Author's Note: Ooooh I am QUITE sorry for the long wait. This chapter was long and I had been debating for the longest time on how best to approach it. Also, being in the midst of tech week hell doesn't help. Anyways, let me know if you enjoyed it! I hope you'll all find the characterization accurate enough, forgive me if there's some OOC tenderness, I just felt sentimental :3 Anyway, to all of the lovely fans of this story, I say thank you so much for the continued support!

PS: I got a request in one of the reviews for more Javert on his own, so the little thing with the officer in the beginning is my attempt at doing just that. He's not going to be a major character or anything. Thanks!

Javert signed his last report and turned his head just in time to see the tower shake and fall. He looked down from his desk and sighed at the papers flying everywhere.

"Of course" he muttered, getting down on his knees to gather the papers. He would have to stay even later tonight now just to reorganize all of these files. Unlike most people, Javert found he liked doing paperwork. It made him feel important that his report and signature meant so much- it could promote officers, demote them, and sign away the lives of criminals. For someone who did not learn to write until he was fifteen, he thought it was a good position to be at.

A knock on the door sent Javert bolt upright."Yes?" he called, straightening his uniform.

"I-It is A-Allard, Inspector. You t-t-told me to come at e-eight b-b-but if you are busy I-"

"-You may enter." Javert cut him off. Allard opened the door gently and closed it, his shoulders hunched like a frightened animal kicked into a corner.

"S-sorry if this i-i-is a b-bad time but y-y-you s-said I could sp-speak to you on t-the sub-subject of m-m-my-"

"-don't stutter, lad, nobody will understand you." Javert, of course, already knew what he had come for; however, he also knew he would never get it if he was afraid of his own shadow.

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. You h-had said that I could speak to you on- on the subject of my promotion. Th-there are officers ar-round me that have only been here a f-few months that are already ful-fully ranked. I wanted to ask about me."

"Well, sit down." Javert ignored the papers on the ground as the boy took a frightened seat. He already knew his story: Richard Allard, twenty, second year junior officer. He was a smart and strong enough boy- but that was just it- he was a boy. He was at least six feet tall, but lanky, with closely cropped hair that might have been black or brown. He was one of those people you met that was plainly uncomfortable in his own skin: exactly why Javert never promoted him to full officer. Javert had seen Allard with prisoners before. If they were rowdy, he shrunk back and resorted to pleading with them, often forgetting that he was armed at all times with both a gun and a baton. The other officers often piled their work on him and he quietly accepted it with the stutter he showed now.

"If you do not mind, sir, could y-you tell me why I have not been p-promoted?"

"Why do you think you have not been promoted?"

"I c-can't say I know, Inspector. I d-do all the work that's given to me-"

"-Exactly. You do all of the work that is given to you. Even other people's work that is given to you."

"What do you mean?"

"I have been observing you from the moment you first asked about a promotion. You allow the other officers to push you around and step all over you. You're frightened of your own shadow, not to mention the convicts- who, by the way, are locked safely away in their cells. Why should I promote a boy who, as soon as I give him his rapier, will drop it in fear of the sharp point on the end?"

"O-other officers-"

"-have shown adequate hardness and ability to be promoted. Have you?"

"Well s-sir, if you say I haven't-"

"-Aha. If I say you haven't. Allard, use your own mind instead of the orders of others. Say no to the officers who try to lay their workload on you. If a convict is riled up, threaten them. Beat them, if you must. Start there, and you may one day work your way up to a fully ranked officer."

The boy looked down with hunched shoulders, startlingly similar to a girl who had come into his office long ago, timidly only asking for his quiet company and a book to read. "May I just say, Inspector, it is v-very difficult. You h-have no idea what it's l-like being the w-w-weak one, the one they ch-choose to pick on."

Javert folded his hands and swallowed a lump of air. "The life of an officer is always difficult. The mark of a strong man is that he does not stop trying."

"I will try, Inspector. Th-thank you, sir."

"You may go."

"Do you need help with those p-papers?"

"No, thank you."

"Yes, sir. Good evening." Once Allard was gone, Javert got back down on the ground and resumed his reorganization of the papers. Whereas others might have had pity for the boy's meek demeanor, Javert had none. He could have chosen to be a shopkeeper or a farmer or a lawyer- but if the boy decided that he was going to be an officer, he had to earn it. It was a hard road to change, but every man must choose his own way and destiny. If Javert could dig himself out of the hellhole he was born into, Allard could grow a backbone.

The grandfather clock struck ten thirty when Javert finally got everything re-alphabetized and numbered. He walked over to the coat rack when the stack called him back. Did he really organize it perfectly? What if a B got into the F pile? His superiors could ask for the pile tomorrow and reach for a file and it would be in the wrong place- what would they think of him? What kind of a lazy inspector can't even organize his files correctly? The impulse made him drop his coat and return to the pile, going through each one to make sure it was nothing short of perfect.

Javert finished his re-reorganization, finally satisfied with his work. It turned out that he DID have a mistake in year organization- a file marked 1829 was accidentally switched with one marked 1826. He nodded at the papers and checked the time: a few minutes past eleven. Tired yet content with a job well done, Javert put on his coat and began his walk home.

All was peaceful and quiet in Paris- the weather was cold and crisp and the stars shined down, twinkling with wisdom and tranquility in the valley of the night. Javert looked up at them and smiled. It was the only time he really did smile, when he was looking at the stars. He liked to imagine that they were smiling back at him, his old friends beaming with pride at all he had accomplished.

He froze as distant footsteps disturbed the silence. Javert squinted into the darkness and just barely made out a figure crossing the square, cloaked and hooded. It was carrying something dark in its hands.

Justice never rests, he reminded himself as the adrenaline of the chase pumped through his veins, waking him up. He waited for the figure to disappear around the corner before his swiftly and quietly made his way towards it, always careful to keep enough of a distance to be able to hide away if anything.

After a few minutes it was clear that the figure was going towards the Notre Dame. What could they be doing? Anger rose inside of Javert at the thought of some filthy con wreaking havoc in the sacred cathedral. His pace quickened with his heart rate as the con got closer and closer to his destination.

The flickering candles nearing the end of their lives cast the chapel in a dim yellowy glow. The figure, shrouded in his brown cloak, fell to his knees in front of the crucifix. Javert stepped out and made his way swiftly through a side corridor so that he could get a better glance. He stood against the cold stone wall. He inched ever so slowly towards the side entryway, craning his neck to get a good look.

Two long hands reached up and pulled the hood down. They then were used to push stray locks of honey-brown hair out of a face that was covered with grief.

….

Elisabet blinked up at the cross, a lump slowly growing larger in her throat with every minute ticking closer to midnight. She turned to her basket and took out three long candles, a loaf of sugar bread, and a bowl of berries and cream. Lighting the candles, Elisabet placed them before her and set the food right in front of them. She closed her eyes and sat in silence as her memories fought through the hazy fog to replay themselves in her head.

The bells chimed midnight and the death of one more day, the birth of another. Elisabet stared at the candles and murmured in a thick voice, "Happy Birthday, Mother." Had Valentine Barbier been alive, she would be celebrating her fifty-sixth birthday. Elisabet often wondered what it would be like- she would be up at the crack of dawn, bubbling with excitement. There would be several pies that she had baked packed away with a necklace or some silk, and she would put on her best dress. She would get to her mother and father's cottage and embrace her brother upon arrival. Her mother would chide her for being late but would be quelled by a kiss and a hug. The family would sit down to lunch, perhaps a child or two running about the house merrily.

But no. That would never be, and she had nobody but herself to blame. She had no mother, no brother, and no father. Nobody in this world who genuinely, to their very depths cared for her. They were all dead, all because of her. Maybe, Elisabet thought with shame, that was the reason she was here. Maybe she was trying somehow to make up for their deaths by coming to church every year and leaving her favorite food on her birthday.

Something moved in the very corner of her vision. Was it her imagination, or did she hear the scuffle of a foot?

"Who's there?" she asked sharply. No response. I am here for mother, she reminded herself. Elisabet turned back to the candles. "I brought the desserts you used to make. I don't make them as well as you did but I think I did well enough. I hope you're happy. Tell Remi I love him. And Father too, if he's with you. I know we didn't agree on much or get along well, but I love him deep down, I think. There's a little girl named Mona I knew, she never got to grow up. If you see her say hello, please, she's a very sweet girl." She paused as the sickening feeling of reality crawled into her. "It's my fault she died, you know. Just like with you. And Remi. Probably Father, too. I bet if I was a better daughter he wouldn't have died."

The hard stone dam that Elisabet wore in public broke, waves of emotion rushing forward and exploding out of her in the form of body-wracking sobs. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Every day of my life I'm sorry. I was a bad daughter and a bad sister, I made my family die. It's my fault I'm alone. I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" she kept repeating it, rocking back and forth like a small child. She turned her head just in time to see a figure disappear behind the wall. The tears blurred her vision so it was impossible to make out who exactly it was, but she was sure someone had been watching her.

….

Javert was at a loss for words. The most emotional he had ever seen Lilybet was the night Valjean escaped him, the night that she half-carried him to the church and, in the middle of the night, revealed her innermost guilt to him. This, however, this was entirely different. Even then he did not realize how deep this went, how hot the guilt burned. Though their backgrounds were completely different, it seemed that they had more in common than he thought. All of her sobs and heaves were the pains he knew all too well, but after years of coldness and exile from society had hardened him on the outside, allowing it to only touch him when he was unconscious. All he saw before was an idealistic, innocent child who did not know the true pain and suffering of the real world because she had always been sheltered and well taken care of- it turned out that in her own way, she did. Javert felt a twinge of guilt. If he had known about how she felt before, about how similar they were, he wondered if he would have put up less of a resistance when she tried to get close to him. He wondered if he would have let her try and… and help him.

That was in the past. It was far too late now, what was done was done. Besides, Javert did not need help. He had long ago built a bubble around himself to keep from drowning. He dealt with his emotions one way and she dealt with them another. Still… a part of him wanted to reach out to her and let her know she was not alone in her guilt and pain.

He never even noticed that he was no longer making any attempt to hide until she turned her wretched gaze towards him, eyes widening in fear and anger. Javert quickly pressed himself against the wall.

"Who's there?! Show yourself! If you're going to be a coward and hide then leave!" The shriek was guttural, sounding less like a human and more like an injured animal.

Javert stepped out from behind the wall and, for lack of a proper introduction, bowed, acknowledging her with a "Mademoiselle".

She stared at him, uncomprehendingly at first, but when she realized who she was her expression changed to one of surprise and outrage. "You? Of all people, what are you doing watching me?"

"I saw a dark figure rushing towards the chapel with a bundle in their arms. It is in my nature to investigate."

"I hope you're satisfied." She turned towards her set up sheepishly and looked back at him, her face flushed with anger and tears. Javert noticed that she was still gasping and shaking from her sobs. "Now leave me alone."

What else was he to do? "As you wish." He inclined his head and turned around.

"W-wait." She stuttered. "You… if… I if… w-want… if you… nevermind. Nevermind, go."

He took a few steps towards her, standing almost directly above her. The only other time he was in this position was again with her, that night years ago. Javert tried to speak in what he thought was a gentle tone. "Do you need me to stay?"

Lilybet looked up and shrank out from under him, clutching her arms. She stared at him wide-eyed, a glimmer of hope in the red, swollen face. She became hesitant as she looked at the candles, then back at him. "I think… if you'd like to… no, no. Yes. No. If you want to sit you can, I-"

Javert had no idea why the idea hit him or why he wanted to go through with it. He had no idea why this girl's sadness meant anything to him. He had no idea why he was willing to take her to his special spot.

Nevertheless, he made up his mind. "Come with me."

"I can't go away-"

"-not away. Go up."

She stared at him, confused. "Up?" She looked back at the candles once again and bit her bottom lip.

"I will be just out that door. Come whenever you are ready." He nodded towards the side entrance to his right and closed the door behind him. In a way, by not allowing him to leave, she allowed him into her life a little bit. She knew he had this window of her and she left it open. Maybe she didn't hate him for leaving after all. Maybe the care the young girl had was still there just a little bit.

No, a voice said, she doesn't care, you don't know that she really cared. She's just upset. She'll take anyone.

Either way, he already made his decision. It would be incredibly rude to go back on his word and simply leave without a word. She needed someone and, if anything, he would do it for the friendship they once had. For the attempts she used to make. Maybe, to an extent, even repentance for throwing it all away.

He decided not to listen in on her talking. He had eavesdropped enough, and he knew that moments like that needed privacy.

After a while, she came out of the room and rubbed her eyes before looking up at him. She looked more like a child than ever, so vulnerable and afraid. Javert was overcome by the fear that he would break her in some way.

"Follow me" he whispered, taking a lantern off of the wall and walking down a narrow corridor. She walked behind him slowly, unsteadily. He turned back and offered his arm. She shook her head and he resumed at a slower pace. It touched him slightly that she was willing to come with him in the first place. That she trusted to follow him in her fragile state.

He came to a wooden doorway and wrenched it open. Besides himself and the monks, he doubted that anyone went up this way ever. "Be careful," he warned, "the climb is steep." They traveled a few steps up the old staircase, him surefooted and her shaky. She caught her foot on one of the steps and grabbed his arm reflexively, not letting go even after she got her footing. Javert slowed his pace for her and after about five minutes, he found the other wooden door and shouldered it so that the rusted hinges would move and allow it to open.

Javert turned towards Lilybet and watched as she gasped when she realized where she was. "Did we just come out of the tower-?"

"Yes." He answered simply. She stepped forward, looking at the tower's twin across. She walked forward, close to the ledge, and stared out into the night. She put her hand on the head of a weathered gargoyle and moved her head side to side, taking in the sleeping city.

"Why did you bring me here?" she spoke in a hushed tone, as if her normal voice would disturb Paris' slumber.

He stood next to her, looking out. "I find that coming up here calms me. I feel like I'm the only person that exists and nothing in the world matters except for this moment."

"Why are you doing this?"

He answered truthfully. "I don't know."

"You could've just left me."

"No I couldn't." They lapsed into silence after that, Lilybet clearly lost deep in her own thoughts. "I know how you feel." He offered as a form of consolation. When she merely shrugged in return, he continued. "You feel guilty. You feel as though you are irredeemable and that even if others were to regard you as a saint, you know deep inside that you are a terrible-"

"-Shut up." She turned her back on him and took a few steps towards the door.

"I am sorry. But you should know that everything happens for a reason. Every occurrence, good or bad, happens out of His divine will. We can only strive to live our lives as virtuously as possible."

"It isn't fair. I don't want to be a bad person, I never wanted to- to kill-" her breath quickened and she seemed to be fighting back sobs. Seeing as they were on a roof, Javert took her by the shoulders and sat her down in fear that she might go blind with emotions and do something dangerous. He sat down next to her, in the shadow of a winged gargoyle with a pitying face that contrasted from the angry and fearful ones all around.

"-you never killed anyone. Accidents happen. You cannot blame yourself for them."

"You blame yourself."

"That is different." He said simply. It occurred to Javert that he may come off as sounding hypocritical, but she did not understand. This young girl witnessed two deaths in a short span of time which she had no control over, whereas Javert was born a good-for-nothing street rat to a gypsy mother. He was born a sinful, evil boy who could not protect his mother, nor could she, in her nature, protect him.

"It isn't- oh, I can't…" her head hung forward and she cradled it between her knees- or as well as she could while wearing a dress. Her shoulders fell limply in defeat.

"The sky is bright." He commented softly, hoping to get her attention on other things.

Lilybet looked up wearily. She swallowed and spoke, her voice hoarse. "Do you think that stars are angels? That they're people who've passed who are looking down from above at the people below?"

"No," Javert answered , "I think that they are messengers. They twinkle and watch over you, silent and sure in their resolve. During the day they go up to heaven and say what they have seen."

"Like soldiers… or officers. In the sky."

"Exactly. But stars are beyond human capacity. They are the ultimate, unwavering justice. A criminal can hide from humans, but they can never hide from the stars."

"What if they go away? What if they leave you?"

"Never." Javert said. If there was anything in this world he was absolutely confident about, it was that the stars would always be there, shining and lighting his way to goodness.

She sighed. Javert looked over at her. Her face was still pink and swollen, the sadness and tears still very present in her eyes. But at least she looked calmer. "Can you tell which star is which? And what they're used for?"

"Yes."

"Can you tell me?"

"It would take a long time."

"I have all night."

Though he had to admit he was tired, Lilybet needed him to be there and he couldn't resist and invitation to discuss his knowledge of astronomy. It was a hobby of his, to make little maps of the stars and read books on constellations. He began with Sirius and told Lilybet about each star and everything he knew of them: when they were discovered, what they were used for… next, he went on to the constellations and the stories behind them. He pointed each one out and aside from little 'ah's and 'where are you pointing?'s, she was silent. Javert occasionally glanced over at her. After some time had passed, a small smile, sad but content, appeared on her face. Sometimes he suspected that she had stopped paying attention judging by her glassy stare, but he still went on- it wasn't every day that someone asked him about the stars.

"And that really is everything I know." He turned and met Lilybet's eyes. They were red and crusted with dried tears, but there was another emotion in her eyes. It was warmer than how she looked at him before, the cold civility she had held was gone. It was a friendly familiarity… a closeness… that Javert had not seen in nine years.

It's late and she's in a poor state, he reasoned, it'll go back to normal later.

He broke their eye contact and looked at the lightening horizon. Did he really talk for that long? He sighed; clearly sleep would not be an option for him now. He assumed it was around five in the morning- about the time he would be getting up and getting ready to go to work.

"I think I ought to get home." She said.

"And I must get to the jail."

"Oh no, is it really morning? I'm sorry, I never should have kept you."

"I kept myself."

"Because of me!"

"Do not worry yourself."

They both got up, somewhat stiff from sitting for so long. They walked down the stairs, her arm on his for support once again. When they reached the chapel, the candles were burned out and the food was gone. Javert assumed that a monk or nun must have come down and fetched it.

Lilybet smiled down at the candles. "I hope you liked the food, Mother. This is Javert. I think you would like him too." He took a step back and stood silently as she gathered what was left of the candles and put them in her basket, giving her the space she needed. She sat on her knees and crossed herself. "Happy birthday, Mother. I love you." She sniffled and wiped her nose.

"I will see you home safely. It is on my way."

"No it's not." Nevertheless, she did not protest him this time. They walked entirely in silence, not a word passing between them until they reached her door. She turned and faced him.

"Thank you, Inspector Javert."

"You are welcome, Mademoiselle." Javert noticed that she did not correct him to Lilybet. He watched her, some inner struggle playing within. She raised her arms a little bit and Javert almost expected her to hug him, but then her arms fell again and she shook her head a little bit. She took the key from above her doorframe and walked in, shutting the door behind her. Not a second later, she opened it again.

"Your office is in the building next to the jail, correct?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Just wondering. Be safe." She gave a small smile before shutting the door again.

Javert turned to walk on his way. The last few hours seemed oddly surreal, as if they happened to someone else. What brought him to take her to the roof? Strangely enough, he did not feel as he expected. He expected to feel regretful and violated that he brought her to his special spot, but no- in fact, it felt good. It felt like sharing something important that he had been holding in, like a secret. Her troubles were so like his that she deserved the same therapy.

The reality within him warned that he would regret the night; she did not actually care about him or about what he had to say on the subject of stars, she just needed a body there. He went out of his way to care about someone and now he lost a night of sleep because of it. Nothing would be different, he would go on with his life and she would go on avoiding running into him. It warned him to let go of the night and to stop thinking about her. If she decided to care again, she would try to tear his walls down and tear him from his duty. She would try and change him and make him turn his back on the law, and he would hurt her when she figured out that he would never change. He just couldn't afford that, not when he was so close to being at the top of the ranks, not when all of Paris slowly began to learn the name of the ruthless Inspector Javert, staunch protector of the Law.

And yet, as he fingered the flower in his pocket, he felt a responsibility that he had not felt in nine years. A responsibility towards a kindred spirit that fate would not let him turn his back on again.