Hey guys! Special shout out to Opheliasstory for her lovely reviews, and to Smiles1998 So glad you enjoy the story so much! And thanks of course to all of my reviewers, i love hearing what you all have to say. i greatly appreciate it! Enjoy!

XXXVI: Bitter Release

Hours passed in silence. Aimée stood and stretched, looking back at her chair that sat between Éponine's body and Javert's slumped form, his breath rising and falling. She was beginning to really worry. Time dragged by slowly and still the only movement from Javert was a groan and the tossing of his head. She had seen his eyes flutter once or twice and she leaned towards him, wanting to reach out and stroke is face, but the men outside were within view. As she looked around, she felt the walls of the room close in around her. The dead on one side of her and the wounded to the right. She couldn't stay here any longer, couldn't take it. The air was stale and rank in her lungs.

Aimée sighed and tossed her head backwards, gathering up her wavy hair and tying it away from her face with a spare length of ribbon. Then, casting one last glance to the crumpled form of the man she loved, she stepped out to the group of men, bottles in their hands. They stood aside as Aimée neared them, unnerved by her gaunt face and dry eyes, still red from her harsh sobs, even hours later. Enjolras approached her, his hand extended and a bottle beckoned her, the liquid inside dark and inviting.

Aimée took a swig and swallowed the biting wine, feeling the alcohol heat down her throat and bloom around her senses.

"I'm sorry," the leader offered, watching as the woman drank again from his bottle. Aimée shook her head.

"Don't speak of it. Not now."

"Understood."

They were unaware of her relationship with the Inspector. They only wanted to offer their pity for her dead friend. Aimée found herself glaring at Enjolras, knowing that he was the reason why her fiancé was tied up like some kind of animal inside, unconscious and blood staining the side of his face.

She felt her self-control die away and she opened her mouth to speak.

Before she could get the words out, there was a flurry of activity above them as their scouts shouldered the rifles and shouted out to a form.

Enjolras quickly climbed his way to the top, looking out over the street. "Halt!" he said, his voice strong, "Who goes there?"

There was a muffled voice that Aimée couldn't hear. Enjolras quickly slid down the wall of the barricade and beckoned for Grantaire and Marius to open the passageway. Aimée clutched the smoothness of the bottle in her hand as she watched a man, tall with curly graying brown hair and a straight nose, enter cautiously, his hands raised in surrender. He looked older, older than her without a doubt. Aimée's eyes narrowed when she noticed the uniform that clung to his body. He was a soldier. The revolutionaries had their guns on him before the stranger could speak. Aimée saw that his hands were large as they were raised in cautious submission.

"Who are you?"

"A volunteer, for your cause," the stranger said.

"You see that man in there?" Enjolras said, tucking his pistol in his waistband and tossing his head towards the window of the café. Aimée felt rage bloom in her chest as Enjolras talked about Javert. She watched as the man's eyes flickered to their prisoner. Aimée picked up on the strange way the stranger's face relaxed in mild shock. There was no doubt recognition flashed in his eyes. "He was the last one who claimed to be a volunteer. He's our prisoner now, the Chief Inspector Javert himself."

Aimée allowed herself to turn and look at Javert, still slumped forward in his binds. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw that his eyes had opened sluggishly. The noose around his neck made it hard for him to lift his head, but nevertheless, Javert managed to look through at the revolutionaries, his mouth open as he panted for air. Feeling a sweat break out against her skin, Aimée turned back and watched the stranger. She prayed Javert hadn't seen her.

"Hold on a tick!" came a small, reedy voice. Aimée whirled around and saw Gavroche pushing his way through a small tunnel in the barricade.

So much for keeping him away….

"I know him," the boy boasted. The young men relaxed around him, lowering their weapons but still watching him warily. "Don't worry, he's good."

Just as they were about to lower their weapons, the stranger snatched a gun away, his eyes wide as he craned his head upwards to the roof. "Enemy marksman!" he exclaimed, aiming expertly with the rile and pulling the trigger. Aimée didn't have time to flinch or cover her ears before the shot. She ducked and pressed her body close to the barricade again as the popping of gunfire flurried around her.

"There!" Enjolras cried, aiming with his pistol and firing. Aimée did not look behind her, but she heard the dull, slapping thud, of the dead soldier's body as it tumbled off the roof.

The revolutionaries buzzed, the guns still pointed towards the rooftops. Once the shots died away, Aimée quickly stood and watched the stranger intently. Enjolras approached him and clapped him on the back.

"Thank you, monsieur. We are in your debt."

The older man shook his head, "I'm here for the cause."

Enjolras nodded towards the bottle in Aimée's hand she quickly handed it back to him. He took a swig and slipped away to check the barricades with the others. Aimée watched as the stranger stepped inside, his eyes on Javert. Javert was trying to look back, his eyes dull and only halfway open. No one noticed as Aimée hurried towards the café and ducked inside behind the older man.

When she was inside, she was pained to see that Javert's eyes had fluttered closed and he slumped forward weakly again, lapsing back into unconsciousness. She watched the man and a flicker of familiarity stirred in her memory. She stepped closer to get a better look.

"You…You know him?" Aimée asked, watching as he stood over Javert.

The man turned, his eyes wide with surprise.

"I…ah…no. I don't."

Liars, no matter how good they were, always stuttered when caught off guard by a woman.

"I know you do." Aimée called his bluff easily.

The man looked back down at Javert and sighed. "This man, Javert, and I share a…conflicted history."

Aimée narrowed her eyes. "Conflicted?"

"I guess you could say our career choices clashed."

Aimée's quick mind put two and two together. "You're Jean Valjean, aren't you?"

He lowered his head, "Yes. How do you know this?"

Aimée turned and looked over her shoulder. The truth was welling up inside her and it became painful to hold it.

"You were the mayor where I once lived. I'm surprised you don't remember me. My father was Gérard Lamenté, he worked for you. I remember seeing you, in the hospital. You were fighting with him, with Javert. Then you made your escape."

Valjean's mouth turned into a thin, hard line as he slowly recognized her, all grown up.

"When you left, I tended to him, helped him to a bed. I love this man, Valjean. With all of my heart, with everything I have," she confessed, the truth spilling from her lips before she could stop the words. "In Toulon, he left me to find you. It broke my heart. We've spent seventeen years, seventeen years trying to find each other, trying to get back what we had, happiness."

Valjean's face softened and Aimée saw that his eyes betrayed him as a caring man. "Why are you telling me this, mademoiselle?"

"Because I need your help!" Aimée murmured urgently. "I've loved this man, yet I can know how hard and persistent he can be. I'm sure he made your life a living hell, I'm not condoning what he may have done. But, please, monsieur, help free him. Tell Enjolras that you want him, make up a story, say you wish for revenge. Bring him out back and let him go."

The look of pure desperation made Valjean falter. He glanced down at the man who had haunted him, crumpled and defeated. It made him shift his feet uncomfortably.

"I've lived my entire life as a hidden criminal. Why would I do what you ask?"

Aimée's voice became strong. "Because I know that inside, you want to be more than a criminal. More than a man, even. Mercy is power."

"Mademoiselle-"

"My name is Aimée."

"Aimée… you are asking a lot. This man hunted me for years! Put my life and freedom under threat," Valjean said, pointing down at Javert, who let loose a groan and lolled his head back against the post. "And even if I did want to show him mercy, which he has spared none for me, how would I get him out of here?"

Aimée threw her hands up exasperatedly. "I don't know, you saved Enjolras's life, say you want a favor!"

Valjean's brow furrowed and Aimée watched as he crossed his arms, regarding the woman intently. He saw that she was beautiful, even wearing dirty clothes and dirt from the barricades. Her hair was blonde, just like his little Cossette's. Looking once again down at Javert, he heaved a large sigh. Was she telling the truth? Did this beautiful youthful woman really love the harsh, cruel Inspector Javert? The man that hunted Valjean like an animal through the dark Parisian alleyways?

Aimée hated the silence and blinked. She cast her eyes away in embarrassment when her lids felt damp. She hadn't known she was crying. Reaching into the worn pocket of her trousers, she pulled out a small sapphire ring. Holding it tenderly in her fingers, Aimée hung her head.

"Please…monsieur… I'm not ready to lose him again."

Ultimately, it was the desperate cracking of the woman's voice that made up Valjean's mind. He ran a hand through his curled graying hair and stepped nearer to the woman. He looked down at her, noticed how the darkness in her blue eyes toiled and churned. Inside them, Valjean saw truth, truth and love.

"Alright," he finally said. "I'll do it. I want to become a better man and you said it yourself, mercy is my power."

Bringing her hands up to her mouth in disbelief, Aimée realized that her voice was frozen from shock. Aimée almost fainted from the relief. She wanted to hug him, wanted to kneel and kiss the ground beneath his feet. Tears brimmed her eyes and she felt their trails curl across the lines of her smile.

"Thank you, Monsieur Valjean…God bless you. I…I don't know what to say. You have saved him."

Valjean couldn't help but give the woman a smile. The look of pure relief added to her beauty, swept the anxiety from her oceanic eyes and smoothed the lines from her face. He looked up and watched the young revolutionaries mill about, muttering to each other and lifting their bottles to their lips. He remembered a name from the letter the child had brought him.

"Mademoiselle Aimée, I need a favor from you now."

"Anything."

"Who is Marius?"

Aimée's brow furrowed. "Um, he's that one right there, the blonde hair, blue vest. Might I ask why, monsieur?"

"That little boy out there ended up on my doorstep with a letter. A love letter to my very dear daughter, Cossette. It was signed from Marius. That's why I came here."

"Seems we all have connections with love then," Aimée mused, looking longingly to Javert. "He is a good man, Marius. Kind, strong, loving. Your Cossette would be a lucky woman."

Valjean looked at the woman and she turned her head to meet his eyes as well. "Again I thank you, monsieur. I think it would be a good idea for me to go out there while you talk to Enjolras. Don't want them seeing me wait in here while it happens."

"Right."

Aimée gave the man a smile and she realized that her savior had been a convict. Aimée thought of the irony of the whole situation, Javert, a man of the law being rescued by an escaped thief. She gave his forearm a discreet squeeze of thanks when she brushed by him and stepped calmly back outside. Her footsteps were shaky, the amount of relief almost overwhelming her and making it hard not to stumble. The night air was damp, the sprinkles of rain dying away and the sky above murky with clouds, and she felt the coolness against the soft skin of her face.

Enjolras handed her the bottle again as she joined the circle of men. They were quiet, the whites of their eyes bright in the night as they continued to scan the rooftops. Aimée turned with the rest of them when she heard Valjean beckon Enjolras to the door of the café. She felt her heart rise to her throat and the fingers of her hand tightened around the smooth glass of the bottle. She watched as the two men bent their heads as they muttered quietly in conversation.

"What do you think of him?" came a questioning voice from behind her. Blinking, Aimée turned and looked at the freckled face of Marius.

"I…I think he's alright. Too early to say."

"You're wary of everyone. He's a good man, I can see it in his eyes. Plus, he saved all of our skins from those marksmen," Marius crossed his arms and Aimée thought of what Valjean had told her. She was about to speak, but noticed that Marius was busy watching the door of the café. Enjolras had finished speaking with Valjean and was stepping back to the circle.

"What'd he want?" little Gavroche piped, his voice high and expectant.

Enjolras looked behind his shoulder. Valjean had ducked back inside and was standing over Javert. He had woken back up and was squinting upwards, trying to meet Valjean's eyes. Aimée noticed how defeated he looked and quickly looked away.

"He wanted Javert, told me that he had some unfinished business with him," Enjolras said. "I told him to finish that snake in the grass however he chose. They're heading out back."

Aimée felt panic set in from the story. She prayed that Jean Valjean was a man of his word.

His head pounded thickly. His mouth was dry and he felt a clinging wetness tacked on to the side of his face. Struggling to crack his eyes open, the candlelight seared him as if he were looking directly at the sun. Groaning, Javert moved to wipe at his face, but he found that his hands were restrained. His shoulders ached in their sockets and he could feel the roughness of the rope chafe his wrists. The muddiness inside his brain was stubborn as it clung desperately to his memory, casting a shadow on most things. Slowly, they began to return to him.

Realization stabbed Javert painfully when he remembered that he had been captured by the rebels. Aimée's face swam to the surface and the thought of her mad his head slump until the tightness of the noose made him lift it back up slightly. Aimée. He had promised her, and yet there he sat, bound and bleeding with a pounding in his head trying to stay conscious.

There was a snap in front of his face that sounded like gunfire and he flinched violently, snapping his head upwards. A blurry silhouette stood in front of him, leaned over and drawing its hand away from Javert's face. Blinking away the shock of the snap, Javert realized that his head was clearing.

A tall man wearing a soldier's uniform came into focus. Javert's brow furrowed in confusion. For a moment, he felt hope fill him, lifting his spirits with the thought of his soldiers bursting through the barricade. Looking past him, he felt his heart sink as he looked at the young rebels still outside, huddled in a circle and drinking, their rifles leaning against the piled mess of a barricade. Javert glanced to his side and saw bodies lined on the floor and a woman lain out on a tabletop, also dead. They all looked so young to him.

He turned away.

"Do you know me?" the man in the soldier's uniform asked.

Javert struggled to look upwards, the noose making it hard for him to lift his head. He began to shake his head, but as he looked, he saw the man's eyes. Javert's mouth fell open in angry disbelief and his eyes narrowed.

"Valjean." The name left his mouth in a distasteful mutter.

Valjean nodded and stepped behind him. Javert heart the quick noise of a knife unsheathing and he braced himself against the pole. There was a quick sawing motion and his hands fell free. Javert brought his hands to his front, wincing from the ache in his shoulders, and rubbed his raw wrists.

"What are you-"

Javert was interrupted by the click of a pistol.

"Get up," Valjean ordered, the barrel pointed squarely at Javert's chest.

The pale-green eyes darkened and he felt himself struggling to stand, his leg prickling uncomfortably from being asleep. He grew angry. "So you're finally going to kill me?"

"Move. Out that door. Go," Valjean said, motioning with the gun. He ignored Javert's seething words and followed.

At first, Javert tried to stay strong, tried to keep his head raised from stubborn pride. However, once the thought of Aimée reached him, Javert's head dropped from the heaviness of his despair. Her words ran though his head with every step.

Promise me you'll be safe…promise you'll return to me.

A threatening heat of tears began to burn the back of his eyes. He had broken Aimée's promise once again, thrown her in the fire of his lie. Javert remembered standing in front of the fireplace, watching as the flames ate the letters of her heart, chewed them up and reduced them to ash. He saw her sitting in the kitchen of her house, watching for him, waiting up in the night for his return. Weakness shook his knees as Javert pictured the sapphire ring that hugged her elegant finger. The black dress with pearl buttons made her look like a ghost as he thought of her in the cemetery. The idea of her wearing it again made him sick.

Javert's footsteps were slow, heavy. He bitterly realized that it was the one last thing he could control, how long it took him to reach his execution. The man's eyes fluttered closed when he stepped through the doorway and the stuffiness of the café dropped away to the cool dampness of night. The back alleyway was narrow, the cobblestones damp and slick. Crates were backed against the café wall and the ally curved out and twisted its way through surrounding buildings.

It was time for him to face Valjean.

"So…you finally get your way. You finally get to kill me and live your life behind your lies," Javert said, turning and looking into Valjean's eyes. The years had been kind to the escaped criminal. His face had aged kindly, with smile lines crinkling his eyes and mouth. He was taller than Javert remembered.

Valjean said nothing. He tucked the pistol into his waistband and pulled out the knife again. Javert felt the metallic taste of fear, but he hid it well. The blade glinted in the gloomy backstreet.

"A knife? Fitting. Once a thief, always a thief I suppose."

Saying nothing, Valjean lunged forward and Javert closed his eyes to meet him, his body tense for the stinging bite of the knife as it cut through is skin. Feeling the coolness of the blade on his neck, Javert held Aimée's face in his mind, wishing that she was the last thing he saw.

The knife didn't cut him. He felt the rope of the noose fall away from his throat and opened his eyes, his brows furrowed in confusion as he looked at Valjean.

"What are you-"

"Get out of here," the convict murmured, tucking the knife away and tossing his head towards the alley.

Javert didn't move. Surely this was some kind of trick.
"Go."

The Chief Inspector turned and looked at the passageway before him, dark and inviting as an escape. Turning back, he spotted the pistol in Valjean's belt.

"So you can shoot me in the back?" Javert snarled, his hands balling into fists.

"I'm not going to kill you, I'm letting you go."

Javert's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"To show you that a man can change. I haven't been a thief for a very long time, Javert."

Instead of seizing the opportunity of escape like he should have, Javert questioned it.

"That is no reason to let your enemy go. I've hunted you, Valjean. I will hunt you again. Men can't change."

"You did, Javert."

"What?"

"I can see it in your eyes. You are a changed man, we both are, and by the same thing. Love. Me from my little Cossette and you from your Aimée."

Rage built up inside him. "How do you know this? Who told you? So help me, if you hurt her-"

Valjean raised his hands, "I have not hurt her, never touched a hair on her head, Javert. But her love saved you."

"What do you mean?"

Valjean sighed. "When I saw you in the café, I had no intention of letting you go. None. I would've let you stay there, no matter how my conscience would've protested. But, I was approached by a woman, Aimée, she said her name was."

Javert blinked in disbelief.

"She said that she loved you and pleaded with me to let you live, so you can return to her. She told me that she couldn't live with losing you again," Valjean said, turning to look over his shoulder. "You have to go. A few more minutes and they'll start looking for us. Go."

Shock numbed him. He felt a shove on his shoulder and stumbled off down the alley. Ducking around a wall, the shot from Valjean's pistol cracked in his ears and shocked him into running. Javert's mind reeled from the convicts words.

Aimée? At the barricade? She was supposed to be at home….

When Javert staggered out where the back road emptied into the main street, free from the rebels and the barricade, he collapsed against a streetlamp, holding himself up and breathing heavily.

Aimée…at the barricade….

He felt betrayed. The woman he loved, cared for, fought for, she was there, the whole time. Had she seen him tied up? Had she fought next to them? What other lies had she hidden? Anger made his jaw clench and hurt made his eyes press close. How had he not seen this?

Javert slid to his knees in the street, his shoulder leaning against the wrought iron of the lamppost. Letting his face fall into his hands, he felt the wetness of tears on his palms, mixing with the tackiness of the blood from his temple. Javert had fought his entire life against crime and anarchy. Put his safety at risk to try and prevent revolution, to try and maintain order. All the while, Aimée Lamenté had scampered around, aiding rebels and fighting against everything he was, everything he had known and stood for.

Hunched over in the lonely Parisian street, Javert's mind began to reel, thinking unreasonable thoughts. Suspicions whispered in his ear, making his sense drip away. If her life had been a lie, what about her love? Was that falsified as well?

I have no way of knowing… Javert thought, sniffing and trying to wipe at his eyes. You're a fool. You have no way of knowing if she truly loved you. She was behind the barricade. Fighting with…with those boys.

Javert struggled to do what he had always known…build stone. He stood, cruel little thoughts still swirling around in his head. Slowly, he felt all the raw emotion drain from him, replaced by his sense of duty. He remembered his plan with Hoight. There was no time for this, there would be a second attack any time and he needed to get out of the area.

Looking around to get a sense of his location, Javert set off towards the direction of the Palais, the stinging pain of Aimée's lies biting at his heels.