Because we all know that all Javert really needed was a sassy gay friend. With love for Caroline.
Disclaimer: I only own Pierre and his supreme gay powers.
Javert glared down at the frothing water below him. It swirled mockingly, taunting him with its freedom and constancy. He took a deep breath, which caught in his throat. He simply could not go on like this. It had been too long. His time was over. With Valjean still on the loose, he knew that his life would never end its chaos. His mind turned over and over itself in an attempt to make sense of the fugitive, but came up blank. Maybe Javert was not meant to understand Valjean. Maybe he was merely destined to be an obstacle in Valjean's ascent to greatness.
He stepped ever-so-slightly towards the edge of the bridge and let out a breath that he hadn't realized he was holding. It was time. He could not hold on any longer. He felt his balance crumble…
"Woah. What?"
Javert stopped mid-fall, stumbled, and ended up falling backwards back onto the bridge. He pushed graying hair out of his face and glared at the speaker. Pierre, a young man in his late thirties, peered down at him. His bleached-blond hair was smoothed back, and his blue eyes were accented with light eyeliner. He reached out a hand and pulled the older man to his feet.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
Javert looked dramatically at the ground. "Ending my lifetime of suffering."
"What? "Lifetime of suffering"? You're not Shakespeare! Bitch, no. You are not going to just fucking die. No."
Javert glared at Pierre. "I wouldn't expect you to understand."
"Javert, just because I may or may not be sleeping with that sexy hunk who's daughter's getting married—Jean, I think his name was—doesn't mean I don't totally get how fucked your life is," Pierre replied, snapping his fingers in a Z-formation. "You are going home now, or I am telling your mother. Don't talk to me about understanding and shit. Dude, you don't need to worry about that Valjean bitch. I'll take care of your shit. Just go get a good night's sleep or some shit."
Javert sighed and instinctively ran a hand through his hair. The night's events weighed heavily on his mind, like clouds blocking a potentially bright full moon. Heck, he had just sung an entire song standing on a bridge hundreds of feet over the ocean. He had come dangerously close to dying. Yet, not for the first time, his longtime friend, Pierre, had saved him.
"Damn," he muttered, stumbling off into the darkness in the direction of his house. Pierre nodded in a satisfactory way, and strutted off into the night with an air of superb gayness, swinging his studded-jean clad hips and snapping his fingers to the beat of a Justin Bieber song.
Don't ask.