(A/N: I always thought that this was the craziest decision Jean Valjean makes in the entire novel (and that's saying something!) and we never really see his reasons behind it. Letting Javert go seems, to me, like something no one in their right mind would ever do. I also think it may have been wrong-after all, there wasn't just himself to consider; there was also the safety of the young men on the barricade, whose lives Javert's continued existence would have endangered. So this is my theory as to why Valjean gave Javert a second chance.)
The blond child harshly unties Javert's ropes and thrusts him into my hands. I call him a child because that's what he is-twenty-five at most, though he clearly has a terrible maturity beyond his years. He doesn't have any more business being here than Cosette would. Nevertheless, here he is, and while he gazes at Javert with a look of intense hatred, I can't feel anything for him besides admiration. What was I doing when I was his age? I can scarcely remember. I certainly wasn't trying to change the world. This young man has a deep reservoir of hatred, clearly, but all of it comes from a place of love-of God, though I doubt he would call it by that name. The only difference between him and me is that the paradise he aspires to is on earth.
I do not hesitate for a moment. I look into his steely eyes and try to make mine cold and unfeeling, like his are. He was brave when he shot Le Cabuc; he understands that it often takes more courage to hold one's fire. I had thought that these young men would be bloodthirsty and vengeful; I was wrong. This man is charismatic; if I were young, I would follow him to the ends of the earth. As it is, I can only my duty as one of the insurgents. And apparently, God has seen it fit to reward me for my life of humble poverty by giving me this opportunity for revenge. I mentally make the sign of the cross heavenward. Lord, I know I shouldn't desire revenge, but if revenge comes crawling to me on its hands and knees, who am I to defy your wishes?
I lead Javert outside the cafe like a shepherd herding a lamb to be slaughtered. I've had plenty of experience of how this feels, from the other end. It seems I don't know my own strength, because Javert seems to glide along behind me, and we are inside the alley in no time at all. It doesn't occur to me to look behind me, to see if Javert is trying to cut himself free. He could be about to knock me unconscious with a pistol and I would remain none the wiser. From the one glance we exchanged, I could tell that Javert was resigned to his fate. Proud, but resigned. It was the kind of pride only a policeman could know, the kind they beat out of you in places like Toulon. I never thought that the smug smirk the guards always gave me there could ever translate into supreme defiance in the moment of death. Yet here we are. I smile to myself as we cross the threshold. This is going to be sweet.
I stop him in the corner and look him in the eyes once again. Sure enough, the look is still there. It's as if he thinks that by squinting, he'll be able to see me in my Toulon rags again, with the green cap on my head, surrounded by sea spray, humiliated and defeated. But all he sees is a tattered jacket and muscles that could crush him without even trying. Muscles of his own creation.
He flashes me a toothy smile. "You should have dismissed me when you had the chance," he says. "Monsieur le Maire." For the first time, in the near darkness, I realize just how ugly he really is. Like a wolf whose hair has grown scraggly and whose eyes are beady and cruel.
He's mocking me. It won't work. I pocket my gun and flick out my pocketknife. This thing has come in handy more times than I care to remember.
I take one last quick glance back at the cafe, plotting my escape route. Through the window, I make out the heavenly figure of Father Mabeuf, lying on a rickety table with blood over his heart. He looks so much like-no. It must be the twin candlesticks suspended above him, bathing him in light, creating an illusion.
Twin candlesticks?
The Bishop has returned to me tonight. I can feel his presence surrounding me, and I lower my knife. He would be ashamed to see me now, transforming into an avenger. Javert does not deserve a second chance. He is beyond changing. And yet, was I not once beyond changing as well? Was there a time when nearly anyone in the world would have given up on me, just from spotting me at a distance? Did I not once hate beyond reason, and learn to love? Tonight, I struck the helmet of a man whom I was trying to kill; God had ordained it that I should not be a murderer. And now, when there is no imminent danger to myself or anyone else, why should I kill a man whose only crime was doing his duty? What danger is a man when he is a fly inside a hornet's nest? For if the Bishop had not forgiven, had not turned the other cheek, then Fantine would have died alone and forgotten on the streets; Cosette would be working still with the Thenardiers, or more likely thrown out onto the streets as well, and likely dead of cold or hunger. His one act of mercy had had so many ripples already, and it would continue to have ripples for years and decades and until the end of time. And all because one man had believed, against all evidence and conjectures, that every man contained a spark, a true, unbreakable soul.
In less than a second I have sliced the ropes on Javert's wrists. Forgive me, Enjolras.
A/N: Thanks for reading! I know it seems pretty unlikely that Valjean was originally going to kill Javert but changed his mind at the last minute. But I think it makes the story more interesting if Valjean isn't strictly a pacifist, but is more practical and, like the Amis, believes that violence is sometimes justified. After all, something of the prisoner must have lingered inside him. Tell me what you think! (By the way, this fic was inspired by a short story called "Espuma y Nada Mas" by Hernando Tellez. If you're fluent in Spanish, I highly recommend that you read it.)
Also, someone please tell me how to do accent marks on an iPad keyboard. I'm planning to write a multi-chapter fic and I'd like to be able to spell all French names and places correctly.