Hello back, dear friends. If you haven´t read my first story of this … should I already call it series? Not sure if I´ll write a third one so let´s not jump ahead. But either way, there´s a story prior to this one. Reason to Live – Reason to Fight. You REALLY should read that one first or the reality of this story won´t make much sense to you. And even if you don´t bother at all, you might still enjoy reading it ;-)

Having said this, I´ll leave you now to the story.

Disclaimer: Les Miserables does not belong to me. It existed long before I was born. The characters of the 2012 movie, on which this story is based, and their personalities belong to their respective actors, Jackman, Crowe, Seyfried and all the others. Without their take on Les Mis this story wouldn´t have been written. On that note: Thanks guys for giving me this story. It was a lot of fun and I wouldn´t wanna miss it anymore.

Heat in the Dark

There was a fire burning in Paris. Crackling noise of flames eating their way through dry wood and old stones. And in the usually silent night those sounds got mixed with the most desperate cries. Screams of those still trapped inside, cries of those who had made it out and were forbidden to go back inside, to save their loved ones. Only the firewards were allowed to get close to those flames. Those brave men and their wagons, fully equipped with pumps and gallons and gallons of water. But even with that they could do nothing for those who hadn´t made it out in time.

It wasn´t the first fire of the kind that brightened the nights of Paris. There had been another one, not too long ago. Not quite as big as this one though. It had started in one house of the street, but the wind was strong that night and the old buildings had caught the fire quickly. Soon the whole side of the street was blazing. There was no way to save those buildings anymore, everyone could see that, so all the firemen could do, was to use all the water that they had to keep the rest of the city to burn down as well.

It took them all night, and many of those who had screamed, pushed and kicked to be let through, were too tired by now, be it from all their crying or from simple exhaustion. The crying was still there, but it had subsided to a faint background noise. As if even mourning and pain had given way to acceptance, no matter how painful it was. Those people were crying for their lost homes, their loved ones who had perished in the fire. But they knew it was over, that God had taken every hope from them, and that knowledge alone made them succumb. Not few of them had broken down and were brought to the hospital for treatment. Even less remained till the first beams of sunlight chased away the darkness of this night.

Javert stood among them, watching quietly, waiting patiently – what choice did he have anyway? – and in the midst of all these people, he barely stood out. Barely. Still he caught the eye of one young police man, one of those who kept the people away from the still burning remains of this street.

Javert noticed the gaze. It wasn´t simply a checking gaze of one who made sure no one would slip through the road block. No this one was meant for him, and him alone. He had been recognized, and he could tell by the frown on this man´s forehead that it was not for the best.

Dammit, Valjean, where the hell are you? Show yourself already. I know you´re around here somewhere.

He probably knew that Javert would strangle him, as soon as he showed his face. But this was something he had to spare for later. Right now he was discovered and he really had no intention to explain to anyone, especially the police, why he was here, watching while a whole street was burning to the ground.

The sun was rising, way too fast over the roofs of Paris, only to reveal the real terror of what had happened that night. Skeletons where once had been houses. Black beams, the only remains of what once had been someone´s home. Crippled bodies of those who had not made it out, their arms and legs thin like toothpicks, their skin black like coals, fingers crooked like claws and mouths open to silent screams, revealing rows of teeth as if you were looking at a skull. No face was left to be recognized, barely any clothes left to identify those who got carried out of this hell on earth. It was the worst thing Javert had ever seen in his entire life.

Maybe we should have left the city, he thought. While we still could. Maybe if we had stayed away, none of this would have happened. We could have gone back to her home, instead of Paris. Just maybe.

Those were his thoughts when he walked away at last. Too slow to get away. Too deeply into his own thoughts, to remember the watchful glance he´d seen earlier. He´d almost forgotten about it, until someone stepped into his way.

"Inspector." the young officer addressed him, and Javert glanced up, startled.

"I´m not with the police anymore." he stated flatly, but the young man merely raised a brow.

"I only wanted to be polite."

Javert suddenly found himself surrounded. He knew the procedure, enough to know what was happening. "What is this?" he asked anyway.

"You are under arrest." the young officer told him, while he was taken by both arms.

"What for?" Javert demanded to know, but this time he didn´t get any answer. They led him away in silent efficiency, and after this night he was just too tired to struggle.

...

The interrogation room looked still the same. Still the way he remembered it, from last time when he had been in here, to question a suspect. And it hadn´t been just some other room like this one, it had been this very room. Only last time he´d been on the other side of the table. He´d been good at those interrogations once. Now he would learn how good he was in being interrogated.

They let him wait. A typical trick to wear the suspect out. But not enough. Javert knew they were impatient as well. Maybe even more than he was. But what they didn´t know was, that impatience really wasn´t much of an issue anymore. Not for him. Not after this night.

When the door got opened, he was ready. But so was the man standing in the door.

Javert knew him. His name was Deguire and he remembered him as a good police man. Well, it would remain to be seen how good.

"Javert." Deguire started, and Javert instantly took over.

"Why am I here?" he demanded to know.

Deguire didn´t even flinch. He only looked at him. "I think you know that quite well."

Javert held the gaze. No, it said. He didn´t know. If Deguire was in on this irrational hate against him, after he´d played a role in getting some police men arrested for their part in a certain conspiracy last year, he would be really disappointed with the man.

Eventually Deguire took a step towards him.

"There have been two big fires in this city lately." he recalled, as if Javert could possibly be unaware of that fact. "And each time you have been seen when it happened. That is a little too much of a coincidence. Don´t you think?"

Javert´s hands clutched, invisible to Deguire, under the table. "It wasn´t coincidence." he admitted and for a moment Deguire seemed caught off guard.

"So you admit that you set the fires?"

"No."

"You just said …"

"I said it wasn´t coincidence that I was there." Javert held the gaze, unyielding. "I was working a case."

The other man halted, only for a second. "You are not with the police any longer."

At those words, something started to boil inside the former inspector´s chest. "I must say I don´t really regret this." he hissed, through gritted teeth, making the other man glare right back at him.

"You´re not really helping your case here." he warned.

"I don´t?"

"What were you really doing at those fire scenes?"

"I told you I was working a case."

"You´re not …"

"I work for Eugene Vidocq." Javert cut the discussion short. It was ridiculous to keep this up any longer. Not with the police: meaning, argumentum e contrario, he couldn´t do his duty. Simple. God, had he been this way once too? It almost hurt thinking of that.

Deguire only snorted. "Private investigators. How low can you go? You used to be a good inspector."

Javert didn´t give a response. He settled with a glare, needing all his strength to keep his mouth shut and spare his energy for the more important part of the conversation.

"What kind of a case was that?" Deguire asked at last.

Javert lowered his gaze. "That´s … difficult."

"Try me."

The former inspector glanced up again. "I´d rather not."

This at last caused a startled frown on the officer´s side, a not unwelcome distraction, even if it lasted only for a moment.

"Being on the payroll of a former criminal that claims to do police work, does not allow you to meddle in official business." Deguire tried to come back to the point. "Whatever you did, you were acting outside of the law. And you know what sort of matter that is."

Javert was still glaring at this man. "So you´ll throw me in prison?" he asked. "On what charges?"

"Committing arson. Interference with police work …"

"I didn´t interfere with anything."

"You left a stolen carriage in front of our station-house. Or do you deny that this note was written by your hand?" Deguire held up a letter, one that Javert recognized only too well. He´d torn it out of Valjean´s notebook, only last night.

"No, I wrote that." he admitted freely, and glanced up at Deguire, asking. "Did you catch them?"

"The smugglers? Oh, we found them. Exactly where you told us. What brings me to the question … how, inspector, did you know where we would find a whole ring of organized smugglers and thieves? Are you socializing with these people now?"

Javert was boiling again, but lowered his eyes. It wouldn´t do any good at all, if he allowed Deguire to lure him into an argument that would inevitably end up being about Valjean. So he willed his anger away and stated merely: "I came upon them working the case."

"The case you got assigned to by Vidocq."

"Yes."

"This kind of work seems to be worthwhile." Deguire stated, taking out a wad of banknotes, and threw it on the table before Javert. "5000. That´s quite a sum to carry around in your pocket. Did you sell them something? Did you steal it from them? I just like to know where one can earn so much in only one night, you know. Might be worth a shot."

Javert glared up at the man, trying to bite back all the seething responses he had in mind, about dirty police men, who indeed existed in this world.

"The money is legal. It was a tool, nothing more. It´s not stolen."

Deguire leaned back, regarding him as if he tried to decide how much of this he could or wanted to believe. "You´re telling me you own 5000 just like that?"

"Not me."

The other man understood. Maybe he´d known all along.

"Where´s your partner?"

So there it was. Javert had known this would come, and now he was there. At last. Deguire was looking at him, demanding, impatiently waiting for his answer. And all Javert could think was: He knows. He knows what happened that day. About the trap they lured us in. How else could he know that I have a partner at all?

"Is this another act of revenge?" he asked him straightforward, fed up with this game at last. "Is that all there is to this? Did you talk to Dubois? Or one of his friends?"

"I´m talking to you, inspector."

"I´m not an inspector."

"Then what are you?"

Javert wanted to answer. He wanted to spit his answer right into Deguire´s face. And more. But he didn´t. Because nothing of what he would have said would have made any difference. Nothing. So he did say nothing.

The man before him straightened. "You will be charged with arson, maybe even murder." he repeated. "You will get the chance to defend yourself in front of the court. But I don´t have much hope for your case."

Javert didn´t respond. There was no point. He wouldn´t convince any of them, and he would not get out of here. Not that easily. When they led him away into a cell, he didn´t struggle at all. Did not say a single word. When the door fell shut behind him, the sound of the shrieking metal echoing in the hallway and in his head, he sat down on his cot and buried his face in his hands.

...

"Did you see it?" Valjean´s voice was right beside his ear, in total darkness. But the darkness was only so dark because the fire had blinded him. It was all right. No threat. Too small. The smell was still in his nose though.

"What happened?" Valjean was out of breath. The shock.

"He´s still out there." Javert saw the figure standing in the street, calm and unmoving, like death himself. But it wasn´t death. It was a human. A criminal, mortal like everyone else.

"We can get him." Javert jumped up. He was out of the door first. It was totally beyond him how he could catch a glimpse of Valjean´s hand grabbing the key to withdraw it from the lock – the one with the ridiculous little heart he´d made for his daughter. He didn´t question this fact. A man never questioned impossible things while he was still dreaming.

He didn´t question how he could be downstairs within only one flight of stairs while in fact Valjean´s apartment was on the third floor. He didn´t question how he could hear Valjean´s voice as if he was beside him, although he knew he´d stopped a few stories above him.

"Javert, wait!"

And then he saw him again. The dark hooded man, standing at the corner, as if he was waiting for him, and forgotten were all his thoughts of asking Valjean what he was waiting for. He chased the figure, around corners, through streets, dark allays. A chase that never seemed to end. Every time he thought he´d lost him, he appeared standing at a corner, waiting for him to catch up again. And Javert ran, trying to do just that. Because he had to catch him. He just had to. And not even now did he realize that this man was taunting him. To make him follow, further and further away. So he wouldn´t notice. So he wouldn´t hear.

He dodged another corner, and all the sudden, he had him. Javert stared into the darkness under the hood and saw absolutely nothing. Nothing but a snarling and grinning skull, black remains of skin sticking to the bone like reminders of what he´d been in life. Eyes hollow but accusing, and his hands were reaching out for Javert, burned like the hands of those he´d seen after the fire.

...

He hadn´t planned to fall asleep, and the only reason why it happened at all was the exhaustion. He´d been on his feet for almost two days in a row. Had only slept an hour or so last night. In the end it had simply gotten too much, even for him. But when the door to his cell got opened again, he was instantly wide awake.

He had only a second to remember the dream and chase it away, calming his heartbeat and his own breathing. The light that fell in through the bars of the window had darkened significantly since he´d been locked up. The day was almost over. And soon it would be darkening out there. In some corners it would already be pretty shady by now.

The man that stepped through the door addressed him with a cold and impersonal: "Prisoner Javert."

And Javert didn´t say anything in return. He merely perceived the company of three others this man had brought along. But that too was nothing he would comment upon. Neither did he ask a question or protested when the man told him: "You will come with us."

It was no surprise to him, when they led him out of the station-house, and not towards a fiacre to maybe transport him someplace, but around the next corner, into an allay. The last quickly fading light of the day seemed to remain outside of this allay. As if it was the one who would watch out for police, while the criminals committed their secret deeds.

For a moment Javert felt his heart sink. Should that be it? Surely they hadn´t brought him here, just to have a short talk in private. Last time that hadn´t been what they had wanted, and if Valjean hadn´t been with him that day, things might have ended differently. No. They would have ended differently.

Now Valjean was not with him. He was alone against these men. Men who hated him, for doing the right thing. For bringing those to justice who had not done the right thing.

"So this is how it ends, is it?" he spoke up at last, and he was almost shocked at how even his voice sounded. "You take your revenge in a back allay like rats."

The man holding his elbow, turned him around at those words, angrily, and instantly punched him in the face. Javert stumbled back, against the wall, and stared into a snarling grin.

"Remember me?" the man asked.

Javert had no problems spotting the cut on the man´s cheek. Still not fully healed, and even though he knew this was probably suicidal, he couldn´t help but smirked.

The gesture earned him another punch, and a deadly glare from this man that had been a whining kid last time Javert had encountered him. Now he was a raging kid, having a tantrum. Look what happens when you hurt me, his gaze said.

"Not so tough without your partner, huh?" he hissed into his face.

Javert´s smirk was gone. When the next punch came, he ducked and avoided the fist. His hands were still cuffed but he could grab the man´s clothes, using his momentum. He managed it to swirl him around and smash him into the wall, head first. The raging man went down, cleanly knocked out. But that was only a temporal victory.

The others were at Javert the moment he saw his first man fall. Of course he struggled but with his cuffed wrists he simply had no chance. Only a minute later he was pushed against the wall again, a knife pressed against his throat. Instead of killing him though, the man raised the knife to his face and drew it across his cheek. First Javert didn´t even feel it. But then the stinging began and he felt the warm liquid run down his face. It collected in his beard, like in a sponge soaking off water. The cut began to pulse as he gazed into those revengeful eyes.

"Now how does that feel?" the man hissed, and Javert could not contain his laughter.

"You already forgot?" he asked, regarding the cut he´d decorated this man´s cheek with – all of them actually – merely a few days ago. When he only saw a confused frown, he raised his brows in a mockery way, as if to say: Poor fella. Hard when the memory leaves you.

Of course all he gained by that was another punch. This time he tasted the blood on his lip.

"Why don´t you just get it over with?" he asked at last, but this time it was the other one who laughed.

"Oh, maybe we wanna enjoy this." he suggested.

"Where is your partner?" one of the others asked, and Javert shot him a deadly glare.

"Don´t bother." he rasped. "You won´t find him."

"We´ll see about that." the guy with the bad memory said, and punched him again, just to make his point.

Javert waited for the next punch, and when it came, he moved his head aside. The fist smacked into the wall, cracking some knuckles and for a moment Javert enjoyed the scream of startled pain. But if he was to take advantage of this he had to act quick. So he grabbed the man and pushed him, against the others.

Somehow – how exactly would remain a mystery to him forever – his hands got a grip on the man´s knife and when he saw them stumble and fall, he followed, putting a foot on the first chest he could find. He raised the knife, ready to use it, and stared into terrified eyes. His hand halted. He wanted to do it. They deserved it. Hadn´t they lured him here, to do the same thing to him?

But that´d be murder. And he was no murderer.

His conscience, as noble as it was, eventually led to his doom. Before he had the time to get over his hesitation, he got grabbed again, from behind. The other two were back at their feet, and now he was disarmed. The next thing they´d do would be to use the knife against him, for real this time. Only one more prisoner that got injured and killed in his attempt to run.

And then a voice shouted from the entrance of the allay.

"Don´t move. All of you!"

Javert heard the sounds of a horse, and not before now did he realize that a fiacre had stopped over there. The man holding him, halted, at the sounds of several guns getting cocked.

"Let him go now!" the same voice demanded, and when Javert looked, he made out a small burly man, aiming a gun into the allay. He was framed by two others, also armed.

Vidocq repeated his order, more demanding, and finally the hands holding Javert slowly let go. Before the man in his back could step back, Javert threw his fists over his own shoulder, hitting the man straight on the nose. A tiny pay back but better than nothing.

The others flinched and moved to attack again.

"I said NO!" Vidocq ordered and they halted, facing the three guns.

"I would come out of there now, if I were you." were Vidocq´s next words, and this time he was speaking to Javert.

Great idea, the former inspector thought to himself but didn´t say a word. He left the allay in utter silence.

"Where´s Jean?" Vidocq asked him, quietly, when Javert reached him, and in this moment not even Javert could hold himself back any longer. He grabbed the small man, by his collar.

"You´re asking this now?" he snarled into his face. Vidocq´s second man instantly grabbed him and dragged him off their boss. But those men in the allay demanded their absolute attention, so the interruption remained a halfhearted one.

"When we came to you, asking for assistance, you were too busy to help us." Javert growled. "And now all the sudden, you show concern?"

"I wouldn´t do that." Jacques advised the three men in the allay, when they attempted to move. He pointed with his gun. "You will turn around and leave. Down the other way. Now."

Javert watched them hesitate, only with half of his attention. The rest was still fully on Vidocq. Eventually the three men took Jacques´ advise, collected their unconscious comrade and left, without another word.

"Inspector, please." Vidocq spoke collected under Javert´s stare. "I understand your anger, but this … is going nowhere. We only want to help you."

"And we should see that we get outahere." Jacques agreed. "Before someone sees us."

Javert glared at the three former criminals, none of them worth to use up any more of his well preserved anger, and eventually he let it go. He simply lacked the strength to keep up this fight. When they urged him into the fiacre he was actually grateful for being saved for a change.

...

"I´m sorry we couldn´t get here any faster." Vidocq said as the fiacre drove off. He glanced out of the window just to check if anyone would follow them. Obviously no one did. "I called upon Jacques and his friends as soon as I heard of your arrest." he said, calm as if nothing big had happened.

Javert snorted. "I´d be lying if I´d say I´m not glad you finally found the time."

Vidocq looked at him, like one would look at a pouting kid. And Javert could not even summon the will power to be angry about it.

"You want to tell me what happened?" Vidocq asked and Javert leaned back. His hands were still cuffed between his knees.

"Do I want to tell you what happened." he repeated and finally Vidocq showed some sort of appropriate agitation.

"Inspector." he leaned forward, urging. "The city is burning. Literally. I´m a little concerned. Something went wrong and I want to know what it is."

Javert said nothing. All he did was sigh, deeply, and looked away. "I´d like to know that too."

"Start at the beginning. When I gave you the case."

"That´s not where it began."

"It´s not?" now it was Vidocq who leaned back, expectantly.

"No." and as if to mock their former positions, Javert now took over the part of leaning forward. "Even you must know that this would be too simple."

"Well." Vidocq cocked a brow. "Where did it begin?"

But here Javert had to give in again. "I wish I knew." he sighed.

"Inspector …"

"It was never my idea to come to you." he changed the subject, way too fast for Vidocq to understand the lapse. "You knew that? I only came because Valjean wouldn´t stop nagging. As if there was nothing more important in this world. He nearly drove me crazy with it. Give it a chance. It´s worth a shot. What else would you do?"

And at this thought he suddenly halted, realizing with an unexpected shock what the question had really meant back then. What it still meant. An answer he´d not been ready to give at the time. He was not sure if he was ready to give it now.

"You don´t want to know what else I´d do." was all he had replied back then, and then immediately diverted the matter. "But I know what you should do. Finding a hobby that suits a man your age more than meddling with business you don´t know anything about."

"I don´t know anything?" Valjean had protested. "I have a unique perspective. From the other side, Javert. Just what Vidocq expects from his agents."

"Oh, he expects that. You can´t imagine how glad I am to know that."

"And you have the perspective from the opposite side." the ex convict had insisted on having his say. "It´s a perfect combination, even you must see that."

But Javert had only chuckled. "It just astounds me that the man who hates nothing more than changes, wants to make one so radical all the sudden."

This at last, had sufficiently startled the other man. "Why do you say I hate changes?" Valjean had stammered. "I don´t hate changes."

"Oh." Javert had been just in his element. "So that means you´re content with your daughter moving out now?" he taunted, knowing very well where to aim in order to hit the jugular. "It´s all right now, that she wants to be on her own and not have you around all the time anymore?"

"She … needs free space." Valjean had tried to rationalize it, not for the first time. "Before she moves in with Marius. It´s only our apartment not the other end of the world, Javert." he had cried.

And of course Javert had replied with a mocking: "I see."

For a moment Valjean had been off balance, totally defeated actually. Javert´s attack had been well placed. "Why are you doing this?" he asked.

"Doing what?"

"Making this about Cosette."

"Well." the former inspector raised his brows. "I just think it would probably make her sad, if you manage it to get yourself killed on your very first assignment." And at this blank stare he suddenly turned from mocking to glaring. "You are not a police spy, Valjean." he rasped at him. "So stop pretending that you are."

"As far as I remember it was me who saved your ass, when playing spy turned out to be too difficult." the ex convict had replied and after that the two of them had just stood there, looking at each other in utter silence, as slowly realization made its way into Valjean´s mind.

"Antoine, I … I´m sorry." he stuttered. "I didn´t mean …"

"I know very well what you meant." Javert had said, and made his way past the other man. He was heading for the door, but it had never been easy to get away from Valjean when he thought he had something to say.

"If we would work together we could watch out for each other." he´d cried after him, almost desperately. "Don´t you see that?"

But of course Javert had not seen that. All he had done was turn back around, just at the door, and smirked, as if the mere idea would be ridiculous. "This will not happen." he´d said, and back then he had meant every word. "Not in this life. You´re living in a dream, Valjean." he told him. "Wake up already."

"I live in a dream?" he heard Valjean cry after him, and the anger was now unmistakable in his voice. "We both went through this nightmare together." he recalled. "JAVERT!"

But Javert would not stay and listen to this any longer. He was out and closed the door behind himself.

...

"Inspector?"

Javert flinched up, out of his musing. The memories had taken a hold of him without him noticing, and now he was looking into the face of the man who was now technically his boss. Sure, as if.

"If you didn´t want to work for me …" Vidocq started, as if he knew where Javert had just been to. "Then why did you do it?"

"Why I did it is not important. I did it, period."

Opposite of him, Vidocq tilted his head. "Fair enough." he leaned back again and for a moment he simply looked at Javert, waiting. "You seemed quite eager to accept the case when I gave it to you." he mentioned.

Javert had to restrain himself from groaning. He remembered that day. Of course he did. To say he had accepted the case was an understatement, considering that he´d snatched the file out of Vidocq´s hands, as soon as he guessed what it contained. Not an unexpected reaction, considering the smug grin he´d seen on Vidocq. But the nifty bastard had been right, hadn´t he? When they had entered the place Valjean had been the eager one. After Javert had read the file, the ex con had had to hurry to keep up with him.

"Shouldn´t we sign a contract first before we start working for him?" he´d asked, but Javert had not even slowed down.

"We´re not working for Vidocq." he´d informed Valjean, while he marched on. "We´re working for justice."

And this was what they had done. Because this case had been personal. And Vidocq had known that. Hadn´t he? He´d known Javert would never let anyone else take care of these men. Manipulative bastard. Unbelievable that he had fallen for that. And Javert had done exactly what Vidocq had wanted him to do. He´d lost his head, in pursuit of an obsession. This old habit that already once in his life had almost broken his neck. And even though he knew that, he´d not been able to help it.

Valjean had been pulled into this vortex right along with him. And the worst thing was probably, that Javert did not believe Valjean had tried to fight it. This godforsaken idiot.

As always at the end of the first chapter, I ask you for an honest review. If I write badly I can only know if you tell me. So ... I´m grateful for every feedback.

And thanks for reading.