One year later…
"Who is Inspector Morse?" Javert asked, placing his coat on the back of the kitchen door.
"What?" Grace asked, glancing up from laying the table with laughter in her eyes.
"The others at the station, they've mentioned him once or twice. Was he a local hero or something?"
Grace snickered. "I suppose you could say that." she said, laying down the cutlery by their plates. "He's a TV character. A detective. And he's based in Oxford. Why?"
"It's my new nickname."
Grace gave out a great snort.
Javert sat down at the kitchen table whilst he waited for Grace to stop laughing. He took a small notebook out from his trouser pocket and crossed off something with a flick of his pen. He felt Wilf rubbing himself against his legs and, setting down the notebook on the kitchen table, he scooped him up into his arms.
"I'm glad you find it so amusing." He grumbled sardonically.
"If they give you a nickname, that means they like you!"
"Is that true of 'Skidmark Steve' also?"
Grace burst out into raucous laughter and almost dropped the bowl of broccoli in her hands.
Wilf meowed up at Javert whilst he gave him a good rub behind his ear.
"Don't give him anything." Grace grumbled, pointing her spatula firmly towards the cat. She lay down two foil-wrapped parcels of salmon in front of Javert. "He's already eaten."
Javert inhaled the scent of the herbs and the lemon deeply, mouth already watering. "I've never eaten so well in my life..." he mumbled.
Every evening, they could have meat. Every morning, they could have milk. Wrapped, packaged, parcelled, and all of it in huge great warehouses, piled high with goods. A kaleidoscope of cuisines and spices had been served to him since he'd followed Grace back through the Star. It was one thing that he still struggled to come to terms with in this time: even though Grace had told him that some people still starved in this world, he wondered how that was possible.
"If you tell me what you'd like, I can cook something a little more…familiar." Grace said, carefully studying his expression. "Maybe a bourguignon, or just some meats and cheeses?"
Javert looked up into her eyes and smiled at her. He took her face in his hand and lay a kiss on her mouth.
"I'm sure it's delicious." he whispered warmly. "Although, with the richness of this modern diet, I might have to start keeping an eye on my waist." he added, glancing down at his midriff.
Grace relaxed a little and laughed. Javert was still as taut and toned as ever, but he poked and prodded at his stomach, as if somehow believing that this softer, easier life would make him softer too.
"It's a good thing I've not introduced you to takeaways yet, then…"
"Oh, I know about them!" he responded enthusiastically. He reached for his little notebook and began flicking back through the pages to find the right bit that he wanted. "One of the young Constables ordered an - Oriental, is it?- to the station when we were working late on a case last week."
"You mean a Chinese." Grace laughed.
"Whatever." Javert said, rolling his eyes, but nevertheless picked up his little pen and made a quick correction in his notebook.
They both ate their meal in a companionable silence for a while. Javert piled the steamed vegetables Grace had also served with the salmon onto his plate and reached for the night's wine too. Grace had tried to explain that people in 2024 didn't tend to have wine with every meal, but Javert was a Frenchman, after all, and whilst he had just about gotten used to the change in his diet, the change to his drinking habits would not be abandoned.
"Mum wants to know if we're coming up for Christmas again this year." Grace said, taking a sip from the glass he'd just poured her.
"Grace, it's July…"
"I know, but she likes to get these things sorted out early."
"Well, I believe I could survive another Paddy and Max meet-and-greet." Javert said playfully.
Grace scoffed and smiled down at her food.
For all her fretting about each night she'd spent in the 1830's, worrying if her Mum was going crazy with the not knowing, hoping she wasn't experiencing sleepless night after sleepless night wondering where her daughter had disappeared to, when she and Javert had stepped back through the Star it was the summer of 20203 again. No time at all had passed.
Barbie and Oppenheimer were still in the cinema. The summer heatwave was still warming the yellow Oxford sandstone. Her bike was still leant up against the gate outside Christchurch Cathedral. The choir were still rehearsing Lacrimosa inside. And she'd been gone a grand total of maybe fifteen minutes.
That first conversation with her Mum after they'd returned to the future had been…interesting.
As soon as her phone had charged itself up and connected to some signal, that photo she'd taken and tried to send back in the Chateau gardens suddenly went through…
"Lovely pic, but who's that with you, bab?" Came her mother's reply text.
Grace had barely managed to get out a coherent sentence, as she'd been sobbing and crying so hard when she'd heard her Mum's voice over the phone for the first time.
She'd barely managed to get it together by the time her Mum had made it down to Oxford.
Grace had begged her to come and visit as soon as she could, and it took her a few days to free up some time, but soon her Mum was bombing it down the M5.
Those first few days alone had been a godsend. Grace had some time to think of just how she was going to introduce her mother to Javert. Trying to explain that the man who now lived in her flat with her was her husband… Trying to think of a reason why her new husband didn't know how to use the kettle and why he stared with slack-jawed wonder at the hot water tap in the bathroom…
And still, Grace had somehow managed to explain away the strange, and rather sudden situation. There were lots of eccentrics in Oxford, after all. Lots of older professors who liked to marry their much younger secretaries. And if Grace's mother ever wondered why their romance seemed so whirlwind, and the whole David saga seemingly forgotten about overnight, she never asked.
Over time, however, when the initial shock of it all had died down, Grace's Mum had grown to like Javert.
"I might have said he's a bit old for you, bab…" her Mum's text had read. "... but he's a proper gentleman. I can tell he treats you right. Xxx"
Maybe one day Grace would tell her Mum the truth. If she ever found the words to explain the exhilarating and annihilating thing that had happened to her. She wanted to tell her the truth. Wanted to share the strange story that had led her to Javert. But maybe it didn't matter how they'd found each other. They'd done it. Across darkness and eternity and reality. And maybe her Mum sensed that. Maybe that was all she needed to know.
"Although, we wouldn't be able to stay in the Lakes for as long this year." Grace said, taking a bite of her salmon. "I've been booked to play Hootenanny on New Year's Eve."
Javert frowned at her. "I swear you just make words up to trick me, sometimes."
"It's a special TV show with lots of musicians that's on at New Years!"
"Oh, I think I remember you telling me." He reached for his notebook again and flicked forward a few pages, reading silently. "The one that's conducted by Mister Julian Holland?
"Jools Holland."
"Ridiculous name. Makes the man sound like he's a tiara."
"And he's the band leader. Not a conductor."
"Alright, alright..!" Javert grumbled, furiously scribbling the correction in his notebook and then taking a long, steadying sip of his wine. "Well, you really wanted that job. I am pleased for you."
He reached out a hand to Grace and squeezed hers warmly. She shot him a bashful smile but couldn't hide the excitement in her eyes.
Things had been going well since they'd returned home. The Story Teller had provided for them both, just like he had done for Grace when she'd first arrived in the 1830's. His magic, it seemed, extended into the real world as well as the realm of stories.
Grace had found herself receiving more opportunities in her line of work: New clients had kept asking her for lessons, studios began sending their job listings to her, friends started recommending her for new, big projects that were underway.
And Javert…
Javert had walked into the Police Station, opposite Christchurch College, to find an office waiting for him with his name on the door. 'Mr V Bleuthielle'. His colleagues at work believed he was a recent transfer from the Banbury precinct. He came with references and glowing reports about his character and conduct. He had a bank account, an NHS number, National Insurance… and it was like he'd always been here.
It wasn't enough to give them riches, but it was a life. And Grace was proud of the life her and Javert had carved out for themselves in Oxford. With him here, she was rich enough.
To Javert's credit, he'd not needed to hold Grace's hand often in adjusting to this new world. In fact, he'd weathered it much better than Grace had when she'd first gone back to 1831. He was attentive, astute, and he picked up on the social norms and nuances quickly. His life as an Inspector had prepared him well for this, but there were, of course, things that still took him by surprise.
In that first week or so back in Oxford, he'd been transfixed by the television. Sat a few inches from the screen, he'd reached out and touched the moving images often, as if trying to ascertain if they were actually there in front of him, or trapped inside the box somehow. Grace had tried to explain the technology that made it happen, and ever since then, Javert had come back from each day with at least a dozen questions, written down in his notebook or stored up in his head, and the evening was spent eating dinner together and going through his questions. Javert would not be caught in ignorance.
Grace slightly dreaded the day that he discovered Google. Then, he'd have no need of her and his little notebook.
She dreaded even more the day that he learned he could search for his own name. How he'd see himself reflected back to him on the pages of Les Miserables. And she doubted he'd like the man that he'd see, considering how much he'd changed.
Unless, of course, she took control of the narrative herself.
"You know how you've been asking to see London…" she said leadingly, putting down her fork of salmon.
"Mmm." He replied, having a mouthful of broccoli.
"Did you…did you feel like going this weekend?"
He stopped chewing and looked up at her. Javert had been asking to expand his horizons for a few weeks now. He'd seen most of Oxford, a little of the Lake District when they'd journeyed up north for Christmas, but that was mostly it. Grace had been reluctant to give him too much too quickly. She had visions of Javert standing at the Underground turnstiles, not knowing what to do with himself, or wandering around the M and M's shop, eyes the size of saucers...
"Why the sudden change of heart?" He asked curiously.
"Well, there's…something that I've been meaning to show you in London."
"Curious…" Javert said, one eyebrow raised. "And what is this enigmatic 'something'?"
"Hopefully I can get us some last-minute tickets. Doesn't have to be anything too fancy. Grand Circle should be fine."
"An evening of entertainment?" Javert asked cautiously. "Like that night at the Opera Gala I invited you to?"
Grace smiled, remembering that purple dress, the sight of Javert stood atop those golden steps, the shared champagne, the kiss on the rooftop…
"No, it's something a bit more… middle-of-the-road than Mozart."
"I see…It wouldn't have anything to do with this, would it?"
Javert slapped down a flyer on top of the kitchen table. Grace went cold as the illustrated face of little Cosette looked up at her.
"A school in Blackbird Leys is doing a production of it." Javert said when Grace had sat in stunned silence for too long. "I asked the boys at the station what it was, and they said it was a musical about a convict and a policeman…"
"Oh God…"
"And then someone else said that it was based off this book, and so I went into Blackwells on my way home one night and-"
"You read it?!" Grace asked, looking at him, eyes wide.
"Oh yes. Around three months ago."
"And you didn't say anything to me?!"
"Well, truth be told, I found it rather rambling in parts, it digressed from the main plot frequently, and the over-use of coincidence was just-"
"Oh my God, I can't believe you!" Grace exclaimed, sitting back in her seat. "You knew! And you didn't say anything…"
Javert shrugged, guilty as charged.
"So…you know?" Grace asked him carefully. "You know what should have happened to you? You know how the story should have gone..?"
Javert reached across the table and took her hand in his. "I know just how indescribably lucky I am to have had you. My star from another universe. You changed the story, you changed me so completely… I always knew that I owed my life to you. That novel is just proof of my sentiment."
"So…you're not… I just though that I'd need to…"
"Need to what?"
"I don't know…Ease you in gently."
"Hang on, weren't you going to sit me down in front of the West End production? Were you even going to tell me what it was we were seeing in London?!"
"Well…on reflection, it might not have been the most gentle of introductions…"
"I mean…is it any good?" Javert asked curiously.
"Well, it's one of the longest running shows on the West End. I think it's had something like 15,000 performances. A bazillion copies of the soundtrack sold-"
"Alright, alright…" Javert cut in shortly. He chewed on his food for a while and sat back in his seat. "I mean…if anything, it's made me more curious now."
Grace smirked at him and put down her cutlery. She reached for her phone and tapped away at the screen for a while.
"Well, the 7.30 performance tomorrow is looking good. Two tickets available in the Stalls for £50 each."
"But is it…is it all in there?" Javert asked cautiously.
Grace gave him a confused frown.
"Including…" he continued, not wanting to say it out loud. "Including the barricade?"
Grace went pale. She'd been too caught up in that Javert would feel watching it, she hadn't even thought about what she would feel.
What would it be like to see Marcelin again? Eponine? Cosette? All of them brought back to life in the body of another.
What would it be like to watch all of her friends die again?
She swallowed hard and looked down at the floor. "Perhaps we could leave at the interval…" she said quietly.
"If you think that would be wise." Javert said nodding his head.
"I mean…if we're going all the way down to London, don't we want to see something that…well…that doesn't have the ending spoiled already?"
Javert cracked his lips into a half-smile, feeling the heavy cloud of grief sailing past her. It had only been a short time since Grace had been nightmare free. The first few months back in 2023, every evening, she had been chased awake by the memories of what had happened on the barricades. He would hold her to his chest as she cried, laying side by side in the bed they now shared.
And by her side Javert stayed, a pillar of unwavering support and quiet strength. Javert, understood the depths of her trauma, having been a veteran of war himself, and gently guided Grace through her recovery. He listened patiently as she recounted her fears when they'd both find themselves suddenly awake in the middle of the night. Sometimes he'd sing her back to sleep with Burgelesse's song, or lay his loving kisses on her neck as she pressed her back against him. He held her hand and whispered comforting words to her.
Sometimes, she wanted more than just his words or his whispers. For Grace and Javert, intimacy became a sanctuary where words were unnecessary. In their shared moments of passion, Grace found solace and empowerment. Javert's touch was gentle yet assured, reminding her of her resilience and beauty. Each encounter was an affirmation of life, grounding her in the present and helping to dissipate the lingering shadows of her trauma. The physical closeness rekindled their connection, creating a space where vulnerability transformed into strength. Through their joining, Grace rediscovered joy and trust, while Javert's unwavering love anchored her journey toward healing.
The darkness of loss was not quite gone, but there was more light than shadow now.
"So, if not that one, then what else did you have in mind?" He asked.
"Well, there's lots to choose from. The one about two witches from Oz, the one with the singing nuns, the one about the clever schoolgirl with magic powers, the one about the murderous musical savant man in the mask…"
"Now you are definitely making these up." Javert said with a playful purr. He reached for her hand across the table, running a finger up and down her wrist.
Grace took his hand in hers, locking their fingers together across the table. A silent promise of enduring love and a future they would build together, one day at a time. They had faced chaos and bloodshed together. Had been beaten, broken, starved and pulled apart. But ultimately, they had come together in a weave of fates that the stars themselves might have combined. And after everything they had done, after all they had gone through, the ordinariness of their life together now was a blessing. A blessing and a gift.
Together they had conquered the past. And together they would conquer the future too.