[Author's Note: Almost all of this chapter takes place before episode four of G Gundam. | Please bear with me here, folks, I haven't completed a fic in quite a while, so the writing is a bit rusty. o_o;]

[Dedicated to my "adopted" older brother and sister, for introducing me to G Gundam and getting me addicted. ^__^]

F.C. 60. Paris, France.
It was a quiet evening. He knew there wouldn't be too many more of them over the next eleven months. He had purposely gone into hiding for even just the past few days -- he had known what date was looming, known all too well, because he had been marking the days. He couldn't forget the arrival of the gundams. He had, however, turned a deaf ear toward any news of the shooting star that had landed in his own front yard. He knew he could not avoid it for long, but he would steer clear for as long as he could.
In this, the meantime, he indulged in a peaceful walk along the Seine. The hour was leaning toward late, so fewer people were out. He took his time meandering along the upper walkway, taking in the sights he had known for all of his seventeen years. He paused to gaze at the gracefully bowing form of the Eiffel Tower, then looked down at the river below, leaning on the stone balustrade as he absently pondered his pale, indistinct reflection. The rippling mirror did not quite match the habitual movement of running one hand through his shoulder-length blond hair, a nervous reflex that belied his anxiety. His keen green eyes narrowed as he realized what he was doing. He tucked the hand back into the pocket of his dark grey jacket and then continued on his way. There was a slight chill in the breeze, permeating his jeans and faded aqua tee-shirt.
His gaze inadvertantly went to the sky. Tinted with pink and orange, spotted with purple clouds, the sunset was the same as any other day, even including that day. Once again his mind wandered back to the night the gundams had arrived. He hadn't slept. He had laid in bed, staring up at the window, waiting for the meteor shower. Except these would not burn up in the atmosphere. He was awake for the remainder of that night. His family had managed to sleep peacefully. If only they knew...
He tore away from the gently shifting colors on the horizon. Sunsets were just that. Only sunsets. A part of him wanted to watch longer, and be lost in the beauty of it...but he felt too chilled. He needed to keep walking. Keep moving. He wished he could leave this place altogether...but no where on Earth was safe, now. Again he paused, leaning heavily on the low wall. He had entered the area near a part of town that was little more than rubble. At least they have the decency to -- most of the time -- confine the fighting to the same area every Tournament. His eyes skipped around the buildings that were mostly intact. One balcony even still had some furniture on it -- overturned, of course, either from the force of a battle...or people fleeing. His hands, resting on the stone, clenched into fists. What had happened to the people who used to live in these buildings? These "landmarks", too, had been the same for as long as he could remember.
And for a moment Jehan D'Couervrai stood stock still, looking amidst the rubble for something that might spark a memory from eight or twelve years ago. Anything at all...but to no avail. Discouraged, he turned away, at last setting a path for home. It wasn't good to be wandering alone with the type of foreigners that would soon come stalking into town.

The next day was sunny and bright, staving off apocalyptic events. People went about their daily business in the plaza market. The sale of roses seemed to have gone up. This was good news for Paquette D'Couervrai, who crafted the flowers from cloth and paper. The stout, thirty-something woman sat beneath a large pink parasol, a long table before her spread with finished flowers. The pastel umbrella contrasted sharply with her gawdy orange and purple patterned dress, belted with an embroidered sash of green and yellow. A pink scarf held her waist-length ebony hair away from her naturally dark-tan face.
So many people had come by in the past two hours that she had begun to take down orders instead of trying to finish everything on the spot. She had considered enlisting some help from two of her young wards, but they were enjoying the nice day too much for her to confine them to the task. In a larger area adjacent to her booth, a wooden stage had been constructed in the shade of the trees that marked one entrance to the public gardens. There, two more colorfully-dressed figures were delighting a small crowd with various acrobatic feats. One was a girl of around thirteen years with Paquette's coloring, clad in a pale yellow blouse with a skirt and leggings patterned in blue, yellow, and green. Matching scarves were woven through her dark hair. Her routine was a flowing dance mixed with tumbles and flips.
The other performer was much taller, older, and fairer of skin and hair, and wore a more extravagant costume. The sleeves and leggings were puffed, and divided at the joints. The upper arms, lower legs, and chest had an angled, yellow and orange checkered design, while the rest was solid yellow. His specialty was balance, which he illustrated with a series of handstands and flips, including one where he launched himself up onto a tightrope strung between two trees on opposite ends of the stage. He smoothly caught the rope with one hand and swung around it, landing upright with nary a waver. He casually strolled along it while the girl went through an intricate dance step. When she finished, he eased forward and placed his hands on the rope, and then began to shift his weight onto them. From the look of concentration on his face, this was obviously a new trick he was learning.
Despite that, and the thought of embarrassing himself by falling -- but hopefully not on Franchesa -- he felt confident. He succeeded in standing fully on his hands, but couldn't manage to move either forward or backward along the rope. That was fine for now. He did attempt to lean up on only one hand, but he felt his arm quiver, so he changed his grip and swung around the rope again. Releasing it, he turned a flip then landed beside Franchesa, neatly bowing with a flourish of one hand. The crowd broke into applause. Jehan smiled a bit more as coins clinked onto the stage.
The two bowed again to show their gratitude. As the crowd dispersed, Franchesa gathered up the money while Jehan took down the rope. They were going to hold another performance in the afternoon, and in the meantime he didn't want anyone to tamper with it. He coiled it around his left shoulder then hopped down off the stage to follow Franchesa. She had secured the money in one of her scarves and held it close in a rather paranoid manner, making sure not a single coin moved as she made her way toward Paquette's table. "They really like the new routine, Mama," the girl reported happily. She moved very close to the bushes beside the parasol, and surreptiously slipped the bundled scarf into a swarthy hand that instantly disappeared into the foliage afterward. "We picked a good day."
Paquette smiled and nodded, then set aside the cloth she had been pinning and took a small picnic basket out from under the table. "And it's time for a well-earned lunch break." Franchesa eagerly sat down and reached to help unpack the basket. Jehan, meanwhile, lingered a few steps short of the booth, gazing out across the plaza, although he wasn't looking at anyone or anything in particular.
"Jehan," Franchesa called quietly. After a second he turned. She tossed an orange at him. He caught it without blinking. There was a gleam in his eyes and the corners of his mouth quirked upward. Franchesa grinned and tossed another orange, then a third -- leaving two remaining. He caught these as well, setting the first in motion on an upward arc. Evenly spaced out, the others followed, the size and angle of the arcs changing as he shifted his hands slightly each time he caught one. He then switched to only using his right hand, folding the other behind his back -- and then switched to using the back hand to juggle.
Franchesa giggled and clapped, never one to tire of this trick. When all three oranges were in the air, he leaned and caught one in his right hand, the next in his left, and manuevered under the last so it landed on his head. He weaved to keep it there, then used the remaining momentum to encourage it to roll down the bridge of his nose. Instead it slid off to the side but he snatched it from the air before it fell far.
He tossed two of the oranges back to Franchesa then began to peel the third for himself. "Hmm. I'll figure that out eventually." He walked over to take the thin sandwich Franchesa held out to him -- not inclined to try juggling easily-squashed bread -- and finally sat down beneath the parasol. For a while his attention was on the small meal, but soon his eyes were roving the plaza again.
Paquette took notice of this. "Aubrey, dear," she said, using her nickname for him. "Is something bothering you?"
"Huh?" Jehan feigned an absent-minded blink. She gave him a knowing look in return. He frowned guiltily. "I...uh...sorry, Mama. I just feel distracted today."
Franchesa blinked naively at him, but Paquette sighed. "All right, dear. Just don't let it get in the way of your performance. You could get hurt if you aren't paying attention."
Jehan nodded, having recieved this lecture before. Inexorably his gaze was drawn away again, and he hoped that Paquette would drop the matter instead of grilling him further. She knew why he was distracted -- she only had to realize it.
For the first part of the afternoon the two teens helped run the booth. Everyone was very pleasant, although some had a bit of a haughty air -- along the lines of confidence and patriotic pride. Jehan wanted to shrink away from those people. And that, Franchesa noticed. She kept quiet about it for a few minutes. She was about to make a comment, then noticed the time. She discarded her thought but tugged on his sleeve just to see if he would respond. It did take a moment, even though he was quick to nod once she pointed toward the stage. He picked up the coil of rope and accepted a pat on the arm from Paquette before following Franchesa back across the plaza.
They collected a larger crowd than the morning, and Jehan made sure to keep his focus up. This group was of the more wealthy variety, and so were less inclined to part with "donations" to mere street performers. He signalled Franchesa to start on more complicated routines. As she began a graceful pirouette, he sprang into a forward flip. His hands had barely planted before he pushed off from the stage, landing back on his feet beside Franchesa. He took her hand and spun her around him, reversing her pirouette. The force of the turn gave enough momentum so he could pull her up into the air, after which she assisted the trick of grabbing his other hand and raising her legs, effectively performing a handstand upon his palms.
They even managed to hold the pose several seconds, drawing applause from the crowd. Franchesa then righted herself, standing on Jehan's shoulders. They had practiced this one longer, so it was no problem for Jehan to step backward without the girl losing her perch. He silently measured off the distance. At the correct count, he feigned a wobble, swinging out his arms for effect. Franchesa calmly stepped off his shoulders -- and onto the tightrope. Freed of the burden, Jehan fell over. The crowd laughed.
Franchesa, remaining on the tightrope, picked up where she left off in her dance. Jehan sat cross-legged beneath the rope, his arms spread wide in parody of catching her. After a minute it was obvious she didn't need the help. Jehan turned his gaze to the crowd. Almost every single one of them had a smile and a few had their purse in hand. But he flinched when he saw someone who didn't have their own purse in their hands. A small figure, dressed in pale colors like those around him, was not looking at the stage, but at the pouch he had just cut from the waist of an elderly matron near the back of the crowd. The apparent child quickly stuffed the purse under his shirt then scuttled out of the gathering.
Jehan slid backward out of the way of the rope to stand. Franchesa glanced at him and he whispered, "Keep going. I'll be right back." He pretended to imitate her by doing a sloppy pirouette off the side of the stage. Even as the crowd was laughing, he hid in the shadows of the curtain backdrop and frowned. Taking advantage of our performance to do a little pick-pocket business, huh? I can guess who it is, too... He grabbed his balancing staff from under the stage and crept into the bushes to the right. He cautiously peeked out, his eyes searching for the small figure. The child was skipping gaily across the plaza. Jehan frowned again and began a hasty circuit around the open area, trying first to avoid the crowd and then to avoid being spotted by the child or his keeper.
He passed behind Paquette on his way. "Andry's about," he explained on the fly. She looked back at the stage, her visage falling. There was a quiet click from the bush beside her, as of a latch closing. Someone else followed after Jehan.
Six meters later, the blond youth decided he'd gone far enough. He hopped out of brush a hairsbreadth behind the child. He rapped one end of the staff against the pavement. The child turned, revealing that he wasn't as carefree as it seemed. Jehan stood over him, now tapping the staff against his palm. The little boy opened his mouth to scream, but just then a second man emerged from the bushes. "Timothy! There you are!"
The boy was too surprised to call out. Jehan was gone, but now this stranger was walking around him, deftly removing the stolen purse. "Timothy, you silly boy! We have to return this to the nice lady!" He took the child's hand and promptly dragged him back across the plaza.
Jacques threw a smirk at Paquette on his way past. She answered her husband by tossing a cloth rose to him. He caught it despite its severe inclination to obey gravity. The boy stayed quiet.
Jehan was back on stage by the time Jacques arrived. The blond youth made it seem like he was intently focused on a one-handed hand stand; inside, his intent focus was for a prayer that Jacques could smooth over the theft without it turning into a major altercation.
Fortune was smiling on them.
"Excuse me, madam." Jacques was mid-bow when the elderly woman turned. "My nephew found this purse, and he said he thinks it belongs to you." He presented the small cloth bag.
Her hand patted her hip. "On, my! Yes, sir, that is mine!"
Before she could say anything else, however, he offered the rose, bowing again. "This is also for you, madam. Please, enjoy your day -- Vive La France!"
She grinned with quite a lot of ferocity for an old woman. "Vive La France!" she echoed fervently. Jacques bowed one more time, then caught the boy's hand and lead him away. The woman returned to the performance, her purse and the rose clutched tightly between her hands.
Jehan cartwheeled upright to cover for his relieved sigh. That was close. He walked to the rope to catch Franchesa on her way down from a flip. Together they walked to the front of the platform and bowed. The crowd applauded, some coming forward to place coins on the edge of the stage. The two remained as they were, waiting for their benefactors to disperse before gathering up the money.
However, they barely had a chance to count the coins when a young girl's voice called out, "Bravo! Tres bien! That was very good!"
Jehan looked up then immediately jerked his upper body forward again. "Princess Maria-Louise!" Franchesa hastily curtsied.
The Princess smiled brightly, adjusting her straw hat over her blond hair with one hand. The fushia bow on the hat matched her dress perfectly.
Jehan lowered himself to his knees, then swung his legs around and slid off the platform. He genuflected before Maria-Louise, taking her hand and bowing his head over it. "We are honored by your presence and your approval, milady. We are grateful to have been able to entertain you." He kissed the back of her hand, then smiled with every ounce of charm he could summon. Here's to hoping the Princess is as generous as she is naive. He gazed into her green eyes, hoping to pass along a mental suggestion of Make a donation, please.
"Excuse me...Miss Maria-Louise?"
It was then that Jehan realized someone had been with the Princess. A guard? Crap. He politely nodded his head again, releasing her hand then standing.
"Yes, George?"
The affectionate tone of her voice left no doubt. Ah. It is her knight. Jehan suppressed a chuckle. He nodded to the other man. "Thank you as well, good sir." He met the knight's...slighty higher, violet-eyed gaze. The sweep of orange hair over his forehead only added to his height. He wore bell-tailored white pants and a white, somewhat military styled coat, with a blue cape hanging behind his shoulders.
The knight had other concerns just that second. "Princess, your father wishes for you to return to the palace right away. I'm sorry we have to end this stroll early." To Jehan, he said with a kind smile, "Good day to you, sir." He offered Maria-Louise his arm. She placed her hand on his sleeve, then she used her free hand to pluck at her skirt in a half-curtsy of farewell.
"Bleh," Franchesa said after they were gone. She hopped down next to Jehan.
"Sums it up perfectly. Ah, well. Can't keep the king waiting, after all. Come on, let's clean this up and take Mama to get dinner."
Jehan remembered to ask Jacques about the close call once they returned to the flower booth. "Was it a clean cut, Jacques?"
The older man snorted. "Yes, but the strings were crocheted, so it was easy enough to mistake it for unravelling." He sighed. "I sent Toby home. I'm hoping he is lucky, and Andry will overlook this."
Franchesa waved her bundled scarf. "If he was paying attention, he'd see there's good ways to make money!"
"But," Jehan interjected, "The poor soul doesn't have such talent as ours! Why, even the Princess of Neo France is impressed!" They all shared a good laugh.

Evening found Jehan, changed into his regular clothes, at the bank of the Seine again, balancing staff along for the ride as a walking stick. The easy mood from that afternoon had faded with the rays of the setting sun. He was beginning to think he would prefer to spend the rest of the Tournament year wanting to hide under a rock. He sighed and leaned his arm on the wall, cradling his head in his hand. He gazed at the stars' reflection in the river and imagined that particular ones were larger and brighter than others.
"You look like a man with a lot on his mind."
Jehan jerked partway around, startled as much by the familiarity of the voice as by someone else's presence. His hip smacked into the wall, almost knocking him off balance, but his hands grabbed the edge of the stones before he completely turned. The Princess' knight stood at the side of the walkway, one hand on his hip and a pleasant look on his face meant to diffuse any embarrassment on the youth's part. Jehan took a hasty step forward to clear the wall then bowed. "Sir, monsieur."
"Thank you, but please, don't worry about formalities." Jehan looked up. The knight was bowing to him. "Thank you, monsieur, for entertaining Miss Maria-Louise today."
The younger man tried to stammer a reply, but failed and could only stumble aside as the knight stepped up beside him, casting his own gaze over the water. He stood very straight and tall. Jehan unconsciously adjusted his own posture. "We didn't get a chance to make introductions. My name is George de Sand. May I ask yours?"
"Jehan D'Coeurvrai." The youth bowed again out of habit.
Violet eyes studied him briefly. "Of true heart', hmm?"
Jehan shifted uncomfortably. "It's a bit fancy for a street rat."
George cleared his throat, momentarily feeling awkward. "Do you mind if I ask what you were thinking about? It seemed to trouble you."
The youth considered how he should answer. Was it really anyone's business, nevermind a complete stranger -- and in particular, someone of nobility? He frowned then tilted his head back until the stars came into view once more. "Someone on the colony," he said at last. "Someone I haven't seen in years. Four years, to be exact."
If George noticed the hard edge to the youth's voice, he gave no indication. "And you wish to travel there?"
Now Jehan clammed up. His lips formed a sharp line, his eyes narrowing. The silence began to stretch onward, weighing heavily. George recalled the 'street rat' comment. "I could--"
He was interrupted by the arrival thump of another set of footsteps hitting the cobblestones. However, these had a sound like one who had jumped down from the upper walkway. He turned. Jehan was already glaring at the newcomer, a grubby-looking scamp with dirty red hair, black clothing, and a patch over his right eye. "Andry."
"Jehan." The man sneered. Two more men leapt down, blocking that side of the walkway. One had a hook replacing his left hand.
"Robuert and Damek. Having a party tonight, gentlemen?" There was a quaver in the youth's voice. George glanced at him questioningly.
Then he noticed Jehan was slowly reaching for the wooden staff that leaned against the wall.
"Oh, yes," Andry replied, "A revenge party. I want to send that dirty-faced Jacques a warning. I did not appreciate his interference today. Nor yours."
Jehan smiled thinly. "And I don't appreciate being your dupe." Suddenly the staff whipped upward and out, just missing George's hair but connecting solidly with Andry's arm before he could move out of range.
The thief snarled. "You and your pretty friend here are going to suffer for that!" He and his henchmen swarmed forward.
George chuckled briefly, drawing an epee from a scabbard formerly hidden by his coat. "I see that there is more than one type of street rat." He raised the blade before his face, then swept his arm out to meet the charging thugs.
Jehan smirked at Andry as the two closed in. "He is a knight, after all." Andry sneered and flicked out a pocket knife. Jehan sighed. "Is this really necessary?" In the next moment, his tone became dead serious. "Don't we all have other things to worry about?"
Andry laughed in his face. "Oh..? Are you scared of something, Jehan?!" He lunged, knife aimed at the youth's face.
Jehan snapped up the staff in time, deflecting the sharp weapon. He wished he had more room to manuever -- the wall was too close for his liking -- but he planned to make the best of it. He twisted the staff around, rapidly shifting it from side to side beneath Andry's knife hand, darting the end in enough to smack the thief in the side, on the hip, under his arm. Andry growled and dove in closer, leaning to avoid the staff. Jehan swung it up high, bringing it in line with the side of Andry's head.
He missed.
The youth hastily spun, recalling his pirouette from earlier. He dodged the follow-up strike, but then tripped over a loose cobblestone. He fell against the wall, jarring his spine, and only just managed to raise the staff again. Andry, however, misjudged his stab -- the knife struck the wood and became wedged there. Jehan couldn't believe his luck -- and he was quick to yank the skewered end of the staff away from Andry. The motion freed the blade. It sailed harmlessly off into the river.
With his confidence rising, Jehan twirled the staff in his hands. Andry glared at him, disgusted, then turned and fled to parts more shadowy. The blond youth stabbed the end of the staff down at the ground, a satisfied look on his face. He then turned to see how George was faring.
The two henchmen had already run off. George was sheathing his blade. Jehan leaned the staff into the crook of his arm and clapped. "Well done, sir knight. You survived an alley fight."
George chuckled in that superior way the youth always associated with nobles. "Mere ruffians. They are not much of a challenge, as you also proved. You have a fine skill, and..." He paused, seeming to search for the correct word, "And a strong energy. Combined with your acrobatic talent, and some practice, I think you have the potential to become a Gundam Fighter candidate."
Jehan choked as if he had swallowed his teeth. "E-E-Excuse me?"
George smiled. His misunderstood the youth's response. "I am sincere. A skilled and honest fighter can bring further honor to his country. With more training, you can hone your techniques. There will always be a need for strong patriots to represent Neo France in the Gundam Tournament, even as I prepare to win this year's fights." He turned, cape swirling, to gaze proudly in the general direction of the palace.
The emotion was lost on Jehan. The staff fell from his hands, freeing them to clench into tight fists. In a voice low and flat, he asked, "Are you saying...you're not just some knight, but a gundam fighter as well?"
"Yes..." George's tone was both wary and confused as he shifted to regard the younger man. Then his face lit up with humor. "Do you mean you did not know that I, George de Sand, is pilot of our glorious Gundam Rose?"
Of course not. I've been shutting out anything having to do with 'Gundams' since you got here! That's what Jehan wanted to yell at him. Instead, he uttered a snarl of outrage, rushed forward, grabbed George by the front of his coat, and shoved him against the wall. The knight was surprised, yet almost immediately he tensed, preparing to defend himself.
Jehan checked his anger in time to stop from doing anything he would regret. He knew this George de Sand had nothing to do with the incident four years ago. He released the nobleman then turned on his heel, stalking away in the opposite direction Andry had fled.
"W-Wait!" George called after him, wanting to know what had angered the youth. Jehan simply put his hands in his jacket pockets and kept walking.

The acrobat did not go out the next day. He had relayed Andry's warning, then claimed he wasn't feeling well. His family did not question him. He didn't emerge from his room until the following morning, slipping out of their tiny basement apartment before anyone else was awake.

He was only halfway to his destination when he noticed something very wrong with the scenery.

The Eiffel Tower was gone.