Fantine didn't forget. Not by a longshot.

She didn't know what it was that had made her move away, but she realized a few days later that she wanted to get over that block. And slowly she did. A few weeks, and they would have a kiss goodnight on the cheek. At Christmas, she surprised him by giving him a full-on kiss on the lips under the mistletoe. "That is the best Christmas gift I could ever get," he said, hugging her to his chest.

"I'm the one who's getting a gift."

That New Year's, a full year after Fantine's arrest and Valjean's rescue of her, he gave her an even better gift. They were sitting alone on a bench in the nunnery garden, and he asked her a question.

"Fantine, you are very important to me," he began, wringing his hands together nervously. "I know that life has been hard on both of us – that it's hard to give your heart fully to another person. But I hope that you'll entrust yours to me; I know that my heart could not be in better hands than yours." He took a deep breath. "Will you do me the honour of marrying me?"

The word came out effortlessly: "Yes."

"But, Maman! You never tell me anything about your life before me. Neither does Papa," Cosette pouted. "

Who knew children get so stubborn when they grow up? wondered Fantine. Cosette was right about one thing – she was certainly getting close to an adult, and she was certainly a calm, responsible girl, compared to others Fantine knew. One in the neighbourhood was running off dramatically with a boy she barely knew, others seemed to hardly listen to their parents anymore. At least Cosette listened when her parents spoke. She still told them she loved them. Still spent time with them. Maybe that was the problem – they kept her near very often. Jean generally wanted to keep her at home, citing safety in a city as wild and unpredictable as Paris, or fearing that she would be recognized as the child "stolen" from the Thernardiers so many years ago. In Jean's eyes, every shadow was shaped like that damned inspector. Every policeman took on his face. Every noise in the night was a call of "Halt, police!" Fantine knew he had good reason to be afraid; he never spoke of his time in prison, and although she didn't press him, her imagination wasn't so limited as to leave her baffled. Still, she had persuaded him, from time to time, to give Cosette some freedom, spending money for books or clothes, and some days out with friends. She thought that their family had struck a good balance. Why should she be rebelling, when they had treated her entirely fairly?

"I just want to know about your life!"

"It's not at all interesting, dear. Don't you have to practice something for your violin lessons?"

"If it was boring, it wouldn't be secret."

Fantine sighed. How to tell your daughter that you had been a prostitute? That her loving father was a criminal? That the police still had an open file on him, that it wasn't safe to pass in front of police stations, that a particular cop had a twenty-year grudge against him? That the pursuers knew who she was? Fantine couldn't burden her like that, couldn't see her paranoid and afraid too. That was one thing she didn't want Cosette to inherit from her parents.

Jean walked into the living room, and took up the old argument yet again. "Some things are secret for good reason, Cosette. Let us have our privacy."

"But Papa -"

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to."

"All you give me are riddles, when all I'm asking for is truth!"

Somehow Jean couldn't help but think of something he'd once been told. Lying again, 24601? You can't even give the truth to those you love. That's your real curse. Jean doubted that this voice of doubt would ever go silent; the voice of his jailer, the one who knew him as much as his own family, that shadow cast in the corner of his eye. The voice of his own guilt. "You will have truth. When the time is right." He stared at his feet.

"I'm going to sit in the garden for a while." Cosette kissed him on the cheek with a sigh then breezed out the back door.

Jean plunked down in an armchair, exhausted by even that short argument. "Did we raise her right, Fantine?"

"If we hadn't, she wouldn't value truth this much. And she wouldn't be able to put the disagreement aside like that." She came up behind him and hugged him around the shoulders.

"Yes. Yes, I think you're right."

There was a knock at the door. A letter, delivered by a vaguely familiar gamin. My dearest Cosette, it began, and it was signed Your Marius. Valjean seemed to immediately know what he had to do, and was so focused on his new intent, already getting his coat on, that he didn't hear the creaking of the stairs' top step when Fantine padded into the hall.

"Where are you going, dear?"

Valjean whirled around, surprised. He deflected the question, almost force of habit for an old politician. "You surprised me."

"It surprises me to see that you're leaving." A question disguised as a statement.

He didn't really see any choice – what was he going to do, lie to her? So he read her the letter, word for word.

"You're going to save this boy." Again a statement; Valjean was struck, yet again, by how well Fantine knew him. She might need some convincing, though, and he tried his best.

"I must. You know how it is, to be young and in love..."

"Yes, but you know how that turned out for me." Fantine's look turned dark.

"This must be different. Marius doesn't seem like – that – sort. And we taught Cosette well, we've been honest with her about these things."

"I wish I could be as certain as you about this."

"I trust in God, and of course I trust in our girl." His tone wasn't as certain as he wanted it to be, and she noticed.

"I know. Or at least I should know, yet I worry." Fantine sighed. "I suppose I'm just sad she's got to go away. Our little one, all grown up."

"I know. It seems like yesterday that we got her back from Montfermeil. Remember how I bought her that doll? Let her ride on my shoulders?"

Fantine put her arm around Valjean's shoulders. "Those days were beautiful. Worth everything that happened in Montreuil."

It was Valjean's turn to have an unpleasant memory surface. "And everything before that." He leaned towards her, giving her a quick, gentle kiss. "I'll be back so soon."

"You'd better be." He greeted her mock scowl with a grin. In only a few moments, he was out the door, rushing to risk his life for a stranger. This is just like Jean. Why did I have to marry a hero?

She couldn't believe it; not for a second. It was Cosette's wedding day. Her little Cosette, already getting married.

Even more surreal, Jean had disappeared. She had started to take it as a constant, her husband beside her. Her rock. Her dependable best friend. Gone. It was so odd to be at her daughter's wedding party without him. Still, the party whirled on around her, colourful and loud and completely, solidly normal. Things were dragging on into evening.

"Maman! Please, come dance!" Cosette, her bright smile matching her wedding dress, took her hand and dragged her onto the dance floor, trailing her old mother behind her, laughing. Fantine twirled around the floor with the other guests, trying to revive age-old memories of how to dance. Last time she'd danced like this, it had been the kitchen, to the tune of Cosette's violin, and she'd sung while Cosette put her feet on top of Jean's so he could guide her steps...

In her revery, Fantine had barely noticed a familiar face the spinning mass of Marius' family friends. The dancers switched partners, and Fantine ended up with -

"Thernardier. You're not supposed to be here."

"And yet, someone who is supposed to be here is missing. Where's the amazing disappearing man? Where's your husband?" Thernardier crooked his fingers in the air, as if to put quotations around husband. Frankly, Fantine was shocked that he even knew what quotation marks were.

"Piss off."

"Well, well. You can take the bitch out of the streets, but you can never take the street out of the -"

With a disgruntled sigh, she disentangled herself from him and hurried off the dance floor. He followed, massive shoes clicking against the wood floor as she tried to look natural by pouring herself a drink from the punchbowl.

"Go away. I'll only tell you nicely once more."

"Seriously, that's exactly the kind of manners I'd expect from a wh -"

She tossed her drink in Thernardier's face. His exaggerated makeup began to run, making him look even more ridiculous than before. "That is for what you did to my daughter." She managed an even tone – she was consciously imitating the way Jean kept his head – but a threat lurked under her words.

"Crap, and this was such a nice suit. But seriously, I'd play nice, if I were you."

"Why in enfer would I do that?" Her calm mask was on the verge of cracking.

"I know where your husband is. And if you don't pay up, the entire Paris police force will too. Unless, of course, you can exceed their price. Since I'm such a nice guy, I would take a matching amount – a certain inspector has been known to pay two hundred francs for a crook he really wants, and does he ever want this Valjean." He faked an exaggerated sigh. "In this economic climate -"

"You will tell me or you will be arrested for trespassing." Her voice was like stone.

"Belle-mere? What's going on here?" Marius asked, staring at the punch dripping down his uninvited guest's face and clothes.

Thernardier explained himself – or at least, gave what he thought passed for an explanation – but Fantine didn't need to hear it repeated. Thernardier was going to ruin the end of Jean's life, to send him to die in the galleys; and all for a paycheck of a couple hundred francs. Fantine could have cried.

"Yep, monsieur, I even have this ring as proof of the crime -"

"This is mine! And that means -" Marius grabbed the crook by the cravate. "Tell me where he is."

"Yes, yes, he's at the nunnery! And you can keep your ring, too!"

"Let's get Cosette and go," said Fantine. Marius simply nodded.

The trio left for the nunnery immediately. The short ride across town, however, was understandably strained.

Marius broke the silence. "Why didn't you tell me that he was the one who saved me?"

"He asked me not to."

This response seemed to shut Marius up, a very rare accomplishment indeed. It was an interesting combination, Fantine thought, introspective, quiet, delicate Cosette and her energetic, social husband. They seemed to balance each other. Right now, Cosette was grasping Marius' hand, holding on as if it was holding her to the ground, keeping her from flying off in the wind. After what seemed like an eternity of sitting in the carriage, each passenger closed off in their own thoughts, they pulled up outside the nunnery.

For Fantine, dashing through the very familiar halls was like a dream. It seemed unreal to her, searching for someone lost, in that strange state of mind beyond agitation and worry that almost feels like calm. Where would Jean be this time of day?

The chapel. Sure, he'd usually go pray after dinner, and it was almost seven. Apparently Cosette had had the same thought, because they both started heading in the correct decision without discussion.

Sure enough, he was there. Fantine couldn't keep herself from calling out. "Jean!"

"Fantine? What are you doing here?" His voice was feeble – she could barely hear him across the long room. He was sitting, covered in a blanket, facing the altar. His family crowded around him; Fantine held his hand, happy for the bittersweet blessing of getting to say goodbye.

And so it was proven that happy endings can be earned.

Author's Note: Well, there it is. I tried to keep it mostly from Fantine's point of view, limited third person. Only now do I realize that I wandered off into Javert's head for a while there, while he was arresting Fantine. (Damn sassy inspector, always stealing every scene he's in, musical or brick. Or I've been working on M-sur-M Case Files stories too much.) As this is my first attempt at writing anything even remotely romantic, I hope it's not ridiculously horrid. The ending is admittedly awkward and rushed. Frankly, I'm very bad at writing "sweet" or "heartwarming" - please tell me if I laid it on too thick, or glossed over anything you'd have like to have heard. This isn't my preferred ship, but I decided to start on it because it's my best friend's headcanon, and because I don't really need to bend the laws of canon or characterization too badly to make it happen. Just cure Fantine's mysterious chest ailment, and tah-dah... the story flows pretty naturally, without having to reshape the universe. (Yes, Valjean is older than Fantine by a good gap. But I know real married couples that have ten, fifteen years difference, so I'm going with a musical-based interpretation of their ages – Fantine's in her late twenties, Valjean's pushing forty. Really, for me, this was a warm-up to get me into character-based rather than action-based writing. But still, it's a shipping story that glosses over the actual shipping; how odd. ;)

Thank you very much for reading and the kind, constructive comments.

There was also an error in the first chapter – Fantine does know how to sign her name. I forgot that detail from the book and rediscovered it when rereading parts. Sorry.