Title: Reunion

Author: Fins-Best-Friend

Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't sue.

Chapter 9

SVU Squadroom

4:00 P.M.

"Zita Plouvin, we-"

"Not now, John." Zita said, cutting him off as she typed Fin's access code into his computer. Justin had sent the GPS locations to Fin, assuming that he would send them on to Zita if it was of any importance; however, as Fin was not always at his computer, she had simply always logged into his without learning any other detectives' access codes. She regretted that now, as one of the humans she was mad at was situated directly across from her and showed no intention of moving.

"How'd you know that password?" Fin asked, watching his computer screen from over Zita's shoulder and absent-mindedly retrieving his keys from Luc, who had followed them hin the squadcar from Rikers.

"Mad skills." she replied, accessing his e-mail files and proceeded to copy and paste locations into a new document.

"What are you doing?" Luc asked, "What do those have to do with us?"

Zita did not really want to explain, but Luc's pestering would get annoying after a few minutes if she failed to answer. "Bruno slipped up. He said we could look all over France – all over Europe – and not find Anna-Marie Delacroix, so he must have hidden her somewhere outside Europe. He didn't go by ship to the US, he went by private jet, so chances are, she's not in the ocean, and, since he made no remarks as to the fact that she is dead, and he would have if she were, she's alive. He would have kept her nearby before his incarceration, so he could keep an eye on her. Where else has he been, but in the States?"

"So you're finding out where he's been?"

"Where he's been most besides the chateau, yes. Are you up for a roadtrip, Luc?"she asked, printing out the pages.

Before he could reply, John held up a hand. "Not a chance. You two are not going on this little adventure alone."

Fin and Luc winced. The Irish temper was about to erupt.

Zita rounded on John, her eyes blazing. "If this were your case, searching for a little girl, I don't think you'd be referring to it as a 'little adventure,' John, nor would you let someone get in the way of you doing your job. She may still be alive, but I doubt for much longer, so get out of my way!"

Thrown off by her hostility, John did not respond, but was thankful when Fin did it for him. "Zita, no police force in the world would let two detectives go off on their own like this outside their jurisdiction. Bruno would have people there to guard Anna-Marie. I don't need to expound on what could happen – you already know. You should take some others with you." he told her, leading her away from John, Luc, and the silent, staring crowd.

"Like who? This is a French case – the other five are at the chateau talking to the staff and going through the rooms and heaven only knows where Antoine is at any given time. You told me that you went out of stuff like this with only you and your partner before."

"And your's is an American case with French cops on it. As for only me and my partner working without back-up: it was stupid and I've had this job for years. Experience outweighs knowledge. Would it be so bad to take a couple other people with you?"

Zita knew there was no future in arguing. Fin had been divorced before and had, through it, become a very good debater. "Again, like who? Cragen's busy, Elliot and Olivia are working on two other cases at the same time, and you and John have a growing mountain of paperwork. I don't want you to get in trouble for not getting stuff done."

"I got no one to go home to, I've got no reason to leave work at work. John hates paperwork as it is and I'll keep him outa your hair. He just cares about you. Being overprotective is what fathers do . . . and father-figures." he added quickly, hoping Zita had not caught his near-mistake, which, of course, she had, but now was not the time to ponder it.

"I know." Zita grumbled, still annoyed. "Just let me drive."

Cabin off Highway 90

Southeast of Rome, New York

7:00 P.M.

Zita had almost lost control several times when John's panicked instructions reached too high a pitch for her to ignore. Fin and Luc managed to stay on top of things by hitting their partners with Pez candy pieces before the two of them said something they would have regretted. They were running out of Pez and Zita had managed to snatch Luc's dispenser and throw it out the window at least three times, only for him to produce yet another. Unfortunately, they were only three hours into the trip.

The merry band had decided to head to the farthest point on the map first and work their way back to Manhattan, reasoning that Bruno would want to keep his prize as far away from the NYPD's radar, to say nothing of that of the French police.

"I swear, Luc, the next time you throw a Pez at me –" Zita started, but was interrupted by another Pez hitting her nose. She glared at Fin, who had thrown the second piece, through the rear view mirror. "Whatever I was going to do to him goes double for you. Let's go."

The cabin was small and easy to break into and out of. It did not take long for them to realize that Bruno would have never left the little girl there. Unfortunately, the case was the same for the next two locations. A kidnapper would have had to be a fool to have left his hostage in any of the buildings they found.

"We should head back to the city." John said when they fell back into the car after searching the second location, "It's getting close to nine thirty and Zita and I have a court date tomorrow morning."

Zita leaned back in the driver's seat, taking a deep breath and letting it out through her teeth in annoyance and frustration, an act that might have earned her a Pez to the ear if she had not stolen Fin and Luc's supply and buried it at the first cabin. At least, all of the ammunition she could grab. "And why wasn't I told?"

"I would have told you earlier, when you and Luc got back to the station, but you caught a lead and wouldn't have listened if I told you."

Sensing an argument coming on, Fin finally managed to lay hands on and wield a stick of Mentos, shaking it at John. "Don't start. You could have told her earlier."

"So much for getting rid of all your ammo." Zita muttered loud enough for Luc to hear.

"You shouldn't've let us go into that gas station shop alone."

Zita glanced over at Luc. "What're you doing?" she asked as she pulled out of the "driveway."

Luc's closed laptop was littered with parts from a Pez dispenser and a clicky pen, two large, mangled paperclips, and bits of candy. "I'm putting my mind to work." he answered, fitting a spring from the pen and one of the paperclips into the tube part of the Pez dispenser.

"Doing what, exactly?"

"Doing this." he said, taking aim and snapping the dispenser's cartoon head back, firing a Pez, which hit the side window, barely missing her.

Zita sighed again. "If you keep doing that, you're walking home. I mean it this time."

Zita's/John's Townhouse

1:30 A.M.

January 11, 2004

Fin had pulled John from the car when Zita dropped him off around midnight at his apartment and held a short, whispered conversation with him before entering his building. John got back in the car and managed not to say anything until after Luc disappeared into his room. However, when he turned around to say what he had been mentally rehearsing since Fin left, Zita had vanished into her room and shut the door all the way. He knew better than to try to talk to her now – things would be better in the morning.

It was, perhaps, an hour later that John, who was sitting in his room, going over a case file, heard Zita's door close and footsteps on the stairs leading to the roof. He knew better than to think suicide – when Zita promised something, she stuck to it – but her death may occur without her meaning to. She never wore a coat unless he forced her and it was a balmy four below.

John sighed and headed downstairs to get her coat. She would not have to like it, but he was going to get her to wear something warmer than a hoodie if it killed him.

When John finally reached the roof, his breathing slightly heavy and his body shivering, he shook his head at what he saw. Zita did not even have a long-sleeved shirt on; just an old Paris police t-shirt. He was about to say something when he heard her. At first, he thought she was talking on the phone, but then he realized that he had seen her cell phone charging on the kitchen counter downstairs. He took a few steps closer to her and listened to what she was saying.

". . . And I don't know what to do anymore. This whole search for Anna-Marie is so far-fetched, it almost doesn't seem real. There's too many variables. And even if we do find her, it'll probably be too late. It's so cold out and she can't have much food left – if any." she sighed, "You'd've found her by now, Mom, you'd've found her on your own. You'd've fixed everything by now. I suppose I'll never find out how you did it, will I?"

John sniffed silently. He could not blame her, even though, after his father died, he had thought it stupid to speak to a dead person. It was why he still felt guilty. He had never apologized for his last words to his father.

"Has she answered yet?" he asked after about five minutes of silence.

Zita turned around, startled by his voice, but did not say anything. She turned back around as he approached and draped her coat around her shoulders. "You're going to freeze out here." he said, leaning against the railing beside her, gazing out at the city.

"It's almost as if she knew he'd be after her. Like she knew she was going to die." Zita whispered, almost inaudibly, more at the night sky than to John.

John thought back to the two letters Bowan had written and placed in her journal, which CSU had returned the morning after.

"Like . . . like . . ." Zita tried to continue, but could not for the sobs that were choking her.

John could not take it anymore. He pulled Zita into his arms and held her like a baby as she cried. "Like she wanted to let you know how she'd hold you if her arms could reach. It's why you stand on the roof – to be as near to her as you can."

Zita sniffed, trying to control her sobs long enough for her to speak. "How do you know?"

John stroked her hair. "I've been around too much, lost enough people, not to know. Of course, the rooftops I stood on weren't always as nice as this one. Heck, I didn't always have a rooftop."

They were silent for a few minutes – no sound but stars and the light bustle of the early-morning streets below.

"Hey, John?" Zita asked finally, turning her face so that her words would not be muffled by his coat.

"Hmmm?"

"Can I call you dad?"

John was taken aback by the question. He and Bowan had not really discussed it that much, figuring that, once they were married, he could simply adopt Zita, regardless of her true paternal history. Yet there was another realization under the surprise. He had not wanted to admit it, even to himself, but Fin had been right when he confronted John in front of his apartment building. John had not exactly been trying to make her job easier and he had been treating her like a child, rather than a cop, actions that should earn her an apology. And, even without his asking, he had been forgiven.

He squeezed her tighter. "You can call me whatever you want, sweetheart."

Casey Novak's Office

9:24 A.M.

January 11, 2004

"What do you mean, 'deal'?"

"Both Zita and Bowan said that Pierre brought other men into this rape loop. Benoît bypassed me and authorized a deal with Branch, as these other men had been proven by court records and Pierre's testimony to the DA to be convicted pedophiles and rapists in France. Pierre's serving life in a minimum security prison in exchange for the names of the men. I've already faxed Ludont a copy." Casey told Munch and Zita, more than slightly annoyed at the situation.

"Don't worry. Ludont is prosecuting-happy. They'll do life, too, all of 'em." Zita said. "What's Pierre getting for almost beating Gabrielle Renoulle to death?"

"He's got life, Zita. I can't make them keep his dead body in a prison cell."

"What about putting him in tighter security? He's not very strong, but he's smart and charismatic. It wouldn't surprise me at all if he wound up with a following among other sex offenders there. They could help him break out."

"We can't. It's already a done deal. But don't worry. Bruno won't get off so easily. He's going to court. Especially after what Xavier told me yesterday." Casey said, her eyes going slightly hazy at the mention of the ex-bodyguard's name.

"What did he tell you yesterday?" John asked, fiddling with one of the knickknacks on her desk.

"He said that Zita had called Etienne to tell him that she and Luc had pinned Bruno on their double homicide/kidnaping and that they wouldn't be back until late because they were out looking for the girl who was kidnaped." Casey answered, as though that was all he had said, hoping the two detectives would leave it at that.

Unfortunately for Casey, that was hardly Zita's intention. The teenager leaned back in her chair. "You and Xavier seem to be getting rather close. Is there anything else you want to tell us about your conversation last night?"

Casey applied herself fiercely to the task of tidying up her desk, trying desperately not to blush. "Nnnno. Now, I've got an awful lot of work to do, so, if you don't mind . . ."

"Actually, we've got a lot of work to do as well." John said, standing, "Let's go, Zita."

"I'll be back, Casey." Zita warned, grinning, "You haven't seen the last of me."

As the elevator's doors shut behind them, John and Zita burst into helpless laughter.

"She's got a lot of work to do, my eye! Reggie could see past that – and his eyebrows cover his eyes."

"Did you see that blush? I didn't know it was humanly possible to turn that color!"

Back in Casey's office, the ADA grabbed her phone, dialing a familiar number.

"Hello, Casey."

"Etienne, are you going to the hospital today?"

"Yeah, actually, I'm right outside. He's taken to flushing the hospital food down the toilet and ordering from the dollar menu at McDonald's. I guess his first brush with death wasn't enough. Now he's pushing for heart disease."

"When you get to his room, can you have him call me?"

"Sure, is that all?"

"Uh, one more thing. Would Zita be mad or fire Xavier if she found out we'd been seeing each other since early November?"

Etienne laughed. "Not a chance. In fact, if she knows, she's probably planning your wedding." He did not feel it necessary to mention that, chances were, Zita already knew and was in the process of arranging a honeymoon in Paris for the couple.

Casey tried to hide her sigh of relief. "Okay, thanks, Etienne."

"Anytime."

"So, since there's no trial today, I assume you're planning on heading back out to re-start your search?" John asked as Zita wove in and out of traffic.

"I'll have to stop by to see if Fin and Luc are free." Zita answered, honking her horn at a driver who seemed so entranced by the green light above to have any remembrance as to what it meant.

"They were planning on coming to the trial, so I'll bet they're free, for a while, at least." he replied, gripping the handle on the door so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Zita had never gotten in an accident, but she had come close. "Why do you need Fin?"

"Because you don't want me and Luc traipsing around New York alone." she answered, coming to an abrupt stop to keep from flattening a jaywalker.

"Um, about that." John began, "I was being paranoid. You didn't become a detective so soon for your health and they didn't give you a badge just because they felt like it. If you and Luc are all right going with it alone, that's fine – just be careful."

"Are you serious, Dad?" she asked, stunned, "Do you need to lie down? See a shrink? Maybe be bled by leeches?"

"Ha, ha, very funny. I'm serious, Zita, go."

"You're actually going to let me go alone with Luc?"

"Yeah, go."

"And you're not stoned?"

"Zita!"

"You're sure about this?"

"Yeah!"

"Okay, thanks. Do you want me to drop you off at home or at the station?"

"I've got some things to catch up on at work. If you're not back by the time I'm ready to go, I'll catch a ride home with Elliot."

"All right," she said, pulling up in front of the stationhouse. "I'm going back home to switch cars. Is there anything you need?"

"Is there anymore of that Oreo thing you made the night before last or did Luc finish it off?"

"Dad, there's about half of it left. Luc doesn't eat that much."

John chuckled. "Don't cover for him, Zita. I saw him eat at that buffet the other night. They had to re-stock it twice."

Zita had not argument. Luc fit nicely between stringbean and muscles-like-a-Michelangelo-statue-buff, but he could eat enough to feed a small, third-world country. "You want anything else?"

"Do we have any plastic silverware?"

"I think so."

"I think that's it."

"All right, I'll be back."

2:00 P.M.

There were ten more remote locations left to be searched. Thankfully, they were relatively close together. Zita had patted Luc down, looking for small pieces of candy, which he had been throwing at her since the day before, even when she and John were not arguing. They were slowly driving her insane and she was determined to avoid the small missiles and their launching mechanism, the humiliated Pez dispenser.

"Turn left at the next street." the Bentley's computer GPS voice uttered from the speakers.

"That voice is getting really annoying." Luc grumbled.

"Then learn how to read a map." she said, turning down yet another one of the numerous dirt roads that had begun to make Zita regret not renting a jeep, or at least a less-expensive car than the luxury one from Britain, identical to the one her grandfather had purchased for her for appearance's sake six months before she left for the states. He made sure that plenty of teen magazines were present at the party. She smiled. The party had lasted well into the early morning hours, but the Paris newspapers were reporting a triple homicide case solved by Detectives Luc Brenoille and Rachelle Plouvette at 10:30 that night. The duo had made front-page news. Luc had waited for her outside the estate and they snuck off with the partiers none the wiser. They had come perilously close to having "Rachelle Plouvette's" identity exposed that night, even with the photographers unable to get a shot of her.

Well, it's exposed now. Zita thought, No more hiding from the public like that.

Somehow, she doubted she would miss it.

8:00 P.M.

"This is the last stop. She's got to be here." Luc said, moaning slightly as he stepped from the car. It had been a cold, fruitless day of searching, but, at last, the had come to the final house. By process of elimination, this had to be where she was.

It was not much. Less of a house than a shed. They scoured the floor of the empty shack for any sign of a trap door leading down to a hidden room, or even, hopefully not, disturbed dirt where he had buried her.

Nothing. No footprints outside leading anywhere but to the door either.

"We must've missed something. Have any of the teams radioed back yet?" Luc asked when they piled back in the car.

"Or I was dead wrong. He could've stashed her anywhere before we got the locator on the car, including Canada. CSU's been all over the chateau – they found rooms I never knew existed, and I used to explore the place all the time when I was a kid. If she was there, they'd've found her." Zita said dejectedly, turning the heater on high and sat, her head resting on the steering wheel, waiting for the engine to heat up.

"You're not giving up, are you?" Luc asked, suddenly alarmed by his partner's gloomy mood.

"Of course not!" she snapped, but her voice carried more sadness and frustration than sting. "It's just that our greatest hope of finding her has proved to be our greatest dead end and the longer she stays hidden, the greater her chances are of being found dead. And it would've been my fault."

"Zita Rachelle Plouvin –"

"Don't call me that!" Zita yelled, "I never believed he was my father and I won't go by his name!"

Luc was almost startled by the outcry. Perhaps this whole ordeal had finally begun to take its real toll. "Zita, none of this, any of this, is your fault. You were ten years old when this all happened – you couldn't have stopped him; and now, rather than moping in a corner and throwing a pity party, you're out there doing something about it, and trying to keep it from happening to others and bringing the perps to justice when we're too late to stop them. The perps are at fault, not you."

"It's kinda hard to bring him to justice, Luc," Zita said, "when I'm too worried about a little girl that's out there right now, probably alive but wanting to die and there's nothing I can do about it."

The duo had taken the scenic route back to the city and the clocks were striking ten thirty when Zita dropped Luc off at the townhouse, explaining that she had something to do at the station before coming home. He was tempted to go with her, but he knew she needed to be alone right now. Why she wanted to be alone at a police station, he would never know, but he let it drop.

"Is there any more of that Oreo stuff left?" he asked her as he got out of the car.

"I doubt it." she said, making a mental note to double the recipe next time she made it.

SVU Squadroom

11:30 P.M.

Zita sat at John's desk, pouring over New York State's abandoned children database. If there was the slightest chance that Anna-Marie was in America and that she might have broken out of whatever containment cell Bruno had been keeping her in, maybe someone, somewhere had reported it. A girl who only spoke the most basic English – probably not enough to get by on – would draw attention. The girl's face had been burned into her memory from looking at it so much over the past eight months. Picture after picture proved a disappointment – none of the images that popped up from the search engine matched the picture given to her by the girl's father. But Bruno could have changed her appearance – dyed her hair, fake tanner, etc. Her search suddenly got a lot harder.

"Any luck?"

Zita jumped at the echo of Don Cragen's voice in the, for once, empty squadroom. "Oh, Captain, I didn't know anyone was here."

Cragen, who had been standing in the doorway of his office, dressed in navy blue-striped pajamas, walked over to stand behind her, sighing as he arrived. "I don't go home much."

He pulled up a chair. "John tells me you think your victim's in the States?"

"I'm not so sure anymore. Luc and I finished searching the GPS locations we had from what Justin sent Fin. Nothing. No signs of anyone inside, least of all a small child. There weren't even any tire tracks outside most locations." she replied wearily through a yawn, leaning back in her chair.

"And you think that someone found her?"

"I've got to look somewhere. I don't wanna think that Bruno had a Canadian friend pick her up, and Bruno could've changed what she looked like, so it's near-impossible to get a hit on any photo databases." she sighed again, "I can't help but think that my mom would have found her months ago."

"Zita, you're doing the best you can."

"Well, my best obviously isn't good enough. That family's been through enough. I don't want to have to tell them that their only child left has disappeared into thin air or that she's dead, too."

"Maybe you're getting too close to this case – too personal."

Zita shook her head. "No, I'm passionate about all my cases. It's why I've got a good record. Only one unsolved case. That's a kidnaping one, too."

"Is? You're working two of these at once?"

"No, that case was declared cold a year and a half ago. I guess we all have that one case we keep in our back pocket to chew on, huh?"

Cragen nodded in agreement. He had several. "Tell you what, kiddo," he said, throwing an arm around Zita's shoulders, "if you get me a recent picture of your missing friend, I can put out an amber alert in the morning. We can alert the Canadian officials if you think they may have crossed the border. You're a good detective, Zita, but no detective can do something like this all on their own or even with their partners. Sometimes, it takes a station."

Zita logged off the database, predicting the topic of Don's next statement, "I guess you're right." she admitted grudgingly.

Cragen ruffled her hair. "I'm glad you agree. Now, besides the picture, I have one more condition to ask of you before I send out the alert."

"And what's that?"

"You go home and go to bed." he said, turning John's computer off.

"I suppose I don't have choice?"

"No, you don't. If you were my detective, I'd have sent you home hours ago. I've never seen someone your age with bags like those under their eyes. You look like you're in your thirties."

"Gee, thanks." Zita said sarcastically, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "All right. But just for you."

"I appreciate it – and so does John. He's probably worried sick."

"I wouldn't be surprised." Zita said standing. "'Night, Cap'n."

"Good night, Zita." he replied as she turned to go, then stopped her again as she reached the doorway.

"Oh, and Zita?"

She turned in reply.

"You're mother's proud of you.

It was the best thing she'd heard all day.