ways_infirmary | Infirmary thread for Valjean

"Oh, Father!" she sobs. "You have never been anything else."

He must be asking God. He can't be asking them directly; that would be absurd. He closed himself away from their lives, he shut himself away from her, that's all -- but for God, the question's always valid, because all humans are sinners, but the answer's also always true. God is forgiveness, for those who repent their sin, and her father is so good.

And didn't she ask God that same joyful disbelieving question in her heart just a little while ago, in spite of all her fear, when her father called her Cosette and tu and held out his hand to her once more?

"There is nothing to forgive," Marius agrees fervently. "You will come home with us, and all will be well."

Valjean has asked God that question a thousand, a hundred thousand times.

This time her answer, Marius's, are the only ones that matter.

'I will come home with you, and all will be well.'

He repeats it dumbly, but his face is sad now, his head shaking. How can he go home with them? Cosette is here, but what does it change?

'You say it, but you do not understand. My children; you are good, and you are happy. Love each other well.'

He does not let go of Cosette, because this all seems to a dream, where there are lights and people, and tubes and machines, and he would so much like to believe it could be this easy. But he is tired, and it has been a lifetime of knowing he can never be forgiven. For it to end this way...oh, he will try, and his heart will believe every word out of her mouth simply because he wants to. His heart is foolish, though. His head says these are not words meant for him.

She closes her mouth on the words she wants to say. She does, but they swell inside her, until she feels as if she's going to burst -- until she does burst out, "I don't understand?"

She pushes herself up -- not away, but enough to glare with teary fierceness down at him. "You have never told me! You hide yourself away, you never let me understand, then you tell me I don't! Father! Let me tell you something. I know some of your secrets now. I tell you I don't care. I don't care a bit about them, I tell you! You are a saint, you are a martyr, you are my dear father. If you--"

and her voice breaks here, against her will, and she has to catch in a sob before she can go on.

"--if you have forgiven me, if only you love me as your dear daughter again, I tell you nothing in your past means a fig to me."

'You know-?'

How can she know? He turns frightened eyes to Marius, swimming in confusion, lost in sudden terror.

He is no saint. He is no martyr. He only ever wanted her to love him, and now she says none of it matters but that, and he should be happy but he is only terrified. How can she know? The question rings in his ears, just like the one she asked of him, once. Father, are they still men?

Convicts do not become men. They do not have daughters who are angels, or if they do it is because they steal them.

Valjean releases her from his grasp. His hand unconsciously goes to his uncovered wrist, closing around it like a shackle. And then he groans, and brings both hands up to cover his face, so that she might not see him weep.

"No--"

Oh, she's doing everything wrong, she's just grieved him again, she's made it all worse. "No, Papa, please, I'm sorry. Father, don't cry -- be easy, be calm, oh! Forget I said a thing. I said nothing. We will all be happy, that's all, all three of us together!"

She catches at his arm, and sends a look of mute, helpless plea at Marius, at M. Joly across the room. She's done it all wrong, in her rush of feeling. But maybe the doctor can help again, he can soothe her father or say the right thing.

Joly's been giving them as much space as he can, but on seeing his patient getting so agitated, he returns, carrying another couple of paper cups that he places discreetly out of the way as he joins the family again.

Joly knows nothing of convicts and secrets. He has a patient, who has no reason to die, and a family that seems to be giving him nothing but assurance, and the patient is frantic. This is strange, but he's seen worse.

"Come now, Monsieur. Your daughter is entirely right; you have let yourself become ill, but you will recover. There is no reason at all you cannot go back to your family and live with them as you should." This he says clearly, as much for Cosette's benefit as her father's. "All you need do is rest a few days. And they may stay with you here; you know no time passes on your side. All will be well, only you must let yourself rest."

He reaches up to take Valjean's arm, the one with the IV in, and encourage him to straighten it out again.

He is so tired, it seems impossible even to rest. But perhaps less impossible than everything else.

He allows his arm to be manipulated, and does not look at anyone, his face cast down.

'I am sorry, Cosette,' he mumbles, eventually.

'Do not distress yourself for me. I am quite well, as you see. Look, I will smile.'

And so he does, except he is still weeping a little, and it is a terrible thing rather than something of joy.

"Here, if you'll swallow this, it will be much easier." Joly gives him a couple of very small white pills out of one cup, and holds up the other to let him have some water to wash it down with.

There; worried and confused as his patient might be, chemistry will soon do its work, and he'll be soundly asleep in minutes.

Cosette will cling close, to stroke back his white hair while he swallows pills and water, and to hold his hand as he falls asleep, and to bend and kiss his forehead when he's only nearly asleep.

When she's quite, quite sure that he's sleeping -- only then does she draw away, just far enough to hide her face in Marius's shoulder. If he's still kneeling on the ground, so be it; she'll sink to the ground with him.

She'll speak to the doctor, her husband's dear friend -- their dear friend now, for she'll never forget this -- in just a moment or two. She'll be ready then. But for a little while, she only wants to be held.

Another luxury of Milliways; there's time and space enough to let patients and families rest and grieve and worry in peace and in their own time, instead of a line of people waiting for every bed and seat. Joly may never stop being grateful for that.

So he lets the time be, and keeps himself quietly busy. He gets a blanket for M. Fauchlevent from the supply cabinet, and recalibrates the monitors for a man sleeping, instead of awake (and Joly's satisfied to see that the readings are nearer to what they should be for a man sleeping; whatever's agitating M. Fauchelevent seems to be a problem that will at least let him have some rest, even if he needs help to find it.)

And then there's time to send a note with a rat for some hot tea, and something stronger for Marius and his dear wife if they want it; and then Joly has nothing to do but wait and study the patient's results and plan the next steps of treatment, so he does that. They all have time enough.

Marius holds her tight, pressing his cheek against her hair. And tries not to think about how little he deserves this, or her. In any case, he won't be the first to pull away-- he'll follow her cue, wait until she's ready.

She doesn't know how long it is. Long enough to get ahold of herself a little; long enough for some comfort. Long enough to begin to feel as if she can talk to the doctor again, and then to feel that she needs to. She needs to thank him, and she needs to know more, and she needs to be an adult now; she needs to be Madame Pontmercy, not huddle like a frightened child. No matter how much she's felt like a frightened child ever since Javert showed up on their doorstep with his horrible news.

She draws away at last. She gives her husband a watery, brave smile, and then she fumbles out a handkerchief and dries her face as best she can. She must look a mess, and that strikes her in her vanity, but there's nothing to be done right now.

"My darling," she says. "I must beg your forgiveness for how little I've explained. I've been wanting to tell you all about Milliways, it's only -- only I couldn't think how to begin."

"And you, M. Joly--" She turns now, raising her voice, and finds a smile from somewhere, and a deep curtsey. "I can never thank you enough for the help you've given my dear father."

Marius shakes his head. "There is nothing to forgive." How could she have explained it? He can't imagine anything she could say would have made him believe in-- all this.

He turns to Joly, as well. "Joly, I--" Am glad you appear to somehow be alive? "--thank you."

Joly smiles at them as if they've just arrived, and no one's been having private conversations in front of him any ever. "Thank you both for bringing him. I'm so glad to have a chance to do him--and you--any good at all."

He waves at a couple of chairs near to the desk. There's a tray with real cups and a couple of thermoses on it. "Won't you--? I'm sure you both have questions."

About their father, and about people who should be dead and aren't.

Cosette glances up at her husband, though she knows her answer, and then tucks her hand into his elbow so they can make their way across the room.

Her nose is stuffed up, her eyes red, her face splotchy, her eyelashes clumped wetly. Handkerchiefs only do so much. But she carries herself as composedly as she can. She'll sit in the chair it's pulled out for her, and she'll look to Marius to begin with his questions first, unless he looks to her helplessly instead.

Marius pulls her chair out, of course, and then sits as well. Now, facing Joly once more, the only questions in his mind are about Joly himself, about their friends, about the barricade. But that is not the matter at hand.

"What--" He glances back at Valjean, asleep. "What may be done for him? Have you hope of his recovery?"

That's an easy one. "I don't think either of you need to have any fear of that. He's become very weak, as you've seen, and he's is sick--but all of it can be treated here. That tube in his arm--" Joly nods to it "--it's a way of giving him back the strength of the food and drink he's missed. I'm going to give him something to help keep him stronger against any other illness that might threaten while he's weak; there's a few other things, I'll give you as much detail as you like, and I want to go over it with him too. But what he mostly needs right now is rest and comfort and healthy surroundings."

Which Milliways has, of course. So much more than Paris that Joly won't currently try to explain it. "I couldn't promise to have him on his feet in a year in Paris, but here he should be able to walk around even without aid in a week or two. I'd really prefer he stayed at least a month, to get his strength back enough to be really proof against any fevers or contagion he might encounter when he returns. But tomorrow he should be ready to move into a room of his own here, and then ,well, we'll see how he does; but there's no reason at all he shouldn't recover, with rest and care." That there's no apparent reason he should have become sick at all doesn't worry Joly, who knows very well that illnesses happen when they happen.

Still-- "Of course, he does seem distraught about something. If there's anything I should know about--if he's had a shock, or some obvious recent exposure -- please tell me. But in any case, your being here should help a good deal. I do hope you'll both stay while he recovers; it would be a great help."

He smiles almost apologetically at Marius. "I know it must be startling to be here for the first time--but oh, i do hope you'll stay a while. Everyone will be so glad to see you, you know."

"Everyone--" He echoes faintly-- but that's not the question, he's not going to think about that just yet.

"I am very glad to hear it, very glad indeed. We-- we shall stay, of course--" He looks questioningly to Cosette, though he doubts very much she'll disagree.

"As long as Father needs, we shall stay," she agrees, firmly. "Anything he needs -- anything, he'll have it."

And then to Marius, with a sort of uncertain apology, "This place, Milliways -- it's a very peculiar place. I don't know how to explain it at all. But it's good, it's full of so many good people and miraculous things. And one of them -- oh, it's strange! -- is that however long we're here, we'll return without a moment having passed. So you see we won't be missed. Grandfather and Aunt Gillenormand won't worry about us at all."

Joly nods. "Exactly right. Why you could take the time to learn another five languages here, you know, and if you left coffee on the table at home it would still be hot when you returned. Think of it as a sort of--retreat, that may be easiest. A holiday from the world and time both. It is a hotel, after all. A wonderful hotel; quite the healthiest and cleanest place, with everything you could need."

He smiles. "And speaking of that--" He pours them both a cup of hot coffee with milk from one of the thermoses; or in this case more like milk with coffee. "You both need something in your systems, you've had quite a day." Even and especially if they're both too worried about M. Fauchelevent to know it.

Joly adds a small dose of brandy to Marius' coffee--what anyone of his day would consider purely medicinal. Still, it is brandy, so he asks Cosette first before adding it to hers. "--Madame? Will you have a little to settle your nerves?"

It's a moment of home, overlaid with this strange bright room and Joly's earnestly sympathetic face: hot coffee and milk and a spoonful of brandy, like Toussaint used to push on her if she was ill or worried or cold. Just that thought makes the wailing desire to be a little girl again, safe and cared for, surge inside her -- which is all the proof anyone might need that her nerves could use some settling.

She's a grown woman now, a married woman of 17, and it's her job now to care for her father.

"Yes," she says, feeling the cup warm her hands even through its thin saucer. "Just a little drop -- thank you, monsieur."

Marius takes his up his own cup with a grateful nod. He takes a sip and just sits a moment, trying to let the warmth and the brandy sink in and settle him. It-- well, it almost works.

"As for a shock," he says tentatively after a moment or two. "There is much I-- I think I cannot say, but-- certain matters he had thought to keep secret have been-- revealed. I believe it startled him very much to realize it."

Joly adds a polite, medical dose of brandy to Cosette's coffee with a murmured politeness, and turns to listen to Marius. At Marius' comment, he frowns a little. What secrets could such a man have? "He's not in any sort of trouble --? I mean, he hasn't drawn attention for-- the barricade, what he did there, or --anything of that? Javert seemed quite determined to shield him from all that."

Marius, perhaps oddly, blushes. Coffee and brandy, it seems, do little to settle the ache of guilt in the pit of his stomach.

"No," he says. "I believe none know of that."

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