Hey guys! Sorry for the long wait, chapters are getting longer as we go along, more content. Shout out to Lutzus for the wonderful long review, i greatly appreciated. Another shout out to all reviewers, i always love reading them! Hope you guys enjoy!

XXV: A Velvet Box

Javert stared at the painting for a long time. The lion and bull entrapped in a struggle, blood oozing from the bull's haunches and its eyes wild. He couldn't help but feel a sense of discomfort as he looked at the strokes of paint. Javert thought back to his mental image of Aimée, she had resembled a young lioness then, strong in her beauty.

"You're like an old bull," she had teased, stroking the heavy lines of his face.

A lioness and an old, worn bull.

Javert's eyes flickered to where the lion's claws were digging into the bull's body and the point of the deadly horn dangerously close to the tawny cat's side.

This is how it could be, the lion roared and the bull grunted, fighting and pain.

Javert shook his head, refusing to pander to his senseless worries. The light cotton of his undershirt hung loosely over his body, much more comfortable than the thick wool of his uniform. The collar hung away from him, opening up in a small v, the skin of his chest dusted with hair. He couldn't help but imagine the feel of her small hands sliding their way under the fabric, the soft skin of her palms pressed against him. Her kiss filled his mouth in memory, she had tasted like oven fresh bread and…her. Something Javert could not describe.

Walking to the window of his room and looking up to the clear, twinkling sky, Javert allowed himself to give in to her. He sighed heavily through his nose and felt his lips lilt upwards, crinkling his eyes in a smile. The stars smiled at him in return and he found himself humming silently, the deep voice a strong rumble in his chest. What would it feel like to dance with her? Sway her off her feet and feel her body move with his? Imagine the looks and the whispers that would follow them….

Javert rubbed the back of his neck from the strain of the long day and made his way back to the bed. It was late, morning only several hours away, and he was still expected to patrol. Javert turned on his side and wrapped his arms around a pillow. In his mind, he imagined Aimée curling up against him, her hair tickling his nose with lilacs and vanilla.

Sleep took him quickly.

Gérard returned that morning, a few days growth of stubble clinging dirtily to his jaw and his eyes yellowed, cradled by exhaustion. Aimée was eating breakfast, scones with jam that Thomas had picked up that morning as he came in to work. The aging butler had swept the crumbs and torn pieces of bread from the night before away from the table without question.

"You're back," Aimée said, sipping her tea and looking at her father. He was thinner than he had been days past.

"Yes," he answered, his hair dirty from lack of bathing. "Beaudet can't do much to help, I'm afraid." He seemed to crumple before her, shoulders slumping and head hanging low. She couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

"Here," she said, standing and pulling out a chair so Gérard could collapse into it. His head fell into his hands. Aimée pushed her plate of scones to him. "Have something to eat. Tell me what happened." Originally, she had planned to confront him about the prostitute he had been with. Her mind changed when she saw how ragged and hopeless her father had become. He used to be so strong, frightening, but charismatic as well. However, in the tired lines of his face, Aimée could see the pain of a widower and the uncertainty of employment.

"Beaudet can't do anything to help, no one to manage the factory. I've asked around surrounding towns too, but I can't get any interest. Times are hard right now…no one wants to go out on a limb and invest."

"Why? It was such a popular company, successful."

"Unfortunately, superstition and notoriety have followed Madeleine, or whatever his name was. No one wants to buy rosaries from a hidden convict. All of our previous clients have withdrawn orders." His voice cracked and he seemed totally hopeless.

Aimée felt the fear of uncertainty swell in her throat, making it hard to breathe. She blinked and tried her best to push it aside. "You look like you haven't slept in days. Here, go up to bed, get some rest," she said gently, beckoning for Thomas to take Gérard upstairs. When he was gone, she leaned forward on the table, suddenly not hungry for scones or thirsty for tea.

"I need a walk," she said aloud, standing and going to the coatrack to grab her shawl. The air outside was cool, crisp in its baby spring. People bustled around her, baskets filled with bread and dirty children darted about in the streets, the mud calling them, enticing them to stomp about with small feet.

Winding her way to the market, she surveyed the butcher's stand. Fat ducks, chickens, and geese hung from the rafters, their pink, naked skin pimpled and bare from plucking. The café next door boasted about warm soups and roasted pork in their windows and Aimée continued to walk. Two blue uniforms stood at the corner, their wide-brimmed hats making them hard to miss. She felt her heart jump and she craned her neck, hoping one of them was Javert. As she neared, she was disappointed. Both were young men, one blonde and tall, the other brown-haired and squat.

"Might I help you, mademoiselle?" The blonde one asked, tipping his hat and his voice sounding like reeds.

"Oh, no, no thank you," Aimée answered quickly. The officers gave her a little bow and departed. Aimée watched them head to the café down the road, the pastries in its window beckoning them inside. She rolled her eyes, comparing them to Javert. He would never have taken time off of his patrol to go and snack, he was too serious. She heard the clop of hooves and peeked her head around the corner just in time to see Javert astride the large blue-roan horse. Aimée smiled a little, recognizing Ombre.

Stepping out of her hiding place, Aimée approached him. Javert was looking away from her, his head turned and the wide police hat sat on top of his head. She could see the peppering gray of his sideburns stretch from underneath. The horse snorted and paused when she approached and the Inspector turned, looking down to see what stood in his way. Aimée wasn't surprised when his face was as blank as stone, even when he noticed her.

"Mademoiselle Lamenté," Javert said, giving her a small bow from atop his horse. The openness of the streets demanded the courtesy from him. Ombre shifted his weight and Aimée watched Javert bob in the saddle.

"Hello, Inspector," she said, offering a curtsey. It felt strange to her and she bit her lip when she turned her eyes back to him. Javert looked so handsome to her, strong and tall, looking down at her from his mount. Aimée imagined what it would be like to sit behind him, wrap her arms around his body when she felt the swaying of the horse's step.

His brows furrowed. "Is everything alright, mademoiselle?"

"Um…yes," she managed, not wanting to think about what her father had told her earlier. Looking around, Aimée stood closer to the horse, permitting herself to put a hand to Ombre's strong shoulder. The horse's pelt twitched under her palm. "Actually…is there some place where I could speak to you? Father came back."

Javert did not hide the worry that shot through his eyes very well. He felt his jaw tighten and he nodded to her. "My patrol ends at seven tonight. Come to the stables next to the jail. I can speak to you then."

Aimée nodded and stepped away, completely understanding when Javert gave her a curt nod and clicked his tongue as he flicked the reigns. Ombre clopped off, his black tail flicking at a bugging fly and Aimée swore she saw Javert's head twitch to the side, almost as if to look over his shoulder. She smiled and pulled her shawl closer before she ducked her head and headed to her flower shop. The shop wasn't scheduled to be opened that day, but she wanted to lose herself in the floral scents of roses and lilies.

Bells chimed once she unlocked the door and stepped inside. She smiled, looking over the shabby shop. Heading to the back, she hung up her shawl and started idly arranging bouquets. A sprig of baby's breath here, snapdragons and lilacs there, daisies and daffodils throughout. When she was finished, spring sat in her hands. She smiled and placed it in a bucket of water, hoping someone might stumble in and buy it today, when it was still fresh.

A small sofa sat amongst her flowers, an old white one, the cushions muddled to a cream color. Aimée had moved it in here a while ago for when she couldn't stand to be in the same house as Gérard, no matter how big that house might be. The cushions welcomed her silently, letting her use them to rest without question. Aimée picked at the fabric of her dress, a dark navy dress with cream lace around the collar. She was beginning to hate dresses, the laces always tight around her ribs, making her lungs weak.

The bell demanded her to stand and go back to the front of the store. Aimée smiled as a young girl, only about sixteen or so, stepped inside, looking around the shop hesitantly.

"Can I help you?"

"Um, yes, It's my mother's birthday, I was wondering if you had anything?" the girl asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her hair was a dark brown, nearly black as it sat underneath a bonnet. It complemented her light blue dress well.

Aimée nodded. "What a coincidence, I just made something only minutes ago." The bouquet was beautiful in her hands when she approached the counter again. She felt her chest swell with pride when she saw the young woman's smile light up her face. The bouquet was passed over the counter.

"Oh, this is perfect! So perfect! How much?"

"A franc and fifty sou," Aimée offered, willing to lowball a price because she saw how much the young woman enjoyed the bouquet.

Money was exchanged and Aimée watched the baby blue skirt of her dress slip through the door. Propping her elbow up on the counter, a sigh escaped her. She thought of her own mother, so long ago gone. She could picture her face as clear as ever, her voice like honey and sunlight. A sad little pang jabbed inside her, but she shook her head. If Aimée would think of her mother, she would only think of the goodness in her. The happiness that she had.

Aimée looked behind her as she flicked a crumb off her countertop. The flowers sat quietly in the back room, waiting to be bought or arranged. Maybe one day, someone would bring her flowers. Someone with a serious face that would soften when they looked at her and a bearded jaw that would twitch with an almost smile.

Aimée stayed in the shop for most of the day, sweeping, dusting, arranging…trying to do an array of tasks to waste time and to keep her mind away from her father's words. By the time six o'clock rolled around, Aimée was starting to grow anxious. She wanted to see Javert…talk to someone who might know what to do, hold on to something solid and secure. Dusk had started to sneak its way through the streets of Montreuil and at six fifteen, Aimée couldn't handle it any more. She drew the curtains over the windows of her store and closed up shop.

With her shawl back around her shoulders, she set off into the night. Not wanting to show up too early at the stables, she decided to take a long detour. Ducking down an alley, Aimée set off, her footsteps clicking on the cobblestones. The light was still pretty strong and the people greeted her with a nod or a grunt when she passed. Her hands were clasped together beneath her shawl and she fiddled her thumbs. As time went on and her walk continued, the people thinned. The streets grew dirtier.

Growing slightly uncomfortable, Aimée looped her way back through some more side streets and made her way back to the main part of town. Thick, savory odors of stew and roasted chicken clouded over the street and she couldn't help herself but deeply inhale as seven o'clock finally wound its way to her. She hurried to the jail. Tucked next to it was a small stable, the cobblestones covered in straw.

The thick barnyard odor of horses filled her nose and she found that she didn't mind it. There were about four horses inside, the others still on patrol. From the back corner, she recognized a familiar dark mane. Ombre nickered at her when she approached. She held her hand out to him and the horse flapped his big velvet lips against her palm expectantly. The animal gave a disappointed snort and bobbed his head when he realized she had no treats for him.

"He remembers you," a deep baritone murmured.

Aimée turned and saw Javert nearing her, his hat gone and the stiff collar of his uniform unbuttoned. Her eyes couldn't help but stare at the exposed skin of his neck. Javert neared her, his hands clasped in front of him. He watched her as she smiled and turned back to the horse, running her hand along his long muzzle. The short hair brushed against her fingers.

Javert felt happy when he looked at Aimée petting his horse. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, strands curling lazily around her face. He watched her neck lead to the dark navy of her dress.

"You look beautiful, mademoiselle," Javert murmured, his voice like a rumble in the stable. They were alone, he had told the stable boy to go home when he rode in and took away Ombre's saddle and tack.

She turned to him, surprise written on her face. Then, as his words sunk in, Aimée found herself blushing and looking at her feet. "No, I don't, this is just normal."

"It is normal," Javert admitted.

Aimée realized that he had confessed to her, confessed that he believed she was beautiful to him whenever he looked at her, even in her normalcy. "Thank you, Javert."

He huffed and gave her a small smile. Javert stood next to her, his shoulder touching the beam of the stable as he permitted himself to lean slightly. Aimée bit her lip, returning to give Ombre attention.

"What is it?" he asked, cocking his head to look at her. Aimée shrugged. He was surprised when she walked to the door of Ombre's stall, pick up the horse brush, and step inside, ignoring the straw that greedily snatched at the hem of her dress. She ran the brush down Ombre's coat and watched it twitch at first.

Javert followed her, starting to grow worried. "Aimée, is everything alright?"

Aimée frowned. "Father says that we have no job. The factory is closed permanently. All of our clients we supply have dropped us."

Javert stood close behind her and brought a hand to her shoulder. Aimée bowed her head and leaned back against him, his solid chest warm and solid against her. He lowered his head and kissed the back of her hair. His hand slid down and rested on her upper arm, his thumb tracing along her skin.

"I'm sorry, Aimée."

"They all say that they don't want to do business with a company affiliated with Jean Valjean," Aimée said, her voice bitter.

Anger made his hand tighten slightly against her arm. She reached up and ran her fingers across his. They entwined and she felt Javert sigh, his chest rising and falling against her back. The puff of his breath was warm against the back of Aimée's neck.

"I just don't know what we're going to do," she admitted.

"Gérard has no savings?" Javert asked, taking the brush from her and forcing himself to step away, placing it up on the shelf of the stall.

"Maybe he has some, but I wouldn't count on it. He wouldn't be so shaken up about this whole thing if he had money somewhere."

Javert crossed his arms and looked at his feet. "I wish I had an answer for you."

"Me too," Aimée's voice was hushed. Javert could see the worry on her face, in her eyes, and in the frown of her mouth. The worry became overwhelming for her and she allowed herself to be swept up in Javert's arms. She buried her face in his chest, inhaling shoe-polish and wood smoke and the musk of a day-long patrol. His hands spread along her back and he rocked her gently, hushing the threat of tears.

"Come to Paris with me, mademoiselle," Javert murmured.

She was quiet against him, so he spoke again.

"There is nothing for you here…nothing at all. This place, Montreuil, it's just like Toulon. Nothing here but hardships for you…"

"And you think Paris will be easier?" Aimée asked, drawing away from him and meeting his eyes. "That's naïve, Javert."

His arms fell limply against his side. Javert wanted to be angry with her words, but he couldn't…not when the truth rung so loudly. Hanging his head, he stepped closer to her and watched when she brought her hands up to fiddle with his buttons. Gently, he pressed his lips to her temple in a long, unmoving kiss. When he broke away, Javert's mouth was close to her ear and she could feel the warmth of his breath tingling her skin.

"It may not be easier…but I would be there. I'd know if you were safe or not."

"So you're saying you'd check in on me?"

"If you wanted."

The silence lapsed and they stood, very close, the sides of their faces touching.

"Javert…"

"Yes, mademoiselle?"

"What are we?"

He drew away from her, backed about a foot, and Aimée regretted speaking, immediately missing his warmth and nearness. This had been the question Javert had feared, hoped he could ignore, not categorize it as anything but happiness.

"You are a woman, a beautiful, intelligent woman that deserves so much more than what God has given her. And I'm a man. Stern and cold and lonely." The words, no matter how painful to admit, left him in a quiet rush. "Together…Aimée…I don't know. That is the truth. I do not."

Aimée didn't know why she felt disappointed, but she did. What had she expected? She was young…foolish. They had kissed a few times…did that mean they were courting? Foolish…foolish young little woman. Aimée felt her throat swell and her eyes pricked. Great…now she was going to cry.

"Aimée…I may not know what we are," Javert said, his voice strong as he bent low and grabbed her shoulders so they could look eye to eye. "But I know you make me happy. You keep the loneliness away."

Before watery tears could fall from her eyes, Javert kissed her. Passion flared between them and she gave a muffled noise of surprise. Her mouth opened to him and when she met Javert's tongue with her own, Javert straightened, wrapping his strong arms around her and forcing her to stand on her tiptoes to meet him. He moved forward, his lips moving solidly against hers and Aimée felt the wood of the barn wall collide against her back. Javert's palms pressed against the wall, pinning her in place, but she didn't mind as she looped her arms up around his neck and trailed her fingers through his short, peppered hair. He stood closer to her, his body pressing against hers and she was actually thankful. If he wasn't there holding her in place, Aimée's knees would've surely collapsed. He tasted fabulous to her, strong and warm and him.

Javert was absorbed in Aimée. Her tongue met his with more fervent intensity than he would've imagined, and he craved it. She tasted like vanilla and beauty, sunshine and love. Javert couldn't get enough, couldn't get closer to her. His body was flush against hers and he felt her soft chest pressing against his, her stomach arching to him as she tried to reach up to meet his lips. Unable to stop himself, Javert placed a large hand possessively to her side, his palm following the curve of her waist. Breaking away from her lips, Javert pressed a kiss to her neck, right under her jaw. He couldn't help but smile against the softness of her skin when he felt her give a small shudder against him.

His beard scratched her skin, but it was far, far from unpleasant. Aimée's eyes had actually opened when he quickly pulled away from her lips without warning. She was momentarily stunned, confused, before she felt the heat of his mouth move against her neck. Aimée's arms slid away from his neck and looped around him, embracing him as he led a trail of shuddering kisses from her jaw down to the curve of her neck, the small arch of sensitive skin that melted with her shoulder. Her eyes fluttered closed and she heard a low rumble escape Javert's throat. The hair on his head brushed against her cheek and she smiled in her state of bliss.

He was drowning in vanilla and lilac, wrapped up in a world he never wanted to escape. The world of her soft skin, her ocean eyes, the warmth that radiated off her like the sun. He couldn't even smell the musky odors of the horses….

The stables. We're in the stables. Anyone could see us.

Javert forced himself to pull away, his body still pressed close to her. He could feel Aimée's heart thunder against his chest and he was sure she could feel the puffing of his lungs as he tried to regain his breath. Aimée's stared at him, wide eyed and bewildered, her mouth still slightly open in a tempting sigh. It took all of the harsh man's self-control not to throw caution to the wind and carry on, but he couldn't. It wouldn't be fair to her. Not fair to be seen with a man like him, so much older and ultimately beneath her status in the town of Montreuil

Javert heard Aimée sniff and he looked at her, one arm still pressed against the wall. She leaned her head over and nestled the side of her face into the wool of his sleeve. "You know I can't go to Paris with you."

"I know," Javert's voice was husky and cracked. He tried to swallow back the passion that still left his mouth burning. He cupped her cheek, running his thumb over her cheekbone. His eyes darted around her face, drinking in every detail. Lashes were thick and dark against her skin when she blinked. Javert heaved a sigh as he wrapped a free strand of her hair around his fingers, fiddling with the smooth gold.

Aimée tried to give him a smile. "So you've already decided to take the job then." She watched the muscles in his jaw flex and tried to meet his eyes, but they were busy watching the hair that he twirled in his fingers. She took his lack of an answer for an answer.

"I don't want to think of that right now," she said, bringing her hands up to run over his shoulders. They were still so close together. "Right now…this, I want to stay like this."

Breathing heavily through his nose, Javert gave her a shy smile as he felt the smoothness of her hair. Wrapping it around his finger, her brought it up and gently ran it over his cheek. "I do to, mademoiselle." He allowed her to give him a gentle kiss, her hair still entwined in his fingers, before she broke off and closed the small distance between them, tucking her forehead underneath his chin. She smiled when she felt the scratchiness of his beard and his chest heave under her in a contented sigh.

"I should probably go back home soon," Aimée said, her voice muffled. Javert felt her nestle up closer to him, her skin warm on his neck. He gave her a chuckle and wrapped his arms around her, swaying back slightly. It was a warm, rumbling sound that made Aimée's heart flip. "You should laugh more. I like that."

"Mmm," he murmured, giving her a squeeze before her let her go. "Let me escort you home."

Aimée smiled at him and threaded her arm through his, her hand clutching gently around his bicep. He led her out of the stable's stall and closed the gate. Ombre snorted when they left, oblivious to the smile that graced his owner's lips.

Luckily, no one had wandered into the stable while they were together. The evening had darkened outside and had grown chilly. Aimée found herself walking closely to Javert, craving the warmth of his jacket. The streets had grown bare, but the windows of cafés and restaurants were glowing with warmth and camaraderie. Aimée found herself wishing that Javert could escort her inside, buy her a nice dinner.

Maybe someday… she thought to herself, giving a candid smile.

"Here we are, mademoiselle," Javert said quietly when they reached her house. The lights were lit and she saw Thomas through the window setting the dining room for supper. The first night Gérard would be joining the meal in a long time.

"Thank you, Javert," she said, taking her hand away from his arm and standing quietly. "I hope you have a good night." She figured it would be best if she was courteous in public.

"You as well," Javert said, giving her a curt little bow.

Aimée smiled at him and cautiously brushed her hand against his when she turned to retreat back inside. Javert watched her go and her back pained him. He wanted to follow her, wrap her in his arms again, kiss her without any fear of someone seeing them. Closing his eyes in a long blink, Mattheiu Javert bowed his head to her door and turned on his heel to leave.

His mind was churning as he walked the streets. He couldn't stop thinking of Aimée. Something warm and buzzing filled him every time he pictured her face. The roiling ocean of her eyes haunted him every moment, from the time he woke up to the time he closed his eyes to sleep.

With a harsh clarity, Javert realized he loved her. He loved Aimée Lamenté.

I love her…and I can't leave her here, he thought. I want her to come with me to Paris.

But she could never do that. Never leave this city or her father for a man, a man like Javert. He knew he was a man of the law, a harsh man of age and justice. But she changed that. She made him happy, made him change.

She makes your life worth living….

Javert heard the laughter inside the restaurants, the clinking of dinnerware and the happiness that followed wine. There was a jeweler next to a large, brick-faced café near the jailhouse. Seeing that the lamps were still lit, Javert stared at the door. Running a hand over his face and wondering why he was doing something so foolish, Javert ventured inside.

The jeweler was an older man, maybe a few years older than him, with a round face and a beard. He smiled at Javert, his big arms crossed in front of him. He looked like he should be a butcher, or a smith…not a man who crafted fine jewelry.

"Good evening, Inspector!" the man exclaimed, "I'm Frauch. Welcome to my store. Looking for something?"

Javert scowled a little when he heard his authority. Everyone recognized him here.

"I'm…looking for a ring. Engagement," Javert answered, stiff an uncomfortable.

"Right this way, Monsieur Inspector," Frauch said, beckoning Javert with an arm to the corner of a glass case. He reached inside and picked up a tray. Placing it on the countertop, Frauch grabbed an oil lamp and brought it closer so Javert could see the detail in the rings. "Silver or gold?"

Javert thought for a moment, thought of her stormy eyes and dark lashes. "Silver."

"Good choice, must be a beautiful woman!" Frauch let off a bout of good-natured laughter. Javert was still uncomfortable in the shop, but he secretly decided he liked the jeweler. "Any other stones?"

Javert's mouth was a hard line and his brow furrowed as he thought. "Sapphires?"

"A ring of the sea!" The big man sorted through the tray and picked out several rings, setting them before Javert. "Any of these suit your eye?"

Javert looked over them, his brow furrowed as he was studied the rings closely. The last one was a delicate silver band, the faint etching of ivy leaves pale on the silver. A dark sapphire shined as it was flanked by two small, clear diamonds. The faint stirring in his heart when he looked at it made him nod to Frauch.

"That one. The one on the end." Javert said, pointing to it. Frauch smiled.

"Excellent choice…a sapphire as dark as the ocean waves," he said, picking up the small rings with surprising gentleness for such a large man. He placed it in a small velvet box and went back to the front.

"How much?" Javert asked.

"For the dear Inspector? One hundred and fifty francs."

The price was expected, about two months of Javert's salary, but completely worth it. Javert nodded and pulled out a bundle of bills. Because he traveled so much, he had grown used to carrying large amounts of money with him. No one would dare try to rob him, and he never knew how far or how long he would be away. Handing Frauch the money, Javert held out his hand for the small velvet box.

"I wish you luck, Inspector," Frauch laughed, pocketing the bills. He gave Javert a nod as he turned to leave the store. "God bless."

God hasn't been the kindest, Javert thought. Please let him give me this. This happiness. The ring box felt heavy in his pocket. But it wasn't a bad heaviness. It was a hopeful, exciting weight. The heaviness of a possibility for a whole new life. A woman he loved and a life he had craved since he was a boy. All of it right there in that small velvet box in his pocket.