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People Talk

Helena looked through her wallet, cringing at how little money she had in it. She'd been able to get to Paris, but after that… it didn't look good. At least public transportation was cheap… enough.

Fourth arrondissement, a voice in the back of her head whispered. She had to stay in the fourth arrondissement.

"Why the hell do I need to stay in one of the most expensive neighborhoods in Paris?" she grumbled to herself as she walked out of the metro. "Cause I'm crazy, that's why. Only crazy people spend their life savings on a one-day trip to Paris. God, I should've listened to Rosalie." She closed her wallet and stuck in back in her pocket, then adjusted her backpack on her shoulder.

She'd barely made it three steps before being confronted by a man in a maître d' suit. "Mademoiselle Oxley?" he asked.

Helena tightened her grip on her backpack strap. "Gee, someone acting like I'm not forty; you must be a scam artist."

"Not at all, mademoiselle," the man said with a shake of his head. "My name is Jean; I'm part of the top staff at Le Grand Paris hotel just down the street. It's owned by the mayor, and he's asked that you spend your stay there, free of charge."

Helena looked the man up and down. "Lemme guess, the mayor's name is Gabriel Agreste?"

Jean shook his head again. "No, mademoiselle," he replied, "but he was the one who made the call in to my employer."

This was… tough. She didn't have enough money to afford even the cheapest sleazebag hotel, but this was definitely the start of a Criminal Minds episode. Then again, so was a woman sleeping on the streets in a strange city. "Fine," she finally agreed. "But if you plan on trying anything, I've got mace-" that was confiscated stateside by TSA- "and the phone numbers of two cops on speed dial-" she hadn't even gotten Detective Mallory's business card.

"I understand, mademoiselle, but you're safe with me." He held out his hand to take her bag.

"I'll believe it when I see it." Helena replied, sliding her other arm through her backpack strap as well. She followed after Jean, but her eyes kept darting around like she was expecting someone to come out and grab her, right up until they walked into the hotel.

Once there, a man with graying hair and a blue, white, and red sash walked up to them. "Thank you, Jean." He turned his attention to Helena and smiled. "Now, Mme. Oxley, I understand you'll be staying with us for the next day or so?"

"I know Gabriel called you," Helena declared simply. "He thinks I'm his MIA wife…" She looked him up and down. "I'm guessing you're drawing the same conclusion."

The man let out a hesitant noise and tilted his head to the side. "There is a certain… resemblance," he confessed. "My name is André Bourgeois; I'm the mayor of Paris and owner of this hotel."

Helena held out her hand. "Helena Oxley, though you already knew that obviously."

André let out a nervous laugh and shook her hand. "You certainly don't behave like Emilie Agreste…"

Helena's eyebrows shot up for a half a second, and she gave a fake smile. "You know why that is?" she asked, leaning in like she was about to tell him a deep, dark secret. In a whisper, she said, "It's cause I'm not her."

"Understood, Mme. Oxley," André replied. "It's a pleasure to have you here. We've put you up in one of our finest suites, and if you need anything, feel free to call room service. It's all free of charge." He held out a room key, but Helena seemed skeptical as she took it.

"Seriously?" she asked disbelievingly. "All of it? Free? No catch?"

André shook his head. "None," he confirmed. "We want you to feel welcome here, Mme. Oxley."

Before Helena could drop another scathing remark, a teenage girl came in, a purse on her arm. "Daddy, I'm ready for lunch," she said, paying Helena no mind. "It was the weirdest thing, though, Nathalie came and took Adrien out of school, and she made it sound like M. Agreste was waiting in the car for him."

André gave her a smile and nodded. "Yes, dear, that's because they were welcoming Mme. Oxley to Paris." He gestured to Helena, causing the teen to turn and look at her.

The blonde looked Helena over once or twice, then… "What the actual fuck?"

"Chloé, dear, is that any way to speak to our guests?" André asked.

"It is when they come in looking like the Ghost of Christmas Past," she replied, turning back to her father. "Daddy, does Adrien know his mom is back?"

"I did this at the airport, kid," Helena cut in. "Can't say the novelty isn't wearing thin, especially after being interrogated for hours about it. My name's Helena Oxley, not Emilie Agreste."

Chloé looked Helena over again. "And I'm the queen of England."

André cleared his throat nervously, getting Chloé's attention again. "Your friend and M. Agreste are aware of Helena's presence here in Paris," he said. "And I'm sure she's looking forward to getting to her room." He looked to Helena. "Room 387. Up the elevator and to the left."

Helena gave a nod, ready to get the hell out of there and to some privacy. "Thanks," she said. "See you around." She turned and walked away, ignoring Chloé's comments to her father about how 'that's obviously Mme. Agreste are you blind?' in favor of getting to her room without any further fuss.

She went up to her room and opened the door, only to find herself frozen once inside. The main room of the suite was bigger than her entire apartment, and she could see the Eiffel Tower through the window on the far side of the room. "Damn," she muttered, dropping her bag and walking around the room. "Pays to look like a missing woman, doesn't it?" The seating was all covered in blue velvet, and the end tables were made of oak, shined to perfection. She'd been in rooms like this before, but never for herself, never to enjoy the space.

Actually, no. She could enjoy the space later, she decided. She was still reeling from her flight and the events of the morning, and she damn well needed a nap.

Even as she made her way into the bedroom, determined to hit the mattress like a rock, she found herself, looking around, awed by the ornate décor and rich fabrics. She got in the bed under the covers, relishing in the feel of the silk against her skin. If only she could afford to get used to this.

Suddenly, Helena found herself standing on the streets at night, completely unconcerned by the abrupt change in scenery. She looked around, eyes landing on a brunette woman collapsed on the ground in front of her. Without thinking, she held out her hand, and the brunette looked up at her.

The brunette accepted the hand and stood up. "Thank you," she sighed. Then, a cough escaped her. She nearly fell over, but Helena instinctively reached out and supported her. "Is it gone?"

Helena nodded. "It is," she confirmed, the words falling out of her mouth without her say so. "Kaalki is gone, too. We couldn't have done it without you, Anne."

The brunette, Anne, gave her a smile, but her eyes showed sadness that Helena somehow knew deep within her bones. "William won't be happy that his theater is gone."

"It had to burn," Helena said with a shake of her head. "If it hadn't… who knows what would have happened."

Anne looked her up and down for a moment before saying, "You do." It definitely wasn't a question.

"I do. And it's not pretty." Helena wanted to stop, to think about what she knew and how she knew it, but she couldn't, the conversation continuing on without concern for her confusion.

Anne nodded slowly and sighed, only for another cough to come out. "Plagg, claws in," she managed to get out.

Helena watched as a small, black creature flew out of Anne's ring, and she knew she should ask what it was, why it was there, but the words didn't come. Plagg gave Anne a sympathetic smile. "You did well, kid."

"Thanks," Anne sighed. She looked at the ground, then back up to Plagg. "Was it the right thing?"

"Yes." There was no hesitation in Plagg's voice. "I've seen firsthand what happens when it doesn't."

Helena woke with a gasp, trying to put together what had woken her up.

Knock, knock, knock… knock, knock, knock…

Oh. That.

Reluctantly, Helena got out of bed and headed to the front door. She opened it without looking and saw the blonde girl from yesterday. "Hey…" she greeted the teen. "Chloé, right?"

"Yeah, and you already knew that," Chloé replied.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you it's rude to keep knocking on someone's door after a couple of minutes?"

Chloé shook her head and shrugged. "No," she replied dismissively. "And honestly as this point, I don't care. Besides, if you don't get up now, you'll just end up with jetlag anyway."

"Gee, how considerate."

Chloé scoffed and flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Look, you're the one who's only spending a day here; I figured you'd want to get the most out of it… Not that you didn't live here before."

Helena groaned and rubbed at her eyes. This again. "Look, kid, I'm not in the mood to deal with this 'you're really Emilie' bullshit," she declared. "You seem like a nice girl-"

"I'm not."

"-so why don't you just go back to school for your afternoon classes and leave me alone?"

Chloé raised an eyebrow at her. "It's seven a.m. School doesn't start for another half hour, and we both know your son is dying to see you."

Helena matched Chloé's expression and crossed her arms. "Adrien's not my son; I'm not Emilie Agreste, and I'm getting really tired of people saying he is and I am. Also, how did you know I'm only staying here for a day?"

"People talk," Chloé replied simply. "Mme. Agreste, Adrien needs you. I don't know why you're pretending to be this- this Helena Oxley woman, but I do care about Adrien. He's my friend, and I'll do anything for him. Even if that means I have to get on a plane and follow you back to the States to keep bugging you about this."

Helena took a deep breath, rapidly losing patience with Chloé. "I'm not Emilie," she repeated. "I have never been and never will be Emilie. I was born and raised in America, I work in D.C., and I'm going back there tomorrow morning. End of discussion." Without waiting for a reply, she shut the door in Chloé's face and locked it with the deadbolt. Last thing she needed was for the girl to end up using some sort of all-access card and getting in anyway.

She walked over to the window and opened it, letting some fresh air in. Before she could stop herself, her mind wandered back to her dream. Anne and William… she knew those names. Kaalki and Plagg, too. She could still feel the urgency and exhaustion and relief that hung in the air of the dream, and all of it felt so familiar. Like she'd been through it a dozen times before and would do it a dozen times more.

No, she told herself with a shake of her head. She wasn't there to get caught up on some dream. Actually, she wasn't entirely sure why she was there herself, but it wasn't for that. Maybe a massage would take her mind off it; after all, everything was on the house thanks to André- or had Gabriel paid for everything? Either way, it meant free stuff for her, and she wouldn't be getting it otherwise.

Going out into the city could wait until after lunch.