A quiet two months passed and Eponine and Javert found themselves plunged into a cold December. A depression had seemed to settle over the former slum girl and she had spent these two months in almost complete silence, curled up by the window in Javert's parlor and thinking of no one or nothing but Marius. Her pain sprung from her separation from her love sent Javert into waves of agony as he watched her mope around his house. He had attempted time and again to discover what was ailing her, but she would give him no hint, only insisting that she was fine. Though this sad demeanor masked her usual self, every now and then a fiery spark would light in Eponine. She would become proud, rough, cheeky like her younger brother, sly like her father. For a while she would become her old self and Javert could not help wanting to spend every one of these moments with her. Once, in one of these moods, she had punched him in the arm hard enough to leave a bruise. He had had to resist the urge to laugh and, at night, when he had examined the bruise, he could not help but smirk at the purple and yellow stretch of skin.

In eight weeks, Javert's feelings had grown considerably. He was now completely sure that he was indeed infatuated with her; there could be no other explanation. However, he did not put in any effort to pursue her; the lack of attention he regarded her with showed how much he really cared for her; he would simply not allow himself the pleasure of adoring her too intimately. Though he remained arrogant, proud and sarcastic on the outside, Javert's internal self was in constant anxiety over Eponine and her pain. He felt, for the first time in his life, completely helpless, adding even more to the troubles he had been experiencing over his new life style and new feelings. Her depression was contagious. Javert had spent the past two months lost in a dark cloud similar to Eponine's, though, unlike her, he refused to show it. People had hardly noticed a change in him, only excluding the former slum girl. She had the privilege to say that she had caught him once or twice gloomily staring at an edge of the wall when he was supposed to be working. It was strange, unexpected, and a little frightening. On top of this, he had spent the past two months aching and fluttering each time she walked near him or spoke in his presence. It was unbearable, but he bore through it. Javert ordered, commanded, arrested, sneered, glared, and refused to let any amount of crime slip past him, performing admirably as an officer.

It had been nearly five months since the rebellion, five months since Eponine had pulled Javert back from the swirling black depths of the Seine, five months since she had seen the boy she loved so dearly, five months since she had seen any other member from her past. So it was with a shock that, while on an outing with Javert, Eponine happened to run into her younger sister. Another shock was received when Javert did not incarcerate the younger Thenardier daughter.

In the process of finding dinner for the day, Azelma had been scoping the streets, looking for some bourgeois who dared to brave the winter cold. She had spotted one particular man, out with either his lady or his daughter, she could not tell which, whose pockets seemed fruitful enough. This man was Inspector Javert and his female companion was Eponine. Azelma did not recognize these two people who played such important roles in her life, Javert because he was not wearing his usual uniform, Eponine because she was simply unrecognizable.

Azelma carefully observed the man she referred to as her 'charity'. With all the ease of a regular pickpocket, the young girl barely past fifteen artfully walked past her victim and slipped her hand into the pocket of his frock coat. Her efforts were sugarless, however. Javert was too used to the stylings of theft not to have recognized the girl's intentions towards his coat as soon as he layed eyes on her watching him intently. A rough hand trapped Azelma by gripping her wrist and the scrawny girl tried to twist out of his grasp unsuccessfully. With a small exclaim, she recognized defeat. Azelma had been caught.

Looking up into the man's face guiltily, the young girl paled considerably beneath the grime that coated her, all of the blood in her body seeming to rush to her stomachs. The merciless green eyes, the pale skin, the fiercely clean shaven face, the fiery red hair, all sent waves of terror into her. The man's face she looked into was Inspector Javert's. Silently, Azelma cursed herself for not looking at him too closely. Surely he would be tossing her back into Les Madelonettes again. The fragile girl cringed and flinched, expecting a slap to the face and a bellowing insult to her ears before she received a cuffing of the hands. Before Javert could open his mouth, however, another voice rang through the air, one she recalled just as well as the Inspector's.

"Azelma!" Eponine exclaimed, her hoarse voice sending a nostalgic chill through her younger sister. The thing with the gaunt face, the curled hair, and the thick winter gown seemed to be a phantom from Azelma's past, a long lost vision suddenly remembered.

"Eponine?" She asked slowly, ogling the lady in front of her with wonder. "But this possibly can't be my sister. This is a lady, this is a doll from when I was little! Look at her dress, she's a queen! And why would my sister ever be escorted like that by Inspector Javert!"

"I may look like one, but I am certainly no lady, 'Zelma." Eponine growled before laughing at her younger sister's spoken thoughts. Embracing her filthy sister, Azelma was given full reassurance that the woman in front of her was indeed her flesh and blood.

"But what is this? Where have you been all this time? Father said you were dead!"

"Did he?" Eponine murmured. How like her father to not even bother in investigating the disappearance of his daughter. "You didn't know, then? None of you?"

"Know what?" Azelma asked curiously, cocking her head to one side.

"I was shot. I was in the hospital for almost two months." Eponine said gravely, angry at her family for not even bothering to discover her whereabouts.

"Oh, 'Ponine, I didn't know. I was in the brook for a while, got picked up by some officer. I woulda visited you if I knew, trust me, but I believed father when he said you were dead."

"Sure. I understand." The older sister whispered coldly. At her side, she felt someone lace their fingers over her arm comfortingly and both girls were suddenly re-aware of Inspector Javert, still at their sides. "You know Inspector Javert, 'Zelm. He took me in. He's a saint."

"I wouldn't say that." Javert said indifferently, still clutching Azelma's wrist in his hand. "I merely did what God would have wanted me to do."

Javert looked at his ward wistfully and Azelma was put under the impression that he had done more than just take her in. Yes, she had heard the rumors just like everybody else. She had almost forgotten the whispered stories about her sister and this man; there was always some new gossip to replace the old, but now she did not doubt them. And hadn't she found the Inspector in her sister's bed one morning? The scrawny, filthy girl, protective of her sister, glared at the man she believed her older sibling to be sleeping with and tried again to pull her hand out of his grip, still unsuccessful.

"I don't like you." Azelma told Javert bluntly, and he almost began to laugh at her boldness. He felt respect towards her for her lack of respect. "You're doing her wrong, Monsieur."

"What wrong have I done?" Javert asked, his eyes narrowed slightly in a response stemming from irritation and curiosity. He was indeed unaware of what the little tragedy meant.

Azelma gave a small gasp and, with her free hand, draped her arm over her thinly clothed chest, her skinny fingers clutching the side of her forearm. Not wanting to speak of certain things aloud, she shook her head, her grubby cheeks blushing furiously, and looked up at Javert fearfully. The result was that he looked back at her, pity mixed behind the obvious detest in his face. Though her greasy blond hair and blank blue eyes were nothing like her sister's, he could see the resemblance between the two Thenardier daughters. They both shared the same round face, the same gentle nose, the same cupid's bow lips. Here in front of him was the family of his heart, slowly falling down that same chasm her sister had been residing in before he had pulled her out. Within him, he felt extremely uncomfortable. He was torn between his dislike of this dirty, dusty girl who was obviously a criminal in the making and his desire to please the older sister.

"Why don't you come home with us? You can get something to eat and maybe clean up a bit." Javert asked her, his voice calm but his body agitated as he stamped a foot in the street quietly so that the two woman would not notice. As he gripped his teeth in some form of strange eternal pain, it is important to note that he was not inviting Azelma into his home out of hospitality, nor was it out of pity or kindness. Throughout the past few weeks he had attempted several things to please Eponine, all of which had failed. There had been the moment where he had complimented her on her appearance. She had murmured a thank you, but she had also grimaced when she thought he was not looking. Then there was the occasion where he had given her a necklace. It had not pleased her, as it would any other lady, but she had accepted it with a certain reluctance. He had not seen her wear it once. Finally, Javert brought himself back to an evening where the two of them had been sitting in his parlor, silently, Javert, as always, working, and Eponine contenting herself with sitting by the window and watching the world.

"There's a spider on the windowsill." She had said.

It had been the first word she had said to him all day and Javert was excited to hear her voice fill the air. She was on no part purposefully withholding speech in sadness or anger, she merely did not feel like talking. Though she did not intend it, Eponine's natural prone to silence scalded his spirit. In the course of two months they had barely had two conversations. He had spent several mournful hours with her in silence, wishing she would only speak to him so that he could be granted a dose of her rough voice. Javert was nearly ecstatic when she finally spoke, though, as he was always in control of his demeanor excluding a few small events, he refused to portray his happiness.

Without saying a word in response, he had stood from his seat and set aside his papers, walking over to where she had curled herself up on the window seat. A monstrously sized creature had stationed itself on the pane of the glass. Silently, he had scooped the spider into his palm and, after opening the window a crack, dropped it back into the world.

"Why did you do that?" Eponine had asked him, obviously displeased. "It was only a spider."

He had nearly slapped himself. Javert could simply not make this girl happy, when that was really all he wanted. But now, as he observed the younger Thenardier daughter, he thought it would please Eponine to see him bestowing kindness upon her younger sister. Perhaps it would even make her like him. One of the greatest fears he had ever experienced was one he had recently developed. It was the fear that Eponine secretly loathed him.

The truth was that she did not loathe her legal guardian. Eponine had long ago vowed that she would never let herself feel for any man other than Marius. Because of this she shut out every other male figure in her life, adding an unintentional cold atmosphere around her whenever she was in the presence of a man. Eponine did not hate Javert, she only felt uncomfortable around him. The memory of their kiss had not vanished from her mind, nor had the scene in his room where he had seemed aroused at her touch. These incidents had worried her and, despite his efforts to hide it, she had begun to suspect that he felt some form of attraction towards her. Her woman's intuition had sensed danger and she had hurriedly backed away from him, shutting him out to the point where he felt lost in a frigid ice storm. Because of this, Javert had jumped on every opportunity to show himself off to her, much like a peacock displaying his glorious feathers. He had done dozens of small things to prove his worth to her, however, only one made a substantial impact on her: his subtle kindness. Though he was always wolfish in his demeanor, he was gentle towards her, like a parent wolf, and twice as protective. He had his own sort of rough gentleness that pleased Eponine.

Azelma shook her head hurriedly at his offer. In her romantic mind, she assumed that he wanted to add her to his 'collection', as men often call it.

"I'm a good girl." She said, one arm still crossed over her chest. "Not like 'Ponine."

"Please, I insist." Javert continued, a little more insistent now that he knew the girl would probably not be accompanying the two home.

"Come on, 'Zelma. Look at you. You're freezing. You're starving."

Azelma was indeed shivering, nothing but her thin blouse and skirt offering her protection against the cold. The young girl's collar bones protruded like ghastly twigs beneath grubby skin stretched taut and her cheekbones stood out in sharp contrast.

"I couldn't leave the streets, 'Ponine. You know that. This is my home. And what about mother? She was so heartbroken when you went missing. She cried for days."

"Did she really?" Eponine asked, completely surprised. Azelma nodded sadly.

"I couldn't do that to her. I'm the only thing she's got left now besides father. And I think she's falling ill." It was Eponine's turn to nod. "Besides, you could pull this off, but I can't." Azelma looked at her sisters lovely clothes and hair and glanced at Javert's hand curled around her arm. Haughty jade eyes caressed her protectively and the skinny little girl could not imagine herself in that place.

"Take this then."

Eponine, doffing her winter coat, handed it to her sister who slid it over her bare arms gratefully. Without a word, Javert took off his black frock coat and placed it over Eponine's shoulders, wrapping it around her thin form carefully.

"Thank you." She murmured to him, drawing the coat closer around herself.

Azelma eyed Javert again warily, clutching the hem of Eponine's jacket to her chest. Like her parents, or any other criminals, she felt the unmistakable urge to flee from him, having it driven into her head at an early age that policeman always meant bad news. The emaciated girl was almost sure he would arrest her any moment for attempting to rob him, and being stuck back in Les Madelonettes was not something she could deal with. While she had been putting on her sister's coat, Javert had released her arm and she saw a perfect opportunity for escape.

"I wouldn't want to bother you much anymore, then. I should just get on home. Mother will be missing me."

She took a step back but before se could run off, Javert wrapped his hand around her arm again and held out something for her in his other hand.

"This is what you wanted, I think." He said, quietly, giving her a slight glare, making sure his hostilities towards the scrawny thing in front him remained a secret to her older sister..

Taking two five franc pieces from him, Azelma looked up at Javert, her mouth slightly open in wonder. Slowly, suspicion dawned on her, as if this was some trick, that in a moment he would clap her in cuffs and laugh at her gratefulness. She tried to shove the money back into his hand but he would not accept.

"Take it." He ordered, closing her hand around the two franc pieces.

"Thank you, then, Monsieur. Good bye, 'Ponine. I hope I'll see you around."

Within moments, she had vanished amongst the shadows and Javert shook his head at the spot where she had been.

"You and your sister are quite similar." He commented, taking hold of her arm again and resisting the urge to shiver without his coat.

"You think so?" Eponine whispered dejectedly. Javert, noticing a sudden sadness in her, wrapped his arm around her waist in an attempt to comfort her, though it only made her feel more uncomfortable. A glimmer of wetness coated her eyes and he held her close to him, suddenly frightened by her display of emotion. He only hoped no passing citizen would notice Inspector Javert holding this woman who looked remarkably similar to a particular girl from the slums.

"What is it? What have I said?" He said calmly but firmly, desperately wanting to console her but afraid to look weak. "I'm sorry."

"No!" She exclaimed, giving a small, sad chuckle. "It's nothing you've done."

"Then what is upsetting you?" He asked, and Eponine was startled by his concern. Vague sincerity whirled in his burning eyes and she suddenly felt like he was much to close to her for comfort. She pushed him away from her and he murmured an apology.

"She's the only family I've got left. And you've just seen her. Sick, hungry, filthy. I'm worried. What will become of her, I think to myself, where will she find herself? Without her I'll be all alone in the world."

"Don't speak nonsense!" Javert barked, still holding her close to his body, his breath seeming like a puff of smoke in the cold air, and she jumped slightly. Seeing that he had startled her, both his gaze and his voice softened. "I'm your family now. Now lets go home. It's freezing out here and I have far too much work to do to fall ill."

When Eponine was again situated in her usual post in front of the window, Javert sat in front of the crackling fire place, overseeing more papers for the prefecture of the Paris police. She plunged them both into silence, again. Occasionally, he would send a glance over to her, again wishing that she would only talk to him, willing her to open her mouth and speak. Still unsure of exactly what he felt about her, Javert only agitated himself further by thinking about the girl in the windowsill and he could not stop himself from fidgeting around uncomfortably in her ever persistent silence. After nearly an hour of this silence, he nearly gave up and was startled when he heard her voice again.

"Arcturus?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you."

"Whatever for, dear?"

Javert almost choked on his breath. He felt his face burn, though it did not flush. He was furious at himself. He had not meant to utter that one final syllable so often exchanged between husbands and wives, or even lovers. Imperceptibly, he looked over at her to see her reaction and was relieved when she showed nothing. She was still sitting on the window seat, her arms wrapped around her legs like a street child, mostly ignoring him. He sighed, relieved at her lack of attention at his words and at the same time crushed by it. If Eponine had looked over at him she would have been disturbed by the fierce want in his eyes. She was almost driving him mad with her ignorance towards him and he felt part of his ever reliable control begin to crack.

"For everything. The home, the food, the clothes."

"Of course, Eponine." Javert drawled, feigning boredom as his eyes poured disinterestedly across his papers, and, in reality, listening to her words intently.

"No. Really." She said, standing up and looking at him directly. "You really are a saint. You've probably saved my life."

"And you saved mine." Javert said. He watched as she stepped over to him wearily and sat in the armchair opposite him. Slouching, Eponine rested her chin on her hand and her elbow on her knee and he diverted his eyes at the swelling of her breasts, now made visible by her poor posture. She grinned broadly at him, though the happiness did not reach her eyes. Javert suddenly felt very warm with her sitting so near him. Without blinking, he stared into her eyes so that his sight did not stray downwards. The result was that she was left slightly moved by his attentiveness towards her, and only slightly perturbed by his intensiveness.

"Now let's just try not to die." He huffed.