'Damn them all to hell!' Javert had never been able to abide the revolutionaries, and he positively despised them now. As well, he was deeply ashamed. That this collection of ragged schoolboys should have found him out... Cursing softly under his breath, Javert attempted to loosen the bonds holding him to the wretched pole. No luck. Besides, his hands were almost numb with cold, fatigue and...fear? He searched his thoughts. Yes, there was some fear there. Fear of failure, of defeat. Of death. He shook himself, inside and out. His steely eyes continued glaring at the mocking students. If they were going to kill him, he wished they would at least hurry up about it. Patience had never been a virtue Javert had deemed necessary. Still, none of this emotion reached his face; he was as impassive and controlled as ever.
The students began clattering around and hollering. Trying to pay as little attention as possible, Javert half-closed his eyes wearily. The yells gave way to cries of welcome, as they assisted a man over their barricade. Bored, all emotion used up, Javert glanced up. Naturally, it was the one person who could make this situation worse. Valjean. Perhaps he had some emotion to spare...

Staring at the prisoners, scorching in the sun, Javert mentally blessed his hat. He wondered, for the thousandth time, what it was that separated him from them. He had long tried to find a single, definitive answer, but there was none. Young, old, handsome, homely, all kinds of men could be found among guards and prisoners alike. Shaking his head ever so slightly, Javert killed that train of thought. It must be the sun... anyway, it doesn't matter. I am not and will never be one of them. Glancing around to make sure all prisoners were working, his eyes lit upon the newest convict. Jean. No. Valjean. No, damn it! 24601. Not a man. A number. An animal. An angel. He couldn't stand it. He began to signal a younger officer over to relieve him, glad that rank had at least a few privileges. However, two of the prisoners leapt at each other, the heat obviously having affected them. Glancing closer, Javert noted that one of them was 24601. Damn... Striding forward with all the arrogance he could muster, Javert stepped between the convicts, applying his nightstick expertly to swiftly break up the fight. Grasping Valjean's collar, hauling him to his feet, Javert found himself gazing into those eyes. So close...Just pull him closer. Who would stop me? Just a kiss, more...? He threw the other man to the ground, noting the glance of absolute hatred directed at him. He looked away. Another came to relieve him. He prayed that Valjean would escape, releasing Javert from the torment of his gaze...

Javert saw Valjean staring at him, and looked away. That strange fire in his breast stirred yet again. Don't look up. Just don't. Never never never you know it... A tumble of words, thoughts linked by nothing but longing, for death, for acceptance, love, perhaps. After some discussion with the rebels, Valjean approached. Shrinking as far back as the pole would allow, Javert allowed himself a slight wince. It was too late, now. Valjean would surely kill him. No chance to explain, forget, forgive, relearn. He met the older man's eyes.
"I am ready." He wanted it ended. Valjean gave a half smile, gone so quickly Javert couldn't be sure it had been. Pulling a knife from his belt, Valjean stepped behind him. Javert was vaguely aware of the students watching, eagerly, with the innocent expectation of those who have not seen bloodshed. He closed his eyes; at last he would have peace. A slight tug at his wrists, and he was free. The students became distracted by some small commotion, and he was alone and unbound before Valjean. Merde. He's not going to do it. You always knew he wasn't a murderer. Just this once...
Valjean blinked at him, expectantly. "You are waiting for what, Monsieur the Inspector? That is still what you prefer to be called, non?" The convict gestured, knife still in hand, to Javert's freed wrists. "You are free. Go."
"No." It came out as a rasp, emotion threatening to overthrow him. "No, this isn't right."
"Ah, Javert... Always right and wrong with you. Go. Now."
With the most miniscule of bows, Javert swept away.

"You are dismissed." But not in the way I wanted to be. Not like I asked. Please, let me leave your sight and never return.
Monsieur Madeleine had turned his attention away from the Inspector, obviously expecting him to have left. Even then, he had known Madeleine was Valjean. He 't bring himself to turn the man in. He was so different, yet the same. The way Javert had always known Valjean really was. Not just another convict, no matter how hard Javert tried to convince them both. No. He was a man. A good, honest, decent, noble, beautiful... Swirling, Javert left the office, and the thought, behind him. Soon enough, he knew, a decision would have to be made, or it would be made for him. But not yet.

It was later. Much later. Night had fallen around him, bringing his thoughts to gloomier and gloomier conclusions. saved him. No. No matter how many times he repeated it, convict convict convict, he was not convinced. The man he loved had saved him, not out of love or anything but pure goodness. He would rather be dead. Ignored, yet again. Javert damned himself for being such a fool, believing he could ever have this good, pure man's love. He didn't deserve it. He deserved to die, and he knew it. He glanced around. Providence had placed him on a bridge, over a spot where the water ran deep, and thick, and cold. Removing his hat, he placed it beside him, forgetting it instantly. Controlled to the last. Gripping the railing, turned icy by a strange wind, Javert had no awareness of self anymore.
A final glance at the sky, that silent observer who had driven him on, and on, and on, his entire life. Relentless, unable to cease, this was Javert's sky. He felt that he had tainted it, and it hated him. He hated and loved it, the increased flow of feeling draining all sensation from his body. A single tear glimmered in the moonlight, the only light on his face. He was utterly numb in every way, from soul to mind. He leaned forward to seek peace at last, sky be damned, but...
Valjean's face appeared out of the darkness of despair. The eyes were stern, and concerned, full of paternal disapproval. Javert found himself unable to take that final step, to bid the face farewell forever. He couldn't do it. Javert found himself a statue, a melting sentinel, tears throwing the light of his city back to her. Eyes closed, the only sound in the universe was his soul screaming. The specter of Valjean watched, silently steering him toward the light, cleansing Javert with wind and fire, not water and mud.
Hours passed, with no awareness. They were an instant, nothing, an eternal moment frozen in time. He found himself on the rue Plumet, before Valjean's house. He had no recollection of leaving the bridge, or the walk. For all he knew, an angel had carried him. He could hardly have cared. He collapsed on Valjean's step, a shadow faced with that unknown substance called 'light'.