Cosette rushed indoors, her heart nearly bursting with happiness and relief, and asked Toussaint to bring food and wine for the inspector. She rushed back to him immediately, finding him entering the house, and remained close to him as they went into the dining room. Toussaint brought him a cold meal, for nothing warm was prepared, but Javert said that a cold meal was well and good for him for now, and that he'd have to return to his duties soon.

For now, Cosette sat down next to him, barely taking her eyes off him. She'd woken up an hour ago and cried quite badly, but refused the Laudanum offered by Toussaint, wanting to hear the news of Javert when it came. She trusted her father: if father had gone, it meant he'd gone to get Javert, and father would find him, of that she was certain.

Neither of the men wished to speak of what had happened in the barricades: they said it was too ugly to discuss, and Cosette felt uncomfortable and sad, for she knew that many must have died. All too soon Javert took his leave: he'd pick up his uniform from his home and then join the search in the sewers. He assured her they weren't expecting any major trouble: the barricades would fall and the only thing left to do was to capture those trying to flee, find out their involvement in the revolt and sentence them according to law.

Taking both horses with him he departed: he'd kissed her gently and promised to return to her as soon as he'd finished his duties. Cosette was left with her father and Toussaint, who began preparing a warm stew that could be served when the inspector returned: he did, later that night, several hours later: he'd met the three young officers and thanked them for relaying the news to Fauchelevent and his daughter, inadvertently saving his life. The men had sent their best greetings.

Javert had visited his home, cleaned himself and changed into his uniform. He enjoyed Toussaint's stew and held Cosette's hand gently. He sat with Cosette in the parlour for two hours despite being obviously exhausted: both basked in the relief of being together and alive. The revolt seemed to be over, and their wedding day would soon come. They once again spoke of the future, of living together as Monsieur and Madame Javert, of the garden they'd plant, of the rooms they'd furnish, and of the years they'd spend together.

The next week M. Fauchelevent made a surprising decision and gave up the apartments he had on Rue de l'Homme Armé and Rue de l'Ouest. He had Cosette select the things she wanted for her new home with Inspector Javert from the two apartments: and so the new couple would have furniture and some linen for their new home: beds, curtains, sheets, mattresses and blankets were delivered by hired men to the house Javert had bought for them, unpacked and put into their places. Their banns were published, and it was agreed that Toussaint would move in with Cosette and Javert and become their servant, for M. Fauchelevent claimed he needed no servant. He'd stay at Rue Plumet, to stay close to his daughter.

The two men did have disagreements from time to time, although they did their best to keep them out of Cosette's hearing: the worst disagreement was about dowry. Monsieur Fauchelevent had disappeared for a while, and upon return informed Javert that his daughter's dowry was nearly six hundred thousand francs. Javert was unwilling to accept the money, for he did not wish to touch money that might have been illegally made: Valjean sat down and told his entire story to Javert, from start to finish, and finally Javert accepted that the money was legally made. He refused the entire amount and accepted only three hundred thousand francs, stating that he earned well enough as an inspector, and that Cosette's future would be secure.

After that day, when Javert and Valjean sat down and Valjean spoke his story, a tale he'd never told anyone, the two men learned to tolerate each other better. Valjean had always respected Javert as a man who did his duty, and Javert learned to understand his former enemy a little better. Cosette had changed him; being saved by Valjean had changed him some more; being happy had changed him the most, and from that day on Javert thought of Jean Valjean as Ultime Fauchelevent.

Together they agreed never to speak to her about what she'd gone through in her youth, or what her poor mother had ended up doing in her desperation: Fauchelevent told her that her mother's name was Fantine, had golden hair, and that she'd died. Ultime Fauchelevent would remain Cosette's father by mutual decision.

Despite the fears Inspector Javert had had in the barricade, tied into a pole with thirst and hunger churning in his gut, the morning of his wedding day dawned. After the church they had a small banquet in the home of Ultime Fauchelevent: they had few guests, all of them from Javert's work, with officers Lefavre, Marine and Brunelle as very honoured and welcome guests.

That evening they entered their new home as a married couple for the first time. Her clothes had been brought in earlier, and everything was set. He'd waited for this moment for months, and sometimes he felt like he'd been waiting for this moment all of his life, and here they were. Toussaint and Javert's servant Londres were staying the night in Monsieur Fauchelevent's home: namely to clean up, but truthfully to give the new couple the privacy of the wedding night. They would be back early in the morning in time to make breakfast.

"Madame Javert," he whispered into her ear as he led her into their new home and into her bedroom. Their kisses turned heated as they made their way into the bedroom, their hands finally roaming to where they'd wanted to go for months. Her every touch made him burn: his breath was ragged and harsh, his cock hard and needy in his trousers, and every time her body touched his groin, he groaned as pleasure hit him.

His hands shook as he undressed her: she was obviously nervous but seemed to want this just as much as he did. "Husband," she whispered, her voice shaking.

"My wife," he replied, unlacing her corset. Every new inch of skin revealed made his blood feel like fire, and he could feel the blood pound in his ears. When they undressed him and he laid her down, covering her body with his, he felt like he might die of wanting her so much. She tried to hide her breasts with her hands, but Javert pulled her hands away. "Don't hide from me, Cosette. You are so very beautiful."

'I've never been with a woman,' he wanted to confess in the candle-lit room, kissing her beautiful, perfect nipples, though he dare not. Prostitutes were available in many places, from cheap whores to medium-priced prostitutes and to ludicrously expensive courtesans, and he'd had many offers from them, sometimes free of charge when they'd wished him to turn an eye away from some of their illicit activities such as petty thefts, but he'd never accepted: he'd seen the men who'd contracted various diseases from cheap whores, witnessed first-hand how many of them were involved with illegal activities in addition to legal prostitution, and, most of all, felt like he'd be a better person if he'd remained as chaste as a monk. He was a man, with needs of his own, but he'd kept his vices to the pinch of snuff, and right now he was glad of it: he'd experience this act with his wife.

He kneed his way between her thighs, and she wrapped her perfect, slender legs around him, pulling him closer. The silky skin of her thigh felt divine on his penis: kissing her lips he cautiously probed her with the tip of his cock, and found delightful, moist warmth that seemed to lure him to push in. Pleasure rushed through him like a wave, and he'd only managed to insert the tip of his aching length when his orgasm hit him unexpectedly and without a warning: his hips thrust and bucked and he spent himself between her legs in a matter of seconds, his body convulsing with indescribable pleasure. He panted like an animal and felt a mixture of shame and elation.

"I'm sorry, Cosette, I couldn't... couldn't stop," he whispered, feeling his cheeks flush with shame, though his large sideburns covered most of it.

"You enjoyed it?" she asked.

"A little too much, I'm afraid," he admitted.

"I thought it'd hurt," she said shyly. Her cheeks had pinked: she was so very innocent, his sweet Cosette.

"Oh, I'm afraid I didn't get that far," he had to admit. "I'll have to go deeper. I was too... too..."

"It doesn't matter," she said with a gentle smile. "We have all night, don't we?"

"We do," he said, kissing her chin, then both her cheeks, her nose and finally her lips. "I'll get a cloth and clean you up a bit, then we can explore each other properly." He rose from the bed and found a cloth, which he used to clean his seed. While he did so, he noticed she gasped and squirmed: he changed the movements of his hands and was rewarded with pleasured a coo. With a smirk, he continued to caress her lower lips with his fingers, observing her reactions to his touch, noting she preferred his digits to the cloth.

She'd thrown her head back and opened her legs to admit his hands: her gasps became breathy moans, rising in pitch and volume until she was begging for more, shaking and writhing under his fingers. He could feel her growing wet under his fingers, until she seemed to seize, her hips jerking under his ministrations: her pleasure, her orgasm, Javert knew. He was impossibly hard now, his cock aching for her again, and she was still coming down from her pleasure when he crawled back over her and positioned himself on her entrance.

"Ah, Cosette, my wife, I need to... I want to..." he gasped, and then he had to push himself inside her. He buried himself inside her, unable to think of anything but the maddening, silky and moist heat that enveloped him. She'd let out a small scream of pain, and he answered her with a ragged groan: pleasure lanced through him again, and he had to remain still, lest he lose control immediately. He could feel her quiver underneath him, and he could feel his cock pulsing with the rapid beat of his heart.

He felt her hidden muscles clench around his cock, causing another arc of pleasure, and now he could do nothing but move, to push himself deeper inside her, again and again and again. She let out small gasps, but Javert was nearly insensate to anything but the feel of her: she'd wrapped her arms around him, she was kissing his lips and she felt so good. Now his body demanded him to push faster faster faster... and then, blessedly, he came with a hoarse, wordless howl of pleasure, his body bucking and convulsing, his cock twitching as his orgasm shook him to the core, taking everything he had.

"Cosette," he panted, "Cosette, my Cosette..."

He covered her face with kisses, and her hands caressed his scarred back. She smiled at him, that gentle and sweet smile he'd learned to know so well.

"I'm sorry it had to hurt. Does it still hurt very much, my love?"

"No, no, it only hurt a little while."

"It shouldn't hurt any more, from what I've understood," he said.

"I was expecting worse, from what Toussaint told me."

Javert snorted. "It can be very pleasurable for both."

"It was!"

"Was it now?" he asked with a smirk and kissed her. "You'll have to wait until I've recovered. I'm not as young as I used to be."

"I'll wait," she said with a smile. "I'm a bit sore, really, down there."

"I'm sorry, my Cosette."

"Don't be. I'm glad we're together like this."

"As am I," he whispered, slipping out of her and moving to lay by her side as not to crush her, for his arms and hands were tiring, and he felt deliciously languid.

"May I ask...?"

"You may," he said gently.

"Your back. You've scars..."

"Yes. Some of my scars are from work, though mostly from the earlier days. Criminals can be violent. Some are from my childhood."

"Childhood?"

"Yes. Some are from leather belt, some from whip and some from a stick. Punishments for disobedience. Breaking the rules."

"So cruel..." Cosette sounded so very sad.

"Perhaps," he replied, keeping his voice even. "I'd prefer not to talk about it."

"As you wish, my love," she murmured and kissed his lips again.

He pulled her closer into his arms, pulling the bed curtains close around the bed, for the room was already cooling down. "Sleep now, my love."

"I love you, husband."

"I love you, wife."

Six Months later

Cosette was sitting with her father in his house at Rue Plumet. This was a frequent occurrence: her husband worked hard, and Cosette's father welcomed her company. Javert's servant Londres walked her daily to her father's home, often staying to cook for a bit. Londres adored Madame Javert and respected old Monsieur Fauchelevent.

It was a tradition of Cosette and her father: her father would tell her of the things he'd read in his books while she'd sit next to him, listening attentively. They'd done so since Cosette had been a little girl, and one day Cosette's father would sit and tell her children, his own grandchildren, of the same things.

Cosette heard Londres talk and a familiar voice respond: her husband had arrived. Cosette smiled: he was late again, although not as late as he sometimes was, when he got involved in a chase for some criminal or in a group of ruffians. Cosette had a spare bedroom in her father's home in case he was detained for a night, although she rarely stayed for the night.

"Fauchelevent. Cosette, good day to you. Forgive me for being late," her husband sighed as he entered.

"You're not," Cosette's father replied with a smile. "Londres prepared a supper but we've yet not eaten. We were hoping you'd arrive on time. He's made rabbit stew."

"Cosette shouldn't delay her meals," Javert said, "not in her condition." He looked at her and tried to look stern, but his dark eyes sparkled with pride as he looked at his pregnant wife.

"Father had me take some tea and bread not half an hour ago," she defended herself and her father.

"Not the same," Javert said and kissed her cheeks. "You're eating for two, my love."

"And there's no chance of forgetting that," she laughed, and her father chuckled happily.

"Was there some criminal at large again?" she asked.

"Not this time. We caught Brujon, sent him away this morning. No, I was delayed by a wedding procession. Familiar faces, actually."

"Really?"

"Yes, quite a surprising coincidence, really. The young lawyer who gave us a warning of the robbery at the Gorbeau house, if you remember? Where I learned your name, my love? Turns out the man is a Baron. Lived there in poverty, but he seemed to be doing well for himself now, riding in fine carriages to his wedding. The bride seemed familiar too, though I couldn't quite remember when I've seen her. She wasn't very pretty. Seemed very happy, though."

"I do love weddings," Cosette said with a gentle smile. "They remind me of my own happy day."

"I think we should go and enjoy the rabbit," father said, and her husband helped her rise from her chair. "Shall we?"

Two years later

"Cosette, sweetheart," Javert said, untangling his son from his left leg, "I've some news."

"Do tell, my love," Cosette said, waddling across the floor and sat down on a sofa. She was heavily pregnant. "Anatole, let your father settle down. He's not going to escape, you know."

"My son is a born policeman," he said with a gentle smirk. "He's trying to arrest his own papa."

"We'll take him to my father soon, he can try arrest him daily for a while. The baby will come any day now," she said, and Javert seemed to choke for a while, a strange mixture of laughter and something Cosette couldn't understand.

"Your father will appreciate it. He adores Anatole."

"He does. You had news, my love?"

"Oh, yes. It seems I'll be promoted next month. You're looking at a new commissary of police, wife."

"Wonderful!" she cried, extending her hand to clasp his. "My wonderful Monsieur le Commissaire de Police."

Cosette's third pregnancy and childbirth were rough, and their youngest son, Alexandre, had weak lungs. The entire family — Javert, his wife and father-in-law and their three children — moved away from Paris to a small village an about two days of travel away. Javert retired from his post as commissary of police, but after living a year in the little village he was elected as Monsieur le Maire. Old Monsieur Fauchelevant had laughed so much he cried, and Javert looked put out, although he refused to tell Cosette exactly why. The two men had a lot of secrets together, but Cosette had learned to accept it. They were, after all, the two dearest men in her life.

Monsieur Fauchelevent lived to see all three of his grandchildren born. He died when the youngest child was almost seven years old: he'd had slight pains for quite a while, but in the end he went quite peacefully. He'd moved in with Cosette and Javert half a year previously, too ill to live on his own.

He had spent an hour alone with Javert the previous evening. Though the two men had lived peacefully for several years, they hadn't spoken at length since the night Jean Valjean told Inspector Javert his entire story: the two men spoke now, seriously, openly, of everything, expressing regrets, sorrows, talking about happiness and of the children and Cosette. They shook hands and parted as friends.

That evening, surrounded by his family, old Fauchelevent fell asleep for the last time. Cosette was quite certain he'd addressed someone called Bienvenu Myriel, and he also said the name of Cosette's mother, Fantine. He looked very peaceful, but he was sorely missed: little Anatole, especially, cried for days for his grandfather.

Javert did well as Monsieur le Maire. He was known for being loyal and just, a man who could not be bought or corrupted by any power on earth, unless one counted a smile from his sweet wife, which always seemed to make the strict and harsh-looking man soften. He was a good and adoring father, although the suitors to his second child, his daughter Adeline, feared him greatly: but the man who finally had the honour and pleasure of earning her hand in marriage was a good, successful man who worshipped Adeline as much as Monsieur le Maire Javert worshipped his Cosette.

Adeline and Alexandre looked a lot like Cosette, while Anatole favoured his father in appearance: they had all inherited his honesty, though all three were also as gentle, generous and kind as their mother. Anatole became a policeman and was advancing well in his career: he'd one day become an inspector and quite possibly a commissary of police, Javert proudly thought. Alexandre was studious and went to study law: he would one day become a judge, a well-respected man.

Many men envied Monsieur Javert for his beautiful young wife. They remained true and loyal to each other until the end of their days, and their love was unwavering and undeniable.

When France became a republic in the Great Revolution of 1848, Javert tried to quit his post as Monsieur le Maire, citing that he'd served the old regime. The locals would have none of it: he'd done his job well, and they stopped him from quitting his post. The new government ordered them to have an election, in which they elected for things to remain exactly as they had been before. So much so that after old Monsieur le Maire had passed away, they elected his eldest son to the next Monsieur le Maire, despite the fact that he was very young: for them, if one Javert did the job well, then the second Javert would do just as well as the previous one.

And so he did.

Cosette was 42 years old when she became pregnant for the fourth time. They hadn't expected it: they still loved each other with fiery passion, but their love hadn't led to pregnancy since Alexandre. She was seven months along when she went visiting a local family and tripped in their long and narrow staircase, as their cat sped past her: she fell down hard, and the baby was born prematurely. The baby, a boy, never breathed, and the injuries caused by the fall caused internal bleeding. Cosette Javert died in childbed in the early hours of the morning.

Her death was the beginning of the end for old Javert. He was 77 years old, and though he'd always been a big, strong man, he'd become slightly frail with age. His health began a rapid descent when his wife died: he grieved and refused to eat, then contracted a fever: he was delirious when his elder son last saw him, and spoke to their late mother as if she were in the room. He also addressed someone called "Valjean" with a voice that rang with happiness, though nobody knew or had ever heard that name. During the night he had passed away peacefully.

Javert's children, all well-loved and respected people, buried him next to his wife in the cemetery of that little rural village, and many cried for him. Their children and grandchildren for many generations lived there, or went elsewhere and did many great things.