Chapter Text
To those that know him, it will not come as a surprise to learn that Jean Valjean does not date. In fact, he will rather abstain from the whole practice altogether. He is too old for such things, has too much emotional baggage, has too many things wrong with him to be an acceptable romantic partner to any sane person. Unfortunately, Valjean’s daughter is of the opinion that her father should find love, and now that she is officially married, ceremony and all, she has put all her focus on finding her father a date.
This is not the first surprise blind date Cosette has tricked him into, telling him to meet her for lunch at some little café or another and then sending someone he has never met his way, and it will certainly not be the last. Every single one of them have ended horribly, at least from his perspective. He does not know what to say, how to act, how to manage his wayward emotions into something resembling normal human behavior. These things were easier when he was pretending to be Madeleine, but Madeleine is no more. He must be himself. Cosette is very insistent on that. Unfortunately, Valjean is very bad at being himself.
He spots Cosette’s setup immediately. The woman coming towards him is beautiful enough, silver in her hair and walks with easy confidence. She approaches like a stalking tigress, hands swinging by her side with false casualness. Her expensive leather purse hangs by her hip, her hair carefully styled, glasses clearly designer.
Sometimes, Valjean will sit there frozen while the person Cosette set him up with approaches and forces conversation until he can find a way to leave at the first opportunity, feeling entirely inadequate with a resolve never to leave the house again, only to inevitably be lured out by Cosette’s promises of lunch with her, for real this time.
Other times, Valjean bolts, running away like the inept coward he is, and has himself a quiet panic attack in the stall of a public bathroom.
Today is one of those times.
“Hey,” the beautiful woman says, catching Valjean by the arm as he tries to leave. Valjean finches away. The woman holds tight. “Are you—?”
“No, sorry,” Valjean interrupts quickly, heart racing fast in his chest. “Never heard of him.”
“But—"
“I must leave,” Valjean continues in his panic. “So sorry— Good day!”
He rips himself free and all but sprints down the street, nervous energy driving his stride. There’s another café not even halfway down the street and he turns into it, quickly locking himself in the bathroom to avoid talking to anyone else.
Sometimes, he dislikes his daughter a great deal. Today is one of those times.
Why must she insist on these silly things? He is perfectly content as he is. He has his books, he has his garden, he has his cat Toussaint, a darling little ragdoll breed who was really a present to Cosette once upon a time but it turns out that Marius is allergic and so now she is Valjean’s, and he wants for very little. The quiet suits him.
Cosette disagrees. Adamantly. Loudly. With a great many words.
It takes an half an hour for Valjean to feel somewhat confident to be seen in public again, and very carefully he slips back into the public space of the café and gets in line. It’s quite a long line, as it has officially turned lunchtime and many people have escaped their offices to have lunch out. With all the noise distracting him, he doesn’t notice Cosette coming for him until it’s nearly too late. His thoughts kick into overdrive.
Surely, she will ask about how his supposed lunch date went. He can’t tell her the truth, that he ditched his date yet again, for surely that would disappoint her. She always makes that face when these little setups fail, and he doesn’t want to see that face again so soon. He’s not even at the same café- perhaps he can tell her he made a mistake with the address? Yes, that would work, but the blind date, surely, she’ll only do this again and again until Valjean becomes far too much of a nervous wreck to leave his house. Valjean doesn’t know if he can stand it anymore, these surprise dates and these people he doesn’t know coming up to him and asking all sorts of private questions he doesn’t want to answer, so he should put a stop to it. But how?
An idea starts to form, but Cosette is upon him now. He’s trapped.
“Papa!” she says, shouldering her way through the line to get to him, much to the irritation of those behind him. “I thought I was going to meet you at—"
“I thought I may have had the address wrong,” Valjean interrupts, the lie coming to his lips easily to his own discomfort. “I waited for you for, oh, what, an hour? I was getting worried.”
She frowns at him, reading the lie for what it is. “Papa, what about—"
“Wouldn’t you know, I met someone here,” Valjean says quickly, feeling himself begin to panic again. “Yes, ah—" He blindly reaches for the person in front of him in line, clinging to the arm he finds despite the way it tenses up in his grasp. “Like I was telling you, this is my daughter, Cosette. Cosette, ah, this is—”
He looks at who he grabbed, sees the insignia of the police on the shoulder of the uniform and feels the blood drain from his face with great speed. Then he looks up at the man’s face, recognizing that harsh scowl and those bristly sideburns anywhere, and knows, without a doubt, he is absolutely fucked.
“T-this is Inspector Javert,” Valjean finishes weakly.