* RECTITUDE / ORDER / HONESTY !

                    THE  order  is  easer  said  than  done  ,     as  hands  jostle  his  aching  body  and  send  pain  coursing  from  head  to  toe.     the  world  spins  around  him  ,     a  dizzying  swirl  of  color  and  sound  ,     and  it  takes  all  of  his  strength  not  to  cry  out.     it  felt  as  though  he  had  been  shot  all  over  again  ,     and  he  can  almost  hear  the  gunshot  as  the  pain  wells  in  his  shoulder  and  stomach  ,     stemming  from  the  places  where  bullets  had  found  their  home.     a  hand  grasps  the  inspectors  shirt  ,     a  desperate  attempt  to  pull  himself  back  to  reality  ,     to  have  something  stable  in  that  spinning  mess  of  a  world.

                    he  was  almost  unrecognizable  as  the  whirlwind  of  a  boy  from  only  a  day  prior.     there  was  no  way  this  dying  could  be  that  very  same  unstoppable  force  ,     especially  not  with  the  way  he  clung  to  one  who  could  almost  be  called  his  sworn  enemy.     and  yet  the  fire  is  still  alight  with  in  those  tired  eyes  ,      and  the  heart  in  his  chest  still  beats  ,     unwilling  give  up  the  fight  just  yet.     another  breath  fills  his  lungs  ,     and  those  fiery  eyes  focus  at  last  on  their  savior.          ‘       you’re  dead.      ‘

                    gavroche has reached out to him and being in the process of trying to find a way out of the building without being seen , he pays no mind to the stains of BLOOD & DIRT he would undoubtedly leave on the inspector's uniform. gavroche is not hard to carry in this state and javert rises to his feet with ease. that's not to say javert has had any trouble manhandling him before , but it's an especially simple task now that he's so near lifeless and puts up no struggle. the people of paris remain in their homes , sheltering themselves from the aftermath of yesterday's battles. it comforts javert to know it is unlikely they will come across anyone if he stays on the right streets , but he is still unsure of exactly where to go. gavroche needs A MIRACLE a doctor , and javert needs one that will not ask too many questions. 

Gavroche: Navy blue is NOT your color.

                The laugh that escapes him is shockingly more genuine than the musician had been expecting for this conversation. There are cops that like them, cops that tolerate them to the barest extent, and cops that just really and truly hate them and the paperwork they inevitably bring. Grantaire has always assumed Javert was one who tolerated and hated them - tolherate, if you will.

            “Look, the Musain’s coffee is A-plus, but that’s a pretty high bar to set it against.”

humored is not quite the word , but javert is close to it at the other's response and it's easier to accept it when there's a notable lack of hostility in the air of the exchange. his own retort would've been quick had he not momentarily set aside the conversation to stir more sugar into his coffee. 

     Valjean knows the futility of escape in this situation. Where hope for success lies is in the future, after Javert hands over his responsibility to some jailer. Once he has his own cell, he can decorate it to his liking— perhaps with some nice gaps in the bars, big enough to allow egress. It is something to look forward to. For now he will settle for escaping merely the villains who have done this to him. “Well, you see— I have to find my fun where I can. Unlike you I don’t like keeping people in chains.” Ill-timed quip; he winces as his wound tries to go another direction from the rest. Javert shoves him in front. The ploy is transparent, but he doesn’t mind. Let the inspector have his worry. He may be a robber, but he’s not stupid either. The risk is too costly. “Really? You fooled me then,” he tosses over his shoulder as he shuffles forward. “What are you so afraid of anyway? Think my crew is stupid too?”