Hey guys! Once again, thank you for all the wonderful reviews, they make my day! Enjoy!

XXXIV: It Begins

Javert stared at the clothes that were draped across his bed. Grubby trousers, worn shirt, a navy coat, and a lumpy cap. Outside, the inky blackness of the night was starting to weaken with the lightness of dawn. The stars were fading in the sky. Javert couldn't help but worry that this would be the last time he would be able to look out upon the twinkling lights.

Don't think like that. You promised her.

The cloth of the pants felt rough and cheap as he pulled them on. He immediately missed the heaviness of his uniform trousers. Javert pulled off his white undershirt and stared at the other clothes, his chest bare. He swung his arms idly and moved his head, stretching the muscles in his neck and shoulders. He ran a hand over his face and looked at the scar on his left hand. The fire burned behind his eyes and Javert realized the temptation to abandon his order was overwhelming. Turning his eyes up to the window, he searched, trying to find Aimée's shop, but he knew there was no way to see it from his location. Javert wondered if she was awake. Probably not. He pictured her sleeping, curled up in his shirt with her hair a wild, tangled mess. The rosiness in her cheeks and her soft little snores.

He muttered a prayer to St. Michael as he pulled the shirt over his head and tucked it into his trousers. He turned and headed to the looming wardrobe. Pulling out the pistol, he held it in his hands, felt the weight of the metal and wood. Heaving a dejected sigh, Javert realized that the gun was too bulky and conspicuous to hide on his person. Lowering his head, he placed it back in his wardrobe and grabbed the smooth-handled baton. Padding back over to the bed, he sat on the edge and pulled on his boots. Then, hiking up his pant leg, he slipped the baton into the boot so it laid flat against his calf. Covering his hidden weapon with the leg of the trouser, he stood and paced a couple rounds around his bedroom, making sure that the straightness of the baton didn't affect his stride. Pleased with the result, he stood and looked at the cap. Watching his faint reflection in the windowpane, Javert put it on, adjusting it so it sat crookedly on his head.

He remembered a simpler time. A time when his life was obsessed with tracking down a simple criminal, the missing Jean Valjean. He remembered being so enraged at the thought of a convict slipping through the grips of justice. The day he set Valjean free on parole had been a mistake. Javert's eyes closed and he even remembered the distant memory of the briny salt air of Toulon clinging to his skin and making his mouth taste briny with every breath. Behind his lids, he saw the sunny memory of a rosy-cheeked girl thrusting wilted flowers in his face. In the heaviness of the dawn, he dared a smile. As he thought back on the dawn of a revolution, he realized that it had all been so simple then

Javert moved to the chest at the foot of his bed and opened the lid to reveal the small cedar box inside. Gently opening the lid, the pale satin of his handkerchief shined up at him. At the end of every day, Javert would gently lay it back among Aimée's letters. The satin felt cool against his skin, welcoming him in silky comfort every time he picked it up. Brushing it against his cheek, Javert folded it up and tucked it away in his pocket before he stood.

Javert's footsteps were heavy when he neared the fireplace, empty and stale from the summer months. Kneeling and reaching out, Javert covered his hands in soot and even streaked a couple grubby lines over his face, just to make it look like he was a man of the streets. Brushing away the excess ash and smearing his hands across his pants, he stopped to look over his room once more. Dawn was starting to break, and he decided to go downstairs. Pocketing the small amount of money he had left out, Javert slipped out the door into the quiet Parisian streets.

Most of the streets were empty, save for a few bakers shuffling their way to their shops to begin baking. The few people who were outside paid no attention to Javert. They merely pushed by him without giving him a glance. He picked his way through the city, looking down every ally he came to, trying to picture where these young revolutionaries would make their base. Every time he passed a window with the glowing light of a lamp, he would become suspicious. Turning up the collar of his coat against the early morning eeriness, Javert continued on his way until the sun started to grow stronger over the horizon.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"That's not true." Éponine was not easily fooled. Aimée looked up at her from behind her counter. There was a bag packed and hidden away in the back room and she was stuffing whatever money she could find in a leather envelope.

"I'm packing away my money," Aimée stated, tying the string around her valuable bundle and disappearing in the back room. No point in lying about what Éponine had clearly seen.

"Why?"

"Worry about your own life, Éponine."

The young girl gave a shrug and uncrossed her arms. "Are you ready to go? I don't want to be late for the parade.

"Yes, just hold on."

The two women were wearing grubby clothes that didn't match their gender. Trousers, stockings, boots, and shirts that hid their feminine figures well. Their hair was braided and tucked underneath tattered caps.

"Chances are, if we wanted to go to the barricade, they wouldn't let us. The boys think that the women should hide away where it's safe," Éponine had explained as she gave Aimée some spare clothes.

Aimée knew that this whole thing was stupid. She should've just done what she had promised, hide away inside where it was safe. But, the thought of Javert out there in the midst of all the danger kept her from staying behind a locked door. Aimée couldn't stand not knowing if he was safe or not, couldn't stand the thought of losing him again after all this time.

"You have your pistol, right?" Aimée asked, looking at 'Ponine. The pretty, young brunette nodded.

"Good." The last thing Aimée wanted was gunfire…but she decided she would rather have the protection if things went south.

Outside, crowds were already pushing past each other to try and stand as close to the side of the road as possible. Aimée and Éponine easily threaded their way through the crowd so they could see the proceedings without trouble.

"Aimée, there. Look," Éponine said, grabbing Aimée's upper arm and pointing across the road. Across the way, the boys were standing. One big group as if they were afraid to separate. Enjolras stood at the front, somber-faced and tall, the folded red cloth of a flag clutched in his hand. Aimée bit her lip, craning her head to try and spot more faces in the crowd. Javert's was nowhere to be found.

Up ahead, quiet thrumming echoed through the streets. Aimée looked ahead and saw the shapes of soldiers marching, big round drums swaying in front of them. She looked upwards, towards the shabby, depleting elephant that towered above the streets. Her heart clenched when she saw Gavroche's grubby face watching the approaching drummers. Aimée felt her heart quicken with the growing pounding of the drums. A hand reached out and gripped her sleeve. Éponine met her eyes and nodded.

If only she knew.

The clop of hooves melded with the drumrolls. Huge black horses snorted and pulled at the reigns of the large funeral carriage. Tall, feathered plumes sprung from the horse's brows and the wind snapped the black flags above. As the soldiers neared, Aimée watched the sunlight reflect of shined metal breastplates and helmets. She swallowed.

The soldiers had prepared for a war.

Her eyes flicked back to Enjolras. His face was as still as stone, his eyes darkening with every thrumming beat of the drums. She could almost see his knuckles whiten as he gripped at his flag.

The first row of drummers passed without incident, as did the second and third. Aimée could feel her heart pound in her chest, waiting for someone to make a move. The weight of the hidden pistol in her waistband reminded her of the chaos that could break out at any moment. The tension in the air could be sliced open with a knife.

Once the mounted soldiers began to cross the young revolutionaries' path, she saw a flicker of movement. Enjolras burst from the line of spectators, calling out to the men around him. She couldn't hear his words over the drumbeats, but she watched as Marius and Grantaire followed him, holding up swaying banners and flags of red, white, and blue. Others followed them, mostly young men. Aimée felt Éponine's hand tighten around her arm and she started to pull her towards the street.

"No," Aimée exclaimed, trying to wrench away.

"Come on! It's for our country!" Éponine urged.

No. We shouldn't even be here, Aimée thought wildly, her eyes wide as she watched Marius and Enjolras climb their way to the top of the black carriage. Éponine let her hand slip from Aimée's sleeve and pushed her way to the parade. Aimée watched her disappear in the crowd near the tall, black wheels.

Shouts and cheers resounded around her, muting out even the thrumming drumbeats. More and more people slipped from the crowd to join the protest. Flags had materialized out of nowhere, billowing through the air like the banners of war. Even little Gavroche was swaying a flag of red over the plaster elephant. Craning her neck, she watched as fleeting shapes flitted behind the rickety fence that blocked off the elephant's square from the rest of the road. Turning, Aimée pushed her way through the crowd, trying to get farther up the road, trying to see if she could spot Javert.

It was no use. She felt the despair of frustration grow in her gut and she turned to look out at the cheering crowd, the billowing flags, and the determined faces of the schoolboys. Giving up, Aimée turned and forced her way out to the parade. She had no choice but to join the revolutionaries. Once she broke free of the crowds, Aimée walked alongside the rolling carriage, staying as close to the outside edge as possible in case she needed to make a quick getaway. For once, she was grateful for the grubby clothing she wore, the cap shielding her face. Aimée spotted Éponine gazing up at Marius and cheering along with the others, a smile wide on her face and her hand pressed to the side of the carriage. Aimée looked up and saw Gavroche scamper his way to the top, standing alongside Enjolras, puffing out his chest to try and show the world he was a man. Inside her chest, her heart panged and she felt her lungs quicken with panic. Her stormy blue eyes darted about, trying to look past the swaying flags and cheering people, trying to find any sign of the man she loved. She needed to know he was safe.

Then, she snapped her head to look ahead of her when she heard the snorts of horses. The road was blocked by soldiers on horseback, their helmets shining in the sunlight. The metallic hiss of swords pulled out of their sheaths cut through air and the cheers died down. Aimée felt her stomach sink and she looked up to Enjolras and Marius with dread. The young men had cocked their pistols, raising them to meet the guards blockading the parade.

Aimée's blood coursed through her ears and the carriage stopped rolling. The crowds hushed, each person holding their breath as they witnessed the standoff. Aimée felt herself slink backwards, hoping she could slip back into the crowd and hide away without trouble. She wanted this whole thing to end. For a fleeting moment, as she looked up at the pistols she had provided for those schoolboys, Aimée hated herself. Hated what she had become, a smuggler for business. Whether she liked it or not, she had a large part in this revolution. A very large part.

And now, Javert, the man she loved, was lost in this crowd, risking his life for something she had helped create.

Just as she cast her eyes downwards in shame, the crack of gunfire shattered the silence.

Javert's head snapped to the side. There, over by the elephant statue, a rifle had fired.

Instantly, chaos broke.

Roars of anger filled the air and Javert craned his neck and watched as a group of citizens reached into a gap in the ramshackle wall and pulled out a young soldier. Javert grew angry, remembering his order of no gunfire unless the protestors shot first.

"He killed an innocent woman!" he heard a man shout.

More gunfire ensued and he found himself ducking close to the black carriage to try and seek cover from the bullets. He watched as soldiers fell and horses whinnied, rearing and tossing their riders. The young blonde who had climbed up to the top of the carriage slipped down and pulled himself up on a spare horse, thrusting his flag in the air and screaming, "TO THE BARRICADE!"

Barricade?

Javert watched the people swarm around him, running this way and that. His soldiers charged, cutting down protestors with their curved swords. Javert jumped aside as a horse thundered past, the young man in front of him not as lucky. He recognized the boy with dark hair, he had seemed to be part of the leaders in the revolution, right up there with the two blondes. Javert quickly knelt and helped the young man up, clutching him by his shoulders and hoisting him upwards before another horse could thunder past.

"Thanks, friend!" the man said, his hair dark and eyes shining. "Quick! To the barricades!"

Again with the barricades. Javert looked around, there was no sign of a barricade anywhere near here. Deciding this was his chance to slip into their base, Javert quickly followed the young man through the crowd.

The young revolutionaries moved as a mob, all of them sprinting away from Javert's soldiers. He ran as well, pushing his way to keep track of the men ahead of him. They wound their way through side streets and alleys until they reached a dead end. Javert looked up at the building.

ABC Café? This is their safe house?

The crack of wood on stone made him jump. Javert whirled around and looked to see a chair lying broken on the street next to his feet. He looked up in confusion and watched as furniture was thrust from windows. Chairs, sofas, wardrobes, wagons. The men of the revolution scrounged up whatever they could and began to build a massive pile in front of the café, blocking off the road.

Finally, their words rang true. A blockade. Thinking quickly, Javert gathered up the chair and hurried to help. There were forty or fifty men, running around and piling objects unceremoniously into a heaping obstruction. Soon, they had a massive mountain blocking the street. Javert looked inside one of the café windows, the warm candlelight reflecting on piles of rifles and pistols. They had more weapons than he had originally thought. Looking over his shoulder, he slipped inside to get a better look. Weapons were piled everywhere and he pressed his back to the wall in order to avoid men scampering this way and that as they tried to scrounge up more furniture for the barricade. Over in a corner on a cupboard sat a small pile of flowered badges. Javert quickly snuck over and slipped one from the pile. Pinning it to the lapel of his long overcoat, he moved back outside, boasting the colors of this foolish revolution as if he were one of them. Women overhead leaned out of their windows, waving handkerchiefs and curtains, anything they could find with the French colors. Javert unknowingly stuck his hand in his pocket and felt the satin on his fingertips.

Safely behind the barricade, the schoolboys rallied.

"We've done it!" a somber-faced young man yelled, his fist in the air. Javert hung towards the edge of the barricade, recognizing him as one of the protesters who had climbed upon the carriage.

"What now, Enjolras?" asked a boy with dark hair, the one Javert had helped up from the streets before they ran.

Enjolras looked around. "I need a volunteer," he said, lowering his fist and looking at the gathering of young men expectantly. "Someone to find out their plans."

Establish trust, Javert thought, studying the men and realizing that no one was stepping forward.

"I'll go," he found himself saying, taking a step towards them and raising his hand. He lowered the brim of his hat and approached Enjolras. He felt nervous, his heart hammering, yet he hid it well behind his characteristic stone. "I was a soldier, fought in their wars. I know their ways, they won't suspect me."

Enjolras regarded him and Javert noticed how he looked older than his years, his jaw strong and eyes dark. "Are you sure, friend?"

"I know him," the dark haired man said, stepping forward and extending a hand to Javert. They shook and he spoke again. "I'm Grantaire, you saved me in the street," Grantaire said, turning to Enjolras, "I would've been trampled if this man hadn't helped me up."

Javert looked at Enjolras and was relieved when he finally nodded. "Alright."

"I will return when I can," Javert said, giving them a nod before he turned and slipped out the corner of the barricade. The street was empty, his soldiers had not followed them. They were no doubt in the square or back at the Palais, rallying or forming ranks. A plan was already forming in Javert's strategic mind. He would find them, find Hoight, and tell them of the barricade and the weapons. Then, he would give the order to march. With the proper firepower, that spindly barricade wouldn't last an hour. Those schoolboys wouldn't be hard to trick. This would all be over soon.

When Aimée heard Javert's voice, she had to physically hold on to Éponine's arm to stop herself from running forward.

"What are you doing?" her young friend asked, whirling around and looking at Aimée with a questioning brow.

She ignored Éponine's question and looked past her, watching in horror as Javert approached to speak to Enjolras. He was wearing a cap similar to hers and a long black coat, the colors of their badge pinned to his chest. His eyes were sure as he looked about, his acting flawless as he stood comfortably in the snake pit. Aimée pulled Éponine to hide around the corner of the café, shielding them from his view. If Javert saw her here, it would ruin everything, hell would have to pay.

"Aimée, what's going on?" Éponine asked again, seeing the fear that swept over the woman's face.

"I…there's…nothing," Aimée stuttered, covering her face with her hand for a moment. Her fingers touched the dampness on her cheeks. She didn't know she had been crying.

"Liar. Tell me what's going on."

Aimée looked up and watched Éponine, the young woman she had watched grow up. Aimée ran a hand over her cheek and sighed. "It's complicated, Éponine, so complicated. But I'll be fine. I promise." She was unsure of whether or not she was lying.

Luckily, Éponine nodded, accepting Aimée's words and daring her a smile. "It's exciting, isn't it? We're finally part of something bigger."

The smile was forced as Aimée nodded. "Yes. Something much bigger." It disappeared once Éponine left her and returned to the barricade, standing near Marius as the men spoke. Poking her head out from her hiding place, Aimée saw that Javert had left. Pressing her back to the wall, she sank down until she was sitting on the hard cobblestones. The world seemed to close in around her. She saw now how foolish she was being. The promise that she had made to Javert stirred in her memory and the guilt tasted sour in the back of her throat. He was just here, and now he was gone, volunteering to endanger himself even more!

Pressing her hands to her temples, Aimée struggled to calm herself. Cheers of young men, young foolish boys, made her head spin and the dampness of the air clung to her skin and she felt herself blanche in a nervous sweat. Clenching her eyes shut, Aimée forced herself to feel the strength of Javert's arms around her, the stroking of his thumb against her cheek. Her own words rung in her ears and the memory of his deep murmur made her skin prickle.

Promise me you'll be safe… Promise that you'll return to me, Mattieu.

I promise.