Promenade
by Apple-chan

Disclaimer: All I own is a pack of cookies and a pen.

Summary: Four couples, one perfect night...or is it? A 5-act tale on how four young men and four young women fall in love at the night of their Junior-Senior Prom. YXA, RXP, LXJ, and HXT.

Dedicated to all of you passel of LXJ fans out there, like Fluff Inc, Sheo Darren, Miko-chan and her Imouto, just to name a few. Thanks for the support, and hope you like this.=)

And a special dedication goes to PrismaticMage, for being such a great Lyserg in the SKRP at LJ, and for...making me like Marco/Lyserg.:P Let's just say I'd be really glad if I get you sort of converted to...totally liking LXJ.:P Yui-chan, hope you like this one.=)


ACT III: Set.


SCENE 1: The Past, the Present, and the Future.


A silvery-blue haired man in his early forties, known to many as Sir Pierre Iron, and known to his one and only child as "Father," gazed fondly at a delicately-framed picture in his hand. A small, contemplative frown hovered on his handsome features...but his deep blue eyes reflected a small wave of hurting, of pain, as he stroked the picture softly, lovingly.

The image on the picture was that of his late wife--a vibrant, beautiful French girl with long light auburn hair and captivating ruby eyes. He had met her during his business travels, somewhere in Athens, around three years short of two decades ago. She was a choir singer, a missionary; and that meeting, seventeen years ago--a haphazard coincidence--was a fateful day when he had somehow managed to find himself lost, and the safest and nearest haven was the Church, where she was.

And when he saw her...half a year after he had gotten his heart broken by the first woman he had ever loved, and worse--to know that she was in love with his best friend--he didn't think he could recover so fast.

And yet he did--and it was all because of her. His beautiful, wonderful wife. Cassandra Iron.

He continued to caress the image on the picture lovingly, his hands moving over to that little baby in the arms of his wife--a little girl with silvery-blue hair, and the same ruby eyes as Cassandra. Their beautiful daughter, Jeanne. A child, born out of their love.

Love. A lot of people had been in deep, violent protest over his decision to wed Cassandra, that it was too soon for him to marry, that he didn't really love her...but he knew then, just as he knew now: he did love her. It was different from the love that he had...that he would always have for Andrea Diethyl--his first love, and his ex-best friend's late wife--but it was love, nevertheless. Although, he had always believed--at least, his hard, stubborn mind did--that he would never love anyone the way that he loved Andrea...when Cassandra suffered from an illness and died, shortly after Andrea did, he realized: he loved her more, and Andrea was nothing but a mere memory he couldn't let go of.

Either way, although his heart might have been shattered during Andrea's death, he knew this much: he ceased to live when Cassandra died.

Still...he could never forget Andrea, because she fell in love with Liam--and vice versa. And because of that, he doubted if he could ever forgive either of them--Liam, or Andrea. The two people he had loved and trusted the most in the whole world, and they had betrayed him in the worst possible way. They had been in love for so long, and he never even knew until they got married. Liam, his best friend since childhood--he never even told him. And Andrea--his first love, his first girlfriend, his many firsts-- didn't even give him so much as a warning that she was planning to break his heart. He knew it wasn't her fault, but still...he felt betrayed.

Seeing their son in the flesh--with his spiky green hair, so like Liam's; his wide green eyes, so like Andrea's--and watching the boy move and interact with his precious Jeanne--he was constantly reminded of their betrayal, and he never wanted to remember. Which is why he vowed to himself that, after that first time, never in a million years would he ever want to set eyes on Liam and Andrea's son again...and neither will he let his only daughter interact, and, quite possibly, be friends with this young boy, no matter how perfect he is.

Never in a million years, and that's a promise, he told himself silently.

"...Father?" Jeanne's soft melodious voice broke through her thoughts.

As he watched his one and only daughter descend the grand steps like a graceful, beautiful princess, Pierre felt as if he was going back through time, and returning to that quiet little Church in Athens when he had first seen, met, and fell in love with Cassandra. Except for the hair, which she had inherited from him--Jeanne was her mother's pure perfect clone through and through--from her face, her ruby eyes; and the way she moved, to her walk, to the way she spoke, laughed; and most especially...her voice, and the way she sang.

"Are you all right?" Jeanne had reached the bottom step and was now hovering in front of him, waving her hands in his face, her brows furrowed with concern. "Father?" She tapped his shoulder gently, and smiled faintly.

He snapped back into reality. As he looked over his daughter from head to toe, he clutched the picture frame he was still holding tightly in his hands.

Cassandra. He could feel the tears welling up in his eyes. She was the living, breathing picture of his Cassandra.

"...I'm fine," he answered in a slightly choked voice as he tried his very best to prevent the tears from coming out of his eyes. The picture frame he was holding dropped to the table with a small sound.

Jeanne's eyes went to the picture frame, and an expression of incredible sadness washed over her features as she picked it up and settled it firmly on top of the mantle. Then, she took her father's hand and kissed it, all the while gazing at him with a sad smile.

Her father shakily returned the smile. "You remind me so much of her," he choked out in a whisper.

"...There's no one I'd rather be like," she declared softly, rising up on tiptoes and pressing a kiss to his cheek. Then, she tapped his hand lightly and gave him a bright smile. "Father...shall we go?"

He nodded, squeezing her hand lightly and leading her out the door, where Marco was waiting for them.

Right then and there, he realized: Cassandra does, indeed, live and breathe in Jeanne. And just as long as he had his daughter...he had something to live for.

He knew now: he hadn't ceased to live yet...he still had his precious daughter. He still had Jeanne.

For the time being, he would cherish that, because he knew...she wouldn't be his for very long. One of these days, she would be leaving him for another man.

When that time comes, I would be ready, he vowed silently as they stepped inside their old vintage Ferrari.

...And that other man, whoever he is, he'd better be ready as well.

I'm not about to give my daughter up that easily...to anyone.


-


Jeanne wrung her hands together several times, nervously fidgeting as they drove towards Professor Silverberg's house, which was a short distance away from where she lived. She stole a glance at Marco on the driver's seat; and then, at her father on the front passenger's seat, silently hoping and praying that all goes well for the night.

The last two weeks have been, in a manner of speaking, so far, so good, for both her and Lyserg--at least, in terms of rehearsals, since Professor Silverberg and the rest of his family have been accommodating enough to allow both of them to stay on as late as they needed in order to finish their practices on the song pieces for prom night. More than that, the Silverbergs even went so far as to take both her and Lyserg home each and every time they extended well off into the night; with either the Professor or one of his two sons doing the driving.

So far, both Jeanne's father and her nosy bodyguard Marco haven't suspected a thing as of yet, and if all goes well for the rest of the time--at least, for the night--neither Pierre nor Marco (nor any other unsuspicious staff in the Iron household) would ever find out that Jeanne and Lyserg have been...seeing each other, so to speak--in the past month or so, with the help of the good graces of the Silverberg family.

"Well...we're here." Her father announced suddenly, breaking through her thoughts.

Jeanne looked up. The Ferrari had stopped, and now both Marco and her father had stepped out of the vehicle to assist her.

This is it. Taking a deep breath, she smiled at her father and at her bodyguard, took each of their outstretched hands, and nervously glanced up at the looming structure that was none other than the Silverberg Manor.

Her red-haired professor was already waiting at the front by the time they reached the gates to ring the doorbell. She gave a small sigh of relief, and upon spotting him, she couldn't help but give a light, cheerful wave.

George Silverberg (clad in his best black tuxedo and shiny new leather shoes) waved back, casting what looked to Jeanne to be a furtive but meaningful glance at the two men behind her. He gave her a thumbs-up sign and smiled his most reassuring smile, his eyes conveying volumes. Everything will be fine. Trust me.

Jeanne chuckled slightly, unmindful of her father's disapproving grunts and Marco's hiss of "Jeanne-sama!" as she walked across the pathway, passing through the newly-opened gates to greet her teacher, who had descended as soon as they arrived and was now standing at the bottom of the front steps of his house.

"Jeanne," the professor clasped both her hands and gave them a fond squeeze. For a few minutes, he surveyed her from head to toe the way an admiring father would.

"...Stunning," he breathed after some time, a smile of awe and reverence grazing his lips.

Her cheeks pinked slightly at this declaration. "...Thank you," she managed in a whisper. She peered over her shoulder, frowning slightly at the way her father and her bodyguard now hovered on either side of her like sentries. She rolled her eyes heavenward, then shook her head and decided to ignore them. She glanced back at her teacher; then, gathering up a considerable amount of courage, she walked closer...and enfolded him in a huge hug. Somewhere behind her, she could hear her father and Marco's disapproving grunts; but their sense of decency far overwhelmed their urge to pry her away from Silverberg, so everything went exactly as it was.

Jeanne could hear the professor's slightly startled breath, but it went as quickly as it came and he hugged her back wholeheartedly. Taking her cue on that, she tiptoed ever-so-slightly and leaned against his ear, careful not to be too obvious to her father and her bodyguard. "Professor," she muttered so that only he could hear, "where's...?"

Her teacher chuckled with amusement, patting her head softly as he spoke. "...Inside. Caesar's helping him with his clothes. Don't worry, you'll see him soon," he added knowingly. And then, as if he was psyching her up for it, he went on, "...from what I've seen so far, he looks pretty GOOD."

Her face reddened even more at this. Even if he had known her for only a short time, Professor Silverberg certainly knew her...and the things she loved...liked, rather.

Lyserg, for example.

"Ahem." Her father gave a loud cough, causing both her and Silverberg to break off abruptly, and turn around. "George Silverberg, I presume?" He asked in a slightly haughty tone, a silvery-blue eyebrow raised.

Silverberg nodded, smiling sincerely as he held out his hand. "George Silverberg at your service, Sir Iron."

"Pleasure," Sir Iron said stiffly, shaking the other man's hand briefly as Marco stood by him, ready to strike if the professor made a wrong move. Jeanne watched her father as he let go of her old professor's hand; his eyes remained focused at the music teacher, his probing, penetrating gaze appraising him from head to toe, trying to determine if he could be trusted or not.

Meanwhile, Silverberg continued to smile pleasantly, winking at Jeanne for about half a second, ensuring her that he would be able to handle this, and she had nothing to worry about. "I trust your daughter has already told you of our plans, Sir Iron?" He asked in a mild, respectful tone.

"Yes indeed." Sir Iron responded curtly, flashing a meaningful look at his daughter. Then, he turned back to Silverberg, crossing his arms over his chest and suspiciously peering inside the house. "...And where might your SON be?"

"Oh...Caesar, you mean?" Silverberg scratched his head sheepishly, frowning at the entrance to his home. "Well, he's still dressing up, I suppose--"

"Did someone call me?" A cheerful voice sounded from the doorway. Seconds later, Caesar Silverberg's head popped out, along with the rest of him. A younger, more mischievous version of his father, Caesar was dressed in a Prussian blue tuxedo, his hair in a windblown style, with a black leather shoe on his hand. "Dad, who's at the..." he paused abruptly, grinning as he spotted Jeanne, and then bowing respectfully as he spotted her father. Finally he raised an eyebrow at Marco, who pushed his glasses up his nose and grunted in annoyance. "You're early," he commented.

"No, we are NOT early," Marco threw back in a sharp, crisp tone as he pointed huffily at his watch. "It is EXACTLY--"

"I KNOW what time it is, Marco, you don't need to tell me," Caesar cut off cheerfully as he hopped around in an effort to put on his shoes. Finally, he settled to sitting on the steps just a small distance from his father. He glanced up and grinned good-naturedly at Jeanne's father. "I'd shake your hand, Sir, but as you can see--" he gestured to his feet.

"There is no need." Slightly outraged by Caesar's rash behavior, Pierre Iron took a couple of steps backward and flashed a glare in George's direction. Then, he turned demandingly to his daughter. "THIS is the boy who's playing the piano?" He muttered incredulously at her.

Jeanne nodded, frowning slightly at her father. "...You said you'd let me go as long as it wasn't--"

"So I did," he snapped. "But I never said you can choose just anyone!" He hissed.

"He isn't just anyone, Father!" Jeanne protested, her voice rising slightly.

"Jeanne's right, Sir Iron," George said, flashing his son a reproving look before turning back to the two Irons. "...Please forgive him for being rude. He's in a weird mood...but I assure you, he will not disrespect Jeanne in any way," he added reassuringly. Then, he nudged Caesar with the tip of his left shoe. "Stand up and apologize, Caesar."

"APOLOGIZE?" Caesar looked horrified. He and Marco had always been on bad terms, ever since Marco practically bit Caesar's head off the first time he drove Jeanne home after rehearsals. "...To HIM?" He pointed repulsively at Marco. "But Dad--"

"Caesar." George's tone held a warning note.

Caesar pouted. "Tch. FINE." Glaring pointedly at Marco, he reluctantly held out his hand, descending a couple of steps as he did so. "I am so absolutely, positively," his voice was laced thick with sarcasm, "...terribly, incredibly so--YAARGH!" He exclaimed as a small pinkish-white cat slithered in between his legs just as he was walking and headed straight for Jeanne. He stood on one knee, trying to regain his balance--without much success. "God..damn...it..." he muttered under his breath trying to grasp something.

"What in the WORLD--" Pierre said with surprise, staring ludicrously at the cat.

"M...Morphin!" Jeanne glanced at the two Silverbergs, trepidation hovering in her heart as the pink cat rubbed against the hem of her dress, purring enthusiastically. As happy as she was to see Lyserg's pet cat (which was a sure sign that he was somewhere in the Manor), Morphin's appearance signaled trouble, most especially if--

"MORPHIN?!?" Marco uttered incredulously, staring with suspicion at the cat. Jeanne gave an inward groan. He recognizes Morphin. This is just wonderful. "Sir," he nudged his employer meaningfully. "...I believe I've seen that CAT somewhere before. I think...yes, indeed! It was in the Diethyl Man--OOOF!" He gave a surprised yelp as Caesar's footing finally gave way, and he fell--straight into Marco.

"She's MY cat!" The younger Silverberg interjected quickly, pushing Marco forcefully off of him and flashing a meaningful look in Jeanne's direction. Play along, his eyes said. "...Isn't that right, Jeanne?"

"Yes." Jeanne nodded instantly, gracefully bending down to cradle Morphin in her arms. "I feed her during rehearsal sessions," she added for good measure, glancing at her father warily.

Pierre was still staring at the cat, and frowning. He didn't seem to have heard her. Either that, or he was ignoring both her and Caesar. "...You're right, Marco. This cat DOES look a lot like that one in the..." his voice trailed off, his frown evolving into a full-fledged glare as he turned to his daughter. "...JEANNE!"

"Yes, Father?" Jeanne inquired nervously, her fingers fiddling repeatedly with Morphin's light pink fur as she looked back at her father. Calm down. Calm. Down.

"Who owns that CAT?" He said with demand, his eyes boring into her. "Tell me HONESTLY."

She bit her lip, furtively glancing at Caesar and George, wondering if they'd be able to rescue her. White lies are one thing, but a blatant, outright lie like this one...she doubted if she would be able to manage it without breaking down. "Uh...umm...it's--"

"Morphin is my son Caesar's cat, Sir Iron," her professor chose that time to speak, much to her relief. "I assure you, she is OURS," he added, nodding.

"...Yeah! What Dad said...Sir," Caesar said, adding further proof as respectfully--and as truthfully--as he could manage. Which, given that it was Caesar, wasn't much. "I've had her for about four hours--years," he corrected himself hastily. "Four years. She's been with us four whole years," he nodded agreeably. "She loves all of us. Especially me," he added, grinning as he attempted to give the cat a pat on the head. "...Isn't that right, little Morph--YEOWCH!" He yelped, retracting his hand quickly and flashing Morphin a warning look as he nursed his bloody finger. He smiled sheepishly at Jeanne's father, who was now looking more and more suspicious by the second. "Er...she's been a bit...temperamental lately. Doesn't let anyone else touch her except for my cousin and your daughter," he said with conviction, glancing at George, then at Jeanne, apparently wondering if his reason was believable enough.

Sir Iron, meanwhile, continued to glare at the cat. For that matter, so did Marco. "...Is that SO?"

Morphin purred loudly, licking the silvery-blue haired young girl's hand with the same fondness that she obviously had for her master. Jeanne smiled at the cat and stroked her fur, wincing slightly at her father's penetrating stare and at her bodyguard's suspicious frown, but still trying very hard to ignore them. She concentrated on Morphin instead.

Lord God Almighty, if I get through this, I'll never ask you for anything again. Please, just help us get this over with...Professor Silverberg and Caesar and I. Please, let this end as soon as possible.

I...want to see him...

Morphin gave a soft mewl, as if to assure her that her prayers would be answered, and that it wouldn't be long until she sees him. With a soft sigh, she leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to the cat's nose. Thank you, Morphin.

"YES, of course!" Caesar answered Pierre's question, his voice slightly raised. He continued to glance back and forth between his father and Jeanne, all the while still nursing his bloody finger. Then, seeing as no one obviously believed him, he rolled his eyes and sighed. "...All right, all right, FINE. I admit it," he began grudgingly, "SOMEONE gave her to me. See, I used to be really really good friends with this guy...Lyserg Diethyl," he glanced meaningfully at Pierre and Marco, "I think you know him. He gave Morphin to me as a present for my thirteenth birthday. He said he was tired of her, you know," he explained.

"But then, just last year, he and I had this really incredibly terrible row, and we haven't spoken since." He gave an award-winning dark glare. "Good riddance, I say. He wasn't much of a friend to me. USED me a lot. A really bad guy," he added disdainfully, nodding at Sir Iron. "I never returned Morphin. I mean, she's MY cat now. And besides...my cousin loves her so much, and the thing is, I have no intention of hurting her feelings, ever. My COUSIN," he said in a slightly louder voice, "...is a VERY sensitive young woman. And taking Morphin away would break her heart," he added. "...Isn't that right, SARAH?" He shouted to the open doorway.

Seventeen-year old Sarah Silverberg-Rune, George's only niece, peeked her head out the door, her long platinum-blonde hair glinting against the porch light. One fine brow was quirked with mild irritation at her cousin. "What is it, Caesar? I've still got a LOT of things to fix, so if it's not important, you'd better just--oh. Hello," she glanced with surprise upon noticing everyone. "...Jeanne!" She smiled cheerfully at her fellow choir member, and Jeanne smiled in return. "Uncle George," she gazed with polite curiosity at Pierre and Marco. "What's all this about?"

George sighed. "Well, Sarah, the thing is, Morphin here--" he gestured to the pinkish-white cat, "and Sir Iron here--" he then gestured politely to Jeanne's father, "--was asking about OUR cat. Apparently--"

"HE doesn't believe SHE belongs to US," Caesar said with pointed tactlessness, glaring darkly at Marco, apparently thinking that it was the bodyguard's whole fault why they were having such a hard time convincing Sir Iron, and why he was refusing to believe them. "Can you PLEASE do us a favor and tell HIM?" He gestured in a slightly less polite way to Jeanne's father.

"Well, OF COURSE Morphin belongs to US!" Sarah said firmly, gracefully gliding down the steps, the hem of her glittered beige gown fluttering behind her as she gently retrieved the pinkish cat from Jeanne's arms, winking at her (so subtly that Jeanne almost didn't notice) as she did so. She then flashed a polite, serene smile at Sir Iron. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Sir," she gave a respectful bow. "...I sincerely apologize. You see, our cat Morphin," she stroked the cat's neck, and Morphin purred with appreciation, "was getting restless being cooped up inside the Manor for too long. That's the reason why she ran off to your daughter like that. It's just her way of being friendly...and well, she got pretty close to Jeanne during the past two weeks, what with the rehearsals and all." She added, smiling beatifically for everyone's benefit, pure and utter sincerity reflected in her beautiful blue eyes.

Both Sir Iron and Marco stared with shocked admiration at Sarah. Jeanne cheered silently, quietly praying and thanking the heavens as her father's face finally softened, like he was convinced; and so did Marco's. Clearly, the both of them believed her.

She glanced over at her professor. His face was still serious, but Jeanne could see a large triumphant grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. She caught his eye then, and he gave her a smile. I told you so, his eyes said, looking over meaningfully at Sarah.

When she was talking to Professor Silverberg before about this whole plan, she never quite understood what he had meant when he had said that if his words don't work, and if Caesar's persuasive skills don't work either, they could always turn to Sarah. If nothing else works, Sarah's convincing powers surely will. She was that good. Looking at Sarah, so sweet, demure and soft-spoken, Jeanne couldn't believe it, but now that she had witnessed the powers firsthand, somehow, the admiration and respect she'd always had for the older girl had just increased twenty-thousand fold, if not more.

Furthermore, she was also growing extremely fond of Sarah. She had always been like a sister to Jeanne, even in their early days as choir sisters...but they were closer now than they'd ever been before.

Across from her, though, Caesar was smirking at his cousin and rolling his eyes, muttering every couple of seconds or so. Jeanne wasn't sure, but she could swear she heard him uttering under his breath the phrase "manipulative wench" over and over again. But he words were said, not with spite, but with extreme admiration and fondness.

A loud ringing sound broke her train of thoughts, startling everyone and making Morphin mewl loudly.

"Excuse me," her father muttered as he answered his cell phone. Jeanne watched as he turned around, rolled his eyes and spoke to the person on the other line. "Iron here. Yes...yes. I understand...indeed. Thank you...yes, I'll be there shortly. I will see you." After dispatching the call, he turned to Jeanne. "I believe I had already told you about this convention that I need to attend, had I not? It's in a country club not far from here," he explained in a low tone. "I'll be taking Marco along. Marco?"

"Yes, sir." Marco almost saluted, but after noticing Caesar's mocking grin, directed at him, he decided against it, and instead, merely stood up straight. "I will wait for you in the car. Jeanne-sama," he bowed low, then respectfully retreated to the Ferrari amidst Caesar's less-than-subtle snickering.

Satisfied, Pierre turned to George. "...I shall leave my daughter in your...hands," he said stiffly. Then with a swift glare, he added, "...If anything happens to her--"

"Father, I'll be FINE," Jeanne interrupted, walking towards him and taking his hands in hers, giving them a reassuring squeeze. "Please, go to that convention and don't worry about me. I'll be home before you know it, safe and sound. All right?" Rising on tiptoes, she brushed a soft kiss to his cheek. "...I'll see you." She smiled at him.

Pierre's face flushed. "Yes...well. All right then." He nodded curtly at George and Caesar, before bowing slightly to Sarah. "Lady Sarah, please make sure no harm ever comes to my daughter."

"I most definitely will." Sarah vowed with a bright smile. "Your daughter will be safe, Sir Iron. You can count on that."

"I hope so. I shall go now." With another nod, and one last long sad look at Jeanne, he turned on his heel and left. He gave a small wave to his daughter before entering the car.

Jeanne, along with the three Silverbergs, waited until the old Ferrari of the Irons was well out of the driveway before they all heaved identical sighs of relief.

"...Bloody HELL," Caesar muttered. "Your dad is SCARY," he told Jeanne with a mock-shudder. "I thought he was going to bite my head off, I swear. He's THAT scary."

"Indeed." George agreed, nodding at Jeanne and patting his son's back. "...And YOU, my son, were very RUDE," he told him sternly.

Caesar rolled his eyes. "Well I wouldn't have been if it weren't for that...bodyguard," he spat out with a dark frown. "...I swear, he's even more annoying than that little airhead Luc Hikusaak," he said with emphasis, glancing pointedly at his cousin.

"He is NOT an airhead!" Sarah defended at once in a quiet tone. "Luc is--"

"Yeah, yeah." Caesar interrupted with a smirk. "Smart and sweet, blah-blah. Go ahead and defend his honor some more, I don't care," he said breezily. "How are YOU supposed to look after Jeanne here--" he placed an arm around Jeanne, who fought very hard to keep the surprise out of her face, "--if you'll be spending all your time with THAT GUY tonight? Remember, you PROMISED Sir Frightening Iron," he added meaningfully. "...Sorry, Jeanne," he added apologetically.

Jeanne shook her head, chuckling at the way he had addressed her father. She peeked inside the house, hoping to catch a glimpse of Lyserg...just a little glimpse...

"I can keep an EYE on her just FINE!" Sarah said defensively, brushing her fingers against Morphin's fur and smiling with amusement at the longing look in Jeanne's face. "...And besides," she addressed this to her cousin, "She'll have LYSERG the whole time. HE of all people can take care of her better than anyone else. He can PROTECT her better than anyone else."

Caesar chuckled dryly. "Yeah, of COURSE he could. He can protect her from everyone...save for HIMSELF, and the THING IS, HE'S the greatest danger there is to Jeanne's innocence and virgin--"

"All right, THAT'S enough," George interrupted with a chastising look at his son. He looked over at Jeanne, who was now blushing beet red because of Caesar's last comment regarding innocence and virginity and LYSERG. "...We should probably go in first and let Jeanne catch her breath and rest up a bit. You're not due at school for another half an hour, anyway. We've still got plenty of time. Jeanne?" He smiled at her, gesturing warmly inside the house.

"Great idea, Uncle George," Sarah declared as she walked up the stone path, still cradling Morphin in her arms. "...She can sit for a bit while I do a little re-touch on her make-up..."

"...And while you're doing that, I'm going to see if my good man LYSERG is finished. I'm sure he's dying to see her. And I'm sure Jeanne's dying to see HIM too," Caesar added, winking at her as he assisted her up the stone steps. "...Isn't that right, Jeanne dear?"

Jeanne nodded as she walked, averting her eyes and bowing her head slightly so that he couldn't see how red her cheeks were. As she entered the house, and got closer to wherever Lyserg was, she could feel her heart doing repeated flip-flops inside her chest.

She wanted to see him. She really, really wanted to see him.

"Just wait here, all right? I'll go get him." Caesar winked at her one last time as he exited the area and ascended the stairs to head up to his room.

Jeanne sat down on the nearest chair, took a deep breath, and waited.


-


Lyserg scanned the small pile of music sheets on top of Caesar's study table, tapping his foot nervously against the floor as he awaited the redhead senior's return.

It had been ten minutes since Professor Silverberg had rushed out of the manor, apparently sensing Jeanne's arrival. The young girl had forewarned all of them (Lyserg most especially) that both her father and her bodyguard were going to drive her to the Manor during prom day to ensure her security and safety. They wanted to make sure the Silverbergs can be trusted first before leaving her to them.

Because of this, the trusty Professor had devised a plan to make sure neither of the two--Sir Iron and Marco, that is--would ever find out that it wasn't Caesar at all whom Jeanne had been practicing with and will be playing as she sings during prom night, but still Lyserg, the young man they both detested like hell.

Acting according to the music teacher's instructions, Lyserg arrived at the manor four hours earlier so that he (and the Silverbergs) will have just enough time to map the whole thing out, and be fully and completely ready by the time Jeanne arrives. While everything was being set-up, Lyserg was allowed, thankfully, to practice the song pieces for the prom long enough to sort out any kinks and mistakes. This, at least, offered him a little comfort, and enabled him to calm his very frazzled nerves.

An hour and a half before the alleged arrival time, George had instructed both him and Caesar to get ready for the prom quickly, and he and Sarah did the same. All throughout their clothing session, Lyserg was so nervous, jittery and jumpy that Caesar had to assist him every step of the way; in fact, if they weren't such good friends, and if it weren't for the professor, Caesar would have given him one good smack on the head to end his misery. As it is, though, the redheaded senior, amidst his irritation and impatience, was more than willing to help a friend in need. Still though, it was a very difficult and nerve-wracking time for Lyserg.

To make matters worse, he also had his cat to worry about the whole time. Since all the servants in his home were taking a vacation that weekend, no one would be around to take care of Morphin; and the pinkish-white cat tended to be quite restless when left on her own. Needless to say, Lyserg had no choice but to take her along, lest he come back to a house full of kitty litter, torn-up furniture, and mangled carpets and curtains--all in one night. It had happened before, and he wasn't going to let it happen again. At the very least, someone would be around to keep an eye on Morphin in the Silverberg Manor.

Lyserg sighed, banging his head wearily on top of the desk. How many more favors will the Silverbergs get to do for me tonight? For ONCE in my life, can't I even do ANYTHING by myself? I owe them too much already.

Sometimes he wondered why he had even agreed to all this. He didn't care about the prom. He didn't even want to go in the first place. It was a complete waste of time, especially since he had better things to do. He wasn't going to gain anything by going. More than that, he had nothing to look forward to in the prom. And it's not like there was ANYONE he wanted to be with there, anyway...

Jeanne.

Every single time he was laden with second thoughts about this whole thing, every time he gets the sudden urge to back out, and every single time he felt a twinge of regret, the minute Jeanne's face flashes into his mind...the second he remembers her smile, her laugh, her voice, and her complete and utter determination to do this...all his second thoughts just end up crumbling down.

If I can see her smile, and if I can make her feel good just by doing this...then it's all worth it.

She was his reason. Everything...all of this was for her.

This was something he couldn't quite understand, even with all his intelligence. He would never do something like this for himself. Something of this magnitude that it had to take a grownup's scheming methods, a couple of white lies and well-orchestrated plan--something like this was not worth his time and energy, if it was only for him, for the school, or even for Professor Silverberg.

And yet...for Jeanne--and only for her--he would overcome the toughest, most difficult obstacles...and he didn't even know why. Why would he do it? Why would he bother? Who was she to him, anyway?

...He honestly didn't know. All he remembered was, he met her a long time ago...and kept her sheltered and warmed on that cold stormy night, nine years ago. She was someone who needed help at that time. Later on, she became something of a friend...a younger sister he had to protect, to take care of, and to guide. And because of Professor Silverberg, ever since a couple of weeks ago until now...she was one of his prospective girlfriends. And if he was to listen to what the music teacher kept on insisting every single time...she was the one for him.

Lyserg let out a breath. Sometime after the professor disappeared outside to meet up with Jeanne, Caesar left him in the room, apparently to help his father. A minute or so after that, Sarah had checked up on him for a bit before she, too, headed downstairs to help out her cousin and uncle in convincing Sir Iron that they could be trusted. Now, it had been fifteen minutes ever since the whole family left him in the house, and he was getting increasingly nervous. Taking a deep, long breath, he extended his senses further, listening to the passel of voices outside.

He recognized the professor's, Marco's...and of course, Jeanne's. He couldn't help but wince as he heard Sir Iron's deeply foreboding tone. And then, the loudest voice that he heard was Caesar's. Sometime later, Sarah's voice joined in the foray, making Lyserg extremely curious to what was going on. After several more minutes, though, just as he had resolved to peek out the window to see what was happening, he heard the soft rumble of a car engine, and as he cautiously peered outside, he heaved a soft sigh of relief as the vintage Ferrari of the Irons drove off and disappeared from his sight.

He rushed immediately towards Caesar's dresser mirror, warily glancing at his reflection and wondering if he looked decent enough to go to the prom, play the piano, and, more importantly...to stand beside Jeanne.

...I definitely look terrified, that much is true, he thought wryly, smiling nervously at his reflection. He straightened up his formal shirt a little, and then, he grabbed the pile of music sheets again and resumed studying them in an effort to calm his nerves as well as still the thundering of his heart. Even if he hadn't been there to look at the man personally, and even if he was quite older now than the first time he met Jeanne's father, Sir Iron still terrified him.

The door swung open abruptly, startling him for half a second and making him drop the music sheets in the process. "Caesar, please don't scare me like that," he muttered, sighing as he bent down to pick up the music sheets from the floor and stacking them in their correct order.

Caesar chuckled with amusement. "...That's an extreme case of nerves you've got."

"Yeah." Lyserg looked up to find the redhead grinning wickedly at him. "What?"

Caesar's grin widened with every passing second as he examined his friend from head to toe. "...You're going to give me a run for my money, honestly," he remarked with amazement. "I mean, I KNOW I'm handsome, and Lord KNOWS I am, but YOU..." his voice trailed off, and he shook his head. "You are quite the STUD."

Lyserg felt his face getting hot. He ran his hand self-consciously through his hair, turning away from his friend.

Caesar rolled his eyes dryly and sighed with exasperation as he took the junior by the elbow. "Come on. There's someone downstairs who's been itching to see you." Then, with a broad grin, he added, "...and I'm pretty sure YOU'RE itching to see HER, too," he gave a small wink.

Lyserg sighed with defeat as he allowed the redhead to drag him down the stairs. "...Ouch," he muttered as he tripped over the last step. He gave Caesar a disgruntled look.

The redhead just continued to grin. "HEY JEANNE!" He shouted to the living room, "COME ON OVER HERE!"

From behind them, George appeared, smiling as he pushed the two boys towards the living room. "I think it'd be better if you two go there. Sarah's giving Jeanne a re-touch."

"Re-touch?" Lyserg and Caesar looked at each other blankly and shrugged.

George chuckled. "Make-up, boys. Go on." The three of them walked towards the living room.

As they walked, Lyserg could hear two voices talking and an occasional mewl--from his cat, no doubt. He wondered were Morphin was. His cat had an extreme fondness for beautiful and fine things; when she sees something she likes, she tends to stay attached to it for lengthy periods of time. Strangely enough, Morphin wasn't much fond of boys except for him.

He couldn't help but smile as he heard Jeanne's soft, tinkling laugh. More than anything, it was that which soothed his nerves and made him relax completely. Everything is going to be fine.

Due to influx of thoughts racing inside his head, he didn't even notice that they were already in the middle of the living room. In fact, he never would have moved from his position if George and Caesar hadn't given him one prod each on his back.

A small swishing noise sounded as he settled his gaze somewhere on the sofa, where his cat was being cradled by none other than Jeanne herself.

She had stood up immediately the minute she saw him. She was smiling at him with uncertainty, her cheeks slightly pink. The blushes on her face intensified as he continued to stare at her.

Lyserg's jaw had dropped at the onset that he saw her. He couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.

She was beautiful. He knew she was beautiful, of course. She had always been beautiful. Drenched or no, falling from a chair or no, running from him or no, or whatever else she does...she was always, always beautiful. Always.

And yet...looking at her now, clad in that soft, silvery-white gown, her hair tied up in a simple but elegant braid on her head...and her face, with that wonderful, beautiful, melting smile of hers...if he died right now, he wouldn't have cared. If she was the angel that was sent to retrieve him from this earth, then death would be the greatest bliss he could ever taste...

"Lyserg, my man, you're drooling. You do know that, right?" Caesar muttered, poking him at the back.

Lyserg's brain seemed to snap back into focus at this. Forcing himself to tear his eyes from Jeanne, he shook his head, trying to regain his composure--the little that he had left, that is. He looked up and met Jeanne's eyes again. "...Sorry," he said, smiling apologetically.

Jeanne's cheeks reddened even more as she shook her head, smiling slightly. "...You're here," she managed to say in a whisper.

He chuckled. "Yeah," he eyed his cat curiously. Morphin gave him a soft mewl as she continued to purr enthusiastically in Jeanne's arms, apparently enjoying herself.

Sarah sighed. "I was carrying her earlier, you know. But I think she likes Jeanne better than me," she told him, a slight note of teasing in her voice.

Caesar patted Lyserg on the back as he laughed. "...At least we know where she gets it from, right, Lyserg?" He grinned knowingly, glancing back and forth in between Jeanne and Lyserg.

"All right, all right, that's enough," George said, winking at Lyserg, a note of triumph in his voice, seeing that his plans to hook his favorite student up was succeeding. "...We should probably go."

"HOLY CRAP! You're right, Dad," Caesar exclaimed as he looked up at the clock. "Goldbar's going to kill us if we're late--"

"That's PRINCIPAL Goldbar, Caesar," his father corrected sternly.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Caesar waved his hand dismissively as he headed out. "...I hope Albert dropped off my stuff to the school gym already," he muttered, thinking of his older brother.

"Don't worry, he called earlier. Everything's set. You're the only one missing," Sarah told her cousin as she finished fixing up Jeanne. She picked up her purse from the coffee table and nodded to Jeanne and Lyserg. "Let's go," she said with a smile.

"Y...yes," Jeanne placed the cat down on the floor and glanced at Lyserg fleetingly.

With a bright smile and a brief nod, he held out his arm to her. "Jeanne?"

Resisting the urge to faint right then and there, she took the offered arm and the two of them walked out the door.

Patting himself mentally on the back for his brilliance, George followed his son, his niece, and his two students, whistling cheerfully to himself.


TSUZUKU.


Note: The Silverbergs, Sarah, and Luc are NOT MINE and they NEVER will be. They are owned by Konami and the rest of the staff of Suikoden III. I am merely borrowing them and placing them in AU supporting roles. That's all. Thank you.

A/N: Many thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed this fic. As usual, reactions/comments/criticisms/suggestions/etc. are always welcome. If anyone has a question, I'm just an email away. Thank you.