Author's notes: I shall begin by offering my sincerest apologies for this. It was written as a gift for a friend who wanted something obscene and sappy. I, being utterly whipped by friends, obliged. She's become quite the little shipper (and granted, I fully encourage it.) Though both characters are canon, (one remains unnamed but easily guessed.) this was written for some one who's never read the book, so it's musical heavy.

Disclaimer: "If we shadows have offended, think but this and all is mended,
That you did but slumber'd here while these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme is no more yielding then a dream."
-Midsummer's Night Dream

"It strikes me that I know that girl."
- M. Javert
Les Miserables Volume V Chapter 3

One Another
By: Lady Erised

Several times at night, he had seen her, and at first he watched her because it was late at night and she was such a tough little alley cat he thought to watch her in case a crime should happen to fall into her lap. She had the kind of coldness that seemed innate to thieves of her caliber and age: a dark wary look that hallowed out the mirth from her face and smeared across her arms. She was a strong girl, or a handsome woman; he could not decide entirely which yet. At once, when she took in her surroundings she seemed as frightened of the dark as a child would have. There were times when she scanned the shadows he was certain that any moment, she would cry out in fear upon the discovery of a monster.

And then, there were times, when she stared into the darkness that her walk belied the innocence of her face. She strutted. She owned the darkness. She dared the monsters to move. She could probably name each and every fiend with the skill and ease that he could have, and something in him made him smile to think that perhaps this little alley cat could strike just as much fear into those fiends that he himself- Inspector Javert- could.

That is how, simply put, she had become part of his nightly custom. Javert would pace his walks precisely to catch her as she appeared from the shadows, followed the Seine for a bit before turning away and disappearing. He understood it for his part; he also took comfort from the river.

He'd stopped on the banks of the river, to stare into the darkness of her waters and mull things over. She would appear, sometimes stony faced and sometimes more frightened then she usually looked, and would walk by the river only casting dark looks over the bridges into the water when she started to cry.

What made such a girl cry Javert wondered, and several times he had wanted to ask her.

Javert laughed at himself. Yes, he snickered to himself, he would approach her gallantly and genteel like some dandy. Proffer her his handkerchief to dry those dirty tears, and his arm to keep her steady, his coat to keep her warm; his company to keep her happy.

She would take them all willingly, without kindness or thanks. They would stroll across the alleyways, paying little attention to the shadows and monsters. They would stumble over words and pretend to ignore the curious glances from outsiders or their own awkwardness. Javert was no courting gentlemen, nor was this girl a fine flower of the courts.

Javert could not pretend to be otherwise, nor would he attempt it. And somehow, he thought broodingly, neither could she suffer such an injustice to her self. They could not afford such idle fantasies. Neither were big pieces of a puzzle that moved worlds, and proved dreamers just and right. They did not exist for love's sake, either belonging to it or taking part of it. Instead, they were the little ones: the ones that peeled from the stem.

They were the brigands of the world, the monsters, the shadows of the streets.

Javert stalked. This girl crept.

The shadow was their homes. They could no more smile and pretend to court then they could for pretend their biggest problem of the morning was what color best suited their mood for the day. This was as much a self-imposed choice as one dictated by society.

What monsters drove this girl out into the streets were the same ones that he pursued, and were the same ones he and she belonged to long after they returned to the dark, and this night and those dirty tears and his wishful thoughts would be forgot. Monsters were familiar; he hunted them. She was one. It was a strange way to belong to one another.

Yet, they did belong to one another, to the monsters, and the tears, the dreams, the dark, the river.

She turned when he stepped out of the shadows, and started. There was a blast of fear spread cross her face before she relaxed and settled into a grin. She bit the bottom of her lip, and pushed up the brim of her funny little hat, (not that he could really talk of funny hats,) before slumping- hands on hips, into an expectant stare.

Javert kept his face stony. "It's late." He told her.

She was backing away from him slowly. Her hands reached behind her and gripping the edge of the bridge's railing to guide her retreat. The grin stayed put. "Indeed it is, Mister Inspector." She chirped; all the tears she had shed a moment before were gone into the dark. "You should be careful about. No telling what or who you'll meet." She turned and darted into the nearest dark, taking off into a run. Javert didn't care to follow. He just listened to the sounds of her footfall and was more then a little surprise when she heard her voice ring out in the dark. "Wouldn't want you to get hurt, then who'll watch me?"