AN: Hello all! Sorry for the long wait, but I'm back and will try to be more attentive to my fanfics from now on :)

I'm going to apologize in advance if any of my knowledge about France is wrong. I live in Texas, USA-I've never set foot in Europe, much less been to all these places I'm sending France and Jeanne. I could be dead wrong about a lot of things! Just bear with me and allow it to be inaccurate for the sake of the storyline.

Enjoy and please leave me a review!


France escaped to his room and leaned against the counter in his restroom, trying to sort through his thoughts.

First he laid down the things he knew. He had half a week with Jeanne, and she didn't love him enough to care. Now, how to work that?

Well, they could do things she'd like. He could take her all over France. It would be how she would want to spend her time—she was martyred for her country, so obviously she would want to see what it had become. Public places, so they didn't have to be alone together.

Jeanne had kissed his hand, so if she didn't love him, she was willing to pretend. He wouldn't push her, but he would take what she offered. He was selfish enough for that. Besides, he wasn't sure if he would be able to stop himself, when she was right there by his side. How could he have her right next to him and not reach out to touch her, kiss her?

I'm sorry I love you, he told her internally. I brought you back without considering how you'd feel. I was selfish.

o~O~o

Jeanne climbed into a dress Francis had sent for her. It was green, with a neckline up to her chin. He knew she would refuse to wear anything less.

Francis had seemed so sad, so tortured. How could she make him feel better? She didn't want him to be sad in the bare handful of days that remained to them.

Her sweet Francis. She knew from watching him how long he'd been empty. Now she had come here and filled his soul with life once more, and it had hurt him. She'd rewound time, and remade him. He had reverted to what he had been six centuries ago—that had to be why he had shied at the sight of her naked body rather than ogling it, as he would have just a day before. He was innocent again, and he loved her with the innocence of youth. The first blossom of young love was the most beautiful, but when it withered and fell, it was the ugliest of all.

Their flower only had four days left of life. It was a bloom that would only open its petals twice. Jeanne knew the spell to bring her back could not be repeated once she had died once more; once her few days ended and she was once more delivered into the arms of God, she would not see Francis face-to-face until he died. And yet she never wanted Francis to die—if he was dead, it meant that the country she had fought and died for was gone as well. If only she could live—

She cut that thought off. No. It was impossible. Besides, this world was a place of pain. She would not live without heartbreak if she chose to live with him.

A knock at the door wormed its way through her thoughtful reverie to reach her ears. "Jeanne? Can I come in?"

"Please do," she called, starting towards the door to meet Francis.

When he stepped inside, she was startled to see that his eyes were carefully closed off, the expressive blue hardened into a wall she could not see through. "Francis?" She reached for his face, framing it with her hands. "Love?"

He winced ever so slightly at the word—she wouldn't have noticed if she wasn't holding him. Her concern deepened. "Francis, what—"

"I thought I would take you on a tour of France, darling. Would you like that?" he asked, cutting her off unceremoniously.

"Yes, very much!" she said, trying not to let her confusion show. What was the matter with him?

"Good." He smiled and leaned down to kiss her brow. "I'll make the arrangements. Would you like to join me in the library?"

"Yes!" She took the arm he offered her and went with him to the library.

Only when she was settled in an overstuffed armchair with a large, leather-bound tome, listening to Francis make calls on his cell phone—although she had witnessed the birth of the technology from Heaven, it still astounded her—did she realize something.

Francis had not yet kissed her. Her hands, her forehead, her shoulder, yes, but not her lips.

He used to love to kiss her. Even back then, he'd loved it. And yet, he hadn't even kissed her when she'd awakened on the floor of England's spellcasting room.

A numb chill ran through her. Something was wrong. Between his odd behavior and his refusal to kiss her, she was a little frightened.

What could be holding him back? And more importantly, were these precious few days with her love going to go to waste because of his hesitation?

o~O~o

Why did Jeanne insist on tormenting him?

She called him love, and she touched him as if it were nothing. As if he wasn't living for those little touches right now. And yet as much as that got his hopes up, he couldn't help but remember the blank look of uncaring in her eyes when England had brought the news.

The butler drove them to the train station and dropped them off there. France had the whole trip planned—he'd called in advance to reserve hotel rooms in all the cities they'd be staying in, except for the Riviera, where they'd stay in his beach house, and Paris, where they'd stay in his flat.

Paris was the final stop on the trip. It was rather poetically appropriate, he thought, that they would end their time together there. His capital city was his heart—a perfect place for Jeanne to die. He could just imagine it. Once more in the bedroom of the home he used most often, falling asleep to the familiar skyline of the City of Lights and the lullaby of the city's humming nightlife. Jeanne would be alive when he fell asleep and dead when he awoke. At least this time a painless death was guaranteed.

Painless for her, at least.

The train arrived and France loaded their baggage onto the overhead compartments. Jeanne stared wide-eyed at everything she saw. As the train began to move, she was glued to the window, wonderstruck at the sight of the countryside flying past.

France had to chuckle at the sight of her pinned to the window. He reached out and wound his fingers through hers.

She glanced at him, grinning at him so beautifully that it knocked the breath from his lungs. "It's so lovely, Francis," she cried. A few passengers looked at them strangely, unsure what to think of her archaic French dialect and old-fashioned attire, but they both ignored them.

France leaned forward carefully to look over her at the scenery. The way she sat made it impossible for him to look out of the window without pressing against her back. He hoped she didn't mind too much, because he thought that it might be a little glimpse of the Heaven she so wanted to return to.

o~O~o

Jeanne sighed and leaned back slightly so that she rested against Francis. She knew she shouldn't be so forward, but the lean strength of his body lingering over hers was wonderful—a perfect complement to the scenery rushing by.

It was familiar, all of it. The verdant greens, the hilly terrain—she knew it all. Of course, it was broken now by signs of human habitation. Cities studded the wilderness like the gems of a crown; every so often she'd see children playing in train yards or cars darting across the tracks in an attempt to beat the train.

Francis' estate must have been further from Versailles than Jeanne had realized. Their train ride was long enough that she felt Francis sit back in his seat, prompting her to do the same.

He sat carefully still, his gaze fixed on the scenery. Jeanne hardly noticed—she was too enchanted by the sights. Still that nagging concern would not be silenced. Something was seriously wrong. Yesterday, France had hardly been able to keep his hands to himself. What had changed?

She wanted to reach out to him, but halfway through reaching for his hand, she stopped herself.

What if…could it be that he simply didn't love her anymore? He had changed these past years. What if he could no longer accept what she was, since she had died and been left frozen in the ways of a century long past, now that he was new and current and changed with his nation?

It was disconcerting, not being able to see through the eyes of Heaven into the hearts of men. What if she simply wasn't all that he remembered, the woman that he had loved and yearned for all this time?

She remembered how he'd come to her in the night and asked to sleep with his arms around her. She'd offered her hand. It was all that she could give him, but it was certainly less than he wanted. Maybe what she was, what he had been back then, what they had between them, simply had no place in this new age.

Maybe it would just be better for him if she just disappeared.

For the first time in six centuries, Jeanne felt firsthand the pain of the world. Her heart cried out in agony as it was crushed beneath the burden of a sorrow that was just too heavy for her all-too-living soul to bear.

When they arrived at Versailles, Jeanne gaped openmouthed in wonder. Of all the things that had changed, city life was the most different. People wore strange clothes—seeing so many women in pants still shocked her, even though she herself had worn them—and spoke in a loose, peculiar sort of way, a flabby version of the French she knew. And the crowds! Why, this had to be the largest congregation of people she had ever witnessed!

Francis chuckled at her shock and wonder. "It's small compared to Paris, my love," he told her.

Unbidden, her hand sought his as she shied into his side. "Paris must be enormous," she breathed. The air wasn't as clean as she remembered, either, but she knew why. The pollution recently had changed things.

Suddenly she realized that her hand was tucked into Francis'. Blushing, she thought about retracting it, but decided not to. If he was willing to hold her hand, then she would let him.

Her heart ached hollowly. I love you. God, I love him. Thank You for this time with him, but… Will it even mean anything to him?

She hoped it did. Even if it was a very little bit, she wanted to mean something to him. As horrid as it sounded, she hoped he would mourn when she died a second time. I'm terrible, she thought bitterly. But that was how she felt.

"We're going to see the Palace of Versailles," he told her gently. "It's beautiful, but…a little extravagant."

"I know," she said eagerly. "I saw it from Heaven, but I want to see it in person! Somehow, everything's…more here. I guess in Heaven I was too surrounded by such beautiful things to really appreciate Earth anymore."

Francis winced, and Jeanne blushed. Obviously Heaven wasn't a good subject to dwell on. "It's wonderful," she breathed, swinging their intertwined hands slightly as she gazed around at their surroundings. "Thank you for bringing me."

"You're welcome." His voice was stiff.

o~O~o

France had so many conflicting emotions in his heart that he wasn't sure he was physically capable of containing them all. On one hand, he was happy that Jeanne was holding his hand, and having fun on the trip; but having her fling her joy at living in Heaven in his face like that was anything but pleasant.

Watching her face glow so radiantly like that…he just wanted to clutch her to his chest and kiss her until neither of them could breathe. He was convinced it wouldn't take much. Just being around her made him breathless.

He passed a hand across his eyes as he bought their tickets to enter the Palace. He was so stupid to be thinking like that. Stupid and selfish. Who knew if she even wanted that?

He wouldn't. Not until she asked. She would likely never make a move to kiss him, but she might ask. And if she did… Well, then he would allow himself to be selfish.

Maybe that was what made him want to feel her lips again. The fact that it was selfish. It was as if he wanted to emphasize the difference between them even more by being so utterly human, by having illogical emotions that he couldn't and sometimes didn't want to control. His angel, she belonged in Heaven. Not here with him. He must have been a masochist, to want to make that difference even more painfully obvious than it already was.

Or maybe he wanted to make her a part of the world. He could cover her with his own taint, the one he'd cultivated in his years of sleeping around, and make her a part of this world she didn't belong in. He could paint her with the worst the world had to offer—with himself—until God would not want her back.

I'm terrible, he thought bitterly. But that was how he felt.

He wanted her by his side. Forever. Like a willful, ignorant child, he wanted it—without regard for the consequences and without caring for what it would mean for anyone else.

Which was exactly why he could not have it. He'd been many things in his life, not all of them good—but there were some things he simply could not allow himself to become. That level of selfishness was just despicable, and he would not allow himself to sink that low, especially due to feelings that Jeanne did not even return, at least on the same level.

It took everything he had to play the cheerful tour guide and show Jeanne around the Palace. He drew on his memories of the time to explain the complicated rituals and protocol that governed life at the Palace—much of which he had been directly involved in. He had ranked just under the king himself at the time, and so had been at the center of the pomp and circumstance as much as the royal family.

He brushed the knuckles of the hand he still held across his lips, grinning slightly at the memory. "I've never been so pampered before or since. I wouldn't go back though—it was suffocating." Realizing what he was doing with her hand, he started slightly and dropped their entwined hands back to dangle at their sides.

"I can imagine…" Jeanne gaped, wonderstruck, at all the wealth displayed in the Palace. Her grip tightened on his hand ever so slightly, as if she was overwhelmed by her lavish surroundings. "It's lovely, though."

"Yes, lovely…" Jeanne's hair was more golden than the gilt covering every surface, her eyes bluer and brighter than the sapphires studding some of the display items. Her skin was like the finest porcelain, and her lips blushed red as the roses in the vases along the walls. She was what held his eye as he made the tour. She was easily the most stunning thing in Versailles that day to France's eyes.

They had arrived in Versailles in the late afternoon, so by the time they finished with the tour it was evening, and time for them to go to their hotel. France had already had someone drop their luggage, and when they arrived it was waiting for them.

"I had some things made up for you," he told Jeanne as he led her to her room. "Some dresses and such to wear. There are some pants too, whichever you prefer to wear."

"Thank you." She smiled radiantly at him in gratitude. His heart squeezed painfully over its hurt and hope and longing.

I won't do it. I won't. "Goodnight, my love," he said, forcing a smile.

As he turned to go to his room next door, Jeanne's small but strong hand caught his wrist. "Francis?" When he unwillingly turned to look at her, she had a torn expression on her face.

"Yes?" His heartbeat thundered in his ears.

She hesitated, biting her lip. "Never mind." She waved her hand as if to dispel the summons. "It was nothing. Good night."

Francis watched her enter her room, then trudged slowly to his. When he entered, he shut his door and leaned back against it, his hands pinned behind his back as he sank to the floor. "What am I doing…?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes harshly with one hand. He'd never been so tempted to kiss anyone as he was just now with Jeanne. Not even when she had been reincarnated had he been so tempted.

But after his musings today in Versailles, that wanting seemed almost taboo. Even I am not that selfish. At least there is that.

When he drew his hand away from his eyes, he was surprised to find his fingers wet. He hadn't felt himself start to cry.

o~O~o

Fool! Jeanne stormed into her room and slammed the door, furious tears stinging her eyes as she railed against herself internally. You were burned at the stake three times over and you can't even bear to ask the man you love to kiss you goodnight? What kind of coward are you? Hot droplets slid down her cheeks, chasing each other down. I'm so weak. I can't remember the last time I was this afraid of anything.

Jeanne had not been afraid of dying for the country she loved. Despite all she had to live for, she had felt no fear. But she was afraid of not being loved by the man she loved, so afraid that she would rather not ask for his kiss than hear him refuse it to her.

I'm such a fool. She dropped into the bed still fully dressed and stared at the ceiling. I only have three more days now and I'm wasting them acting like a silly little child!

Heaven had dulled the memories of how complicated life could be. It seemed she had forgotten how much courage it took to face the one she loved and be vulnerable before him, offering her heart for him to caress or stab with a single word.

Jeanne d'Arc had been martyred. Executed. Burned like a common witch. She would not lose her courage over this.


AN: GUYS I HAVE THE PERFECT THEME SONG FOR THIS PAIRING.

IT'S THOUSAND YEARS BY CHRISTINA PERRI.

I MADE A VIDEO FOR IT AND EVERYTHING.

MAYBE I'LL POST IT ON YOUTUBE.

Maybe :3