A throbbing, blinding pain; relentless and merciless. Javert could feel streams of blood rush down his back, painting the battered skin a dark crimson. A hand — no, it wasn’t a hand this time — a lash came down upon the quivering boy’s back, each hit landing with a sickening smack. “P-please, Monsieur Maitre… I-” his pleas were cut off by his own sharp cry of pain.
“Not another sound from you, you worthless bastard!”The man growled, bringing the whip down harder. Javert stifled more cries, tears trailing down his cheeks and pooling on the floor in front of him. He focused on the small puddle collecting, growing steadily larger as silent tears dripped from his face.
Just as suddenly as it had started, the beatings halted, and Javert shook his head violently, a shudder passing through his body. When his eyes focused once more, he was no longer in his childhood home, but rather his own. Pierre was staring at him with a horrified expression, and Javert realized that he had broken out into a sweat.
“M’ sorry, Pierre. Just- just caught up in my own thoughts.” The boy looked away indifferently, unsympathetically. The boy had never known suffering as he had, so why should Javert think that he would know? Everyone had bad thoughts from time to time, Pierre included. The young, aspiring poet might have thought little of these memories, and for that, Javert was glad. At least it was a story that he could save for another day.
No. It couldn’t be. Not then, not to him. Kneeling down by Frederick’s bedside, tears trailed down Javert’s cheeks, catching in the deep lines on his face and dribbling down his chin. He made no move to wipe them away however, so overcome with grief was he. Silent sobs wracked his body as Frederick’s lifeless corpse lay on the hospital bed before him. If he had driven him a little faster to the emergency room, perhaps he could have stopped it—! Why, oh why did he leave Frederick alone, even for a moment?
Javert began to think irrationally, convincing himself that it was all his fault. For who else’s fault could it be? He knew Frederick should have stayed home, there was no need for him to go with him…
The Inspector then felt extreme anger over the loss of his boyfriend. He gritted his teeth, clutching his short hair and shaking his head. There was no one to blame — no one to yell at, no one to arrest, no one to punish or grab by the shoulders and shake about. His killer was still on the loose, no evidence to be found. After the heart monitor ceased its slowed beeping, the doctors had attempted to resusitate him with no success, and promptly took Frederick’s body away.
Javert slumped in a corner and wept bitterly. He knew he had to make arrnagements for the funeral — would Bedelia even help? She wouldn’t dare. His next thought was; how could he tell Pierre? The boy had gone through so much already — adding Frederick’s death to the long list of tragedies seemed too much already for him to handle.
As Javert’s mind raced, he began to direct his angers towards himself for getting out of control. The Inspector dealt with homocides almost daily, and he had always known himself for being unable to form bonds with any humans. Yet, the death of his partner had rattled him so; and he began to question if life would ever be the same for him again.
How could he fulfill his duty, knowing that upon coming home, Frederick’s tired, yet somehow always-welcoming face would be there to welcome him no longer? Instead, he’d return to an exhauted, red-eyed boy who had to explain to the kids at school that his adoptive dad’s boyfriend had died. How does one explain something like that without being ridiculed? Javert dug his nails into the soft flesh of his face, nearly drawing blood. The world could be so cruel.
