Chapter Text
"Finally in Paris…" the Southern accent-laced voice of Everett Hendrol said softly, glancing out of his window on the family's luxury jet. He noticed his reflection in the window, which looked somewhat ghostly in the early evening light as it barely caught his features, the dark brown hair he was fortunate enough to have kept in his age, his dark eyes, the sharp shape of his nose and the chiseled jawline. He hoped it wasn't an omen.
"I just got confirmation from the city," his redheaded secretary said as she stepped over to her boss, dressed casually compared to his dark suit. "Everything - and I mean everything - has been covered. Including that weird 'akuma insurance' clause."
"Likely a formality," Everett replied, brushing aside the oddness of that particular insurance. "You can handle the movers, correct?"
"The only thing I don't know is where you want everything when we get there."
"That's fine, I'll handle it. Make sure the car is ready to go… and see if you can fix up that dent in the side. It's starting to aggravate me."
Clover smirked. "I've got it, right after I help with the movers. Just give me about ten minutes. My French is a tad rusty and it might take a while to get things together. Speaking of which," she leaned over to Everett's ear, "You might want to speak with Andrew again. He's still a bit… y'know… he's turned into Saint Andrew the Martyr again."
Everett sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'll talk to him," he replied, standing up. "You just take care of the sedan and the movers. Holler if you need anything." Clover nodded dutifully, then turned away. Everett could hear her cracking her knuckles.
Everett gently knocked on the door to Andrew's room on the plane. The only response was a strum of a guitar that his son managed to make sound angry. "Andrew, I understand you aren't… happy with the recent changes, but you and I need to talk. May I come in?"
The only response was an annoyed grunt. Everett took that as an invitation to enter as he pressed down on the door handle, revealing his son's personal room on the plane, which Andrew had supplemented with a beanbag and a picture collage.
Andrew Hendrol himself was spread out on the bunk, his dark brown eyes - the same color as his father's - gazing up at the ceiling and strumming his guitar a little aggressively, a slight scowl on his face. His dark brown hair - again, the same color as his father's - had recently been cut shorter than before, making him look older than his fourteen years. His violet shirt and dark blue jeans clashed with the red of his bedspread, and his favorite pair of boots were kicked against the wall.
"I guess we're here?" Andrew asked, a slight bite to his tone. Everett sighed and sat next to his son on the bed. "Andrew, I'm sorry. Really. For all the timing and whatnot. I know this will be an adjustment, and I promise it's one for me, too. I'm sorry we had to leave before the big block party, and I'm sorry that the timing was so soon after your… breakup."
"I didn't even want to come here!" Andrew protested. "Why did I even have to come? I've got a whole life back home! My friends, the new school year, everything in Nashville! Couldn't you have gone yourself?"
"Did you want me to go by myself?"
"I didn't want you to leave at all."
Everett set his jaw. "You need to understand," he began. "While this is an opportunity for Hendrol Motors to go international - something your great-grandfather would be amazed by - the reason you are here, in Paris, is to help grow yourself and expand your experiences, maybe even make new bonds to last a lifetime. Remember the story of how your mother and I met?"
"That was in college," Andrew grumbled. "Not before the school year started."
Everett sighed. "You're right. But I have some good news. Depending on how long it takes before the actual factory is complete, your friends might be able to come to Paris with their families within the year," he said, casting a glance at his son, watching as Andrew seemed to dive into his thoughts, twisting the ring on his right hand. Everett didn't know why his father had given Andrew the ring, but he didn't question it.
"Fine," Andrew eventually conceded, sliding his guitar to the side and sitting up. "How long until school starts up?"
"A week. Your teacher will be a woman named Ms. Bustier." Everett replied, standing up. "We'll have plenty of time to shake off the jet lag. Clover's getting the stuff together, and I was thinking we could get dinner at a place called Le Grand Paris. Sounds good?"
"As long as it's not anything vegetarian," Andrew said, smirking lightly. Everett returned the smirk. "Of course not. Meet me outside when you've gotten yourself together, okay?"
Andrew nodded, still fiddling with his ring. "Okay."
"See, it's like we haven't even left home!" Everett said as he showed Andrew his room in the new mansion. "Clover made sure all your stuff is where you'll want it, even if the layout is a little… different."
Andrew glanced around the room. "It's a bit bigger than my room back home," he noted. "And that curtain's positioned a little weirdly. Shouldn't it be lined up with the windows?"
"Didn't you keep telling your mother and I that you wanted more space for your archery?" Everett asked. Something seemed to click in Andrew's head as a grin spread across his face. "Well, when you put it that way…"
Andrew's eyes kept darting around the room. His bed and desk were positioned on the wall opposite the massive windows, which lead to a wide balcony outside. The shelves lined with some of his Lego models and action figures were propped against the rightmost wall, and a TV was sitting in front of the windows, a couch placed in front of that.
"I think this'll do," Andrew said slowly. Everett smiled and patted his son on the shoulder. "Good. I'll leave you to get sorted out. I've still got some work to do."
"Alright. Good night, Dad."
"Good night, kiddo." Everett turned and left, closing the door quietly behind him. Andrew counted to ten, as he always did after his parents left him alone with his thoughts. The first thing he did was step out onto the balcony and take a deep breath of the crisp night air. He noticed it smelled faintly of sugar and sulfur, with slight notes of milkweed and cloves and other exotic scents. And if his theories were correct…
Andrew pushed the thought out of his mind as he focused on the Eiffel Tower in the distance. A small smirk crossed his face. He never thought he'd see it in person… or at least, not before he turned twenty. "If only the others were here to see it," he muttered to himself.
Andrew yawned, feeling the effects of jet lag take hold. Luckily, there was still a week before school started. He stumbled back into his room, then, after a quick shower, fell into bed, almost instantly falling asleep to the sound of the city outside the mansion's wall… and the sound of a special friend's purring.