Unexpected

He almost didn´t see it coming. His lungs were burning, with heat and smoke, his throat hurting, as if he was breathing acid. And if it hadn´t been for the reaction of the woman, to something that happened outside of his view, he wouldn´t have known anything. But when her head flew aside, alarmed by something, he flinched. And then she bolted, away from the window, towards the front door, as if suddenly something there was more important than to watch them die.

And then Javert heard it. This deep rumbling sound of wood scraping against wood. A voice, almost inaudible over the crackling of the flames, calling something he didn´t understand. And then all the sudden the door was open.

Duprey swirled around, on the ground, and was back to life instantly. His survival instinct gave him one last boost, to make it to safety after all. But he was still more crawling than running, breaking down still on the threshold. And that was the only reason why he didn´t die. Just as he pushed out, a shot smashed through the door, and finally Javert stopped gaping.

The smoke, surrounding him like a predator, made his lungs scream in agony, the heat almost boiling his brain and in the dark living room he was as good as blind. Coughs so hard he could barely control them, and all he wanted to do was break down where he was. But he couldn´t. Because it wasn´t over.

He could see the two shadows struggling, on the other side of the room. The smaller one raised a knife and stabbed their unexpected savior, missing his chest about mere inches, more due to luck than skill. Javert heard a cry of pain, just before the woman got knocked off her feet. Her head hit the bureau in an awkward angle and when she dropped to the ground, she lay still.

The dark man doubled over, holding his injured shoulder, and Javert had no time to lose anymore. The fire was not meant to spread over the rest of the house, but the wet carpet and wood were no guarantee. He shouldered the half dead Duprey and dragged him to the door. One quick glance at the hooded man just as he picked up Adeline, was all he could dare.

His throat was hurting yet again, and a new coughing fit made him stumble, with Duprey, who landed on the street before him. Javert saw the hooded man, hurry past him, the woman in his arm like a sleeping sweetheart, and only for a moment, the figure stopped to turn back to him. As if to check. Javert could still not see his face. Too much water in his eyes, blurring his vision, and oh God it burned. He wanted to close his eyes and never open them again. The air had turned to acid.

After another moment the man turned and hurried away, down the street. The tiny fiacre Adeline had parked before the house was gone – horses smelling fire wouldn´t wait for an order to move – but there was a bigger carriage, parked idly at the end of the street.

Javert ignored the gaping neighbors, and their cries for someone to call upon the firebrigade. If he wouldn´t hurry, this man would kidnap his murderer. And he could not allow this.

He began to run, walking slowly when he couldn´t manage any more speed, stumbling, again and again as his feet seemed tons heavier than before. His head was spinning, his lungs not capable anymore to take in enough air to keep him awake. But he had to keep going. He just had to … reach this carriage, before it drove off.

The hooded figure loaded the woman inside, assisted by someone who´d been waiting in the carriage. A boy? Javert could barely see. His vision took turns in being clear and foggy. He needed to go faster.

His foot slipped again, but he caught himself. He couldn´t understand their words. The only thing he could make out was the voice. It sounded so familiar. And when his heart sped up in fear, his head began to swirl even worse.

This was so much like his dream. The dream in which he´d chased the murderer through the streets, a hooded man, only to catch him at last and find a burned skull underneath the hood, scorched claws reaching out for him, in vengeance and bloodthirst. But Javert just couldn´t stop. Even though he knew that if this would be what he would find, he would lose his mind on the spot and probably drop dead from a frozen heart. But he had to see.

The man turned around, just as he reached him, and Javert grabbed the hood. When he could see the face at last, his breath got stuck inside his throat.

No.

Two hands reached out, to grab him. Words were formed, but he just couldn´t hear them anymore. The last thing he thought before the darkness took him, was that he was probably already dead.

...

If that wasn´t a dejavu – waking up in a strange bed, as a patient after a fight for life and death – Javert would have believed to dream. Or be indeed dead. He felt irritated, and disoriented but only for a moment. The wound on his arm was not a shot wound – not this time – it was a burn, and it had been bandaged. The burned shirt of the prisoner he´d become hung over a chair nearby. Along with a clean white shirt. Obviously someone had taken good care he would not feel embarrassed should he wake up alone.

Someone.

Javert remembered the face under the hood and was up on his feet in one swift move. Fuming.

His head protested against the fast rising and he had to sit down again. But the thought of last night´s events were enough to overcome this issue, quickly. He took a moment to examine himself. Beside the treated burn on his arm – it still stung, just like the brand – there seemed to be no outside wound. His lungs were still hurting though, as did every muscle in his body. But he had more important things to think about. Killing a certain someone for example.

He still had no idea where he was, but it was a well situated place, that much he could tell. Dismissing this question for later, he threw on the shirt and was on his way to the door, before he was even finished closing it. He still felt light-headed, but breathing methods learned over years of service came easily and instinctively. He would stay on his feet.

He reached the door. And as if he´d timed it, the door went open, just as Javert reached for the handle.

He flinched, but only for a second. Of course the man looked at him startled, but dear God, if that gaze wasn´t as fake as everything else about this man. Javert stared at him, thunderstruck, relieved, shocked, all at once. But most of all he was boiling, with anger, only calmed by the still existing doubt. It could still be a dream. A fever dream. A vision of a dying mind.

"Tell me I´m awake, and not hallucinating." he spoke, his own voice alien to him and a relieved smile spread over Valjean´s face.

"You´re not dreaming …" he said, and that was when Javert could finally move again. He didn´t act by choice, but by total instinct, when he grabbed him, disrupting the not finished speech.

"Good." he hissed into his face, as Valjean´s back hit the wall, knocking the air out of his lungs. "You son of a bitch."

"Antoine." Valjean grunted. "Please. I know this must be confusing. But I can explain."

"I´m really anxious to hear how you explain that."

"You´re breaking my ribs."

"How could you possibly explain that? Do you have any idea what I´ve been through?"

"Yes." Valjean croaked, and his eyes … they were so deceivingly gentle. "I saw it." he told him. "I was there. The whole time."

Instead of calming his anger, this reveal took the strength from Javert´s arms. What?

"I had no choice, Antoine." Valjean tried to convince. "I knew she wouldn´t stop until she had me killed."

She. "You knew it was a her?"

"No." the old con shook is head. "I knew nothing. And I wouldn´t have found out anything, as long as I was the hunted."

So that was it. Javert´s anger returned. "So you faked your death in order to become the hunter." he understood, and for a moment he was back in Rue du l´homme armee, after the fire. Willing the image away took more effort than ever. "I saw your body." he tried to shout, and only managed a whisper. "Thekey." God, the rage left him shaking.

And Valjean only looked at him, almost solemn, as if Javert´s consternation was nothing to him. "What you saw was my neighbor." he told him. "He tried to grab me, but he was already dead. I didn´t even notice he had my key. It all happened so fast I … couldn´t help him anymore. And the girl …"

Javert let go of him at last, too exhausted to keep this up. He didn´t need to see Valjean´s face to know those apologetic eyes.

"Antoine, I´m sorry I couldn´t tell you."

He still didn´t feel anything but exhaustion. "You could have trusted me." he managed the little he was still capable off. He wished he had the strength to strangle this man. "Wasn´t that your big speech back then? About partners who should trust each other?" Javert wanted to laugh but couldn´t.
"I do trust you." Valjean assured him. "But I was afraid."

"Afraid?"

"That the arsonist would come after you too. And Cosette. I needed to disappear … and become invisible … in order to protect you both."

"Protect." Javert just couldn´t believe it. "Yeah, sure, you did all this for totally altruistic reasons. The great Jean Valjean would never act selfish. Because that just wouldn´t be right."

He turned on his heel, heading for the door, but Valjean´s hand stopped him, just on the threshold. Javert could have easily fended him off, but something froze his hands to the frame, digging his nails into the wood. Maybe the fact that Valjean´s hand lay exactly where the brand was, a number, burned into his skin forever.

"I … I´m sorry that I failed you … Antoine." Valjean spoke, and something about his inner struggle, so visible now, suddenly made the big difference.

If it had been intended or not, it wasn´t important. Javert turned on his heel, back to him, and simply took him into his arms, unable all the sudden to stop himself. He squeezed him, held him, as if afraid to ever let go again. He could feel Valjean´s surprise, then his relief, even happiness, dear God this sentimental old man. And Javert simply couldn´t let go. He knew he was embarrassing himself, that he was exposing himself, way too much. But he simply couldn´t let go. He was alive. Alive! And this was real. God in heaven.

"You godforsaken son of a bitch."

He´d barely heard his own voice, and he would have convinced himself that he´d only thought not spoken it, hadn´t it been for Valjean´s chuckle, so heartily as if he too had held his breath till now. But now it had broken free, and the old con was increasing the strength of his embrace. As if he was indeed happy. God, Javert hated this man.

"I´m sorry, Antoine." he told him, yet again. "I´m so sorry for …" Javert could feel him shake his head. " … everything."

Sure you are, Javert thought, and when they parted, so Valjean could look at him, he was still shaking. The lying bastard was not yet done apologizing.

"I had no idea you would …" he began but this time Javert´s fist made sure he´d finish the sentence on the ground. Valjean went down, grunting in surprise, and as he looked down on him, the former inspector considered carefully if he shouldn´t add a well placed kick, just for good measure.

Valjean looked about as if unsure how he´d gotten to the ground all the sudden. And Javert just turned his back on him.

"I guess I deserved that." the old con massaged his cheek.

"You deserve much more than that. And you know it."

"I know." Valjean sat up, struggling for balance and when Javert took pity at last, and gave him a hand, of course Valjean took it. And the bastard was smiling, so warmly. Javert had to restrain himself from pulling him in again right away and hated himself for this impulse. But no. This would be a present Valjean simply didn´t deserve.

Instead he increased the grip he had on the man´s hand, intentionally more than comfort would allow. Valjean would get the message. But just in case he didn´t, Javert told him.

"If you don´t tell me next, that at least something good came out of this, I swear to you, I´ll kill you for good this time."

...

"I learned a lot these last few days." Valjean led him down a huge flight of stairs. The house must be enormous. Slowly it dawned on Javert where he was.

"I hope you did." he growled, and Valjean stopped, to glance back at him. What he saw in his eyes made Javert take a step back at last. All right, all right, I´m listening.

But before Valjean could start, there was a sound from below. A door. Footsteps. And then Javert saw Cosette and Marius enter the hall. A kid was with them. The boy Valjean had collected in the streets, on that day, when they still hadn´t guessed any of this.

Cosette´s gaze fell on him, and she stopped in her tracks, only for a moment.

Javert followed Valjean the rest of the way downstairs. "Even though this is not the usual order." he began, forcing himself to ignore the girl´s stony look. "But … start at the end, Valjean. Who is she? And why did she do it?"

"The fires?"

"The killings."

Valjean took a breath. The answer didn´t seem to be an easy one. "Remember that night, at Lecomte´s place?" he asked. "The three men we …" his eyes darted to Cosette and Marius for a second. "That died that night?"

Javert saw it in his face. Of course he remembered that night. And upon this memory, he slowly started to guess it. The truth behind all that had happened.

"One of them was her husband." Valjean affirmed with a grave nod.

Javert closed his eyes. So that was it. Revenge. The oldest of all reasons. God, he should have known. He should have known.

"You know which one?" he asked but Valjean shook his head.

"Does it matter?"

"I guess not."

He glanced aside, at the kids, and suddenly his mind was someplace else. The second topic that just wouldn´t leave him, ever since he´d woken up with the memory of Valjean´s face under the hood. The man he´d thought to be dead. The man that had kept himself hidden from him, his so called partner, letting him believe he had died. Why was that so familiar?

"Tell me something." he spoke, unable to let go of this until he knew. "Did you know? When I came here to tell you … Did you …?"

"No." Cosette´s face was still stony, her voice cold and impersonal. "I didn´t."

"I only revealed myself to them, when we came back here earlier." Valjean spoke, sounding as if he had to apologize in their name. As if it was the kids Javert would blame. "I told you." he said. "I had no chance to tell anyone. Except for Pascal." The boy looked up but didn´t speak, shamefully aware that this was not his place to be. "He was unknown to the arsonist, other than you." Valjean explained, his voice pleading. "My family. I had to let you believe I was dead so she would believe it."

When his apologetic glance searched Cosette, the girl cast down her eyes, as if not sure if she could or wanted to forgive him … yet.

Javert grunted. "At least I´m not the only one you fooled then."

"Javert."

But Javert raised a hand. "Forget it. There´s really no pattern in your logic, concerning honestly and lies." he glowered at his partner. "Not sure if that relieves or concerns me though." When Valjean attempted to speak, Javert simply went on. "Where is she now?" he demanded to know.

But this time it was Marius who answered the question.

"We locked her in a room upstairs. My aunt´s old bedroom. It´s the only room that has a barred window."

Javert halted, startled. Now that was unexpected. "There´s a barred window in this place?"

Marius nodded. "My aunt was always … very mistrusting towards burglars and … men in general. She felt saver sleeping with bars on her window."

Javert surely didn´t want to look at Valjean, first thing at this notion, but his reflex was to do exactly that. Not everyone´s cup of tea. Marius seemed to catch the thought, and shrugged, only a little embarrassed.

"Now it serves us to hold this … person." he stated, and of course he was right.

Javert didn´t care if these bars just happened to be here, or if they forged a cage together for this murderous woman. For all he cared they could have kept her in a box, nailed shut and watched by bloodthirsty dogs. In his heart he almost wanted to see her like this. Chained like the criminal that she was.

"I want to see her." he demanded, but Valjean seemed to object.

"What good would that do?" he asked, and just the fact that he seemed so calm, made Javert boil with even more anger. He turned to him, and closed the distance between them, as if Valjean was a hostile, and not his friend.

"Are you afraid I might loose it and strangle her?" he growled.

And Valjean, simply held his gaze, not wavering at all.

"Yes."

His straight face startled Javert, but only for a moment.

"I won´t." he claimed, resuming the glare. "Where´s her room?"

Valjean didn´t answer. He simply held his gaze. Once again, as if he could break Javert´s determination, by showing how less Javert could break him with his stare. Ridiculous.

Eventually Marius took it upon himself to break the silence. He cleared his throat, and stepped forward.

"I´ll show you."

...

Javert was prepared for everything when he entered the room. From a raging mad woman to a glaring mask full of hate. From a monster to a beast, all shades and variations a human mind could think of. He still had the mental image in his mind, of her standing before the window, face hard as a stone while the shine of the fire danced on her skin. The way he´d seen her through those bars, over the muzzle of her gun. And there´d been nothing in her eyes but pure hate. This and only this did he expect to see now.

What he got to see instead was something totally different though.

The gaze that met him when he entered, was clear and sane, and hadn´t he known any better he would have taken her for a totally normal woman. Someone he would have been startled to find locked away. She sat on that bed like a sleeping beauty, innocent and helpless, as if she had just woken up, to find herself in the strangest place. And the way she looked at him, she seemed to expect from him to explain all this to her.

But then her gaze changed, and with the recognition came the hate again. Her glare was as cold as he remembered it, and for a moment his believe in the natural order of things was restored.

Valjean entered the room, right at his heels. Like a prison guard who had to watch over this meeting of the criminal with her lawyer. Only that it was Javert who was the considered hostile, wasn´t he?

The gaze of the woman changed, the instant she saw Valjean. Her glare fell, and the disbelieve was written all over her face. No, it cried out, in total silence. This couldn´t be. He was supposed to be dead. She had killed him. She had seen it. The fire. He hadn´t come out.

But he was here, she could see that, clear as light. And there was nothing she could do to change that.

This simple truth again stirred up the hate in her, and all her anger broke free in one big rush. Her face, so far in plain denial, changed again, from one second to the next, and transformed into a mask of hate. A vicious grimace of madness and rage. Like a cat that aimed for an opponent, she reached out her claws, ready to attack Valjean and kill him with her bare hands. Her scream was more a feral hiss, but it ended as abruptly as it had started, when Javert grabbed her wrists.

She fought – of course she fought – but his grip was iron and she was after all only a small woman. In the end she understood that she was weaker, that she had no chance to win. But nothing in her gaze was any better when she glared at him. But that was all right. Javert´s glare was just as hateful.

"How could you do it?" he asked her. And all she did was stare at him, still so full of hate.

Javert increased the grip around her wrists.

"HOW … COULD YOU DO IT?" he yelled at her, finally making her wince. "TELL ME!"

For a moment, everything was silent. And her stare was just a little less intense. Something else had joined the hate. Was it fear? No, she didn´t fear him. He could have crushed her wrists between his hands, she still wouldn´t have feared him. No, what he saw now, was more like … desperation. Desperation about the knowledge that her plan had failed. That she had lost and would get no other chance, ever again, to kill those that she hated so much.

And upon this revelation, her mask crushed down at last, and she broke out in the most desperate tears Javert had ever seen. Her whole body slacked away from him, as if all the tension she had build up, to attack Valjean, had left her within seconds. Still Javert wouldn´t let go. She would answer him. That was why he was here.

"How could you?" she cried, almost too quiet for him to understand. Tears were rolling down her cheeks, and then she took a deep breath. "HOW COULD YOU ?!" she screamed into his face. Her breath was shaking, just like her body. "He was my life." her voice quivered. "My life."

She almost broke down in his grip, shaken by her sobs. Yet, she stayed on her feet. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. Not even the pain Javert caused with his iron grip. And all Javert did was watching her, stoic, like he´d once in his life watched prisoners suffer without emotion, not caring at all if they were in pain. Because they had brought all of this on themselves.

The woman stopped sobbing, to look up at him, flashing. And when she spoke again, her voice was only a whisper, sharp and seething.

"He was my life. Do you even know what that means?" she took another breath, and shouted the words at him. "DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS!"

Javert´s face remained a stone. And that at last seemed to break her down. When her sobs came this time, they didn´t go away. This time, she didn´t seem able to stop anymore, and in the end Javert let go of her, allowing her to drop down, onto the bed, shaken by her uncontrollable sobs. She cried because she´d failed. The one thing she´d lived for, the death of all the men who were responsible for her love´s death. She had tried to avenge him and she had failed.

Javert tried not to look at Valjean, but something just drew his gaze to his. And what he saw there was not fun. Is this what you wanted to see, Antoine?

Stubbornly avoiding his gaze wouldn´t stop Valjean from following him back outside, still gazing so queryingly. But it was Cosette´s gaze that drew Javert´s attention. The way she watched the crying woman in the room, even harder now than she had looked before. There was no pity there. No sympathy at all. This woman had tried to kill her father, and she knew that. And that was all she knew.

Still Javert could see the struggle inside her, hidden well, but not well enough, against this little voice in her. A voice that probably sounded like Valjean. A voice that tried to tell her, that yes, even this woman deserved pity on some level.

"I hope you searched the room before you locked her in there." he spoke. "Anything she could use to set a fire must be taken away."

"Don´t worry." Valjean quietly locked the door again. "I considered that, long before you woke up."

Oh. Of course. God, sometimes he hated this man.

"Good." he clung to his well preserved police demeanor, and turned to Marius. "Don´t give her any candles when it turns dark." he instructed him, as if he were a rookie officer. "Nothing. Understood?"

"Of course." the boy nodded, only a little startled to be addressed like that, and Javert glanced about. Why the hell were they all watching him like this? As if he had been the one who´d acted crazy in there. As if he´d made a fool of himself without noticing it.

For a moment he considered keeping up his act. He´d made an art out of it in all his years of service. To keep his dignity by bellowing more orders, and making people flinch. Only those days were long gone and in this company bellowing orders was no option anyway.

No, there was no fight here that he could win. And that was probably the worst of it all.

Fighting he understood. Fighting was easy. It was simple. But this … he didn´t even know what this was. In the end he did the only thing he could do. He chose the tactical retrieve and left them as they were, without another word. He needed to get out. He needed fresh air.

The garden was separated by a small wall, neatly done from roughly worked field stones, topped by a straight concrete cover. Behind it there was the section that held the rose bushes and apple trees. Some birds were singing in the distance but beside that, the only sound came from the wind, rustling in the leafs.

Javert gazed over all of this, and couldn´t help but ask himself, what the hell had happened these past few days. He couldn´t even remember anymore. It was all like a huge blur. A fog in his mind, as if he´d woken up from a strange nightmare. Maybe he was still in it.

The trees just kept rustling and no answer was coming his way. He closed his eyes and just breathed. Breathed until his mind stopped spinning. God, what a mess his life had become. And in this moment he couldn´t help but wonder: would he have chosen a different path if he had known all this a year ago? Did he ever even have a choice?

From somewhere behind him, he could hear the faint sounds of footsteps, approaching cautiously. He didn´t need to look around, to know who it was. And right now he was just too exhausted to object against his presence.

Valjean stepped up to his side, and leaned against the wall, as if he just happened to pass by here, after a stroll.

Javert didn´t look at him. He took a breath, exasperated. "What do you want to hear from me?"

Valjean only shook his head. He too seemed tired. He too didn´t even look at him.

"Nothing." he sighed. "I don´t want to hear anything. Sometimes there´s nothing left to say, I guess."

Javert lifted himself up from the wall. It seemed to be quite a task to carry the weight of his own body.

"What do we do about her?" he asked, earning a startled glance from Valjean.

"You´re asking me?"

She tried to kill you, Javert thought to himself, and somehow it wasn´t necessary for him to speak it out. Valjean reacted just as if he had.

He turned around, propping himself on the wall and gazed over the garden. His mood didn´t seem to get better from the nice view though.

"I´m flattered that you think I always have all the answers." he said, and shook his head. "But the truth is, I don´t know anything." His gaze went slack, as he gazed into the distance. He seemed tired, sad, desperate. "What did we do wrong, Antoine? What was our crime?"

Javert tried to read in his eyes, but couldn´t find an answer there. He really meant that, didn´t he? Didn´t he know by now that there were no answers?

"I know what I did wrong." he told him instead, and of course Valjean understood. While he never understood anything, but these things he always instantly caught.

"You have nothing to blame yourself for." he told him, of course.

"I don´t?"

"You could have died."

"I let you die first. I would have deserved it."

"I wasn´t dead."

"For me you were. And this was my fault. For leaving you behind, for not being there, for …"

"Antoine." the gentle tone made him flinch, and stop at last. Valjean stepped closer, just one step, but it was enough. He shook his head. "Don´t." That was all he said.

Javert scowled. "It´s true." he insisted. "I failed. And you payed the price."

"I … If I would have known how far you would go …"

"Stop this." Javert demanded, defensive now, almost annoyed, but Valjean was determined.

"When I saw what you did to …"

"I said st …"

"WOULD YOU AT LEAST LET ME FINISH THE SENTENCE ?!" the old con bellowed, furious. "I let you speak now you let me speak, understood?"

Javert skipped back. Wow. All right. "I hear you."

Valjean nodded – Good! – and composed himself. It seemed he needed quite some inner strength to collect his thoughts, before he could start speaking.

"I know the … fact that we´re standing here together is pretty weird in the first place." he began. "But I still want to say this. I appreciate your companionship. A lot. And I wouldn´t know what I would have done if you hadn´t been there. Because you´re right, I am old. And a fool. And I´m not all right with Cosette moving out just like this. I´m not. I never was. She´s always been there, in all those years and now all the sudden, I go to bed, and I still check her room, only to find it empty."

The old con fought some tears for a moment, and upon seeing this, Javert started to feel really uncomfortable. Thanks God Valjean fought it down, almost viciously, and continued.

"But I know this is the way of the world. That children have to move on and that I have to let her go …"

"Valjean?"

"And I let her go, no matter how hard it is, but the point …"

"Valjean."

"The point is, Antoine." Valjean insisted on finishing his speech. "That I wouldn´t have known what to do with myself, if I had been alone … in all of this. I would have died. I know I would have. But I didn´t and that is because of you."

Javert snorted. "Don´t be ridiculous."

"It´s true." the other man insisted, totally serious. "You´ve been a friend to me and … investigating this case with you … I felt alive. And happy, because of it. I … I just wanted you to know this."

Javert narrowed his eyes.

"And I couldn´t have forgiven myself." Valjean continued. "If something would have happened to you, because of my lie. When I saw what you did, the things you went through because of me …"

"Don´t flatter yourself, Valjean." Javert at last interrupted him. "I didn´t do this for you. I did it because I had no choice. I was on this mad woman´s list too, and even though I´m not police anymore, I still have a duty to hold up justice. Even if some of the police are not doing this anymore. But I do. And I take that very serious."

Valjean only stood there, smiling at him. "Of course, you do."

Javert scoffed. He wasn´t sure how much more of this he´d be able to take. "Let´s stop this ridiculous self pity and move on." he demanded, therefor. "Self pity won´t solve anything, and you know that. This is not the man I knew."

Valjean was startled. Something about those words seemed to ruffle him. The way it had ruffled Javert, back then, when he´d heard Valjean´s voice in his mind, telling him those exact same words. God, was he losing his mind?

"And how is the man you knew?" Valjean finally asked him, uncertain, and Javert scowled.

"The man I knew was a fighter. He doesn´t give up because of some setbacks. There´ll always be people that are left behind, Valjean, and we won´t be able to save them. There´ll always be misery in this world. But that´s just the world." Valjean spoke those last words along with him, like a sleepwalker, as if he´d just now remembered a long forgotten poem he´d once learned as a kid.

He nodded now, regarding Javert with something like wonder. As if Javert had just told him a very profound secret, one that he had known for a long time, but never really payed attention to. This and even more was conveyed only in his nodding.

Eventually he smiled again. This typical smile of his, when he wanted to say thank you but couldn´t quite bring himself to form the words. Javert nodded back, not quite able to say, you´re welcome either. But neither of them seemed to need the respective wording.

"You´re right." Valjean composed himself. "Of course. You´re right."

Javert only grunted in return. "Of course I´m right. It´s about time you learn that."

Again Valjean smiled, warmer this time, more grateful, and took a deep breath, as if to steady himself.

"There´s something else that must be done." he said, and something in his eyes had returned to the well known determination, Javert remembered from this man. "We need to go someplace. And we must hurry."

I don´t write for reviews, but it would still be nice of you to tell me if I´m still doing well. If no one tells me the truth, I will just assume I´m perfect :) So don´t hold back. It only helps me to get better. Plus a review also encourages me to update faster.