Note of the author:
One last attempt to write something that makes, at least, sense. I have to say that I am French. Since Les Mis' fans tend to be more English speaking than French speaking (thank Broadway), I had to translate my fanfiction in English (so here it is, not perfect, but I tried).
So here we are. This content will mostly speak to Javert's fans and particularly to those who ship Fantine with Javert. I know, this is the least that could happen between our dear inspector and a depraved prostitute, but still I think there is more in Javert's heart than he shows. BUT, I know, I know, I did not want to go too far from Victor Hugo's writing and characterization and I felt like Javert could not openly live a relationship like 'hey hon, how was your day?' No. He can't have that (mouhahaha), but he can feel it in the depth of his soul. And yes, you may say : ok so how are you going to tell the story of that ship without them going into serious love relationship ? Well, my dear friends, love has different languages. Here, it is about a promise, a child, and an inspector.
Prologue.
Javert looked up, the sky was black and covered with thick and grey clouds. Tonight, there would be no stars, they were hidden and would remain so until tomorrow morning. How many times had he contemplated that sky? That same sky that covered him and that man. 24601. That number was engraved both on the convict's skin and on Javert's mind. The inspector lowered his eyes, his face distorted by a terrible smile, a smile that reflected all his determination. He would never stop, not now. His instinct as a hunter urged him to continue. His prey was so close, the smell of that dog was there, silent at times, oozing at other times. Javert had the stamina of the hunter who chased his prey for days, tireless.
He took off his top hat and placed it with his stick on the table, his gesture was imbued with a religious delicacy. He picked up his badge with the same solemnity and pinned it to a small white cushion, which he neatly stowed away in a drawer. Then, with satisfaction, he sighed.
As he was undressing, the cold evening wind crept into the small chamber and climbed up his spine. He had not closed the window and the cold winter air had just caught him. As he closed the heavy black shutters, while the shrill creak of the joints tore the calm and disturbing silence of the street below, he saw in the distance on the square a silhouette covered with a veil heading towards the paved and hardly frequented streets of Montreuil-sur-Mer. It was supposed to be midnight, maybe a little later. The silhouette was in a hurry, almost running and moving as if shadows were chasing it. Javert listened, the distant sound of the footsteps slammed on the pavement. He had stopped his service much earlier than expected, the streets in winter were deserted, he knew it, and his night patrols were often quiet and without overflow. So much so that he thought finishing early tonight would not be a problem. He had relinquished his guard and retired for the night.
But that silhouette made him regret it. If God never slept, so it was with Evil, so it must be with the Law. The silhouette had just disappeared behind a building, but Javert knew where it was going. The hunter's instinct seized him again, duty called him and Javert would be guilty of not responding. With the same solemnity, this time doubled with haste, the inspector tightened up his clothes, put on his hat, hung up his badge, and grabbed his staff.
The door closed on him while the night opened to him.