Before we start:

Heartfelt thanks to Brennus, Jay, Kat, Jamie, Lin and Han for helping give birth to this story by proof-reading, providing intense debate when I needed to discuss tropes and scenes, and generally putting up with me while I was on the roll. Also, apologies to Brennus, who had the misfortune to be present for some of my fits when things weren't going the way I wanted them to go, and subsequently got sniped at. I have no excuse, but I do your laundry, so maybe we can call it even?

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

"Monsieur Léon!"

Being greeted by a bunch of pretty secretaries (even if half of them were male) was not the worst welcome Leon could have wished for. He smiled and accepted the varying forms of greetings alongside expressions of relief at his recovery with more good-natured joy than grace before striding off to his office.

Yang Wen looked up at his entrance and grinned at him. "So the hero is back."

"I'm not -"

"- not a hero, I know." He set his chair into motion and Leon watched in amusement as Wen closed his eyes and stopped only after the third rotation. Not Jill, admittedly, but Wen had his own perks as an officemate and partner. "So, Mr. Not-a-hero, what news do you bring from beautiful Verona?"

Leon frowned. "I was in Rome."

Wen snorted. "And you've obviously never read Romeo & Juliet. Seriously, pal, brush up your Shakespeare."

The flash of pain was short, but intense. Leon sat down at his desk, surveying the damage the last weeks had wrought. "Anything but that right now."

Wen, in the process of spinning his chair again, stopped and took some time to scrutinise him. Leon turned on his computer and tried his best to keep his face blank.

"You seem a bit down for someone who's just been part of an operation taking down one of the worst smuggling syndicates in recent history."

Leon stared at his screen, trying to push back the memory of D walking away from him, leaving him behind once more. "I'm fine. It just – wasn't pretty."

Wen nodded his understanding and turned back to his own screen. Leon bit his lip and looked out of the window. He had kind of hoped that D had learnt at least something from their encounter. Hell, not even learnt! Leon would gladly have settled for D just taking his feelings into consideration instead of going for the wash-rinse-repeat pattern of the last few years. But no, nothing. No postcards from undisclosed locations arrived, neither at the hospital nor his apartment in Lyon. There were no phone calls from someplace overseas that he could not even pronounce. Not even a flower left for him.

And the pet shop, of course, had disappeared as mysteriously as before, with no forwarding address. In the end, it turned out to not be important. Spencer Donald had almost laughed himself sick at the suggestion that he had conspired with Count D to kill Nikita Kshesinskaya (although, if the Commissario interrogating him had listened more closely, he might have noted that the laughter was slightly hysterical).

Whatever had prompted D to come looking for him at Spencer Donald's villa, it was obviously not enough to convince him to stick around. And Leon just did not know if he could keep on searching after everything that had happened. D had seemed so terribly determined to keep him away. To push him away, if he would not stay away of his own accord. Fine, he had admitted to not wanting Leon to die. But from the look of things, that meant something different for him than for Leon.

Even after four weeks of recovering, Leon still felt tired when he got up in the mornings, and the only silver lining on the horizon had been the prospect of returning to HQ and being around his colleagues again. But now, sitting here, he wondered if it was really worth the bother. He had taken this job knowing that if D stuck to his MO, he would sooner or later end up in the Interpol database. Yet he had only found him by accident, so that strategy did not seem to work as well as he had hoped.

He might as well quit and travel the world by throwing a dart at a map, hoping for another crazy coincidence. And who knew, maybe he would.

Suddenly he longed for Chris so desperately it took his breath away. He wanted to talk to him, sit down with him somewhere in a park or in his room back at his parents' house, talk things through in person. Talk to someone who knew D, who would understand. Both the need to find D and the need to just listen to him, even when he told you things you didn't like one little bit.

Something collided with his forehead and he jerked back. "Hey!"

Wen grinned at him. "Staring off into space isn't gonna clear your inbox, you know. Coffee?"

Leon found a little smile. "Sure."

Just as they were getting up, the door opened. "Monsieur Orcot, may I disturb you for a moment?"

They both sat back down and straightened. "Madame Maréchal. Of course."

Their boss smiled as she stepped in. "Welcome back, to begin with, and congratulations. Although I have to add, I would prefer you to be more careful in the future. I have little inclination to explain to my superiors why one of their best analysts has been forced to hand in his permanent notice."

Leon blushed and averted his gaze. "Yes, Madame."

"Good." She stopped in front of his desk and casually leant a hip against it. "Now, seeing as you have already filled in your reports -" they both studiously ignored Wen muttering "bored much in hospital?" in the background, "- I shall content myself with de-briefing you tomorrow. I believe you have earnt yourself a day to settle back in."

Leon could not help the grin. "Thank you, Madame."

She stopped at the door, and her smirk had alarm bells ringing in Leon's head. "By the by, Monsieur, I have brought someone along for you. An old acquaintance, I understand."

Wen sent a questioning glance at Leon, who looked equally perplexed. "Madame?"

"I gave him the day off. Enjoy yourself," he heard her say to someone outside in the corridor. Fabric rustled and the next moment, it felt like his rib had punctured his lung again. Without noticing, he stood and took a few steps. Slender pale hands reached out and he grasped them, throat working with no words coming forth. Mismatched eyes smiled up at him, uncertain and questioning.

"Monsieur Orcot. I am relieved to find you have made a full recovery."

"D," Leon croaked and the lashes fluttered, fanning out over pale cheeks for a moment before D looked back up at him, smile a little more certain now.

"I was equally pleased to discover that you and I find ourselves in the same city once more. I recently set up shop in the Rue Tronchet. Perhaps, if you like, you and I could have a cup of tea together?"

Notes: Now that we have finished, don't get your hopes up – the next chapter is exclusively dedicated to a discussion of the tropes used in this fic. Proceed with caution and read only if you really want to know. I promise, you aren't missing out on anything story-related :-)