A/N: I don't speak French (at all) so any errors are due to the online translation tool that I used. Sorry!

Paris Life-Part I

322 Rue Saint-Vincent Apt. 5, Paris, France, 2290.249, 1903 hours. He'd only been in the city a few days when he got the dinner invite from Uncle Callan; and although he was busy with orientation and still living out of boxes there was no way he was going to miss a free meal, especially with those two. In the months since Uncle Pavel died he'd reached out, tried to stay in touch, but the comm calls weren't enough; besides, Max was hardly ever around when he called, always too busy hanging out with his friends to have time for his older cousin. Tonight at dinner he'd be a captive audience.

Or so he thought.

Se'tak took the Metro to a stop near their address in Montmartre then popped into a little wine shop to pick up a host gift before continuing up the hill. He was only a little winded when he got to the top then he stepped inside and saw the lift was out of order and he had another five flights of stairs to climb. Gritting his teeth he trudged up the steps to Callan and Max's flat when he was accosted by a figure in a black hoodie scrambling down.

It took him a second to register that the brown hair poking out of a hole in the hood belong to his cousin.

"Max!" But the person kept on moving away until Se'tak was alone in the stairwell wondering if he'd really seen him. A moment later he was back on his way up the stairs and soon standing in front of their door. He barely finished knocking when it slid open and revealed his Uncle Callan.

"Max, I wish you…oh Se'tak, hi! Welcome! Come in, come in."

He ushered him in quickly then ducked his head back out and looked around the stairwell. So it was Max that I saw, he thought to himself. Despite the smile plastered to his face it was clear Uncle Callan was worried.

Se'tak took a good look around the place. It'd been ages since he'd set foot in the apartment but nothing'd changed. The sleek, modern kitchen was set along the wall to his right and was open to the dining and living room which extended well toward the back of the space. To his left was a bank of windows with a spectacular view of Paris. Furniture, books, paintings, and other homey touches filled out the rest of the room.

"Thanks for inviting me," he said as he handed the bottle over. "The place looks great."

"Thank you," Callan replied, "And thanks for coming." He took the wine and headed for the island separating the kitchen from the dining area and pulled open a drawer to look for an opener. As he rooted around in the kitchen he gestured toward the sofa and chairs in the living room. "Have a seat, make yourself comfortable."

"Thanks." Se'tak crossed the room and chose the armchair facing the windows. As soon as he sat down he had a surreal feeling of déjà vu but he couldn't quite put his finger on why. Meanwhile Uncle Callan removed the cork, filled two glasses, and brought them over.

"Cheers."

"Cheers." They clinked glasses, took a sip, and sat back to admire the view. Dusk was settling over the city and the sky was awash in spectacular streaks of pink, orange, and blue. It was a marvelous sunset.

Uncle Callan took another sip from his glass. "That was Pavel's favorite seat too."

Too? Se'tak asked himself as his body involuntarily stiffened. "I'm sorry, I didn't know," he replied, half-rising from his chair.

"No, I didn't mean it like that. Sit." He motioned for him to sit down and 'Tak wearily re-took his seat. "Did you know he designed this flat? It was just a blank canvas when we bought it."

"I didn't know that."

Callan smiled to himself. "If Pav were here he'd tell you that we worked on the design together but it was really all him. He never told me so but I think that that chair with that view was his favorite because it reminded him of being back on the Bridge."

That's it, he thought to himself, taking in the apartment with new eyes. The design did echo their former home, right down to the wall of windows for a viewscreen; the Enterprise reborn in a Parisian apartment.

Se'tak heaved a soft sigh. "I miss him." He regretted this admission almost immediately knowing that however much he missed his uncle Callan and Max missed him even more.

But Callan didn't judge him a bit. "I miss him too."

Out of the corner of his eye he took a good long look at his uncle. While Mama's home-cooking meant he'd put on a few pounds over the last few months Uncle Callan—who'd always been on the skinny side—was now painfully thin. His hair too was flecked with more gray than he remembered and the frown lines tugging down the corners of his mouth replaced the laugh lines around his eyes. It made him wonder when it was that his uncle last laughed.

As if sensing he was under scrutiny Callan finished his wine and moved to stand. "Well, I hope you're hungry. I found a vintage cookbook when I was out shopping for tonight and I made this artichoke dish that smells absolutely delicious…"

Se'tak followed him. "Uncle Callan, when am I not hungry?"

The joke was obvious—his appetite was prodigious—but it still got a chuckle from the heart-broken man and for a moment they both smiled.

He dropped into a seat at the table just as his uncle discreetly tried to clear a third place setting. "So Max isn't joining us? I thought it was him when he rushed by me earlier. Is he coming back?"

"No, sorry. He…he made other plans for tonight."

"That's too bad."

"Mmmm."

Se'tak looked up and caught the frown tugging down his uncle's face. "Uncle Callan, what is it?"

"It's nothing." The older man tried to brush the comment off and set-up dinner but Se'tak held his gaze. "It's just…never mind."

"If something's wrong I want to help."

"Thanks, Se'tak." He flashed 'Tak a small smile. "I appreciate that. It's good of you to offer but I've got things under control." Callan brought over a basket of bread rolls and placed them right in front of him.

Se'tak glanced up at him skeptically. He didn't necessarily believe him but his uncle looked stressed enough as it was without him adding to the mix. "Alright…" Just then the heavenly scent of butter and fresh bread wafted up his nose and all other thoughts fled as his stomach took command.

?, Paris, France, 2290.259, 0238 hours. He'd picked up a stunning brunette at the bar last night—Natalia—and was currently sound asleep in her bed when the pinging of his personal comm tugged at his consciousness. As he rolled toward the nightstand the beauty beside him moaned and kept a hand possessively on his torso.

"Hello?"

"Se'tak? It's Callan. Is Max at your place by any chance?" His tone was one of barely-contained panic and his Irish brogue was out in full force.

"Max? No, he's not with me but I'm," here Se'tak dropped his voice to even more of a whisper, "I'm not exactly in my own bed right now if you know what I mean."

"What?" A tense second passed. "Oh!"

He could practically feel his uncle flush with embarrassment through the phone. "What happened? Why'd you think he was with me?"

"He…he went out with friends but he never came home. I called the police but they won't do anything until he's been missing for 24 hours. He's stayed out late before but he's never been gone all night and I'm…"

Callan let the thought trail off so he made his uncle answer. "You're what?"

"I'm worried. He's been running around with a rougher crowd ever since Pav died. At first I thought it was a phase but it seems to be getting worse and he just doesn't listen to me anymore." As the truth came out Se'tak quickly swung his legs out of bed and started fishing around on the floor for his hastily discarded pants.

"Did he tell you where he was going when he left earlier?"

"No," his uncle replied, defeated. "He never does."

The last vestiges of sleep were gone and Se'tak was on full alert as he wrangled his shirt on over his head. "Where are you?"

"I'm at home waiting for him. I don't know what else to do."

"I'll be there in 20." He hung up before Uncle Callan could argue.

He hopped out of the cab without a second thought for the cost then raced up the stairs to Callan's apartment. The door swung back at his knock and in the next breath he asked, "Is Max back?"

His uncle was despondent. "No." He turned back into the flat and Se'tak followed hot on his heels. "I've tried all his old friends—they say they haven't hung out with him in months—and I've left at least 2 dozen message on his comm. I…I also called all the hospitals." Suddenly Uncle Callan sank down into the nearest chair and hung his head in his hands. "Oh G-d," he cried, "What if I've lost him too?"

"You haven't lost him," Se'tak replied, offering the comfort while feeling none of the reassurance. "He's just being a 14 year old idiot. We'll find him." And then I'll kill him, he finished mentally. "Do you know the names of any of his new—" here he gritted his teeth and spat out the word "friends?"

Callan took a few deep breaths and tried to pull himself together. "Only 2. Herve Badon and Rocco Vanier. I looked up their numbers earlier. Rocco's parents said he wasn't there and nobody answered at Herve's."

"Then that's where we'll start." Se'tak was already turning toward the door, a hasty plan forming in the back of his mind. "Stay here in case Max comes back while I'm out."

"Se'tak, no…"

"Uncle Callan." He spun around on his heel quickly, towering over his uncle. Se'tak's demeanor softened as he saw the sadness and fear in the other man's eyes. "You can try and stop me but we both know it'll only waste more time."

His uncle shut his mouth and nodded. "Bring him home safe."

And with a curt nod Se'tak turned and quit the room.

12 Rue Lahire, Paris, France, 2290.259, 0320 hours. The 13th arrondisement was a neighborhood in transition. One block was well-kept and full of luxury apartments; the next was covered in grit and graffiti with groups of people clustered at the corners conducting unsavory 'business'. Herve's home was pitched right on the border of the two.

Se'tak ordered the cabbie to wait and stepped out onto the street. His presence garnered a few stares but none lingered on him long. He pulled his jacket tighter around him as the wind kicked up and he hurried toward the house.

After a few tries he realized the buzzer was broken so Se'tak began pounding on the frame with enough force to wake the dead; still, it took another 5 minutes before someone finally answered his knock. A young teen poked his head out, his dark hair sticking up at odd angles and a pillow crease marring his cheek. "Qu'est ce que tu veux*?"

"I'm here for Max," he replied, guessing his cousin was somewhere inside.

He was quickly proven right. "Je m'en fou,*" the tall boy spat back as he attempted to close the door. Se'tak's hand flew up and forced it back open. His eyes narrowed to hard slits as he stared the teen down.

"Je m'en préoccupe*," he coolly replied as he crossed over the threshold. The boy hurled epithets at his back as he took in the scene. The home was small and full of mismatched furniture but was otherwise clean and respectable. To his left family pictures hung on the walls, proving that the surly teen behind him was the eponymous Herve. To his right were a series of jacket hooks filled to overflowing with coats.

One sweatshirt in particular caught his eye.

Se'tak grabbed the hoodie off the hook and shook it in front of the boy's face. "Where is he?"

"Casse-toi!*"

His simmering anger at last bubbled over and 'Tak lashed out, dropping him to the floor in one swift pinch. Thinking that their little scuffle would've been heard by others in the house he turned back around raring for a fight but the hallway remained empty. His unspent rage fueled his search and after checking both the first and second floors (where Herve's parents were noticeably absent) Se'tak made his way to the basement. There, in a haze of smoke and the stench of stale beer hanging in the air, a group of boys and girls lay in various stages of stupidity. Max was slumped over in a corner with a can of lager taped to each hand.

Se'tak picked his way through the pile of teens to his cousin's side. He crouched down beside him and checked his pulse; Max was still breathing but was passed out drunk. "What the hell, Max?" he muttered under his breath as he tore at the tape binding his hands. The cans were practically empty. Behind him the group stirred at the noise but were too caught up in their own stupor to interfere.

Once Max was free he tried to shake him awake but his cousin was still out cold. A few gentle slaps made him blearily open his eyes only to close them just as fast. Draping one arm over his shoulders Se'tak dragged his cousin up the stairs, down the hall, over Herve's prone body, and out the door. The cabbie was still there, snoring away in his seat, the fare meter ticking away. Only after they were underway did he call his uncle. "I've got him."

0508 hours. The early dawn light was peeking in through the curtains by the time he returned to his dorm. It was clear to him that Max was in trouble—serious trouble. His cousin was still too intoxicated by the time they got him home for all the shouting he and Uncle Callan had planned but it'd keep. The only thing was now Se'tak was worried all the yelling in the world might be too little too late to save Max from himself.

* "Qu'est ce que tu veux?" = "What do you want?"

* "Je m'en fou" = "I don't give a f**k."

* "Je m'en préoccupe" = "I do care"

* "Casse-toi!" = "F**k off!"