Sweetheart ( Javert x OC Tragedy, Romance) OneShot

She stared down at the unsteady, creaking oak wood, her short heels clacking. She was dying. Not of an illness; she had not been sick for a long time. Every step, every creak of the crates she got closer to being hanged. He watched with solemn eyes his ex-wife being excuted- twenty-six. She knew, he thought; she knew that by being a surviving Friend of the ABC, she would get herself killed. She stared up. Who was watching her die?; she wanted to know. She screamed, “Javert!” in a desperate voice, breaking free of the guards grip and dashing toward him. She had never been a fast runner, but she sprinted quickly toward him and their son, who was screaming for his mother. “Javert,” she begged, gripping his inspector's coat. “Help me or leave.”

He stared down at her. “Get off of me,” he growled, letting the guards pry her from him.

“Philippe! Please, darling, I love you! Atticus! Atticus, my sweetheart, I love you so much,” she cried, falling on the ground, and pulling her son to her. “I love you, sweetheart, okay?”

“I love you, too, Mommy,” he cooed weakly in his chidish, six-year-old voice, holding out his hand and entangling it in her short, blonde hair. “Don't die, Mommy. Please.”

She let out a sob at the thought of her son understanding the scene. “Javert, Javert, tell them! Tell them I wasn't there in the June Rebellion! I was home with you! Please, darling.” She told the truth. He did not admit it. She had not been home, but she was neither at the June Rebellion.

“Mommy!” Her son sobbed and cried now, holding her tightly. “Mommy, don't leave me, Mommy!” She held him loser to her.

“I'm sorry, darling. I'm so sorry and I love you. I've always loved you, sweetheart,” she rambled, always referring Javert to as darling and Atticus; sweetheart.

Her child. Her little boy. Her perfect baby.

“I love you so much, Mommy. Daddy, daddy, tell them that Mommy is on the good side and that she can't die!” he shouted, hitting his father's leg. Javert squatted down to tell Atticus his opinion, blinded by years of an unfurnished marriage.

“Your mother was a rebel. She disobeyed the law and she is being punished for it,” he growled, taking his son by the shoulders. Atticus pushed Javert away.

“Don't say that, Daddy! Lying is bad! Mommy is good! Please, Daddy, save her!” he screamed to the point of his voice being lost, jumping back into his mother's embrace.

“Okay, okay...” she mumbled, self-satisfyingly regaining herself. “Sweetheart, I love you and your daddy and you never forget that, alright? Because I know in a few years that you'll forget me and the sound of my voice and how long my hair was, but here. It's a letter. Don't read it now, though. Read it every night before you go to bed. Now, I know that you can't read, but Philippe- I mean, Daddy will read it. Right, Philippe?” Javert nodded stiffly. “I love you, Sweetheart.” She pressed her full, red laquered (a sign of an executee) lips to her son's bony, sickeningly pale (like herself) forehead, closed her eyes, and waited a second before pulling them back.

She came up slowly until she was on her high tippy-toes, which only made her about 5', 6”- nothing compared to Javert's towering 6', 2”. “Philippe. Please, save me.”

“Stop that, Ethel. You have more respect than that.” She finally realised that her husband really wouldn't save her. She knew he loved her; didn't he? He loved Atticus, so he must've loved her, too. But, if Atticus had been a girl...

She reached up and pressed her lips to the cheek and slowly grazed herself away from him. “I love you, Philippe,” she admitted. “Atticus, it's twenty-one hundred. Atticus, it's past your bedtime." She waltzed slowly back toward the guards and was put under the guillotine, blade dropping relentlessly.