Sorry if this gets a little too fluffy. This is my first story and it's very close to my heart. Review please!
"There is no way to go on..."
"Yes there is, Javert." He turns from his ledge to face her. "Step down, Monsieur. We wouldn't want any accidents to happen, would we?"
Javert's grief turns to momentary defiance. "It's no accident, Mademoiselle." He falls from the fatal ledge and is soon welcomed by the depths of the Seine.
"JAVERT!" The girl jumps in after him. It would have been a long way to fall if the rain had not fallen so furiously over the past few days. The smell of iron exploded as the face of the Seine broke once again. It seems the blood of the martyrs missed the meadows of grass and went straight to the river. "Javert!" She splashes furiously to stay above the surface. Suddenly it begins to dawn on her - the current would take her to him. Brass buttons shone in the moonlight, glowing brighter than the stars she knew he adored. She hooks her arms around his shoulders and paddles her way to shore. Each of his breaths is met with her silent prayer, "Thank you... thank you..."
Coughing and sputtering, Javert awakes on the bank on the Seine. "How did I survive? And why? This must have been an accident." Instinctively, he reaches for his revolver. A curse spits out of him as he remembers dropping it in the sewer. One last chance. The faintest shadow of a doubt flashes across his mind as he slides his hand into the empty air where his sabre's hilt should have been. Panic sets into his mind. That sabre was everything to him. The only place it ever was, when not on his belt, was in his hand. If he had lost it to the river... Javert groped for the sword in the darkness like a blind infant.
"Why don't you look up, Monsieur? You've never had trouble doing that before." It was the girl from the bridge! And in her hands rested... his sabre. Instinct and rage acted as one. His sword barely hit the ground before he was driving her to the ground, spitting out curses and throwing punches like he never had before. His hands closed around her throat. She was strong and stealthy, and Javert could admire that. But he was stronger by far and could easily kill her. One last act to clear his mind, to stop her from growing up and becoming him. One last act before he could also die on this wretched beach. Suddenly, her hand shot up into his throat and a sharp slap to the ear sent him sprawling to his back.
"...how...?" Was all he could manage.
She was recoiled like a wild animal, hugging her knees and barely peeking out over the tops of them. "My mother taught me. Even whores need to protect themselves." Javert half-fondly remembered Fantine under the pier at Montreuil. Curiosity overtook him. "Where is your mother from?"
"Italy, originally. Fell in love with a sailor who took her with him as far as Montreuil. Broke her heart so badly she became a whore just to survive. My father, so she says, was somewhat of a frequent named Bamatabois..."
Javert could hardly contain his laughter. The sound frightened even him, for he realized that he could not even remember the last time he had done so. The freedom it gave him! "Bamatabois was a rat." He found himself saying it without even considering it. The girl was young - albeit strong - so he could not so easily condemn her father. "I am sorry, Mademoiselle. I... your father... I arrested a whore once for attacking him. I didn't even have proof, really." His throat began to catch. No. Not here. Not now. But... why not here? Why not now? "My mother was a whore as well. She was arrested for brawling with her master, and gave birth to me while in prison." Javert's eyes filled with tears at the memory. All his life, he had been persecuting people just like him, and they had all repaid him with nothing but kindness. This girl - he would have killed her for the same reason. He would have ended her life far too soon. How soon, even? "How old are you?"
She laughed dryly. "You ask my age before my name? You are a curious man indeed, Monsieur." Javert laughed out of slight embarrassment. "I am 15, and my name is Stella."
Tired from the events of the day, Javert could only cast a questioning glance to her before collapsing to the ground again. She read his glance easily, and the last thing he heard before succumbing to sleep was Stella's voice, finally peaceful. "It means star."