A/N: Apologies for the late arrival! And thank you, merry few, for continuing to read and review :)

Chapter 9: Maybe This Time

As the plane touched down, Charlotte Charles thanked whatever power might be for getting them safely on the ground. She stared out the window now, her heart executing an elaborate series of flips at the thought that this was Paris. She was in Paris. And Papen County seemed a world away...`

"Mademoiselle?"

Chuck looked up to see their flight attendant standing in the aisle. She smiled and unfastened herself, nudging Lily and Vivian eagerly. But the two waved her off, insisting she go ahead while they gathered their hand luggage...

Thus, the bubbly brunette followed the chirpy redhead, weaving past wealthier passengers as she went...

"My name is Gwen by the way!"

"Bonjour, Gwen! Je m'appelle Chuck."

"And are you here for business or pleasure, Chuck?"

"Um...a bit of both. My mom and aunt are synchronized swimmers; this is the first stop on their world tour."

"Cool beans," Gwen chirped as they reached the cockpit door. She picked a key from her pocket, knocked thrice and unlocked it, before ushering Chuck inside...

Were Charles Charles present just then, he might have uttered a quiet "wow." The flight deck was a smorgasbord of technology, with panels of multicolored switches and buttons spreading out to wide windows, which looked onto an expanse of sky...

"Bienvenue!" said the pilot, catching her eye. "Charlotte, right?"

"Chuck," she smiled, as he stood and shook her hand.

"Nice to meet you, Chuck. How was your first flight?"

"Terrifying…but not because of your flying! You were wonderful."

"Why, thank you," he grinned, nodding obligingly. "Would you like a crash course - no pun intended - on how this stuff works?"

"I would love that," she said, silently longing for a camera with which to capture the moment...

"Well, here we have the airspeed indicator, sort of like a speedometer on your car...then the altimeter, which measures air pressure...and the autopilot, great for power naps..."

Chuck nodded along, listening with the keenness of a new student. He clearly enjoyed his job and she enjoyed hearing (if not always understanding) the technobabble. Only when Gwen cleared her throat did he stop short, checking the time ruefully...

"Sorry," he said, scratching his stubbly jaw. "I don't often get to show and tell. You probably just want to hit the road...or the Champs-Élyseés."

"Oh, no, I - well, yeah. But this was fun! Thank you, Gwen. And thank you, Captain...?"

"Mulchandani," he filled in. "Eugene Mulchandani. But all the cool kids call me Gene."

"Gene," she repeated. "Nice meeting you, Gene."

He gave a small salute and smiled. "Et toi, mademoiselle..."

XXX

Dinner at the Pie Hole had once been a predictable affair. Ned and Chuck sat across from each other, Emerson sat adjacent and Olive served the table before settling down wherever there was room. On nights when the PI was MIA - nights like tonight- she made excuses to not dine with them, preferring the company of Digby and Pigby, who never made her feel like a third wheel…

But three days, six hours and twenty-nine minutes later, the old order had been swept away.

Chuck was over the ocean, Emerson was on a mission, and Olive sat with Ned, leaning against the counter as they ate their pasta primavera...

"This is great," said the Pie Maker. "Thank you."

"No problemo," said the waitress. "I just threw it together."

"Mm," he murmured. "I guess baking is harder than cooking."

Olive side-eyed him skeptically. "How so?"

Ned shrugged simply. "Baking is a science."

"And cooking is an art," she countered. "I may freestyle from time to time, but it's not easy. Pasta can be just as temperamental as pastry, you know." He conceded with a nod and she eased off, satisfied. "That being said, your chocolate Kahlua pie with the brown sugar bourbon cream is ridonkulously difficult. I never quite get it right."

"Well, I'll teach you...if you'll teach me," he added wryly.

"Oh, I'll teach you," she resolved. "But not this 101 stuff. I mean masterclass."

Ned tilted his head, noting the competitive glint in her eyes, and smiled... "You're on."

At that very moment the phone rang, breaking up their banter. The Pie Maker leapt to his feet, knowing there were only a few people who could be calling at this hour...

"Chuck!" he exclaimed, turning his back and tucking one arm under the other. "Where - how are you? Lunch? What time is it over there? Oh...yeah, dinner here. Pretty weird without you..."

Olive winced, wondering how she allowed herself to forget that she was but a substitute, a placeholder...an understudy for the star of the show...

She was not allowed much time to wallow, however, as a series of sharp knocks disrupted her thoughts. Olive whipped round to see Emerson, waiting at the door.

With a sigh the waitress got to her feet, taking comfort in the fact that they were all safe and sound, for now...

XXX

"Where the frak have you been?"

The PI glared down at the whiny waitress, in no mood to be interrogated. Moments ago he had seen a man – too tall to be Dwight Dixon – standing and staring from across the street. With his dark hat and coat he blended into the night, almost hidden...almost...

Upon noticing that he had been noticed, the stranger turned and sauntered off, as if simply sightseeing.

This incident made him as nervous as he was suspicious. Between Dwight, Charles Charles and Godfrey Gillard, he had more than enough dubious characters to fend off…

"Lock the door," Emerson grumbled, pushing past her. He noted Ned on the phone, conversing in happily melancholic tones, and asked: "Undead Girl?"

"Yep."

"Good." He nudged Itty Bitty towards a booth, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "There have been new developments vis-à-vis the Deadly Dozen..."

Olive groaned as she sat down next to him. "We should not be discussing this now," she murmured. "If Ned finds out he will freak."

"Well, protecting him is no longer practical. Between the press and Godfrey Gillard-"

"Who?"

"His daughter was in the Poppy Temple People. He wants to know - his wife wants to know what happened to her. Coroner's report ain't gonna cut it."

"And what makes him think we know more than he does?"

"Beats the hell outta me. But somethin' ain't right with this guy. He knows that we know more than he does."

"How?"

"I don't know."

Olive wrung her hands, not sure what to make of this. She looked to Ned anxiously, just as he hung up the phone...

"How is she?"

"Excited," he said, turning to them with a tight smile. "Worried about us, but excited. She got to see the flight deck and meet the pilot...his name was Gene..." He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "Hey, Emerson. Want something to eat?"

The PI watched him wearily and sighed. "Sure..."

As the Pie Maker set about loading another plate with pasta, Olive and Emerson exchanged glances. They knew Ned would know, sooner or later, that something was terribly wrong. But neither knew how to tell him…

And at this moment in time, with so much sadness surrounding them, they were not about to try.

A/N: Good on you if you remembered who Eugene is! If not, lemme break it down fo ya: he is the Indian boy with braces that befriended Ned at school. He had a thing for paper planes, so I thought it could make some sort of sense if he became a pilot. More on him later…

Oh, and Nolive! Sorry if the chapter was a bit angsty; lots of action and romance to come...

'Til then, Happy New Year :)