Originally written for the Yuletide New Year's Resolution 2005
challenge, edited later on. Thanks to early readers for their
suggestions. I am always looking for new opinions, though, so feel free
to email me or leave feedback.
Disclaimer: Noir does not belong to me. This is merely a work of humble fanfiction.
CHAPTER ONE
Questions
Mireille doesn't know how they got here.
Her memories are unambiguous. She remembers evading the group of men, then driving down the road, crossing the border back into Paris. They decided to remain in her old apartment for a few weeks. She was worried over Kirika's wounds, which healed all right in the end. There have been no sign of the Soldats since they left the Manor.
It's what came after that she fails to understand.
The dearth of attackers was the surest sign the trials of Noir were truly over, her reasoning went, with a grimace at the irony of having to rely on the Soldats for anything at all. Well, she hoped their trail was lost. And if the organization was still keeping tabs, she supposed they would be safe as long as they showed no interest in actually being Noir.
Even so, they left their lodgings, driving out of the neighbourhood with their meagre belongings spilling from the boot like any other couple. They would be two against the world, she said to Breffort before embarking on her mission.
But that was idealistic talk, Mireille admits, surveying her image in their largest mirror, situated in the spacious bathroom. Crooking an arm against her waist, she watches herself smile. It is a natural smile, at any rate, and crinkles the dim shadows that have been appearing under her eyes. She narrows her gaze critically. Her tan suit and skirt appear well-pressed. The pink blouse peeking out from beneath the collar adds a soft touch to what could have been a harsh facade.
No, she hasn't changed; it's not that. Mireille sighs, absently returning Kirika's toothbrush to the new mug beside her own. It's just that they should be happier.
After all, the little ground-level apartment they rented has met their needs just fine. The small size made for coziness, she remarked when they first found it. She strides across the room to retrieve her keys from the tabletop, purse slung across an arm, then remembers the plant and returns to the window.
She puzzles over the matter for a moment as she tips a few drops of water into the pot. Yes, the new surroundings have suited them very well. Kirika is displaying unexpected skill at interior decoration. They gain little knick-knacks every day that manage to blend with the surroundings and exude the kind of style Mireille favours.
Hooking the keys on her index finger, she makes her way to the door, undoing the bolt and easing it open with a light creak. She sweeps her hair back; steps into the freer air.
A cool breeze grazes her cheek at once, an autumn wind that suggests the pallor of winter.
Mireille falls into an even pace, ignoring the parked car by the curb. The brisk walk to the teahouse should do her good, wake her up before she gets there. There should be a fair amount of work today: she's been experimenting with different varieties of tea and is thinking of changing the supplier for their noodles. Customers seem to be enjoying the homely, Japanese feel of the place so far. As for Mireille herself, she can never enter the establishment without glancing at a painting just beyond the entrance, the first watercolour Kirika made since they settled down in Paris.
She presented it to Mireille, a shy smile glowing on her face, and when Mireille saw the words written at the backshe hadn't known what to say or do, so she looked her gratitude, and Kirika understood. But that was then, that was before.
She thinks there's something new in Kirika's eyes of late.
Like the last time they went out for a walk. She isn't sure what really happened then.
------
"Then we'll go to the park in the morning. You like the park, don't you?""Mmm." Kirika was watching her carefully. Mireille averted her gaze, stamping out the brief flare of resentment that arose.
"I used to like feeding the ducks. But there seem to be fewer and fewer each year." She poured herself some tea.
"Want some?" Kirika shook her head.
"Maybe it's just my imagination." She pressed on the faintest of smiles. "Sometimes we see things that aren't really there, you know."
Mireille doesn't daydream much. And they usually don't involve ducks, so she doesn't know what made her add, "The ducks could still be there although we can't see them. I think there's something funny about that."
"Mireiyu."
Mireille put the cup to her lips. "Hmm?"
"I really do like the park. But that is because you're there with me."
Mireille narrowed her eyes, but not in time to hide the surprise widening her pupils. "Well. I..."
She stood, turned. "I..."
"Let's go, Kirika."
They proceeded to the park in silence, passing the river on the way. Mireille glanced over. They kept pace comfortably with each other; they always did. If only everything else were this effortless.
She started. Her footsteps faltered. Kirika had approached in her distraction and slipped warm fingers into her palm.
------
Mireille closes her hand, watching her fingers as they curl inwards.Really, Kirika can be very sweet.
But there are the little maddening things about her too. She startles Mireille quite frequently with her quiet movements. There are days she seems worried but remains stubbornly silent till she has come up with some conclusion of her own. She leaves her clothes in haphazard fashion around the house, yet irons their laundry with meticulous precision.
Mireille sort of likes picking up after her anyway.
An old woman toting a cane hobbles past. Mireille looks up at the friendly hailing of the local paper-boy. She smiles, waves. She takes this route every day, usually with Kirika. But Kirika has taken to leaving the house early these days; perhaps there is extra work to be done, what with the business picking up.
It could be something else, though, one of those things that go unspoken between them. More likely it's a mood that will pass, a phase everyone goes through once in a while. One or two days of awkwardness will happen in any relationship now and then, especially living in such close quarters as they are. Perhaps that stray idea of taking a short break will be helpful. They have left each other a few times already, and the relationship seems to have stabilized afterwards. It would merely mean one week, two, of not seeing Kirika's face.
Or it might be her face Kirika shouldn't see. The way she acts at times, Mireille is almost convinced she thinks too much of her. Other times Kirika looks at her like she's another person entirely. And then she asks one question too many, or tags along behind with watchful, narrowed eyes, like Mireille can't take care of herself. When questioned, she doesn't respond, just looks sad, and Mireille has about given up. She has her suspicions, and nearly went to cut her hair once but stopped herself.
Mireille tucks a blonde lock behind her ear. That would be asking too much of her. She is not a child in a tumultuous romance.
Before she can have further thoughts, her destination swims into view across the busy thoroughfare. The sights and sounds of the morning traffic seep through her awareness. Strollers, devoted old gentlemen and ladies on their way to church or coffee, younger couples holding hands, a boy dashing past toward somewhere important. Mireille pauses. Kirika is probably setting up the tables. Her presence is expected right about now, with a day of honest work in front of them. She may comment pleasantly on the bland television show she watched yesterday.
Suddenly, the thought of work repels her. She walks on, heels clicking upon the pavement. The teahouse recedes into the distance.
She lets her purse dangle at her side, lets her arms swing naturally with her gait, angles her thoughts over the current question. The weather is cool and her clothing comfortable. She feels she can walk for a long time, the rest of the day if need be. Home seems a distant place.
Then she sighs a little, and her shoulders fall.
Somehow she can't be objective about it. This isn't a case to be solved. There's no one to kill. Well, not unless she takes up her old mantra of swearing vengeance on her parents' murderer, she thinks with humour dry as a leaf, turning her steps towards their customary spot.
But that's over and done with.
Mostly. Kirika still dreams of that day. On such nights she whimpers, tension written across her face, and wakes staring blankly ahead of her. She looks right through Mireille if she happens to be awake to see this; and she more often is than not, ever since she found out about these stricken attacks at dawn. Quite by accident, too, since Kirika would never have told hershe can be very stubborn. Endearing in her stubbornness, but still very, very foolish.
She wouldn't have wanted me to worry, Mireille's conscience prompts her to tack on. Which would be just like her.
Yes, just like small, determined Kirika, whose image surfaces effortlessly, immediately. The Kirika whom Mireille thinks she knows well up till the very instant she surprises her yet again. She stifles a chuckle, then sobers quickly and lengthens her stride to make up for the lapse. Her mind wanders regardless.
------
Mireille was studying her partner's body the day before yesterday, fascinated by the way its curves shone in the moonlight. Kirika looked like she was made for swift stealth missions, she said to herself, raking sleep-misted blue eyes over the bare back in front of her, after which one would vanish into the crowd and never be seen again. She was very good at her job. That job…."What're you thinking of?"
You, she wanted to say. Us, killing together. Instead she scooted down and settled behind subtly-muscled shoulders. Kirika's distinct scent was mingled with the freshness of soap on newly laundered sheets.
She woke to the sensation of gentle fingers combing through her hair. "You're awake?" she wondered, smiling.
"I couldn't sleep," Kirika admitted. "Mireiyu..."
"Yes?"
"Do you think it's possible?"
"What is?"
"Us together, like this, always."
Kirika also has an uncanny ability to render her speechless. Gazing upon her petiteness, round eyes wide with an emotion half awake in their depths, Mireille was hit by an upswell of awe and something like fear. So like a child, she is, and yet.
"As long as we can," she promised.
"Thank you."
Then, how unlike a child, Kirika stole into her, took her breath away.
On times like these, when they clung to each other as if they were holding on to life itself, it seemed to her that they might reach beyond themselves and grasp at something greater. Kirika had tears in her eyes, and Mireille wanted to wipe them away until she realized she was crying herself.