A/N: Another angst chapter, then a funny one, then a couple more angsty ones… I'm starting to question this fanfiction's genre.

Disclaimer: Eponine, Gavroche and Javert belong to Victor Hugo.

Eponine's startled cry brought Javert out of his reverie. He was downstairs in an instant to find the girl standing by an open door looking close to tears.

"He is gone! He is gone!"

For a moment Javert didn't know what she meant. Who? Who was gone? But then he looked down at the tiles beside the door where his tall boots and Eponine's white lace-ups stood, and saw the empty space between them. Gavroche's boots were gone. Upon further inspection Javert saw that the boy's jacket was missing as well.

"He took food from the kitchen and ran! We must find him! He will be hurt!"

Javert led Eponine to the sofa in the sitting room. "Stay here. I will find him. Do not follow me out, no matter what, do you understand?"

She nodded.

Shoving his boots onto his feet, Javert took up his jacket and his stick and ran from the house. He knew it was no use shouting for the boy—Gavroche had run to escape him, he would not return to his voice. Instead he searched in silence, scouring every snow-thick street, every icy alley until there was nowhere left to look. He went to the neighbors, none of whom had seen him, and Mable rounded up every man within ten-minutes' ride to help in the search. But it was no good. Gavroche may have been a stranger to these streets a few weeks ago, but he had had time to familiarize himself with them since then. He knew how not to be found, even in this place.

Javert returned home when the grey light of dawn began to soften the streets. One of the other men searching had insisted that he get some rest, and though he had protested the inspector knew it was a good idea. Upon coming through the door the first thing he saw was Eponine, slumped on the sofa beside the coals of last night's fire, sleeping.

Removing his coat, Javert draped it over the slumbering girl and reclined in one of the chairs occupying the far side of the sitting room. He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew his eyes were drifting open to be greeted by the sight of a plate of eggs on the table beside him. Eponine was standing by the wall a few feet away, her face pale and her eyes dark.

"You didn't find him." It wasn't a question.

He answered anyway. "No."

She walked brusquely from the room and he heard the splashing of a pot being shoved into the water basin. Soon the air was filled with the sound of a brush against iron.

Javert spent the remainder of the day searching high and low for Gavroche, but he had looked everywhere already. As pointless as it was, he could not keep himself from patrolling the streets in the hope that the urchin would step out of some snow-laden alley Javert had overlooked, his hat askew and his cheeks ruddy, smiling at some private joke.

No such miracle occurred.

Javert returned home to find his dinner waiting on the table and Eponine sitting on the sofa.

"You did not find him." It was not a question.

He answered anyway. "No."

Night after night this became their routine. They took to sleeping in the sitting room, she on the sofa and he in his chair. Every evening when Javert came home she would say the same thing, you did not find him, and every evening he replied, no.

Around midnight after the fourth day, when both Javert and Eponine were asleep, the door opened with just the slightest creak and then closed again. Two small black boots took their place between their larger counterparts and a pair of white lace-ups, and a grimy brown jacket joined a long black greatcoat. A pair of filthy stocking feet trod silently across the entrance hall and into the sitting room.

When Javert and Eponine woke the next morning, Gavroche was curled up at the foot of the sofa asleep. His hair was oily; his face caked in dirt and scratches, his clothes torn. Without a word Eponine sank to the floor in front of him and put her forehead to his. Waking slowly, Gavroche opened his eyes and blinked. Eponine smiled.

The young urchin stared at her, then at Javert who stood uncertainly across the room. The policeman seemed to fear that if he took a step too close, the boy would disappear again. He almost ran to bolt the door when Gavroche stood up and took a few purposeful steps away from the sofa. But instead of running away, Gavroche moved until he stood in front of Javert. Kneeling to meet the child's eyes, the inspector opened his mouth and was about to make some form of apology when he found himself suddenly caught up in a tight embrace. Although he made no move to return the hug—he was not sure he knew how—he did not stiffen or pull away. Over Gavroche's shoulder, he could see Eponine beaming.

A/N: Not as many reviews this time as I had hoped, but oh well. Here's hoping you haven't drowned or anything.

Luthien and Tari Onar: Yes, poor Gavroche. But NEVER FEAR he shall have his moment of glory. Maybe. Someday.

Princess Shlay: I guess I can let you slack off for a little while… but only a little while! Have a great time with your houseboat, and I look forward to hearing from you when you get back!