Uncreative Disclaimer #10: The author does not own the amazingly awesome Amazing Agent Luna. That belongs to Nunzio DeFillipis, Cristina Weir, Shiei, Seven Seas, and anyone whom the title belongs to that I may have neglected to mention.

A/N: Heya, it's been a while! While it's not the one-shot that I was intending for this, it's still JonahXLuna, so I hope that this fulfills eeveecat's long-awaited request. ;) I hope that you enjoy this!

I don't believe that my identification of this drabble/one-shot as the opening scene of Volume 1 is really all that necessary.

Also, I've changed the French to English for simplicity's sake (and because I didn't want to trust GoogleTranslate for additional French).

There Are Many Girls in Paris

Jonah leaned heavily into his metal seat, enjoying the fresh air. He folded his coat collar up to ward off the light chill.

A waiter came by, dressed impeccably in a white dress shirt, black vest, and black slacks. He had not a hair out of place. "What would you like, sir?" he asked him. He started to hand Jonah the café's menu, but Jonah waved it away. Jonah knew everything on the menu already, and he wasn't hungry. He could use something warm to drink, though.

"A coffee," he said, wishing that his French accent was better, but the waiter nodded and walked away. The only good thing that had come out of the French boarding school that his father had stuck him in was that he had learned something of the French language, even if he spoke with an English accent. That immersion lesson was about the only good thing that he had received from his experience in France.

Jonah had finally escaped the boarding school that he hated. It wasn't even that Jonah had had trouble from the female population, because it was an all-male boarding school. At first, they had respectfully kept their distance, and Jonah had been happy to do the same. But then they didn't appreciate that Jonah wanted to maintain that kind of status quo. Then they ragged him for his imperfect accent. Then they had ragged him for hair. Then they ragged him for dress code violation. Then they ragged him for being who he was. Then they started to pick fights. Then they found out that Jonah won his fights. Then they weren't happy that Jonah was winning his fights and they weren't, and they blamed everything on Jonah.

His father had not received the call well that Jonah was being expelled from the school, but Jonah had escaped. He was free. He was leaving tonight. His bags were packed, and while his father hadn't told him where the next school was that he had been enrolled in, he almost didn't care if it was across the ocean as long as he was out of that hated boarding school.

But then again, school was only part of the problem. The other half of the problem was his father, Count Heinrich Von Brucken.

After not seeing his son for almost half a year, his father comes to take him home—but did his father come to see Jonah? No. Of course not. First, he had "come to clean up" the aftermath of Jonah's fight that had nearly killed his aggressor and to smooth things over with the Parisian government, given that the guy who had picked the fight was the child of one of the French diplomats.

Now, Count Heinrich Von Brücken was in a business meeting in the Bruckenstein embassy with some mysterious new client. Mystery clients weren't unusual, and if Jonah was really curious later, he could just hack his father's computer. He had done it before. But that wasn't the root of the matter. The root of the matter was that his father had just about exiled Jonah from the embassy so that he could have his meeting right as Jonah had arrived after dealing with the withdrawal issues at Jonah's school.

There were no questions of: "Hi, Jonah, how are you doing?" "Why didn't you tell me that you were having problems?" "Where would you prefer to go next?" "Would you prefer to be home-schooled or self-study because your history of being kicked out of schools is beginning to demonstrate that you would really prefer to not be in any of the schools that I have placed you in thus far?"

Jonah almost snorted. Those questions were so unlike the count—the count, not Jonah's father—that it was laughable. Besides, Jonah knew, too, that his father had only placed him in the Parisian boarding school for some scheme of his own or to keep Jonah from interfering in some other thing he was planning. His father was so predictable, always screaming, "Revenge! Revenge! Revenge!" like some broken record that it was laughable.

Regardless, Jonah was free. And that was the most important thing.

"Your coffee, sir," the waiter said, appearing from the side and setting a cup of coffee in front of him.

Jonah nodded, reaching forward for the cup. He leaned back in his chair with a sigh, inhaling the aroma. He stirred it to cool it, but he left it black.

If his father exiled him from Europe to the States (as he was starting to fear that he might), he might as well enjoy the coffee while he could. He had heard horror stories of American coffee.

Then again, Jonah could always have some coffee shipped to him. It wasn't like he couldn't afford it. But brewing it yourself wasn't the same.

Jonah glared at the entrance to the embassy, as though the weight of his gaze could summon his father from the depths of the building. It failed. Finally, he sighed and took another sip of coffee. Good, it was strong.

He would miss the coffee. And the way that the lights glittered around the city at night. And the height and the breadth of the Eiffel Tower against the night sky, even if the stars were faint due to the city lights...

There were some aspects of Paris that he might miss, although he'd be grateful if he could see the stars in wherever he was about to wind up next.

Jonah took another sip of coffee, determined to savor every drop. He exhaled a quiet sigh of contentment. The night was so peaceful, yet… No, just peaceful. And quiet. They were strange things, but they were things that Jonah appreciated. Perhaps he appreciated them because it meant that he wasn't bothered, one of the only sources of joy that he could find in life.

As Jonah set his cup down on the saucer, a moving figure caught his eye. His eyebrows rose. It was a young girl. She was dressed casually—much too casually for a European, especially a Parisian, in her capris and rather tacky sweater, with some kind of hood sticking out from the top—and she had a small backpack. But her capris were jean—that probably meant that she was American, although maybe a chance of British or Canadian.

He couldn't put his finger on it, but something about her struck him as American. Then he realized it—her tennis shoes. They were darker, but there was still a white trim. Yes, she was most likely American.

Maybe she was an American student who was studying in Europe? Jonah had heard about backpacking American students—mostly university students—but he had never seen them himself, and it wasn't a vacation time that he could recall. Then again, her backpack was too small for her to be backpacking. Was she studying in Paris and took the night off to wander around? No, she probably would have had a purse rather than a backpack. Besides, American girls tended to travel with other people, at least at night, and this was a young girl. Was she simply that brave or naïve to travel at night by herself in Paris?

No, this was different. She wasn't just walking down the street—she was actually looking at the Bruckenstein embassy. As if it was the place that she was seeking. He hadn't realized many American students even knew that Bruckenstein existed.

This was strange. What if—

Jonah snorted. As if she was a spy. She was much too young. And a girl.

But… she was rather cute. At least, from a distance. She walked confidently, as though she knew exactly where she was going. Jonah had heard the stereotype of Americans always having their noses in a city map because they were lost, but this girl didn't have a map in sight.

Maybe he had misjudged her?

Now he was interested. He wanted to know where she was from to settle his curiosity. He was hesitant to speak with her—what if she tried to hit on him, like so many of the other girls did?—but if she did hit on him, then he could always escape inside the embassy. Even if she tried to follow him inside, it was after hours. He could enter, but she couldn't. Hah.

And if his father threw him out again because of his oh-so-important-meeting-with-his-mysterious-client, then hopefully, she would be gone by the time that Jonah was shoved back out of the door into the Parisian night air. Or Jonah would simply walk out the back door of the embassy rather than the front door.

For now, maybe if he could just catch her attention—oh. She turned, and Jonah caught her eye. He attempted to wave her over—suavely and refined, not eager, like a hapless teenager—but she turned away.

Well. That had never happened before. Maybe she hadn't seen him? No girl had ever turned away after seeing him. Maybe whatever was on her mind had ranked higher than him? If so, that had been a first. Every girl he had met had instantly forgotten their tasks at hand as soon as he turned the corner.

Now he really wanted to speak with her. Any girl that didn't immediately crawl over him—and who appeared to know that his nation existed—was worth a second glance in his book.

It was simply a perk that she was cute and confident.

Maybe she was playing hard-to-get. Jonah could play hard-to-get, too, if necessary.

But he had to actually speak to her first, which would prove to be difficult when, after he abandoned the rest of his coffee, she walked into an alley—which should have been suspicious, but he was too curious to be too concerned—and then seemed to vanish into thin air.

Maybe he had imagined her?

Hm. Maybe he had dreamed of her. There were many girls in Paris. She was only one.

What were the chances that he would run into her again?

He returned to his table, but his coffee had gone cold. He left the table (paying with some Euro change that he had in his pocket, leaving it beside the coffee) and decided to take a walk. It was too early for his father's meeting to be over, and while it would be fun to hear his father's rant if he interrupted—nice payback for having come all this way to ignore him—but he decided that it wasn't worth it. He might have a better opportunity to do so later.

A walk would be nice. He wanted to savor the Parisian lights over the water one last time before he had to leave.

He was walking back, lost in his thoughts, when he bumped into her again. Quite literally, in fact. Or rather, she ran into him and then bounced off of him. He was lucky that he didn't fall himself.

He didn't realize that it was her, at first. He almost yelled at the offending person until he realized that it was her. That girl.

She was currently moaning on the ground. Her hands had broken her fall, and they probably hurt. Cobblestone wasn't as bad as gravel, but there were rough sections of the road, occasionally.

He put on his best smile and said, "Hello, we meet again."

She blushed embarrassedly. Hah, she was cute when she was being bashful. "Oh, um, hello."

Yep, her accent definitely sounded American, but it was good to check. Canadians and Americans supposedly sounded alike. Time to see if he could make her speak some more. "I'm sorry, that was entirely my fault," he said. He extended his hand. "May I please help you up?"

"Oh, um, sure!" she said, stumbling over her words as she accepted his hand. He smiled when he saw a blush pass over her cheeks. So perhaps he did have an effect on her, but her voice was cutely quiet. Maybe she lived near the American-Canadian border and had absorbed the supposed Canadian quietness, although it was possible that not all Americans were loud. But his money was still on the probability that she was American.

"Your accent," he pretended to muse. "Are you from America or Bruckenstein?"

"I'm—" Suddenly, there was a commotion up the road, and she looked up in alarm. "Oh, I'm sorry!" she said quickly. "I really have to go!"

And she was gone.

Jonah might have believed that he had dreamed of her again—a final gift from Paris, the city for romantic lovers—until he remembered that her hand had felt quite real in his. And though dainty, it was a strong hand.

He really wished that he could have asked for her name. He could have found a way to contact her if only he had had her name.

He wouldn't mind having a second meeting with a girl who didn't fawn all over him.

One of the embassy guards arrived from the direction of the commotion and asked if he had a seen a girl. In his haze of happiness, he murmured, "Yes. I've just met the most amazing girl."

Jonah should have been suspicious when he walked in on his father ranting and raving about female ninjas, but it wasn't until he examined the security tapes that he considered the possibility that the ninja appeared to be about her size and frame that it might have been her. And the color of the uniform that she was wearing matched the color of the hood that had been sticking out of her sweater.

He never considered mentioning her to his father. He owed the count nothing. Besides, Jonah had already claimed her as his own, and he wanted to learn more about her first. He preferably wished to start with her name, but if she turned out to be the gutsy ninja who challenged his father with his own sword, all the better.

There were many girls in Paris, and it appeared that he might have found one for himself.

A/N: Just a little drabble/one-shot on what Jonah was doing in Paris. The opening scene bugged me a little, because it didn't seem to fit as well with the rest of the story and the character development that happens later, so I played around with it to try and answer my questions. And this was born. I hope that you enjoyed it!

On a side note, some of the dialogue I have retained from the manga, but some I have not. The line, "There are many girls in Paris" was retained, and one of the reasons why it was chosen for the title was because they were Jonah's words.

On another side note, I didn't include Jonah asking for the bill (since my research tells me that, in France, you need to ask for the bill before it is printed for you). So, Jonah did pay, but he left the money on the table since he didn't feel like waiting for the waiter to return. According to my research, he probably offended the staff by not allowing a farewell, so it's good for him that he's leaving Paris. :P

Finally, since I can't reply to you any other way, a warm thank you to my anonymous reviewer Cyborg for your string of reviews. I've never received so many for this collection at once. :)