A frigid, thick snow blanketed the streets of Paris making it nearly impossible to travel. It was days such as these when Jean felt most at ease, knowing that Javert would not come knocking at his door. It had been roughly a year since Cosette had entered his life, a year since Valjean had returned and "Madeleine" had by the hearth in his room, Valjean wrung his weathered, tanned hands slowly. The warmth of the flames was soothing and comforting on such a night. The soft pitter-patter of bare feet against the wooden floors alerted him of the young girl running toward him. Already turning so he was facing the door, Jean's features broadened into a smile, light lines forming around his mouth and on his forehead, making him look about his true age.

"My dear Cosette," he murmured, opening his arms in anticipation of her embrace. The young girl giggled and raced at him, flinging her little arms around his thick, well-muscled neck as she crawled into his lap.

"Papa..." she mumbled against his broad chest. Cradling her in his arms, Jean gave the softest of content sighs. His life had never felt so complete before, not even when he lived with his sister and nephew. Life with Cosette was complete, it had a purpose. At night, he'd pray to Fantine that she had forgiven him and that she was proud of the way her daughter was turning out. Without a layer of dirt covering the little girl, she was a true beauty with sparkling blue eyes and long, waist length blonde hair. In just a few years, he thought, she'd be a teenager. But, he quickly pushed these thoughts from his mind. There was enough time until then.

Cosette's soft whisper into his sinewy shoulder brought him back into reality.

"Yes, sweetheart?" he asked, sitting back in the chair as he sat her up, meeting her blue eyes with his chocolate colored ones.

"...can I have a bedtime story, Papa?" she whispered, playing with a strand of her white-blonde hair in a nervous manner. It seemed redundant now to Valjean for the young girl to ask such a thing. He'd made it a habit for the past three hundred sixty-five days to tell her a story before she slept. In all honesty, he felt as if maybe he did it more for himself than for her to give himself a sense of normality in this hectic life of his, always running away. But, for once in his life, he had no idea what he would tell her. He'd already told most of the fairy-tales he'd learned as a child and when Jean tried to repeat one, Cosette would quickly clamp a hand over his mouth, saying, "You already told that one, Papa." It was impossible to outsmart that child.

"Hm...alright," he replied, rubbing a hand along his scruffy chin slowly. "Go get ready and I'll be in there soon." Cosette slid off of his lap and then turned around to face him, her arms extended in a way that wordlessly said she wanted Jean to carry her. He chuckled and bent down, lifting her up with a light grunt. "Before long, you'll be too big for me to carry, Cosette."

"Nuh uh," she retorted stubbornly, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck again as Valjean balanced the girl on his hip. The ex-convict let out a hearty laugh at her defiance, causing her to pout. "What's so funny?" she muttered as he set her down on her bed. Jean shook his head slowly, fighting back another wave of chuckles.

"Nothing, ma petite," he replied, walking over to her bureau as she sat down and crossed her skinny, pale legs. Jean pulled out a thin, cream-colored nightgown for her. He remembered buying it for her and how expensive it was, but the way Cosette's sky-blue eyes had lit up when he showed it to her had been absolutely worth it. Just thinking about it made him sigh nostalgically. Again, he had to be brought back out of his reminiscing by Cosette, who pulled the nightgown out of his weathered hands. Brow furrowing and mouth drawn into a dramatic pout, she pushed at his right leg slightly, attempting to turn him around. Jean raised an eyebrow in confusion but complied with this silent order and faced the door as she changed into the nightgown.

"You can turn around now," said Cosette after about a minute. Valjean turned around again, broad arms crossed over broad chest to see his adopted daughter already curled up beneath the covers of her bed, which she had pulled up to her chin. Beside her head, the head of a doll poked out, both of their blue-eyed, wide gazes fixed upon the man as he walked toward her bed and sat on the edge. The bed frame creaked under his weight as he settled down and clasped two large hands together. Compared to the small child who lay beside him, he looked like a giant and yet Cosette trusted this man with her very life, a man who had spent nearly twenty years locked up with murderers and con-men. "What story are you going to tell me?"

Valjean's brow furrowed subtly at the question. He had hoped for a moment she would forget about that and he wouldn't have to think up something. He let out a long sigh, tapping a bare foot against the wooden floorboards as he thought. The echo of his foot resonated through the room, causing the bed to creak some more. "Hansel and Gretel."

Cosette looked up at Jean with a pout, her brow furrowing at him as she looked up with as much anger as she could try to muster. "You've told that one, Papa," she huffed. "And you've already tried to tell it again before.

"Well...what kind of story do you want to hear?" he asked after a while, attempting to buy himself some time. Cosette pressed her lips together and looked up at the ceiling in deep thought. As her messy bangs fell in front of her face, she blew them out of the way and Jean smiled subtly.

"...I don't know," she said after a while, her blue eyes meeting Valjean's brown ones again. "Can't you think of one?" Slowly, Jean shook his head and shrugged.

"No, sweetheart," he murmured reluctantly. The way her face fell and her brow knotted in concern caused Valjean's own expression to change to one of sadness. He hated to see her upset. It tore at his heartstrings; a child who had already been through so much didn't deserve any more sadness in her life.

"B-but...you always have a story," she said in protest. "...always."

Jean sighed and balanced his chin on his hands, thinking. Yes, there was one story he could tell her...but he didn't know what she'd think of it. Would she be too young for such a tale? He looked over at her, cradling the doll in her arms. The child had already been through so much, it wouldn't be fair to tell her such a story before he put her to bed. Then again, it wasn't as if it was a bad story. She'd probably seen worse in her nine or so years of life.

"I have...one story I could tell," he said after a while, pausing in mid-sentence to make sure he wasn't having second thoughts. "Do you want to hear it?" The little blonde girl's eyes widened and she smiled broadly, bobbing her head up and down in a vigorous manner that looked so painful, Valjean felt a phantom pain in the back of his own neck. He had been fearing that response from her, but what else did he expect from the young child? For a while, he couldn't seem to put his thoughts into words. Jean sat there on the edge of her bed in silence, chewing the inside of his cheek lightly as he thought.

Seconds turned to minutes and, as he continued thinking, Cosette began to grow more and more impatient. "Papa?" she asked, sitting up and then crawling toward him. Her small hands tugged at his sleeve and Valjean turned quickly to look down at her. "Are you going to tell the story...?" Valjean's steely eyes meant the soft, blue ones of his adoptive daughter which looked far more innocent than anything he'd seen in his life, despite the very horrible, rough childhood the young girl had dealt with.

"Yes," he said softly, lifting the girl up from under her armpits to place her back under the covers of her bed. "Yes, I'll tell you the story." Cosette smiled broadly then, her entire face just about lighting up with excitement as she wondered what story the man would tell her. One about pirates? About dragons and a princess? Oh, the excitement was almost unbearable! Valjean sighed and gave a weak smile at the young girl. While he loved to see her excited, he dreaded to see her face fall when he began the story.

"Well...once upon a time, there was a man." He started the story in the stereotypical fashion, knowing that Cosette loved fairy tale-esque stories. She'd figuratively eaten up the tales about knights and princesses.

"There was this man and he was...he was a good man. A very good man." He felt a need to defend this character before delving into the story itself. God forbid she took him as the villain. "And, this man...well, he did not have much money. Not even a franc to his name." He took this time to glance back at her. She was listening avidly, like he assumed she would.

"Go on!" she urged, sitting up with the doll in her arms. "What happened to the man?" His chest expanded with a sigh as Valjean again took the pause to formulate his words.

"So, this man, he lived with his sister...and his sister's son." He could feel his hands trembling as he spoke. She was going to get upset, wasn't she? This wasn't much of a happy story. "They didn't have money either so, one day, the man went to the market and tried to ask for a loaf of bread." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cosette nodding. It seemed she hadn't stopped since he began his story.

"No one would give him any...so, he...he..." Valjean swallowed quickly in a nervous manner. "He broke into a home and stole bread to feed his family. Cosette gasped and her brow furrowed.

"That's stealing!" she said. Jean could hardly hide his wince.

"Yes...yes, it is," he murmured. "But, he did it to help his family."

"So, it's okay...?" Cosette asked, her brow furrowed in confusion, her head tilted. Valjean quickly shook his head, realizing his mistake.

"No, no...of course not. It's never okay to steal." He hesitated. "Are you sure you want me to continue this story. He expected her to say no, seeing as this really wasn't much of a story.

"Yes!" cried Cosette, bouncing up and down. "What happened? Did he go back to help his family?" Jean sighed, turning and sitting cross-legged on the bed so he was facing the blonde-haired girl.

"Well, not persay, ma petite," he replied, smiling slightly as he shook his head. "He was arrested. They threw him in jail for five years."

"What happened to his family?! Did he go back to them when he was freed?" Cosette could hardly contain her concern. Her little forehead wrinkled again in fear and she looked at Valjean with pleading eyes.

"He wasn't freed after five years...he tried to escape, but they just took him back and locked him up longer." Biting the inside of his cheek, he tried to keep himself from tearing up at the thought. "...he didn't see his family. They kept him nineteen years. Nineteen years, he toiled and worked until he was tired and felt he couldn't stand up anymore."

"And when the nineteen years were done...?"

"Well, they let him out on parole," Jean said, not even realizing that the story-like set-up of his tale had been completely lost. "But, that wasn't good enough for him. You see, no one would give him a job because they were afraid of him...even though he only stole some bread." By then, he'd relaxed enough to be able to continue the story smoothly and without hesitation. "He tried to steal more things, from a bishop this time, but when they threatened to arrest him, the benevolent bi-"

"What does benevolent mean?" Cosette asked, tilting her head like a confused puppy. Valjean smiled.

"It means someone is kind and giving," Valjean clarified. "The bishop was kind and he let the man go with the things he stole, telling him to use them for good. The man decided then that he would break his parole- he was going to run away from the law and make a new name for himself." Jean looked over once more, worried she'd be upset by the ending. What he saw in her eyes, though, was not fear or worry. Nothing that he had been expecting. It was instead deep though and...concern?

"And...?" Cosette asked, tilting her head as if to prompt him to continue.

"Well, that's it," Valjean said. "Nothing more."

"But, it can't end like that!" she cried, throwing her hands in the air. "What happened to him afterwards? Did he find his family? Did he fall in love?" Jean sighed and shrugged.

"He...he found a young girl who needed a family just like he did," he replied slowly. "So, he adopted her into his new family. La fin." Cosette blinked and snuggled further into her bed, yawning.

"Like us...?" she asked. Jean tensed, eyes widening slightly. "Except...you wouldn't steal things." He gave a nervous laugh and nodded as he stood up from the bed.

"Yes, you're right, ma petite," he said, smiling at her. She yawned again and curled into a ball with the doll in her arms as Valjean pulled the blanket further up on her before he walked to the door, yawning himself.

"Papa...?" she asked weakly, obviously on the brink of sleep and consciousness. Jean stopped and looked back at her.

"Yes...?"

"Well...you know, I don't think that man was very bad," she said, her statement broken with yawns. "I mean, he did steal the bread...and he broke his parole...but, he tried to help his family and he helped the girl in the end and he was nice, I bet. I think I'd like to meet him some day." Jean smiled weakly in the doorway, but it was too dark by then for her to see the smile.

"I'm sure one day you will meet him," he whispered. The ex-convict walked toward her bed slowly and crouched down to kiss her forehead before he blew out the candle at her nightstand. As he closed the door behind himself, he looked toward her once more. "Good night, Cosette."

"Good night, Papa."