Hey Guys, sorry for the wait! Long chapter! Thanks for reading!

NOTE: In my story, Javert doesn't know about Cosette, just thought i should let you guys know that

XXIII: Fate Has a Cruel Hand

Javert's eyebrows furrowed as he looked at the long lines of carriages. He'd been sitting out against the Paris walls for hours, dusk long since come and gone. Stars twinkled above him, begging for his attention, yet he watched the line slowly move. The horse beneath him shifted, a large black gelding the city of Paris loaned him for the moment. Traveling from Montreuil to Paris was a little too far for Ombre to take him. Javert found himself thinking about his horse like a security blanket, a solid reason to return to the city at least once more. To return to Aimée.

"Next!" the officer to his left called, stepping towards the coach, the sleek rifle long and dark as it hung behind his shoulder. A slender hand wearing a white glove opened the carriage door. A rich woman meeting a suitor, or seeing to some affair that may not be in the most courteous of circumstances.

Javert felt his hand tighten on the reigns and he began to approach, looking down at his officer. The man was barely out of his twenties and stuttering in front of the woman like an idiot.

Javert watched him struggle, his distaste growing with every passing second.

He was so engrossed he didn't notice the carriage further down the line. Quietly, a door opened. Javert, his attention elsewhere, didn't see the man who was holding a small bundle slip out of the door and hurry towards the darkness.

The calls from the other watchmen snapped Javert's head up, looking around. He only had moments before he saw the shadow of a man disappear down the wall. The muscles in his jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed.

"VALJEAN!" he roared, his voice tearing at the night mercilessly. He kicked his horse and galloping inside the city gate. He would catch the coward on the other side, stop him in his tracks. The convict would be expecting someone to chase him from the outside, not cut him off.

Hooves pounded on the cobblestones. The sharp noise pounded with his blood in his ears. Where was he? Where was he?

Like a snake in tall grass, Javert thought, his eyes darting from dark alleyway to stacks of crates.

There! Valjean had slipped around the entrance of a large building, the marble columns glowing like white trees in the moonlight. He was moving slowly, tugging at a small child.

Why did he have a child?

Javert felt anger blossom within him. Without a second thought, he steered his horse up the shallow marble steps and pounded after Valjean. Javert's green eyes turned to harsh stone as he neared him, pounding and pounding, almost at the child's heels.

"Valjean!" Javert roared again, "you coward!"

Javert wasn't quick enough to stop Valjean from scooping up the little girl and disappearing over the balcony. The horse skidded to a stop from the sudden barrier and Javert snarled, a ferocious roar pressing though his teeth. He turned the horse and spurred it onwards, sparks left by the hooves. Down the stairs it went, a wonder it didn't trip. Behind the building sat a winding alley, too narrow for the broad gelding to press through. Without hesitating, Javert swung himself from the saddle and pressed his way inwards.

The walls of houses and sleek buildings rose above him, winding and turning like a high maze. He could hear rustling ahead of him, an occasional huff of breath, and he hurried onwards. Intensity radiated off him like heat from a fire and his jaw ached from being clenched so tightly.

"Valjean! I know you're here!" Javert bellowed, twisting his way around corners and ducking around crates. His chest began to tighten from shortness of breath and his voice was raspy from fury. The night walls pressed against him, pushing his shoulders together.

Then, suddenly and abruptly, the maze ended in a solid brick wall. There was no sign of Valjean or his follower. Javert stepped forward and beat his fists against the stone. A painful jolt shot down his wrists and he snarled again, his face screwed up from wrath.

"Valjean, I will find you!" Javert roared, the stars themselves shrinking from his words. "You're in Paris now, my city!"

It was a lie, but it tasted sweet coming from his mouth. His city. The city he had known for eight years. It was only a matter of time before the foolish convict would stumble across Javert's path once again.

"He did what!?" Anna exclaimed, leaning backwards where she sat and pressing two hands up to her face. "Oh my lord!"

"Shh, keep your voice down!" Aimée hushed, looking up towards her door for any interruption. The two women were curled up on her bed like young girls. Arthur had taken Bellarae to the bakery to buy some sweets, and then a walk around town, leaving Anna to visit with Aimée. Wrapped up in her room, full of old memories, Aimée had confessed her kiss to Anna. The woman was aghast, shock written over her pretty Irish face.

"Aimée, he kissed you! After all this time!"

Aimée's cheeks started to redden and she felt the air grow stuffy around her.

"How was it?" Anna asked eagerly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, the once fiery red smoldering to an older auburn.

"What?"

"You heard me, what was it like? The first time I kissed Arthur I felt like I was floating."

Aimée cast her eyes downwards to her lap and smiled. "It was…It was nice."

Anna gave a teasing whistle and leaned against Aimée's headboard. "He looks like he could be a good kisser. All strong and bearded…."

The look that shot from Aimée's eyes could've shocked a statue. But, she faltered and let out an unladylike snort of laughter. "It was nice," she found herself saying again, willing herself to be swept up in the recent memory of Javert's lips pressed against hers. It was only hours ago that very morning, and it seemed fresh and crisp.

"What will your father say?" Anna asked, shattering her friend back to reality.

Aimée had not thought about her father. She flopped backwards on her mattress and stared at the cealing above. She felt Anna's eyes on her. "I don't know."

"Probably mutter about his age…but who cares. Odder engagements have happened, even back in Toulon."

"We're not engaged Anna, not even courting. He just gave me a kiss, is all," Aimée grumbled.

The afternoon sun was shining in through the window, the bright yellowness warming the two women as they gossiped and dreamed. Aimée pushed the thought of her father to the back of her head, not wanting to spoil the happiness that filled her stomach and flitted up her throat every time she breathed. She glowed in her happiness, her smile a white gleam and cheeks rosy. The laughter that surrounded the bed was strong, immune to the past cruelties that lurked just behind her.

As Anna watched her, she was amazed at how much her friend resembled her mother. Melanie's cheekbones and strong, yet elegant, jaw brought a quiet beauty to Aimée's face, and those eyes, sparkling in happiness, were the very same. A ghost shining through to the present.

"It's good to finally see you happy, sweet Aimée," Anna said, placing a hand on her stomach as she spoke. She liked to pretend she could feel the kick of her second child, but she knew it was far too soon for that.

"I've been happy before, Anna," Aimée said, craning her neck to look at her Irish sister.

"Skin-deep happiness doesn't count, dear," Anna said, "This, what you are now, is nothing like you were before. You're like the sun."

Aimée's heart stirred and she felt her eyes glisten, but she didn't quite know why.

"Are you positive you all have to leave in the morning?" Aimée asked.

"Sadly, yes. The house needs tending and Bellarae must start lessons soon."

"Well…Thomas is out…before you leave would you like to help me cook dinner? Then we all can eat together before you take off."

Anna smiled and stood up, emitting a groan as she did so. "Alright. Let's cook."

She swept the breadcrumbs from the counter idly, sipping at a glass of wine as the house creaked hungrily around her, big and empty. The traces of laughter and cheer still hung in the air like lazy smoke and Aimée looked around the kitchen. Potato peels were piled in the waste bucket and the sharpness of rosemary mingled with the smoothness of butter and honey. Her stomach felt full and she twinkled with a warm contentment. The wine, a full and oaky red, made her eyelids droop lower with every sip and she found herself yawning.

Dousing the lamp in the kitchen, Aimée made her way to the dining room and picked up a candle in order to maneuver her way back up to her room. She forced herself to pour water and wash her face, then brush her hair, even though her bed was enticing her just to lie down and sleep. The bristles of her brush eventually glided through her hair and she quickly braided it, the coil draping over one shoulder. As Aimée crawled underneath her covers, she turned her head and peered out the window across the room. Stars twinkled brightly at her, a little smudged in places from sparse nighttime clouds. Anna's words rang though her head.

"You're like the sun."

Nestling further down in her covers, Aimée smiled. She was a little sad to see her friend and her family go away again, but there were always letters, and it was so nice to sit up in her room like old times. Happiness filled her wholly, from the top of her head down to her toes. She hoped Javert would return the next night.

Closing her eyes, she drifted off to sleep with the sound of her own laughter ringing through her ears.

The carriage swayed and Javert's head bounced off the wood, snapping him awake with a painful crack. He scowled as he rubbed his sore temple. He then leaned forward to peer out the window, only to find the bare fields of the French countryside washed in the leaching gray light of dusk.

Leaning back, Javert was painfully aware of the letter in his jacket pocket, as heavy as a sack of boulders. It was a newly updated warrant for Jean Valjean. Once the Parisian courts heard he was in their city, scuttling and hiding in the darkened alleys, they had written quite a harsh sentencing letter, one that would bring him directly to the gallows.

But, with this new warrant, the judges gave him a choice as they stared down at him with their bulbous black hats and wiry glasses, continue in Montreuil or come back to Paris. The tickling lightness that had settled in his gut once he left Aimée's home the previous morning was sucked up, replaced by a heavy dejection. Javert had only just found her. He was still exposed from where his stone had come crumbling down, and now he would have to build it back up and make a choice. Aimée seemed to be cursed, bringing him hope for something that could never be his.

The world thrives on injustice, Javert thought up to the heavens, hoping that his words found the ears of God. On crushing the happiness of others to hide its own pain. His head rested back. Thoughts slammed and crashed into each other in his head, drowning him in spinning chaos. Javert tried his best to clear his head, sort out one thing from the next. Then, like solid ground in a coursing river, the memory of Aimée's lips lightly brushing against his snapped behind his eyes.

Javert felt his shoulders relax and the world around him fade away and he watched the memory. Her oceanic eyes, so unsure and apologetic afterwards, swallowed him whole and he had lost himself in them. Her lips, so petal soft against his, slowed his mind go a grinding halt and there, in the woman's own library, Javert felt himself lose some of his control.

Aimée's stuttering words snapped him out of his shock and a fire filled him as he looked at her, so beautiful, even with her hair undone and face bare of powders and creams. For a harsh second, Javert thought of those white letters turning black in the flames of his fireplace. His gut twisted and he found himself capturing her face in his hands.

Javert had kissed women before, but no one had filled him with so much hope and vulnerability like Aimée had. He was lost to her, desperately trying to understand why one woman could suck the breath from his lungs and make his knees shake. He felt his heart leap when he realized she was kissing him back, moving her lips against his in a gentle caress. Javert's face burned where she pressed her hand up against it and for once in his life, Javert felt whole.

Stop. Stop. You have to stop now, he told himself. You have to realize what you are doing.

That was when he stood to leave.

Javert willed himself a small smile in the carriage, the night new around him and crickets starting to stir. Aimée Lamenté filled his head and she beat away the loneliness that had surrounded him for so many years. She reminded him of a fierce little lioness.

Lost in his musings, Javert didn't really realize as the countryside was replaced by the buildings of Montreuil. When the carriage slowed, he bent over and grabbed the overnight bag he had brought with him. The door opened with a snap and he stepped out in front of the jail. He paid the coachman and the carriage rolled off.

Javert nearly jumped when he saw the figure of Aimée sitting on the steps. She looked up at him, her hair curled loosely around her face. She looked so small on the steps, yet it was obvious she was no longer the girl back in Toulon. Javert stood for a moment, his bag hanging by his side.

"Mademoiselle, what are you doing out here?" The openness of the city streets required the formality.

She sighed and shifted her weight where she sat, pulling her knees up to her face and resting her chin on them.

"Waiting for you, I suppose."

Javert knew something was wrong. He took a few steps forward, looking down at her. "You shouldn't be out here alone, in the dark," he murmured.

She gave a smile that Javert didn't like. "This reminds me of the time you found me in Toulon, sitting at the fountain."

Javert remembered that night.

"What are you doing out here?" he repeated, brusque I his questioning as he felt a protectiveness stir within him.

"Father hasn't come back yet…I was hoping he would be here, maybe he got arrested."

Javert swallowed.

"I've been sitting out here since dusk, no one has bothered me. The crickets chirped around her and she shook the hair from her face.

"I have to bring my bag back to my office," Javert said awkwardly, walking past her and pulling the key from his pocket. The tumblers in the door clicked as it was unlocked and Javert stepped inside, the smell of candle smoke hanging in the air. He heard shuffling footsteps behind him and knew that Aimée had followed him in. The booking cell was empty and Javert made his way to the back office, the only light around them the pale glow of the moon and stars outside.

Once inside his office, he went around the walls and lit each of the lamps, casting it in a warm glow. He turned to find Aimée curled up in one of the chairs in front of his desk. Javert found himself liking the way she looked as she sat amongst his things. The bag slouched to the floor as he set it down and made his way to sit across from her behind his desk. He leaned back and clasped his hands over his chest, watching her.

Aimée's head tilted back and Javert watched as her hair tumbled away from her head like a golden tapestry. "This office is so neat," she grumbled.

"Thank you."

"Wasn't necessarily a complement, Javert."

He was quietly amused.

"Where is your father?"

"God only knows…he said he was going to Toulon to speak to Beaudet. He's desperate to find some work now that Madele- um…Valjean's ruined the factory. How was Paris?"

The warrant grew heavier in his pocket. "I found them, he managed to get past the checkpoint. He evaded arrest."

"Again? Seems like this man is good at running."

Javert didn't respond.

Aimée lifted her head and watched him. "What?"

Javert shrugged his shoulders and held his hands out in a questioning gesture. "What?"

Aimée rolled her eyes and the corners of his mouth twitched upwards in a small smile. He enjoyed this. Easygoing and quiet, privacy from the humorless world.

Aimée bit her lip, "I feel like…like we should talk about what happened before you left."

Javert shrugged. "Are you offended?"

"No."

The two sat in silence and Javert willed her to speak.

"Are you?"

Javert's throat tightened and when he spoke his voice was a quiet murmur. "No, mademoiselle."

She looked down at her lap. Her teeth were white and even when she smiled. "Good…"

His words were a little thicker when he spoke again. "I was not offended…but I don't think it was right. I'm sorry, mademoiselle."

Aimée looked up at him. "So you're not offended…but you regret it."

She looked hurt and the sight took his breath away. Javert cringed slightly.

No, he wanted to say. I did not regret it. I'd do it a hundred times over if I could.

"You're the one that actually kissed me, Javert," Aimée reminded him. Javert looked at her, his downturned eyes pleading. A long sigh escaped him.

"I have a choice I have to make, Aimée," Javert said, changing the subject and pulling out the warrant.

"To go back to Paris?" Aimée asked, crossing her arms.

"Yes." The word, small and short, hung in the air around them. Aimée looked at Javert, still and somber yet emotion swam in his pale green eyes. The paper on the desk mocked the both of them.

You two will be separated again.

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know." The words were truth. He didn't know.

Aimée hugged herself and looked at the nameplate on his desk. He leaned forward, wanting to touch her, to hold her hand, to pull her to him and keep her protected in his arms. Javert had to strain himself to hear her next words.

"I loved you once, Javert…."

Her words made him bow his head to her.

"Once?" he asked, his voice a low grumble.

"Back in Toulon. You were the one person who gave a damn about what happened to me once my mother died. The only one who cared about keeping me safe, who could actually protect me. But then you broke that promise."

The words sounded accusatory to him. He closed his eyes and felt his forehead crease. Guilt flooded through him. This young woman had found herself swept up in him and he let her fall back into the cruel world. He had burned her as well as her letters and here she was, trying to crawl from the ash as he struck another match. Aimée had said she loved him…was she aware of the strength in her words? Love or a childhood fancy?

"…and now, mademoiselle?" Javert murmured.

Aimée watched him, his head bowed. She could see the peppering of gray in his hair. His deep voice made her stomach flutter and she felt his large, rough hands cradling her face.

"Would it make a difference?" she asked.

` Pale emeralds drowned in the roiling ocean waves and Javert couldn't stand to sit anymore, yet his feet felt cemented to the floor.

You will face her.

All he could do was murmur her name.

Aimée sighed and got up, walking around to the other side of the desk. Javert looked up at her, frozen where he sat as she moved some papers out of the way and sat up on the desk, the skirt of her simple blue dress draped over the side. She pulled her knees up and rested her arms on them. The side of her face rested on her arms and she looked down at Javert. He leaned back in his chair, regarding her.

"Do you regret kissing me?" she asked, quiet and beautiful.

Javert's head cocked to the side and he blinked before he finally muttered, "No."

She smiled at him and he would've smiled back if he hadn't been numb. She reached out to him and he managed to cradle her hand in his. Aimée's thumb ran along his knuckles and their fingers entwined.

"You could come to Paris."

"No I couldn't," Aimée said. "I have no money. I don't know Paris."

Javert nodded, knowing she was right. He was foolish to suggest it.

"You would want me to go to Paris?" Aimée asked, squeezing his hand. She let her legs fall over the edge of the desk. She was smiling and Javert felt heavy. He had no answer for her.

"You're going to take the job, aren't you?" Aimée asked.

Javert couldn't bring himself to answer. She played with his hand, tracing his fingers and pressing her palm against his. Javert stood, watching her move his hand to both of hers and tracing the lines that ran through his skin. The woman was lost in thought and Javert brought is free hand up and placed it at the back of her neck. He gently pulled her to him and she rested her forehead against his chest.

"I don't know," he murmured.

She pulled away and stood, wrapping her arms around him. The stubble from his beard scratched familiarly at the top of her head and she smiled. The warmth and protection of his arms soothed her as he returned her embrace and sighed. Aimée felt a light pressure on the top of her head as Javert gently kissed her hair. The feather light touch sent shivers up her spine and she could smell him, shoe polish and wood smoke. Javert moved his hands to her shoulder, the slight curve where her neck ended. He gently pushed her away a little and she felt him kiss her forehead.

"Did you mean what you said before, mademoiselle?" Javert asked, his breath a warm puff against her skin.

"When I said that I had loved you?"

"Yes." His voice made her eyes flutter closed and she could feel her heart pounding against her chest.

"I meant it."

Javert sighed. "And I hurt you."

"You did."

Javert's thumbs traced along her collarbones. "And I will hurt you again if I leave."

"You might."

"Aimée…"

She shook her head and kept her eyes closed. Aimée was trying to ignore the situation, push it to the back of her mind and hoped she would lose it there.

"If it makes a difference…I think I love you now," she whispered. She felt Javert's lips on her cheek, then her nose, then her other cheek. He pressed his forehead to hers.

"You deserve better than me, mademoiselle."

Aimée reached up and looped her arms around his neck. She opened her eyes and looked at him. "So far, you're the best I've seen." This time, she leaned up on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to Javert's lips. He was ready for it and met her with gentleness. They stayed for a few seconds, then broke apart and Aimée brought her arms down and nestled against him. He found himself kissing her hair again and letting his face bury itself in her gold tresses. Arms circled her and for a moment, the both of them allowed themselves to forget about the warrant that sat on his desk.