Title: Reunion

Author: Fins-Best-Friend

Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't sue.

Chapter 10

January 12, 2004

John and Zita's Townhouse

12:10 a.m.

"He what?"

"Zita, calm down before your heart explodes."

"Dad, my partner took my car and went to Rikers to talk to Bruno behind my back! This is not a 'calm down' situation!" Zita almost yelled, waving the note Luc had left on her bedroom door over her head.

"He doesn't want you to get in trouble." John said in a placationary tone, "He's just trying to protect you from what almost happened last time."

"So's everyone else, including the mailman!" she exclaimed, whipping out her cellphone.

John sighed and went back to his newspaper. There was no talking to her when she was in one of her moods.

She was silent for a few seconds, waiting for Luc to pick up. After three rings, it cut to his voicemail. His phone was off.

"Luc, you are in so much trouble when you get home, do you understand me? Call me immediately after you get this message!" she half-yelled into the phone then hung up and stomped up the stairs, muttering darkly to herself about wringing necks.

John sighed again, shaking his head. If her mood did not lighten soon, the city would be hearing thunder.

Rikers Correctional Facility

January 11, 2004

11:50 p.m.

Luc sighed as he waited for the guard to bring Bruno out. Zita would flip multiple times when she found out he had done this and he felt guilty, now, but not enough to turn back. He needed to talk to Bruno alone without the insults directed at Zita and Bowan. It was late and he did not have time for it.

When the guard finally led Bruno to the phone booth, Luc could see the big man roll his eyes. The ex-bodyguard waited until the guard went back to his post by the door before picking up his handset.

"Vous savez que je ne peux pas vous parler sans mon présent d'avocat." (You know I can't talk to you without my lawyer present.) he said, a mocking grin spreading across his face.

"Je ne suis pas ici pour parler de la cour ou de l'épreuve -- ne pas égaliser votre culpabilité ou innocence, ainsi votre mandataire n'est pas nécessaire." (I'm not here to talk about court or the trial – not even your guilt or innocence, so your attorney isn't needed.) Luc said, "Pourquoi la cachez-vous ? Pourquoi laissez-pas simplement la vont?" (Why do you hide her? Why not just let her go?)

"Aucun corps, aucun cas. Règles simples d'application de loi." (No body, no case. Simple law enforcement rules.)

"Vous êtes trop en retard ; nous avons assez d'évidence physique contre vous pour pour ne pas avoir besoin d'un corps." (You're too late; we've got enough physical evidence against you so as not to need a body.) Luc sighed, "Regardez, nous avons suivi votre conseil et -" (Look, we followed your hint and – )

"Quel conseil?" (What hint?)

"Celui vous nous avez donnés. Au sujet d'Anna-Marie n'étant pas en Europe - au sujet de son être en Amérique. Nous n'essayons pas de vous entrer dans plus d'ennui. Nous sommes essai juste de la trouver. Dites-juste moi où elle est et je demanderai au juge un degré de clémence." (The one you gave us. About Anna-Marie not being in Europe – about her being in America. We're not trying to get you into any more trouble. We're just trying to find her. Just tell me where she is and I'll ask the judge for a degree of leniency.)

Bruno appeared to think about it for a moment.

"Je sais que vous voulez me dire, Bruno. Dégagez votre conscience." (I know you want to tell me, Bruno. Clear your conscience.)

Bruno's indecision fell. "Je ne vous dis pas quelque chose. Bruno n'a aucune conscience. Si elle meurt, son sang est sur le votre et les mains de Zita." (I'm not telling you anything. Bruno has no conscience. If she dies, her blood is on your and Zita's hands.)

"Bruno –"

"Revenu ici encore et je poursuis pour le harcèlement." (Come back here again and I'm suing for harassment. )Bruno growled then called, in English, "Guard!"

Luc refrained from slamming the phone back into its cradle and conceded to slamming the corvette's door after he got in instead. Zita would kill him. Not only did he, technically, steal her car, but he also effectively locked the door on gleaning any more information from Bruno, the only one they knew of who knew Anna-Marie's location. If she did not kill him, she would come close.

Zita and John's Townhouse

January 12, 2004

2:00 a.m.

Luc breathed a sigh of relief when he was that all lights but the little lamp in the living room were out. The last thing he wanted right then was an encounter with the doubtlessly angry Zita Plouvin.

Zita kept a spare house key under her cars' driver side floormats, so he had no problem getting back into the house. He closed the door carefully behind him, locked it again, and began to make his way past the stairs to his room off to the right of the kitchen. Unfortunately for him, he never make it that far. He jumped in surprise when he heard the voice right behind him and felt a firm hand over his mouth and another over his hand, keeping him from reaching the sidearm in his holster.

"Que, au nom de toutes les choses bonnes et saintes, pensiez-vous, Luc Brenoille?" (What, in the name of all things good and holy, were you thinking, Luc Brenoille?) the angry voice whispered. Luc relaxed slightly, but only slightly, recognizing the voice. It was not a voice belonging to someone you wanted angry with you.

"Zita, je suis désolé." (Zita, I'm sorry.)

"Désolé? Vous êtes désolé Cela n'est pas ce qui j'a demandé, Luc! Je n'ai pas demandé des excuses! Je veux savoir ce qui a possédé mon associé normalement pondéré pour aller bien à un idiot bête ! Et ne blâmez pas la lune - elle n'est pas pleine." Sorry? You're sorry? That's not what I asked, Luc! I didn't ask for an apology! I want to know what possessed my normally level-headed partner to become a brainless idiot! And don't blame the moon – it's not full.)

"J'ai dû lui parler sans insultes. Vous avez été insulté assez, le temps passé juste que nous l'avons vu. J'essayais de vous maintenir sûr." (I needed to talk to him without the insults. You've been insulted enough, just last time we saw him. I was trying to keep you safe.)

"Sûr? Que, pensez-vous que je ne peux pas le manipuler? J'avais été insulté pendant sept années. Quand est-ce que j'ai perdu la commande? Combien de pannes ai-je eues? " Safe? What, you think I can't handle it? I've been being insulted for seven years. When have I lost control? How many breakdowns have I had?)

"Aucun." (None.)

"Aucun. Ainsi essai d'arrêt -" (None. So stop trying – )

A rustle and a moaning few words were heard from John, who was sleeping on the couch. He rarely slept well and often spoke in his sleep when he did.

Zita pulled Luc farther into the house and closed Luc's bedroom door behind them. John's lack of sleep worried her and the last thing she wanted was to wake him up. "Comme je disais - cessez d'essayer de me protéger. Je peux manipuler l'abus mieux que n'importe qui ici donne me le degré de solvabilité pour, ainsi à arrêt me traitant comme un enfant." (As I was saying – stop trying to protect me. I can handle abuse better than anyone here gives me credit for, so stop treating me like a child.)

"Mais vous ne devriez pas devoir souffrir l'abus." (But you shouldn't have to suffer abuse.)

"Ouais, bien, je . Et aussi longtemps que je suis dans l'application de loi, je doute qui changera. Peut maintenant vous laissez-moi faire mon travail et est-ce qu'être votre associé ou je devrai avoir affaire avec vous jouant le nursemaid à moi et allant en solo sur moi toute l'heure?" (Yeah, well, I do. And as long as I'm in law enforcement, I doubt that will change. Now can you let me do my job and be your partner or will I have to deal with you playing nursemaid to me and going solo on me all the time?)

"J'ai dit que j'étais désolé. Queest-ce que voulez-vous que je dise?" (I said I was sorry. What else do you want me to say?) Luc asked, trying to keep his emotions from his voice; however, Zita saw and heard through it, and it, as his wounded-puppy routine, purposeful or not, so often did, melted whatever anger was there at the time.

She sighed. "Regardez, je suis désolé. Vous n'avez pas mérité cela." (Look, I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that.) She leaned against his desk, breaking back out into English, "It's just that ever since Mom and I came here and the squad found out what'd been going on, and especially after Mom died, I've been treated like a victim, especially by Olivia. I know she doesn't mean to, but it comes out in the way she makes conversations between the NYPD detecives about cases involving repeated rape and child abuse cease whenever I come into the room. It's like I'm someone to pity and feel sorry for – like I was five and not seventeen. I'm a cop not a kid."

"You're pretty grown-up for a seventeen-year-old – sometimes even I forget . . . until you cry."

Zita scoffed. "When have you ever seen me cry?"

"On the way back from trips to the ME's office to see a child's body or when you've realized that we were too late to stop a rape or homicide or when Larriont died last August in that shootout. You didn't want anyone to see, but it'll take a lot more than just tuning your head away to fool me. You were taught as a child not to cry, and, unfortunately for you, your childhood comes out when your adult mask falls down.. You can only keep it up so long."

Zita did not say anything. There was nothing that made any sense left to say. Curse 'im. she thought, He's all the more annoying when he's right.

Luc continued. "Any other seventeen-year-old would have just given up – maybe even on life itself. You wouldn't go that far and we all know you'd never give up on this, but it's okay to act your age. You only need to be an adult when you're on duty."

She had not realized he had started crying until he stepped closer to her and wiped the tears from her cheeks. "Am I forgiven? If I promise not to steal your car again?" he asked, opening his arms.

She fell into them and let him hold her. She could not have stayed mad at her "big brother" anyway.

SVU Squadroom

1:30 p.m.

The squadroom was void for the most part. The detectives were either out working cases or out hunting for lunch. Zita sat alone at John's desk, still searching through the lost and abandoned children's database. She was not willing to believe that the girl was dead and, having followed all the leads she and Luc had been given, it seemed the only productive thing to do was keep looking.

She almost jumped when she felt a pair of hands descend on her shoulders.

"How goes the search?"

Zita looked up into the face of Captain Don Cragen. "Fruitless. Is the Amber Alert set up?"

Cragen pulled Fin's chair over and sat down. "It is and the Mounties are on the lookout, too. Where's Luc? He's usually with you."

"With Antoine and the others out at lunch then back to the chateau. Liz is back at the house scrapbooking and helping Xavier and Etienne move in."

"So he'll be staying with you from now on?"

"Until he's fully recovered. After that, it's his choice. Etienne's too. I haven't really needed a bodyguard, lately. No one in America really knows who I am, except what's been in the papers, and no one in Parliament will come to the aid of Pierre's cause, now. If he had hired hitmen to take me out, they'd've done it by now. I'm relatively safe here."

"And in Paris?"

She shrugged. "Depends on how the media's portraying this. How it's portraying me. I wasn't that well-liked in France because I didn't openly go out around the public. I used a pseudonym on my cases and around any reporters and they never got a picture of me in uniform, so no one knew what I did. They probably just thought I sat around and spent money. A second Marie Antoinette, if you will." she replied, trailing off into silence.

"But?" he prodded. He could tell, thanks to his years of conducting interviews and interrogating suspects, that she had not finished her thoughts.

It took a few moments for her to respond. "But I don't want to go back to Paris." she said quietly, "My mother's gone, my legal father is incarcerated for life, I've got nothing left there. Antoine and Lizzette have offered to let me live with them and I still have a job in the French police, but there's too many memories and I've finally gotten settled here in New York. This is where my mother is, this is where I was born – I belong here."

"And the man you consider to be your father is here."

Zita was surprised by that. Cragen noticed. "I was a detective once, too, you know. I've heard what you call him when you think no one else can hear. I've noticed that he doesn't correct anyone when they call him your father. You belong together."

"I've wished that for a long time. I never believed Pierre was my father. I always thought that my real dad was out there somewhere. I don't look anything like Pierre . . . or John, really, but it was all too much to hope for. Now I'm not so sure."

"For years, John showed no obvious interest in kids, but now he's fully prepared to be the best father in the world. He'll never admit it, but he's always wanted kids – you can tell by his disposition. Ever since you came into his life, despite everything bad that's happened, his mood's been far better than ever before. You and your mother changed him."

The voices of the four main detectives were heard as they stepped from the elevator, returning from lunch.

"But more on that later." Cragen said, standing and returning Fin's chair to his desk. "Your dad's back."

John and Zita's Townhouse

11:50 p.m.

Zita lay on her bed, half-asleep. There was nothing more she could do on her case and she did not want to go downstairs, lest she disturb the crypt-like silence that had descended over the house now that everyone had gone to sleep and Casey and the Antoines had gone to their respective homes/hotel rooms. Zita smiled at how Casey had blushed when she had confronted her about the ADA's relationship with the bodyguard.

"So when did you and Xavier establish couple-hood?"

Casey blushed tomato red and almost denied the assumed accusation, but, remembering what Etienne had told her, reluctantly answered, "First date – November fourth."

"So that's why Mom said I had to stay at the stationhouse while Etienne drove her and John to the restaurant all those times."

Casey nodded. "You're not upset with him, are you? I mean, bodyguards are supposed to keep their minds on their jobs, not on other people besides their employers, right?"

Zita laughed. "Upset? Why would I be upset? Look, Xavier's not getting any younger and won't be able to do any more bodyguarding work with his injury. He needs to settle down. I call godparent-ship, and if you know of any other good single girls who are looking for a really tall guy to call their own, send them Etienne's way. He needs a woman."

Casey breathed a sigh of relief. "Etienne was right."

"About what?"

"He said you'd react like this. He said when you found out, you'd probably start planning our wedding."

But Lizzette, who had been listening in, had beaten Zita to the draw. No sooner had she heard the word "wedding," than she had her boyfriend on the phone. His father managed a chamber orchestra.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the British National Anthem blaring through her phone's speakers.

"You don't sleep, do you?"

Justin snorted. "What? You're awake."

"It's ten till seven a.m. where you are and you've been calling me all day. You haven't slept since – for you – two nights ago, have you?"

"Three nights, actually, but back to my reason for calling. Remember how you asked me earlier to go back and check to make sure that I sent every one of the GPS locations from car and the credit card receipts before and after December twenty-first?"

"Did you find one?"

"Yeah, but there's a problem."

"What kind of problem?"

Justin sighed. "When I tried to send it to you back in December, it wouldn't send. I could open it, but the message was garbled. The department I got the locations from uses Macs and we use Microsoft, but we never had this problem before. Now, I can't even open it."

Zita threw her pillow against the wall in frustration. They were so close. "Well, did you ask if the department could open it for you?"

"They could open it, but the screen was blank. The little box came up and said the file was corrupted and refused to let it open."

Zita sighed. "Interpol has access to the most advanced technology in the world and you can't get its departments on the same system?"

"Not without rewriting all the programs and buying new equipment. Do you know how much time and money that would take?"

"I don't wanna know. Is there any way of getting that message sent coherently?"

"I could try but it would take time."

"How much time?"

"I don't know, really."

"What about an estimate?"

"Maybe a month?"

"A month? Are you that busy?"

"I've got three other techies working on it besides me. It could take less time, could take more. It depends on what kind of program I can write and what kind of fight the file will put up." he answered, "You being mad at me isn't going to help anything."

Zita sighed again. "I'm sorry. I'm not mad at you; it's just been a long day. Xavier's moved in from the hospital, Luc managed to cut all ties with Bruno as a source of information, I have to be in court tomorrow afternoon after I pick Ludont up from the airport –"

"Zita," he interrupted.

"What?"

"Go to sleep."

"Why? It's not like I'm actually gonna sleep."

"Just try. Do it for me. There's nothing more you can do about any of this right now and it won't do you any good being drop-dead . . ." he paused for a moment, as if trying to find the right word, "exhausted when it is time to do something."

"I'll go to sleep now if you'll get to bed at a decent hour tonight."

"Deal."

"I'll call your dad to make sure you hold to that."

"Wait, what if I'm not in bed? You'll still have gone to sleep without my keeping my part of the bargain."

"Well, then you'll just have to be a good boy and be trustworthy enough to keep your half of the deal. We'll deal with it when we get there."

"Goodnight, Zita."

"Goodnight, Justin."

Justin Mianovich leaned back in his desk chair, looking out at the still star-studded sky that hung darkly above London while he waited for any news from his staff at Interpol.

He had never had a girlfriend or been in love with anyone before, so he assumed that this feeling that, for months, had been welling up inside him whenever Zita was mentioned was just that. If he had not stopped himself from saying "drop-dead gorgeous," he would have never be able to speak to Zita again, never mind actually work with her. Thoughts like the one he had almost expressed had been popping up a lot, lately, and they both thrilled and terrified him, though not exactly in that order. He was nineteen now and his grandmother had begun bringing young "friends" home from the girl's school she taught at for "tutoring." It was more like a speed-dating session from the pits of Hades. If she found that he had his mind on someone, maybe she would leave him alone. Not only that, but it would not be just a charade. He really did care for Zita. On the flip-side of the coin, Zita had been treated to lines and lines of prospective suitors that she was probably sick of the whole thing. She would rather focus on work than a relationship, especially right now. Besides, he was about as nerdy ad one could get without wearing a pair of suspenders and pants that came up to his armpits and down to six inches above his ankles. He did not dress the part or even act the part most of the time, but he certainly thought it. He was a nerd and had come to accept that, but nerds were hardly in style, especially not for young women who were raised around members of Parliament and brought up in high society. Wealthy rugby players were in style, boarding-schooled polo players were in style, professional soccer-, cricket-, tennis players were in style, up-and-coming singers and actors were in style. Going up to Zita and asking her out would not be unlike informing Prince William's fiancé that His Highness was no longer interested but, he, Justin Mianovich, was free for the taking. He did not have a prayer, but knew, fortunately for him, that, if he did gather enough courage to ask, she would do her best to let him down easy.

Little did Justin know that hundreds of miles away, across an ocean, someone he knew very well was thinking the same thing.

Zita lay in bed, listening to Reggie's snoring and watching him chase rabbits in his dreams. At least someone's getting some sleep in here. she thought.

She had not meant to sound angry at Justin and still felt guilty about it. He and his staff were up much earlier than she would consider waking under normal circumstances, using his time and energy and those of his staff's, calling her with live updates, making sure she was getting enough sleep, all just for her, and asking for nothing in return. They had always been close, but she had not always felt this way about him. Ever since his mother died five years before, the bond they shared grew tighter and tighter. Maybe this was the climax of their relationship – her being so far away and in such emotional turmoil and him so lonely and suffering the turmoil all over again with the person who helped him through his own tragedy had made them realize they needed each other.

Of course, when Zita contemplated this, there was no "them" or "they." Justin would not date her if she was the last girl on earth. When Justin bought something or looked for something to buy or asked for something, you could be sure that it was of the highest quality. The youngest Mianovich would never buy damaged or used merchandise, so it was more than safe to assume that the same philosophy applied to a soulmate. Zita knew she had been used and abused on major scales more often than she wanted to think about. She had as much of a chance at him falling in love with her as hard as she had in him as a smashed computer had of calculating pi in its entirety.

Besides, he was a super-genius who could easily make himself a very wealthy, popular man – the next Bill Gates if he put just the inventions and obsolete computer programs he had created on the market. When the hype from this case faded and when the public forgot about her, all she would be was an American detective with a full bank account, as she would be receiving Pierre's entire estate, thanks to a lawsuit Ludont was working for her, besides that of her mother's. She would be wealthy, but obscure. Justin could be famous. Justin could do better.

Zita sighed and stroked Reggie's tiny ears. Some things were just not meant to be.