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It was a windy day. Those were always the worst- even just observing the manual labor below. The prisoners all quaked in their thin, linen shirts, but not a single one tried to huddle or find some reprieve from the chill. Feet shuffled along mindlessly. Javert almost envied the disconnect all of the prisoners seemed to find so easily these days.
He felt a shiver run down his spine. Javert pulled his coat tighter around himself in a futile attempt to retain heat, nearly subconsciously. The wind was nipping harshly at his cheeks but he paid it no mind: his attention was focused on the prisoners below. Or, more accurately, one prisoner in particular. 24601. His hair whipped in the gusts of wind, and his ears were red, but he was unflinching in his work.
24601 had always been a strange fascination of his; a broad, strong man who seemed to have a demeanor unlike other criminals. His face had never been gentle to begin with, but Javert felt a pang of what could only be described as wistfulness as he reminisced the kindly face of a man first sent to the chain gang.
Javert himself had only been a young man, a newly appointed guard when 24601 had been brought in. He’d watched as the fight drained from him over nineteen long years of labor. He’d felt pity, back then. He had felt the prisoner’s anguish first hand. But the man whose emotions reflected those around him was long dead. Javert had stifled that part of him long ago. Surrounded by so much torment, empathy could only get you hurt.
He watched now as 24601 gave a mighty heave. His rippling shoulder muscles flexed. Javert couldn’t look away as a white puff of breath blew out into the frigid air. His own back ached in sympathy. Silently, he cursed himself for feeling connection to any of the prisoners. Even the one who captivated him the most.
His annoyance at himself must’ve shown on his face. A fellow prison guard turned a questioning gaze towards him, but Javert brushed it off. He couldn’t share the real reason he was on edge today. Prisoner 24601 would be leaving the chain gang. Javert once again cursed his sentiment- a part of him knew deep down he would miss this: a familiar face. Many wretched souls came in and out, but 24601 had been a constant in his life from the time he’d joined the guard. He pondered his options and came to a rather pleasant conclusion: he’d been here many years, so he’d be listened to. He could request a change in his stationing. They could place his coworker, another member of the guard almost as senior as himself, in charge of the prisoners, and he would alternate his time between the chain gang and checking on prisoners integrating back into society. He’d still see 24601 then, quite regularly. To make sure he didn’t break his parole.
Satisfied with this conclusion, he squared his shoulders and soothed the small smile gracing his lips. The prisoners had just stopped to rest, and he spotted 24601 with ease. He could always pick him out in a crowd. Javert cleared his throat and called out across the yard.
“Bring me Prisoner 24601,” he commanded. Two other guards grabbed the man by his shoulders. He struggled for a moment, clearly furious at the harsh treatment, before allowing himself to be dragged to where Javert stood. Their eyes met: Javert, stony silence, storms brewing, and 24601, hateful distrust simmering just below the surface. Javert regarded him, expression colder than the wind still stinging his skin.
“Your time is up and your parole has begun. You know what that means?” He asked, on the verge of rhetorical.
“Yes,” 24601 said, breathing out, a sigh of near-relief. “It means I’m free.”
Javert saw the faint glimmer of hope in his eyes and felt his own chest lightening at the sight. His face hardened as he clamped down the thought.
“No,” he said, harsher than he intended. “It means you get your yellow ticket of leave.”
He produced a yellow paper from his jacket pocket and smoothed it out in his hands. 24601’s fists clenched. He opened his mouth as if to argue, and Javert cut him off before he could make a sound.
“You are a thief,” he said, pressing the paper into 24601’s grasp. His hands lingered slightly over the prisoners, hesitating just a moment before pulling away again.
“I stole a loaf of bread,” 24601 argued.
“You robbed a house,” Javert shot back.
“I broke a window pane,” he said. Javert regarded him coldly. 24601 took a shuddering breath and stepped closer, trying to appeal to Javert’s humanity. “My sister’s child was close to death, and we were starving.”
Javert’s heartbeat sped up and he stepped even closer, pushing a finger into 24601’s chest. “You will starve again, unless you learn the meaning of the law.”
“I know the meaning of those nineteen years,” 24601 snarled, smacking Javert’s hand away. The two prison guards on either side of him stepped forward as if to intervene and hold him back, but Javert waved them away with a flick of his hand. “A slave of the law.”
Javert ignored him. “It was five years for what you did. And the rest because you tried to run.” He remembered the day vividly. The feeling of the man’s arms straining against his grip was etched in his mind permanently. A hardened man like this was hardly fit to be back in lawful society. He should just stay here with Javert. He mentally shook himself and centered back in.
“Yes, 24601-”
“My name is Jean Valjean,” the prisoner interrupted.
“And I am Javert,” he said. “Do not forget my name.”
Javert hoped he couldn’t hear the tinge of desperation in his voice. The small whisper of longing in his words. He stepped closer. They were nearly nose to nose.
His next words were growly in his throat: “Do not forget me.”
The air between them suspended for a moment, unbroken by anything but the raggedy breaths of Valjean in front of him. Javert felt his face grow hot with his utter distaste of the man, and took a subconscious step back, breaking the tension.
He noticed the guard to the right of him eyeing him oddly, so he quickly tacked on, “24601.”
The faint shimmer of hope in Valjean’s eyes faded into a scowl. Javert’s chest fell with it. He averted his eyes and busied himself with grabbing the prisoner’s meager belongings: a thin, worn jacket and a satchel that had clearly seen better days.
As he handed them over to Valjean, he scanned the other man’s eyes for any sign of the light that had filled them moments previously. There was nothing but cold hatred left in the wake of their conversation. He swallowed the flicker of emotion building in his throat and turned sharply.
Without another word to Valjean, he waved his hand and dismissed the man- the two guards who had pulled him up to meet Javert grabbed him once again. This time he didn’t fight. Javert didn’t look back as Valjean was led out of the yard and out towards his new life. Strangely, he felt as though a part of him had been sent away too- the opposing force that Valjean was in his life, his polar opposite.
There’s something else to it, his mind whispered. He shoved the thought away and turned back to observing the yard. There was work to be done.
---
The prisoner didn’t show up. Obviously, he didn’t. Javert could almost laugh at his own stupidity. A man like that- a criminal. No matter what kind of sob story he tried to twist, that’s what he was, plain and simple. He was a thief, and now he was on the run. Javert, as his official parole officer, had offered to be the one to track him down. He’d been on 24601’s trail for years, but he’d been stumped in his progress. It took a while, but Javert had miraculously gotten a lead, and so off he flew, with barely a second thought and an all consuming need to see this task to the end. He finally landed himself at Montreuil-sur-Mer.
Mayor Madeleine was something unlike anyone he’d seen before. From the times Javert had talked to him, he seemed strong, capable. His attire was polished and pleasing to the eye, and his smile was welcoming and homely. There was something intensely familiar about him, but Javert couldn’t quite place it. In an odd sense of irony, the Mayor in his appearance reminded Javert of the prisoner himself. It put him slightly on edge, reminding him why exactly he was here. The Mayor had offered him resources to help him in his search, should he need them. Javert appreciated the gesture, and while he searched, he was stationed under the Mayor’s jurisdiction.
Javert had been patrolling like usual when he heard it.
The ruckus on the street was loud- the screaming, the chatter of bystanders. Javert could hear it clearly as he approached. He entered the scene of the action and spotted the trouble instantly. A woman, a prostitute, based on her appearance, and a man clutching his face tenderly.
“Tell me quickly, what’s the story? Who saw what, and why, and where?” He demanded, the constables on either side of him already rushing forward to diffuse the situation. They grabbed the woman, and one stepped in front of the man to separate the two. The woman let out a near sob and would’ve collapsed to her knees if not for the constables holding her steady and upright.
“Let him give a full description,” he continued, glaring around at all the bystanders. No one stepped forward. “Let him answer to Javert.”
Javert stalked up to several passerby, but they all looked away, unwilling to tell the story. Frustrated, he huffed angrily. He couldn’t charge anyone until he had an account of the crime from an eyewitness. In this nest of whores and vipers, he'd be hard pressed to find a single unbiased account of the event. Still, he had to persist:
“Let one speak who saw it all,” he demanded, swinging his pointing finger to target people standing all around. None would meet his eyes but the one who’d been on the ground. The man stood up, brushed himself off daintily, and tenderly held a hand up to his cheek, obviously faking the extent of his pain. Javert rolled his eyes, but like any good cop would do, addressed him with respect. “Who laid hands on this good man here? What's the substance of this brawl?”
Javert watched with lidded eyes as the man pulled himself up, all pomp and presence, to surely dramatize the events of the fight. He suppressed a yawn. He should be out hunting Valjean, not stuck here dealing with an elementary level fight. But he knew it was his duty to fulfill: he had made a promise to the Mayor after all.
“Javert, would you believe it?” The man started, voice reeking of false innocence. Javert almost cringed at the use of his name directly, as if they were old pals, and resisted the urge to tag on an ‘Inspector’ to correct the man. “I was walking from the park when this prostitute attacked me! You can see she left her mark.”
He cupped a hand around his chin, as if to show off his perfectly unblemished face to Javert. Javert regarded him, unimpressed.
“She will answer for her actions when you make a full report,” Javert assured the man. “You may rest assured, M’sieur, that she will answer to the court.”
The man heaved a great sigh and turned almost maliciously towards the woman being held by the constables under Javert’s direction. Javert followed his gaze, and locked eyes with the prostitute. She blinked harshly a few times but they remained glossy and almost unfocused.
“There’s a child who sorely needs me,” The woman begged. “Please, M’sieur, she’s but that high.” She pulled away from the constables and motioned. Javert watched passively. The law was the law. The woman searched him desperately for any sympathy and found none in his countenance.
“Holy God,” she whispered to herself. “Is there no mercy?” Louder, to Javert, she continued, “If I go to jail, she’ll die.”
Her face fell as the reality of the situation sunk in on her. Tears sprung unbidden from her eyes and she didn’t appear to notice at all. Javert stepped forward and she flinched back slightly.
“I have heard such protestations every day for twenty years,” he told her, stony. “Let’s have no more explanations, save your breath and save your tears.” Javert glared around at all the prostitutes and street scum. “Honest work, just reward. That’s the way to please the Lord.”
He started giving instructions to the constables to take the woman away, when he heard a voice call out to him from behind.
“A moment of your time, Javert,” Mayor Madeleine said, placing a hand on Javert’s bicep. The touch was electric, burning even through his thick coat. It took everything in him not to glance down at it, He intentionally looked Madeleine in the eye directly. Javert cocked his head curiously, gesturing for the Mayor to continue. “I do believe this woman’s tale.”
Javert jolted, shaking off the hand. “But M’sieur Mayor,” he protested. Surely…the Mayor wasn’t suggesting letting her go free? She was a prostitute, and she had attacked a man. The law was the law. It didn’t matter what her reasons for doing so were- the fact was she broke the law, and she needed to face consequences for her actions. He thought Mayor Madeleine knew that well.
He was shaking his head, “You’ve done your duty, let it be. She needs a doctor, not a jail.”
“But, M’sieur Mayor,” Javert tried again. The Mayor continued to ignore his obvious discontent at the situation.
“Where will she end, this child without a friend?” Madeleine asked. Javert kept his mouth firmly closed. The Mayor was being unreasonable: plenty of children ended up on the streets. It was impossible for the police force to keep up with and care for every single one. There was nothing special about this woman’s story. Similar sob stories were used every time someone was arrested or taken in.
The Mayor stepped forward, and the constables released the woman and stepped back. Like puppet strings had been cut, the woman toppled forward onto her knees. She breathed in deeply, and Mayor Madeliene crouched beside her.
“I’ve seen your face before,” He said, slightly puzzled but kindly nonetheless. “Show me some way to help you. How have you come to grief in such a place as this?” He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
Javert couldn’t stop a small spark of annoyance that sprang forth at the motion. Why did the Mayor care so much about some random woman off the streets? What was he playing at? Javert was so wrapped up in his thoughts, he almost missed the woman’s next words.
“M’sieur don’t mock me now, I pray. It’s hard enough I’ve lost my pride,” she said, looking at the Mayor with distrust in her eyes. “You let your foreman send me away,” the woman continued, and the confusion cleared from Madeleine’s face. In it’s place was thinly veiled horror and shame.
Javert turned away slightly. He never wanted to see that brokenness in the Mayor’s expression again.
“Yes,” the woman continued, oblivious to Javert’s internal plight, “You were there, and you turned me aside.”
Monsieur Madeleine’s grip squeezed slightly the woman’s arm, encouraging her to continue. Javert bit back a scoff. The woman sent a bitter look Javert’s way before turning to the Mayor with desperation in her eyes.
“I never did no wrong,” she pleaded.
“Is it true, what I’ve done?” M’sieur Madeleine breathed out, more to himself than to the woman beside him.
“My daughter’s close to dying,” the woman said, tears beginning to slip down her face once again.
“Had I only known then,” the Mayor said, taking the woman’s hands, trying to convey his apologies.
“If there’s a God above, he’d let me die instead,” she said, clutching onto the Mayor with a crushing grip. Javert could tell she was only just holding it together enough to speak.
“In His name, my task has just begun,” Madeleine promised, jaw tensing in a righteous fury against the world. The was a fire in his eyes Javert hadn’t seen since…well, since Valjean on that last day. He pushed down an uncomfortable ball of emotion that was building in his chest.
“I will see it done.”
“But M’sieur Mayor,” Javert said, clearing his throat.
Madeleine stood up and turned to him, and Javert nearly melted under his intense gaze.
“I will see it done,” He repeated, leaving no room for argument.
Javert could barely open his mouth to protest, and he felt the heat rising to his face as Mayor Madeleine stared him down. “But M’sieur Mayor,” he managed.
“I will see it done,” He said with an air of finality that stopped Javert.
Javert released his breath in a long sigh. Madeleine turned to the constables and told them to take the woman- Fantine, they learned was her name- to a hospital and to get her the care she needed. Javert considering trying again to appeal reason to the Mayor, but one warning glance from him made Javert’s jaw snap shut.
They held eye contact for a moment. Javert had never been intimidated by the man before, but he felt his resolve crumbling. Just before he was about to cave and break away, a loud shout from down the street broke the tension for him.
Mayor Madeleine turned with a start and dashed off before Javert could react. Thankfully his years as a cop had prepared him for situations like this. He found himself pounding after the Mayor, catching up and keeping pace with ease.
A cacophony of voices met Javert's ears as he rounded the corner. He took in the scene quickly, and he glanced over at the Mayor just in time to see him reach the same conclusion. A runaway cart- and now they were closer Javert could hear those words being thrown about amongst the chatter- and a man trapped underneath.
The Mayor rushed forward, but people held out their hands to try and stop him.
“Is there anyone here who will rescue this man?” He asked, looking around. No one stepped forward or offered any assistance. Javert hesitated. He could certainly try to help if that’s what the Mayor needed. He didn’t think Madeleine should be the one to lift the cart, but the man seemed determined. “Who will help me to shoulder the weight of the cart?”
A townsperson grabbed the Mayor’s sleeve, tugging him back away from the cart. “Don’t go near him, M’sieur Mayor, that load is heavy as hell.”
Another bystander piped up: “The old man’s a goner for sure.”
Monsieur Madeleine shook off the citizens crowding him and approached the cart, to the uneasy murmurs of the crowd.
“It will kill you as well,” someone warned.
The Mayor didn’t even seem to hear him. He eyed the cart for a second, before securing his hands underneath and widening his stance. Javert’s throat dried as he watched Madeleine’s shoulders flex with the effort. He let out a grunt of exertion and Javert tried to move forward to meet him at the cart, but the crowd has closed off again. He didn’t want to distract Madeleine by ordering the people to move, so he continued to watch with baited breath.
Despite the warnings of the merchants, M’sieur Madeleine didn’t seem to have too much of an issue getting it up. The people all around were chattering with excitement and disbelief at the superhuman strength of their Mayor, but Javert paid them no mind. He had eyes only for the man himself, committing a feat of strength he hadn’t thought possible. Unbidden, a thought sprung to mind: watching the Mayor lift the cart, he was reminded quickly of Valjean. Javert could only imagine that underneath his fancy mayoral coat, he too had rippling muscles with which he could do most anything.
A few other men came forth and pulled out the old man from under the cart. Madeleine dropped the cart quickly, huffing with the adrenaline of it. He straightened after a moment, and made eye contact with Javert. His face was reddened from the exertion and he gave Javert a curt nod, before turning to the man to check on him. Javert coughed into his fist and felt his own face heating up to match the Mayor’s the longer he stared. He could respect a man with strength like that. Though, it did get him thinking about Valjean again.
Javert had received a letter a few days previously with news that Jean Valjean had been caught at last. Something deep down inside of him disagreed with the letter, but he couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. Truthfully, he didn’t believe Valjean had
believe Valjean had been caught. If he had, then what were the leads Javert had been following in all the time he’s searched?
He snapped back to attention as M’sieur Madeleine offered out his hand to the poor old man.
“M’sieur le Mayor, I have no words,” the old man gushed, his relief palpable in the air as he stumbled over his thanks. “You came from God, you are a saint.”
Madeleine shook his hand. People broke into action, congratulating the Mayor, patting the old man on the back, trying for their own handshake. He was happy to oblige, putting on a polite smile as he made his way through the crowd back to where Javert was standing.
Javert offered him a small but genuine smile as he returned, despite how red he knew his face must be. “Can this be true? I don’t believe what I see,” Javert said. “A man your age to be as strong as you are.”
Monsieur Madeleine smirked at him. Javert almost couldn’t stop the next words that came out of his mouth:
“You make me think of a man from years ago who broke his parole.”
The color faded out of the Mayor’s face, and he tilted his head curiously, eyes boring into Javert. “And?”
“He disappeared,” Javert said. He suddenly realized what it sounded like he was implying, that Mayor Madeleine could somehow be Valjean in disguise, and he hastily tried to make amends. “Forgive me sir, I would not dare-”
“Say what you must,” The Mayor bounced back easily, “Don’t leave it there.”
Javert thought back to the display of raw strength Madeleine had demonstrated a few minutes prior, and of Prisoner 24601’s sheer strength in the chain gang. He willed down the flustered flush beginning to creep across his face once more and cleared his throat.
“I have only known one other who could do what you have done,” Javert informed the Mayor. “He’s a convict from the chain gang, he’s been ten years on the run.” He hesitated for a moment, before detailing the information he'd been sent in the letter. “But he couldn’t hide forever…we’ve found his hideaway. He’s just been rearrested and he comes to court today.”
The Mayor looked contemplative. “Where?” He asked eventually.
“Here,” Javert responded. “The courthouse in town. It’s only fitting I be there. I’ve hunted Valjean for years.”
The Mayor hummed thoughtfully. Javert couldn’t read the emotion behind his eyes.
“Of course, he now denies it,” Javert said, after a pause. “But, you’d expect that of a con. But he couldn’t run forever.” He smiled, “Not even Jean Valjean.”
Monsieur Madeleine returned the look, something slightly strained in the tug of his lips. Javert decided not to read too much into it.
Valjean was caught, and he was going to face the justice he deserved. Javert didn’t know why something inside him protested so strongly, and why he still didn’t quite believe they’d caught Valjean.
---
The court was abuzz with idle chatter. Javert stood to one side, watching the proceedings with a keen eyes. He stood stock still, the Mayor at his side, arms almost brushing. The judge called the court to attention, and Prisoner 24601 was brought in.
Javert studied his face intensely, but he found no part of him alight with recognition. In fact, he barely looked like the man Javert knew for twenty years. He frowned uncertainly. Obviously, he had no place to question the proceedings of the law, but something deep down in him knew something was wrong. Javert made eye contact with the man, and similarly saw no recognition in the prisoner’s eyes.
He glanced over at the Mayor, whose countenance reflected the uncertainty that Javert felt in his heart. Javert was only just able to stop himself reaching out to place a hand on Madeleine’s shoulder. It would be horribly unprofessional.
The legal matters went by a blur. Javert’s thoughts stayed circling around the matter of Jean Valjean, floating but not settling on any particular feature. He felt like there was something he was missing, a single tile out of place before he could finally see the mosaic that was Prisoner 24601. He didn’t snap back to attention until he felt movement at his side.
Mayor Madeleine stepped forward and took a deep breath. Javert stepped forward to meet him, but the man held out an arm to push Javert back into place. Javert obeyed, eyebrows furrowing. What was he doing?
“Stop!” The Mayor yelled. Everyone fell dead silent. He walked into the middle of the courtroom like a man sent to the gallows and took a deep breath. “Who am I? Can I conceal myself forevermore? Pretend I’m not the man I was before, and must my name until I die be no more than an alibi?”
Javert froze. What? What was the Mayor talking about? What did this have to do with Valjean’s trial?
“Who am I?” Madeleine demanded, gaze flicking between the judges and jury. It settled on Javert. “Who am I?” He repeated, quieter.
Something unreadable flashed through Madeleine’s eyes for just a moment, then it was gone. Javert couldn’t move, couldn’t blink. His whole person was frozen in place by the Mayor’s piercing stare.
“I’m Jean Valjean,” he said, breaking eye contact. The room fell out from under Javert’s feet as he stood, in shock, staring at the man who was once the humble, powerful mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer.
“And so Javert, you see it’s true,” Valjean said, looking up again with fire in his eyes. “This man bears no more guilt than you.”
The guards started to stand up, still getting over their shock. They moved towards surrounding Valjean. Javert still couldn’t process his words.
“Who am I?” Valjean yelled, “Who am I? 24601!”
With the declaration of his prison number, he burst into a flurry of motion. Faster than Javert could start forward, Valjean had knocked out a guard and was sprinting out the doors of the courtroom. By the time Javert followed him outside, the man was long gone.
---
After Valjean’s scene in the courtroom, Javert spent a few hours sulking around the town. He’d put an order out to all the constables to send word immediately if they happened to catch sight of Valjean- formerly known by the townsfolk as Mayor Madeleine. If the convict had his way, he surely would’ve lived out the rest of his life under the pseudonym.
Aside from the obvious legal problems that arose from the situation, Javert was dealing with some difficult realizations of his own. To learn that the Mayor, a man he had respected and enjoyed the presence of, a man he could almost call more than just an acquaintance, had been lying to him in all the time he’d known him? It was a hard concept to grapple with. Not only was he a liar, operating under a false identity, but he turned out to be the very guy Javert had hunted all the way to this town. How could he have been so stupid? So oblivious? Valjean had been right in front of him this whole time, and he’d been blinded by the Mayor’s disarming smiles and kind demeanor.
He was broken out of his stupor with the news the convict had been spotted, at the town hospital, no less. He considered for a moment what the man might be doing at a place like that, but quickly shook away the thought and made his way across town.
The doctors had clearly been informed of his arrival prior, as they paid him no mind, only pointing him in the right direction. He gathered himself up, straightened his jacket, and crept down the hallway. He could hear Valjean’s voice as he approached, and a woman’s voice as well.
When he reached the room, he peered around the corner. Fantine, the prostitute Valjean had taken pity on, was lying on a bed, clearly weakened and pained. Valjean himself crouched near her resting place, holding her hand and offering her small reassurances.
“And tell Cosette I love her,” Fantine all but whispered, “and I’ll see her when I wake.”
Her arm went limp in Valjean’s hand and he bowed his head over her body, muttering prayers. Javert dipped back into the hallway to give them a semblance of privacy. Despite the rage burning through his heart at the scene he witnessed, he forced himself to take a deep breath and remain outside the room for a moment longer. A woman had died- and even if Javert held no respect for a woman of that nature, she was still human. The most he could do for her now was give them a moment to collect her body before barging in.
When he glanced in again, nurses were gently carrying Fantine’s body out through another door. Valjean stayed on the ground a moment longer, wallowing in…guilt? Pity? It was impossible to say for sure. Javert waited until Valjean was beginning to stand up, before fully stepping into the room and making himself visible.
“Valjean, at last, we see each other plain,” Javert drawled. Valjean snapped his head up and met Javert’s eyes. “M’sieur le Mayor,” Javert scoffed, “You’ll wear a different chain.”
Valjean held up his hands as if to stop Javert from approaching, which Javert responded to in a normal way by pulling out his sword from it’s place on his hip. Valjean’s eyes widened ever so slightly at the action.
“Before you say another word, Javert,” Valjean pleaded, “before you chain me up like a slave again…”
Javert’s grip tightened on his sword. A spark of energy went through him at the idea of Valjean back at the chain gang. He’d wanted this for years.
“Listen to me,” Valjean said seriously, pulling Javert’s attention back to the present. “There is something I must do. This woman leaves behind a suffering child, there is none but me who can intercede! In Mercy’s name, three days are all I need.”
Javert stopped brandishing his sword and stared in disbelief.
“Then I’ll return, I pledge my word,” Valjean promised, “then I’ll return-”
Javert interrupted, “You must think me mad! I’ve hunted you across the years, men like you can never change.”
Valjean’s fists clenched at that, and Javert felt his eyes trail up and down Javert. No doubt to determine whether he could fight his way out of this situation. Javert wouldn’t let him. He’d catch the man this time, there was no escape for Valjean.
“A man such as you,” Javert spat at the criminal across the room from him. Valjean, sensing Javet’s obvious advantage, turned to the chair next to him and broke it with a solid kick. He grabbed a wooden piece and held it out similar to Javert’s own weapon.
“Believe of me what you will,” Valjean said as he and Javert stood at an impasse, “There is a duty I’m sworn to do.”
“Men like me can never change, men like you can never change,” Javert said, lunging forward slightly with his sword. Valjean jumped back, and Javert retreated back to neutral again.
“You know nothing of my life,” Valjean said, eyes flitting about the room, “All I did was steal some bread.”
“No, 24601,” Javert said, swinging his arm around. Valjean blocked the swing with his chair leg, and the two began to circle in earnest.
“You know nothing of this world,” Valjean proclaimed, swiping at Javert’s legs. He dodged and followed it by an over head shot. The convict caught it directly above his head with his staff horizontal. Javert seized the opportunity for what it was and pressed down with much of his strength.
“My duty is to the law,” Javert argued back. Valjean pushed his sword to one side and ducked to the other. Javert stumbled at the pressure change.
“You would sooner see me dead,” Valjean spat out bitterly. Javert felt a pang in his chest- he was the law, and the law was not swayed, but privately he knew he couldn’t bear to see the prisoner die. He needed him brought to justice, but a world without Valjean would leave a gaping hole in Javert’s life. One he wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge. Valjean was wrong: Javert did know about this world. He knew that in this world, there was Javert and Valjean, Valjean and Javert. Two polar opposites, two forces of nature. He knew that this game, this back and forth was eternal: Valjean would always run and Javert would always follow.
“You have no rights,” Javert said, “Come with me, 24601.”
“Not before I see this justice done,” Valjean said, going on the offensive for the first time. Javert blocked his strike, and gave him a shove backwards. He regained his footing easily and lunged forward again.
“Now the wheel has turned around,” Javert said, taking control of the fight. “Jean Valjean is nothing now.”
“I am warning you Javert, I’m a stronger man by far,” Valjean said, their weapons clashing.
“Dare you talk to me of crime?” Javert interrupted. He knew that in a physical fight he could never overpower Valjean. The man could lift a cart that none other could attempt. Javert pushed the thought out of his mind. “And the price you had to pay?”
Valjean kept talking over him, voice slowly raising, “There is power in me yet.”
“Every man is born in sin, every man must choose his way.”
“My race is not yet run,” Valjean said. His staff cracked over Javert’s knuckles and he almost dropped his sword, hissing at the contact. “I am warning you Javert-”
“You know nothing of Javert-”
“There is nothing I won’t dare,” Valjean threatened. His attacks were relentless and Javert was slowly having to give ground to the convict.
“I was born inside a jail,” Javert burst out. “I was born with scum like you, I am from the gutter too.” Valjean looked surprised for a brief moment, but his expression hardened and he swung his chair leg with renewed passion.
“If I have to kill you here, I’ll do what must be done,” Valjean yelled. Javert faltered for just a moment, and it was enough for Valjean to overpower him and force the sword out of his hands. It clattered to the ground and Javert held up his hands to keep Valjean away. “This I swear to you tonight: her child will live within my care.”
Javert moved to push back, and Valjean lunged quickly. Javert stepped back to avoid his blow and felt his back hit something solid. The convict’s arm was on his chest in the next second, pinning him squarely against the wall. A shiver went down his spine.
“There is no place for you to hide,” Javert breathed out. “Wherever you may hide away…I swear to you, I will be there.”
The vow hung heavy in the air between them. Valjean’s breath mingled with his own, their faces a fingertip’s distance away. Javert watched his eyes flick down and back up, almost too quick to catch. He swallowed thickly.
His mortal enemy, the driving force of his life was closer than he’d ever been, and Javert’s knees were weak. His palms were sweating where they were clenched by his sides, and he found he couldn’t move to push off Valjean if he tried. He was at the man’s mercy in every way. In that moment, Javert belonged to Valjean, and some deep, dark part of him found he didn’t mind it quite as much as he should have.
“I swear to you,” Valjean said, body flush against Javert’s, “I will be there.”
A hint of apology flashed through his eyes, he breathed deeply, and Javert’s world went dark. As he was going down, he could’ve sworn he felt Valjean lowering him gently to the ground. He could’ve sworn he felt a palm on his cheek before he fell fully into the realm of unconsciousness.
---
Paris: the city of love, blood, and revolution. Javert had been stationed there for a little under ten years, though it had been longer since he’d had his last encounter with the prisoner. As much as he would love to spend the rest of his life hunting after Jean Valjean, he had other duties to attend to. Currently stationed in Paris, tempers ran high and revolutions were brewing in every hushed conversation. Javert was getting fed up with it. Students with bright young souls throwing their lives away into these rebellions for nothing. The only thing keeping them from a full out revolt was General Lamarque. Javert had seen it firsthand on the streets.
A bigger city like Paris led inevitably to fuller work days and street brawls on every corner. Javert piped up from his patrolling routine when he heard a shout from less than a street over. An awfully familiar raised voice that never brought good.
He whistled to a few nearby constables, who snapped to attention and followed him as he took off running. He rounded the corner just in time to have his suspicions confirmed: the conman and criminal Thenardier and his gang. Javert smiled. He might be just in time to catch him in the action this time.
The man was grabbing the shirt of a well dressed gentleman, pulling him in close.
“Are you mad? No, M’sieur, you don’t know what you do-” the man protested.
“You know me, you know me, I’m a con just like you,” Thenardier shouted gleefully.
Javert scanned the scene. He made eye contact with a scrappy girl- the Thenardiers’ daughter, he recognized- standing to the side of the city square and her eyebrows scrunched up in alarm.
“It’s the police, disappear!” She shrieked, getting the attention of Thenardier. “Run for it, it’s Javert!”
Thenardier’s brow crinkled in much the same way as the girl’s, and he let go of the man instantly. He straightened in almost a comical manner and brushed himself off. The gentleman he was harassing turned away, head down. A young woman, some sort of younger relative, presumably, stepped up to him and linked her arm through his.
“Another brawl in the square, another stink in the air,” Javert said, glaring at Thenardier. The conman gave him an innocent smile. He cast his gaze around the beggars lining the streets. “Was there a witness to this? Let him speak to Javert.”
He strode over to the Thenardier gang’s poor target. He placed a grounding hang on the man’s shoulder. “M’sieur the streets are not safe, but let these vermin beware we’ll see that justice is done.” Javert looked out across the bystanders pressed up against the edges of the square. “Look upon this fine collection crawled from underneath a stone…This swarm of worms and maggots could’ve picked you to the bone.”
The man nodded his head slightly. Javert broke away from him and made his way back over to Thenardier. He grabbed the man’s elbow, and the con winced in his grip. “I know this man over here, I know his name and his trade. And on your witness, M’sieur, we’ll see him suitably paid-”
Javert turned back to the gentleman, but he, along with the girl, had vanished. He trailed off, looking around, and Thenardier yanked his arm free. Javert looked to the constables, who bore similar expressions of confusion.
“But where’s the gentleman gone? And why on earth did he run?” Javert demanded. Nobody could give him an answer.
Thenardier sidled up next to Javert and nudged his arm. “You will have a job to catch him, he’s the one you should arrest. No more bourgeois when you scratch him than that brand upon his chest.”
Javert’s mind instantly jumped to the only man he could think of who would run from him. A civilian, who was clearly in the right in a legal dispute, would never run from a cop who could help him. Not unless…not unless he was more than ten years on the run from Javert himself. Could it be the man he’s hunted? Could he really have stumbled upon the hiding place of Jean Valjean?
He had the brand upon his skin. He’d started running when he heard the name ‘Javert,’ and he had a girl beside him. A girl, who should be about the right age to be the late Fantine’s child. The more he thought, the more sure Javert was in his conclusion: Jean Valjean had been within arms reach not minutes prior. Jean Valjean was in Paris, and Javert had a chance to catch up to him once and for all. He would finally see him again.
Thenardier tapped Javert’s shoulder. He whipped around to glare at the conman who stayed just outside the lines of a legal arrest.
“In the absence of a victim, dear Inspector, may I go?” Thenardier batted his eyelashes in a show of false innocence. “And remember, when you’ve nicked him- it was me who told you so!”
Javert waved his hand dismissively, and Thenardier snapped his fingers at his gang. They all took off running into some back alley.
Javert cared very little about the crooked Thenardier and his gang. The more pressing matter on his mind was his adversary, his Jean Valjean. Valjean could run for as long as he wanted: Javert would always be able to find him.
He glanced around at the peasants still cowering to the sides of the city square, and turned on his heel, jerking his head to call off the constables. “Everyone about your business, clear this garbage off the street,” he called out to the assembled beggars.
“That’s right, clear the streets, you too!” yelled a childish voice. Javert pivoted and spotted a young boy who’d been giving him trouble- Gavroche. He started towards the boy, but he was scampering out of sight before Javert could even get close.
---
One of Javert’s favorite places in Paris was an old stony bridge overlooking the Seine river. It was more often than not deserted, and Javert loved the peacefulness of it. He would stare into the river when he needed a place to think, and that’s where he went the night of his encounter with Jean Valjean.
The sky was midnight blue, and nothing but whispers of shadows could be seen through the night. Javert could almost imagine Valjean running through the darkness of the city, unseen by all. A fugitive running, fallen from God. A man gone unseen for far too long. A man tumbling through the sky of virtue, a man fallen from grace. Javert looked up to the stars in the sky. He kneeled down and began to pray.
“God be my witness,” he murmured. “I never shall yield ‘til we come face to face.”
Until we come face to face. Javert remembered the last time vividly, he remembered Valjean’s weight against his, the vulnerability, the heaviness between them. He remembered it every day, and he knew that he needed to find Valjean. To find him and to stop him running, once and for all.
Valjean knew his way through the dark. He’d been living in shadows, in hiding, for years on end. Javert lived a life bared plain for God to see- and he knew the truth of life, the way the world worked. Those who followed the path of the righteous would have their reward. And if they fell, as Lucifer had fallen? As Valjean had fallen, and every criminal and sinner before him? They’d face the flame, the sword. Some small part of Javert hoped that men could change. He prayed that Valjean could find another path to follow, even though he knew it to be impossible.
He stared up at the sky, at the stars in the sky. The hundreds of thousands of pinpricks that littered the night, bright in their multitudes. All adorning the heavens, scarce to be counted. They filled the darkness with order and light. The sentinels of the city when all but convicts and conman slept in their beds. Silent, sure, they kept watch through the night when Javert could not.
Javert sighed deeply, feeling the crisp Paris air upon his face. “Lord, let me find him,” Javert whispered, hands clasped, “that I may see him.” Javert would do anything to catch up to Valjean at last, to see him for who he is. Safe in my arms, a small part of him whispered. He shook it off immediately and cleared his throat.
“Safe behind bars…I will never rest until then. This I swear.” He looked up, a ghost of a smile tracing his lips. “This I swear by the stars.”
---
The student revolutions were picking up speed and traction. Inspector Javert had to take off his mind off of Valjean for a few days to deal with the problem, and while they hadn’t actually attempted anything yet, he knew it was only a matter of time. Javert knew that when the students did make a move, the city’s police force could shut it down quickly and quietly.
He had them gathered, and here he rallied his troops: “One more day revolution, we will nip it in the bud. We’ll be ready for these schoolboys, they will wet themselves with blood.”
“Inspector Javert, do you have a plan?” A constable asked.
Javert nodded, “I will join these people’s heroes,” he said. “I will follow where they go. I will learn their little secrets, I will know the things they know.”
The constables chattered amongst themselves, making plans for the day ahead. Javert listened intently, thinking over his own mission. When details had been hashed out, he cleared his throat, bringing everyone to attention yet again.
“Tomorrow is the judgement day,” He began. “Tomorrow, we’ll discover what our God in heaven has in store.”
“One more dawn,” someone piped up.
“One day more,” Javert said.
---
The next morning, Javert dressed himself as plain as he could manage. Clothes worthy of a peasant. He’d even dirtied his face for the extra effect. It was easy work sneaking in to help build the student revolutionaries’ barricade. People barely questioned his presence- so long as he was helping stack tables and doors and whatever the schoolboys could find to create their fortress. Bitterly, as he helped heft a particularly heavy cabinet, he thought to himself this was the kind of treachery you’d imagine a man like Valjean doing. Certainly not the typical deceit for Javert.
He gathered closer to the center of a mob as their leader- Enjolras, he’d learned- stood on a table and called the group to attention.
“Here upon these stones we will build our barricade,” Enjolras proclaimed to assorted cheers. “In the heart of the city we claim as our own! Each man to his duty and don’t be afraid. Wait- I will a report on the strength of the foe.”
Sensing the perfect opportunity, Javert stepped forward, raising a hand to draw attention. “I can find out the truth,” he called up to Enjolras as the crowd began to part for him. “I know their ways. Fought their wars, served my time in the days of my youth.”
Enjolras gave him a sharp nod, and offered him a handshake as he got closer. “Thank you, M’sieur,” he said, face all grim determination.
Javert nodded back, and turned around, making his way back around to the uncompleted section of the barricade. He passed the Thenardier’s girl sneaking in, and he heard a voice call out to her. He also caught sight of a little boy scuttling about the barricade. Gavroche, the other Thenardier’s kid. Javert could bet real money neither of the elder Thenardier’s knew about their children’s involvement with a revolution such as this. Javert kept a close eye on the both of them- they knew him personally, and especially Gavroche had caused trouble for him before. If he was spotted by either, he could be identified easily, and the whole gig would be up.
He had to stay hidden. Javert couldn’t believe his luck- a perfect opportunity like this? To feed the students false information and gain a significant advantage over them in the upcoming skirmishes? It was almost too good to be true. If he wasn’t careful, it would be ruined before it even began.
He made his way back to the police forces, and told them about his situation. They spent a while deciding what to tell the students, and as soon as they had a ruse, Javert made his way back towards the barricade.
As he began climbing the barricade, he heard a voice shout, “He’s back!”
He greeted the students as he climbed down the other side, and met Enjolras at that center table. A few other students gathered too, watching Javert intently.
“I have overheard their plans,” Javert announced to the table. “There will be no attack tonight. They intend to starve us out before they start a proper fight…concentrate their force, hit us from the right.”
Enjolras nodded thoughtfully, and the students began to converse, when a bright voice cut through the chatter.
“Liar!” came the unmistakable whiny voice of the kid Thenardier. Javert closed his eyes and breathed out. This is exactly what he needed to avoid. Enjolras turned to the boy questioningly. Javert started backing up subtly. He had to leave. As fast as possible.
“Good evening dear inspector, lovely evening, my dear,” Gavroche chipped merrily. The boy darted over to the table and hopped up dramatically, pointing down at Javert. “I know this man, my friends, his name’s Inspector Javert!”
Javert didn’t have time to turn and make a break for it: students were on him, grabbing his arms and wrestling his gun out of his hands instantly. He struggled uselessly.
“So don’t believe a word he says cause none of it’s true,” Gavroche said, “This only goes to show what little people can do!”
Gavroche stuck his tongue out at Javert. He scowled back.
A student with a half empty bottle grabbed Gavroche off the table and spun him around. “Bravo little Gavroche, you’re the top of the class,” he said, laughing.
“So, what are we going to do with this snake in the grass?” Another student piped up.
Enjolras stepped in front of Javert, eyes stormy. “Tie this man and take him to the tavern in there. The people will decide your fate, Inspector Javert.”
Javert tried once more to fight off the students surrounding him and holding him down, but he was one and they were many. His efforts were valiant, but in vain. In that moment, he stopped struggling and a sense of clarity washed over him. He was going to die today. If not today, tomorrow. And if not tomorrow, sometime in this revolution, a prisoner under these schoolboys with deadly weapons. He was going to die tied up in a tavern, watched over by inexperienced children. He could almost laugh. He didn’t.
He was prepared to die.
---
Javert blinked in and out of awareness as he sat in the tavern. He was left alone- all of the students had joined in the fighting. The tavern door was open- he could hear Enjolras’s voice calling out commands. Freedom was tantalizingly close, but Javert was bound tight to his chair, and he knew there was no reality he escaped this alive. Javert wasn’t sure exactly when the first gunshot happened, but it had been a barrage of shouting and gunfire since, and he had drifted in his thoughts.
The shots stopped. Then the cheering began. With every holler of glee, Javert’s heart weighed heavier. He knew his time was drawing closer and closer. He wouldn’t see this revolt to the end, though he knew that the police force could handle these children with ease, especially after seeing firsthand their disorganization. He would never catch Valjean, would never find him again in this city.
Guess you won, Javert thought. I guess this is it.
Enjolras’s voice echoed into the tavern. Javert could make out faint words, growing steadily louder. His own personal death march.
“I will thank you M’sieur, when our battle is won,” came Enjolras’s voice, though Javert couldn’t see him or the person he was talking to.
“Give me no thanks, M’sieur, there’s something you can do,” came a very familiar voice. Javert straighted as much as he could and craned his neck to try and see out the door.
“If it is in my power,” Enjolras said, turning the corner. Following him directly was Jean Valjean. Javert sat frozen in place. He was sure his face reflected the shock and disbelief running through his mind.
“Give me the spy Javert,” Valjean said, making eye contact with Javert, “Let me take care of him.” Valjean’s expression was unreadable.
“The law is inside out, the world is upside down,” Javert muttered under his breath.
“Do what you have to do,” Enjolras said, glaring at Javert. “The man belongs to you.”
Enjolras turned and exited the tavern, leaving Valjean alone with Javert. Javert felt his heart pick up noticeably as Valjean approached. He was vulnerable like this- he couldn’t defend himself if Valjean got closer. He could do nothing but sit and wait, mind running circles and circles.
In no world had he imagined Valjean to be the one to end his life, but he found it strangely fitting. They were mortal enemies after all. An unshakable bond that tied them together, forced together but born to clash.
Valjean stopped a few feet from Javert. Looking up into the other man’s eyes, he knew that there was no one more fit to kill him than Valjean in this moment. He found he didn’t mind the thought of death if it was Valjean who would take his life, just the two of them in this tavern.
“We meet again,” Valjean said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
“You’ve hungered for this all your life,” Javert bit back. “Take your revenge.”
Valjean pulled a knife out of his belt as he kneeled down to be level with Javert.
“How right you should kill with a knife,” Javert murmured. He closed his eyes, anticipating the blow. A slight pressure on his wrists surprised him, and he looked down. Valjean was, for an inexplicable reason, cutting his bonds. Maybe he wanted a fair fight. To kill Javert like a true man.
Javert waited in silent confusion as Valjean finished untying him, and placed a hand on the chair back over Javert’s shoulder. He was no longer bound, but he still couldn’t move. Valjean was nearly nose to nose with him, eyes open, scanning his. His lips quirked upwards in a half smirk and Javert felt himself reddening. He looked to the side, desperate to break the strange connection they’d found.
Valjean’s other hand came up and gently tilted his chin back up. “You talk too much,” he said, almost fondly. But that couldn’t be right. Valjean’s hands found their way down to Javert’s shoulders, and helped him stand. “Your life is safe in my hands.”
“I don’t understand,” Javert managed to breathe out.
“Get out of here,” Valjean said firmly.
Javert broke away from his touch and stumbled backwards. “Valjean, take care, I’m warning you…”
“Clear out of here,” Valjean repeated.
Javert shook himself, and drew himself back up to his full height. “Once a thief, forever a thief,” he accused. “What you want, you always steal. You would trade your life for mine?” Javert was hit with realization. “Yes, Valjean, you want a deal.”
Valjean had resheathed his knife, and he had a gun hanging in one hand. Javert lunged forward suddenly, grabbing the point of it and pushing it into his own chest. He was at a point of delirium from trying to process the events of last several minutes. Things weren’t adding up in his brain. Why was Valjean here anyways? Fate?
Javert was fated to die at Valjean’s hand. Or Javert was fated to kill the man himself, as sick as the thought made him. There could be no one of them without the other, but there existed no reality in which they could live in peace for their whole lives. It presented a juxtaposition that hurt Javert’s mind to think about.
“Shoot me now, for all I care,” Javert spat out, pushing the gun farther into his own ribs. He couldn’t quite meet Valjean’s eye. He didn’t want to see the joy on his face as he shot Javert dead. “If you let me go, beware! You’ll still answer to Javert.”
“You are wrong,” Valjean said, pulling his gun gently out of Javert’s grasp. “And always have been wrong. I’m a man, no worse than any man. You are free, and there are no conditions, no bargains or petitions.”
Javert looked up, and matched Valjean’s steady gaze. There was a dash of pity in his eyes, and Javert fought down the bile that rose in his throat at the thought. Valjean, the criminal, the sinner. Pitying him. The thought was absurd.
“There is nothing that I blame you for,” Valjean continued. “You’ve done your duty, nothing more.”
Valjean stood still and gestured out the door, With great hesitation, Javert began to walk towards the tavern door at Valjean’s instruction. When he passed by the man himself, Valjean grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him down so they were level.
Valjean leaned over and murmured in his ear, “If I come out of this alive, you’ll find me at number fifty-five, Rue Plumet. No doubt our paths will cross again.”
Chills ran up and down Javert’s arms. He swallowed and pushed away from the other man. Valjean eyed him, and said, “Go.”
Javert obeyed. With the grace of a man-turned-prisoner and subsequently freed, Javert stumbled out of the tavern doors. He spared a glance back at Valjean, who was staring at him with an unreadable expression.
He turned and fled.
---
He didn’t mean to intercept Valjean again that day. Javert stood on the other side of the barricade, observing the carnage with an dissociated gaze. He knew the revolution would only ever end badly. He knew there was nothing they could’ve done to prevent the bloodshed. But it was different seeing the bodies of children littering a barricade of spare furniture. The Paris air felt much heavier with the destruction that had ravaged it’s streets only hours prior.
He snapped out of his trance when A man came stumbling out of the sewers near where he was standing. He jumped to attention, hand flying to his gun on his hip, but he relaxed when he recognized Valjean’s gait and silhouette. He had a young boy, one of the students from what Javert could tell, slung over his shoulder. The body was limp and for all intents and purposes, could very well be dead.
Valjean looked up, spotting Javert instantly. “It’s you, Javert, I knew you wouldn’t wait too long. The faithful servant at his post once more!” He gestured as best he could to the boy on his back. “This man has done no wrong, and he needs a doctor’s care.”
Javert was too bone-tired to fight much. Still, he felt like he couldn’t just let Valjean go, so he tried, “I warned you I would not give in. I won’t be swayed.”
“Another hour yet,” Valjean bargained. Javert could see the genuine desperation in Valjean’s eyes. For some reason, this boy was important to the convict. “And then I’m yours, and all our debts are paid.”
“Man of mercy comes again,” Javert said, “and talks of justice.”
“Come, time is running short,” Valjean said, urgently. “Look down, Javert, he’s standing in his grave. Give way, Javert, there is a life to save!”
Javert thought to the bodies of schoolboys he’d seen earlier. He thought to those young men who would never grow old. And his heart softened.
“Take him, Valjean, before I change my mind,” he said. “I will be waiting, 24601.”
Javert watched as Valjean took the dying student in the direction of the hospital. Before he was aware of it himself, his feet were moving of their own accord. To where, he didn’t know. He didn’t care to.
What kind of man would let his pursuer go when he had him so perfectly caught in a trap? It had finally Valjean’s hour with the upper hand, the advantage, the right to kill. All it would’ve taken was a flick of his knife, and Javert would be dead. Valjean would’ve claimed his vengeance for the years of hiding of running he endured from Javert’s pursuit. Instead he’d chosen to hand Javert’s life back over. No price, no deal.
He couldn’t live like this- in the debt of a thief. He couldn’t give up just like this. He needed Valjean. Maybe he hadn’t realized it before, but he knew it now. He couldn’t live with Valjean, and he definitely couldn’t live without him. There was nothing connecting them and yet, yet. The pair of them, an unlikely duo, always drawn together.
It was like the universe wanted to keep them together.
Javert was on a street he recognized, but the night was cold and dark. He barely felt it. He barely felt anything but the rolling of his stomach, of his chest, of his blood swirling around inside him like a whirlpool. Everything he ever thought he’d known had been torn apart systematically by one Jean Valjean. A man who proved single handedly that good can come from bad. That people can change.
That Javert had been wrong about him. This whole time. Over all these years, it had all been for nothing. His heart- stony cold, unchanging- was trembling as his foundation shook and fell.
At the root of it all stood one man, one man who controlled Javert’s life. Jean Valjean. He could never get the man out of his mind, no matter how hard he tried. He couldn’t break his thoughts away from the former prisoner. He’d followed him all across France, and every encounter left him wanting more. Wanting Valjean to stay with him.
Javert came to a stop on his bridge above the Seine. He stared into the river like he could see his own soul mirrored back at him. Why was Valjean such a driving force in his life? Why couldn’t he ever leave it be? Why, why why? The man, was he from heaven or from hell? Javert couldn’t tell. If Valjean was a saint, did that make Javert a sinner? If Valjean was Javert’s opposite, what did that make them both?
Javert desperately thought back over every interaction he’d ever had with Valjean. When did he stop being cold and bitter? Every time he saw Valjean, he was always left feeling happy, disappointed that he was gone, and…he cared.
He’d never felt this strongly about anyone before in his life, of course he hadn’t been able to pinpoint it. And there was the fact that Javert hated Valjean. His mortal enemy. His opposition. His…other half.
What a sick trick of nature. Valjean, Javert. Javert, Valjean.
Javert wanted him here, to see him, hold him, to banter with him. He wanted to live in a world with him without the conflict, without the fighting and the law interfering. He wanted…to spend the rest of his life with the man. Valjean would always run, and Javert would always catch up. Javert would always find him, seek him out.
Inspector Javert was in love with Jean Valjean. Convict. Thief. He almost threw up on the spot. He barely stopped it. Even so, he pitched forward, knuckles turning white from his grip on the wall of the bridge. His arms were shaking, he noted numbly.
Jean Valjean hated him, surely. Javert had spent the better part of his life pursuing the man, making him run from the law, hunting him down. He should hate Javert.
Javert stared into the black river below him. The void it was, and the stars above him mirrored in the river, an expanse of darkness. Not even the light of the stars could shine through the thick haze that shrouded Javert’s vision.
Cat and mouse. One without the other was what? Nothing? Or… free? Could Javert free Valjean from the shackles that was his own being? Back and forth. Give and take. Push and pull. Pull. Almost on autopilot, Javert pulled himself onto the stone wall of the bridge.
The Seine expanded below him, but it didn’t feel like a river. It reflected in Javert’s eyes like a portal. An escape.
Javert loved him. He refused to.
He refused to put that burden upon Valjean. He refused to bring him down too. Javert couldn’t tell if he was looking up or down, sky and river one and the same.
Javert took a step up towards the sky and his body pitched forward. Javert let himself fall.
“No!” A voice cried out, and Javert felt a hand latch around his forearm, and his shoulder popped painfully. He hissed out at the force, cursing before he processed what had happened and his head snapped up.
Jean Valjean stood upon the bridge, clutching onto Javert’s arm like it was the most precious thing in the world. Grunting with the strain of it, Valjean reached down and grabbed Javert’s other arm and began to pull him up the wall and back onto the bridge. Javert was numb.
“My heart, Javert, it’s too full for you to die,” Valjean whispered, voice breaking. Javert said nothing. “Please,” Valjean said.
“I don’t understand,” Javert murmured. “Why did you grab me?”
Valjean’s face fell slightly. “Because I can’t bear the thought of you leaving so soon.”
Javert didn’t move from where he was laid out on the bridge. He didn’t respond either. His body and mind were matching in their floating- in every way except physical, he had ascended far into the stars by now.
Valjean accepted his silence and filled it where he couldn't: “I should kill you. By all rights, I should hate you. But I can't.”
Javert closed his eyes and the back of his eyelids held more stars than the night sky ever did. He breathed.
“It’s always been us, hasn't it?” Valjean said, kneeling beside Javert.
Javert opened his eyes at that, and searched Valjean 's face hovering above him.
“Yes,” he returned, “It always has been.”
Valjean placed a hand on Javert 's chest, right over his heartbeat. Javert wondered if he felt anything, or if he'd died in the river after all. He couldn't tell.
“What is Valjean without Javert?” he asked.
“I’ve hunted you for so long,” Javert said. He couldn’t quite control his limbs, but he tried as hard as he could to convey his resistance to Valjean. To tell him, you don’t want me alive.
“And you’ve caught me,” Valjean responded in kind, thumb brushing the side of Javert’s face.
Javert tried again, attempting to sit up. “You don’t want this.”
“No,” Valjean agreed. “But I want this.”
Jean Valjean caught the back of Javert’s head in his hand, and in one fluid motion, pulled him in for a deep kiss.
Javert barely processed what was happening at first. He subconsciously leaned in to Valjean, hand coming up to cup Valjean’s face. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t running, and he wasn’t hunting. He was exactly where he needed to be.
He blinked back into awareness a moment later- he was kissing Jean Valjean. He broke away quickly, and scanned Valjean’s face for any sign of regret or displeasure. He found nothing but fondness and confusion.
“What?” He asked, dazed. “I…I don’t…what?”
Valjean pressed his forehead into Javert’s. “It’s always been us, right?”
“Why didn’t you kill me when you had the chance?” Javert said. “Why did you choose to catch me just now?”
“I love you, Javert,” Valjean said plainly. “Though I should hate you, though you’ve dedicated your life to trying to kill me-”
“No,” Javert interrupted. “Not kill. I could never.”
I couldn’t live without you, is what he didn’t say, but Valjean seemed to hear it regardless. A smile lit up his face. He leaned down and kissed Javert again, gently this time, and pulled away just enough to speak into his lips.
“Let me bring you home,” Valjean murmured.
Javert’s whole body was a numb kind of cold. His limbs had started trembling as the shock of the failed suicide began to wear off. A shudder went through his body and he found he wanted nothing more than to leave this bridge, to leave behind the Seine, lest he be entranced by it’s mystic reflections once more. He didn’t trust himself not to jump again.
“Okay,” he said. Valjean smiled, and Javert knew somewhere deep down that he’d be alright.