Chapter Text
“Surely they will release me soon,” Valjean says when Javert comes in to see him the next day. “I am feeling fine.”
The window of the wardroom is open, filling the room with white sunlight. Everything is too bright. Javert’s head aches.
He sits on the bed next to Valjean and, for the first time in ages, dares to consider the future. He intends on keeping his promise to Valjean, no matter what the cost. But what will happen then?
Valjean is watching him in that eerie way he does. Javert does not look at him. He rubs at his sideburns. The walls of the hospital, the smells that hang there, seem to press in on him from all sides.
Valjean does not press him. He simply waits until Javert has weathered his brief panic. Then he speaks again.
“I haven’t forgotten your promise to me,” he says softly. “Can we return to Paris together?”
“Of course,” Javert says gruffly. “That was the plan, wasn’t it?”
Valjean looks down at his lap. “I meant…can we return, as friends?” he says slowly. Javert notes how the word settles awkwardly between them.
“Friends? Is that what we are?” Javert says. He can’t suppress a dark laugh. He stares at the corner of the room, where the light is least blinding.
Valjean is quiet again, for so long that Javert worries he’s upset him. A quick glance at his face reveals his bushy white brows furrowed in thought.
“Let’s go on another walk,” he says. Javert concedes wordlessly.
It is cloudier and colder than the day before, so the streets are not as crowded. It is probably no longer necessary for them to walk arm-in-arm, but they do it without thinking, and Javert decides it would be too embarrassing to acknowledge it.
“Let’s find a park,” says Valjean. “Some private place. I would like to be perfectly alone with you.”
Javert nods stiffly, trying to ignore how the words send a thrill of heat rushing all through him.
A few blocks later, there is an empty little park with a path weaving through a copse of trees, a faint flush of green at their tops bearing the promise of spring.
As they meander along slowly, Valjean speaks.
“What do you think of me, Javert?” he asks. “Be honest.”
Javert doesn’t like how the question makes him feel. “I think that you are a good man,” he says.
“And that’s all?”
“No,” Javert scoffs. “Of course not. But to…to put to words all that I think of you…”
He hazards a sidelong glance. Valjean is doing the same.
“It would be impossible,” Javert concludes, returning his gaze to the trees. “You…confuse me. Being around you is…”
Valjean stops walking. “Is what?” he prompts.
Javert lets go of Valjean’s arm. He turns to him and tries to look in his eyes, and the truth comes up out of him, acidic like vomit.
“It hurts,” he says. He instantly sees his mistake as much as he feels it. Valjean’s shoulders tighten and his lips press into a tight line.
“If I cause you so much pain,” Valjean says, “then why are you here?” His tone is careful and slow, each word picked deliberately; painful.
“I have never been one to run from pain,” Javert says. It’s all he can think of. The river begins to trickle in.
“Is there something you hope to gain from this?” Valjean is still speaking very slowly, and his brow is furrowed deeply. “I am not a…a trial for you to overcome. I am not a method for you to strengthen yourself.”
Javert steps towards him, holding out his hands desperately. “That’s not what I mean,” he says. “I mean to….damnit, l…it was a foolish thing to say...”
The rushing grows louder. Javert presses the heel of his hand hard into his forehead. He must speak more now, before he cannot.
“I mean to say that I am in pain always,” he says. “Since the day you spared my life. Being around you is a different agony. One I find much preferable to the usual.”
“I don’t wish to cause you pain, Javert,” Valjean murmurs. “Whatever reason you think you have…whether it’s to punish yourself, or to make penance…I release you from it.”
Javert strains against the river in his head. His stomach drops. For a second, he is standing back in the office of the mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer, being released from his wrongs the exact same way. A gentle strength, an unfathomable sadness; a hot knife of shame he cannot bear.
Javert thinks he can no longer bear it. He seizes Valjean by the shoulders.
“If you wish me gone,” he chokes out, “I will oblige. But if you can tolerate my presence-“
“That’s the strange thing,” Valjean says. He is looking at Javert with wide eyes, and he laughs a little. “I don’t want you gone. I feel…safe, with you. I feel all right. I don’t know when or how it changed, but it did.”
He reaches up and tucks a strand of loose hair behind Javert’s ear. Javert grabs his hand and holds it to his face. The warmth of the rough palm against his cheek is the only sensation, the only thing keeping him from being swept away.
They stand like that for a while. Javert feels water falling all around him.
“I am unmoored,” he whispers into Valjean’s palm. “I don’t know what to do, or who I am. I don’t know how to go on.”
Valjean's thumb rubs across his cheekbone.
“Come, Javert,” Valjean whispers. “Come with me.”
Javert blinks the tears from his eyes and allows Valjean to lead him off the path, into the secrecy of the trees. They come upon a little brook there, a silver thread in the moonlight. The whisper of its babbling nearly drives Javert to hysteria. As if sensing this, Valjean squeezes his hand.
“I’m going to tell you a story,” Valjean says. His eyes are wide and serious. Even in the dark, Javert can see their gentle brown color. He thinks he would be content looking at nothing else for the rest of his life.
Then Valjean tells Javert the story of his life. His youth, his sister and her children. Only briefly does he speak of his imprisonment, for Javert knows that tale well, and the mere mention of Toulon sends a shiver through the strong body. And while he talks, they look at the brook.
Valjean tells him the tale of the bishop. His voice begins to crack. Javert has never once been moved by tears, but Valjean’s are so visceral he feels as if they are his own.
“I was changed in that moment,” Valjean continues. “And it was agonizing. I know the pain you are in, Javert. I know it because it was mine.”
Javert’s breath feels ragged in his lungs. He cannot look at Valjean, so he squeezes his hand tighter.
Valjean tells him about Fantine, the prostitute Javert frightened to death. He tells him about Cosette and their flight to Petit Picpus, and what came after, and why he went to the barricade.
“And you,” Valjean says. “When I saw you tied up there, I did not spare you for God, or for the greater good. I spared you because I wanted to. And now I want to help you. There is good in you, Javert, and you are so close to it now.”
“You would do this for me,” Javert says flatly. “I who have hunted you for years. I who hounded your every step, who made it impossible for you to have a normal life. You said you had nightmares about me. How can you share all this with me now?”
He turns to look at Valjean. There are tears streaking down his rough cheeks. He rubs at his nose with his sleeve.
“I don’t know,” says Valjean, voice tremulous. “I don’t know. Things have changed so fast, I…I once again feel myself on the precipice of something. But I’m finally not alone; you are here too, and I have not had a nightmare since the night you found me at the convent.”
Javert feels an old urge, burning stronger than ever. He wants to fall on Valjean, to sink his teeth into his neck. He wants it still, but now – it is different now – how so?
He realizes he is holding tight to Valjean’s shoulders. Valjean reaches up and touches his face again. His face takes on a wondrous expression, like a child seeing the stars for the first time.
“Are you with me, Javert?” Valjean murmurs. Their faces are so close- Javert can feel his breath on his lips. “Is it really you I’m seeing, that makes me feel this way?”
Javert feels his stomach plummet. He is once again falling; the river crashes around him and closes over his head.
Then Valjean has closed his eyes and their lips are touching.
Almost as soon as it happens, Valjean pulls away like he’s been shocked. He lets go of Javert and takes a step back.
“I am sorry, I’m so- I did not mean to-“
There is fear in his face, like a cornered animal. The expression sings to the hunter in Javert. Once again, he must prevent Jean Valjean from getting away. He seizes him roughly by his lapels, yanks him to his chest, and kisses him.
Valjean makes a noise against his lips and throws his arms around Javert’s neck. Javert’s mind goes blank. There is only the sensation of Valjean’s mouth against his, lips moving rough, his hands scrabbling at Javert’s back as if trying to pull him into his own skin. Finally, Javert plunges his hands into Valjean’s hair and holds tightly. He does not know what he’s doing. He does not need to know. And now Valjean opens his mouth and it is lips and teeth and tongues-
The river surges around them. Javert can feel the current in his hair and his sleeves. He can feel it strip the flesh from their bones, dissolving them, until they are nothing but bones interlocked with bones. Until their blood turns to water. Until there is nothing but this. And, with his mouth open to Valjean’s, their joined lungs full of water, Javert realizes that he can finally breathe.