Disclaimer : All rights belong to their owner.

Spoilers : This fiction follows the general course of the movie, so I'd advice you not to read if if you haven't seen the said movie.

Rating : T, for strong language and situations. Nothing traumatic, though.

A/N : Maxime Muller's character is a personal building which affects the course of the story. Anyway, as my mother language is not English, I may or may not do spelling/grammar/conjugation/syntax mistakes, and I'm sorry if it disturbs you too much. I wish you a great reading, feel free to comment at any time !

Dethroned Queen

I

It was a hell of a day. No but really, it was. It had begun quite well, actually. She'd been preparing this for days. She'd studied every cameras, every security lock, every single little something that could have betrayed her. Really, everything had been prepared. Of course, it was weird that something so insignificant as a tailor could use so much security and, of course, it was weird that there was no money in the till. But she'd seen weirder than that.

But again, of course, she'd been caught. This bald man had come and stopped her from doing… Well, robbery that was. It was not the first time some owner came at the middle of her transaction, so she just raised her hands, submissive. Nothing good would come from her trying to escape. Plus, the guy didn't seem so angry, but rather… Well, surprised, to say the least. Dumbfounded was a bit more fitting here. He had ordered her to stay there with the purest Oxford accent she'd ever heard. Fucking nobility, she'd thought.

It didn't last long, though. As she was trying to understand the difference between Oxford and Brogues, another man entered the shop. He was wearing the same kind of uptight suit, the same glasses than the bald one. They exchanged a few words, glaring at her. This one was slightly older than the first one, but she was not so sure. He looked older because of his hair, sprinkled with grey. Since the other had not hair, well…

He finally came in front of her, scrutinizing her face, her body as a whole. She could've felt awkward, but there was nothing but pure curiosity in his eyes. No perversion. No lust. I guess I will not be able to pay in kind… She was not so found of this kind of… Settlement, anyway.

"Hello, young lady," he said with the exact same pure English-born accent. "I've heard you're in troubles.

- As it seems. I didn't take anything, if that's what bothering y'all. Really, I couldn't find anything interesting.

- By interesting, I reckon you mean valuable ?

- Well, usually when you break into a shop, you search for valuable stuff." She frowned. "But you can't know that, do you ? You're not the type of guy to steal anything.

- You'd be surprised."

He sat in front of her, taking care to unbutton his jacket. She rolled her eyes. All these manners. All these precautions not to crease his perfect suit. They were not from the same world and neither of them could understand the other. Still, she didn't understand why the bald one hadn't called the police instead of his… Boyfriend ? Maybe he was the owner, and the egghead was just an employee. Still, for an employee, he was all dressed-up.

"Soooo ? We're going to stare at each other like an old married couple ?

- I actually have a couple of questions to ask you, if it's not too much.

- You know I tried to rob you, right ?" she asked suspiciously. "So what the heck are you doing ?

- I'm polite. I know, it sounds stupid in such a situation but it's a matter of manners. Shall we begin ?

- Begin, begin. I've not other choice anyway."

He smiled slightly. It almost made him younger, even if he still was an old lad. She crossed her arms on her chest and waited for his questions. She was not going to tell him the truth, if he was going to ask her how she managed not to be detected by the cameras, the thermic detectors and all his security gear. She was going to serve him up the same story as usual : luck, talent, experience. The three combined. He didn't look like the gullible type, so it was going to be a bit more difficult.

"You probably know my first question, but how did you manage to come here without being detected ? We've set up a great number of security devices.

- Yeah, well. I don't know, talent. Luck. Experience. Pick yours and leave the rest.

- And you know I'm not believing this," he retorted. "But let's continue. What did you find here ?

- You don't know what's inside your own shop ? Well, there are those nice suits, those fine bow ties… Some leather shoes. Oh, by the way, maybe you can explain me what are Oxford and why they're so different from Brogues ?

- Glad to see you appreciate our goods. But that's not my question."

He seemed to grow more serious, more grave. As if it was something much more important than just clothes, even luxury ones. She tilted her head and shrugged. She just had the time to see that there was no money anywhere, nothing else. She looked around. It was in the old English style, tartan and dark wood, pretty traditional and stuffy. It didn't really look like money laundering, though she was not an expert on drug and mafia issues.

And the guy didn't look like a mafia member. He probably had blue blood, a title. Maybe he was usually called a sir, or a lord. He was way too better off to need this kind of… Business to dirty his hands. Plus, a mafia man would have killed her right away.

"I didn't find anything, or else I would've had it in my bag. Your mate went just after seeing me on your screens, so…

- Our screens," he repeated thoughtfully. "I see. Well, then I guess you can go.

- I can… What ? I can go ?

- That's what I said, yes."

She blinked a few times, trying to have a grasp of what was happening. I can go. It was rather unexpected. Most of the times, the police came, threatened her and released her after a night in custody. But no owner had ever told her to go free. She frowned, then looked around. Surely it was a joke of some kind. He wasn't going to wriggle out of this. Isn't it ?

She held her bag tight in her hand and stood up. He settled for just watching her with this inscrutable gaze of his. It was almost scary, and she was not one for being scared this easily.

"Where's the trap ?" she finally asked. "I'm going to find the police outside, right ?

- You're not. No one saw you there, apart from my colleague. Which is quite impressive, considering the level of protection we've put on the shop.

- I've told you, it's just…

- Luck and talent. Mostly talent if I dare say." He smiled and elegantly crossed his legs. "As I told you, you may go. Now, if you're not in a hurry, I have some proposal to make.

- Proposal ? What d'you mean ?

- Wait a second, will you ?"

This time, he stood up and went in the backroom. She heard the both of them talking and bit her lips. She could fly. He would not follow her, if he was to be trusted. But there was something in the way he talked, apart from his fancy accent, that held her attention. He was curious, but not about her intrusion. About herself. Even if it was just because he needed a seller, she just had to know what it was all about.

So she sat again, and waited. It took him a few minutes before he came back with a bunch of papers. He smiled politely and buried himself in his files. Impatient and vaguely concerned, she couldn't help but moving about her legs, her hands. When he finally spoke, she froze.

"Maxime Clara Muller. Born the eighth of January of 1993 in Paris. Impressive educational background, very high IQ, baccalaureate with distinction and then… Nothing. No trace of you whatsoever. What a waste of potential to have given up on studies.

- Where… Where have you found this ?" she stammered, unsettled. "It's private, you…

- Yes it is. Though your personal life became slightly less personal when you decided to break into this shop."

He threw the papers on the coffee table between them and sighed. She took them. Everything was in there, from family photographs to her university's registration file. My fucking god. She hadn't even seen most of these documents. There were all of her academic records, everything from kindergarten to high school. Teachers she had forgotten, classes she couldn't remember of, events she didn't cared the least about. But it was hers, and hers alone. No one should have been able to have access to all of this. She gulped and raised her eyes to meet his.

He was dreadfully calm, as if he'd done nothing wrong. O'course it's so natural for him ! He was used to have everything under control, under his control. To know everything. To do anything. She felt almost violated. And actually, she was.

"I'm going to be frank with you, Maxime, what you did is seriously problematic. Firstly because you tried to steal us, but it's really not that important, and secondly because you almost managed to do it. And it's a disgrace, really, since we're supposed to have the most efficient security system of the whole Great Britain. Possibly Europe, for that matter.

- A tailor shop… Has the most efficient security system of the country ? It doesn't make any sense. Nothing makes sense, why do you have my file here ? Who gave it to you ?

- No one. I took it," he answered bluntly. "So you really think this is just a fancy clothes shop ?

- What the bloody hell is going on ? Is this a candid camera ?"

She shook her head and crumpled the papers. It was purely symbolic, she knew he could always find it elsewhere, but there was something wrong here. And she was not going to stay to see it. She stood up and went straight to the entrance. The door was still open, so she just went outside. She dared to look behind her only when she'd turned on the next street. There only she breathed and stopped. Jesus. This guy was crazy. Last time she tried to rob a luxury shop, last time. Even for money she owed. Anything but that.

She went on until finding a pub to take shelter. She sat in a corner and ordered a coffee. It was cold outside and she not dressed to support it. A big coat was not the perfect outfit not to be detected. She sighed and tried to compose herself. It was a big joke. Those men just wanted to scare her a little bit. And it worked. It took a while before she convinced herself it was nothing and she could just go home and sleep it off.

That was she was planning to do anyway. When she called the waiter to pay her coffee, he told her someone had already paid it. And of course, this someone was not there anymore. She thanked him with a trembling voice and went outside. It was raining. Why. Of. Course. She mumbled and cursed herself with her stupid ideas while looking around. And stopping her gaze on a well dressed man with a black umbrella.

"I thought maybe you could use a bit of protection," he said while offering his arm. She didn't make a move. "Our conversation isn't nearly finished.

- You said I could go. So I went.

- But you waited for me when I asked you to. I know this seems a bit… Odd, but you should listen to me. May I walk you back home ?

- You already know my address anyway," she sighed. "Creep."

He smiled and began to walk. She followed him. At least, she would not get soaked. Maybe killed or abducted, but dryly. Yay. Lucky me. He didn't even try to fake it, and just went right to her home. Well, home. Where she lived, anyway. It was broken, dirty and poor, probably not something he was used to, but he didn't comment. He just continued. Somehow she was… Grateful for that.

He stopped a few blocks ahead of hers. The rain had stopped, so he packed his umbrella to look hard at her. It felt weird, being scrutinized by an elderly. Even if he was not exactly the common elderly.

"What I meant, when saying that we had the hardest security system, is that you went through it with an… Unusual ease.

- Not so unusual since your pal saw me.

- Truth is, there were no screens. He just saw you by chance, nothing else. If he'd been a bit late for work, he wouldn't have found you," he corrected. "You could be a real asset for us.

- A tailor asset ?

- It has nothing to do with tailoring, Maxime. Maybe we could…

- Max !"

He stopped, interrupted by a scream at the other side of the road. She closed her eyes and almost face palmed. This day was a complete, an utter hell. No way it could've gotten any worse than this. The guy who'd screamed came toward them and ogled them. Especially her new… Friend ? Well, his look didn't really belong in the place. But he didn't seem so scared, for a blue-blood man.

He should've. She knew the lad, and the lad knew her. She owed him money, money she was supposed to have. Money she'd been searching in the shop. Johnson was his name, though she didn't know if it was real or some sort of pseudonym. He burst into laughter when he thought he'd understood the situation.

"My, my. So that's your sugar daddy ? Hope he gave you the money you're supposed to give me, uh ?

- I'll have it," she assured. "I just need…

- More nights ? Yeah, see what you mean. Y'know you could've just told me you wanted to pay in kind."

She gritted her teeth. She truly hated him and his raucous jokes. He was nothing but an arsehole and she would've given anything to have him humiliated the same way he loved to humiliate everyone around him. Her companion didn't say anything, apparently taking no umbrage with his innuendos. I'd gladly see you react, old pal.

She smiled deceitfully and tried to go on walking but he stood in her way. When he tried to take her arms, her suited fellow reacted at last and pushed him. Faintly, weakly. Not that way… She tried to tell him not to interfere but he didn't listen.

"You should listen to her, Granddaddy. If you need other gals to rent, they're on the corner of Smith's Street.

- He ain't joking, you should go," she pressed him. "I can deal with it.

- I certainly hope so, but I've had a rather emotional day and I need a bit of… Distraction."

He handed her his umbrella and pushed Johnson once again. She was on the verge of collapsing, both of awkwardness and fear of what was going to happen. But well, maybe once the old guy would be knocked down he would just leave her alone ? She'd already fled a couple of places anyway. Doing it again was routine.

He buttoned up his jacket slowly, while Johnson was just watching him, speechless. Being provoked by a fifty-something year old man was not something he would have expected. Still he smiled and spit on the floor. Gross.

"I'd loved to kick your arse, Daddy, but I've other fishes to fry, y'see ?

I'm going to teach you something, though I'm not sure you'll remember it by the end of the day," he just retorted. "Manners maketh man. I'm sure you don't what that means, but I'm going to show you."

Unable to understand half of what he was saying, Johnson grew a bit angrier and threw himself against him. Well, more precisely, he tried to, because the man avoided his punch with absolutely no effort.

What happened next, she wasn't entirely sure she got it right. It looked like some secret dance only him knew. The fight was always graceful, at least from the part of her mate, and it would've been a beautiful sight if it was not for the blood spilled. She could've never told a suit would allow a man to fight that way – with fists and feet, but it did. He took absolutely no blow, while Johnson found himself smashed-up on the floor within one or two minutes.

She couldn't say anything, couldn't even move. Everything had happened so fast that she didn't know if it was the reality or some fantasy caused by some drug. She looked around and this time she cursed. Of course it could get worse. Johnson's friends had seen everything and now they wanted to fight the elderly. He ordered her to stay aside and the dance resumed.

This time it went longer, and more violent. Again, nothing touched him while he managed to knocked them down, one by one, by slamming them against the fences, returning their knives against them or just by crashing their skulls on the sidewalk. In the end, ten guys were lying on the floor, covered in blood and, for some, probably dead. She gasped, trying to stay calm. She was used to see blood and dead people – it was common platitude in her world. But this way ! She'd never seen anyone fighting like this. In a suit. At this age. With this class. He turned toward her and gestured her. She didn't understand.

"It's raining again. The umbrella, please ?"

She gave it back to him and tried to find her words. It was not this easy in such a situation. He opened it and straightened up his glasses. His suit was still perfectly tidied. What the fuck did I just watch ?

She was going to ask him if she was dreaming when she saw Johnson getting back on his feet, clumsily. He was holding a gun.

"Watch o—"

She couldn't even finish that a detonation rang out. Not from Johnson. From the umbrella. From the umbrella ?! It had fired a single bullet between his eyes. The weapon fell first, then the body followed. And she just stood there, motionless, making no sound. Savage, was the only word that came to her mind.

She didn't even feel the rain slowly drenching her clothes. The scene was unbelievable, really. There was no word to describe it. It was… Fucked-up. Yeah, fucked-up worked fitted just well.

"I'm sorry you had to witness this," she heard behind her. "I had to let off a little steam, you see ? A friend of mine died yesterday. I do really apologize, though, I shouldn't have done this in front of you. Now I'm afraid you'll have to forget this…

- Wow, wait a sec ! I'm not going to tell anyone, I swear ! If there's something I can do, it's keep my mouth shut.

- You won't tell a soul ?

- Yeah, yeah, I swear on whatever you want me to swear !

- Much appreciated… Max."

She turned toward him. He was smiling, under his fancy shotgun umbrella. He was holding something in his other hand, but it disappeared inside one of his pocket as soon as she'd seen it. The forgetting device, maybe ? She crossed her arms against her chest, not knowing if it was because of the cold or because of the situation as a whole. Both, probably.

"As I was saying before those gentlemen interrupted us, maybe we could go in your house or mine to talk a little bit of what the "tailor" really is ?

- My… I'm not sure you'd like to stay in the area after that, y'know.

- Well, then we'll go to mine," he said, quite satisfied. "I hope they were not friends of yours.

- Not… Really.

- Good. They didn't look much like good company."

He took his phone and tapped something on the screen. He gestured her to come under the umbrella. She only did it because she began to feel water flowing along her arms and legs. They waited for, what, a minute, then a car arrived. With no driver. She goggled and sat on the back. He took the wheel and drove in perfect silence. I think I'm living a nightmare. A bloody nightmare.

He drove for a while, and it was only natural. From the slums he went to the richest neighbourhoods, where houses were magnificent and huge. She looked outside, trying to understand where one ended and where the other began. He parked himself in the courtyard of a private mansion and opened her door. The leather of the seat was soaked. Oh fuck. If he saw it, though, he didn't say anything. He just leaded her into the house.

It was beautiful, really. Fancy, of course, but modern and bright. Not old and heavy like the tailor. She felt out of place, suddenly, and stayed in the entrance. He took off his coat, his umbrella, hung them on pegs and sighed. Home sweet home… I guess. He went right into the kitchen and made tea, or what looked like tea.

It took him a minute or two to figure out she was not with him. He frowned and ordered her to come. She hesitated.

"I'm soaked. I don't want to…

- What a terrible host I'm making," he said, almost theatrically. "I'm giving you dry clothes in a second.

- You don't have to…

- Wait here."

He disappeared in a corridor, rummaged through his wardrobe and finally found some clothes. He handed them to her and showed her a bathroom. She thanked him, embarrassed, and entered it. She locked it, by habits more than by security, and looked at the clothing. It was simple, a white tank top and a pair of jeans, but it looked like her size. He had a good eye. Or maybe he was used to see women. He was supposed to be a tailor, wasn't he ?

She dressed and put her soaked clothes in the washbasin. She would take them back when he would be done with her. Whatever that will mean. When she came back in the living room, he was sitting on a huge armchair, sitting his cup of tea. When am I supposed to tell him I don't like tea ? It would almost sound like a capital offense to a pure British. She sat in front of him and crossed his arms. And legs.

"They suit you quite well," he said, showing the clothing she was wearing. "I apologize, I don't have much female clothes.

- It's ok. It's dry, it's all that matters.

- Good. Maybe we can come to our subject then."