Disclaimer: Lyrics belong to Jewel and Ben Harper.
Chapter Two
*i'm blending, i'm blurring, i am bleeding into the scenery*
"Rachel! It's 11:30, you better leave now if you want to meet Vittoria on time," a teenager calls out from the back of a quaint bookstore after casually glancing at the clock on her left. Rachel, who had been dusting the books towards the front swears under her breath, throws down the duster, and runs to fetch her coat and gloves from the back. A grateful smile is on her face as she thanks her assistant. "Thanks, Marie."
Marie smiles in turn, handing Rachel a small, leather-bound book. "You know how Vittoria gets when someone's late. Make sure you give this to her, it's the numbers for this month."
"Oh, I almost forgot! I don't know what I'd do without you." Rachel replies as she crams the book into her purse and runs out the front of the store, pausing only to pull the gloves over her hands. Walking briskly, she makes it to the restaurant three blocks down just in time to see Vittoria being seated near the window.
"Salut!" Vittoria stands up to kiss Rachel's cheeks before they sit across from each other, smiling widely. They've been friends for about nine months now, ever since Rachel began to work for Vittoria's aunt at the bookstore, Livre Poussiéreuse, which Rachel now owns. Aunt Sophie retired to the country three months ago, and offered to give ownership to her niece, who refused and recommended Rachel. Vittoria still does some bookwork, however, so that keeps them close together.
Rachel notices Vittoria's rosy complexion, and she narrows her eyes, knowing very well what that means. "What did Andre do?" she asks warily, fearing that she was going to be dragged to a club that night.
Vittoria's eyes widen, surprised that Rachel can read her so well. Dropping her gaze to the tablecloth, she traces a pattern with the tip of her finger. "He left his cell phone at my apartment, and a Camille Delacroix called, asking when he was available for dinner, because she had so much fun the last time. I gave him his cell phone back today, after I'd tossed it around in the blender a few times." She pauses before looking up with a joking smile. "That reminds me. I need to go shopping for a new blender."
Rachel leans back in her chair with an exasperated sigh. "Merde, Vittoria. You keep going through all these guys. She could have been a coworker, you know? It wouldn't have hurt to talk to Andre about it."
Her friend picks up a menu, and as she scans, replies, "It doesn't matter, and besides, you're the last person to be giving relationship advice. I've known you what? Almost a year? And you've never been farther than a first date, and not unless I practically threaten you to go."
When Rachel doesn't answer, Vittoria looks up to see her studying the menu with a fierce concentration, and she knows she's said too much. "Look, Rachel, you haven't told me much about what your life was like before you came to Paris, so I'm sorry if your love life is like it is because of past relationships, but you haven't told me, so I assume you're just shy."
Rachel's expression softens, and a grimace passes over her features. She looks up at Vittoria slowly, choosing her words carefully. "That was one of the reasons why I left America, because of a relationship. I'm still healing over that.
Sensing her reluctance to share, Vittoria doesn't say anything until the waiter comes, and they sit in silence for a few minutes longer. Remembering the book, Rachel pulls it out of her purse and hands it across the table. "The numbers for the store. We've done well this month, I think Sophie would be proud."
Vittoria nods, a smile growing in remembrance of her favorite aunt. "Yes, she would. I still don't understand why she thinks she'll be happier out in the country. She loves that store. Although, I do think she's starting to lose it. I almost fainted when she told me she wanted me to run the store! Me? A bookstore owner? The thought is crazy! You don't know how relieved I was when she took my recommendation."
Laughing, Rachel raises her eyebrows. "I believe I do, because you called me in a panic, telling me if I didn't take it you'd haunt me when you died." They laugh together as their food arrives, and they enjoy the good French food, commenting and tasting each other's dishes. Although they've frequented this restaurant often in the past months, they both love to exclaim over how good the cuisine is. Towards the end of their meal, Rachel feels the hairs at the base of her neck stand on end. Her spy training goes on full alert, but she notices nothing within the restaurant.
As they are preparing to walk outside, they see a friend, and walk over to her table. "Noelle! Salut!" Noelle stands to hug them both warmly, commenting on how long it's been since the last time they saw each other. "My cousin from America is in the bathroom, can you stay long enough to meet him?"
Glancing at her watch, Rachel sees that she was expected back at the store several minutes ago. "I'm afraid not, Noelle. I have to get back to the store. Perhaps some other time?"
"What about tonight? We can meet at that new club that just opened. Sound good?" Vittoria offers, grinning at Rachel's pained expression. Whenever they go to clubs together, Vittoria does everything in her power to set Rachel up with any man they pass. "Come on Rach, it'll be fun."
Noelle grins wickedly. "Yes, perhaps you can get closer to my cousin," she says with a wink. Vittoria has let it be known that Rachel needs a man, and usually their friends are more than willing to try to set her up.
Giving in with a sigh, she shrugs her shoulders. "Fine, fine, I'll go. But right now, I have to get back to the store. Au Revior!" With that she leaves the restaurant and makes her way back to the store and Marie. Vittoria, however, stays behind to chat with Noelle since she has an extra twenty minutes before she is expected back at her office.
A man approaches Noelle, and Vittoria flashes him a flirtatious smile. "Vittoria, this is my cousin, Michael. Michael, this is my friend Vittoria. We're going to meet her and her friend Rachel at the new club tonight."
"Pleasure," he smiles thinly as he shakes her hand.
"No, that would be mine," she smiles in return, as he releases her hand. "I don't want to interrupt your lunch, so I'll be on my way. See you tonight!"
As Rachel nears the shop, she slows her pace and sighs inwardly. Again she felt she was getting too close to Vittoria, and should pull away in case something happened to cause her to leave, but could never bring herself to do it. Vittoria had such a strong personality it was hard to remember that she had no idea who Rachel really was. 'I should leave, before it gets any harder', Rachel thought, as she entered the shop. It was very difficult to remember what she was thinking however, when she greeted customers browsing the shelves. She truly did love this job, even though it was hardly exciting.
In the dark of night, little voices would scream at her, asking why she couldn't have this life in LA, why she didn't go home and make this life there. Always she pushed them away, convincing herself that this life wasn't possible back there. Convincing herself that she could only live as a chameleon. A long time ago the idea that she had to live in a web of lies to survive was brought to her attention, and it frightened her, because she knew it was the truth. That was the real reason she had run. The lies had disappeared, and she was lost without them.
***
* every time I hear you laughing it makes me cry; like the story of life is hello, goodbye*
"Mike! Hey, Mike!" Weiss calls out behind him as he attempts to leave the Ops Center. Turning around with a bored expression, he raises his eyebrow pointedly.
"What? You do you I have to catch a flight in an hour, right?"
"Yea, yea, visiting the relatives and all that, but listen.do you want me to call if I hear anything?" he asks, with an air of nervousy, unsure if he should have asked.
Michael winces inwardly, and with a bit more venom than he intends, replies, "It's been almost a year. You won't hear anything." Without waiting for a response he turns on his heel and walks briskly to the car, fighting the waves of pain that still course over him. As much as he'd like to deny it, he's still hurting from the betrayal.
He'd been convinced it was a set up, so sure she was locked up in some room in some Russian or Middle Eastern prison. It wasn't until he was handed proof, a loan from a local shark under the alias 'Kate Jones' and the video feed that he gave up his search. It had burned him from the inside out, consuming his heart until it was only a pile of ashes. Everything he believed was turned upside down, he became angry and reclusive.
Work became his safe haven, because he could bury himself in reports and mission planning and homeland security. He could forget his grief and misery for those hours, and was ordered to have sessions with Barnett to determine what was causing his long work hours. He couldn't tell her he spent every night wondering where Sydney was and if she was happy, if she had found someone new, or if she was just as miserable as he was.
It wasn't until yesterday that Barnett's orders were given to his superior, and then told if he came into work he'd be escorted out of the building. Still burning a little from that remark he went home and called his mom and told her he was coming to visit. She'd been thrilled, since the last time he visited had been over three years ago, and she wanted him to meet her newest boy toy, a retired Italian newspaper columnist. Not nearly as excited, he'd replied to her ideas with a subdued, "Ok," or, "That sounds fine."
Now he's wishing he'd just stayed home, because the flight to Paris is going to be long, too long for him to be alone with his thoughts. He's pushed Sydney as far as he can away, but Eric's question has sent him back into the Sydney state of mind. As he boards the plane he can't help but wonder where her destination was when she boarded hers, and if she's still there, and if she's married and has children.
That last question always makes his stomach clench with jealousy. Was it a simple case of diminished love? Did she leave because she just didn't want to be with him, and didn't know how to say it? He's sure there are many other factors, but the questions still taunt him, accusing him of pushing her away.
After many past mind numbing and emotionally draining thinking sessions with Donovan often resulting in consummation of any alcohol in a 20-yard radius, he still can't understand why she ran. At this point, he's given up hope of understanding. He's just trying to heal.
*
"Michel!" a woman's voice cries from across the baggage carousel, making everyone turn towards the aging woman as she runs to hug a young man. "Michel, it has been too long since you last saw your mother," she admonishes as he pulls away from her embrace. He doesn't respond, used to the lecture, but takes her hand and leads her outside.
"How have you been, Maman?" he asks as they get into the awaiting taxi outside. Usually she launches into tales of her new boyfriend at this question, but this time she takes his hand and looks at him, concerned.
"Michel, I think the better question is how have you been? You look so different than the last time you came to visit. It has worried me how few calls I've received, they used to come at least once a week. Three days ago was the first I'd heard from you in over a month! And before that, two months. Did something happen?"
"No Maman," he answers moodily, his gaze to the window of the small cab. Knowing he would be bombarded with questions like this he had prepared a story that would satisfy her curiosity. "Work has been hectic, and Donovan had ringworm so we were running back and forth to the vet, although he's better now. Things just haven't been normal."
"Michel... you're ok?" she asks wearily.
"Yes, Maman, I'm fine. Now tell me about your latest 'conquest,'" he pushes, trying to change the subject.
She eyes him carefully, noting that she will have to bring this up later, after he is full of the best French food she can cook and the wine her brother made last year. Letting the subject drop, she starts talking all about Anthony, the man whom has captured her attention this month. Michael knows she never lets herself get serious out of respect for his father, but still worries that she'll finally find someone to replace him.
Once the stories about Anthony get to be repetitive, he stares out the window once more, wondering if Sydney's doing the same thing. Dating a man for a while and then leaving him when it gets too serious. Even when he tries his hardest, his thoughts always circle around to her. He hates it, hates that he needs her so much, hates that he let her make him this way. Hates that he could do nothing to prevent her from running. Yet, as much as he hates everything about the situation, he can't bring himself to hate her. And that kills him as much as everything else.
*
"So then I tell him, 'No you nincompoop, it's a tortoise, not a turtle!'" Anthony roars, his face red from the wine he is consuming. Michael turns his head in an effort not to snort with disgust. He hasn't always agreed with his mother's choice of beaus, but he's pretty sure Anthony has the stupidest jokes of all of them.
A loud knock on the apartment door causes him to jump to his feet, finally an excuse to get out of there. Opening it to reveal his cousin, Noelle, he sighs in relief at the interruption. They hug and he kisses her cheeks. "Long time no see," she teases as she walks in and takes off her coat. Leaning in, she whispers conspiratorially, "I came to rescue you. I've met Anthony."
Smiling, he takes her coat. "Thanks, but I'm beat. I don't think I could keep up with you at a club tonight. You're welcome to stay and hear about how there was a turtle/tortoise mix up at the newspaper he worked at. Quite fascinating, really."
Even with the humorous tone, she notices that he doesn't look quite right, his eyes too sad, his frame too thin, and she thinks, forehead wrinkles permanently in place. It doesn't take much for her to decide that she has to find him someone, and smiles when she thinks of the perfect person.
"Fine, be that way old man. But tomorrow you are having lunch with me. No way to get out of it, so don't even try."
As she commands him, Brigitte and Anthony emerge from the sitting room to join them. They exchange pleasantries, and Noelle patiently listens to Anthony as he explains his newly bandaged wrist. Michael heard the tale as soon as he walked into the apartment, and rolls his eyes as Anthony makes a dramatic air as he explains how he crashed down the stairs at the bottom of his apartment.
Noelle makes a haste exit after the exciting story of the wrist's demise, explaining that she just came to say hello to Michael. Shortly after Noelle leaves, Michael retires to his room for bed. He tries not to dream of Sydney. He fails.
*
"Michel! There you are!" Noelle exclaims as she greets her cousin outside a little restaurant in Paris. "You're ten minutes late!" she adds after they separate, glancing at her watch.
"You try explaining to my mother that you're going to lunch with your cousin after she had planned to meet Anthony somewhere. I just hope I didn't hurt her feelings."
They sat at a table near the entrance, and Michael is studying his menu when he feels the hairs on the back of his neck begin to rise. Goosebumps tingle along his arms and legs, confusing the hell out of him. He excuses himself to the bathroom quickly, trying to gather his wits. The last thing he needs is to see apparitions of Sydney Bristow in Paris. This is the last place she would be, he thinks, as he washes his hands.
It only irks him more when he sees a woman with Sydney's walk; the librarian walk, he called it. The one where she holds herself high, but is still inconspicuous. Performing a mental shake, he allows himself to be introduced to Noelle's friend, and even feels the brief urge to flirt a little. It passes, but it gives him hope.
He doesn't realize that his hopes of building his life up again are about to be shattered in the small confines of a Paris nightclub.
TBC.
Chapter Two
*i'm blending, i'm blurring, i am bleeding into the scenery*
"Rachel! It's 11:30, you better leave now if you want to meet Vittoria on time," a teenager calls out from the back of a quaint bookstore after casually glancing at the clock on her left. Rachel, who had been dusting the books towards the front swears under her breath, throws down the duster, and runs to fetch her coat and gloves from the back. A grateful smile is on her face as she thanks her assistant. "Thanks, Marie."
Marie smiles in turn, handing Rachel a small, leather-bound book. "You know how Vittoria gets when someone's late. Make sure you give this to her, it's the numbers for this month."
"Oh, I almost forgot! I don't know what I'd do without you." Rachel replies as she crams the book into her purse and runs out the front of the store, pausing only to pull the gloves over her hands. Walking briskly, she makes it to the restaurant three blocks down just in time to see Vittoria being seated near the window.
"Salut!" Vittoria stands up to kiss Rachel's cheeks before they sit across from each other, smiling widely. They've been friends for about nine months now, ever since Rachel began to work for Vittoria's aunt at the bookstore, Livre Poussiéreuse, which Rachel now owns. Aunt Sophie retired to the country three months ago, and offered to give ownership to her niece, who refused and recommended Rachel. Vittoria still does some bookwork, however, so that keeps them close together.
Rachel notices Vittoria's rosy complexion, and she narrows her eyes, knowing very well what that means. "What did Andre do?" she asks warily, fearing that she was going to be dragged to a club that night.
Vittoria's eyes widen, surprised that Rachel can read her so well. Dropping her gaze to the tablecloth, she traces a pattern with the tip of her finger. "He left his cell phone at my apartment, and a Camille Delacroix called, asking when he was available for dinner, because she had so much fun the last time. I gave him his cell phone back today, after I'd tossed it around in the blender a few times." She pauses before looking up with a joking smile. "That reminds me. I need to go shopping for a new blender."
Rachel leans back in her chair with an exasperated sigh. "Merde, Vittoria. You keep going through all these guys. She could have been a coworker, you know? It wouldn't have hurt to talk to Andre about it."
Her friend picks up a menu, and as she scans, replies, "It doesn't matter, and besides, you're the last person to be giving relationship advice. I've known you what? Almost a year? And you've never been farther than a first date, and not unless I practically threaten you to go."
When Rachel doesn't answer, Vittoria looks up to see her studying the menu with a fierce concentration, and she knows she's said too much. "Look, Rachel, you haven't told me much about what your life was like before you came to Paris, so I'm sorry if your love life is like it is because of past relationships, but you haven't told me, so I assume you're just shy."
Rachel's expression softens, and a grimace passes over her features. She looks up at Vittoria slowly, choosing her words carefully. "That was one of the reasons why I left America, because of a relationship. I'm still healing over that.
Sensing her reluctance to share, Vittoria doesn't say anything until the waiter comes, and they sit in silence for a few minutes longer. Remembering the book, Rachel pulls it out of her purse and hands it across the table. "The numbers for the store. We've done well this month, I think Sophie would be proud."
Vittoria nods, a smile growing in remembrance of her favorite aunt. "Yes, she would. I still don't understand why she thinks she'll be happier out in the country. She loves that store. Although, I do think she's starting to lose it. I almost fainted when she told me she wanted me to run the store! Me? A bookstore owner? The thought is crazy! You don't know how relieved I was when she took my recommendation."
Laughing, Rachel raises her eyebrows. "I believe I do, because you called me in a panic, telling me if I didn't take it you'd haunt me when you died." They laugh together as their food arrives, and they enjoy the good French food, commenting and tasting each other's dishes. Although they've frequented this restaurant often in the past months, they both love to exclaim over how good the cuisine is. Towards the end of their meal, Rachel feels the hairs at the base of her neck stand on end. Her spy training goes on full alert, but she notices nothing within the restaurant.
As they are preparing to walk outside, they see a friend, and walk over to her table. "Noelle! Salut!" Noelle stands to hug them both warmly, commenting on how long it's been since the last time they saw each other. "My cousin from America is in the bathroom, can you stay long enough to meet him?"
Glancing at her watch, Rachel sees that she was expected back at the store several minutes ago. "I'm afraid not, Noelle. I have to get back to the store. Perhaps some other time?"
"What about tonight? We can meet at that new club that just opened. Sound good?" Vittoria offers, grinning at Rachel's pained expression. Whenever they go to clubs together, Vittoria does everything in her power to set Rachel up with any man they pass. "Come on Rach, it'll be fun."
Noelle grins wickedly. "Yes, perhaps you can get closer to my cousin," she says with a wink. Vittoria has let it be known that Rachel needs a man, and usually their friends are more than willing to try to set her up.
Giving in with a sigh, she shrugs her shoulders. "Fine, fine, I'll go. But right now, I have to get back to the store. Au Revior!" With that she leaves the restaurant and makes her way back to the store and Marie. Vittoria, however, stays behind to chat with Noelle since she has an extra twenty minutes before she is expected back at her office.
A man approaches Noelle, and Vittoria flashes him a flirtatious smile. "Vittoria, this is my cousin, Michael. Michael, this is my friend Vittoria. We're going to meet her and her friend Rachel at the new club tonight."
"Pleasure," he smiles thinly as he shakes her hand.
"No, that would be mine," she smiles in return, as he releases her hand. "I don't want to interrupt your lunch, so I'll be on my way. See you tonight!"
As Rachel nears the shop, she slows her pace and sighs inwardly. Again she felt she was getting too close to Vittoria, and should pull away in case something happened to cause her to leave, but could never bring herself to do it. Vittoria had such a strong personality it was hard to remember that she had no idea who Rachel really was. 'I should leave, before it gets any harder', Rachel thought, as she entered the shop. It was very difficult to remember what she was thinking however, when she greeted customers browsing the shelves. She truly did love this job, even though it was hardly exciting.
In the dark of night, little voices would scream at her, asking why she couldn't have this life in LA, why she didn't go home and make this life there. Always she pushed them away, convincing herself that this life wasn't possible back there. Convincing herself that she could only live as a chameleon. A long time ago the idea that she had to live in a web of lies to survive was brought to her attention, and it frightened her, because she knew it was the truth. That was the real reason she had run. The lies had disappeared, and she was lost without them.
***
* every time I hear you laughing it makes me cry; like the story of life is hello, goodbye*
"Mike! Hey, Mike!" Weiss calls out behind him as he attempts to leave the Ops Center. Turning around with a bored expression, he raises his eyebrow pointedly.
"What? You do you I have to catch a flight in an hour, right?"
"Yea, yea, visiting the relatives and all that, but listen.do you want me to call if I hear anything?" he asks, with an air of nervousy, unsure if he should have asked.
Michael winces inwardly, and with a bit more venom than he intends, replies, "It's been almost a year. You won't hear anything." Without waiting for a response he turns on his heel and walks briskly to the car, fighting the waves of pain that still course over him. As much as he'd like to deny it, he's still hurting from the betrayal.
He'd been convinced it was a set up, so sure she was locked up in some room in some Russian or Middle Eastern prison. It wasn't until he was handed proof, a loan from a local shark under the alias 'Kate Jones' and the video feed that he gave up his search. It had burned him from the inside out, consuming his heart until it was only a pile of ashes. Everything he believed was turned upside down, he became angry and reclusive.
Work became his safe haven, because he could bury himself in reports and mission planning and homeland security. He could forget his grief and misery for those hours, and was ordered to have sessions with Barnett to determine what was causing his long work hours. He couldn't tell her he spent every night wondering where Sydney was and if she was happy, if she had found someone new, or if she was just as miserable as he was.
It wasn't until yesterday that Barnett's orders were given to his superior, and then told if he came into work he'd be escorted out of the building. Still burning a little from that remark he went home and called his mom and told her he was coming to visit. She'd been thrilled, since the last time he visited had been over three years ago, and she wanted him to meet her newest boy toy, a retired Italian newspaper columnist. Not nearly as excited, he'd replied to her ideas with a subdued, "Ok," or, "That sounds fine."
Now he's wishing he'd just stayed home, because the flight to Paris is going to be long, too long for him to be alone with his thoughts. He's pushed Sydney as far as he can away, but Eric's question has sent him back into the Sydney state of mind. As he boards the plane he can't help but wonder where her destination was when she boarded hers, and if she's still there, and if she's married and has children.
That last question always makes his stomach clench with jealousy. Was it a simple case of diminished love? Did she leave because she just didn't want to be with him, and didn't know how to say it? He's sure there are many other factors, but the questions still taunt him, accusing him of pushing her away.
After many past mind numbing and emotionally draining thinking sessions with Donovan often resulting in consummation of any alcohol in a 20-yard radius, he still can't understand why she ran. At this point, he's given up hope of understanding. He's just trying to heal.
*
"Michel!" a woman's voice cries from across the baggage carousel, making everyone turn towards the aging woman as she runs to hug a young man. "Michel, it has been too long since you last saw your mother," she admonishes as he pulls away from her embrace. He doesn't respond, used to the lecture, but takes her hand and leads her outside.
"How have you been, Maman?" he asks as they get into the awaiting taxi outside. Usually she launches into tales of her new boyfriend at this question, but this time she takes his hand and looks at him, concerned.
"Michel, I think the better question is how have you been? You look so different than the last time you came to visit. It has worried me how few calls I've received, they used to come at least once a week. Three days ago was the first I'd heard from you in over a month! And before that, two months. Did something happen?"
"No Maman," he answers moodily, his gaze to the window of the small cab. Knowing he would be bombarded with questions like this he had prepared a story that would satisfy her curiosity. "Work has been hectic, and Donovan had ringworm so we were running back and forth to the vet, although he's better now. Things just haven't been normal."
"Michel... you're ok?" she asks wearily.
"Yes, Maman, I'm fine. Now tell me about your latest 'conquest,'" he pushes, trying to change the subject.
She eyes him carefully, noting that she will have to bring this up later, after he is full of the best French food she can cook and the wine her brother made last year. Letting the subject drop, she starts talking all about Anthony, the man whom has captured her attention this month. Michael knows she never lets herself get serious out of respect for his father, but still worries that she'll finally find someone to replace him.
Once the stories about Anthony get to be repetitive, he stares out the window once more, wondering if Sydney's doing the same thing. Dating a man for a while and then leaving him when it gets too serious. Even when he tries his hardest, his thoughts always circle around to her. He hates it, hates that he needs her so much, hates that he let her make him this way. Hates that he could do nothing to prevent her from running. Yet, as much as he hates everything about the situation, he can't bring himself to hate her. And that kills him as much as everything else.
*
"So then I tell him, 'No you nincompoop, it's a tortoise, not a turtle!'" Anthony roars, his face red from the wine he is consuming. Michael turns his head in an effort not to snort with disgust. He hasn't always agreed with his mother's choice of beaus, but he's pretty sure Anthony has the stupidest jokes of all of them.
A loud knock on the apartment door causes him to jump to his feet, finally an excuse to get out of there. Opening it to reveal his cousin, Noelle, he sighs in relief at the interruption. They hug and he kisses her cheeks. "Long time no see," she teases as she walks in and takes off her coat. Leaning in, she whispers conspiratorially, "I came to rescue you. I've met Anthony."
Smiling, he takes her coat. "Thanks, but I'm beat. I don't think I could keep up with you at a club tonight. You're welcome to stay and hear about how there was a turtle/tortoise mix up at the newspaper he worked at. Quite fascinating, really."
Even with the humorous tone, she notices that he doesn't look quite right, his eyes too sad, his frame too thin, and she thinks, forehead wrinkles permanently in place. It doesn't take much for her to decide that she has to find him someone, and smiles when she thinks of the perfect person.
"Fine, be that way old man. But tomorrow you are having lunch with me. No way to get out of it, so don't even try."
As she commands him, Brigitte and Anthony emerge from the sitting room to join them. They exchange pleasantries, and Noelle patiently listens to Anthony as he explains his newly bandaged wrist. Michael heard the tale as soon as he walked into the apartment, and rolls his eyes as Anthony makes a dramatic air as he explains how he crashed down the stairs at the bottom of his apartment.
Noelle makes a haste exit after the exciting story of the wrist's demise, explaining that she just came to say hello to Michael. Shortly after Noelle leaves, Michael retires to his room for bed. He tries not to dream of Sydney. He fails.
*
"Michel! There you are!" Noelle exclaims as she greets her cousin outside a little restaurant in Paris. "You're ten minutes late!" she adds after they separate, glancing at her watch.
"You try explaining to my mother that you're going to lunch with your cousin after she had planned to meet Anthony somewhere. I just hope I didn't hurt her feelings."
They sat at a table near the entrance, and Michael is studying his menu when he feels the hairs on the back of his neck begin to rise. Goosebumps tingle along his arms and legs, confusing the hell out of him. He excuses himself to the bathroom quickly, trying to gather his wits. The last thing he needs is to see apparitions of Sydney Bristow in Paris. This is the last place she would be, he thinks, as he washes his hands.
It only irks him more when he sees a woman with Sydney's walk; the librarian walk, he called it. The one where she holds herself high, but is still inconspicuous. Performing a mental shake, he allows himself to be introduced to Noelle's friend, and even feels the brief urge to flirt a little. It passes, but it gives him hope.
He doesn't realize that his hopes of building his life up again are about to be shattered in the small confines of a Paris nightclub.
TBC.