Warning: slight slash implied. Or at least the one male psychologically unable to leave another male at alone. If this offends you, please don't read it.
Aurthur's note: Here, imaginary reader, is my second attempt at fanfiction. It is one explanation for Javert's fervor in his man-hunt for Jean Valjean, the prisoner 24601. Please tell me what you think by reviewing. I want to know how I can improve. Flames will be used to ignite magnesium. Cackling will ensue.
Disclaimer: If I were in charge, Marius and Eponine would have run off together long before Cossette arrived. As that did not happen, one can tell that I do not own the story. I do not own anything at all related to Les Miserables. Please don't sue.
You Know Nothing of Javert
24601. 24601. The mantra calls me from sleep in the morning and sends me into exhausted oblivion each night. I am his hunter and he is my prey, that impudent, brash prisoner. He is my rightful prey, and I loathe everything about him. I loathe the sheen that graces his hair, despite the dirt from his years in the prison camps and the gray from his years on the run. I loathe the knowing gleam in his amber eyes, the faint resignation and amusement that surfaces whenever he looks at me. But even more I detest those times when he does not even condescend to look at me. I am the law. I am the sentinel. He can . . . how dare he ignore me?
I cannot let him escape. Though the other guardsmen have long since marked 24601 off their lists, I cannot give up the chase. As long as I hunt him, I am part of his life. As long as he fears me, he thinks of me. I cannot . . . I will not sacrifice that bit of contact, though the others jeer.
The hunt has become my life, has become my soul. My waking hours are filled with the number, with the seeking. I promised that I would never rest until we were face to face. And I keep my word. I could not break it. I have not rested in decades. For, though the number fills my waking hours, it is the name, Jean Valjean, that resounds through my dreams.