Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1: Trouble Process Report

Before him he saw two roads, both equally straight: but he did see two; and that terrified him—he who had never in his life known anything but one straight line.

Valjean’s generosity toward him, Javert, overwhelmed him.

His situation was beyond words.

Javert passed through an alley to the Rue Saint Martin and caught his reflection in the cracked glass of a window. An unrecognizable haggard man with sunken eyes stared back at him. How did this happen? How could he, the very essence of order and authority, become reduced to the likes of the rabble he stood against? He ran a hand through the untied hair that fell raggedly across his face.

One thought alone raced through his mind throughout the night and would fail to cease: that his admiration of the convict, Jean Valjean, was far greater than he could imagine. There was nothing he could do to refute the fact, nor could he bear to accept it.

Valjean, in Javert’s eyes, was a benevolent criminal, a virtuous liar. How could there even exist such a being? It was an absurdity, yes, but he believed in the notion truthfully. Valjean could never do wrong, and at that moment Javert realized his mad pursuit of the man had been futile. He scoffed at this epiphany. If the chase had been so meaningless, then why had he carried on with it for so long?

Javert paused and reflected. What was wrong with him? Valjean had, after all, spared him his life. But this unforeseen act only tortured him to the point of madness. His enduring revulsion of the criminal had suddenly surrendered to the hands of respect. His heart began to thunder in his chest. Did his feelings toward Jean Valjean truly extend beyond mere admiration? Could it really be…affection?

Javert recoiled at the notion. So often had he tried to entertain the idea before but would never leave any room for acceptance. He couldn’t; not for a man of his stature and disposition. Besides, it was illogical, and it would only lead to self-punishment. He buried the thought in the back of his mind and walked on.

The imposing façade of Notre Dame loomed in the distance. He slowly approached its doors in trepidation, as though his boots were filled with lead. He stopped and turned away. His heart ached. His faith was unraveling. What good would an act of repentance do for him now?

The Inspector continued to wander the streets and became increasingly chagrined when his thoughts strayed to Valjean. How could he love—he who had never known how to—and above all, love someone he had nothing in common with? He feared Valjean—and he adored him. It was becoming all too much.

He walked along the Quai de la Corse and peered into the dark waters of the Seine. Its strong current lapped at the sides, as though it were trying to reach for him. At the Pont au Change he glimpsed the forbidding towers of the Conciergerie sharp against the sky and suddenly felt lightheaded. With one hand he steadied himself against the parapet of the bridge, feeling the cold stone against his palm. Light from a solitary gas lamp flickered nearby. Its dim glow was hardly enough to illuminate the rest of the cavernous street. He knew what he must do.

Javert looked over the edge of the bridge. Below him was a black abyss. Above, a starless sky. All around he was walled in darkness, yet everywhere he turned he saw Valjean.  

He removed his hat with a tremulous hand and placed it on the parapet. He then stepped over to the other side. As he balanced there, his vision started to blur. There was no turning back, no seeing Jean Valjean ever again.

All for the better, he thought. It would be over quickly and the convict would torment him no longer. He exhaled sharply, closed his eyes and leaned forward.

“Javert?” a voice called.

Startled, the Inspector whipped his head around. Valjean stood behind him, a horrified look on his face. His tattered shirt was stained red from the dying insurgent’s blood, his beard matted and his hair a tangled grey mass. Javert felt a sudden pang of happiness fill within him, which he quickly quelled with an angry glare.

“Leave!” the Inspector barked.

Valjean slowly approached the parapet.

“I said leave!” Javert hissed once again, a fierce glint in his eye.

Valjean paused momentarily and stared at the Inspector. This man who was once a resolute lion of the police force was now reduced to nothing more than a pitiable mortal awaiting the hands of death.

“I can’t,” said Valjean.

Javert trembled slightly, unable to look at the worried convict.

“Are you so blind, Valjean? You’ve seen what has transpired at the barricades tonight,” he said. “This world is hopeless. My faith is gone; I’ve betrayed my duty and all that I stand for.”

Valjean looked at him bewildered. “Surely you don’t mean that.”

“There is no purpose for me—what have I now?”

Valjean stepped closer. “You have me,” he said quietly.

How dare he, Javert thought. Not now. Not like this. He had not the courage to confront Valjean, despite having done so many times before. How could he stand face to face with the man he loved and withhold how he truly felt?

Javert smeared the tears forming in his strained eyes with his coat sleeve. He wanted it to end, to drown the tumultuous thoughts that raced through his mind in the Seine, but somehow he remained frozen. The dark waters below were calling with a hypnotic rumble…

Then two strong yet gentle hands had suddenly grasped his shoulders.

“Please, Javert,” came a soft voice.

Javert flinched at the convict’s touch and inhaled a sharp, sobering breath of the cold night air. There really was no escaping this damned nuisance-of-a-man.

Slowly and unsteadily, he climbed over the parapet and stood face to face with Valjean. Through the dim light he could make out the convict’s red and hollow eyes, slightly glassy, but strangely welcoming. Valjean opened his mouth to speak, but Javert, with a reflex of swiftness, seized Valjean’s shirt collar and thrust him against the parapet.

“Why are you here?” he asked through gritted teeth. “I told you to leave me!”

“I’m waiting for you to arrest me,” Valjean said calmly.

Javert let out a soft demented chuckle. “Don’t be stupid. I cannot do such a thing.”  

He then released Valjean from his grasp and started to walk away into the shadows.

“Where are you going?” Valjean asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” the Inspector said without looking back.

“But you’re forgetting your hat,” Valjean called.

Javert dropped his shoulders and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He trudged back to where Valjean stood and reached for the hat, but Valjean quickly pulled it away.

“First, answer me where you’re going.”

Javert’s face contorted with pent-up fury and embarrassment. “Enough of your ridiculous games!” he snarled and waved a hand in front of him. “Give that to me.”

“Please tell me where you are going.”

“That is not your concern.”

“Then if you do not tell me, I shall have to follow you.”

“You will do no such thing!”

“Then come with me.”

Javert stopped, stunned by this sudden proposition. “Damnation, Valjean! You can never let things be, can you?”

Valjean shot him a fatigued glance and sighed. “You’re right. I cannot.”

“Then make an exception this time.”

“But I only want to help you.”

“Ah,” Javert sneered, “you want to help me. I suppose you think that I am somehow indebted to you because of what happened at the barricade.”

Valjean only shook his head. “Is it against the law to help a fellow man in need?”

Damn him, the Inspector thought. How could he possibly escape this trap now?

With as much restraint as he could gather, Javert buttoned his greatcoat in the methodical fashion as he always did. He took his hat from Valjean and cleared his throat. “Where do you propose we go?”

A flicker of ease filled Valjean’s countenance. “I know a place,” he said. “This way.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: Sanctuary

The house at Number 55, Rue Plumet was silent and cold for a June night. Valjean had considered returning to the house on the Rue de l’Homme-Arme, but didn’t wish to trouble Cosette any more than she already had been. 

He lit what remained from a few old candle stubs and removed a dust covered sheet from a worn settee and chair.

“Sit. Please,” he gestured to Javert who only stared at the chair, contemplating Valjean’s offer. Deciding seemed to be an arduous task.

“I’ll stand,” Javert said turning away.

“As you wish,” Valjean said taking a seat. He sighed, relieved to be off his aching feet.

Javert walked around the sitting room, his hands clasped behind his back. He watched the taciturn Valjean out of the corner of his eye, the prolonged silence beginning to vex him.

“Well?” the Inspector finally spoke. “You have dragged me here—now what?”

Valjean remained silent, trying to gather his thoughts. He glanced at Javert who had his back turned. “You could have arrested me in the Marais or the Rue de l’Homme-Arme. Why didn’t you?”

“Why didn’t you shoot me at the barricade?” Javert retorted.

Neither spoke. The argument undoubtedly felt childish to the both of them. Valjean only gazed at the Inspector, his brow contorted with anguish.

“You annoy me,” Javert said. “I’m leaving.” As he made his way to the door, Valjean jumped from his seat to stop him.

“Wait. Don’t go. Please,” he implored helplessly.

“You’re wasting your time, Valjean. Let me pass.”

Valjean ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “You’ve come this far, Javert. I want you to end it now.”

Javert turned sharply to Valjean. “Don’t you understand?” he said, his voice irritable and rough.  “I cannot arrest you! You do not deserve to be arrested. Now let me go.” He pushed him away and opened the door.

Valjean slammed his fist on a nearby table. This startled Javert who had never seen the serene Valjean in such a brief volatile moment as this, save for his years in the quarries. Valjean regained his composure and shook his head. He pulled the door closed. “Please don’t leave, Javert. Not yet.”

The Inspector frowned, furious that the convict was ordering him about. “What are you expecting from me, Valjean? Vindication? Forgiveness of your sins?”

“I don’t expect anything—not now at least. I can’t let you go, knowing what you might do to yourself.” He paused. “You saved a life tonight. At least let me return the favor.”

Javert shifted his weight and turned away from Valjean. Each time he caught the sympathetic convict’s eye, he felt his face redden with an bothersome heat. “Fine,” he grumbled. “I shall stay.”

He folded his arms tightly across his chest and sat down on the settee.

“It’s late,” Valjean said, lingering in the foyer. “There is a room upstairs that you can stay in for the night. In the morning you can take me to the prefect. Then you can arrange for my detention accordingly.”

“Impossible.”

“How so?”

“I’ve resigned my post.”

“What?”  Valjean asked, stunned as he moved toward Javert who remained as ridged as a statue. “But…why?”

“To free you.”

“I don’t understand.”

Javert closed his eyes and spoke slowly. “To turn in a person as good as you would be illogical.”

Valjean sat down and stared at him perplexed. “You find me good?”

“Enough questions!” Javert hissed. “I no longer possess authority over you. What more do you need explained?”

Valjean appeared rueful. “You’re turning a blind eye on me?”

“I could if you left me alone,” Javert said leaning towards the man. “I cannot simply betray society’s rules for the sake of staying true to my conscience. It only disgraces me. Every passing moment I slip lower into the cesspool of commoners—the very beings I detest.”

 “You don’t have to believe that. I have always considered you my equal, Javert.”

“No. No,” the Inspector began. He stood up, his blue eyes piercing Valjean’s. “How dare you think I could possess any sort of equality toward you? I may have lost authority, but you still bear the mark of a degenerate.”

Valjean pressed a hand to his chest where that literal brand was. He pulled the torn flap of his shirt over it. “But a man can change,” he said. “Surely that’s the point of your institutions—not to simply lock up criminals, but to reform them for the better.”

Javert fell silent. He walked over to a window overlooking the garden and slid his finger across the sill, examining the dust it collected.  “Whatever possessed you to do it?” he asked without looking at Valjean.

“What?”

“Steal. Thieve. Rob. Have you forgotten, or must I remind you?”

Valjean turned away from Javert. Of course he remembered. The image of his frail sister flashed through his mind as it did so many times before. Her children never got the bread that was intended for them, and he was always certain that the news of his arrest never reached her ears. What had gone through her mind when she realized he was not going to return? Did she think he selfishly deserted them for a better life? After those twenty years, he always wondered what became of his family, and he could never forgive himself.

“You will never understand what it is like,” he said bitterly, “To watch the ones you love starve before your eyes. To hear a child’s cry of hunger and pain while you realize there is nothing you can do to stop it.”

“But break the law,” Javert interjected.

“My efforts were in vain.”

“It was written then,” the Inspector said placidly.

Valjean sighed. He could never fully understand Javert’s rationale in certain matters, and never appreciated his insensitivity. Despite everything, he knew the Inspector was still truthful in classifying him as a fugitive.

Valjean rose from the settee, the floorboards groaning under the weight of his feet as he went to relight an extinguished candle. “I am not perfect—nor are you,” he said. “But what may I ask do you wish to prove by throwing your life away?”

Javert sighed crossly. “Valjean, I was put on this earth for one thing only. My work is all that I have known,” he explained.  “It was against my duty to let you go. Don’t you see that I have failed?”

“An act of kindness is nothing to be ashamed of,” Valjean said quietly.

“Then you know little of me,” Javert said brushing the comment aside. “Besides, what I choose to do with my life is not your concern.”

He met Javert’s eye in the reflection of the window. “Then it appears that we are both in our own wretched predicaments.”

“Why should that matter to me?” Javert asked indifferently.

“You now want nothing to do with me, and still I cannot seem to close my eyes to you.”

The Inspector squirmed. “Spare me your pity. You were better off letting me die.”

 “I could never let that happen.”

“And why not?” Javert asked irritably.

Valjean said nothing but only averted his gaze.

“Why not?” Javert repeated.

“Because…because I…” Valjean trailed off.

Javert let out sardonic chuckle. “Speechless as usual, I see.”

“Because I don’t believe I could live in this world without you,” Valjean said.

Javert stared at him, wondering if he heard right. Valjean stood against the waning glow of the candlelight, his eyes glassy and hopeless.

At that moment every barrier Javert had set up in his mind began to break. He could no longer heartlessly mask his veneration toward Valjean.

“I could have helped you,” he said looking away, a faint tremble in his voice. “Instead I have made your life far miserable than one can imagine.”

“That’s not true, Javert,” said Valjean stepping towards him.

“Yes it is. I should have left you alone, pursued others,” he said. “How foolish I was to resent you.”  

Valjean watched Javert lean his hands against the window in a defeatedly, his shoulders hunched. He appeared to recede inwardly.

“We mortals have many weaknesses. We feel too much, hurt too much. And all too soon we die,” Valjean said as he approached Javert. “But we do have the chance of love.”*

He touched Javert on the shoulder, just as he did at the bridge. This time the Inspector did not wince. His heart beat quickly and he suddenly felt pervaded by a curious warmth as he moved his hand to Valjean’s.

“How can this be written?” he asked quietly.

Valjean moved to face him and pulled his hand close to his chest. Their faces were close, and Javert trembled from the man’s warm touch and gentle gaze. And at that moment he embraced Valjean, slowly, then with conviction. For once he felt at ease—safe and needed.

“You smell dreadful,” the Inspector whispered into his ear.

Valjean was well aware of the fact. A rare grin emerged on Javert’s face. Valjean smiled in turn, and slowly their lips met.

Javert felt as though he were spinning in a whirlwind of bliss. As they parted, he placed his forehead against Valjean’s and gently moved a hand along the edge of his face.

“You have won, Valjean.”

Valjean shook his head and smiled. “No Javert—we both have.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: Written in the Stars

Run, a voice inside had told him when Valjean brought him here. All Javert wanted to do was escape—to flee from Valjean, as Valjean had done so many times from him. Every passing moment had been agonizing, including the torturous carriage ride to his home. He had to restrain himself from reaching out and taking Valjean’s hand, to feel his warm, comforting grip once again. But he’d been afraid to touch him knowing that he had divested from Valjean a peaceful life; one that he only hoped could be returned by letting him go and disappearing forever.

And now here they were—together.

The sun would be up soon. Javert lay in bed, staring at the ceiling in deep introspection, having barely slept through the night. He, who had never allowed himself to love, could not deny the rapture he felt knowing that he mattered to someone; that his love was reciprocated.

Yet somehow he felt he had betrayed another part of himself: the revered authoritative figure he had become. How could he throw all that he had worked for to the winds for this new life?

Did all of that really matter now? Here was this convict—selfless, humble, and gracious. Valjean had never put himself before anyone.

Javert continued to question himself. The plight of the insurgent was another issue that still grated on him. Why had Valjean risked his life for a near-dead schoolboy? He did not understand. He thought how easy it would have been to leave the boy for the scavengers of the night. Valjean had carried the boy so far, and for what? So he could die with dignity? Whatever the reason, he could not deny how in awe he was of the man’s perseverance. Valjean possessed fortitude that could not be matched by any other. Javert began to think of the rest of those sorry souls—the whore, her child, the townspeople of Montreuil-sur-mer. And he himself. All their lives were changed for the better because of the actions of this living saint. Javert suddenly realized he could have been lying dead at the bottom of the Seine if it weren’t for Valjean’s actions.

He moved silently out of bed and made his way to Valjean’s room on the first floor. The door creaked slightly as he peered into the room. Valjean stirred, but didn’t wake. Javert yearned to be beside the sleeping man, but he had been cautious with him, allowed him time to recover. There was still so much he did not know about Valjean. The man had been through considerable ordeals unfathomable to Javert. Not even a lifetime of pursuit was enough to reveal all he wanted to know.

Javert slipped into the dark hallway, trying to keep the floorboards from letting out their deafening groans. He walked silently into the kitchen and stood there, observing his surroundings. Such a small dwelling, he thought. I may get used to it.

In the window before him, he caught his reflection and turned away. Blurred though it was, he still thought he looked terrible. A table and chair were situated at the far end of the kitchen, and he sat down. He slid his finger across the wood tabletop removing a faint layer of dust. In that moment, a series of images appeared in his mind’s eye: a kitchen filled with an abundance of food, the living quarters comfortably refurnished, he and Valjean sitting together at the table, a fine meal before them, maybe a visiting guest…

This sudden thought made him stop. The image of Valjean’s ward appeared in his mind. In all this time he hadn’t even considered the young woman in the scheme of it all. What would happen when she found out about him? How would she react to Valjean’s intention to save him?

Would it be best if he simply…left?

In the kitchen, Javert noticed a door that appeared to lead outside to an enclosed portion of the property. Though it was difficult to budge, he pulled it open as silently as he could. Stepping outside onto a stone walkway, he found the surrounding yard and gardens were small, but situated at the end of the path was an equally modest dwelling. His curiosity urged him forward.

He peered though the unclean windows of the little shack, but could not see anything. He pulled on the rusted door handle and it opened with a dry creak. The one-room interior was musty and barren, save for a bag of old potatoes that was collecting dust on a shelf, along with a few dried flowers, and a clock with the time frozen at 12:30. He wondered how long it had been stopped.

He noticed that the shelf was turned slightly and a faint sliver of blue morning light appeared to leak onto the floor. Carefully, Javert pulled the shelf back and realized it was connected to a door. He opened it further and discovered that it lead outside—a secret passage of sorts.

He walked the length of the passage and found another door at its end. Javert lifted the latch and pulled back the heavy oak door. On the other side was a deserted street.

He looked back at the residence, then back to the Rue de Babylone in front of him. How easy it could be to slip out unnoticed with Valjean peacefully asleep. He entertained the idea briefly. On the other hand, did he really have the heart to abandon his companion once more?

“Hello.”

Javert turned around to find Valjean standing in the middle of the passage. Quiet as a church mouse. He smiled to himself. “You always seem to know where to find me, Valjean,” he replied.

“Leaving already?”

Javert closed the gate to the street. “I was only clearing my head,” was his half-hearted reply as he walked back to where Valjean stood.

He avoided meeting Valjean’s eye, still unsure of himself, unsure if he should still be here.

“Walk with me,” Valjean beckoned. He must have sensed Javert’s unease, and they made their way out of the passage and back toward the garden.

“Do you know that Cosette would sit out here and meet with Marius, believing that I did not know of the affair?” He smiled as they walked. “How terribly wrong they were.”

“It’s overgrown,” Javert remarked curtly as he tore off a vine that was creeping up a stone wall. “You should really tend to it…make room for flowers… ”

“I would hardly consider greenery your foremost concern at the moment,” said Valjean.

Javert looked at him and sighed. Valjean’s warmth and kindness nearly overwhelmed him, and he felt his stomach twist in an unfamiliar knot. “Do I truly deserve one who has bestowed every inch of kindness upon me when I have treated him so poorly?”

“More than anything,” Valjean replied.

Javert sat down on a nearby bench. He didn’t want to bother Valjean with his trivial problems once again, but the old convict seemed more than willing to listen.

“Perhaps you’d feel better if you told me what’s troubling you,” said Valjean.

“You once said that I would never understand what it’s like to live a terrible existence,” Javert began.

Valjean sat beside him.

Javert continued slowly. “It is a dreadful predicament for anyone to emerge into this life amidst squalor. You and I know this too well. Perhaps you recall that I once told you I was born in a prison. You see, my mother was granted parole after my birth. That, however, did not improve matters. Being in my mother’s care meant inadequate income. My father, habitual inebriate that he was, never took it upon himself to conserve our funds. At the age of five, I saw him sent off to the galleys, and we were left with nothing. And what does one do when they have nothing?” He looked at Valjean as he said this. “Desperation overpowers dignity. I needn’t remind you, of course. Our means of living had become so deplorable, and there was a shop across from our residence that sold food and other items necessary for one’s survival. With my mother’s persuasion, I agreed to break in and take what I could. Being a small child, I could easily slip through the windows of the building. My mother supplied me with a cloth sack that I could fill with food and any other objects useful to our plight. I broke in, took what I could, fumbling my way through the darkness only to knock over a stack of pans and dishes. The sound would have woken the dead. I ran back to the window, but I was too late. The shop owner found me and when the police arrived, I naturally tried to deny it all—as any child would—but it wouldn’t suffice.

“‘It was my mother’s idea,’ I eventually told them. I brought the police to my home, but upon arriving I found my mother had taken everything of ours and fled. She had abandoned me to the hands of the state….and I never saw her again.

 “I could never forgive my mother for what she did. I lost my parents, my childhood, and learned the ways of the law, hoping to erase that life of squalor, rise above it, seek and punish all wrongdoers. And that is why I couldn’t bear to be at your mercy.

 “I’ve never told this to anyone. Not my superiors, nor any of my colleagues. I feared they would not understand my situation as you would.” He paused. “You,” he said with a half-hearted smile and a square look at Valjean. “It appears we are not as different as I once thought.”

Javert exhaled a long sigh and felt he had purged himself of a burdensome weight. “Say something, Valjean. The silence is maddening.”

“You mustn’t punish yourself. We can look to the past, but we can always choose to keep moving forward,” he said. “I do believe everyone deserves a second chance.”

“Spoken like one who has had quite a few,” Javert said with a smile. He clasped his hands together and looked up to watch the sunlight beginning to filter through the garden trees. “Valjean, you and I have walked away from hell in the streets. Somehow I cannot deny this place is some small piece of heaven; recompense for all that we’ve endured, don’t you think?”

Valjean nodded. He took Javert’s hand in his.

Javert drank in the morning sunlight, feeling grateful for the compassion that Valjean possessed; grateful for all that he had. But how long would it last? A thought suddenly came to his mind.

“What of the girl?” he asked.

Valjean did not answer right away.

“I don’t want her to worry about me—or you,” he finally spoke. “She has had much to deal with. In time she’ll have to know. Just not now.”

Javert nodded and stood, and he and Valjean walked back to the house hand in hand.

“She will thank you,” Valjean said.

“What for?”

“For allowing the one she loves refuge. You saved him. And you saved her from a life of living without the one she loves.”

Javert dwelled on this for a moment. Valjean was right. “I still do not agree with his cause,” the Inspector said, “but...perhaps he will learn from all this.” He paused and caressed his thumb against Valjean’s hand. “I suppose a second chance will do him good?”

“I am sure we’ll find out, Javert,” Valjean replied as they walked back into the house. “One day at a time.”