A/N: Well, this certainly took a long time to get finished! Originally this project was just going to be the single chapter and ended up spiraling out of my control, but that's the muse for you. I'm glad that you all enjoyed reading this and I thank all of those who reviewed very much for their review. They make my day, they really do! I also would like to thank those of you who happened to inspire me to work on this final chapter during finals and Midsummer and for making me get it done. This is the final chapter, there will NOT be another chapter in this story. However, I am working on another story centering around these two taking place in the modern era, although I doubt I'll actually start on it until the school year begins. Until then expect a few random oneshots while I re-read the book, and enjoy this final chapter!

Jean Valjean started to run. Run faster than he had ever run, faster than he had ever needed to run in his entire life. Even that awful night when Javert had stalked him and Cosette around all of Paris he hadn't run this fast, but then again, he hadn't been nearly as worried that time. His heart was pounding in his ears as he thundered down the streets, paying no heed at the angry shouts of those who had been sleeping when he passed their houses and he had woken up.

Time seemed to slow down and speed up at irregular intervals. As Valjean sprinted down one street toward the river time would slow until it felt like he was barely moving at all, but then he would turn a corner and time would speed back up and his heart would be hammering in his chest. It was all together too far to the banks of the river, and he might have gotten the wrong area or the wrong bridge or a thousand other variables that could turn out any way but all that really mattered, all that he could think about, was that if Javert vanished, he had no reason left to live.

What sort of reason could there be, without Javert? The younger man was his everything. For more than twenty years, they had given thought to nothing but each other, and now that he was about to lose the inspector he was terrified.

Skidding around a corner and laying terrified brown eyes on the river that finally came into his sight line, the ex-convict's eyes were drawn to a black silhouette on top of a nearby bridge.

"Javert!" The scream ripped forth from his throat at the exact same moment that his feet started to pound on the ground again and the distance between the two men became smaller and smaller. Just as Valjean reached the bridge and ran toward the inspector, holding out his hand in entreaty and prayer and the simple desire to not watch his best friend and his worst enemy jump into the Seine, Javert looked over.

Their eyes connected, and time froze. They simply looked at each other, not saying a word, over the twenty or thirty feet of bridge that separated them. Javert opened his mouth as if to say something, but then his hand where it had been holding onto a lamppost slipped, and time sped up again.

The tall form of the gypsy toppled forward, falling inexorably downward with the force of gravity. Another scream ripped from Valjean's throat, but this time it wasn't articulate, it was simply a scream. He propelled himself with the last of his strength to the railing and threw his hand over the side, and felt another hand settle around it. Javert hung, fifty feet above the rushing rapids below, and stared up at his prey.

"So you figured it out." He finally said. Valjean nodded.

"Javert, why...why would you do this?" The inspector looked the convict in his eyes, more pain in those green depths than Javert would ever feel comfortable articulating, and finally he spoke.

"Because things are better off without me." The hand in Valjean's went lax, and the older man scrambled, tried to hold on, and just barely caught Javert before he plunged into the water. One hand was his lifeline on the railing, the other his lifeline with Javert. Silence hung in the summer air, and their hands slipped further and further apart, and Valjean could feel the tears coursing down his cheeks but could do nothing to stop them.

"Goodbye, Jean."

Their hands separated, and Jean Valjean watched in unabashed terror as the person he cared about most in the entire world hit the rough water of the Seine and vanished under the waves. A slight splash was all that came up, and he didn't move—the one hand outstretched, grasping for something that was no longer there, his head spinning as his heart broke into one thousand pieces. His mind grasped for the idea that Javert was gone, irrevocably gone, dead and in the water below but couldn't believe it.

Five minutes passed.

Ten minutes passed.

An hour passed.

Two hours passed.

Time stretched on.

At last, Valjean gave up hope and collapsed against the railing on the bridge, his body wracked with sobs as he tried to control himself, dry heaves making him shake. It was all setting in and making sense now, how everything had happened. He couldn't or wouldn't believe it, but the part of his brain that was still making some sort of sense was stating that, quite obviously, Javert was dead. He had drowned in the Seine. It was all over. When at last Valjean managed to get ahold of himself, he pulled his knees up to his chest and took a deep breath before standing shakily up and making the long walk back to his house. Each step was a thunderclap to him, each breath hurt more than he could ever say.

When he reached his house, he didn't even say anything to Cosette. He simply lay down and closed his eyes and prayed to never move again.

Months passed. Cosette and Marius got married, and Valjean told Marius the truth. Valjean stopped seeing Cosette.

Jean Valjean got very, very sick.

He was laying on his death bed, shallow breaths echoing in and out of his lungs. Beside him knelt the angelic form of his daughter, his perfect Cosette. He was too far gone then to hear what she was saying, although he could see by the look on her face that it was the words 'papa, papa' over and over again as she clutched at his hand as if the very feeling of her hand could tie him to life. He had never told her of Javert's death, could never bring himself. His heart was already broken and shattered, there was no need to tear it even more asunder. He wanted to die at least somewhat happy, knowing that Cosette was by his side. Slowly, Valjean's breath began to peter out and he let his eyes fall shut, knowing death was just around the corner.

Quiet, peaceful death. In death, he would be able to see Javert again. That was all he wanted.

In the haze of his final moments, the door to the room banged open and Cosette screamed. The noise catapulted Valjean back into life and he looked up in surprise to see who had barged in and his eyes connected with—

Nothing. He had imagined it all. It was simply his mind playing tricks on him. The doctor heard the death rattle, knew that the final moments were near, and turned away. Cosette was still crying, Marius still had his hand on her shoulder, and Jean Valjean died. It was painless as he slipped away. Absolutely painless.

Because now, he could be with Javert again.

THE END.