a/n: gr! I can't believe it took me this long to post but here's the schedule I've been dealing with: school, family problems, more school, worse family problems, stress... so I've just been trying to find the right time...

this is, in short, after Javert, in the movie, falls into the river... so yeah... pretty much self explanitory, and for the disclaimer: i own nothing! and the book was pretty good!

JAVERT POV

Falling backwards, I feel the water slap my back, knocking some of the precious air that I have in my lungs out of me. To me, this only means a quicker death. I keep my eyes open until I feel the last of the water swallow me into its black pit. This is when I allow my eyes to droop; this is when I expect to die.

I do not fight the current that suddenly overwhelms me, pulling me lower and harder into the river where I will die. I only start to fight when I feel the last of my life in me, when my lungs start to burn with the need of air. Fighting is futile, though, since I chained my hands.

Now, on the brink of death, I find myself wanting to live.

Suddenly, there is something around me, something stronger than the current. It must be a delusion, since I continue to move down river. The last thing I remember before giving in to the pain, is my face feeling warm, as I break the surface of the water, perhaps for the last time.

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Feeling my mind pulling me back into existence, I find the sensation anything but pleasant. The pain that wracks my body is immense, including the searing of my lungs with every intake of the air around me. Yet, my body feels strangely warm, confirming the thoughts that I am not in the river any more.

Opening my eyes tentatively, I look up and see a ceiling above me. I had not expected to live, let alone be taken into a house. Closing my eyes once more, I try to remember what happened. I remember falling backwards into the water, and I remember falling to the bottom. I also remember moving again, but I couldn't tell by that point whether I was going up or down. Then there was warmth, followed by a deep, numbing sensation.

Letting my eyes flutter open once more to the unpleasant and almost violently bright light, I make sure that I show no other signs of movement, no other signs on consciousness. There's a fluttering movement to my left. I freeze. When the movement has long since died away, I turn my head to the left to find the source: a fluttering shade by an open window. The air outside seems a bit cool, but the sheets I'm under keep me a pleasant temperature.

Taking the opportunity of being alone, I slowly try to sit up, only to be met half way by a shock of pain, and I fall back into the sheets, barely managing to bite back a cry. Deciding that there is no other way to do this, I force myself out of the sheets and into a sitting position in one, quick, movement. Nausea sweeps over me in a wave, and I barely swallow enough to force down what was trying to escape.

Swiftly moving my legs off to the side, I see that I am dressed in my same uniform pants, but I'm lacking a shirt. All the better, it seems quite warm in here. Quickly hopping down to the floor, I turn to the door and stop.

I watch as the doorknob starts to turn, and I quickly start to move backwards, only stopping when my back is completely pressed against the wall. I'm almost afraid. Afraid of who this may be, afraid that they might know who I am, afraid that they might do something to me. The fear, though, is a small amount, and I quickly let my instincts take over, standing tall, but still against the wall. When the door opens in full though, the fear returns and is greater. It's the man that I loathe, the man that I threw away my life to capture, the convict, Jean Valjean.

I tense, my body suddenly quite aware. Ready to fight. Ready to run.

He looks to the empty bed with confusion, then looks to me.

Heaving a sigh, he makes no move to come any closer as he comments, "You really shouldn't be up. I'm actually surprised that you haven't passed out yet."

To tell the truth, I am too, but I would not dare admit this out loud. Instead of speaking, I shoot him my normal glare.

Valjean moves only a step closer, just enough to close the door behind him, which he does while still looking at me, "Why don't you sit? You're very pale." He motions to the empty bed, and while the invitation is welcoming, I will show no weakness.

I shake my head, but instantly regret it as nausea takes me once more. Bile rises into the back of my throat, but I swallow and manage to force it down, for now. The dizziness that came with the nausea, though, shows no signs of relieving as it forces me to double over, landing on my hands and knees. I try to remain off the ground, as much as possible, to keep whatever dignity I might have left.

I look up once more and see that he is now standing over me.

He kneels, "Are you alright?"

My voice is hoarse from not being used as I answer, "I've been worse, and better…"

He smiles, an almost laughing gesture, and he reaches out and lightly touches my upper arm. At this brief moment of contact, I realize how cold I truly am, and start to shiver.

Before I can blink, Valjean's strong arms are around me in a protective and comforting embrace.

I quickly escape it, "Why?"

"Why what?" his voice is as innocent as ever.

"Why didn't you let me die?" my voice is a growl.

He turns his head to the side, much like a confused dog, "I couldn't just let you die. You had saved me, and I couldn't let you die, not after that."

"You should have," my voice has returned to normal, "it would have been better for both of us."

He lowers his gaze and my body starts to shake again, nausea taking me without me moving this time. I gulp, trying to force down what is trying to escape, but it doesn't work this time.

"I'm going to be sick," I state, plainly.

VALJEAN POV

I quickly grab a wooden bowl from behind me that I had originally put some cool water in, since he was and I'm guessing still is feverish, and place it under his mouth. The water within, though, has long since evaporated, leaving the bowl empty for now.

I watch as his body is taken over by violent retching, and I gently pull his hair from his face, lightly running my fingers through the tangled strands. The bile that his stomach releases is mostly a clear liquid, which I'm guessing is water that must have been swallowed during his surfacing.

When I first broke the surface with his body in my arms, he wasn't breathing and his mouth was hanging open. Terrible amounts of the dirty Seine water had leaked into his lungs, probably when he struggled to take a breath. I cleared out as much water as I could and carried him back to my house that night, having been in an alley all day, trying to keep us both warm.

When I had arrived home, I had made it into my own room undetected by Cosette, who was tending to the wounded Marius. Laying him in my bed, I have waited three days for him to wake up, and I have been hiding him for three days at the same time. No one else knows he is here. To everyone else, he is dead.

When the violent heaves subside and Javert falls to his side, panting, I set the bowl aside and lightly run my fingers through his hair some more. He glares up at me, but doesn't ask me to stop. I take the opportunity to lightly rub his stomach, trying to soothe the restless beast that is making him ill. He protests to this:

"Stop."

Simple, yet with force.

"Why? I'm only trying to help," I point out.

"Don't," he growls.

"Look Javert," I start to sound angered myself, "I saved you. I could have let you die, but I didn't. I think that the least you could do was thank me. You might have wished to die, you might have thought that you could erase your life by killing yourself, but you can't, not that way. I am a man brought back through religion and a good deed. I believe that I can bring myself to go to heaven, and I believe that you can go there to. But you killing yourself will only condemn you to the depths of Hell." I shake my head; "I couldn't allow that. You have done nothing to deserve that."

He laughs, a cruel sound, "This coming from the man that I have hunted all my life."

I nod.

He laughs his cruel laughter again; "I don't believe it."

"Believe what you like, I'm still going to help you," I comment.

This leaves him at a loss for words. He looks into my eyes, searching for the lie that he knows is there, that he wants there, that isn't there. He turns away and I resume massaging his stomach muscles in the hopes of loosening them, if nothing else. He doesn't protest this time. The thought of him giving in brings a smile to my face, since I know before now this never would have happened. Maybe this is what I've been waiting for though; maybe I've been waiting for him to finally see things this way, to finally accept that I wouldn't kill him, to finally leave me alone. Do I really want him to leave me alone though? After all of this, I wonder if I would miss him.

I shake the thoughts from me for now, looking down to the injured Inspector. He makes eye contact with me for a moment, before turning away from me. Then he starts to shiver again.

"Let's get you back in bed, you're ill and I don't want you worse," I offer him my help.

He ignores me and stands on his own, only to fall once more in a heap to the ground. I lightly take the opportunity to lift him from the ground and gently place him in the bed. Moments later he has passed out once more.

At least he woke up. That's all I needed to see. He woke up; the hardest part is over. Or that's what I would like to believe.

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a/n: please review!