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Javert had been planning to avoid the bar for a while, because of reasons. But when the door started showing up every time he tried to leave a room, he eventually just rolled his eyes and gave in.

If he happens to spend the entire day outside, well, he just prefers being outside. He exercises the young horse of Teja's people, he builds until he can longer lift another brick. When all work is done, he can be found sitting on the ground, his back against a large boulder (and if it happens to conceal him from view of the bar, that is a coincidence perhaps), idly sketching the lake.

And also possibly trying not fall asleep.

[OOC: Catchable anywhere! Open for a few days. <3

ETA: Time to crash for the night, though. Catch ya tomorrow.]

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"No," Father Harman says. "What did he tell you?"

Hopefully something more helpful that the other angel.

He stands very still, and lets the remembrance of it fill him with the same warmth, the same relief, it has done since he first heard the words.

'That I have not been found wanting.'

He can think of only one thing that makes him feel safer, but will not allow himself to do so. These words will do to keep him steady.

'That I will not be damned, as I told you I feared I might be.'

Edited 2014-08-28 23:45 (UTC)

"I am glad to know that this angel was so helpful," Father Harman says.

'He said I must be kinder, to myself and others. I am trying to do this.'

He is not sure he is succeeding, but he has time now.

He is silent for a while, then turns back to the priest.

'Do you think it is true that hating yourself also shows hate for God who made us?'

Not that he is questioning Michael, but he is interested to hear another opinion.

"Not hate, perhaps," Father Harman says. "But it shows your separation from God, that you perhaps think he hasn't made you good enough, or failed you somehow in his creation of you."

'No. No, that would imply blame for something specific.'

He pulls a rueful face.

'Which I did, of course. But just simply-'

What does he mean? He does not know, and should not have spoken without thinking it through properly. It is not as though he ever spends time considering hating himself anyway; that would not be a practical use of his time.

'It does not matter. I do not know what I mean.'

Father Harman chuckles, wryly. "Sometimes, our thoughts form while we're talking," he says, "and I think that you do know, somewhere, what you mean. You no longer blame God for failing you in specific ways, so now you can contemplate what he means to you, in more general or positive terms, maybe?"

'Perhaps.'

He looks a little shameful.

'He is vengeful, or at least I have always thought so. But the way Michael spoke, it seems He is rather more loving than I had considered.'

He must be, to love Javert as Michael says he does.

"Yes, that must have been rather a revelation," Father Harman says, "and an aspect of God that our church has been downplaying over the centuries, I'm afraid."

Apart from such almost miraculous exceptions as Valjean's Bishop Myriel, of course. But unfortunately, they always were the exception.

He almost says and quite rightly.

Instead, his expression turns sad.

'Yes. Well, Valjean managed to find it out without help.'

"He didn't," Father Harman says. "But you should ask him about that."

He searches his memory. He has spoken to Valjean a little of the past. Not too much, perhaps for obvious reasons.

'The Bishop of Digne.'

His mouth twists.

'I cannot say he did wrong, of course. A Bishop! But things would have been very different were it not for him.'

"Do you feel that Valjean ought not to have been saved?" Father Harman asks.

The legal tiger that still remains in him immediately rears its head. He squashes it; tries to think past it. It is still more difficult than it should be.

'How can you ask me that, Father? If he had not-'

He shakes his head.

'There is no way to know what would have happened. Perhaps the kernel of goodness the Bishop made grow would have found some other way. But Valjean still broke the law. Twice more after his parole! Bishops have the right to save whom they please, of course, but stealing people from justice is hardly fair.'

Perhaps this is not an answer to the question, but it is difficult for him to say that he feels any such thing.

"What did he do?" Father Harman asks.

He knows, but he wants to hear Javert's point of view.

He tries to remember that conversation in full, but so much has happened. After a moment, he shakes his head.

'Monseigneur Myriel gave Valjean the silver after he stole it. That is what I recall. I cannot remember what Valjean felt about it, other than his claim that it turned him to good. Except he also stole from a Savoyard, so I do not know what was going through his brain.'

He can accept that Valjean became good because he has seen the proof with his own eyes. The man's actual thoughts about why, and how he could accept such kindness, are still a mystery to Javert. He still cannot comprehend people choosing to commit crime on a physical level at all. Giving a reason for stealing is not the same as explaining how to follow through in action.

"Nobody can tell what goes through another person's brain," Father Harman says. "But it's obvious that Valjean is a good person. You can scratch him, and underneath is still a good person."

'It is not as simple as that. At least with regard others.'

With Valjean it probably is. Javert does try to think about him objectively, but it gets more difficult by the day.

'There are reasons for doing good things that may not be, in themselves, good. And bad things done with good intentions are still bad, I suppose, even if people are made better off by them.'

He looks more exhausted from thinking about this than he did when he was trying not to fall asleep against the rock.

'I do not know. I am not the person to ask about these things. Yes, Valjean is a good man. But how much of an example can be made from him I do not know, nor do I wish to at present.'

"You think bad intentions trump good deeds, and bad deeds trump good intention, so when in doubt, the bad outweighs the good?" Father Harman says.

'...no?'

Now he just looks confused.

'I think perhaps something that benefits all is more important than a bad thing done to one person. For example, if Valjean had not given himself up in Montreuil-'

He breaks off, his face contorts, and he shakes his head as though trying to dislodge a fly. When he speaks - mutters - it is clearly to himself.

'No no no, I do not mean that. It would be have better, but not just at all. He did not deserve it.'

It is probably quite clear that there is much he has yet to resolve with himself.

"Yes?"

'No. I do not know.'

He hates this, and it likely shows in his increased agitation. Things like this should be clear, and he has avoided thinking about them for more than a year now. Dragging it back up again serves no one.

'Whatever he did is not my business to tell. He is not a friend, Father. He is not anything I can name. If you wish to know of his affairs, you must ask him.'

"I don't want to know what he did," Father Harman says. "I simply want to know your opinion."

He already knows what Valjean did, better than Valjean himself, in some cases.

He gives him a pained look. It is not in his nature to refuse the request of an authority figure, let alone a priest. But he does not know what he thinks, and it hurts his head to consider it.

'I have no opinion, Father. I do not understand enough about it, or him. And I have no right to thoughts on these matters any longer; is it not enough I was wrong in my thoughts on him at the time?'

But he was also right, and he also did the right thing. But so did Valjean, and he still cannot reconcile that.

Different approach, then.

"Do you like Valjean?"