Hey guys! sorry for the long wait, i've been out of town, but here we go again!

XIII: See You in my Dreams

Aimée's eyes bore into her ceiling without mercy. It was long past the party and late into the night…or maybe it was early in the morning? She was unsure. Her hair was heavily coiled in a braid that hung down over her shoulder and stray hairs tickled her face like the fingertips of ghosts. She sniffed and noticed how low the oil in her bedside lamp was. Aimée turned onto her side, smothered the flame, and flopped back against her pillows in the darkness. Her mind was on Javert. Every time she tried to sleep, she would see his green eyes boring in to her, his deep voice telling her that he was leaving. The initial stinging shock of his words had died away, and now Aimée only felt dull hurt and melancholy.

Javert's arms were warm and strong when he hugged her that night. She could still smell the scent of his uniform as she breathed, smoke from a fireplace and musk that she had never smelled before, nothing unpleasant. Actually…as she remembered it in the darkness of her room, she admitted that he had smelled good. He felt solid under her arms, she mused, powerful. Aimée decided she liked that.

Holding her hand up in the darkness, Aimée flexed her fingers, imagining the feel of Javert's own hand in her grasp. His palm had felt just like she had imagined it…rough but warm, the fingers thick and stiff. Her hand clenched again, as if she was holding on to him, but her fingers only curled into a fist, alone in the dark. What would those big hands feel like, cradling her face, his thumb tracing over her cheek?

Aimée sighed and pressed her hand against her forehead in frustration. Why was she thinking of him like this?

Frustrated, Aimée rolled over on her stomach, hugging the pillow underneath her chin. She heard his low rumbling murmur in her memories.

"Are you going to be alright?"

The amount of concern in his voice made her shiver, even now hours later. She held on to those stormy green eyes in her mind, seeing them along with his straight nose and bristled jaw. Aimée had admitted to herself that he was handsome, regardless of the uniform that fit his powerful frame well enough. His strong jaw and furrowed brows made her stomach flutter in the darkness, and she imagined herself reaching up and tracing the worry away with her fingertips. She wondered what it would be like to trace her fingers over his eyebrows, trail them down his cheek, cradle his face in her palms. She wondered what the puff of his breath would feel like across her forehead as she pressed herself close to him. She wondered what his rough hand would feel like pressed against her waist….

Aimée felt an embarrassed, ashamed blush flush her neck and cheeks. She pressed her hands to her temples to try and drive the silly, girlish images away so she could get some sleep. Lord, she held his hand once and he returned a comforting hug and she lost her mind!
Stop acting like an infatuated child, Aimée scolded herself, burying her face in her pillow, there was nothing romantic. He doesn't think of you like that. He's so much older. You just admitted that you were friends. Why are you doing this to yourself?

Groaning in her pillow, Aimée realized that it was going to continue to be a long, awkward night.

Javert's posture slouched from exhaustion as he sat in his saddle. His butt had gone numb, and he worried that his legs would cramp the second he tried to dismount. He had let Ombre just wander where he wanted, only lightly tugging on the reins every now and then when the horse stopped to sniff at a plant or stick his muzzle in the fountain. Javert only had three or four more hours until sunrise…then his last patrol would be over.

His mind had dangerously wandered as he sat on his horse. The man was still somewhat in shock of the boldness of Aimée at the mayor's home. First, the tentativeness of her fingers as they curled around his, followed by the strong clinging of her arms wrapped around his shoulders. And, to his own surprise, he found himself embracing her back. She felt so small in Javert's arms, so broken and scared. The puff of lilacs and vanilla filled his senses and nearly dizzied him as they held each other. Javert had to stop himself from closing his eyes and deeply inhaling.

Much to his own disgust with himself, he realized that he had wanted to keep her there in his arms, to hold on to her until the world crumbled around them. She was so small and so perfect as she was pressed up against him. Aimée's hair was like silk as it slid over his palm when he had gently patted her head. Javert sighed as he imagined what it would be like to hold a hand to her lean waist or to trail his fingers along the smooth curve of her neck and shoulder. He wanted to feel the smooth skin of her collarbone gently glide across his fingertips.

Still yourself, you fool, he reprimanded to himself, she is young and she deserves better than you or your imagination.

Javert downcast his eyes in the dark, ashamed of himself. He thought back to his patrol at hand, back to the job that he would be offered. He searched in his memories for the image of Valjean and saw that he could remember the inmate quite easily. Surely the man would've shaved and cut his hair, but Javert had a good memory for eyes. He would remember Valjean's eyes.

His mind skipped back to Aimée's stormy blue gaze and he heaved a ragged sigh. It was obvious that she would plague his thoughts until the sun rose. He looked around as if searching for someone who could see his imagination or musings. When he was content that everyone was still in their homes, asleep on straw mattresses and wool blankets, he sat back in his saddle and thought openly of the young woman that was haunting him so.

The man admitted that she was beautiful then, more beautiful than anyone he had ever seen in the city of Toulon. Probably even more beautiful that the women of Paris. Javert saw the fire in her eyes, the spark that made her so transfixing to him. Sure, beauty caught his eye easily enough, but what really drew his eyes to her was the blatant fact that the looks she possessed were unknown to her, or, at least, they were unknown when they first met. If Aimée was aware of her transfixing beauty, she ignored it. She dismissed it as easily as waving her hand. Javert smiled as he thought of her stuffing pastries in her mouth on that first night at Beaudet's. Pulling out the all-too-familiar handkerchief from his pocket, Javert rubbed his thumb along the stains, kohl from grief and red crème from happiness. He was expecting to smile as he relived the memories, but instead his brow furrowed and his mouth turned downwards into a harsh frown. For a terrifying moment, he thought he felt light pinpricks in the back of his eyes, but he blinked away the threat of tears as he stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket.

Out of sight…out of mind… he thought to himself, adjusting Ombre's reins in his hands.

You're a fool if you believe that, his mind countered. A hopeless fool. You're also a fool to believe that she even thinks of you more than a protector or a friend. Are you so desperately lonely that you can't acknowledge the difference between kindness and attraction?

Javert, being a man of honor and courtesy, wondered how he could possibly meet her eyes the next day. How could he manage to look at her after running these rude thoughts though his head? She would surely see right through him…she would find out and then become disgusted with him, with his age, with his appearance.

It'd almost be better if you slipped away without her knowing…better for the both of you.

The day wore on. Aimée had forced herself to stay at her home, too afraid to leave. She knew that the second she left that door, Javert would come to say his goodbyes, and she wouldn't be there. Anna had taken the day off to prep for next week's dinners and Gérard was nowhere to be found. Aimée had found herself alone once more.

She tried reading, but her eyes darted about nervously on the pages and she couldn't absorb anything. Every now and then, Aimée would look up and scan the faces of people passing by her window, their faces solemn in the concentration of everyday tasks. Her heart rose every time she thought she spotted his beard or his eyes, but it fell whenever she realized she was mistaken.

Dusk had fallen, and it brought a new sense of panic along with it. Aimée lit a candle on her table and pressed a palm to her window, watching. The people had thinned, back in their homes to cook, clean, and care for the little ones. Aimée heaved an angry sigh, got up, grabbed a shawl from the hook on the wall, and opened the door of her house. Standing on her front stoop, she wrapped the shawl around her shoulders and craned her neck to try and see through the houses.

From the distance, the clop of hooves and the creak of carriage wheels.

With a crashing clarity, she knew.

Aimée knew that the carriage leaving the city was Javert's. She knew that he would not be stopping at her house. She balled up her fists and took off down the alleyways. Aimée was aware of the main road, a wide dirt path used by many travelers. By the sound of it, the carriage was farther away than she could reach in time, heading down the eastern part of town before it turned south to reach the road. Looking over her shoulder, Aimée clutched the shawl tighter around her shoulders and ducked between two houses.

After that, she sprinted. As fast as her legs could carry her, she sprinted. An angry stone mason had to dodge her, his chisel swinging dangerously through the air like a dagger, but luckily it didn't graze her. She ducked, dodged, and even jumped over a few crates before she turned right and continued down a different side street.

Her lungs felt as if they were burning before she finally skidded out onto the main road. She was too late. Aimée's heart dropped as she watched the black carriage rolling away. With a biting anger that quickly blossomed behind her eyes, she bent down, grabbed hold of a sizable rock, and hurled it at the carriage. It pinged against the polished wood. As the anger strengthened, she picked up another stone, bigger than the last, and hurled it with all her might, releasing a scream as she did so. With a satisfying crash it dove through the rear window of the cab, shattering the glass. The horses whinnied and the coach rolled to a stop. The door opened, and Aimée watched in anger as a boot stepped down onto the step. The boot was followed by pressed navy trousers and a handsome military jacket.

"What in God's name do you think you're doing?" Javert bellowed, holding a hand up to the back of his head.

Aimée was pleased when she realized that her stone had struck him. Yet the sardonic pleasure was short lived as the gravity of his betrayal settled over her.

"What are you doing!" she screamed back, throwing her hands in the air, "you promised!"

The anger didn't leave either of them. Javert stomped closer and Aimée, in a moment of fear, turned and bolted. It was a mistake, her lungs were still on fire and her legs not recovered from her long run. Javert, a fit man, quickly caught up to her and his strong hand encircled her arm. His grip was near painful.

"You struck me with a rock!" he yelled, his voice not quieter now that he was near her. He held up his other hand and she could see dabs of red, "I have glass in my head!" He grabbed on to her other arm, ignoring the red on his fingers, and shook her. "What do you think you're doing?"

Aimée tore free, her eyes hateful in the receding light. "Don't reprimand me like a child, Javert!" She was too angry and frustrated for tears. "Why the hell would you just leave like this? I chased you down alleys just to say goodbye!" She struck him then, an open palm against his cheek. It left her fingers stinging.

"You were just going to leave like everyone else. Ever think how that would affect me? Huh? I bet you didn't even give it a second thought…not one moment to think about poor Aimée Lamenté," her words were seething. "You were just making hot air promises last night in the dark."

The stab of her words struck his heart and made him cringe. Is cheek was red from where she had struck him and he felt hurt, not from the pain of her slap, but from the hate that flowed through her eyes as she glared at him. Her hair was tied messily back, strands framing her face like gold wisps. Her anger fed his. She was a child, a naïve young girl that doubted his decisions.

"I thought this was best," he rumbled, his brow furrowing, "You wouldn't understand. You're just a-"

"Don't you dare call me a child, Javert." Her voice was as low and warning as a tigress's growl. Aimée's finger stabbed at his chest accusingly. "I know that's what was going to come out of your mouth."

He leaned back, momentarily lost for words. Javert looked down at her, inhaling deeply and closing his eyes. "You don't understand anything."

"Well, it's hard to understand a man that sneaks away like a coward without saying goodbye!" she pushed him violently and he stumbled backwards, but stayed standing. "Get out of here! Go! You were so keen on leaving before!" She sniffed.

The very thought of her starting to cry sucked away Javert's anger. Suddenly…he knew she was right. He was a coward. How had he convinced himself that leaving her like this was a good idea? The best choice? She looked so broken and betrayed as she stood in front of him, angry out of resilience.

He stepped towards her, his face suddenly soft.
"Aimée…I'm sorry," he murmured, trying to raise a hand to her. He wanted to touch her again, feel the warmth of her skin on his hand. He wanted to see her smile and forgive him for his foolish, bullheaded actions.

Aimée smacked it away and pushed him again. "No! Enough of this! I'm sick and tired of being hurt." She stared at him, expecting him to speak again, but Javert was silent, watching her like he just stabbed a dagger though his chest. She huffed at his silence.

"I trusted you to say goodbye, Javert. I guess trust doesn't mean anything. Just gives me stone shoes when I'm trying to swim. You must want me to drown." Her voice was as sour as vinegar.

Javert quickly shook his head, but he couldn't find any words. His mouth opened silently, but he quickly shut it again, realizing that the silence was suffocating.

"Aimée, I'm sorry," he finally said again. "I truly thought this was the best way."

He had said the wrong words. Aimée crossed her arms in front of her and closed her eyes. "Well then…goodbye. Sorry for your inconvenience, monsieur," The formality was a well-placed jab to his gut. She turned on her heal and started to retreat back down the road towards town. Javert quickly hurried after her before holding a hand up to tell the coachman to give him a moment.

"Wait," he called. When she ignored Javert's voice, he quickly caught her arm and spun her around.

"Let go of me!" she cried, suddenly beating her fists against his chest anger. "I told you to go!"

Javert was surprised by the amount of force her blows had and quickly struggled to grab hold of her wrists. "Hey," he barked, clenching his jaw in effort as he wrestled with her, "Listen to me. Stop." His grip was strong as he finally got the livid Aimée under control. "I never wanted to hurt you like this. I'm sorry. You're right, I'm a coward…but now we're here. We're here right now." Javert's voice was strong, but softened as he noticed her eyes start to change. The roiling, crashing waves were starting to still, as did the muscles in her lean arms. Javert found himself running his thumbs along the soft inside of her wrist, her skin warm and flushed from anger. He hoped this small action would comfort her.

Aimée searched his face and Javert cocked his head to the side, making sure that their eyes met. She was beautiful in the wake of her fury, cheeks rosy and eyes shining like sapphires. Javert felt himself bite at the inside of his cheek, the images that he had imagined shooting though his mind and making him uncomfortable where he stood. He quickly released her wrists and straightened himself.

The woman in front of him bit her lip. "Why would you leave without telling me?" she asked, her voice quiet and soft as a feather floating over water. "You said you would say goodbye, Javert."

"I know…I know I did," he murmured, lowering his head and staring at the cobblestones beneath their feet. He felt a searching warmth spread across his cheek and looked up to see Aimée with her palm pressed against his face, her eyes sad but forgiving. His cheek still stung slightly from her previous slap.

"Can you tell me why you left?" she decided that she trusted the man's judgment. She had seen him uncomfortable too many times to force a confession from him.

Javert's eyes were pleading as he shook his head no. "Just know that I thought that this was the best way. I can see now that I was wrong."

"You think?"

Javert's knees nearly buckled beneath him when he saw her smile.

A smile that shines as bright as her anger. A smile for my eyes, he thought.

Aimée looked at him as she felt the scruff of his jaw on her hand. Without realizing it, she neared him and her heart beat against her chest. The way he was looking down at her made her body feel light, weightless. Aimée wished she had the ability to read minds…Javert was so complex she would give anything just to know what he was thinking. She quickly began to worry that her actions the night before were unwelcome, that she had acted too boldly. Maybe she repulsed him…maybe he was embarrassed of her…that must be why he left without telling her.

"Javert, just tell me…did you not want to say goodbye because of me? Of something I did?" The words were hard to say.

Shock spread across his face. Javert leaned over her, his voice quiet and warm as his brow furrowed and his head shook. "No…no Aimée…nothing you did. I just…." The words died away. He was not brave enough to admit that he had begun to think of her in ways that were not necessarily appropriate. He couldn't admit that he was struck by her beauty, by her resilience. Couldn't admit that a warmth he loved spread over him every time he thought of her or saw her face.

"No," he finally said again, ending her question.

When she embraced him, he sighed against her hair and allowed himself a fleeting inhale of lilacs and vanilla. She was so warm against his chest that he couldn't help but wrap his own arms around her in a kind of desperation that he feared. A kind of desperation that lumped in his throat and made it hard to breathe, hard to choke back tears.

"Goodbye," she murmured close to his ear.

Javert felt his arms grow tighter around her waist, his large hands pressing against her back. Javert clung to her not out or romantic interests or friendship, but of pure, debilitating need. He needed to show her that his worst fear was to harm her and his greatest hope was to make her smile. He needed her to stay safe and happy, needed her to find some man to take care of her, to take her out of this town that did nothing but harm her.

You also need her in your loneliness, Javert's thoughts said, keep the demons at bay.

The idea of how much this woman had changed him when she had crashed so violently into his life had frozen him to the spot, holding her as close as he could before she disappeared behind the carriage. He felt her hand reach behind his head and rest at the back of his neck. Comfort followed her fingertips, as if she was trying to still him with touch.

"Goodbye," he whispered back, his voice ragged. With an aching heart, his arms loosened around her. She leaned back and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. Her lips were as soft as rose petals against his stubble.

"You broke your last promise…but please write," she said as she reached out and clutched his hand in her own, entwining their fingers.

He gave her hand a squeeze and nodded, not trusting his voice. Aimée gave him one last smile, reached up with her free hand, and ran her hand down the side of his face. She unthreaded her fingers from his and stepped back.

"You better go…your coachman doesn't seem to happy."

Javert turned and looked over his shoulder. The driver was leaning back, his arms crossed and a pipe puffing between his lips. "I suppose," he said, turning back to meet Aimée's eyes, but she was already turned and retreating back into Toulon.

The soles of Javert's shoes were frozen to the cobblestones as he watched her go, his eyes lingering on her blonde hair and slender neck that led to broad shoulders. He would give his soul to the devil himself just to see her look over her shoulder at him…one last glimpse of roiling ocean before he left her. Much to his sadness, she did not look back as she walked away. Soon, she had disappeared from his view and Javert opened his mouth and released a weary sigh before looking up to the sky. He imagined the air around him smelling like lilac and vanilla as he made his way back to the carriage.

Twenty minutes later, the city of Toulon was completely gone when he looked behind him though the shattered glass window of the coach.