Disclaimer:  (*Pats Javert on the head*)  No, really, this is a puppy.  He's mine.  His name is Fido, I swear…okay, okay, I give up.  (*takes off leash.*)

Right.  And now, the dark part.  This story was written under the immediate influence of the musical, but it alludes to conversations from the book.  As long as you know who Javert is you should pretty much understand it, though.  The premise is simple.  Javert comes back to the barricade to check for Valjean's body, and finds it.

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Javert scaled the barricade rapidly and dropped to the ground.  Most of the corpses were young boys, but there was one with long flowing white hair.  "Valjean?"

He walked over to the body and flipped it over, fully expecting to be mistaken.  Valjean just didn't die that easily, he knew.  It looked like Valjean, that was certain, but even when he yanked open the shirt to reveal the brand on the convict's chest, Javert didn't believe it.  There were plenty of convicts.  And the face was so grimy that he really couldn't be certain…

There was a mug half-full of cheap wine still on the table.  Javert snatched it up and doused his handkerchief, then bent to wipe the body's brow slowly.  As he did so, alcohol dripped into the insurgent's many scrapes and cuts and Valjean – for it was none other – groaned and stirred.

Although he couldn't have said why, Javert was profoundly relieved.  He knelt next to Valjean and glanced over his injuries briefly.  He appeared to have been shot through the chest.

When it seemed that Valjean had his wits together again, Javert shook him and spoke.  "Are you lucid?"

Valjean nodded.

"Why in heaven's name are you still here?  Why didn't you leave after you…sent me?" the inspector demanded, choking on the concept of what had actually happened between them.

Valjean swallowed painfully before attempting to speak.  "Cosette's…darling," he gasped out.  "I…I promised t-to bring him home…for her…"

Javert grasped him about the shoulders and pulled him into a half-sitting position. 

The movement made Valjean's face contort with pain, but he said, "Thank you," and slumped against Javert, who was still kneeling ramrod-straight.  He sounded much better when he resumed, "So I had to wait…until it was hopeless… and I could persuade him to abandon this place.  I had no choice; it was my duty.  You of all people should understand that."

"You were shot helping him escape?"

"Yes.  It has mostly stopped hurting." A beat.  "How bad is it?"

Glad that they were both steady men, neither of them given to hysterics, Javert glanced down at the blood soaking Valjean's shirt.  "I don't know, but if that blood is all yours, then…"

"It is," Valjean said, understanding, and they both shifted and settled in for the wait.

Javert's often quirky memory reminded him that this was the convict who couldn't contain himself just one more year until his release, had to try to escape, and ended up more than doubling his sentence.  Since then, Valjean had obviously learned patience, and they sat in a silence broken only by the injured man's raspy breathing.

The serenity on the convict's face was maddening.  His gaze had cleared and Javert found himself unable to meet it.  Odd – in the old days he had reveled in that penetrating stare, daring M. Madeleine to search his soul and find everything in perfect order there.  Now, though, it was inexplicably difficult to look into Valjean's eyes with composure.  Javert wanted to ask questions, but wasn't sure he ought to disturb the man's final contemplation.

Valjean eventually spoke up.  "Well?  What is it, Javert?" he asked.  He, too, must have been thinking of those days, because the words and tone were an exact copy of what he'd said in his office all those years ago.

Never one to stutter, Javert waited a moment until he had collected his thoughts.  "I told you once that I wanted none of your kindness," he said flatly.  "Why have you offered it to me again?"

"Would you rather I had slit your throat?"

Put so crudely, Javert couldn't honestly say yes, so he contented himself with a mutinous mutter, "It would have been simpler."

"We are not simple people."  When Javert arched an eyebrow, Valjean persisted, "I mean it.  What are you doing here now, and why?"

He was right.  The present situation was anything but simple, and Javert shrugged.  "I am not proud of this."

Valjean laughed, but it turned into a wracking cough, and when it stopped there was blood running down his chin.  "No," he agreed weakly, "I didn't expect you would be."  He paused.  "Your deathbed manner leaves something to be desired."

"So does your death," Javert snarled instantly.  "Why the devil did you not shoot me and escape when you had the chance?"

Valjean blinked, obviously surprised at the sudden vehemence.  "I've told you why.  You are just going to have to accept that you've seen a convict do something unselfish, and leave it at that."

Javert's scowl was ferocious and ugly.  "Aha!  I knew I would find it," he exclaimed, voice filled with both bitterness and triumph.  "You shall have your revenge after all – you didn't want my life…only my peace of mind."

"Stop it," Valjean chided gently.  "You know I want nothing of the sort.  Have I ever done anything to you – to anyone – out of malice?  I'm no more malicious than you are."  When Javert looked skeptical, Valjean reiterated, "What you've done to me has not been cruelty and I don't hate you for it.  I am going to leave this world in peace."

Javert didn't answer again.  He just supported the wheezing convict in silence, forbidding himself to start fidgeting when he felt blood seep through his own clothes.

Valjean's eyes glazed over and fluttered closed.  He seemed to be slipping out of consciousness.  Suddenly, he convulsed, clutching wildly at Javert and whimpering.  "I'm falling."

"Relax – I've got you."

At that, Valjean shuddered.  "You've…"

Realizing how it must have sounded, Javert shook his head and explained, "Calm down – you're not going to jail."  He paused but then continued, "You will go straight from this barricade to the cemetery."

"I'm dying now, aren't I?"

"Yes, I think so," Javert said simply.  Why lie?

Valjean licked his lips and his glassy eyes seemed to focus for a moment.  "Cosette…"

Javert resisted the temptation to make a face.  The girl, always that girl!  Why did every miserable dying wretch have to think of that child?  "What about her?"  He had a sinking feeling he already knew the answer.

"See…see that she is taken care of," Valjean choked out.  His mouth was oozing blood; it couldn't be long now, and Javert didn't even consider refusing him this last request.

"Very well.  That boy – Marius – did he survive?"

Valjean nodded.

"And is that match acceptable to you?"

He nodded again.  "She loves him."

"Then I will tell her so and see that they settle down together.  Is there anything else you require?" Javert asked evenly, dreading the prospect of an even more emotionally difficult favor.

"No…nothing else."  They sat in silence for awhile, but then Valjean's eyes jerked open again.  "I should make confession."

Javert sighed.  He should have expected this – religious converts in the galleys had always been fanatical about their last rites.  "There is no priest nearby.  Besides," he added with a wry twist to his mouth, "You have practically achieved sainthood already.  I think God will be lenient."

Valjean smiled weakly.  "You wouldn't be."

"It is my understanding that God is generally more forgiving than I am."

Valjean's laugh was almost inaudible, and a moment later a shudder ripped through him again.  "Javert…"

Javert tightened his arms around the dying man.  "I've got you."

"I'm afraid."

Javert shook his head.  "A just man does not fear authority.  Relax, Valjean.  Your troubles are over – it's in God's hands now."  By the way the convict was clinging to him, staring up with a strange sort of trust in his eyes, Javert guessed what impressions were flitting through his mind.  "That's right – I'll stand guard over you.  Just go to sleep."

Valjean heaved a long, shuddering sigh, and relaxed against his enemy.  "You're right.  I'm safe."

"You're safe.  Now sleep."  Javert's voice was low and commanding, and Valjean nodded and drifted off.

Thanks to his hearty convict's constitution, although he didn't regain consciousness, Valjean lingered for another half hour.  Javert stayed with him, meditating on the prospect of dying alone – a fate he had always, until now, expected for himself.  Valjean's character was easily as strong as the inspector's own; he had no illusions about that…but seeing Valjean so desperate for company that he would even welcome his worst enemy...well, that was telling.  Javert tried vainly to imagine their positions reversed, and wondered whether he would accept comfort – was that what this was? – from Valjean.

When the moment finally came and went, Javert dropped the body and jumped to his feet, eyes wide.  It was like being hit with a bucket of cold water.  Dead?

He knelt back down and felt for a pulse.  None.  He bent and put his head to the massive chest, listening for a heartbeat, for a tiny stirring of breath… none.

Jean Valjean was really, truly, finally, irrecoverably dead.

Javert almost turned away and left, but then some impulse he couldn't explain drew him back to the body.  He buttoned the convict's shirt to hide the brand, corrected the corpse's sprawled posture, and folded its hands on its breast.

Although he was believing more and more that his intervention would matter very little, Javert went down on one knee and said a brief prayer over the fallen man.  Then he stood, turned from Valjean for the last time, and walked away without looking back, uncomfortably aware that he was covered in blood.

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The End.

Okay, so this was a bit darker than what I usually write.  I think this story is going to end here, unless I get some sudden flash of inspiration about what Javert might do next.

R/R!!!  What do you think of this??

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Just out of curiosity, if any Javert experts are reading this, the new broadway Javert is going to be Michael McCarthy…have any of you seen him or heard anything?  I'm a poor student myself (*gets on the table and sings a student song*) so I'm only going to scrounge the cash together if it's super-worth-it.  Yesterday was awesome, so at least it'll end on a good note if I can't go again.