A/N: In the book, when they meet up after the barricade, Javert and Valjean ride in a carriage together (instead of splitting up on foot). So this starts out with the two of them in a carriage.

A sharp crack, and the coach lurched to one side. Valjean fell hard into the wall beside him and then crashed to the seat. Opposite him Javert did the same.

They struggled upright and hung on, as the carriage careened wildly and then finally dragged to a stop. "A wheel," Valjean said – unnecessarily; they were listing to one side. "Where are we? I hope someone has a jack." Javert gave him a strange look, whose meaning he could guess. "I am not lifting any wagons today. I'm too old," he explained, then shuddered. The galleys would not care that he was too old. He would be called upon to exhibit the freakish strength of his youth – or else.

Javert opened the door and spoke to the driver. There were footsteps in the street – a policeman come to investigate the commotion. Upon recognizing Javert, he offered to lend his aid, either by helping to change out the wheel or by helping to find a new cab. Javert conversed with him a few moments – with his hand on his prisoner's knee the whole time, feeling for movement, warning against it.

Only when he sat back down inside, closing the door firmly behind him, did he withdraw the hand. He settled back in his seat as if to wait.

But Valjean found the prospect of waiting to be a horror. "A new cab would be faster than a new wheel," he proposed, nearly pleading. "Or perhaps we can walk?"

"Faster?" Javert echoed with a frown of puzzlement. "Shouldn't you be glad of this delay? It means a few more minutes before… we arrive."

Valjean shook his head. The pit in his stomach might kill him. "I am suffering."

"I see." The inspector was quiet a moment. Then, he steepled his hands under his chin and lowered his eyes. "I warned you, Valjean," he said heavily. "I told you that I have a job to do and that if we crossed paths again, I would not stand down."

"You warned me," Valjean agreed, without spirit. "I was warned."

"However. I can do something for you." Javert took a deep breath. "What I can do is this: I can remind you of a fact that you may be too distraught to remember on your own right now."

Valjean cleared his throat. "What fact?"

"The fact that I have never been a match for you in a fistfight."

Valjean stared.

"They are occupied with the wheel," Javert went on. "If you were to overpower me and slip out of here quickly, I think you would get away."

He could not believe his ears. "Are you telling me…?"

"I am telling you I'll fight," Javert said, still calm. "With every ounce of strength I possess. You may have to kill me after all."

It was not the time for thought, for the weighing of possibilities. Valjean hurled himself forward, smashing into Javert's skull with his – then did it two more times in quick succession, brutally, so fast that there was no time to fight back or even to cry out. There was the hollow crunch and clunk of the blows, the dull thump of Javert's head against the wall behind him. And then silence.

Valjean bent down to take stock – slowly; he himself was dizzy. There was blood, and though Javert breathed he was unconscious. Valjean dug into his pockets to find his papers – his address. He and the inspector still had unfinished business between them, and he would prefer to choose the time and place of their next confrontation. It was less harrowing to be the hunter than the hunted.

He opened the carriage door and stole out into the night. Javert was right: he got away.

TBC.

There's one more part to this. Should be up tomorrow. Let me know what you think!