A/N: So I decided to include a third (concluding) chapter just for kicks. Contains some monologuing on Javert's part. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 3: Written in the Stars

Run, a voice inside had told him when Valjean brought him here. All Javert wanted to do was escape—to flee from Valjean, as Valjean had done so many times from him. Every passing moment had been agonizing, including torturous carriage ride. He had to restrain himself from reaching out and taking Valjean's hand, from embracing him forthright. But he'd been afraid to touch him knowing that he had divested from Valjean a peaceful life; one that he only hoped could be returned by letting him go and disappearing forever.

And now here they were-together.

The sun would be up soon. Javert lay in bed, staring at the ceiling in deep introspection, having barely slept through the night. He, who had never allowed himself to love, could not deny the rapture he felt knowing that he mattered to someone; that his love was reciprocated.

Yet somehow he felt he had betrayed another part of himself: the revered authoritative figure he had become. How could he throw all that he had worked for to the winds for this new life?

Did all that really matter now? Here was this convict—selfless, humble, and gracious. Valjean had never put himself before anyone.

Javert continued to question himself. The plight of the insurgent was another issue that still grated on him. Why had Valjean risked his life for a near-dead schoolboy? He did not understand. How easy it would have been to leave the boy for the scavengers of the night. Valjean had carried the boy so far, and for what? So he could die with dignity? Whatever the reason, he could not deny how in awe he was of the man's perseverance. Valjean possessed fortitude that could not be matched by any other. Javert began to think of the rest of those sorry souls—the whore, her child, the townspeople of Montreuil-sur-mer. And he himself. All their lives were changed for the better because of the actions of this living saint. Javert realized he could have been lying dead at the bottom of the Seine if it weren't for Valjean's actions.

He moved silently out of bed and made his way to Valjean's room on the first floor. The door creaked slightly as he peered into the room. Valjean stirred, but didn't wake. Javert yearned to be beside the sleeping man, but he had been cautious with him, allowed him time to recover. There was still so much he did not know about Valjean. The man had been through considerable ordeals almost unfathomable to Javert. Not even a lifetime of pursuit was enough to reveal all he wanted to know.

Javert slipped into the dark hallway, trying to keep the floorboards from letting out their deafening groans. He walked silently into the kitchen and stood there, observing his surroundings. Such a small dwelling, he thought. I may get used to it. In the window before him, he caught his reflection and turned away. Blurred though it was, he still thought he looked terrible. A table and chair were situated at the far end of the kitchen, and he sat down. He slid his finger across the wood tabletop removing a faint layer of dust. In that moment, a series of images appeared in his mind's eye: a kitchen filled with an abundance of food, the living quarters comfortably refurnished, he and Valjean sitting together at the table, a fine meal before them, maybe a visiting guest…

This sudden thought made him stop. The image of Valjean's ward appeared in his mind. In all this time he hadn't even considered the young woman in the scheme of it all. What would happen when she found out about him? How would she react to Valjean?

Would it be best if he simply left?

In the kitchen, Javert noticed a door that appeared to lead outside to an enclosed portion of the property. Though it was difficult to budge, he pulled it open as silently as he could. Stepping outside onto a stone walkway, he found the surrounding yard and gardens were small, but situated at the end of the path was an equally modest dwelling. His curiosity urged him forward.

He peered though the unclean windows of the little shack, but could not see anything. He pulled open the rusted door handle and it opened with a dry creak. The one-room interior was musty and barren, save for a bag of old potatoes that was collecting dust on a shelf, along with a few dried flowers, and a clock with the time frozen at 12:30. He wondered how long it had been stopped.

He noticed that the shelf was turned slightly and a faint sliver of blue morning light appeared to leak onto the floor. Carefully, Javert pulled the shelf back and realized it was connected to a door. He opened it further and discovered that it lead outside—a secret passage of sorts.

He walked the length of the passage and found another door at its end. Javert lifted the latch and pulled back the heavy oak door. On the other side was a deserted street.

He looked back at the residence, then back to the Rue de Babylone in front of him. How easy it could be to slip out unnoticed with Valjean peacefully asleep. He entertained the idea briefly. On the other hand, did he really have the heart to abandon his companion once more?

"Hello."

Javert turned around to find Valjean standing in the middle of the passage. Quiet as a church mouse. He smiled to himself. "You always seem to know where to find me, Valjean," he replied.

"Leaving already?"

Javert closed the gate to the street. "I was only clearing my head," was his half-hearted reply as he walked back to where Valjean stood.

He avoided meeting Valjean's eye, still unsure of himself, unsure if he should still be here.

"Walk with me," Valjean beckoned. He must have sensed Javert's unease, and they made their way out of the passage and back toward the garden.

"Do you know that Cosette would sit out here and meet with Marius, believing that I did not know of the affair?" He smiled as they walked. "How terribly wrong they were."

"It's overgrown," Javert remarked curtly as he tore off a vine that was creeping up a stone wall. "You should really tend to it…make room for flowers… "

"I would hardly consider greenery your foremost concern at the moment," said Valjean.

Javert looked at him and sighed. Valjean's warmth and kindness nearly overwhelmed him, and he felt a knot twist inside him. "Do I truly deserve one who has bestowed every inch of kindness upon me when I have treated him so poorly?"

"More than anything," Valjean replied.

Javert sat down on a nearby bench. He didn't want to bother Valjean with his trivial problems once again, but the old convict seemed more than willing to listen.

"Perhaps you'd feel better if you told me what's troubling you," said Valjean.

"You once said that I would never understand what it's like to live a terrible existence," Javert began.

Valjean sat beside him.

Javert continued slowly. "It is a dreadful predicament for anyone to emerge into this life amidst squalor. You and I know this too well. Perhaps you recall that I was born in a prison. You see, my mother was granted parole after my birth. That, however, did not improve matters. Being in my mother's care meant inadequate income. My father, habitual inebriate that he was, never took it upon himself to conserve our funds. At the age of five, I saw him sent off to the galleys, and we were left with nothing. And what does one do when they have nothing?" He looked at Valjean as he said this. "Desperation overpowers dignity. I needn't remind you, of course. Our means of living had become so deplorable, and there was a shop across from our residence that sold food and other items necessary for our survival. With my mother's persuasion, I agreed to break in and take what I could. Being a small child, I could easily slip through the windows of the building. My mother supplied me with a cloth sack that I could fill with food and any other objects useful to our plight. I broke in, took what I could, fumbling my way through the darkness only to knock over a stack of pans and dishes. The sound would have woken the dead. I ran back to the window, but I was too late. The shop owner found me and when the police arrived, I naturally tried to deny it all—as any child would—but it wouldn't suffice.

"'It was my mother's idea,' I eventually told them. I brought the police to my home, but upon arriving I found my mother had taken everything of ours and fled. She had abandoned me to the hands of the state….and I never saw her again.

"I could never forgive my mother for what she did. I lost my parents, my childhood, and learned the ways of the law, hoping to erase that life of squalor, rise above it, seek and punish all wrongdoers. And that is why I couldn't bear to be at your mercy.

"I've never told this to anyone. Not my superiors, nor any of my colleagues. I feared they would not understand my situation as you would." He paused. "You," he said with a half-hearted smile and a square look at Valjean. "It appears we are not as different as I once thought." Javert let out a long sigh and felt he had purged himself of a burdensome weight. "Say something, Valjean. The silence is maddening."

"You mustn't punish yourself. We can look to the past, but we can always choose to keep moving forward," he said. "I do believe everyone deserves a second chance."

"Spoken like one who has had quite a few," Javert said with a smile. He clasped his hands together and looked up to watch the sunlight beginning to filter through the garden trees. "Valjean, you and I have walked away from hell in the streets. Somehow I cannot deny this place is some small piece of heaven; recompense for all that we've endured, don't you think?"

Valjean nodded. He took Javert's hand in his.

Javert drank in the morning sunlight, feeling grateful for the compassion that Valjean possessed; grateful for all that he had. But how long would it last? A thought suddenly came to his mind. "What of the girl?" he asked.

Valjean did not answer right away.

"I don't want her to worry about me—or you," he finally spoke. "She has had much to deal with. In time she'll have to know. Just not now."

Javert gave a small nod and stood, and he and Valjean walked back to the house.

"She will thank you," Valjean said.

"What for?"

"For allowing the one she loves refuge. You saved him. And you saved her from a life of living without the one she loves."

Javert dwelled on this for a moment. Valjean was right. "I still do not agree with his cause," said Javert, "but...perhaps he will learn from all this." He paused. "I suppose a second chance will do him good?"

"I am sure we'll find out, Javert," Valjean replied as they walked back into the house. "One day at a time."

Thanks for reading!