As the summary says, this is graphic Valjean/Javert slash story involving semi-non-consensual sex. So yeah, this is quite a departure from my typical fluffly fare. I would really appreciate feedback, since this is so much out of my comfort zone. I don't usually write any pairings, much less slash, much less graphic slash. So I really have no idea where this story came from... but here it is, anyway. This first chapter is tame, but later ones will be M-rated.

This story is named after and partially inspired by the excellent novel I'd Know You Anywhere, by Laura Lippman.

(For my own reference: 93rd fanfiction, 20th story for Les Miserables.)

Javert was very pleased with his new position in Paris. After all, who wouldn't be? Monsieur Chabouillet had transferred him to the city because he'd been so impressed with Javert's zeal and intelligence in recapturing Jean Valjean. He had already come so far since his early days as a lowly prison guard in Toulon, and in Paris, he now had even more opportunity to learn, grow, and become a better officer. He had no cause for complaint, and yet...

Javert had once never spoken aloud of his belief that Jean Valjean was still alive, somewhere. He knew that Monsieur Chabouillet believed him to be dead. Everyone believed that man to be dead, except Javert. His body had never resurfaced after the fall from the Orion, and a small, official notice of his drowning was published in the newspaper. Javert had cut that notice out and kept it. He didn't quite understand why he did it, but he kept it and tucked it safely inside his Bible, between the chapter in Genesis about Jacob wrestling with the angel. Often at night, before he went to sleep, he would take out the notice of Valjean's death and read it, then read the Bible verses that he had underlined.

So Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him until daybreak. When the man saw that he could not overpower him, he touched the socket of Jacob's hip, so that his hip was wrenched as he wrestled with the man. Then the man said, "Let me go, for it is daybreak." But Jacob replied, "I will not let thee go, except that thou bless me."

Jean Valjean was now dead and forgotten to Monsieur Chabouillet, to the prefecture, to everyone in the world, it seemed — except Javert. He never shared his belief that the man was still alive somewhere, hiding and living under a new alias, but he secretly held that hope inside him always.

And then came the miraculous day when his faith was rewarded, and he saw Valjean alive again, with his own two eyes.

He didn't see Valjean's face on that first day. He only glimpsed a portion of his back and shoulders, through a crowd, from a distance, one afternoon while he was walking his beat. But that was enough for Javert to recognize him. I'd know you anywhere, Valjean, he thought to himself, watching those broad, familiar shoulders move through the crowd across the street from him. Valjean was too far away that day, and Javert lost sight of him before he could get any closer. But that didn't matter.

Javert didn't know how Valjean had survived falling from the Orion, nor how he had made his way to Paris from Toulon. But that didn't matter, either — none of it did. All that mattered was that he had seen Valjean again, alive and well, walking around right here in Paris.

Something in Javert's heart, something that had turned to ashes, was suddenly rekindled into a blazing fire.

After that, Javert began regularly frequenting the area of Paris where he had seen Valjean during his patrols. Of course, his inspector's uniform drew more attention, so to blend in better, he often walked the streets in civilian clothes as well, whenever he was off-duty. Valjean was likely keeping a low profile and rarely venturing out of whatever quarters he'd secured for himself, but Javert could be very patient when he wanted to be. Sure enough, after a few weeks, he saw Valjean again, walking the streets very late one night wearing beggar's clothes and a dark wig.

A wig! Javert had to duck quickly into the shadows of an alley for fear that he might actually laugh at the absurdity of it. Of course it made sense that Valjean would want to wear something to disguise his appearance, but did he honestly think that if he dressed differently and hid his white hair, then Javert wouldn't recognize him? I'd know you anywhere, Javert thought, watching from the darkness as the brown-haired beggar walked past.

Not long after that, he saw Valjean once more. This time, he spotted him during the day — and this time, he wasn't alone. Javert was caught off-guard when he saw a little girl with him, and after a moment, he understood that she must be the whore's daughter. What was her name again? Cosette? He watched them from a safe distance, curious. The child was walking alongside Valjean, smiling, holding his hand in one hand and eating some sweet that he'd bought her in the other. An eclair, it looked like — rich food for a child. Spoiled brat, Javert thought.

But then he quickened his pace, coming up a bit closer behind them, and from there, Javert could see how thin and waifish the girl was. Likely Valjean was buying her rich foods to try to put some weight on her. At the next street corner, they stopped, waiting for a carriage to pass before they crossed, and Valjean bent over the child and gently wiped some crumbs away from her mouth with his handkerchief.

Javert didn't cross the street after them. He sat down on a bench, thinking, and watched Valjean and the girl until they were out of sight, lost in the crowd. Javert shouldn't have found him again this quickly. Valjean was still keeping a low profile, as always, but he wasn't hiding as well as he once would have. The little girl had cast some sort of spell over him and made him sloppy. But perhaps he could make this work to his advantage...

Besides, it was not wholly the little girl's fault that he had found Valjean again. Javert would have discovered him in time, no matter where Valjean hid or how careful he was. Even if he had to search to the ends of the earth, even if it took the rest of his life, Javert would always find that man.

Javert stood up from the bench and began to walk down the street with a tiny spring in his step. He had made his decision. He decided that he wouldn't drag Valjean back to prison. He decided that he would instead do, at last, what he had wanted to do for so long.