Author's note: A very heartfelt thank you to everyone who has stuck to the story so far! Your comments always encourage me to continue writing and I appreciate you taking the time to read the and to comment, particularly in this fast-paced world.

I know this was supposed to be a light-hearted story but it was difficult not to delve into Oscar's and Andre's feelings and inner dialogues :') Apologies if this chapter is a bit too wordy, not well-written or fragmented. Please let me know if there is anything unclear. I might go back and edit it at some point! I also want to note that I just finished watching the anime Oniisama e (based on another manga by Riyoko Ikeda) for the first time ever, so a lot of the angst in the show might have spilled over to my writing…

The warmth enveloped Oscar as she stepped inside the Jarjayes manor from the cold November night. The fireplaces were lit and candles danced everywhere. It was only six in the evening but the sun set early these days.

Her stomach growled.

"Let me guess!" came a shrill voice. "You haven't eaten a thing all day long, have you?"

Grandmere struck her usual scolding pose: one hand on her hip and another hand holding a ladle, ready to strike any moment now! Yet despite all these pretend threats, all Oscar wanted to do was to fold into her arms.

She bent down and kissed her nanny on the cheek.

"Ouf! You smell!" Grandmere pushed her away. "Go upstairs this instant. I will send for a warm bath."

Oscar sighed contentedly. How she longed for a bath! To melt all the jarring events of this day away.

"Merci grandmere."

…

Up in her room, Oscar waited for the maids to finish their scurrying about the bathroom before she undressed.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was paler than usual and there were hints of purple under her eyes that made her look sullen. She turned to the side and examined her profile. "Long" was the only word that came to mind.

She sighed.

There had been no sign of Andre after she sent him off with Fersen.

She touched her fingertips lightly to her lips, where the sensation and pressure of Andre's lips still lingered. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, infusing her senses with the remnants of the sweltering passion from this morning – already a distant memory.

She still could not believe how little control she had over herself. How much effort it took to extricate herself from him! Both times, for that matter. Yet what astounded her was the awareness that, in those moments, she felt as though she had no other choice but to obey this nascent desire. As though her life depended on it. Like an unquenchable thirst that cried out to be satisfied at all costs. And what was that with Victor this afternoon?! Victor! Of all people!

She gave herself a disapproving look. I warned you. I warned you, but you didn't listen, said the Commandant. You let your guard down once and now the floodgates have flung wide open.

Since when, though? Since when did the Commandant of the Royal Guard allow herself these… these… liberties in thought and action?

Her mind flit to Fersen.

Alas, the answer was not there, for the times she had spent daydreaming of Fersen were not so… fervent. Never in his presence had she felt this strong urge to possess and be possessed. She was merely content in being in his presence. From afar.

It was, in reality, the longing for that unattainable someone, or rather, something, that had agonized her so. Except, she never really knew what that "thing" really was.

Until now.

She rubbed her chest consolingly, as it throbbed from the aches of disillusionment.

It really was no mystery. It had started with him. That night at the masked ball in Versailles. She recalled his face in the moonlight, eyes framed by a black velvet mask, his sculpted figure - only a few inches taller than her - framed by a cape that flew behind him as he walked, lending him a grand appearance. The dark brown hair that cascaded in short waves around his face. His deep playful voice when he had asked her to dance. His flawed accent. The way he moved, so subtle and agile with such calmness and reassurance, like water in a river that moves quietly, inevitably, nourishing the land and its inhabitants with its presence. Just like Andre.

And how did she miss his cues while she duelled him? God knows, they had spent countless hours, rain or shine, practicing together, day after day, year after year. She knew him like the back of her hand and yet… he had been right under her nose but she could not see him. He was so familiar to her that she had become blind to him. He had become her shadow.

Her body had naturally gravitated to him; her subconscious recognizing him, while the Commandant of the Royal Guard stubbornly shielded her eyes and shut out her heart.

She unbuttoned her blouse lazily, eyes half-closed.

"Andre... It was me..." she imagined herself saying to him. "The woman last night…Andre, you awakened something in me and now I... think I… I love you, Andre."

She shook her head vehemently. No, that kind of confession was out of the question. Even if she were to ever to tell him, it was too late.

How he must loathe her now. The truth was that she had used him ill. She had tricked him, seduced him, to prove a point, when she could have just confronted him in the dignified manner that he deserved. Alas, it had been too much for her. Too much to process, to stomach, too much to… resist.

She bit her lip and settled into her bath.

…

This was not how he had imagined it.

All those nights he had lost sleep because of her, the incessant thoughts that consumed him and the fantasies that populated all of his dreams, wakeful or not.

No, it should not have been like this.

A pit burned through his stomach, full of acid and bitter bile.

He struggled to contain the avalanche of tears that pooled endlessly behind his eyes, threatening to etch crevices on his face. The only thing that distracted him was the bottle of liquor he had bought, which he was now sharing with a homeless accordionist under some bridge in Paris.

After finding out the truth from Fersen, confirming his suspicions that the woman he had been with last night was, in fact, none other than Oscar, he ran away as far as he could and as fast as he could. He ran until his lungs could no longer breathe.

He then hailed a coach and made his way to the city, where he could lose himself in the crowd.

An unknown.

An insignificant.

As he always meant to be.

He had wanted to take her to their favorite spot: the little pond on the Jarjayes Estate. He had wanted to pour his heart out to her. She would be so moved, shocked at first, perhaps, but then she would realize her own feelings. "I love you, Andre". He heard her say countless times in his sleep. And then… and then… he would kiss her, and she would kiss him back. Anything else that would happen beyond that would so because she would give herself to him willingly. Out of the sacred love shared between them and for no other reason.

A dream.

Oscar did not love him.

What more, she seemed to have no qualms about using her charms against him and taking advantage of his own feelings and desires.

But could he really blame her? She was, after all, doing her job. Unmasking strange men who attempted to accost her - and worse, kiss her - was certainly in the job description of the Commandant of the Royal Guard. He just sometimes chose to conveniently omit who Oscar was, and whom she was supposed to represent. The Oscar he loved and cherished, only existed in small moments nowadays.

Besides, he had offended the Commandant by winning the duel. And really, that was the only reason she had disguised herself and went after him. The only reason why, this morning, she opted for a very humiliating tactic to catch him out instead of accord him the basic decency and courtesy one would to a friend, least of all an old friend. Had he really been so offensive to her so as to elicit such a vengeful retaliation? And was she so wholly and totally blind to his feelings and his suffering?

Certainly, he knew her to be in love – and desperately so, with Fersen. But, surely… surely she sensed something where he, Andre, was concerned.

He had never known her to be so… cruel and unjust. He had also never known her to give herself away so easily as she did during the servant's ball – whether on duty or not.

Perhaps he did not know her at all.

Perhaps, she was just like them, after all.

Leaving the bottle behind, Andre stumbled to his feet and headed to another assembly of the People at the chapel.

…

Oscar glanced from the page she was reading to the clock. Then back to her book before gazing back at the clock once more. The dial only moved by four minutes. The muscles in her neck were starting to complain from this repetitive movement.

She must have read the same paragraph fifteen times in the last half hour.

This wasn't working.

She had bathed, dined, finished her correspondence and even helped Grandmere with a few things. Oscar had spotted her nanny hiding the silver and instructing servants to bolt the doors shut.

"What's all this?" she had inquired with raised eyebrows, half amused.

"Oh, Lady Oscar!" – a designation only exclusively used by Grandmere. "It's that sordid business of the Black Knight! He has been targeting houses of the nobility and I would never forgive myself if he were to step foot in this house! I swear, I will beat him to a pulp with my ladle if I ever set eyes on him!"

"Oho!" Oscar laughed. "I am sure we are quite safe with you around, Grandmere!"

"Don't you make fun and help out!" Grandmere snapped.

Nine o'clock had come and went, without the usual knock on the door that brought her hot chocolate and Andre with it. Nor would there be a glass of wine taken amongst two childhood friends. But then, there hasn't been one in a while, anyway…

"Where's Andre?" unable to contain herself any longer while carrying a bag of silver to the kitchen safe, Oscar had blurted to Grandmere, trying to maintain as casual a tone as possible.

The elderly woman scoffed. "Who knows! That good-for-nothing grandson of mine is nowhere to be found these days. He goes out in the evenings and sometimes we don't see him until daylight the next day."

Oscar's expression must have betrayed a forlorn look because Grandmere hurriedly added, "But I can make you a hot chocolate, hm? Mine is just as good as Andre's and even better. I taught him how to make it, you know!"

"Merci, grandmere."

She left Grandmere shortly after nine, took up a book and sat in the drawing room. Waiting.

And waiting.

It was almost midnight now.

Where the hell was he?!

Could it be? The dreaded thought inevitably crossed her mind. Could Andre be… the Black Knight?

No, no, no! She slammed her book shut, putting an end to this unholy thought. No, Andre could never.

…

The room was now quiet save for the flickering of the fire and the rhythmic, irate tapping of her foot onto the carpet. The suspense was eating away at her and she absolutely despised being its victim.

"He goes out in the evenings and sometimes we don't see him until daylight the next day."

Grandmere's words played themselves on loop, lending her mind the fuel it needed to conjure up all kinds of scenarios and possibilities on Andre's whereabouts.

The clock struck midnight. She tossed her book onto the floor and began pacing restlessly around the room, occasionally chewing on her fingernails, the stress mounting by the second.

She was starting to resent Andre for making her so… susceptible. For reducing her to this agonizing state. For making her feel like a… a… woman. A woman who waits. For a man.

Why, of course, the devil helpfully chimed in: what would a young man as handsome and desirable as Andre would be doing so late in the night? Don't you know by now, my petite Oscar? Haven't you learned the ways of the world yet?

Oscar's breathing accelerated.

What, indeed!

Exactly what he had been doing with me last night.

He was with a woman.

"Aaarrgghh!" she heard herself cry out, as she cradled her head and shook it violently, her fingers latching painfully onto her hair.

It was right then that a messenger came to see the Commandant of the Royal Guard. The message was from Girodelle: The Black Knight had reappeared just now at Madame Elisabeth's ball. He stole jewels and ran off. Just like last time.

And still, there was no sign of Andre.

The anxiety was suffocating.

…

The messenger had come and left. It was past one in the morning and Oscar de Jarjayes had planted herself on one of the chairs in the kitchen, diligently sipping on a glass of brandy – her only loyal companion for the past few years.

She was resolved to wait, even if it took all night. How strange and rattling this experience of "love" was. One minute, one is forlorn from the absence of the beloved, torn apart and downcast. The next minute, one is hopeful and jovial at the promise of arrival, of love and warmth. And in between those, bright shades of havoc-wreaking raw desire that alternate in harmony with the dark hues of hurt and anger.

The latter, as Oscar would now learn, was often the easiest to give in to.

It was thus this cold detached fury that greeted Andre in the dark when he silently closed the kitchen doors behind him as he stepped in.

"Where have you been?"

Naturally, after the events of the day, the Commandant of the Royal Guard will want some answers. Though, somehow, he never really expected her to wait that long.

"Out." He simply replied, striking a match to light a candle.

"Out, where?" she returned, her eyes fixated on the liquid in her glass, now turned golden with the onset of a light. She could not look at him for fear of losing control, for uttering words that she would regret. You were with a woman, weren't you, Andre? Weren't you! She imagined herself almost strangling him by the collar.

Andre stared at her in the dim light. Her profile was partially lit, accentuating her ethereal beauty. But this was no time to lose himself in admiration. The Commandant was demanding a match and Andre fully intended to rise up to it. He was a man with nothing to lose. Oscar did not love him, his fantasies had been crushed along with whatever glimmer of hope he had held on to, and that speech given by one of the representatives of the People he had just attended had infused him with a new-found confidence and a desire to challenge the status quo.

"Out, with friends." He replied.

He measured his words carefully. Perhaps this was his chance now to confront her, his turn to catch her out. Andre Grandier might be hopelessly in love with Oscar Francois, but he was also his own man, with dreams and thoughts. He will not allow himself to be trod upon. Contrary to the disadvantaged position he was in earlier in the day, he now held new information that he could use against her. He had the upper hand.

Oscar let out a mocking chuckle, as she stretched her arms out on the table and tilted her neck to face him, letting her golden mane cascade onto the back of the chair.

"Grandmere has been worried about you, you know," she continued in that cold demeanour, which was usually reserved to some unfortunate souls at Versailles, such as the likes of Nicholas de la Motte.

"Well, you can tell her she needn't worry." He moved towards the table, close to where she was sitting, on his way towards the kitchen door that led up to the servants' quarters. He could have left right then and there and put an end to this. He could have let it be for tomorrow, or another day when her mood was not so thorny.

"I don't owe her an explanation and nor do I owe you one, for that matter." He said, coolly.

Oscar's eyes widened in disbelief. This unexpected display of disdain… the nerve of it all!

She shot up instantly, the chair falling to the ground. They stood facing each other. Fire and ice.

"Oh, I think you owe me plenty of explanations, Andre Grandier!" she shot at him.

With as much composure as he could muster, he replied calmly, "I might be a servant here, Oscar, but what I do with my life outside of this household is my business and mine only."

"Insolent!" she cried out, the palm of her hand flying to his jaw.

A clack echoed in the empty kitchen as Andre's hand met hers halfway, deflecting her slap and imprisoning her in his grip. This only served to further infuriate the dragon, as invisible steam emanated from her nostrils, her chest heaving violently up and down with the crushing force of the volcano that raged within her.

How dare he! How could he! Not once had she thought of Andre as a "servant"! A mere servant. He was always Andre, her Andre. Her friend, her confidante, her shadow. And now… the man she loved. To discover that after all those years, this was what she was to him? A tyrant master? Was that how little he regarded her? Like those insufferable nobles at Versailles who do nothing but abuse those inferior to them. Is that how you really see me, Andre?

"You…" she hissed at him. "Accosted me. Assaulted me. You raised your sword at me, knowing FULL WELL who I was, and then you… and then you…"

"And then… what?" he challenged her, peering down into her eyes. Somehow his tight grip on her arm, which was quite painful, she hated to admit, had brought them within an inch of each other. When did he become so… tall and imposing? "And.. what?" he prompted her again. She could smell the alcohol on his breath – something that she normally found appalling, but which only heightened her attraction to him in that untimely instant. The intensity in his eyes was absolutely destabilizing. Kiss me. Kiss me. Her body cried out.

"You KISSED me!" she cried, unable to contain herself. "Why! Why did you kiss me! Explain that, Andre. Explain THAT!"

He swallowed with great difficulty. Of all the charges she had lain against him, he was struck by how desperately she clung to the latter. Evidently, it had been on her mind. And far from being offended by it, she seemed rather… troubled.

He watched her as she jerked involuntarily in his grip. How small she appeared, how delicate and fragile. I love you, his soul cried out. I love you, Oscar. Don't you know by now? How much must I suffer! How could you not tell?

His breath became irregular. The heat was rising up from his spine to his face, to his extremities, to the very fingertips that dug into her pristine skin. She was there, within his reach again. He only need inch his lips forward a bit and they would meet hers. And was it his imagination or was she also mirroring his desire?

No, no! interjected a voice in his head. Not again, not this time. He will not give in to her this time.

He loosened his grip on her arm, causing it to fall to her side like a limp object.

"It was a prank," he said in a thick voice.

The words fell on her like a sword to the neck.

Her heart stopped for a moment as she let it sink in. A prank. A prank. A joke. He… Andre… did not love her.

A prank. Was it just in her head, or did the walls of the kitchen keep echoing those words?

The repetition seemed to jumpstart her heart into a vicious race.

"A prank?!" she breathed at him. Andre could see her pupils dilate so wide that the blue of her eyes was swallowed into an impenetrable darkness.

"A prank!" she yelled. "And just how old do you think we are, Andre, hm? Or do you just make it a habit of going around hurting and using people the way you like?! Is that the kind of man you are now?" She spat at him, deliberating on every insult.

The one time. The one time Andre Grandier decided to take things into his own hands – the only indiscretion he had ever committed, and this. This happens. What would actually have transpired if she really knew? If she knew the true depths of his feelings for her? She would be crushed by them, no doubt. She would be crushed and would take him down along with her.

And what did she mean by "hurting" people? He could understand that she did not appreciate being taken off guard in that manner, but honestly! "Hurting and using people". What arrogance! And to call his integrity into question over that. Over a kiss! Over a… Ah, but perhaps she was referring to something else entirely. It suddenly dawned on him that he had given her feelings for him far too much importance, all the while forgetting that the Commandant was in charge. And the Commandant had no feelings. What upset her was something else entirely. This was her way of interrogating him… of accusing him of being the Black Knight, the notorious robber.

"Is that what you think of me, Oscar?" he said in a low voice, a mixture of bitterness and defeat. After all these years, you think me capable of such a crime. Me, Andre. Your Andre.

"I don't know WHAT to think anymore, Andre! You… You…!" she threw her arms up in the air, frustrated and tired.

How unlike her to stumble on her words. He had never seen her so… out of control like this before. His earlier conclusion wavered. Was he wrong? Was she really troubled over the kiss? He began to sweat as he realized he was losing control of this situation – he could no longer read her like he used to.

"I don't even know who you are anymore. All I know is that you clearly loathe me!" she continued in the face of his silence. "And you loathe being here."

His eyebrows shot up. "And just how did you gather that?"

"How could anyone not!" she lashed at him in utter disbelief, as if he just said the most ridiculous thing in the world.

"Do enlighten me." Because I have been nothing but your shadow all these years.

She scoffed in his face, shook her head and turned to leave.

"Ah, so that's it?" he called out to her. "You don't like this conversation anymore so you're just putting a stop to it."

She turned around, arms crossed over her chest, nodding knowingly. "Of course, you would think that, seeing as how I'm an oppressive employer."

Andre rolled his eyes.

"Very well, have it your way, Oscar," he said and stormed towards the other kitchen door.

Oscar gritted her teeth. "I'm surprised I even have to spell it out for you."

He stopped short but did not turn around, waiting to hear what novel and absurd accusations she now had to throw at him.

"I'm surprised you even CARE to know. You have done nothing over the past few years but constantly shun me, ignore me and avoid me like I am some kind of a terrible disease! You barely say a few words to me and, clearly, have other interests in life that seem to matter to you so much more than our friendship."

He sharply turned to face her, his expression incredulous and bewildered.

"UNBELIEVEABLE!" he shouted at her. Thus far, Andre had remained the calmer one in this argument, so she was taken aback by this sudden eruption in temper. She could not remember the last time she saw him this angry, this frazzled. "Unbelievable!" he repeated, in a lower but no less belligerent tone. Thankfully, the kitchen was quite a ways away from both the living quarters of the servants and that of the family alike.

He moved towards her. "I've been distant? I've been shunning you?"

She crossed her arms over her chest and looked away, haughty and proud.

"And you?" he poked her in the chest with his index finger.

"Ow!" she jumped, startled and rubbed the place where he nudged her, feeling as though he poked a hole in her.

"And you, Oscar, hm?" he said accusingly.

"Andre, honestly!" she resumed her cool tone. "If you have something to say to me, just say it. I have little patience for drama."

He let out an embittered chuckle.

"I think you will find, ma chère, if you look closely, that it was never me who was being "distant", but YOU. I have always been there. I never left and I never abandoned you. You just never seem to see what's right in front of you."

"Oh, spare me," she began.

"Don't you think it unfair to lay these unfounded accusations on my doorstep, when we all know that you only have eyes and a mind for one person and one person only?"

There, I said it. And I know you were with him last night. I know you came to the ball together. I know, Oscar. I've known all along. He wanted to say, to reveal the secret, to put her at a disadvantage.

He should have, but something stopped him.

Silence enveloped the kitchen, as the two stared at each other. It was too late to turn back now, blood was drawn and one of them was to emerge as a winner and the other…

So, he knew. Andre knew about Fersen. Oscar dropped her gaze and hugged herself. But why should that bother him if he had no regard nor feelings for her? Why should that bother him if he, himself, apparently takes up lovers every night? And did he not just tell her to step out of his business and his life? What right did he have to interfere in hers?!

"Yes, Andre," she finally said, taking two steps towards him. He might be taller than her but she asserted dominance over him, catching him entirely off-guard with this unexpected confession. And it would not be just a confession. She was owning up to something, as if coming into her own. And it would be the most spectacularly powerful admission Andre would ever witness.

"Yes," she repeated. "Why could I not have eyes for someone like Fersen, hm? Why shouldn't I have someone?"

A just question.

"Am I so… undeserving? Lacking in something, perhaps?"

Her eyes scanned his, the blue in them glittering in the faint light while the green in Andre's rested in the shadows, muted and frozen in time.

"Or is it because of this?" she gestured to her clothes, "Because of this… this inspid uniform?"

She circled around herself, giving her back to him, her voice gaining in fervor.

"Why shouldn't I have desires just like anybody else? Why shouldn't I have escapades too? Why do YOU get to have them and I don't?"

She turned to face him, as she uttered the last question, biting her lip.

For once, Andre did not know what to answer her.

"Is the only admirable thing about Oscar Francois de Jarjayes her unrivaled self-possession and calculated mind? My completed detachment to those around me, which seems to be regarded as a virtue rather than a sad fault?"

It struck Andre for the first time just how deeply aware Oscar was of others' perceptions of her.

"Have I spoiled that image for you now?" she continued, heatedly.

"Tell me, Andre!" she cried, grabbing him by the collar. For the delicate frame that she had, she was an awfully strong person.

"Am I less of a person to you now, Andre? Less of a woman? Because I loved Fersen?"

She shook him violently while he stood motionless. He wasn't sure what distressed him most: this completely unusual outburst, or the fact that hot tears were flowing stubbornly from her eyes, or both.

A lump balled up in his throat. He, too, wanted to cry.

He shook his head and said, "No", in a thick voice.

"Why shouldn't I want to love… and be loved?" her voice was laden with sobs. "What is so special about me that I must be DENIED this very basic need that everyone longs for?"

He had never known. He had not known just how much she had kept inside of her all these years, all to herself, all alone. He thought she was in agony over Fersen this whole time, and perhaps for some part of it, but she was really just…lonely. Lonely and suffering. How naïve he felt. How idiotic he had been! How could he ever claim to love her when he clearly did not know her or understand her until now? How could he accuse her of being blind to him, when he, too, was blinded by his own love for her, his fantasy of her, that he could no longer see the reality in front of him?

The tears began to spill from his eyes. Those very same tears he struggled to hold back earlier in the day.

"TELL ME!" her voice sounded wounded. "Tell me, since you seem to know better than anyone. Tell me what is so special!"

She shook him some more, but the only reply he gave came in the form of repressed convulsions of his chest as he sobbed quietly in her grip.

She let him go, shaking her head. "I thought… I thought you of all people would understand me the most."

And Andre's heart shattered.

She leaned onto the table, hands spread out flat, occasionally rubbing her eyes with her sleeve. The tears did not seem to stop.

They stayed like this for what felt like a harrowing eternity.

"I…" he began. "I never meant for it to get this far. I never meant to hurt you. This business of the robber, I swear –"

She held out a hand to stop him. "I know it wasn't you. I never doubted."

He nodded, his heart constricting, the last shards of it shattering into crumbs as the shame steeped deeper into him. Of course, Oscar could never think ill of him.

It was time to put an end to this misery. He resolved to make his way out, knowing that he no longer deserved to stay, to be the one who would comfort her, who would hold her up on his shoulders and carry her through her pain.

"You are free to love anyone you wish, Oscar," he said, his hand latching onto the door frame to steady himself. "And you are free to choose your own life. Even if that choice is the most difficult."

She lifted her head and their eyes locked.

I wish I could show you, Oscar. I wish I could open your eyes to a different world. A new world. A new future is coming and it could be yours. Ours.

She straightened up, and for a moment he thought she was intrigued by his thought. Did she read his mind?

He had come at her earlier in the evening with blazing canons and heavy armor, but he now found himself reduced to mere ashes. The Commandant, no, Oscar, his Oscar, had won. And he had to declare his defeat by admitting the one thing he swore not to admit when he willingly entered into this battle:

He turned away from her, lowering his head. "No matter what you decide, I will always be there for you, if you'll let me. And it wasn't a prank. I meant to do it. I wanted to kiss you. Just once. I… love you, Oscar."

Author's note: I wanted to loosely base the argument scene between Oscar and Andre on the scene in the manga/anime when Andre assaults Oscar, comes to his senses and then confesses his love for her before he leaves. We always cringe at that scene because it shows us that, despite all of her strength and confidence, Oscar can also be in a situation where she is rendered powerless as a woman. We also feel sad that Andre loses complete control to propel him to such a point-of-no-return, and we are disappointed that even a man who is supposed to be so "nice and gentle" can also exhibit violent tendencies. Both of these elements in the scene go against each of their characters, which further adds to the impact of the story. Ikeda-Sensei is certainly a genius!