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Javert stands at the bridge, taking deep breaths as he stares down into the void of the water.
The full moon shines above, but it does not pierce into the water. It stays as murky as Javert's own thoughts, which were once so clear and straightforward.
It was his hour at last, and then… and then he'd let him go.
I'm just a man, no worse than any man.
Can that really be true? Javert's mind struggles to rearrange itself around the events of the last several hours.
It seems like so long ago that he was dressing to join the barricade, and it feels like years have passed in the span of one night.
And now, he finds himself in a topsy-turvy world.
He cannot live in the debt of a thief. He holds that truth to himself, and examines it, and finds it to still be true.
He cannot yield at the end of a chase. He examines that one too, but finds it less sure.
Can he yield this chase, just this once? There are other villains to pursue, those who have disobeyed the law and deserve to face justice for it.
But how can he demand justice for those other criminals, when he cannot finish this case?
No, he concludes. It is either Valjean or Javert. The world cannot keep spinning as it is now if they both live. Either he must bring Valjean to justice, or he must complete the act he came here to do.
He contemplates the water again. He leans over the railing of the bridge, testing how the material holds against him.
And yet… something doesn't feel complete.
He needs answers to his questions, and the water will provide relief but no answers to what he needs to know.
If I come out of this alive, you will find me at number 55 Rue Plumet, Valjean's voice comes back to him.
The bridge isn't going anywhere. If the answers are unsatisfactory, then he takes the man into custody, or he comes back to the bridge.
It's just a temporary delay to the task that must be completed, he decides, and lets his feet turn him towards the Rue Plumet.
–
Of course, he should have thought of it at the time, but Valjean had left to take the boy to a doctor - another hour yet, then I'm yours and though the walk had been ponderous, it still hasn't been a full hour.
So it is not Valjean that opens the door, but a young woman, in a nightgown and a dressing robe.
"Oh," she says, startled. "If you are looking for my father, M. Fauchlevant, he's gone to help a dear friend and likely won't be back until morning."
"I believe he will be back shortly," Javert says stiffly, "and I must speak with him tonight."
Her lips press together, uncertainty in the way she shifts in the doorway, but she nods.
"Very well. Would you care for a drink?"
He follows her inside, takes the seat she offers him, and waits patiently as she disappears further into the house.
When she emerges with drinks for three, she's dressed for the day despite the late hour, and she settles carefully on the couch with her cup.
"May I ask what you need to see my father for? As you might see, we're in the middle of packing and intend to leave tomorrow, so there will be little time for any tasks that must be done," she explains.
Packing to run, Javert thinks. Something had spooked him, before the barricades. Perhaps even Javert's presence at the market.
After all, Valjean knows better than anyone that Javert does not give up the chase.
"It is a matter of justice," Javert says slowly. "A great many things occurred tonight, and I must speak to him before I decide what to do next. But my pardon, I have not introduced myself. I am Inspector Javert."
She has heard his name before, he thinks, judging by her reaction, but he does not think she knows all of the story, or even much of it.
"And I am called Cosette," she replies. "Might you tell me something about it, while we wait for Papa?"
Javert considers that for a moment. The daughter does not carry the father's sins, he thinks, but is it fair to burden her with them?
Before he can decide, the door opens.
Cosette stands quickly, cup still cradled carefully in her hands, and calls out to him.
"In here, Papa."
Footsteps come quickly, as if the very words are an indication that something is wrong, and then Javert is facing down Valjean for the third time this night.
"You will say you need another day yet, to arrange for your daughter's safety," Javert says slowly. "And so it will never end."
"I have made my arrangements," Valjean says, even as Cosette makes a noise of protest. "There is a man in love with her, and I have returned that man to his family, and his family has vowed to take her in. My daughter is safely situated, and as I promised, I am yours to deal with."
"Papa, no," Cosette argues. "You have done no wrong."
"How I wish I could agree," Valjean replies, and picks up the third drink, taking the seat next to her. "But in the eyes of the inspector, I have done wrong, and I must take what comes, despite everything I have done in between."
It's strangely bitter, Javert thinks, the taste of those words.
Despite everything he's done in between. Javert is reminded of the mayor, running a prosperous town and workshop. He's reminded of the man handing out charity in the marketplace like it's a common thing to do. And he's reminded of the man who had argued desperately for another hour yet to save a boy's life.
And certainly, Javert can connect the dots and say the boy was self-serving, that he was the escape plan for Cosette. And the charity could be from guilt. And the town could be because he wanted to get rich off his ability to shed his criminal background.
But somewhere bone-deep, Javert knows that none of that is true.
"Why did you spare my life?" he asks, too tired to skirt around the subject any longer.
Valjean stares at him for a long moment, and then lets out a deep sigh.
"Just as I said. You've done your duty - nothing more. You have a duty to the people of Paris, and I have a duty to myself and to my daughter. Neither of us are anything more than a man trying to do what's right, according to ourselves."
Javert's kneejerk reaction is to declare that wrong. What's right is the law, and following the law is the only way to do what's right. Not deciding according to their own selves.
And yet…
"It was my right to die," Javert says through gritted teeth. "Instead I live, and live in hell."
"By your own choice," Valjean replies swiftly. "You have held too fast to justice, and you know not what to do with doubt."
"Doubt!" Javert cries, standing up. "I, who have never doubted my path!"
"Everyone must doubt their path at some point," Valjean tells him. "It is how we learn and grow. It is what we all must do."
Slowly, Javert sinks back into his chair. "I do not know how."
Valjean looks to Cosette, then back to him. "If you are willing to learn… perhaps I could help."
And so, Javert does not return to the bridge that night, though he will do so in a few week's time. Not to revisit his original intention, but to ponder over what has happened since.
By that point, Valjean will have written and left a note for the newlywed Pontmercys, and having seen his daughter to safety, he and Javert will depart for English shores.
A clean break, Valjean had explained. A chance to examine his thoughts, and his path, and learn to grow.
Maybe one day he will return, more sure than ever. Or maybe he will come back to the bridge, if there are things he still cannot reconcile.
But as he looks up at the stars over the bridge, Javert knows this. The world he had known is lost to the shadows now, but there's still light in the distance that will shine on a new path.
Even the darkest night will end, and the sun will rise.