Who Am I - Les Miserables - Part 3
Title: Who Am I
Author: roselani24
Artist: queenmidalah
Genre: angst, friendship/family, drama
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing for a little while.
Warnings: References to past child abuse and violence
Summary: Javert has always known who, and what, he was. He always did his duty with the upmost diligence. There had not been such a policeman as Javert so wholly devoted to the law and justice. But what if he lost all those memories of himself? What then? 2012 Movie-Musical based AU with added details from the book.
Story Notes: This story was was written for the 2013 angstbigbang. The story occurs after Jean Valjean has fled from Montreuil and has just retrieved the child, Cosette, from the Thenardiers. Javert is chasing him and he leaves from the town with post haste, bound for Paris in a fiacre or carriage.
Author's Notes: First I would like to thank my Lord, Jesus Christ for his great blessings and endless mercy and grace. I know this story would have never been completed as it has without Him. I therefore dedicate this story to my Lord Jesus Christ.
I would like to thank my artist, queenmidalah for her lovely cover art, wallpaper and icon. You can see them all here. I would also like to thank my dear friend, laughtersmelody, for her last minute beta work on this piece. Thank you so much!!
~*~
Chapter 3
Sleep did not bring the oblivion he hoped. His mind was plagued by images of prisons, of chained, filthy men, and the echoes of screams and the sound of the lash. Then there was a ragged woman with dark hair and gray eyes who looked at him with scorn. She was shouting something, though the words were lost in the roar in his ears. Hatred welled in him, accompanied by a terrible fear as she advanced on him. Her face was gaunt and weathered, eyes sharp, mouth twisted in a snarl. A single, large hoop earring pierced one ear. And she was getting larger. Javert scrambled backwards. He couldn’t stop her; he had no defense. Terror seized him as her arms wrapped around his throat and he screamed.
Javert’s eyes snapped open, breathing heavily from the scream, a vice locked around his chest. Panicked, he started struggling.
In the distance, he could hear someone shouting. “Javert! Javert, wake up! You are safe.”
It wasn’t the woman. It was a man. Someone familiar…
He thrashed harder.
“Michel!”
His head snapped up, the haze on his mind finally dissipating. A concerned face was peering down at him, earth colored eyes wide, skin pale.
“Valjean?” He whimpered. The old man was holding him down, locking his body in place on the bed where he had begun fighting.
“Yes,” Valjean said, relieved, grip loosening. “It’s me, Javert.”
He wasn’t in the wretched prison. There was no whip or stench of blood and fear. The hideous woman was not here. He was in the small house with the old man Valjean and his daughter Cosette. As the fear from the dream faded, Javert slumped back on the bed, weakly covering his face with a trembling hand.
“Are you all right?”
No, Javert wanted to scream. No, I’m not all right. I just had a ridiculous dream about convicts and an old hag of a woman who tried to strangle me!
“I’m fine,” he retorted.
Valjean didn’t answer. He did not hear the old man move away however, and he grudgingly took comfort in the older man’s calm presence. Eventually he regained control of his faculties and the trembling stopped. He removed his hand from his face, peering defiantly at Valjean. The old convict was watching him patiently.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
Valjean did not seem bothered by his refusal-in fact, seemed to have expected it. “Sit up. I need to check your bandages.”
The old man was quick and precise, which Javert appreciated. It was embarrassing enough to wake up screaming from a nightmare like a little child without having Valjean treating him like one. As Valjean checked the bandages, he reviewed the confusing images from his dream. Aside from the woman, the rest he could assume was from his days working as a guard at Toulon. Except…why did he remember being behind bars with guards looking in at him? Surely as a guard he would have never been behind bars like that!
It was just a dream, he scolded himself. Dreams mean nothing.
There was a sour taste in his mouth.
Valjean finished checking the bandages. “There was no bleeding I think. But your ribs, no doubt, will be tender for a while longer.”
No longer preoccupied with his dream, Javert could feel the pain in his ribs. Bruised as they were, his thrashing no doubt worsened them. He grumbled. Foolish dream!
“If you’re up for it, perhaps you would like to join Cosette and me for supper?”
Food held no real appeal. Refusing, however, did not seem like a good idea either. As annoying as Valjean was, the man had been right before when he said Javert needed to eat and regain his strength. He nodded his head and Valjean smiled pleasantly. It was like Javert’s nightmare had already been forgotten. Probably for the best. He was thinking about it more than enough for the both of them.
Supper was simple, but filling. There was bread, a little cheese, and the rest of the stew. The two men and child quickly devoured it.
Cosette ate ravenously, like she was starving. She probably was. Her big blue eyes kept darting towards Javert, back down to her plate, and then back again. The reason for her curiosity was obvious. No doubt his shouting and struggling from his nightmare had alarmed her. Internally, Javert groaned. He had no idea how to act around the child. Her guardian was hard enough. Should he say something? Ignore her? He did not know. He decided to wait. If she asked, he would answer. But he wasn’t going to encourage her.
He glanced at Valjean. The gray-haired man seemed content enough to eat his supper in polite silence. From his vantage point, it appeared as if the former convict was lost in thought. He wondered what Valjean was thinking. It was impossible to tell.
Absently, Javert chewed on a piece of bread. He needed to speak with Valjean further. There were so many questions he had, so much he needed to know. Was Valjean considering what to tell him, how to best lie to him? He had no way to know for certain if the man was lying apart from his intuition, which wasn’t all that helpful. The old man had told him his name, his position. At least, Javert thought it was the truth. It did not seem like a lie. But Valjean insisted he had told him the truth about their acquaintance. That must surely be a lie! What fool told a policeman that he was the one said policeman was hunting?
“How long have you lived here?”
Both of the other occupants of the table startled. Javert willed himself to meet Valjean’s gaze. It was a calculated risk, breaking the silence. He already knew Valjean and Cosette had barely spent more than a day together. That this was their home was highly improbable. No, he had a different purpose for the question. Valjean insisted he was a convict and sinned by lying, yet also claimed to have told Javert the truth. He wanted to gauge Valjean’s response and hopefully find some way to determine if the man was as truthful as he seemed if only to elevate the headache the contradiction induced.
“A kind farmer granted Cosette and myself shelter here after our fiacre broke down. We will be leaving for Paris once it is repaired.”
“What’s in Paris?”
Valjean exhaled, looking upward. “A new beginning.”
Javert grunted, attention returning to his meal. New beginning? Bah! There was no such thing as a new beginning. Men were who they were. That could not be changed. But who was he? How could he remain the same if he did not remember? Just thinking about it, made his head hurt. Worse, his test had done nothing expect demonstrate Valjean’s serenity. Not that it was a hard test, more a poor attempt at socializing, he admitted. That did not change the results. Once again, he was convinced Valjean answered truthfully. Could a criminal truly possess such a spirit? He cursed his faulty mind and lost memories. If only he could remember!
“Are you coming with us?”
Cosette’s question surprised Javert. “Um, no. I will be going to the police station in town to report what happened.”
Only then did he realize what position he was in regarding Valjean and his ward. As a police inspector, wasn’t his duty to the law? If Valjean was indeed who he claimed then he was a fugitive. He had been breaking the law-had broken it for years-and deserved to be imprisoned for his crime. Javert’s stomach twisted. Turn in the man who saved him? A man who was the exact opposite of wickedness? How could he? It could all be a sham, he sternly reminded himself. His guilt could all be for nothing if this man was deceiving him. But he could not shake the doubt.
The child nodded seriously. “So they can catch the bad men who hurt you. Is that why you screamed? Were you dreaming about them?”
Heat filled Javert’s cheeks. “No! No, I wasn’t-I wasn’t thinking of them. It was just a nightmare. That’s all.”
Valjean spoke up then, softly. “Not memories?”
Javert opened his mouth to retort, but something choked the words in his throat before they could pass.
“I…I don’t know.” I hope not.
“I had a bad dream too,” Cosette disclosed. Javert glanced at her. The child’s shoulders were hunched over, hands gripping her arms. “About…Madame Thenardier. She was…she was yelling and…” She didn’t finish.
His hands curled into fists. Cosette didn’t need to finish. He could see the terror in her eyes, could physically see the effects on her thin arms. Valjean’s countenance was stony.
“You really don’t remember anything, monsieur?”
He shook his head, fiddling with his spoon. Cosette was sitting very still. “I wish I couldn’t remember anything from before Papa either.”
Javert gaped at her. Valjean seemed equally at a loss at what to say. “Cosette-my child, I know the years you spent at the inn can never be undone. I am sorry for everything you have suffered. But those years are behind you now. You need not think of them anymore. Though I wish you did not have such memories either.”
The child leapt from her seat and climbed into Valjean’s lap. Valjean seemed surprised, before returning her embrace. “It’s okay, Papa. I have you now.”
“And I you,” Valjean murmured, holding her tight, wonder shining in his eyes.
Javert watched it all with his mouth pressed in a thin line. He could he turn Valjean over to the police? Could he really tear this old man and child apart when they had only just found each other? Who would care for Cosette if Valjean went to prison? It could all be a trick. Except…no, he did not think a child such as Cosette was capable of such deceit. She was too innocent. He lowered his head, focusing on finishing his food while Valjean and Cosette held on to each other.
A loud knock interrupted the moment between father and daughter. Javert looked toward the door, muscles tensing. Valjean did not seem wholly surprised. He put Cosette down in his chair and went to answer.
“Ah, Monsieur Rousseau. Please come in.”
A man perhaps four inches shorter than Valjean stepped inside, taking off a dirty, old cap. He was thin man, but sturdily built like Valjean in the way that men used to hard work are. His hair was brown and matted. Oddly, there was something serene about the man, similar to Valjean.
“Thank you, Monsieur Leblanc. How are you and the little one faring?”
Leblanc? He thought his name was Valjean…
Fugitive, remember? A sardonic voice reminded him. He probably has more than a few aliases. Did he not say he was a mayor? He could not have been mayor under his true name.
Javert angrily silenced the little voice. While it was true about the aliases, he felt relatively certain Valjean had spoken his true name. He had hesitated a little before giving it and had spoken of his past to Javert in hushed tones so the child would not hear. Why would he do that otherwise?
“We are quite well, thanks to you. Last night, Providence saw fit to bring someone else to the door of your house.” He gestured to Javert. Rousseau looked over at the inspector, shock coloring his features.
“Well! If this isn’t a day of strange happenings,” Rousseau said.
“Pardon?”
Javert did not like the farmer’s apprehensive reaction. The placidity was gone. Why did the sight of him cause such an emotion? Nothing good, he thought darkly. Something small pressed against his side. He glanced down to see Cosette had abandoned the chair Valjean put her in and was now pressed against Javert’s side, half hiding behind his shoulder. Valjean swiftly noticed his daughter’s reaction, and Javert’s as well no doubt, and moved to block Rousseau’s view of the child.
“I ask that you speak plainly, monsieur. The night brought many changes.”
Javert suppressed a snort. One thing he could say for Valjean: he was unfailingly polite while being equally demanding. That was a good attribute for a magistrate.
“Ah, pardon me, monsieur. I am glad you found your son.”
Son? Javert’s mouth slackened and he glanced at Valjean to see the same astonishment that he felt mirrored on his face.
“You misunderstand, Monsieur Rousseau,” Valjean began. “This is-“
“Your son, yes, I know. It is a miracle he found you last night after you and your granddaughter were waylaid! Truly it is. But I am babbling. The reason I came, monsieur, was to inform you that the fiacre has been repaired. Alas, the driver refused to wait and has already left. Things are tense in town, you see. Rumor is a police inspector was murdered by a chain gang. My wife heard that he may have escaped, though, and that the brigands hunt him even now. But who knows the truth? Dangerous men are on the prowl to be sure, monsieur, whether it is true or not. Best wait until morning before catching the next fiacre, for the little one’s sake.”
“Yes, you are quite right, monsieur. Forgive me. I am afraid it was a long night.”
“Understandable, Monsieur Leblanc. Think nothing of it. Now, I must be off.”
Valjean thanked him again and walked the farmer out. The door closed behind Rousseau with an ominous thud.
For a moment Valjean stood at the closed door, head bowed in contemplation.
Javert and Cosette both stared at his back, sensing something was wrong. On the inspector’s part, he was already starting to piece together the warning Rousseau gave.
“We need to leave.”
Valjean turned to Cosette and quietly instructed her to gather her things and prepare to depart. The little girl obeyed quickly. Valjean pulled a white shirt from his carpet bag and handed it to Javert. “Wear this, Inspector. And shave your beard.”
“What?”
“The men hunting for you know you survived. They will recognize you on sight. But will you recognize them?”
“I-I don’t know. I may.” It was too risky, and Javert knew it. To wear his uniform was to paint himself as a target for his assailants. Without his memories, he could not identify them. The two who tried to kill him the previous night he might recognize, but it had been quite dark and he had not taken the time to really examine them for fear they would discover he was awake. And Valjean had not seen them at all.
He accepted the shirt. Valjean moved away, rapidly packing. Once Javert had on the shirt, Valjean handed him a razor, a little mirror, and some soap. Quickly, Javert shaved, taking care not to cut himself but not too long to delay their departure. When he finished, he could not help rubbing his bare chin. It felt strange.
Valjean paused, a curious expression on his face. “I had not realized how young you were.”
Javert scowled. Was that an insult? Irritatingly, he could not counter either way because he didn’t even know how old he was. “I take it this will suffice?”
The old gentleman nodded. “Yes. Now come. We must be off. Time is running short.”
~*~
“Father,” Javert said, the word tasting strange on his tongue; unfamiliar. He wished not for the first time that Farmer Rousseau’s mistake had not become their cover. Logically, it made sense under the circumstances, but that did little to elevate the tension it triggered in him. Valjean’s confession was never far from his mind. It was absurd, of course. A convict would not help a policeman, much less the man intent on arresting him. Not only that, they did not masquerade as the father of said police inspector!
“Yes, Michel?”
He shook off the added strangeness of hearing his given name, something he suspected was due to his status as an inspector. For the moment, it too was necessary to keep their cover. He refused to think about the nightmare he had earlier and how Valjean had jolted him out of the fog by calling him by his given name.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?”
Really, he should not be questioning the man. Valjean was only trying to help him. But he could not shake the unease he felt at approaching the police station. Why was Valjean willing to risk this? Why was he worried about it? Wasn’t it just a few hours ago that he was thinking whether or not he should turn the former convict in?
“You must prove you are alive and unharmed if justice is to be upheld. The police are protective of their own.”
And so are you, apparently, Javert grumbled inwardly as Valjean pulled him away from a staggering drunk for the second time. Not that he was going to admit he was feeling a bit dizzy and not walking very straight either.
“It was your plan in the first place,” Valjean reminded him.
“What?”
“At supper, you said you would go to the station.”
Javert had forgotten in their flight. He had found himself content to follow Valjean, placing a tentative trust in the old man. Whatever his doubts about Valjean identity, his actions made it clear he meant no harm. And again, there was the fact the self-proclaimed convict was literally walking into the lion’s den for Javert’s sake. What fool did that?
“Will he come with us afterward, pa-grandfather?”
Cosette looked up at both men, hopeful. The small child was walking in-between the men, one hand safely clasped in Valjean’s while the other held her doll. It had certainly been tricky explaining to Cosette to call Javert ‘papa’ for the interim it took to see him safe to the police station. Awkward was not a strong enough word, in Javert’s opinion. He was no one’s papa. Of that he was reasonably certain. To gain a child and father, even for only a short time, was a wonder. His heart felt heavy and strange, probably because of the bruises on his ribs. It skipped now at the child’s innocent question.
“Cosette, I-” Javert gave Valjean a helpless glance. He did not know what to say. Valjean, infuriatingly, silently observed him with a similar question. He exhaled. “I cannot say. It’s…complicated.”
What a poor excuse! Cosette did not seem pleased, but seemed content enough to accept it for the moment. Javert silently cursed Valjean and glared at him. Valjean did not seem bothered. The old man’s attention was ahead of them.
For the first time since the old man admitted his name back at the farmer’s house, Javert witnessed a trace of trepidation in his companion. “We are almost there.”
Javert could see the station now, horses milling out front, tied to posts, waiting for their riders. One horse in particular caught his attention. The creature was large and a dark oak brown in color with a black mane. Ears pricked up and the horse turned their way as they approached. He knew that creature…he was certain of it! Without thinking he approached, holding out a hand. The horse willingly lowered its head, bumping its muzzle against his hand. Slowly, he stroked the horse’s head, feeling a certain familiarity and comfort.
“I know you.”
The horse waffled, bumping his chest.
“Gymont,” he whispered, the name floating to the front of his mind. The horse responded by nickering quietly. Javert quietly rejoiced. He had remembered something! A horse’s name was hardly important, but to him it was everything. Maybe his memories would soon return.
“You there! Stand back from that horse!”
Javert spun around. A young man wearing a blue uniform was striding toward him, face creased in anger only to abruptly stop.
“Inspector Javert?”
He lifted his eyebrows. There was no doubting his identity now. It seemed the story Rousseau related of his apparent demise was true judging by the officer’s shock. Shaving his beard also seemed to have been a waste of time considering how quickly his fellow policeman identified him.
“Yes?”
“Sir, you’re alive!”
“So it would seem,” Javert answered. He glanced around for Valjean. When he caught sight of the man his breath caught. Two ruffians had him by the arms and Cosette was gone.
“What is the meaning of this?”
The two men holding Valjean flinched, eyes darting away, their grip tightening on their captive. One was holding a knife to Valjean’s ribs, he realized. Despite this, the old man appeared relatively calm. It was the slightest tightening around his eyes and mouth that alerted Javert to his distress. If Cosette were caught by one of these men he did not doubt Valjean would have reacted already. He could not imagine the older man letting them lay a severe hand on her. The child was safe then.
The uniformed man sneered. “You should have died, Gypsy. Your kind has no business working with those who defend the honest world.” Dark beady eyes bore into him. “The Prefect is a fool. But that is easily remedied.”
Gypsy? The horrendous woman from his dream came back and Javert felt sick. Was that…had that been his mother? Oh, he prayed it wasn’t! Pushing past that, he considered the policeman’s other cold words.
“You ordered those men to kill me,” Javert said, some of the pieces coming together. “And you-you struck me.”
He had been left for dead by a fellow officer of the law. His stomach curdled. Left for dead by a man who should have his back, but saved by a convict who should have killed him? Everything was backwards. How did his former self, the one who possessed all his memories and knowledge, reconcile this?
“Always were a smart one, Gypsy. Now, it’s time you and your friend the gentleman met an untimely end.” The policemen waved the gun, indicating Javert go towards Valjean. He met the older man’s gaze. Valjean gave the barest nod, eyes darting down towards the arms holding him. Assured, Javert obeyed the policeman, glaring darkly. He took no small amount of pleasure in seeing fear briefly flash in those dark eyes.
“Lefebvre, take them to the bridge.”
“But Moreau-“
“Silence you stupid cur! You let him escape once. I will not tolerate another mistake. Do as I say! Go before the patrol gets back.”
The red haired man fell silent, cowed. He grabbed Javert roughly. “Move along, Inspector.”
Gritting his teeth at the rough treatment, Javert turned his burning glare on the man and was rewarded with the man stepping back and another gun pointed at him. He fell in step beside Valjean as they walked back out of town until they came to the bridge over the river.
Javert’s mind was working furiously, trying to put together the rest of the pieces of the puzzle, but without his memories it was proving daunting. He swore as they stepped out onto the bridge. Valjean remained calm at his side, a rock that he was grateful to lean on. It allowed Javert to calm himself as well. Moreau did not know Javert could not remember him and only barely recognized the men who tried to kill him. This could work in his favor.
“Kill me for all I care,” he snapped as Lefebvre shoved him towards the parapet. “You will answer for your crimes, filth. Justice will prevail!”
Lefebvre gave a hideous laugh. “You and your talk of justice! What do you know of justice? You, who would see us dead for trying to survive, who protect the rich and bow to their whims? Well, I learned my lessons well, monsieur, and I will take what’s mine.”
He bit back a retort as the gun jammed against his tender ribs.
“Gerard, take care of the old man.”
The old man was still as calm as ever. Valjean met Javert’s gaze steadily.
Javert and Valjean moved at the same time, taking their captors off guard. Valjean easily wrestled the knife from Gerard’s hand, sending it into the ice river below, barely blinking. Unwilling to face the wrath of Moreau, the stout man swung his fist and engaged the old man in a fist fight.
Meanwhile, Javert was having a little more trouble. His injuries were barely beginning to heal and Lefebvre knew exactly where to hit him. One punch caught him in his tender ribs. Gasping, Javert thrust out his fist, slamming into the red-hair nose with a satisfying crunch. As Lefebvre reeled back with a howl, he took advantage of the moment to knock the gun out of his hand. Roaring, Lefebvre locked his hands around Javert’s arms and they grappled.
Suddenly, a gun shot rang out and Lefebvre jerked back, eyes going wide and then blank. Numbly, Javert watched as the red haired man dropped to the ground into a heap at his feet. Moreau stepped onto the bridge, tossing the smoking pistol aside and pulling a second. “No mistakes this time.”
Javert’s blood ran cold as Moreau leveled the second gun at Valjean, who was still fighting with Gerard.
“No!” Javert shouted, charging the officer. Taken aback, the officer did not have time to fully shift the direction of the gun. It fired, but the shot went wide. Rage filled him as he crashed into the officer, sending the now useless gun skittering through the snow. Moreau quickly retaliated with by throwing Javert off. Unlike Lefebvre, Moreau did not know the location of his previous injuries, but he more than made up for it with his police training. He merciless struck Javert first in the stomach, winding him, and then across the face. Javert dropped to the ground, head ringing like bells.
Snarling, Moreau hefted Javert up, pushing him against parapet and gradually over it. The cold void at his back stirred Javert from his stupor as he realized what Moreau intended. He struggled to fend off the man’s hold and at the same time not let go as the empty air behind him taunted him.
He started to fall over. Terrified, Javert dug his fingers into Moreau’s arm, pulling the man half over with him.
“Javert!”
Javert dangled perilously over the river in the grip of the treacherous policeman. The sight of the half frozen river below, swirling and flooded like the abyss below terrified him. He screamed as Moreau pressed against his injured hand, opening the cut and soaking it with blood. His hand slick with blood, his hold on the officer began to slip. He scrambled to grab onto something, anything, but his fingers slid off the icy stone.
Moreau jerked back and Javert lost his grip. He was falling, falling…
A large hand caught around arm, halting his descent. For a long moment he hung there, helpless and petrified of the water below. Then, slowly, he was pulled back up by familiar lion paws, onto the parapet and then the quay.
Javert collapsed on his side, dry heaving, trembling and half sobbing. Weakly he turned his head to the man next to him. Valjean’s shirt was drenched in sweat and blood. He was resting on his knees, head bowed, breathing heavily. A few feet away, the policeman who had just tried to murder him lay unconscious. The second thief, the stout Gerard was staring at them in shock, blood dripping from his nose, cradling a broken arm. Abruptly, he turned and fled.
“Fa-Valjean?” Javert mumbled, trying to catch his breath. Valjean lifted his gray head. “Michel…are you-are you all right?”
“I’ve been better,” the younger man rasped. “You?”
“Well enough.”
For several minutes they sat there in the snow, letting their pulses slow
Javert tried to get up, but his knees still quaked too much. Forgoing that, he crawled closer to the older man’s side. Without thinking, he reached out a hand to grasp his arm. Valjean jerked, startled, but then relaxed. He shifted so that his own hand could grasp Javert’s forearm. No words were necessary.
At length, Valjean spoke. “Cosette.”
Javert nodded in understanding and they both climbed to their feet.
Before they left the bridge, however, Javert took Moreau’s handcuffs and used them to cuff the corrupt, murderous man. He took the key and stuffed it in his pocket. Satisfied the traitor was restrained, he hastened to join Valjean who waiting anxiously at the end of the bridge.
Together, they started back into town. Progress was slow. Javert’s was wounded and Valjean had had quite a fright. He may also be injured, but Javert could not tell. When he mentioned the blood on his shirt, the old man merely shook his head and kept walking.Instead, he asked a question that had been on his mind since Moreau and the thieves caught them outside the station.
“Where did she go?”
“I sent Cosette inside the station.”
Javert chuckled. A smile tugged up the corner of Valjean’s mouth as well.
“Appropriate.”
They made the rest of the walk in silence. It was with similar trepidation that Javert saw the police station once more. A group of policemen were in a half circle around a small, trembling figure.
“Grandfather!”
Cosette sprinted to them, wrapping her arms tight around Valjean. The old man scooped her up, holding her close, murmuring softly as the child buried her face in his neck. To Javert’s surprise a moment later Cosette reached out with one hand, pulling him into the embrace. It was awkward, to say the least. For a brief moment he thought felt Valjean’s arm around his back and a firm pat between his shoulder blades. But surely he was mistaken. He stepped back.
The policemen were coming towards them and Javert could sense Valjean tensing.
He swallowed back the sudden lump in his throat. It was the moment of truth. Would he turn Valjean in? Or let him go? What was the right choice?
Who am I? Am I an inspector who upholds justice or an inspector who upholds the law?
Javert shut his eyes, whispered a silent prayer, and made his decision.
The End
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