' My sorrows formed the basis of my happiness. Love always granted, or rather imposed, the right to know her thoughts and to share them. It was her way of confiding in me and the most precious favour I received from her.'

Cosette silently turned the page of her book as she sat in the armchair before the fire of the library, using one hand to smooth the pleated cotton skirts. She took a moment to admire the dress; it was one of the calico ones she had procured relatively recently, and she quite liked it. Delicate pink flowers danced on the dark blue cotton background, and a pale pink sash around Cosette's narrow waist was tied in a neat bow at the back. The modest v-neck at the top of the bodice was trimmed with some pretty lace, and Cosette wore a simple small pearl pendant her Papa had bought her a year earlier that she thought looked nice with the dress. She hadn't done much with her hair today, since she wasn't leaving the house; it was just pulled into one thick blonde braid tugged over one shoulder, and she brought her fingers from her skirts up to twist them around the plait as she scanned her eyes over the text of her book.

' I did not want her to open her heart to me, but I wanted to force her to do so. I wanted her to feel a need to express herself, to take pleasure in being frank with me…'

"Ah. Here you are. This seems cosy."

She smiled a little and turned at the sound of Javert's voice, her gaze flicking up and down his form as she took him in. He had come downstairs neatly dressed in his full uniform, and he looked clean and well-groomed where he stood just inside the library doorway with a melancholic half-smile on his lips. Cosette said quietly to him,

"You are off to work. You must be exhausted."

The two of them had only managed three hours of sleep or so once they'd both come back from the Pont au Change. Cosette had followed through on her promise to make them both some hot chocolate upon their return, and they had spent around twenty minutes drinking it in peaceful quiet before going back to bed and falling asleep tangled up like vines. But now it was evening, and Javert was working the night shift, Cosette knew. He started to approach her as he asked tentatively,

"What are you reading?"

She held up the small leather book in her hand and informed him, " Adolphe by Benjamin Constant."

Javert smirked a little and tipped his head. "I have at least heard of that one, though I've not read it. Do you like it?"

Cosette shrugged, shaking her head, and sighed, "I find that Adolphe's love with Ellénore, who is older and controlling, is not so pure and kind as I find in my nice little idylls that I enjoy. Perhaps that makes me childish."

Javert actually let out a little rumbling laugh at that as he came before her, descending to a knee and staring right at her. She felt herself melt a little at the sight of his face before her, and very much on instinct, she set the book aside and reached to cup his jaw. Javert leaned toward her until his lips were a hair's breadth from hers, and he murmured,

"I think all it makes you is a hopeless little romantic, my precious wife, and I would not wish it any other way."

Cosette giggled a bit at that, and when Javert pressed his lips onto hers, she moaned softly, wanting much more of him. She opened her mouth, inviting him in, and she snaked her arms around his shoulders. For a little while, he obliged her, dragging his tongue about inside of her mouth and holding her by the small of her back as his breath quickened in his nostrils. But then he drew away from her and gave her an almost scolding look as he protested,

"My knee will already be cross with me when I try to stand. Anyway, I've got to get going to work. Where is your father? I had thought he was coming to dinner?"

He heaved himself up to stand, and Cosette swallowed heavily at the reminder of her Papa. She informed Javert, "A boy came and delivered a message from Toussaint an hour ago. My Papa is too tired to come to dinner, the boy said. I thought perhaps tomorrow I might go visit him."

Javert gave her a strange look, one that concerned Cosette quite a lot, since his face was usually quite stoic. His features twisted just a little, and he cleared his throat as he said in a soft, gentle tone,

"Erm… you know, you could take a cab to rue Plumet tonight, Cosette. Go have dinner there. I am quite confident that he would be very happy to see you. He would not mind the surprise at all, I do not think."

Cosette pinched her own face up and rose from her chair. "What, you think I should just show up unannounced? What if he is in his nightclothes resting? I am a married woman and do not live there anymore; I can't just -"

"I genuinely do not think he will mind," Javert said very firmly, and Cosette's stomach twisted strangely. She felt a little cold when Javert looked around and added, "You know, I'm actually… I am a bit early. I have plenty of time. I shall take you there myself. We can get there faster if I walk you instead of waiting for a cab."

"Do you know something I do not?" Cosette demanded, feeling a sudden urge to stamp her foot indignantly, but Javert shook his head and reached for her fingers, giving them a small squeeze and telling her,

"Come. I will take you there and then I will go to work. You can take a cab back here after you've had dinner, hmm?"

Cosette felt Javert's gloved hand trembling around hers as they walked through the gate up to the door of 55 rue Plumet, and she froze where she was walking, turning to him and glaring up at him.

"Why have you brought me here?" she snapped. Javert's face was calm and steady as he informed her, reaching beneath her bonnet to tuck away some stray blonde hair,

"Sometimes, Cosette, it is best not to risk waiting to find out whether or not things truly are all well. And so, I have brought you to dine with your father, since he was too tired to come to our home. That is all. Shall we go inside?"

Cosette tried to speak, found that she could not, and just nodded in response. She let Javert lead her up to the door, and when he knocked firmly around six times, she felt her heart start to accelerate rather wildly inside her chest. Now it was her hand shaking very badly in his grip, and he tightened his hold on her. The door opened, and Toussaint stood in the threshold, looking very tired herself and a bit like she had been crying.

"Oh! Madame! You… you have come!" Toussaint suddenly rushed out onto the step and tossed her thick arms around Cosette, grasping her in an embrace that robbed Cosette of breath. Cosette burrowed her face in the crook of Toussaint's neck for a moment, breathing in the woman's maternal comfort, until at last Toussaint beckoned Javert and Cosette inside and shut the door. She started to take their hats and coats, which confused Cosette because, as far Cosette knew, Javert was not staying. He had to go to work.

"What is the situation with the Monsieur?" Javert asked Toussaint in a low clip, as though he were conducting official police work. Cosette was very glad, suddenly, that Javert was here. She herself felt her eyes boiling up with fretful worry as she tugged off her leather gloves and tossed them onto the bench near the door, and she watched and listened as Toussaint explained,

"He has refused a doctor, Monsieur l'Inspecteur. I am not in need of medicines, he says. He has no cough. He does not vomit. Nothing of the sort. No fevers. He just sleeps; he wants nothing but sleep. And today I could not really get him to wake for long enough to dress, and he asked me to write to Madame Cosette and to tell her he was too tired for dinner. I'm sorry, Madame."

"N-No. It's all right." Cosette tried to give Toussaint a little reassuring smile, but it came out much more like a grimace. She watched then as Javert reached into his uniform jacket and pulled out his notepad and small pencil, and he started writing something down. Curious, Cosette tried to see what exactly he was scribbling, but then he signed the note, folded it, and handed it to Toussaint along with a few coins from his pocket. He tucked his notepad away and instructed Touissaint crisply,

"Find a boy outside to deliver that to the station-house, to Commissaire Caron. It is a note informing my superior officer that I will not be at work tonight."

"Is that going to cause a problem for you?" Cosette asked him nervously, but Javert reached to pet her calico sleeve and assured her,

"No. Of course not. Would you like me to come up with you now, or would you like to go on your own?"

Cosette's mouth fell open. Why was he acting like this was some sort of vigil they were undertaking, the two of them? Cosette reached to fidget with her sapphire engagement ring and her wedding ring, twining them around her fingers, and she gnawed hard on her lip for a moment, unsure of how to answer. She shrugged a little until Javert suggested in a voice little more than a whisper,

"You go first, hmm? You were meant to have dinner, just you and him. Go and speak to him for a little while, and I shall join the two of you shortly."

"All right." Cosette's voice was hollow and hoarse to her own ears. She started to walk toward the stairs, but before she made it there, Javert caught her wrist in his much larger hand and pulled her back for a moment. He bent down and touched his lips to her forehead, murmuring against her skin,

"Brave little Songbird."

"Papa?"

Cosette left the door to her father's bedchamber open as she walked inside, noticing that there was already a small wooden chair next to his bed. That was probably because Toussaint had been caring for him, Cosette thought; Toussaint had been bringing her father food and drink. Cosette glanced around the room at the fire that was still burning, at her father's very treasured silver candlesticks that sat proudly in a pair on his small mantle. She gazed at the candlesticks for a moment, considering that her Papa had always ensured that they had followed the two of them everywhere and had been granted a place of honour in their homes. Now Cosette arranged her dark blue calico skirts around herself as she sat and reached up to toy with her blonde braid as she realised that her father had been in the room when her mother had died. So had Javert, though Cosette did not like to think on that too much.

"Papa?"

She gazed at him where he lay in his bed, his white hair and beard and his white nightshirt matching his white sheets. He already looked angelic as he slept, Cosette thought. Well, that was suitable. He had lived the life of an angel, at least as far as she was concerned. Perhaps he had stolen bread and run from prison. Perhaps he had broken parole and lived fraudulently. What could Cosette possibly care of such matters? All she saw was the man who had rescued her from a life of destitute cruelty, who had raised her for the last decade with devoted love. Her father. She reached to stroke gently at his face, and at last his pale eyes fluttered open. He stared at her for so long that she was not entirely certain he knew who she was, but then his chapped lips curled up in a weak smile, and he murmured gently,

"I hear you say Papa and I wake to see your face, Cosette… and so I ask if I am already in Heaven."

"Oh." Cosette just kept stroking his face carefully and shook her head as she rather tearfully insisted to him, "No, Papa. It is not time yet for you to go to Heaven. You have many years yet to live."

He shut his eyes but managed to scoff just a little as one of his hands slowly reached for her arm and rubbed it a little. "My dearest child. How my time with you has flown by. Precious time. Soon I shall see your mother. Will she be pleased with my efforts, I wonder?"

"I should hope so," Cosette whimpered, leaning down to kiss his cheekbone. She sat back up and told him firmly, sniffing as tears started to stream freely down her face, "You have been the most worthy and selfless father in all of history, Papa, and I could never thank you enough for it. I am ever your loving daughter."

"And now you are very much a loving wife." His hand stilled on her arm, and his eyes opened again, more slowly this time. Cosette hesitated, unsure of why he was saying that now, but she nodded at last and whispered,

"Yes. So I am."

Her Papa's little smile grew a little as he nodded. "I am so very proud of the woman you are now, Cosette. So proud."

There were footsteps in the corridor then, and Cosette looked up to see Javert hesitating at the doorway of the bedchamber. He said nothing, but Cosette silently beckoned him inside, and he stalked in with a few heel-to-toe steps like he was trying to stay as quiet as possible. He stood next to Cosette's chair and crossed his hands before him, giving her father a bow that was respectful enough that Cosette was rather taken by surprise. She stared up at her husband as he said in a low voice,

"Valjean. I am sorry to see you unwell."

"Javert." From where he lay, Cosette's father just stared up at Javert, but Cosette noticed that his breathing seemed a bit laboured now, like he was struggling to stay conscious through this conversation, like the mere act of being awake right now was very difficult for him. Cosette reached for his hand and dragged her thumb over his, trying to smile at him and finding that nearly impossible. Her tears tumbled from her chin and landed on his blankets. Javert's voice was a steady baritone then as he once again shocked Cosette by saying simply,

"I ask your forgiveness now, Valjean. For everything."

"No need," said Cosette's father in a bit of a wheeze. "There is everlasting peace now, Javert. But you made me a promise."

"So I did," Javert replied.

Confused, Cosette glanced between the two of them, feeling an almost desperate sense of panic roil through her. She almost asked what the blazes they were on about, until Javert said quite firmly to her father,

"Cosette will be my purpose for living until I breathe my very last breath. This I promise you, Valjean, here and now. You know it is true, because I love her very deeply indeed."

"Oh." Cosette stared at him, mouth agape, after he'd said it, and then she turned her face back to her father. He seemed very peaceful then, but she was frightened as she saw his usually sparkling pale eyes starting to go a little dull. His lips began to look a bit blue, like he wasn't getting a proper amount of air, though he did not appear to be making any real effort to breathe. He lay still and quiet, his jaw dropping open limply, and Cosette seized his hand and clutched it to her chest as she curled her other fingers around his shoulder and shook him a bit roughly.

"Papa. Papa!"

He did not rouse from her vigorous efforts; if anything, he went more slack than ever, his head lolling back against his pillow and his limbs limp. Cosette shook him again and called out to him, but he was not answering, and then she felt herself being pulled off of him by Javert, who was shushing her gently.

Cosette could not breathe all of a sudden. She nearly collapsed off of the small wooden chair, feeling a wild sense of horror as she realised she might have just lost her father. She buried her face in the shoulder of Javert's police uniform jacket and sobbed so hard she was almost sick, clutching frantically at his arms where he knelt before her.

"Is he… is he…" She pulled back a little from Javert and looked up at him, wide-eyed and frenzied, and Javert just nodded calmly. His eyes were red-rimmed and his bottom lip was quivering a little as he whispered,

"I am very sorry, Cosette."

For a moment, she said nothing at all. She just gulped hard and stared at Javert. Then she crushed her face against his chest, shrieked once into the wool of his uniform, which muffled the cry. She pounded his chest with her clenched fists, and he let her do it. Then she managed to gather herself enough to pull back and catch her breath, sniffling as her nose ran and tears kept streaming down her mottled red face. Javert silently reached into his jacket and pulled out his handkerchief, passing it over to Cosette and then gently stroking her blonde hair with his rough fingertips as he whispered to her,

"He loved you more than any father has ever loved his daughter, Cosette. And whatever enmity he and I had between us, I am almost grateful for it, because if he and I had not walked that strange path, I would not have been brought to you. Perhaps there are such things as angels, after all."

Cosette gave him a pained little smile and nodded. "He was a saint walking among us, I should think."

"If ever there was one, it was Jean Valjean." Javert brushed his thumb under her eye and then whispered, "Would you like to say goodbye to him, and then I shall take you downstairs and have Toussaint get you some hot chocolate whilst I attend to him?"

Cosette just nodded. She watched as Javert rose very slowly, and he started to make his way from the room, but she called after him,

"No. Don't go."

He paused by the door, for it seemed he had thought she would want privacy. But he came back and stood near the bed, and Cosette rose slowly. She was unnerved by the sight of her father lying there with his mouth hanging open and his eyes staring, and she shifted where she stood, making a little noise of discomfort. Javert seemed to immediately understand, and she was grateful at once for his decades of experience with dealing with macabre matters. He surreptitiously adjusted her father's face until he looked peacefully asleep, with his eyes and mouth shut and the blankets pulled up neatly around him. Cosette nodded her thanks and then reached to hold Javert's hand, lacing her fingers through his. She said quietly then,

"Papa, I know I said I could never thank you properly for everything. But I shall try. I shall thank you every single day of my life. Every night before I sleep, I shall thank you. For all of your sacrifices, and all of your efforts, and all of your love. For everything. You gave me everything, Papa. I shall try my very best to be the daughter of Fantine, the daughter of Jean Valjean, in a way that is fitting and right. I love you, Papa, with all of my heart."

She bent and kissed his forehead, shivering a little at the notion that this was indeed farewell. When she rose, she shook again with fresh tears. She glanced over to the mantle, where his silver candlesticks were, and she whispered to Javert,

"We must take his candlesticks home."

Javert followed her gaze. He did not seem to understand why she was so focused on the candlesticks, but Cosette insisted quite firmly,

"They were very important to him."

"Of course," Javert said at once. "We can put them wherever you'd like."

"Thank you." Cosette sniffed. She touched at her father's hand and said softly, "Goodbye, Papa."

She started to walk from the bedchamber then, deciding that she could linger no more. She was almost out in the corridor when she heard Javert say in a very low and sombre tone,

"Goodbye, Valjean."

Javert crept slowly into the bedchamber he shared with Cosette, still shivering from how cold it had been outside. He had shed his top hat, great coat, and gloves downstairs, but his hands felt like icicles and his toes were a bit frozen inside his boots as he plodded into the room. He was relieved to see that Toussaint had recently been in to stoke up the fire in the fireplace and that the bedchamber was warm, even though it was only just dawn and Cosette was still fast asleep in the bed. She did not stir, not even a little, as Javert carefully shut the door behind him and crossed the room toward the wardrobe.

He faced Cosette as he began to unbutton his uniform jacket, his fingers stubbornly stiff from the cold as he worked his way down the front. He sniffed a little and moved closer to the fire as he eyed Cosette, who was bundled in a wrapper over her nightgown where she lay beneath the boutis quilt with an extra blanket on top. One of her small hands was curled around her pillow, and her face was peaceful in sleep. Javert sighed as he pulled off his jacket, thinking to himself how glad he was that she was restful now, that her dreams were quiet.

It had been six weeks since they had put Jean Valjean to rest. Valjean had left very clear instructions for all of that and had spoken with Javert about it before the wedding; he'd not wanted Cosette to have to think about logistics when the time came. So Javert had ensured that Valjean's wishes were met and that the man was attended to by the undertaker, cleaned and put into a simple black suit and then a shroud within a basic wooden coffin. The funeral had taken place at the house on rue Plumet, with just Toussaint, Cosette, and Javert present - along with a priest, of course. Javert had mumbled all the prayers he had known, although he was confident no one was listening. He had clutched Cosette's hand through it all and had walked outside as the coffin had been put on the hearse, and he had walked with his head bowed behind the hearse whilst Toussaint and Cosette had ridden in the carriage behind on the way to Cimitière de Montparnasse, near enough that Cosette would always be able to visit her father. Two weeks later, a small headstone had been installed with the simple inscription, ' Here rests Jean, a loving man of God,' with the dates of his time on Earth.

Cosette had gone through a period of deep grief, as was to be expected, of course. Javert thought over that time as he put his uniform jacket away and pulled off the shirt and cravat he wore beneath. He unfastened his breeches and yanked them down, his mind pulsing with how he'd worried over her for the days and nights that she had cried and seemed dark and distant. She had hardly eaten, becoming so thin and frail that Javert had thought she might snap like a twig beneath his touch. She had been restless at night, mewling when she dreamed, murmuring wordlessly, fretting until he pulled her against him and soothed her with his hands on her back and his lips on her forehead. She was not alone, he kept telling her, whenever he could. They went to Valjean's grave three times a week for the first month, though for the last two weeks Cosette had said she wanted to go on Sundays and Wednesdays moving forward. Her Papa would not want her mired in sorrow, she had told Javert stoutly. Winter had settled on Paris, and her Papa would not want Cosette standing tearfully in the cold for hours at a time over him. Javert knew very well that she was right about that.

In the last week or so, Cosette had seemed to be lifting from the worst of her despair, coming to meals dressed 'properly' with her hair done up, her face no longer regularly tear-streaked, occasionally flashing Javert little smiles. She seemed at peace now, somewhat, with the idea that her father had loved her very much, had grown old, and had died. As for Javert, he had wrestled enormously with his own demons once again in the wake of Valjean's death, for it had been difficult enough to face the man's unending kindness in June when Valjean had spared his life at the barricade and had induced enormous confusion in Javert about humanity's ability to dwell in the mythical grey area between good and evil at the same time. It had been Valjean who had forced Javert down from the Pont au Change; it had been Valjean who had brought Javert to his home and had given him Cosette. Somehow, losing Jean Valjean had been a grief that Javert had never expected. And so he had been wearing a black bereavement armband on his uniform for six weeks now, for Jean Valjean of all people.

The other logistical issue that had needed to be worked out in the wake of Valjean's death was the house on rue Plumet and the matter of maids. After speaking with everyone involved, Javert managed to quickly find a new placement for Isabelle, with whom he and Cosette had a far less emotional attachment than Cosette had with Toussaint. Fortunately, Isabelle was quite gracious about the entire matter, and no surprise - her new placement was with a wealthy lawyer in Saint-Germain, and she would be receiving better pay. Toussaint had moved into the house in rue de la Croix-Nivert. Javert had moved everything sentimental from rue Plumet into his own house and then had put Valjean's place up for sale as it was. It had sold very quickly, as houses were quite in demand in that part of Paris and Javert had not asked too much for the house. He had put the profits of the sale of the house securely away for Cosette, so that when he himself died, she would be able to access them. That was something he had promised Valjean - that Cosette would be properly cared for financially - and Javert meant to keep his word on that.

He glanced up now at the silver candlesticks that they had brought from Valjean's own bedchamber and put on their mantle. They gleamed in the dim light of the fire, and Javert sighed. Cosette had found a letter from Valjean among his many papers very briefly explaining that the candlesticks had been a gift from a Bishop that Valjean had met when he had first been granted parole and that he sincerely hoped Cosette would keep them and not sell them. Javert narrowed his eyes a bit at the candlesticks and pinched his lips. He knew very well that Jean Valjean had broken his parole and had vanished. Then he had reappeared as the wealthy factory owner and mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer. How had he managed that? Perhaps with some silver. Were these candlesticks a part of all that?

Did it matter now? Did any of that matter now? Javert shook his head and gulped.

"You are home," he heard a voice murmur softly from the bed, and he looked up to see Cosette pushing herself up and yawning somewhat adorably. He smirked a little and stalked toward her, left wearing nothing but his cotton underwear and a knee-length nightshirt. He shrugged.

"I nearly froze on patrol. Even by very early winter's standards, it is unseasonably frigid."

Cosette curled her lips up at him, her pale eyes still quite bleary. She gazed toward the window and asked a bit hoarsely, "What is the hour?"

Javert pulled back the thick blankets and crawled into the bed as he informed her, "It is dawn. Nearly time for you to rise, and for me to get a bit of rest before I put my uniform back on and do it all over again. I work another night shift tonight."

"Poor husband," Cosette mumbled as Javert arranged himself on his back, and he chuckled a bit under his breath. He sighed heavily as she curled up against him, and as she stroked his bicep through the cotton of his nightshirt, she whispered, "I have no intention of rising any time soon. It is a cold day. Perhaps I shall spend a good deal of it like this, tangled up with you, whilst you slumber until you have to work again."

Javert smiled, turning his head a bit and meeting her gaze. "I will not protest."

She just stared at him for a long moment then, until finally, she told him in a quiet, low voice, "I am hungry for you."

Javert felt his eyebrows go up with surprise. He swallowed hard. He and Cosette had not been intimate in any meaningful way in six weeks, not since Valjean had died. It had felt wildly inappropriate for Javert to so much as deeply kiss Cosette on the mouth in the immediate aftermath of her father's death, much less to fondle her or pursue real relations of any kind. For many weeks now, the only touches and kisses between them had consisted of Javert cradling her, kissing her cheeks and forehead, holding her hand on their way to and from the cemetery. Comfort. It had all been comfort for a good long while now. And Javert had been chaste himself; he had not thought it appropriate to use his hand on himself in private when Cosette was not looking or to find his release in a separate room. It simply had not felt right . So he had not had any semblance of a climax in six weeks, and now, with Cosette lying beside him, staring at him with wide pale eyes and parted full lips, telling him she was hungry, he let out a little involuntary noise.

"Cosette," he managed to choke out, "it is exceedingly important to me that you understand that you are under no obligation whatsoever to -"

"I crave you," Cosette interjected, and she reached to stroke Javert's thigh beneath the blankets in a way that made him hiss with want. He shut his eyes and tossed his head back a little, and then he was a bit surprised by Cosette's assertiveness as he felt the bed shift. She was climbing atop him, he could feel; she was straddling him and had put one of her knees on either side of his hips. He grunted a bit and dragged his trembling fingertips up from her knees, under the hem of her nightgown, and felt that she had no pantalettes on. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly at that sensation, at the feel of her that he had been missing for so long now, and he only managed to force his eyes open when he heard Cosette murmur gently,

"Look at me, will you?"

He did as she asked, finding her wide pale eyes and then reaching up with one hand to caress the smooth skin of her collarbone and neck. She shivered a little and tipped her head back, and then she cycled her hips down against Javert's. He huffed a breath through clenched teeth, for his cock had already gone rigid inside his thin underwear, and he squirmed at the feel of their bodies aching for one another. It had been so long, he thought. For so many years, he had been perfectly content without the touch of any woman, but somehow, these last six weeks without Cosette's intimacy had been a strange starvation.

"Oh." Cosette bent down and brushed her lips against Javert's, her breath ghosting against his mouth in little puffs, and she reached with one hand to stroke his grey hair as she murmured rather frantically, "I have starved both of us in my grief. Forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive." Javert shook his head. He cinched his grip on her backside, his fingertips sinking into her flesh, and he guided her movements until she started to really ride him. Cosette moaned at that, kissing him hard for a long moment until she collapsed away and let her face fall into the crook of his neck. Javert groaned as he felt her small chest smashed against his much larger one, as her hips ground against his erection, and he hissed at her, "If you mean for this to advance to anything serious, Cosette, I need to remove my clothing. My body has very little patience… it has been… I am…"

My cock is seconds from erupting, he wanted to tell her, but even now, even months into their marriage, he did not possess the ability to speak so crassly to her. He gulped hard and twisted his face in his agonised state, trying to stave off his peak as he finally yanked Cosette off of him and tossed her somewhat unceremoniously onto the mattress beside him. She landed on her back with an ungraceful little oof and then giggled like mad as Javert tried to catch his breath, a forearm strewn across his face.

"I'm so sorry," she laughed, though she did not sound terribly apologetic, and the way she was stroking Javert's hair, while pleasant, was less than helpful in his efforts to compose himself. He finally just growled and reached to shove his long underwear down over his rigid erection, kicking them away beneath the sheets, and he yanked his nightshirt up and over his head. He was about to make a move to strip off Cosette's nightgown, as well, but when he rotated his body to face her, she was already nude, lying on her back with her clothes wadded up to her left and her braided blonde hair cast over one shoulder. She smirked at Javert and mumbled quietly,

"Take your time, husband."

"Not an option," he huffed back, but he did grant himself a good solid moment to feast his eyes on her before making another move. That he could not keep from doing. She was far too lovely, lying there like a nude angel, her porcelain skin perfectly smooth from her thin neck down to her small but round breasts with their pert pink nipples at attention. Those breasts heaved just a little with every breath Cosette took, and it took some effort for Javert to drag his gaze up from her chest to her face, to study her full parted lips and the white front teeth inside her mouth, the endearing nose she had, the cheeks stained from arousal, the vibrant and sparkling wide eyes. Finally, he took a shaking breath and asked her quietly,

"Curl up beside me like we have been doing for weeks now, will you? It will be… different this time."

Cosette's mouth coiled up into a wicked little half smile, and she narrowed her eyes with anticipation as she snuggled up alongside Javert. He shut his eyes and emitted a sound of satisfaction then, for she felt very warm against him in the bed, and he was suddenly tossed back to how utterly frigid his overnight patrol had been. He'd gone out on horseback for a few hours to cover more ground, and he'd been uncomfortable and stiff in the saddle, riding through the icy night. Now, though, he was cosy and content as he tried to press every last bit of Cosette's small form against his much larger one that he possibly could. He breathed her in, the scent of the soap Toussaint had given her in her bath when he'd been on patrol the night before, clean and simple, and he burrowed his face in her blonde hair for a half minute as his cock swelled more insistently than ever.

Cosette moaned softly and laced a leg around his hip, her hand searching him, running up his ribcage, squeezing his bicep and his shoulder, pulling his hair loose. She touched her forehead to his sternum and sighed heavily there, and then Javert felt the damp of her quim against his cock, felt her working to try and get him inside of her. She was eager - warm and wet, he could feel. She wanted this. She wanted him . When he gulped again, his throat was sticky and thick, and his fingers shook badly as he put them on Cosette's thigh to help her arrange a better angle. His head started to spin and his ears started to ring. He was already on the precipice, he knew. They both were. She was right. They were starved, the both of them.

"Cosette," Javert finally managed to croak, sounding feeble and helpless to his own ears, and all she did in return was whine wordlessly against his chest with one hand fisted in his hair and the other flattened against his jaw. She was panting as she bucked her hips a little, struggling and yearning to get his cock inside of her, and Javert finally yanked her into the right position and thrust himself deeply, entering her in one fluid push and burying himself nearly to the hilt. Cosette cried out and collapsed against Javert's chest once he was inside of her, and at the feel of her womanhood creating a hot, tight sheath around him, Javert lost his breath and nearly passed out.

"Cosette," he said again, this time in a half-choked whisper that was hardly audible over the way she was grappling at him and moaning against his skin. He started to move, to rock their bodies together where they lay facing each other, but as soon as he did, he realised it felt much, much too good and that it was not going to last very long at all. How could it, when the sensation of pumping himself in and out of Cosette's body felt like leaving Earth and his body and achieving complete serene bliss, ecstasy beyond comprehension? Every bit of this, from the way her skin touched his, the way her quim embraced his cock, the way her voice was humming and crying out for him, the way her hands clutched at him… every single detail was setting Javert aflame in ways he had never dreamed possible. And she had been right; he had been starved for her. Not that that had been anyone's fault, of course. Grief naturally led to periods of celibacy. That was only right and natural. But he had craved her, just as she had claimed to crave him, in the corner of his mind that had allowed it. And now… now.

Suddenly he felt erratic pinches and contractions, strictures of satisfaction around his member, as Cosette went completely slack in his embrace and stopped putting in any effort to rocking with him. She tipped her head sideways on his chest and moaned helplessly, her hands pawing at the planes of Javert's slightly sweat-slicked chest, and her leg tensed up where she'd cast it over his hip. He breathed in and out for a long moment, absorbing the feel of her climax, soaking in the sensation of her euphoria, feeling rather proud of himself for having driven her to this state. Then, in a moment of sudden clarity, he reminded himself that she was still very young, that he had promised Valjean to care properly for her, and he pulled Cosette carefully off of himself and let her arrange herself beside him as he rolled onto his back and quickly gave his cock a few urgent strokes with a closed fist. It hardly took a minute of that before he burst, his seed jetting forth in messy, creamy puddles on his stomach as he grunted like a beast and felt the quick bursts of nearly unfathomable pleasure strike him through like lightning. He shut his eyes and tossed a forearm over his eyes, so exhausted now that he thought he might sleep for twenty hours.

At some point, apparently, Cosette had pulled herself from bed and fetched a wet rag, because he felt her scrubbing his seed from his belly, and he smirked where he lay covering up his face with his arm.

"Thank you," he muttered. "I fear I am too weary to conduct such ablutions after a night patrol and then… activities like these."

He heard Cosette laugh a little as she noted, "I ought to have let you rest. You must be so very tired. How awful of me."

"Oh, yes, how awful of you," Javert teased her, pulling his arm away to watch as she tossed the rag into the wash hamper and crept back into the bed with him. He turned a little to face her and cocked up an eyebrow. "How very wretched you are, little wife, forcing your husband to do such things after a long, cold night at work."

Cosette grinned and whispered, "Are you very, very cross with me?"

Javert feigned a deep scowl. "Exceedingly cross."

Cosette looked delighted. "You are so handsome when you're angry."

Javert tipped his head where he lay. "I'm only pretending to be angry. You hardly know what I look like when I'm actually angry."

"Lucky me, then," she shrugged, and Javert considered that she was probably one of the few people who had ever met him who usually saw him in a relatively decent mood. Well, that was mostly her own doing. She put him in a good mood that everyone else then ruined for themselves. He reached to stroke at her cheek a little and considered,

"My Commissaire scolded me when I got to the station last night."

Cosette looked rather worried, and she pushed herself up a bit, her pretty blonde hair mussed where she lay. "You are in trouble? Why?"y

Javert scoffed gently and encouraged her to lie back down. He shook his head and informed her, "I work too hard, apparently."

Cosette was quiet for a moment, picking at the crimson and cream boutis quilt, until finally, she mumbled, "Well. I believe is probably true."

Javert gave her a look, but then said, "I have accrued a very significant amount of unused leave, and given my rank, and given the… the way my Commissaire thinks I push myself beyond the limits of what my position demands, and… given the recent bereavement suffered, you know…"

Cosette blinked quickly, and Javert knew she was struggling to stay steady at the mention of her father. He licked his dry lips and reached for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers, and then he said quietly,

"Commissaire Caron has very strongly encouraged me to take a holiday. At least two weeks, he said. Perhaps three. Toward the end of this month, over the Christmas and New Year's holidays. I've never had them off before. I've never cared to. I've never celebrated them before. But I thought… well, he was rather insistent about it, and you had said a while ago that you wanted to go to London."

Cosette pushed herself up again, all the way up to sit this time, and stared down at Javert in shock. "London? You would take me to London? Are you very serious? You're not teasing me?"

Javert curled his lips up. "No. I am not teasing you. It would mean a carriage to Calais, with an overnight at an inn on the way there, and then the paddle steamer across the channel, of course, which will be rough and somewhat unpleasant in the winter, but it's not a very long ride, by my understanding. I have certainly been on worse ships in my life. Then another carriage from Dover to London. I can quickly make all of the arrangements - the travel tickets, the hotels and inns… and then… you could see Westminster Abbey, Cosette, just like you said you wanted to do."

"Yes." Cosette's face broke into a broad smile then, and tears erupted at once from her eyes. She was still naked, though she was utterly shameless about that. She swiped at her tears and laughed gleefully as she whispered in complete awe, "London… London at Christmas."

Javert snorted and shrugged. "As I said, Cosette, I have never actually celebrated the holiday in any capacity."

"Well. We shall be very merry this year!" she informed him. Then a strange look crossed her pretty face, and her mouth fell open as she remembered, "Your birthday. When we married, your birth date on the marriage certificate… it said the second of January. Will we be together in London to celebrate your birthday?"

Javert rolled his eyes. "I genuinely do not think there is anything to celebrate about a man turning fifty-five years of age, but -"

"Oh, yes, there is!" Cosette bent down to kiss his cheekbone. She put her mouth to his and kissed him there before murmuring onto his lips, "You shall have the very happiest leave you could ever imagine, Inspector Javert. Your pretty little wife will make you very happy in every bed on the journey, and she will be smiling everywhere at everything she sees. And you will have a very merry Christmas, and a most happy New Year, and a joyous birthday. Your little wife will see to all of that."

"Mmm. Well. Then I shall see to booking tickets and accommodation," Javert replied, reaching up to hold her face and bringing her down for a deeper kiss as she squealed with delight.