Les Miserables 1978

Jean Valjean couldn't believe it. Of all the people who had to be spying on the barricades, of all the policemen to be captured by the group of boys that Valjean had purposefully sought out this very night, it had to be that one.

But of course it was that one. No matter where Jean Valjean went, no matter where he hid or what his name was, Javert was there, like a shadow or a leech or a tracking hound.

Valjean led the tied man to the corner ally, out of the barricades sights.

The man before him was tied well, the rope going from his neck between his legs and binding his hands together behind his back. The students knew their knots well. As they stopped walking, Valjean eyed Javert. The man aged over the years as Valjean himself had. Javert wore civilian clothes, the better to spy in, making him look less threatening then when he wore the full uniform of the police force. He looked almost human. But what struck Valjean as odd was the pained look in Javert's eye.

"Well, get on with it then. Take your revenge," Javert said, his eyes narrowed but his voice seemed…constricted, as though in some sort of anguish. Was the man in pain? He didn't seem to be outwardly harmed or injured.

Valjean turned, grabbing a knife sheathed in the belt of a fallen solider, and Javert scoffed, a tight smile on his thin lips.

"Ah yes, a knife. So much the better for a cutthroat like you."

"Turn around," Valjean commanded. Javert looked surprised by the command. Once again that anguish came over his mien, an anguish Valjean couldn't decipher properly on the policeman.

Slowly the Inspector turned and faced the wall. Valjean stared at the man's back, at the tension in his shoulders. How easy it would be to slip the knife between the shoulder blades, to rid himself of this tormentor? Hadn't he sworn to do so all those years ago? No one would blame him. The students expected it of him, as did Javert. Valjean was already wanted, what did one more crime really count for?

But ever since Valjean's soul was saved by the Bishop, ever since he gave all his hatred and anger over to God to be replaced by peace and charity, thoughts of revenge were gone. The man before would not die, not by Valjean's hands at least. He would show the Inspector that the criminal he thought Valjean was was long dead.

Valjean grabbed the Inspector's wrist and felt the man flinch. He then cut the bonds and stepped back.

"You're free." Javert slowly looked over his shoulder, suspicion evident on his face. He narrowed his eyes, leaning heavily against the brick wall, away from Valjean.

"You madden me," Javert snarled. "Just kill me!"

"Just get out of here," Valjean snapped back. Javert stared at Valjean, shaking where he stood, but whether the tremors were from anger, fear or something entirely different, Valjean couldn't say.

He walked away from the Inspector, ignoring the burning hole in the back of his head as Javert stared him down. He turned his back on the Inspector and wiped his hands of the whole thing. There would be no revenge from Valjean, not against that man. He held no hatred for him, no anger or murderous intent. It was done.

…

Valjean huffed and panted as he dragged Marius through the muck of the Paris sewers. The smell alone was suffocating, making it hard to breathe as he trudged, the weight on his shoulders dragged him down and slowed him considerably. But the sound of trooping footsteps echoing behind him, closer and closer kept him going. He couldn't stop now, not after everything!

He saw the light ahead of him. An exit. He huffed and pushed on, the ache in his legs growing but he fought passed it. The light before him was dim but it was his beacon; it was the like the Holy light that had lead him out of his despair and anger, away from that past and into a more righteous life. He had to get out of this tunnel, out of the darkness. If he could just make it to that light…

Valjean climbed out from the muck, basking in the sunlight that shone down from the escape. He hauled Marius up the ladder, laying him on the platform as Valjean rose to try and open the grate.

"Halt!"

Valjean froze at the familiar voice echoing in the tunnels. He looked and his heart sank.

He couldn't run. He could never get away, this man—even after setting him free—still pursued him like a well-trained hunting dog, like a magnet or a moth to a flame. This man was impossible to escape.

Javert jerked the gun downward, indicating for Valjean to climb down. The older man sighed and descended from the ladder.

Javert's eyes never left Valjean, watching his every move, wide and fierce. Valjean noticed the tension in the man's shoulders, saw his Adam's apple bob slightly as he swallowed. The ex-convict stopped before the Inspector who still dawned the civilian disguise and waited.

After a moment, Javert spoke. "Why? Why did you let me go?"

Valjean hadn't expected questions, especially not something like this. He'd expected demands and orders, like every other encounter he'd had with the Inspector. Something was off with Javert…

Valjean paused to catch his breath from dragging a near corpse through the thick sludge of the Paris sewers and then answered. "I had no other choice."

"Choice?" Javert scoffed, like a curse.

"A long time ago…a man bought my soul and took all evil thoughts from it. He gave my soul to God—"

"There is no God!" Javert said firmly, the gun still trained to Valjean's chest. "There is only the law. Guilt and innocence do not exist outside of that."

Valjean blinked and calmed his beating heart. There wasn't going to be any convincing him, no talking his way out of this. Javert had him, so set in his ways as he was. Valjean resigned himself to his fate and stood a little taller.

"If that is what you believe…" he muttered, and then a little louder. "Then you must kill me." Javert kept his jaw tight, his gun unwavering. "Kill me. I won't run anymore. Go ahead and kill me."

Valjean wanted to get Marius out of here and to Cosette but the boy might be halfway dead by now. Cosette had the servant and the money he saved. He didn't want to leave her, but this had to end. And if the only way was for Javert to kill him now, down here in the sewers, then that's how it had to be.

Javert swallowed, his eyes staring at Valjean intently, but his hesitation was evident.

"Turn around." The tone and implications were clear; Valjean turned and faced the brick wall, his heart pounding. He waited, expecting to hear a gun shot. Would he feel pain, or just suddenly be alive one minute then gone the next? The last thing he'd see was this dirty brick wall, the last thing he'd smell was the putrid stench of Paris waste and the last sound would be Javert's command. This was how his life was to end…?

Valjean flinched as he heard a footstep, and then another and another as Javert approached. Did the man have a knife? Would he kill him like that, mocking what Valjean had not done in the alley? Valjean held his stance, his breath caught in his throat, his palms becoming clammy as he waited.

Javert's presence was close, Valjean felt him, standing directly behind him. Then suddenly, the older man felt warm breath against the back of his neck. "Don't move." The voice was quiet and commanding, but there was a hitch, almost like pain or desperation.

Valjean kept his face forward. Lips pressed against Valjean's neck. Once, twice, softly, hesitantly, like the touch of a feather.

Javert leaned closer, the kiss landing right below Valjean's ear. The man heard Javert's heavy breathing, almost panting. "God, Valjean…" The lips touched his neck, moving downward, always just a touch, but firm and desperate, careful. "Valjean, what have you done to me? You've killed me."

"Javert—"

"Don't speak!" Javert hissed against the pale neck, his voice dripping in anguish. Javert's hands moved up to Valjean's shoulders as if to steady himself, but the Inspector's hands barely grazed the broad shoulders. "Don't…please…" He kissed the back of Valjean's neck again. Valjean wished desperately to turn around, to speak, to ask, to understand. He wanted to see Javert's face, to read his expressions and identify the pitches of his labored tones.

Valjean closed his eyes, waiting for Javert to lean in again, to kiss him again. His heart hammered painfully as he waited but the cool lips never came back.

Slowly, Valjean turned his head. Fully turning around, Valjean looked all around him.

"Javert?"

The man was gone, and Valjean's whisper barely pierced the thick darkness around him.

Valjean moved forward, squinting into the darkness. He didn't understand. The back of his neck burned from the kisses, his chest ached from the hammering of his heart at the tenderness of the actions and the agony of the Inspector's voice.

"Javert!" Valjean screamed, his call echoing in the darkness but he heard nothing, no reply, no fading footsteps. There were no shadows or movement. Javert had disappeared silently, like a shadow in the full view of the midday sun.

Valjean's eyes moved back and forth, but when every corner proved to be empty, Valjean put a hand to his neck.

What did it mean? What did any of it mean; Javert's pain, the kisses, his disappearance? Javert was letting Valjean go…but why? None of it made sense. Valjean's heart hammered, his skin tingling. He ached to go down the tunnels, to search for Javert, find him, ask him. He wanted to know, needed to know. But there were more pressing issues at the moment.

"Javert…"

The older man lowered his hand slowly and moved back up the ladder toward Marius and escaped from the dreaded tunnels.