last post in my week of the arrested :(

The first time Javert is angry. He’d spent the day in court testifying against a man who was actually, definitely, undoubtedly a murderer. The man had gotten off on a technicality and was even now on his way back to his (very large, very fancy) home. Javert entered his own small apartment ready to buckle down on some cases, maybe have some takeout leftovers and try not to think about the murderer who was now free to murder again because he had misfiled a witness statement.
He froze and then pulled his gun when he heard someone moving around his house. They were being awfully loud. While breaking and entering in a cops apartment
He enters the kitchen and lowers his gun when he sees Montparnasse scrubbing down the counter.
“What the hell are you doing?” He asks, indignantly
“Made you dinner,” the little brat answered without looking up
“What? Why?”
“Seemed like you needed it, after what happened”
“How do you know-”
“I was in a holding cell. The other cops were talking about it. They were worried about you. Said you forget to take care of yourself when shit happens. So I made you dinner.”
“You were arrested again?” Javert asked in exasperation. “What for?”
Parnasse smiled. “Breaking and Entering.”
The kid stayed for a long time. He made Javert eat, forced him to watch some horrible movie and then nearly shoved him into the bathroom to take a shower.
When Javert came out, the kid was asleep on the couch.
By morning he was gone.

The second time Javert was just tired. He had been working this case round the clock. He couldn’t afford to waste time. Every second he wasted spelled less of a chance of finding the missing children, spelled more children going missing. Even when the captain forced him to go home he continued working, studying the case in the silence of his empty apartment. He begrudged himself every moment of sleep and was running purely on coffee. His head was buzzing constantly and he was having trouble walking straight.
He reached for his gun when he heard the noises, but he fumbled and dropped it. Parnasse entered the room before he had a chance to pick it up again. He was wearing a floral apron and there was sauce smeared on his nose
“You made dinner again?”
“Yup”
“You were arrested again?”
“Shoplifting”
“Aha. I have work to do.”
“No you don’t. I stole all your case files. You can have them back when I say so”
Javert followed him into the kitchen, ready to argue, but there was another kid there.
It was prouvaire. Fuck. If these two groups were pairing up he was retiring.
Prouvaire waved and signed that dinner would be ready in just a minute. Then he nudges Parnasse who guides Javert to the couch. Javert doesn’t have the energy to fight.
Javert falls asleep practically mid bite.
When he wakes up 10 hours later, he is covered with a bathrobe, his case files are on the coffee table and he has a new idea on the link between the missing children

The third time Javert is in shock. They had been too late. The bomb had gone off. The school had been reduced to an empty shell. Most of the hostages had died. The ones who were still living screamed in fear and pain. He had sat with a little girl while they waited for medical care. She had been blinded and her body twisted in inhuman ways under the wreckage. A pole stuck through her chest. He didn’t know how bad it was. He didn’t know what it had hit. He sat with her, cradling her head as she begged for her mother.
She hadn’t made it. She had died in his arms before medical came to help
She was four
He closed his eyes and swayed as her broken voice entered his head again, surrounded by the screams and cries of the victims he’d never even approached.
He wanted to scream himself. He wanted to call for his mother. To vomit. To lash out anything
Instead he straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat. He walked into his apartment and frowned when he heard the now familiar sounds of someone in his kitchen.
He walks past the kitchen, unsure if he can handle the seeing them now, and goes straight to his room. He closes the door and just stands there. Not wanting to think. Not wanting to move.
An hour passes before the door opens behind him and Valjean is there. He cannot think enough to question the mayor’s presence. He can’t do much of anything. But Valjean is leading him out to the couch and wrapping him in a blanket. For the shock, his brain supplies. And Valjean is beckoning to the kitchen, where Prouvaire and Parnasse are waiting. And Valjean is making him eat the soup they bring out. And finally Javert starts crying and he doesn’t know how to stop.
In the morning Prouvaire explains that they needed an adult and Cosette’s dad was the only one they could think of. They and Montparnasse stay at his apartment for two days, and the mayor stops in three times

The ninety fifth time Javert is happy but a little frazzled. It’s date night. Valjean is bringing his daughter tonight. He has a ring waiting on his dresser. He had wanted to stay in, do his privately, but the case had run late and there was not enough time to cook.
He nearly cried when he heard the two kids in the kitchen. The table was beautifully set and when he walked into the kitchen, he found Parnasse and Prouvaire busily stirring, and plating food.
“You were definitely not arrested today,” he said to Montparnasse
Prouvaire smiled and signed ‘no. I was.’
“How’d you know about my dinner date?”
“You were talking about it last week when I WAS arrested,” Montparnasse answered hurriedly. “Vandalism.”
He poured some sauce onto the last plate and put the pots in the sink.
“We’ll run now. Let you get ready,” he said, untying his apron.
“No you won’t. Go set two more plates. If Jean is bringing his kid I’m bringing mine, too.”

listen if you’re afraid of people with intermitten explosive disorder just think how scary is must be to be the person who HAS IT

IEDs have to constantly worry if they’re going to hurt someone they love or if they’re going to break something important to them or if they’re going to end up getting into a fight and getting arrested or what any number of other very scary consequences they could face for acting out

it’s scary to be around someone who is out of control but it’s more terrifying to be the one who is out of control

Florida

A/N: This fic is not technically in the Afterward universe, though it is in my mind, because it fits just fine. I was posting a bunch of older S4 fics on ff.net and a reader there asked if I’d ever written about that time period between the end of S4 when they’re exonerated and their wedding, when Sara is arrested. I hadn’t, but I’ve rectified that now. This is how I imagine those few weeks. Oops…forgot to say NSFW. 

Originally posted by splitscreen


Sara leaned heavily against the wall of the conference room, waiting as Michael and the others debated T-Bag’s fate. It was the last decision they’d make together as a team, but she found she couldn’t bear to weigh in. She definitely couldn’t look at his face, or be in the same room. She knew how Michael would vote; that was enough.

Instead, she stared blankly at the beige walls and neutral decor of the corporate room as their voices washed over her from the hall. How odd, that this nightmare would end here, like this…in a mundane space meant for board meetings amongst bureaucrats. She let her head fall back against the hard drywall; now that they’d stopped moving a mile a minute, she could appreciate just how tired she felt all the time, how inadequately the few calories she could choke down fueled her. She felt tempted to lie down, right here on the tan carpeting.

She compromised by closing her eyes as she rested against the wall, opening them again only when she heard the board room door open and the guys return from delivering their verdict on T-Bag. She pushed herself off to lean instead against Michael’s chest when he returned to her.

“Can we get out of here?” she asked him, into the warm cotton of his shirt.

He nodded. “Where do you want to go?” She looked at him blankly, and he added, “Anywhere you’d like.”

But this was just one more decision she didn’t have the bandwidth to process, let alone answer. “I don’t care,” she told him. “Just take me away.”

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Edge of Everything (22)

I hate cliffhangers as much as you. So I worked fast to get this one to you. I hope you like the story. It’s coming to an end here soon (I’ve figured out the ending just have to write it) Don’t worry I think you’ll all enjoy it =)

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The ring was beautiful, it sparkled in the harsh lights of the hospital. The light cracked and splintered against the wall as I twisted my hand. It was a diamond cut ruby, surrounded by more diamonds. It was vintage, the band twisted into a beautiful display of braids. It fit perfectly on my finger and I knew Cassian had searched long and hard to find something like this. This wasn’t man made. This ring had a story, a life before mine.

Even when I thought he hadn’t, he had been listening to me. I used to tell him stories about black and white movies, about the things I loved and hated. I used to tell him about my mother’s ring, the one my father had given to her from his grandmother. I told him that meant more than a diamond. A ring with a story, a ring that was passed down between generations was even more special than the others. Because it was the symbol of a love that created that line.

Cassian had been listening. He had been taking notes. I still didn’t deserve him, but I made a promise sitting there in the hospital. I would never stop trying to be worthy of a male as patient and kind as my best friend.

Once the pain would less, the guilt set in. If I had only put him in jail he first time. If I had tried harder to keep him away. Once again my stupid pride, my stubbornness was the reason why this had all happened. I had been right when I told Azriel I didn’t deserve to be happy. And Cassian didn’t deserve to get hurt for loving me.

I wiped away a tear, staring at the doors waiting for someone to come out. I leaned my elbows on my knees, the nervous tick of it bouncing didn’t bother me. I kept staring, willing someone to find me and give me information about his condition. But no one came to tell me anything. No nurses, not doctors came to reassure me that my best friend, the man I thought I’d call my husband, would be okay.

I looked down at my shaking hands and saw his blood. They were still covered, it was drying even over my ring. Cassian’s blood. The blood I tried to stop from flowing out of him while he bled in the middle of the yard. After he asked me to marry him. After Tomas shot him.

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