Author's Notes: I recently fell in love with the couple of J/JVJ, and so this is my first attempt at writing for that pair. Before you read, please note that my characters will probably seem out of character (ooc) because, as of yet, I have only seen the musical adaptation of this story. Normally, I like to go to the source (this would mean reading the book) in order to make my characters as 'realistic' as possible (as realistic as they can be when I'm changing their very sexual orientation...). I just bought the book and am only about 220 pages into it (out of about 1463). Of course, I absolutely adore the book, and once I finish it I will most likely write more for this pair because then I will fully be able to understand the characters, where they're coming from, why they might do what they do, etc.
However, for now I am writing this based purely on my perception of Javert/Valjean as they are presented in the musical (and because the book is so long, the musical naturally has parts cut and edited in order to make the plot flow; this means that there was much left to the imagination as to why/how things happened, and also for characterization because obviously they could not give every major/minor character their own song of introduction as it does for the book). And just so you know, I'm very romantic. With all of this said, I hope you will enjoy my fic despite everything. I also hope that you will take the time to review, do you like it? No? Why or why not? I love it when my work is critiqued, so please don't hold anything back for my sake!
Warnings: None, really
Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables or any form (the musical, movies) that it has been presented in thus far.
'Wait For Me'
Javert listened, infuriated, as those sinful rebels walked away from where he now sat under a tree, back to their pitiful barricade. They had placed him fairly far away from the barricade so that he could not over hear their discussions. Not that it would really matter what he heard, anyway. He would not go back to the National Guard; his pride would not allow it after being discovered by the very people he was sent to spy on. As he watched, Javert burnt imaginary holes into the back of their heads and hoped for the worst fates to befall them all.
When they were, at last, out of sight, Javert let out a low growl of irritation as he scowled down at the ropes binding his hands and ankles. It was impossible to be remotely comfortable with his hands behind his back, but he tried leaning against the thick tree trunk anyway. It was better than attempting to lie on the hard, barren ground.
Minutes passed. The night grew steadily colder, and soon there was nothing but the silent stars to occupy any person's attention. Javert envied, as always, their unwavering stoicism. He had certainly never known another person, other than himself, to hold their own in the face of animosity as intently as stars seemed to do.
No, that was not true. There was one other…but Javert would not think of him. Not tonight, when he had enough to worry about. If the rebels were ever given enough time to deal with him, then Javert would most likely die by their hand. He already knew the outcome of this uprising – those boys had no real experience in an army, they only knew that they sought a better life than the French government was allowing them. There were probably young men who did not even fight for that much, just for the thrill of wielding a real gun or to be able to support a good friend that had urged them to join as well.
It was almost a shame. Despite their best intentions, their innocent army would fall sooner or later. And if there was any chance of victory for the rebels, Javert might have been able to hope that they would be too joyous in their celebration to punish him. Instead, he would simply have to wait and hope that they forgot about him, or would kill him quickly. His situation had gone from risky to hopeless in such a short amount of time…
Javert sighed, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the trunk. He would not cry. He would keep everything together and figure out a way to escape. He had not cried in years, decades even, and would certainly not taint that slate now by giving up.
It was just so unfair. Javert had only ever done his duty, always with the utmost sense of pride and efficiency. Punish the wicked, and never partake in their ways. It was all the Lord had ever asked of him, and Javert had thrown his entire being into accomplishing this for years. And now where was God? Why did the stars no longer light his way as they once did? What crime had Javert, himself, committed that would lead him to this awful position?
A sudden, far off rustling made Javert open his eyes, momentarily distracting him from his melancholy thoughts. Someone had managed to sneak to the rebel barricade as he had done. However, he could not see their face, and the hour was so late that this feature would be the only one he could possibly recognize in the darkness.
And then, miraculously, the stranger did turn their head toward his direction. Javert felt his heart stop as a pair of curious eyes rested on his. They quickly became flooded with shock when recognition swept over the person. As their eyes strained to see one another clearly in the dark, Javert felt his worry slip away, replaced with a sense of awe. He was no longer Javert, one of the most notorious inspectors in all of France, strict upholder of the law. He was just a man, and the stars meant nothing to him because the only set of lights that he needed to follow could be found in those eyes. And just as suddenly as they were there, they turned away.
With a new resolution, Jean Valjean began climbing the barricade and disappeared from Javert's sight.
His eyes looked for a few moments more, refusing to believe that they had been deserted by what they sought most. A cold gust of wind blazed through, reminding Javert to breathe again. His breath came deeply and deliberately. And as he was given the chance to actually think again, Javert felt his pride and worry no more. They were now overshadowed by steadily rising embarrassment and irritation.
What business did Valjean have with the rebels? Javert searched every corner of his memory. He supposedly looked after an orphan girl. Did she not need tending to? She must be a young lady by now, had she married? Surely he had no friends among the students - he was old enough to be their father. Perhaps one of them had witnessed some of Valjean's strength and had persuaded him to join their cause…if he no longer had a child to care for, Javert supposed that it was not too difficult of a task to convince Valjean to fight against the very government system that had imprisoned him for so long. For nineteen years Javert had watched him daily, studied his physical and emotional strength that was only rivaled by his own. It was a resilience that they shared. It was one of the only things that they shared.
And now, after so many years, the tables were turned on him. He was imprisoned while Valjean walked about, a free man. An enraged cry tore through Javert as he struggled uselessly at his bindings. If God was being unfair before, He was simply taunting him now. He knew that this was the reason for Javert becoming a spy. This had been his last hope for a return to his once-normal life, to finally forget about the man that haunted his dreams at night and his thoughts in the day, about the admirably defiant face and the name that had always rolled so naturally off of his tongue. Jean Valjean.
It was several minutes until Javert stopped his futile attempt at escaping and slumped breathlessly against the tree once again. He wished that he could fall asleep, or maybe get struck by lightning. Anything that kept him from thinking about Jean – 24601 – would do. But he knew that it was as senseless to fight his thoughts as it was to fight the rope. And he had been doing so well. Of course, he had been rather preoccupied, but it was still better than reliving the past yet again.
He would have come back to it, though. His mind could never stray too far from Valjean. When he was first arrested all those years ago, Javert had seen him as just another criminal. No, that was not right either. Valjean had intrigued him from the beginning. When he had read the reason for the arrest, Javert had almost found it silly. And as time progressed and the sentence was lengthened with repeated escape attempts, Javert could only shake his head in annoyance. Valjean's sentence would have been five short years if only he had not tried to run, but running was what everyone did. No one ever thought to cooperate, admit to their wrong doing, and do their time without complaint.
Still, during the majority of time that went without incident, Javert was impressed with Valjean's even temper and silent perseverance with every day that he was put to work with all the others. He never caused trouble, never instigated confrontation. He simply did what he was told, and yet Valjean was never like anyone else. He was not another sheep in the herd.
A short time passed, and Javert abruptly found himself becoming engrossed with this man in a way that he had never felt before. At least, if he had, then it had been a long while. But Javert was not stupid; he recognized this feeling of attraction easily (if only by process of elimination). It frightened him. He did not feel himself whenever he had to look after Valjean's group or even Valjean personally, and did his best to avoid speaking to him directly. The less he had anything to do with Valjean, the sooner Javert could clear his head of this insistent…distraction.
But despite his best attempts at remaining emotionally detached from the prisoner, Javert realized - not without worry – that the attraction continued to grow as time carried on rather than lessen. He found himself unintentionally observing Valjean more carefully and for longer periods of time than he would the others. And what was more, he felt that Valjean knew, and yet never said a word. Sometimes they would unexpectedly meet one another's gaze; Javert would simply glare and Valjean resume his work.
Of course, the other idiots that surrounded himself and Valjean (Javert had unconsciously begun separating him from the other prisoners in his head) seemed determined to make his life as uncomfortable as possible. It was obvious that the other prisoners were jealous of Valjean's lack of reprimand from the guards, and there were a few times when they would bring Valjean to Javert's attention. It was always a ridiculous accusation and made Javert want to instead tell off everyone involved in the false testimonies. This was partly because he despised having to be more near Valjean than necessary, but mostly because these peons were simply wasting his time. If they desired less attention, then they could have followed Valjean's lead rather than drag him to their low level.
However, he forced himself to view their case with objectivity, or at least ask himself what the old Javert would have done. Even when Valjean would meet his gaze and Javert could almost swear that they shared a wordless conversation every time.
Look at these fools. You know I am innocent.
I know that. So defend yourself.
You and I know the truth. It is enough.
I cannot appease the quiet truth, only the evidence. You know that.
Yes, very well, I am afraid. Do what you must.
So Javert did, though he never understood why Valjean would never take his advice (from their imaginary conversation, no less). He would have found a way to take his side against the crowd and avoid the inevitable blows that he had to force upon Valjean's back. He knew that he would leave scars. Valjean had never cried; the closest he had ever been to doing so was the first time when his eyes reddened only slightly, seeming to glisten more with anger than pain.
When it was over, Javert often thought he saw disappointment in Valjean's next look as he walked back to begin his labor again. He always wanted to scream at him, to tell him that it was not fair to blame him when Valjean did nothing himself to remove the charge against him. This was swiftly overpowered by a wild desire to comfort Valjean and promise to never, ever again cause him any pain. He would beat every man that had dared to laugh or cheer as he had hit Valjean, and they would run away from that damn place, from all idiocy, just the two of them forever.
So many emotions always surrounded Javert when Valjean was involved, so much uncertainty. Of course, he never acted on any of his yearnings, and upon returning home after that first time Javert, too, felt his eyes sting, and he realized that he was actually about to cry. For a convict. For Jean Valjean. It was so absurd that he began laughing instead (meanwhile the back of his mind noted that this man would sooner or later drive him insane). If the great Valjean could be so strong, then so could he.
Unfortunately, 'being strong' did nothing to take away the guilt he felt at punishing an innocent man (although he knew that it was more than just that). He could not comprehend why he felt this way about only Valjean. No other person, let alone another prisoner, had ever affected him so. He prayed that his perplexing emotions were enough retribution from God. And every day after one of these incidents had occurred, Valjean would catch his eye at one time or another, and Javert would hope that he did not imagine seeing forgiveness in that gaze.
