was only doing his loyal duty was killed like a dog.
I did not know if he saw me there, but they knew I had seen him. This, they said, was the warning. If I spoke against them, moved against them or did anything that was not in keeping with their cause, I would share the fate of the other grey head upon the barricade.
The chance to prove myself came unexpectedly in their little battle. What could I do but fight alongside them? I had not yet earned their trust. Nor had I found the one I had come for. If I was to stay, I had to earn my place, so I fought with them.
It was barely a victory, but they were children and claimed it as one, their success. In the heat of their joy and their gratitude for my aid, I knew I had a choice. They had an enemy who might yet be dealt with, and I would never know truly what had become of him.
I asked for his life, and it was given in the throes of victory.
Even as I descended into the alcove where they had cast him, I wondered what I could do. To kill him would be the wise man’s choice, but I have never been called wise. It would be foolish to release him, but what manner of man would I be if I killed him, bound and unarmed as he was?
He was half-consumed by the shadows when I entered the room, bound upright to a broken chair, and for a moment, there was silence. He turned his eyes towards me and I heard my name. He was the only man who knew it and who remembered it, even if it was with loathing.
It seemed strange that my greatest enemy was also the one constant in my life that remained. I had grown so used to him, my eternal shadow, that I could not imagine what a life without his presence would be.
“We meet again.” It seemed such a mundane thing to say, so simple. Were we friends, such words would have been fitting, but we were not friends. As much as we were to one another, we could never be friends.
His disdain and bitterness was unchanging. “You’ve hungered for this all your life,” he whispered, straining against his bonds. As strong and proud as he was, he was bound and helpless. Pride won out, though, and there was no fear in him as I neared. “Take your revenge.”
Wise or foolish, I knew what I could do and what I could not.
Strange that he still did not understand, as I drew the blade from my coat.
“How right you should kill with a knife.”
I remembered, then, the words he had once spoken of his youth. He was born among the dregs of society. No wonder he did not believe a man can change. Bred among them, he must have seen the worst of all men. There was no trust in his body, no belief that God could intervene.
I knelt behind the chair, and though he strained to hide it, I felt his shoulder tremble under my hand. I sliced the cords from his arms. “You talk too much,” I said to him, wondering how he could ever think me a killer. I had spared him before. Why would I kill now, when he was helpless? “Your life is safe in my hands.”
The ropes fell away and he leapt away swiftly, whirling on me, wary as a wild animal. “I don’t understand.” It was more a gasp than spoken.
I sighed then, slipping the knife away to show I was in earnest. “Get out of here,” I said softly. I had other matters to tend to, upon the barricade. He could not stay, and I had no time to fight over the fact I had not slit his throat.
He stood still, staring. “Valjean, take care,” he whispered, stepping closer, slowly, unsteadily. He sought refuge in the only task he knew, then. “I’m warning you...”
I gestured to the shadow, half my attention on the students moving about above us, wary of disruption. It was as if he wished for death. How often had he and I come to words? How often did he push and push, seeking some response I could and would not grant?
“Clear out of here,” I repeated, my voice still low, yet it was not enough to persuade him.
The dark eyes continued to stare. “Once a thief, forever a thief,” he hissed. “What you want you always steal.” He strode forward, his expression dark, and I wondered again if perhaps those were the lessons of his childhood speaking out from his past. “You would trade your life for mine? Yes, Valjean! You want a deal!”
It seemed madness that he could be so dogged, in the face of all other evidence. I had spoken nothing of trading lives, of escape nor freedom. I had been running for far too long to care about that any longer.
Yet, my hand was snatched, my own pistol crushed to my palm and he forced me to push the muzzle beneath his chin. “Shoot me now for all I care,” he said, a strange glitter in his eyes. Perhaps it was madness or simply desperation. “But if you let me go, beware! You’ll still answer to Javert!”
His wild cry caught the attentions of the students, and in my haste to silence him, I forced him back against the wall, holding him fast with my own body until there was calm again. His hands pressed to my ribs to drive me off, but I was stronger.
“You are wrong,” I whispered, tired of his defiance, of ignoring what was said and done to him, of his blindness, “and always have been wrong. I’m a man, no worse than any man.” I sighed, hoping that for once he would listen. “And you are free, and there are no conditions. No bargains or petitions.” I could feel the sweat of his brow against my own, his flesh cool. I swear he trembled, though I know not why. “There’s nothing that I blame you for.” I shook my head, and acknowledged his loyalty, “You’ve done your duty. Nothing more.”
The hands pressed to my ribs again, and I stepped back, allowing him his freedom. There was a brightness to his eyes, and he watched me with uncertainty and confusion. No small wonder. He expected death and violence after so many years of hunting.
But we were both too old for this game any longer.
“If I come out of this alive,” I said quietly. “You will find me at number fifty five, Rue Plumet.” It seemed wrong yet at the same time perfectly right: offering an invitation to the man who had been my enemy for so long. The man who still remembered who I was. And with an invitation manners must go. I bowed my head slightly, knowing he would never give up, not if he remained as stalwart and unchanging as he always had been. “No doubt our paths will cross again.”
Blank eyes stared at me, as if I were mad. Perhaps I was, surrendering myself thus, but I was growing old. We both were.
With the pistol, I gestured towards the shadows, urging him on. Flight was his only choice, unless he wished to incur the wrath of the young army above us. “Go.”
He cast a dark look at me, then turned and fled. Raising the pistol, I fired at nothing, hiding his escape and my crime with an illusion of murder. He was gone, but he would find me again. He always does. A shadow is an impossible thing to lose.