Hey guys! some good news and bad news...Good news, we get some interaction in this chapter! YAY! bad news, i'll be out of town for a few days so not many uploads.

Shout to my reviewers, i always apreciate what you guys have to say! :Castellorizon and Opheliasstory, you guys are awesome!

XXI: Escape

That night, Javert had his hands pressed against his temples when the clerk knocked. "What?" he demanded harshly. Aimée's rejection had sucked away his patience.

The desk clerk, a nervous boy barely out of his teens, quickly shuffled in, a letter extended to the Inspector. "Urgent news from Paris, sir. A rider just came and-."

"Yes, just get out."

The wax was barely cooled, the seal smudged and ugly. Javert furrowed his brow and brought the blade of his letter opener underneath the seal with an easy sweep. The writing was messy and urgent, slightly blotted from not being able to dry before the letter was sealed.

His eyes widened as he read. He stood up quickly from his desk, his chair tumbling to the floor behind him. His fists clenched around the letter.

"I knew it," he breathed, his eyes wide as he looked up from the letter. "I KNEW IT!" The words left his mouth as a roar and he slammed his fists atop his desk, papers falling and the inkwells rattling.

The door slammed open and Javert stormed out of it, ignoring the inmates and clerks who watched him with fearful eyes. His sword swayed on his hip and he burst forth from the jail, ignoring the cool nighttime air. Boots spurred into Ombre's side so forcefully, the animal reared and whinnied before shooting off down the road at a sprint.

The night guard at the factory paled when Javert burst inside, his eyes wild and mouth in a snarl. "Where is he?" the Inspector demanded, grabbing a hold of the foreman's shirt and slamming him against the wall. "Where's Madeleine!"

"H-he went to the hospital," the man stuttered, bringing up his hands in surrender.

Javert snarled and let him drop to the floor as he stormed out. The night foreman heard the galloping hooves moments later as he struggled to catch his breath.

Aimée was walking home when she saw him storm his way into the factory. At first, she didn't recognize him, but as she neared and looked at the dark horse that he abandoned, there was no doubt. He had still kept Ombre after all this time?

What is Javert doing in the factory after hours? Aimée thought, her curiosity getting the better of her as she quickly neared, sticking close to the shadows. She heard a dull thump against the wall as she heard and his voice, angrier than she'd ever heard it. It was a roar, even muffled through the walls. The door pounded open again and Aimée ducked behind some crates, trying to stay hidden. She watched as Javert pulled himself easily into his saddle and galloped away towards the hospital, which sat at the end of the street next to the church.

Drawing her shawl tightly around her shoulders, Aimée followed him.

He had gone inside before she reached the door. It was swinging open, forgotten to be shut in the man's intent haste. The Sisters were gone, most likely retreating back to their rooms for the night. She heard heavy footsteps above her and muffled voices. The stairs disappeared under her two at a time as she climbed as quickly as she could. In the doorway, she froze.

The room was lined with beds and the thin sheets that separated them. Two nurses were cowering in the farthest corner, watching what unfurled with wide, frightened eyes. A woman, dirty, thin, and sickly pale lay in the bed near the center of the room, her neck limp as her head lulled to the side. Javert was standing with his back to her, his knees bent and sword drawn, the tip pointing to the chest of….

Monsieur le Maire? Aimée thought, bringing a hand up to the doorframe as she tried to stay out of sight. She had always known the man to be kind, patient with her father and always smiling at her whenever she had to stop by to deliver something. He had even complemented her once as he walked through her store, looking over everything with warm brown eyes.

"Valjean, you are under arrest," Aimée heard Javert growled. Her eyes widened, recognizing the name from Javert's letters. That was Valjean? The escaped convict?

Valjean looked around and leapt at a beam, tugging it free. The wood was heavy, a formidable weapon if need be. Desperation could turn anything into a defense. Javert swung, lunging forward. The blade of his sword cracked against Valjean's wooden beam. Every strike Javert threw, it would meet with wood. Valjean danced away, lighter on his feet than Aimée would've expected. Aimée covered her mouth when Javert swung forward again, mis-stepped, and the wood of Valjean's club thumped against his lower back. Aimée could hear Javert's grunt of pain as he stood, the sheets swaying around him.

Javert's mind was clouded, seething from hate for Valjean and subconsciously pained from Aimée. He wasn't fighting as well as he should've been, and Aimée watched in terror as he quickly tired, Valjean turning to the offensive. There was a crack as the wood slammed against Javert's knee and the man buckled. Aimée watched in horror as Valjean slammed the side of the board into Javert's head and he collapsed to the floor.

"Aimée's scream frightened herself. Valjean looked up, his eyes wide and fearful. He glanced down in horror, realizing what he had done. Aimée rushed inside, her eyesight blurry from shock. Valjean quickly backed away, desperately searching for an escape route. He found one in the form of the open window.

"What have you done!?" Aimée screamed behind. Her words were too slow…Valjean had disappeared.

There was a groan at her feet and Aimée quickly knelt, rolling Javert over so he rested on the flat of his back. Blood trickled from the side of his head and his eyes were closed, mouth open and slack. She bent over him, her ear close to his mouth. When she felt the warm puff of his breath on the side of her face, she quickly stood and grabbed a folded rag that rested on the bed nearest her. Pressing it to the side of Javert's head, she gazed down at him worriedly.

"Javert? Can you hear me?"

The eyelids fluttered, but they did not open and she could see just the whites underneath. She pressed her palm to his forehead and then to the other side of his face. She couldn't help but shiver as his skin met with hers. The nurses were gone, no doubt hurrying to the church.

Lot of good they are, Aimée thought to herself when she realized she was alone to try and care for Javert. Desperate to help him, she undid his stiff collar, hoping it would allow him to breathe better. When she was confident that his bleeding had stopped, she wiped up the blood and tossed the rag aside. It was a shallow wound, but it had been placed in just the right spot.

Aimée placed both of her hands on the sides of his face, cradling his head. The man's face was slack, his eyes still closed.

"Please, Javert…please wake up." She had heard terrifying stories of men who had been killed by just one blow to the head. She hoped to God that Javert was just unconscious. She had felt his breath, but it was shallow.

"I need you to wake up," she said, frightened. Kneeling over him, she pressed both of her hands to his shoulders and shook him. "I need you to wake up."

Footsteps frightened her as someone approached. It was the town priest, an older man, yet still youthful in his years with blonde hair and blue eyes. "What happened here?" he asked, his hand fluttering in front of him nervously.

"The Inspector was attacked, please, help me get him on a bed," Aimée said quickly. With a little bit of awkward moving, the two were able to lay him on the soft hospital mattress, his head resting back on a feather pillow.

"I'll send for water," the Father said, turning and leaving.

Aimée sat next to Javert, her chair in the center of the left side. His hand was resting slack against the mattress, fingers curled.

All he wanted was your forgiveness, she thought, looking at his fingers and wondering if they were still rough. You know that apology was genuine. You saw the pain in his eyes when you asked him to leave.

Softly, her fingers curled around his. They were slack in his unconsciousness, but she found her own hand tightening around his fingers. They were still rough, but warm and she found herself smiling as she sat with him. Tracing her thumb along his thick knuckles, she heard herself whispering, "I forgive you."

Suddenly, exhaustion washed over her. Mental, emotional, and physical. She felt her head lull forward. Looking at his face, she watched his eyes, closed and oblivious to what was happening around him. Exhaling a puff of a sigh, Aimée leaned forward and rested her forehead against Javert's side, the rising and falling of his steady breathing making her eyelids feel heavy.

When the Father returned with water, he didn't even bat an eye at the strange coupling. He set it down at the side of the bed and quickly left.

The first thing Javert noticed in the darkness was the pain. The side of his head felt as if it had been shot through with cannon. He groaned, feeling his eyes scrunch from the ache. He cracked them open and found that his surroundings were blurry, but he could pick up on the dim candlelight. He flexed the fingers of his hand, but found it odd when one of his hands flexed around an object, soft and warm and delicate.

Moving his fingers over the object in his grip, he felt them ghost over smooth skin. His brow furrowing in confusion, he trailed them along what felt like fingers. He flipped it over and softly touched the palm beneath. Who's hand was this?

As his vision sharpened, Javert realized he was in the hospital. Sheets hung around him, keeping him in sort of an enclosed cubby. He tried to lift his head upwards, but it felt heavy and cumbersome. When he moved, he felt a light weight on his side. He stood shock still. Someone was there with him. Forcing himself to look down, Javert saw a head with golden hair resting on his chest. Golden hair? He lifted his arm and saw that a pale hand was entwined with his.

Suddenly, his throat parched and he realized.

Aimée.

How did she get here? What had she seen? Valjean, where was Valjean? What had happened?

Javert looked back down at her, her face turned away from him, her back gently rising and falling. The woman was asleep. Javert quickly stiffened, realizing how blatantly inappropriate this must look. He looked around as best he could and saw no one around him.

Javert's brow suddenly furrowed, when he had left her in the flower shop, she had hated him. Why was she here now? He heaved a sigh and felt the weight of her head on his body. Warmth started to spread through him, momentarily dulling out the pain and frustration.

"I wish things could go back to how they were," Javert heard her say, her voice a song in his head.

She would wake up and hate him again, he knew this would happen. He had half a mind to speak to her, snap her awake and have things get underway. It would be easier for him that way, the quiet that filled the air calmed him and seeing her vulnerable against him tugged at his heart.

Weakness filled him and Javert realized he couldn't bring himself to wake her.

Aimée opened her eyes slowly. Her neck twinged and she lifted it, looking around. The hospital stared back. As she lifted her head, a searching touch ran its way along one of her fingers. She looked down and saw Javert's hand entwined with her own. Knowing he was awake, knowing that he had seen her resting against him, Aimée turned and met his eyes.

Green met blue and the silence flourished.

"What happened?" Javert asked softly, the roar that Aimée had heard earlier replaced by a gentle rumble.

She swallowed. "I saw you riding. I followed you."

"What did you see?"

"You, Valjean…everything."

Javert was quiet.

"I saw him hit you."

Javert's eyes searched her face and he tightened his fingers around her. "You are unharmed?"

Aimée gave him a small little smile that made his lungs clench. She had so much power over him. "I'm fine."

He looked relieved. "Where is Valjean?"

"I don't know… he jumped out the window."

"I must find him." Javert struggled to sit up, but he felt a pain behind his knees and his head split. A light pressure on his shoulders when Aimée gently pushed him back down onto the hospital bed. He watched her warily, wondering when her outburst would come.

But she was quiet, watching him intently, her teeth chewing at her bottom lip. Her words surprised him when she spoke.

"I've forgiven you."

Javert felt his jaw go slack. The relief he felt was nearly numbing. He couldn't help himself from reaching up to her, a sick man reaching for the angel of redemption. Aimée leaned forward and let his big palm cradle the side of her face. Her cheek was baby smooth as his rough palm gently cupped around it and Javert managed to smile at her.

"Thank you," he murmured.

Bringing up her own hand, she pressed it against his, holding him there against her face. "I'm sorry this happened to you," she said.

"Valjean is dangerous, I'll find him."

Aimée gently pulled Javert's hand away from her cheek and he managed to sit up. "Does…does that mean you're going to leave again?"

Javert looked down. "Aimée…I don't know. I won't lie to you."

He heard her sniff. "I just found you…."

With an instinct he didn't know he possessed, Javert stood, ignoring the pain in his head and knees, and swept her up into his arms. "Shh…" he whispered as he felt her arms wrap around him in return. She reached up and cradled the back of his head in her hand, her fingers in his hair. He closed his eyes, the scent of vanilla and lilac almost overpowering. "I'll search in Paris for a few days…but then I will return. If I leave, I will tell you."

"I've heard your promises before, Javert," Aimée whispered, unable to stop herself.

Javert sighed and pulled her away from him, keeping both hands on her shoulders. He lowered his head, making sure to meet his eyes. In their closeness Aimée could smell the smoke of his fireplace and the tang of shoe polish. She looked over his face, suddenly absorbed in his green eyes. Her heart flipped as she saw again how handsome he was to her.

"I will never hurt you again."

Aimée nodded. "I believe you."

Javert gave her a nod but did not smile. Instead, he slid his hands upwards to cradle her face. Aimée froze, eyes wide and body full of crackling shock. He leaned forward and pressed a long kiss on her forehead. Aimée closed her eyes and sighed, feeling the brush of his stubble and the warmth of his hands. When he pulled her away and held her close again, Aimée lost herself in the tight cocoon of protectiveness. She felt Javert sigh.

"You change me in an instant, mademoiselle," she heard him murmur. "You break my stone."