(This is a kink meme response. The prompt requested Javert attempting to get Gavroche away from the barricade. For plot reasons I have altered the timeline. Javert is now held at the barricade for longer than in canon and is there when Gavroche makes his attempt to gather ammo on the other side. Inspired mainly by the characterizations of the new movie)


The boy.

An oddity, that Javert should think of the boy now. Tied to a post, bones aching, blood beading at his temple, and still he cannot help but think of the boy's smile. A bold smile, with pride lifting its corners and white joy flashing at its center.

He'd shown Javert for a traitor, had sentenced him to death with the surly casualness only afforded to youth. But his smile...

A child's smile, just as his eyes were a child's eyes. There had been cruelty in them, but it had been forthright instead of a grown man's cunning. A splendid game! Spies and barricades and guns. There had been no fear in those eyes that shown so bright, and Javert had known then the boy did not understand what would come of the day.

But surely Javert had more important matters to attend to than the fate of a dirty street urchin, here at the end of his life.

Valjean. At the barricade, a place he had no business being, and Javert only wishes he could claim surprise. Indeed it had felt obvious and crass to see the man come riding to the rescue. Of course, of course. Why not?

It was even reassuring in some small way. That fate should be a circle, that it should have a shape so cleanly traced.

If Javert must die, it pleases him that he will die knowing Valjean stands near. It is something, at least, to have come so close.

Outside a song rises. Mingled with the deeper tones is one higher, sweeter. Javert cannot fathom why the rebels have not sent the child away.

Javert flexes his muscles, tests his bonds. He does not hope for escape.

He'd been a boy once. He's heard the jokes, the rumors that he'd sprung forth full formed from Justice's bosom with law book in one hand and cudgel in the other. But Javert remembers, if dimly. He does not think his eyes were ever so bright, his smile ever so wide, but he remembers what it is to hope. To imagine brighter 'morrows, and to think that one might aid in bringing them about.

He'd had the luxury of some little time to grow out of it. Time the boy will not be spared.

Why oh why have they not sent the child away?

It angers Javert, and that anger is a mystery. He is not often angry and when he is, it is a cold anger, a thing of ice and smooth edges that has more to do with trespass against order than any passion of his own. But now...he burns with it, and Javert is a creature better designed for winter storms than this summer blaze. He shies from it, as a wolf will shy from the flame, and turns again to contemplate milder things.

He aches. When will Valjean come to kill him?

It happens not longer after. Javert can see little tied low as he is. But he hears the anguished calls for the boy to return. A song, the boy's voice alone this time, ringing out in defiance.

The thunder.

Javert is not aware that he too cries out.