Okay so those who know me, know that I sometimes like crack pairings. Well this song-fic happened while watching the restaurant episode of Cyborg 009 and then listening to Just a Dream by Carrie Underwood. Add these together with my crazy mind and you get this AU story set in our time 8D If anything seems to be out of place or characters are OOC, I'm sorry but lately my stories/chapter have been written in a span of a couple of months due to stress.

Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING. If I had written a successful song or created an awesome series, I would have bought so many things with that cha-ching ._.

Her fingers lay upon the lid of her small jewelry box, gently tracing each painted iris. Smooth to the touch but it sent sparks up through her body.

"The national flower of France," Françoise Arnoul muttered, her teal eyes never pulling away from the lid. She slowly took her eyes away from the lid as she reached to open the first drawer of her jewelry box. All of the beautiful handcrafted earrings ranging from a bright yellow color of the sun to the deep dark blue feathers of a lilac breasted roller. A knock stopped her from pulling out the earrings and just hold onto them for dear life.

"Sis? Are you ready?" the worried voice of her older brother, Jean Paul asked. "Dad is waiting out in the jeep for us."

"I'm coming Jean Paul, just need to grab something!" Françoise quickly closed the drawer and picked up a small photo at the edge of her desk. Her brother opened the door, his eyes analyzing her every move until she looked up at him.

His sister was wearing a dark grey, flowy knee length skirt with a crimson red shirt that had a small brown belt to wrap around her waist. She had her hair donned up into a small bun, a matching red rose clip kept the hair in place. His sister had no makeup on which he was secretly happy about. Jean Paul knew his sister would worry about makeup running all over her face.

"You look nice sis," Jean Paul said, offering his arm to his sister. She accepted his arm, letting him lead them to their jeep.

"You do too," Françoise replied noticing that her brother dressed in a black pants, a white top with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a black tie to match.

"Dad criticized me for wearing something this laid back but you know why."

"He wouldn't have wanted it that way."

It was not like for his sister to be blunt but he rather have those words come out of her mouth than his.

A honk made the two quicken their pace, leaving no room for small talk.

"We can't be late to this event you two," their father Gregory told his two children as they climbed into their father's car. It was easy to say where Jean Paul got all of his looks. The man in his late 50s had a built of a muscular man with broad shoulders, letting people know that he still kept in shape after all of these years. His salt and pepper hair always seemed to become lighter whenever Gregory went outside. Françoise liked to point out to her brother that if he grew a goatee just like their father and changed his hair color, people would think they were twins. She always said it was because of the eyes, both having the same bright shade of emerald. She on the other hand, ended up with the mixture of her mother's blue eyes with her father's green eyes, a beautiful combination from what she was told

"We know Dad," Jean Paul replied, holding in a sigh. "We know how important this one is."

Nothing else was said during the car ride. Jean Paul would occasionally glance at his sister through the rearview mirror, his eyes taking her in each time. She hardly took her eyes away from the window, her fingers twirling the small ruby pendant on her bracelet she received on her birthday a few weeks ago. Jean Paul wished he would do something but his sister would lash out and tell him that she is not a child anymore.

Jean Paul ran his fingers through his styled hair, no longer caring that he spent almost an hour doing his hair that his father said must look appropriate.

"We're here children," Gregory's voice shook Jean-Paul out of his thoughts. He watched his sister quickly get out of the car, not bothering to wait for his father or himself to open the car door.

"Françoise," Jean Paul sighed, watching his sister's hand clutching onto her necklace.

"Jean Paul, I'm so glad you could make it."

Jean Paul turned around to the owner of the feminine voice with a thick accent.

"Amaka, I'm sorry for your loss. Your son was a good man."

"Is a good man. His body may be in that casket but his spirit still lingers. Jean remember that my loss is also your loss. Your family is close to my boy," Amaka said, her hand resting on his.

"We were close but my sister was closest to your son. She'll be mourning for a long time."

Amaka's eyes traveled to the location of her son's closed casket, watching Françoise barely touch the daisies that laid on top. "Jean, your sister loves my son and he loves her. You mustn't forget that."

"Pyunma was really something," Jean Paul whispered before heading towards his father who was chatting with other attendees.

It was two weeks after the day she turned eighteen

All dressed in white

Going to the church that night

She had his box of letters in the passenger seat

Six pence in a shoe, somethin' borrowed, somethin' blue

"I wish you would have listened to your friend Pyunma. He told you it was dangerous because of possible landmines because of your county's civil war," Françoise muttered, praying to God to give her strength to her knees so she would not collapse right there.

And when the church doors opened up wide

She put her veil down, tryin' to hide the tears

Oh, she just couldn't believe it

She heard the trumpets from the military band

And the flowers fell out of her hands

"But I remember in your last letter to me how you worried about the small villages with women and children because most of their men were busy repairing the damaged land." Françoise smiled at the memory.

"You always worried about others and you weren't afraid to do things for them as soon as the civil war began."

Baby, why'd you leave me? Why'd you have to go?

I was countin' on forever, now I'll never know

I can't even breathe

"Do you remember the day the war began? My father, brother and I had to pack everything and move to another peaceful country with a democracy that had good relations with the French. It wouldn't be too good for us to live in another country that doesn't like French citizens."

It's like I'm lookin' from a distance, standin' in the background

Everybody's sayin' he's not comin' home now

This can't be happenin' to me

This is just a dream

"As a present, you gave me this bracelet as a promise. You promised that when you could build a stable land to make sure a democracy would be strong here, strong enough to prevent the president from becoming a dictator again, you would trade my bracelet for a ring. Of course, you told me this in private." Françoise laughed quietly at the last part.

The preacher man said, "Let's bow our heads and pray

Lord please lift his soul and heal this hurt"

Then the congregation all stood up and sang

The saddest song that she ever heard

Françoise turned towards the crowd of people singing in their native tongue. She remembered it was the song she first heard about five years ago when the dictator had some soldiers go through a village to quell the rebellion rumors. Pyunma had two friends living in the village that tried to fight off the dictator's soldiers. She moved to Africa six months before. Her friend Pyunma, two years older, picked up English and French easily while she was now learning his native language.

"Pyunma, what are they singing?" Françoise asked, only able to understand a few words of the song. She understood could make out lost, time and watching.

"It's a song called If I Could Be Where You Are. I believe it recently came out. Usually, they sing and play the mourning song but the mother wished for her friends to sing this song as her son loved European music."

Françoise turned back to the casket, a small smile on her face. "You began to listen to European music that day too but you blamed it all on me because I decided to join dancing to a happier song."

"Françoise, my girl?" Françoise turned around to see Amaka standing there, her motherly eyes watching her.

"Oh Amaka, I'm sorry for standing here too long. I assume other guests would like to say their final words to Pyunma," Françoise moved to get out of the way when Amaka stopped her, grabbing the young French woman by her arm.

"Françoise, Pyunma's body may be within that casket but his spirit still lingers."

Françoise held her tongue at Amaka's words. She was never one to believe in other worldly ideas despite being open-minded since meeting Pyunma.

"Françoise, do you love my son?" Amaka asked sincerely, her dark chocolate eyes shined with emotion. Françoise felt a sudden urge to shake the woman and scream at her 'Yes! Yes I do!' but this was the funeral of Pyunma. A man who respected his mother and told every child he met that the first person you learn to respect is your mother. Françoise never understood how such a great beautiful woman could have the wisdom of someone three times her age. As she looked at Amaka, she saw so much of Pyunma. His mother was of lighter skin, almost a creamy mocha with long ebony hair that she always kept up. She remembered how much she used to nag her son to shave off that beard of his even though she knew he saw it as a sign of masculinity.

"Amaka, I love Pyunma, I always will," Françoise whispered, her teal eyes meeting with Amaka's.

And then they handed her a folded up flag

And she held on to all she had left of him

Oh and what could've been

And then the guns rang out one last shot

And it felt like a bullet in her heart

The older woman smiled, reaching into her the sleeve of her green, black and white patterned dress to pull out a small box of sorts.

"Open your left hand Françoise," Amaka ordered firmly. Françoise obeyed, silently questioning the elder woman's actions. "Close your eyes too."

Françoise closed her eyes, feeling like a small child again with Amaka's orders. She felt a smooth box in her hand.

"You can open your eyes Françoise."

Françoise opened her eyes, her gaze going directly to the small box in her hands.

Françoise gingerly opened the lid, her heart jumped into her throat as she saw what was in the box.

"Pyunma told me all about his idea when this was all over. He never could take it with him out of fear that if something were to happen to him, some stranger would steal it."

Françoise admired the silver ring. There was a design of twelve small diamond shapes found around the circumference of the ring with a gemstone of one of the months in a year.

"Amaka, I can't take this. It belongs to your family," Françoise protested, closing the box.

The older woman frowned, a flash of anger in her eyes. "My husband and I named our daughter Hadiya for a reason. I cannot have any more children and Hadiya agreed with me that this ring deserves to be with you. You are family, no matter if you decide to leave Africa and go back to Europe. Even if you marry another man, you will always be my daughter. Never forget that."

Baby why'd you leave me? Why'd you have to go?

I was countin' on forever, now and I'll never know

I can't even breathe

"Amaka, I can't imagine marrying another man. I didn't even expect to fall in love after moving here with my father to help build a democracy on these lands. I didn't know the native language and I was a silly young girl who was upset she had to leave her ballet days behind," Françoise's tone raised unintentionally, the anger and bitterness she held in since the civil war began. She knew that she shouldn't have raised her tone to anyone at a funeral, especially family members of the deceased. They didn't know that a generous act of delivering food to villages would lead them to this very day.

It's like I'm lookin' from a distance, standin' in the background

Everybody's sayin', he's not comin' home now

This can't be happenin' to me

This is just a dream

"My son died as a hero of his country. Knowing my son, he would not want you saying such silly things. As his mother, I will not let you either," Françoise opened her mouth when Amaka raised her finger at the young French woman.

"Do not interrupt me Françoise. No one can replace my son in your heart but you must not let gates build up around that heart of yours. Everyone deserves a second chance of true love."

Françoise held her tongue and nodded, not wanting to anger the woman anymore.

Amaka smiled, placing a hand on the young woman's cheek.

"I have to go talk to the other guests before the sermon starts. I will talk to you later Françoise," Amaka muttered gently to the girl as she turned to leave. Françoise sighed turning back to the coffin. As she stood there, some people came to give their sympathies to her, expressing that they remember she and Pyunma being very close through since she first moved here. Françoise merely plastered a smile on her face and thanked them for their kind thoughts as they left to give their sympathies to Pyunma's family and other friends.

'Oh Pyunma,' Françoise thought as her eyes fell upon the coffin again. Even after the talk with Amaka, her spirit just couldn't accept the feeling that she had to mourn for the loss of her friend turned lover. Françoise felt the tears building up when she felt a warm, comforting arm wrapped around her shoulders. Françoise turned to her head to the left, finding nothing there but she felt the warmth become stronger. To her surprise, she felt compelled to lean into the warmth and tilt her head as if her head would be resting upon someone's shoulder.

Ooh baby why'd you leave me? Why'd you have to go?

I was countin' on forever, now I'll never know

Oh, I'll never know

"Françoise, don't guard your heart. It's not who you are. Love again for me," A voice whispered in her ear.

It's like I'm looking from a distance, standin' in the background

Everybody's sayin', he's not comin' home now

This can't be happenin' to me

This is just a dream

Françoise then felt warmth spread across her temple only to linger for a few seconds when she felt a hand rest on her right shoulder.

"Sis? Are you okay?" Jean Paul asked his sister as she turned to look at him. A tear trailed down her cheek as Françoise smiled a genuine smile at him.

"Part of me feels that I never will be but I know I need to take one step at a time." Françoise turned back to the coffin, grabbing her brother's hand and intertwining his fingers with hers.

"I just wish this was all a dream."

Oh, this is just a dream

It's just a dream, yeah, yeah

Jean Paul squeezed his sister's hand before leading her away from the coffin so the sermon can begin.

"I want this to be a dream too Fran. I really do."

I took parts from the 1960's manga about Pyunma having a family to his country struggling with war from the 2001 tv series. I know that in the new movie coming out he's an archaeologist or something like that but I like the idea of him being a humanitarian for his people during their time of rebuilding ^^; Anyways I hope you liked it and before anybody puts a flame, remember that I said I wrote this in a span of months due to a busy time schedule. I should probably get re-inspired by watching Cyborg 009 again...

But thanks for reading! :D