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Emmanuelle	By : TippyMidget Category: Titles in the Public Domain > Les Miserables Views: 2021 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work fiction, based on Les Miserable by Victor Hugo.

Chapter List
- 6
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A few hours after Emmanuelle fell asleep, Javert found himself exceedingly hungry. He noticed the sun going down outside his window. He gently roused Emmanuelle, shaking her shoulder mildly and murmuring her name.
“Mmph,” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes with fists. “No,” she said groggily. “Sleep.”
“We need to eat,” He said firmly to her. “I'm famished. When is the last time you ate?”
“Don't remember,” she said, her words stifled by the fabric of the blanket.
“Emmanuelle.” Javert's voice was resolute now. “It's evening. You need to get up, eat some food, have a bath, and then you can come back to bed and we'll both sleep until morning.”
“Mmm!” She whined insistently, sounding like a little girl and shaking her head.
Javert put his hands under her arms and hoisted her up. If she was going to act like a child, then he'd have to act like the adult in the situation. When she was sitting and looking him in the eye, he stared her straight in the face and said unwaveringly, “Yes, Emmanuelle. Stop fighting me.”
She frowned at him, squinting her normally wide eyes. She rubbed them again and nodded tentatively. Javert sighed and swung his legs carefully off the bed. He pulled himself up cautiously.
“Be careful!” Emmanuelle exclaimed, sounding suddenly more alert.
He was dizzy. Whether from a lack of food, spending two days unconscious, his actual injury, or a combination of all these factors, he didn't know, but he was unsteady on his feet. He placed his left hand on the bed to steady himself and took a deep breath, putting one foot in front of the other to take a step forward. His legs shook.
Emmanuelle rushed off the bed and over to him, sleep now entirely forgotten. “Lean on me,” she told him. He nearly laughed at the idea. He was over a foot taller than her, and weighed probably twice as much. If he actually leaned on her, he'd send her crashing to the floor.
To placate her and make her feel useful, he placed his right hand on her shoulder and pressed down a bit. She stretched up to wrap her left arm around his waist, and he smiled at her intentions. Cautiously, he began taking steps, one at a time, looking down at his feet and placing one in front of the other over and over again until they reached the door.
The stairs. Javert sighed heavily. He was genuinely afraid he would fall down the stairs. His legs felt as though they would give out on him at any moment. And how in God's name was he to climb the stairs again after he'd eaten? How on Earth had they actually gotten him up the stairs in the first place? He paused with his hand on the doorknob.
“I can't make it down the stairs today,” he told Emmanuelle, his voice resigned.
“I'll help you,” she said confidently.
“You can't,” he said harshly, and when he looked down at her tired face she looked hurt. “I know you're trying to help, Emmanuelle, but you're too small,” he said more gently, and she nodded in understanding. “Perhaps tomorrow,” he said to her. “Please ask Jeanette to bring me a pot of hot water, some soap, and a few towels, and to bring my supper and wine in here on a tray so I can eat at my writing desk.”
“Shall I help you back to bed?” Emmanuelle asked.
“No, thank you, just please ask Jeanette for those things. And you need to eat, Emmanuelle. You look unwell. Then take a long, hot bath and get in a nightgown and come back to me.” He smiled mildly at her, fingering her tangled hair, hair that was normally smooth and silky. She put her hand over his and nodded up at him. Javert opened the door and Emmanuelle walked out, tottering down the stairs, looking a bit unsteady on her own feet.
Javert shut the door behind her, sighing to himself. What a mess he'd gotten himself into, and he couldn't even remember how. He felt like an utter failure, like the laughingstock of the Paris Police. How stupidly had he acted? And the doctor and captain were right; if he could barely hobble from his bed to the doorway, he certainly wouldn't be patrolling Saint Michel, chasing criminals, any time in the near future. “At least a month” sounded about right. He was going to go mad from boredom, being shut up in the flat like this. At least he had Emmanuelle, he thought to himself. She'd not left his side all the time he'd been unconscious. She seemed exhausted, dehydrated, starved, and unwashed. Her skin was sallow, her hair was a mess, she was still wearing the same dress he remembered her wearing at supper before he'd left for the station the night he'd been attacked... he swallowed hard, realizing how dedicated she was to him. Though she'd known him for so little time, had been his wife for but a few weeks, she had sacrificed her own well-being, comfort, and health to be with him all the while that he was unconscious. Yet he was unsurprised; he knew if the situation were reversed, he would not leave her side for a moment. He'd had trouble leaving her unconscious the first day he'd met her.
After a few moments of self-reflection, Javert managed to shuffle back to the bed and sit on its edge, waiting for Jeanette to bring him hot water and soap. She knocked on the door about a half hour later, and put the supplies in the far corner near the washbasin and wardrobe. Javert thanked her and asked when supper would be ready.
“Potatoes, carrots, and roast beef are almost ready, Monsieur,” she replied, curtsying and turning to go. “Oh!" she said, turning around swiftly, “The doctor said you're not to have wine to drink for at least a week, due to the brain injury. May I offer you milk, water, or tea to drink?”
“Milk will be fine. Please see to it that Emmanuelle has a hot bath after she eats.” Javert said, and Jeanette curtsied again. When she was gone, Javert rose and began to shuffle carefully across the room to his wash basin. He suddenly became quite dizzy and felt the room tilt and spin. He shut his eyes but felt the floor hit his hip hard as he fell. He swore under his breath as he sat on the ground, legs splayed, and tried to stand up again. He had to sit there for a moment until his head cleared, and then he managed to right himself. He took each step carefully the rest of the way to the basin. Even with no one else in the room, his cheeks burned with embarrassment. He couldn't even walk. He felt like a messy drunkard.
When at long last he reached his wash basin, he began to peel off his clothes thoughtfully and deliberately. He focused on unbuttoning each button of his shirt and trousers and removing the garments, casting all his clothing aside until he stood naked before the bucket of hot water. He took a wash rag and dunked it into the water, savoring the warmth against his skin in the chilled room. He rubbed the soap against the rag and began scrubbing his body. He continued scrubbing and rinsing until every inch was clean. He shaved as well, ridding himself of the scruff that had formed over the last few days. His hair would have to wait until he could have a proper bath, but he did clean around the stitched-up wound. He wondered again at how massive the gash seemed; it must have been four or five inches long, and the stitches were wide.
Javert had been stagnating in bed for days. Now at last he felt clean. He put his nightshirt on and waited at his writing desk for his supper. Just moments after he sat down, there was another knock on his door. He told Jeanette to come in, and she waddled in with a tray full of food and a cup of milk. Javert's mouth watered. He was so hungry. Jeanette set the tray down in front of Javert and asked if he needed anything. He waved her off and set straight to eating. He devoured the beef and vegetables in minutes and gulped down the thick, satisfying milk.
Now he was clean and full – he felt infinitely better. The sun was quite low on the horizon now, and Javert went to build up the fire. He was walking more sturdily now that he had food in him. He sauntered back to the bed and climbed under the covers, sitting propped up by pillows to wait for Emmanuelle.
He was alone with his thoughts for a half hour before she came. He spent that half hour thinking of his stupidity – chastising himself for getting into this situation and desperately trying to remember what had happened. But the harder he thought about it, the more frustrated he became, and he tried to think of something happy instead. He thought of Emmanuelle, and how she'd been so loyal to him throughout the entire ordeal. That got him thinking of how beautiful she was even in her exhausted, starved, dirty state. While she'd been sleeping on his lap, he'd petted her hair and fantasized about making love to her. What comfort that would bring him now, to make love to her gently and slowly. Javert squirmed in the bed. He felt an erection building and tried to stave it off. Think of something else, he told himself, but at that moment the bedroom door creaked open and Emmanuelle walked in.
Her red hair was damp, dark from the water, and was plaited into two braids running down her back. She wore a crisp white nightgown, and Javert could see bloomers beneath the thin fabric.
She smiled gently at him and shut the door behind her. She climbed into bed beside him and snuggled up close to him. She began running her hand up and down and around his chest, and trailed her hand down to his lap. She paused when she felt his erection.
Her eyes darted up to meet his. “How did this happen?” she grinned.
“I was sitting here thinking of making love to you, and then your beautiful self walked through the door,” he replied, giving her a wry half-smile.
She giggled, and he smiled broadly at the sound.
“Unfortunately, that's not going to happen tonight,” she told him.
“Let me guess,” he sighed, “Doctor's orders?”
“No,” she laughed. “It's... it's that time of the month.” She looked embarrassed.
“Oh,” he said simply. He knew little of how women's systems functioned, being poorly educated and inexperienced with the female gender, but he knew what she meant.
“I can still please you,” she said earnestly, snaking her hand under the blanket. He caught her wrist in his strong hand.
“You don't have to do that,” he said.
“I want to,” she pouted.
“It'll just make a big mess,” he told her.
“Not if I swallow it.”
“Emmanuelle!” Javert laughed. He forced her hand back to her side of the bed. “Just lie down with me and kiss me,” he said.
“You're the one who says that kissing always leads to something more,” she reminded him petulantly.
“I'm also injured, dizzy, and amnesiac,” he said. “And you are exhausted.” He tossed a few pillows to the ground and scooted down to lie on his side facing her. He stared at her for a long moment and then bit his lip.
“What is it?” she asked, looking concerned. “Are you all right?”
“It's nothing,” he said quickly, breaking his gaze.
“Look at me,” she insisted, and he forced his eyes back to hers. “What's wrong?” Emmanuelle demanded.
“It's just... if you're bleeding, it means you're not with child.”
“No,” she answered, rather sadly, “I'm not. I'm sorry. It just started tonight. It's late, actually; it was supposed to start two days ago. I suppose with the stress... well, anyway, I thought when it was late that maybe... but it did start, and so, no, I'm not having a baby yet.” She looked as though she were about to start crying, and he put his hand on her cheek and ran his thumb over her skin.
“We'll keep trying,” he said reassuringly. “It hasn't been long, and you're so young. We've got plenty of time.”
“But you're already forty-eight,” she said, and then looked shocked at herself for saying it.
Javert frowned and furrowed his brow. “How old was your father when he died last year?”
“Seventy.”
“Three years older than I'd be with a nineteen-year-old child,” he said confidently, and she nodded. “We've got plenty of time,” he said again.
“I'm tired,” she said in reply. “I'm very glad you woke up today. I'm glad I can finally rest.”
Javert sighed. Her playfulness was gone. She had seemed mildly aroused before, or at least interested in engaging sexually with him. Now she wanted to end the conversation and go to sleep. He closed his eyes and thought as hard as he could about the wildest sex they'd ever had – times when she'd mounted him and ridden him hard and fast; times when he'd pounded her from behind while her buttocks slammed into his pelvis; one time when she'd sat on his writing-desk while he'd stood and driven into her. He felt his erection come back in full force, and he opened his eyes.
He reached over and grasped her wrist gently and pulled it under the blanket and under his nightshirt to touch his hardened penis. She looked at him with a weary, amused gaze.
“I want you so badly, Emmanuelle,” he told her truthfully. “I want you every day.”
“Well, you can't have me today,” she replied, withdrawing her hand.
“But you said -”
“I know. I'm not really in the mood for it anymore. I'm sad now.”
Tears began to well up in her eyes, and Javert instantly reached out and pulled her closer to him.
"Don't be sad," he murmured. He took her face in his hands and began kissing her fiercely, pistoning his tongue in and out of her mouth, running it flat against the roof of her mouth, sucking gently on her tongue, nipping and sucking on her lip. After a while, she began to whimper softly, and her hands wandered back to his erection. At her touch, he moaned loudly and forcefully into the kiss, urging her on. He pulled his mouth away from hers and began to kiss her neck, running his tongue firmly up and down the length of her neck, nipping and sucking on the skin, lapping at sensitive spots, concentrating on the areas beneath and behind her ears. Her breath came in little gasps, and she continued whimpering, little “Oh, oh, oh”s that made the heat in his belly burn hotter.
Her tiny hands seemed not to know what to do with his hardened member; she was distracted by his kissing. He took his hands and placed them over hers. He guided her hands around his shaft and began stroking up and down. He removed his hands and she continued stroking, but it was dry and the friction started to hurt.
He stopped kissing her and groaned. “Ungh,” he uttered, “too dry.” He was breathless. She looked at him and grinned. Suddenly, she disappeared under the blankets. He felt the hot wetness of her mouth envelop the tip of his cock and he drove his head back on the pillow, peeling the blankets back and looking down at her bobbing head. He groaned as she took his length in her mouth. His shaft quickly grew wet from her saliva, and she integrated the use of her right hand, swirling it around his shaft and up over the tip, trailing it with her warm, wet mouth dipping and encasing him. The sensation was almost too much to bear, but she was unrelenting, moving swiftly and firmly on him: pulling, pushing, rubbing, sucking, swirling, lapping, and moaning all at once. She kept it up for a long minute as Javert writhed beneath her hand and mouth. He felt guttural sounds escaping his mouth through clenched teeth, and he wrenched his fists and eyes. He was dizzy; the room was spinning, and he could feel his orgasm fast approaching.
“Emmanuelle, I'm going to -” he started to say, but then he exploded, coming intensely. She locked her lips around the tip of his penis and sucked his seed down, dutifully swallowing it all.
The intensity of the orgasm was too much for Javert. He thrashed his arms and arched his back, driving his head back into the pillow, feeling the sting of pressure on his stitches. The room was still spinning, and he felt like he was floating, twirling off in some other dimension. He moaned, a confused, tortured sound, and crushed his eyes with his clenched fists.
“Agh!” he shouted, unable to calibrate his senses and return to the calm of the bedroom.
“Look at me,” he heard Emmanuelle say, but her voice sounded far off and echoed in the chambers of his skull. He felt his fists being pulled off his eyes, but he didn't open them. He was panting and cursed bitterly, shaking his head from side to side. “Don't do that – you'll rip your stitches!” Emmanuelle's hands grasped his head and held it steady.
After long moments. Javert felt himself return to Earth and eventually was able to feel the distinct sensations of his body lying in the bed. The room slowly stopped spinning, and he tentatively opened his eyes. Emmanuelle was kneeling on the bed, facing him, holding his face in her hands, a look of concern and fear in her wide eyes.
“That was a stupid thing to do,” Javert said at last, as his breath slowed.
“It was probably not wise to make you... climax... like that the same day you awaken from two days of unconsciousness,” Emmanuelle agreed, nodding her head and looking down at her hands. “I'm sorry.”
“I certainly egged you on,” Javert said, smiling meekly. “It's not your fault.”
“You need to rest,” Emmanuelle said authoritatively, “And I desperately need sleep. Lie down properly.”
Javert slid down so that he was lying flat on the bed. He pulled his nightshirt down and hiked the blankets up around him. He turned onto his side, facing Emmanuelle's side of the bed. She blew out the candle on the bedside table, slid under the blankets beside him, laid her head on the pillow, and gazed at him.
“I'm so glad you woke up,” she said, and he heard tears in her voice. “I couldn't bear to lose you.”
Javert sighed. “Emmanuelle... I'm much older than you, and I work a dangerous job, as you've now plainly discovered. Someday, sooner or later, you will probably lose me.”
“What if you lost me?” Emmanuelle said in reply.
The thought sickened Javert, made a horrible twist in his gut wrench painfully. “I don't know what I would do,” he said after a long moment. “It would break my heart into a thousand pieces. I love you. I could never marry again; could never fall in love again. If I lost you, I'd be all alone in this world and I would welcome death.”
She sniffled. “I don't like thinking about it,” she said quickly.
“Then let's not think about it,” he replied. Suddenly, a sharp pain ripped through his head, making his temples and forehead throb horribly. The area around his stitches burned with a radiating pain. “Ach!” he cried, gripping his head and rocking back and forth.
“What is it?” Emmanuelle's voice quavered.
“My head!” He exclaimed.
She sat up instantly, placing a hand on his rocking shoulder. “Do you need the doctor?” she asked.
“I don't know; it just started hurting and...” Javert felt his eyes unfocus and suddenly there was black. “I can't see!” he declared, his voice shaking.
“What do I do?!” Emmanuelle was sobbing.
“Emmanuelle...” Javert felt his voice fading, felt the room slipping away, and then it was all gone, lost in the deepest sleep he'd ever fallen into.

He could hear voices chattering, but he couldn't open his eyes, and the voices were jumbled. Javert struggled to make sense of what he was hearing. He could feel his breath coming in and going out steadily, could feel his body, but couldn't move. He felt frustrated and wanted to ask what was going on, but he couldn't speak.
“I wish he could hear me,” Emmanuelle's voice said.
I can hear you! Javert thought, wanting to shout it.
“To be honest, Madame, I don't think he's going to wake up this time.” It was Doctor Tournette. He was speaking gently, but at his words, Emmanuelle broke down into sobs.
“No!” she exclaimed. “He will wake up! He's strong. He's determined. Oh, Holy God, let him wake up. I wish I knew the man that did this to him. I'd kill him myself!”
Javert had a mental image of Emmanuelle hacking away at a street rat with an ax and wanted to laugh. Instead, he focused hard and forced his mouth to move.
“Emmanuelle,” he heard his voice croak, barely a whisper.
“He spoke! Yes! I'm here! Wake up, darling!” He felt Emmanuelle's hands clutch his own.
“Emmanuelle...” he said again, his voice cracking but slightly stronger.
“I'm here! Open your eyes! Look at me!”
“You need... to sleep...” he told her, still motionless with his eyes closed.
“Just open your eyes.”
Javert put all his mental effort into forcing his eyes open. Slowly, light registered in his brain, and Emmanuelle's porcelain features came into view, hovering over his face. He felt her hands on his cheeks and watched her face descend toward his, felt her lips touch his own and saw a large grin cross her face - her dazzling smile, the smile that had made him so attracted to her in the first place. He forced the corners of his mouth upward, hoping it resembled a smile, and she giggled at him, swiping tears away with her trembling hand. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, and she looked dangerously exhausted.
Oh, Lord, Javert thought to himself. He'd only let her nap for a few hours, then had made her wake up and bathe before coming back to bed. Then he'd passed out, and she'd probably been awake since then. He was so worried she'd become ill from exhaustion. Her hair was still in braids as it had been the last time he'd seen her, but she was wearing her salmon-colored silk dress.
“Inspector Javert,” Doctor Tournette's voice said from somewhere to Javert's right. “You've been unconscious for twelve hours. Can you move?”
Javert tried to squeeze his hands into fists. He felt his fingers twitch, but he couldn't form full fists. He tried to bend his knees. That didn't really work, either. “Not really,” he answered, sighing. His words slurred. He sounded ridiculous to his own ears. Javert tried to roll his eyes, but they just rolled back in his head. This was exceedingly frustrating.
“What's wrong with your eyes? Can you see?” Emmanuelle sounded very worried.
Javert tried to laugh. “I was trying to roll them. I'm frustrated,” he said, his words still slurred.
“Oh,” she said simply.
“I believe we should get him to a hospital,” Doctor Tournette said to Emmanuelle.
“No!” Javert tried to shout. He had been in a hospital once, with pneumatic fever, and he'd only gotten sicker, being surrounded by the noxious fumes of infectious disease. “I'm not sick; I'm injured. If I go there, I'll get sick and die.”
“But if the doctor thinks -” Emmanuelle began, but he cut her off.
“Emmanuelle!” he tried to make his slurred voice menacing. “I am not going to the hospital!”
There was silence for a moment.
“Very well,” the doctor said finally. “I shall try to treat you here. There is a chance you may never walk again, Inspector.”
Javert wanted to cry with frustration and anger, but he fought back the tears. “What on Earth happened?” he demanded.
There was silence again.

“WAKE UP!”
Javert jolted awake, sitting upright and panting heavily. He looked around him, darting his eyes around the room. He was incredibly confused. It was night, dark, and Emmanuelle was in her nightgown, facing him on the bed.
“You passed out!” she said breathlessly, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“How long was I -”
“I don't know... three or four minutes, maybe,” she replied.
“I had a... a dream, I suppose,” he mumbled. “I couldn't move. It was daytime, and the doctor was here, and I'd been unconscious for twelve hours. I could talk, but I couldn't move, and I was so frustrated, and...” he trailed off, looking into Emmanuelle's eyes. She looked baffled. She was staring at him like he had three heads.
“You said your head suddenly hurt, and then you passed out. Three or four minutes ago,” she said firmly.
“It doesn't hurt anymore,” he noted.
She sighed and shook her head. “What a bizarre dream to have,” she said in a strange voice. “I didn't know one could dream after fainting...” She sounded disconnected, and Javert was seriously worried about her level of exhaustion.
“Let's go to sleep,” he suggested timidly.
“I don't know if that's the right thing to do or not!” she said, her voice growing shrill. She pounded her fists on the blanket in vexation and tipped her head back to stare at the ceiling, shaking it back and forth.
“You're exhausted,” he told her definitively. “Dangerously so. You need sleep badly. I'll stay awake for a while until I feel better.”
“Promise?” she asked, looking back at him. She looked resigned, as though she knew she had no option but to sleep.
“I promise that when you wake up, I will still be here, Emmanuelle,” he said confidently, though he had no way of guaranteeing that, as he told himself mentally. Making promises he couldn't swear to keep, he chastised himself.
She looked at him for a long moment and sighed deeply. “All right,” she said finally, and crawled under the blankets. She laid her head down on her pillow and shut her eyes. “I love you,” she whispered. He leaned down and kissed her on her cheek. When he sat back up, he stroked her face and hair gently.
“I will always love you,” he said in return, his voice a low rumble in the silence of the room. She sighed again.
He didn't take his eyes off of her. Within brief minutes, her breathing slowed and she grew absolutely still, and he knew that she was asleep. Javert stayed awake for hours watching her, thinking of how she'd watched his silent form for days. At least he knew, here and now, that she would wake up in the morning. She hadn't had that confidence.
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