Lost Without You
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Shoujo-ai, yuri (Kirika/Mireille)
Disclaimer: Noir is property of its respective owners. I don't own Noir or it's characters, if I did, I would be enjoying my money and not writing this fic.
Notes: This fic takes place after the last episodes of the anime series and takes at certain points a step away from the series. Read at your own risk.
Translator's Notes: As the Italian saying goes, "Traduttore, traditore!". ; ) (basically, "Translator, you're a traitor!") If you understand Spanish, I recommend the original work.: ) So, this is a TRANSLATION of Wakatta's fic, "Perdida sin ti" (yes, I have permission to translate it and yes she requested I put this up under my account). I'm just a lowly intermediary who isn't actually fluent in Spanish and thus has no business translating this from the original Castilian, which sounds much cooler and more dramatic. But I thought I'd share it since it is so awesome. Anyway, hope you enjoy.: ) (I will edit this… and make it less awkward… but probably not until after the holidays)
Silence. One more night of insomnia, enveloped in the absolute darkness, listening only to the calm breathing of her companion. Almost six hours alone with her thoughts, her fears, and doubts, that would redefine themselves again and again, consecutively, until the first ray of sunlight would manifest itself on the urban horizon of Paris.
It had been almost a month since Kirika and she had returned from that forgotten place in French territory. Already one month ago from the day where the two of them had accepted themselves and destroyed, at least in part, the demons from their past.
And, nevertheless, nothing had changed between them. Mireille realized, night after night, that the blame fell on her shoulders.
She had traveled to the border of France and Spain, after reading the letter that Kirika had written her, firmly deciding to bring the Japanese girl back and, while she was at it, confess what she felt for her, something that before she had only dared to raise in her most delirious fantasies.
Nevertheless, her promise to herself had soon been broken. She had just arrived when she discovered Kirika and Chloe, bathing in the nude and, what was worse, kissing each other. If she was already feeling jealous of Chloe before, that vision provoked so much fury that she needed a few minutes to recover her cold blood and be able to confront her companion.
Also, it seemed to her to be unpleasant to think that inside the body of the sweet Japanese girl existed two personalities, completely distinct from each other. The timid Kirika, kind and a cat lover and the one Mireille loved, and the Kirika with eyes of steel, the Goddess of Death and the one Chloe courted. One of these facets of her personality had done everything to kill her, and the other, to defend her.
After killing Chloe and Altena, she had returned to Paris with Kirika injured with the bullet that had been meant to kill her. She had taken care of her partner with devotion and affection, and had demonstrated with care her gratitude. But she had not said even one word about what they both were feeling.
Kirika turned in the bed between dreams to face her blonde companion. Who gulped and looked at her.
In the days following her return, she repeatedly intended to talk about it, but as soon as she opened her mouth, her mind was flooded with the image of the kiss between Chloe and Kirika and the words died in her throat. On the other hand, sometimes she was ashamed to realize that she felt a little fear. How would it be to love Kirika knowing that in a few seconds she could pass from being an angel into an authentic demon?
Kirika all the same, on her part, didn't do much to help resolve the problem. She remained loyal to her custom, hardly speaking and passing the days meditating while she looked out the window. Mireille would have liked to have been able to pop into her mind and see what was it that she was thinking because she didn't know if Kirika was as eager as she was but her natural impulse was to hide the feeling or if she really was calm and satisfied with the relationship that they maintained.
The days went by, well, slowly, while the tension in the air could be felt in the calm apartment. Soldats had not returned to pester them, although an envoy, in a brief conversation, had explained that they would be left in peace on the condition that they would do the same. That hadn't had any problem in accepting, because after what happened with Chloe and Altena, both were clear that their journey as Noir and as professional assassins had come to an end. With respect to the money, they didn't have to worry, at least not at the moment.
During the day the tension wasn't so bad. Kirika left to walk through the city and Mireille was able to keep busy with the computer. But the nights, the nights were a true torture. She felt the warm body next to her own and she cursed herself for not being able to conquer her fear of love.
The cherry blossoms fell slowly to her feet while she passed delicately over them. She breathed. She was tired of walking, tired of the monotony day in and day out and tired of the tension that was provoked due to having to treat Mireille as if nothing had happened. She had had to rely on all of her will power in order to dare write what she had felt. When she had appeared at Altena's vineyards, rather, when her worried and sympathetic gaze had scared away the demon that had been possessing her and that had made her attempt to kill the person that she loved most in the world, she was completely sure that she had felt the same. When she had implored her to live, she believed that she had been asking that she live because she needed her.
Even so, nothing had changed. Mireille acted as she always had, only now they didn't have to kill, which eliminated the only escape valve that she possessed. It drove Kirika crazy to watch her partner. How could she be so calm after having mutually demonstrated that they loved each other?
Kirika turned around unexpectedly, possessed with a sudden outburst of fury. She hadn't thought of it until now, but she had just realized that she was bored of the streets of Paris, that, after all those months, she knew them perfectly. She admitted that she had resigned herself to never get back her true identity, but nor had she wanted to convert herself into a mere decorative object for Mireille's apartment. One more time, she was going to invoke the little courage that was still left in her, in order to once again be the first to put the cards on the table.
Mireille looked out the window, bored, while she stretched lazily. Never would she understand what attraction Kirika found in passing hours there, although, thinking well on it, neither did she ever have anything better to do.
At her back, the door opened, briefly taking her out of her weariness. When she heard a slam that caused the walls of the apartment to shake, she turned around, surprised.
Kirika was a scant few meters from her, gasping while she recovered her breath. Her cheeks were on fire, and she looked at the blonde with her body tense.
"What happened to you?" inquired Mireille, worried.
Better to say what hasn't happened to me-Kirika replied in a brusque tone, raising herself up. Mireille lifted one eyebrow, disconcerted.
"Mireille, what do you feel for me?"
The one the question alluded to felt how her heart stopped for one instant, in order to after begin beating at a possessed speed. She noted the heat of her face and she had to clench her fists in order to maintain her calm.
"I don't know what you're talking about…" she stammered.
Of course you know. I love you. That you also know because some time ago I told you. Since you went to look for me I've been hoping that you would give me an answer. And, truthfully, I'm tired of waiting.
"I don't have any sort of answer to give you," grumbled the Corsican woman, crossing her arms, attempting to hide the fact that upon hearing the confession, her pulse had accelerated even more.
Kirika moved closer to her so quickly that Mireille only had time to feel her hands pulled forcefully over her shoulders before the face of her companion situated itself only a few centimeters from her own.
"Tell me!" Kirika urged her, "Do you feel the same that I do, or not?"
Mireille returned her look without knowing what to do. She would have wanted to have an entire day to think it over tranquilly, alone. Suddenly she realized that in reality she had had many days, and many nights, to meditate over her feelings. For one moment the possibility of confessing the truth gained force in her mind, but once again she returned to seeing the body of Kirika embracing that of Chloe and the cold, hard eyes that had greeted her in front of that spring.
"No", she murmured, while the fear flooded her suddenly, "Get away from me."
Surprised by the hysteric tone of her voice, Kirika jumped from her partner who took a step backwards, her back hitting the wall.
Understanding began to fill Kirika's face, while Mireille tried to find a satisfactory way to solve the problem.
"You are afraid of me", Kirika whispered- as the rage disappeared slowly from her face to give way to a profound consternation, "you are afraid of the monster which I have converted into. You fear that I'm going to do the same thing to you that I had done to your parents. You said you forgave me, but evidently, you haven't."
Kirika's tone, full of resentment, and the mention of her parents only served for Mireille to begin to get furious. It wasn't enough for her to put her in this that terrible position, but she also had to put out the evidence and remind her of that memory that caused her so much pain.
"I'm not afraid of you!" she yelled. And, scarcely realizing what she was doing, she took out her gun.
Kirika took a step back, surprised. It wasn't the first time that Mireille had aimed her firearm at her, but it was the first time she didn't understand why. The pain was reflected in her eyes when she lifted her head to look at her.
"Mireille..." she murmured, with the usual Japanese intonation
For some reason, that infuriated the blonde even more.
"Damn it! You aren't even capable of pronouncing my name correctly!" she exclaimed.
A tear rolled down Kirika's cheek. Mireille felt a sharp pain in her heart, but, despite everything, didn't lower her arm. She was afraid, so afraid that she didn't know what she was doing.
"Get out", she murmured, "I don't want to see you again. Ever."
Hardly had she finished the sentence, when Kirika turned around and left the apartment running. Again the walls shook.
Mireille let herself fall to the floor. Covering her face with her hands she started to cry, scarcely conscious of what she was doing.
The night had returned to extend its cloak of darkness over Paris. Kirika had been passing through the city without a set destination, only one thought on her mind.
She had one hand in her pocket where she felt the cold touch of her gun. What would it be like to take it out, take it to her temple and shoot? What would she feel one moment before pulling the trigger. Would she die instantly or agonize through endless hours before surrendering to the eternal sleep?
As an assassin, Kirika knew death. She had seen it in the eyes of those who she had killed. She could name the exact moment in which she had seen the certainty in their eyes that they were going to be assassinated, that resigned expression when they looked at the barrel of her gun in order to after raise their gaze to her, one thousandth of a second before she pulled the trigger.
Nonetheless, she feared death. It was this fear that had helped her to gracefully leave from all those difficult situations that she had had to confront. More than anything, she feared pain, feared powerlessness. She always tried to finish off her enemies as quickly as possible, but on more than one occasion, she had had to leave a victim in agony on the ground, feeling the pain of their torn up body. It must be horrible.
Only one time had she surrendered voluntarily to death. The tears once again appeared in her eyes while she remembered how Mireille had asked her to live. Now she asked herself why she had done it, if the only thing she felt for her was fear and horror. She probably felt herself to be in doubt because she had saved her live just moments before.
Kirika sighed while she continued walking. The only the she wanted in that moment was to die. She wanted to rip out her heart, to remove the pain she felt in her chest. But fear exceeded the desire, so that, en place of killing herself with her own gun, she continued wandering.
Mireille lied down in the bed and closed her eyes. She had continued crying, seated on the floor, until she realized that night had arrived. With out turning on the light, she had dragged herself to her bed and let herself fall into it.
Suddenly, she opened her eyes. She looked to her side, to the place where Kirika would always sleep. The vacancy was as obvious as her presence was when she was there.
Slowly, she turned to Kirika's side. Her face brushed the pillow, and she closed her eyes. Her scent, the mixed aroma of shampoo, perfume and her own personal essence reached her nose with clarity.
For some reason, she wasn't able to keep her eyes close more than five minutes straight. Every attempt to sleep was aborted by a desperate sensation in her chest. It was the same feeling she had when she was younger and feared the darkness. Only that now, much older, she couldn't have a fear of darkness because Mireille herself had become part of it.
She sat up in the bed, attempting to calm herself. Upon supporting herself with her hand on the pillow, she felt something hard. Her gun. She took it out and examined it, feeling the soothing and familiar touch in one of her hands while, with the other, she ran her hands over the sheets that covered the side of the bed where, until last night, Kirika had slept.
Suddenly, she understood what she had realized a long time ago. She feared the dark side of Kirika, yes, she feared the harm it could cause and that it had caused. But even so she felt a greater fear of loneliness. In spite of what had happened during most of her life, this short space of time that she had shared with Kirika had resulted in it being intolerable to sleep one night in a bed if her body wasn't there. The body that sometimes she thought about while her companion slept deeply, the body that stirred restlessly when she was having nightmares, or the body that unconsciously tightened during the early morning against Mireille when it was winter and she was cold. To wake up and not see her over by the window, to not her her timid "good morning" or the special way in which she said her name. Because, in spite of all she had said, she loved the way in which she pronounced it. She adored that incorrect pronunciation so much so that she had a sensation of being closer to her, the pronunciation in which she even caught a slight shade of affection.
"And now?" she thought, while she returned her gaze to her gun. Kirika had opened her heart to her and she, in compensation, had destroyed it. She just finished understanding, with a terrible degree of certainty, that she could not live without her.
Shoot herself? For a few moments she considered the possibility. After, she lowered her weapon before moving her head in disgust. She was a natural born fighter. She had killed her very own uncle in order to save her and Kirika's lives. Not even this time was she going to give up so easily.
Without stopping to think what she was going to do, she jumped from the bed, placing her gun securely in her purse, and left the apartment. She closed the door smoothly behind her. When she heard the noise of the lock, she kept her hand on the knob and made a promise. She would find Kirika or die trying. She wasn't going to go past this door without her.
Satisfied with her determination, she began to go down the stairs. There were few places that a Japanese girl that wasn't an adult could go at night. She knew Kirika well enough that she was certain that she would limit herself to wandering until it became day. She was familiar with her favorite spots and knew where she would be most likely to encounter her. And if by chance she wasn't there, Mireille was disposed to search all the streets of Paris as long as she found her.
Tired, Kirika fell into the grass. Not very long ago, she had sat in this very same spot with a sketchbook on her knees. It wasn't that she enjoyed painting a great deal, but, for once, she wanted to have the feeling that she created something instead of destroying it, just for a change.
Now she was alone. It was after midnight, and she knew perfectly well, thanks to the warnings of Mireille, that at those hours no one respectable could be found circulating around there. She smiled at the memory of the blonde's worry when she reprimanded her for not being cautious. She continued to be probably the best assassin in the world and, precisely because of that, she didn't fear anything. Kirika closed her eyes and relaxed, with her hand in her pocket, and her hands softly closed, like a caress, around her gun.
In hardly half an hour she had ran through what seemed to her an infinite amount of streets. She had passed full speed by groups of thugs without worrying herself in the least over her own security. When all was said and done, she had a weapon in her hand and was ready for anything. Hoping to not run into any police, more than anything to prevent another broken family, other orphaned children. When she worked she eliminated any trace of misgiving from her mind, but, outside the strictly professional, she placed a good amount of care in not hurting anyone.
Suddenly, she stopped. Her body bent while she supported her hands on her knees, breathing agitated. It didn't make sense to keep going around in circles, but she had covered a large part of the sites Kirika tended to visit. She started to think about changing the rout of her search, when a light flashed in her mind. She remembered a place where she would go when she disappeared without saying anything and all else failed. Without losing a second, she lifted herself up, chose a street and continued running.
She wasn't aware that she had fallen asleep until a whisper woke her up. Her sharpened senses and prodigious instinct allowed her to identify, when she scarcely had crossed the barrier between sleep and consciousness, the sound. Instantly, the muscles of her feet tensed and with a jump she was up on her feet, pointing her gun in the appropriate direction.
She heard the surprised shout of a man before her eyes adjusted to the faint lighting. An individual whose appearance was not at all reassuring had approached her while she slept, probably to find out what the black form that was sticking out from the foliage was. Now, over the scare, he seemed more angered than frightened.
"A little girl with a gun?" he mumbled, "do you even know how to use it?"
Kirika didn't respond. A noise warned her that a car was approaching. In fact, to the man's back appeared a car that disappeared beyond the following curve, but not without projecting its lights over her face. Evidently the driver had preferred not to have any problems.
At that time the man went back to yelling. This time, Kirika perceived the fear in is voice.
"Is it you? Don't kill me, please!"
The man threw himself down to the ground. An idea had just crossed her mind and had stopped during its flight. The Mafioso cried and reviewed in a low voice his entire list of relatives and dear ones while asking for mercy with little conviction. The girl touched his face softly until the man lifted it.
"Do you want to save your life?" she asked in a whisper. The man nodded his head energetically, unable to speak. "Are you capable of killing a person instantly, with only one shot?"
The man hesitated. Kirika thought that he had not understood due to her Japanese accent and was at the point of repeating herself, but then he began to speak, and she realized he was only surprised.
"Yes. Of course. Who do you want me to kill?" he asked, wanting to please her.
Kirika looked at him.
"Me."
The man lifted his head brusquely. He seemed incredulous.
"What… what kind of joke is this?"
"It's not a joke. You shoot me and you kill me. If you aren't successful with the first and you make me suffer, even if it is a little, be sure that you also will die."
"But… how do I know that you really aren't going to kill me when I pull the trigger?"
"Because if I wanted to kill you, I would have done it," Kirika hissed," and I still can. So hurry up. Not only will you save your life, but you will also have with you my corpse and be the hero that finished off the Goddess of Death."
The Mafioso got to his feet, shaking, and extracted his gun with some difficulty. Another car passed and once again illuminated the face of the girl. In that moment he attributed all of his own nervousness, but he could have sworn that the eyes of the Japanese had changed since she had proposed the macabre deal.
The park. A nice place to hide, although a bit dangerous. Mireille did not have everything with her when she examined it. Even though she considered herself to be one of the best assassins in the world, she knew that anyone could make a mistake, and, in her case, it would cost her her life. She walked slowly knowing that the area was frequented at night by those who would remember her well and would be thirsty for revenge.
A car passed in the distance. Just then, her sensitive hearing captured a sound. It was so weak that it took her some time to recognize it as a scream of terror. With the image of Kirika in her mind, she threw herself into a run at the fastest speed her legs permitted.
Upon turning the corner a few minutes after, two silhouettes appeared before her eyes. She smothered a cry of terror. One of the two, clearly, was Kirika. Her partner had her arms lowered in resignation. The other, a tough looking man, with a gun pointing at Kirika. It was the very opposite of what she would have imagined.
She didn't think. If she had, the doubt that the unbeatable Kirika would allow a crude thug to aim at her with his gun would have been raised, and perhaps she would have imagined that the Japanese was thinking of evading the shot with one of her fatal tricks. If that were the case, the Mafioso would have pulled the trigger and everything would have ended for Kirika.
Instead, Mireille reached for her gun and shot. Two, three times, until the man collapsed onto the ground, unmoving.
The silhouette of Kirika lifted her head and saw her. Mireille lowered her weapon while her companion advanced towards her slowly. When she was less than four meters away, she entered into the circle of light of a streetlamp. And then, the Corsican groaned in pure terror upon seeing those eyes which were no longer human. She was alone in the park, alone with the demon that she feared so much, but at the same time loved.
She had closed her eyes in order to not be conscious of that moment of terror during which her victims looked at the muzzle of the gun, waiting to see the projectile leave that would end their lives. When she heard the shot, she waited for the feeling of the bullet contacting with her head and her own consciousness plunging into the dark and sweet abyss of death.
In its place, cold air hit her face and she felt the collapse of a body that wasn't hers. She opened her eyes. The Mafioso was lying dead, with his gun still in his right hand. She didn't need to look for an explanation because in that moment she was able to make out a figure illuminated by the light of a streetlamp. One with a blonde mane. Mireille.
She felt a fit of anger. She didn't feel resentment for what she had said but… why had she come to look for her? Abruptly, Kirika remembered that the Corsican had said that it would be her who would put an end to her life. It was the only explanation that occurred to her. Mireille had gone out on her search to make sure she finished the job personally. In order to obtain her trophy. In order to see the life extinguish in the eyes of the one who had killed her family.
She felt how the rage dominated her, the dark part of her soul taking control of her body. Before, the simple sincere gaze of Mireille had been enough to expel that vicious side that converted her into a ruthless being. Now, nevertheless, she was she that not even that would save the life of Mireille Bouquet.
"Why have you come?"
The voice, frigid and monotone, so different from the usual timid but warm tone of Kirika took her by surprise. Even so, she was able to respond without stammering.
"I've come to look for you."
The lips of Kirika were drawn into a cold smile. Mireille shuddered.
"I see. Repenting for all of those times that you had an easy shot at me and let me escape? Or for not having revenge against the assassin who killed your parents?"
"No!" Mireille cut her off hurriedly, "I would never cause you pain, I promise…"
"You already have," hissed the Japanese.
Mireille gulped, terrified but sure she was doing the right thing.
"I came to ask you to come back with me, to tell you that I need you. I can't imagine life without you…-at that point, the tears started to fall down her cheeks, uncontrolled-this morning I was an idiot. I was afraid, afraid to tell you that I'm a fool that never has loved anyone. That I tortured myself over having seen you kissing Chloe…" Kirika felt herself start briefly upon hearing the name, but Mireille continued talking," afraid of confessing to you that I love you, Kirika, it doesn't matter to me who you are or who you've killed… I just want to be with you."
Kirika knitted her brow. One part of her being wanted to believe Mireille, but that wasn't the part that was making the decisions in that moment.
"Do you remember when Chloe died?" she murmured, "I killed her in order to save you…"
"I know."
"Now I believe I would've done better by not intervening and letting her finish you off."
Mireilel took the blow. She lowered her head and waited for her verdict.
"I can't bring her to life again. But what I can do is avenge her and honor her memory sending you to death like I should have done that day."
The blonde didn't turn a hair. After a few seconds, Kirika continued speaking. The worlds left chokingly from her mouth and appeared to leave her tongue frozen.
"You have scorned me and I have restricted myself to following your orders. You have said that you never wanted to see me again and I have left. And now you return to look for me and… and you expect that I will believe you do it out of love. You, Mireille, you don't have even the slightest idea what love is."
Once again, the blonde lifted her head.
"Love is observing you without batting an eyelid while you're sitting in front of the computer, hoping that maybe you'll turn your head and return my gaze. It's covering your back when, thanks to your own blunder, someone is at the point of killing you. It is killing someone that adored me so that you'll live. Putting myself between you and a bullet in order to save your life. That is love and don't ask me to live only to later take my soul and tear it to shreds."
Without her realizing, a tear had fallen down Kirika's cheek. Mireille wasn't able to block out the thought of how strange a scene this was, Kirika crying with those eyes as cold as steel.
"I accept your accusations. And I accept death, if you believe that is what I deserve. Today I have come her with only one goal and if I do not achieve it, I would prefer that you take my life. Anything, including death, is preferable to passing the rest of my life without you."
While she said this, the blonde flung her gun to the ground at Kirika's feet. After, she got on her knees, lowering her head.
It didn't surprise her to feel, after a few seconds, the cold touch of the muzzle of metal pressing against her forehead.
Kirika felt a sweet sense of revenge. How many times had Mireille pointed her gun at her? Uncountable times. Now, it was her who felt this feeling of being unprotected, of vulnerability and of fear.
Time seemed to have stopped. Mireille, on her knees, did not show even the slightest sign of rebellion. Her finger smoothly caressed the trigger, but, every time she prepared to pull it, something impelled her to stop.
What was happening to her? Probably the tricks and words that Mireille had used in order to try to soften her up had had some effect. The blonde never would imagine how her lovesick heart clamored to believe her, to remove the barrel from her head. But her cold assassin's mind knew that Mireille lied.
"Why can't you pull the trigger then?" whispered a voice in her mind. Kirika's hand began to shake. She cursed herself because it was nothing that had every happened to her before.
The eyes of Mireille looked up at her from under her weapon. Kirika knew that she was making her suffer more than was necessary. She had wanted a quick death for her, but she attempted to convince herself that the Corsican woman deserved to suffer.
"Crying for your life because your tricks have failed?" Kirika spat.
Mireille looked at her. Her blue eyes seemed full of sincerity, but the Japanese knew she did it on purpose.
"No. Because this morning I let the opportunity to spend the rest of my life with the person I love pass by."
Kirika felt her heart skip a beat. Furious, she tightened her grip even more on her gun. Mireille closed her eyes.
"Your cheap talk doesn't mean a thing to me! I'll kill you right now… that way you can't keep talking."
She felt how her companion closed her eyes and tightened her jaws, controlling her fear. Again, her finger closed around the trigger. She tried to push it, but the finger didn't move. Kirika didn't know if what was rebelling were her fingers, hear brain, or everything at the same time…
Once again she cursed herself. She wanted to make some time so she could summon up the courage necessary to pull the trigger. So she chose the first idea that came to mind.
"Any last requests?"
Surprised, Mireille opened her eyes and looked at her. In her gaze appeared a special shine as she thought it over for a few seconds. After, she opened her mouth and spoke.
Of course, it was what she had desired most and the word had appeared instantly in her mind. She was at the point of not asking for it, in case it provoke the ire of Kirika even further. But at that instant that she remembered she was going to kill her anyway. So, why not risk it? When all said and done, they were the last moments of her life.
"A kiss," she murmured in a low voice, almost ashamed.
Kirika's eyebrows rose, surprised.
"What?"
"I said that the last thing I want is for you to give me a kiss. Please. It's the last thing I ask of you. After, kill me and I'll die in peace."
Kirika felt a trembling. During a few moments, she considered the possibility of shooting her right then and there but she knew that she wasn't able to. Mireille looked at her imploringly. So, why not?
Her heart begged her to do it even though her mind wasn't very sure that it could tolerate it. Kissing the person one loved before leaving her dead from a gunshot… it sounded macabre but, in the end, it was her that had elected to die like this.
Mireille seemed astonished when Kirika removed the barrel of the gun from her forehead. Slowly, she ducked down in front of her. She placed on hand on her back while she directed the other at her stomach.
She felt a chill when the muzzle of the gun situated itself directly over her navel. As an assassin she knew that a shot to the stomach was one of the most horrible ways to die. Painful and slow. She looked at Kirika with a wounded expression.
"The kiss has a price," her companion whispered, as if she had read her mind, "are you willing to pay it?"
Mireille had no doubts about agreeing. Kirika looked at her, surprised, but moments later her face advanced towards her companion's until the lips of both brushed.
The first contact was so agreeable that for a moment she lost her sense of reality. Never had she kissed anyone, and because of that she merely pressed her lips against Mireille's for a few seconds that seemed like an eternity.
She felt a shudder go through the back of her companion. Kirika herself felt her own free will give in but before her heart had a chance to surrender itself, her dark side forced her to retreat.
For Mireille it was a dream that Kirika was kissing her even though it was before she was to kill her. It didn't matter but she did want to take advantage of the moment to the greatest extent possible. She wanted to die feeling the pressure of Kirika's lips against hers. Because of this, as soon as she felt Kirika break the kiss, she didn't think twice. With a weak moan of protest, she moved her own face until it once again trapped Kirika's lips with her own, surrounding Kirika's body with her arms. She then kissed Kirika with all her heart waiting for the feeling at any moment of the bullet that was to tear into her stomach.
Too confused to react, Kirika just let it happen. She knew that part of her was shouting for vengeance and that it wanted to kill the woman she loved. Nevertheless, she convinced herself that a death so horrible deserved some compensation, but what was certain was that her other side was beginning to also take pleasure from the event.
Mireille sighed while she embraced her fiercely, her lips moving themselves against those of the Japanese girl's. It seemed to her as though it didn't matter that the muzzle of the gun was forcefully stuck up against her stomach. The blonde shuddered and trembled against her body uncontrollably. Kirika wasn't sure if it was from fear or passion.
Until something happened. Without realizing it, Kirika had allowed herself to be taken away by the moment and had half opened her lips. Immediately Mireille's tongue penetrated her mouth.
Kirika believed that she was at the point of fainting when a torrent of emotions and sensations flooded her suddenly. She moaned strong enough for Mireille to open her eyes, surprised. With their mouths still united, they looked at each other.
Only one other time had Mireille observed the transformation, but it was so vivid in her mind that, while the eyes of Kirika changed only a few centimeters from her own, she felt a familiar sensation of relief.
She heard a low noise. She didn't find out it was her until she realized that the gun no longer was shoved up against her. Full of gratitude she closed her eyes and continued to kiss Kirika who, confused, was only able to strongly embrace the body of Mireille.
Seconds after, they separated. It was Kirika who was the first to break the kiss. The blonde allowed her to do it and both looked at each other in silence, listening to their own agitated breathing in the background.
Kirika lowered her head. Insecure, as if she could remember what had occurred just minutes before, she took up her arm. She looked at it as if it was the first time she had seen it and abruptly let it fall to the ground with a gesture of profound aversion.
When she raised her head in order to face up to her companion, the other woman saw that the tears had begun to fall from her eyes. Mireille extended her arms and hardly a second after, Kirika let herself fall in them, burying her head in her chest.
"I'm sorry," she said, "I'm sorry… so very sorry… I almost killed you."
"Don't be sorry, it was my fault," Mireille interrupted her, hugging her with her arms.
"You know that that's not true."
"Fine, we admit that it was both our faults," Mireille quickly resolved, attempting to finish once and for all that topic.
But Kirika wasn't prepared to let it go that easily.
"All of the horrible things that I told you… my God, I deserve…"
Her discourse was interrupted when she felt a pair of strong arms separate her from the form of the blond in order to look at each other face to face.
"Forget it, ok?" she asked more than ordered in an imploring tone, "Now everything's alright."
Mireille smiled. It was a smile that was open and frank, one Kirika had had very few occasions to see. She nodded, in silence, while her partner extended her had to gently brush her cheek.
"I love you," she murmured, gazing into her eyes, "I'm sorry for not having told you before."
The Japanese girl shook.
"I love you, too, Mi…"
Suddenly, Kirika had remembered what the Corsican had told her that morning. She stopped speaking while her mind attempted to remember the correct pronunciation of the name of her companion. Mireille, feeling herself responsible, embraced her once again.
"Come on. Say it. Say it how you always do."
"But you…"
Mireille shook her head.
"This morning I was furious and I lied to you. It doesn't bother me. Actually, I love it."
Kirika brought up her face to her ear and whispered her name. Mireille felt herself go mad and roughly grabbed her shoulders to kiss her again.
It was then that a far away sound interrupted them. The police siren. They glanced at each other. They had forgotten that there was an implied death and some neighbor would have heard the shots. Quickly, they got on their feet. With their hands grasped tightly, fingers interlaced, they went from there at top speed. While she rand next to Mireille, Kirika wasn't able to avoid thinking that, although it was still night, the streets of Paris seemed more beautiful to her than they ever had.
They were still panting from their efforts when they arrived at the door of Mireille's apartment. Kirika watched her companion as she looked for the keys. Their gazes crossed and, like a bolt, the promise she had made just hours before returned to the mind of the blonde. She inserted the key in the lock and smiled to herself, confusing the Japanese.
The inside of the apartment was dark. Scarcely after Mireille closed the door, she let go of her keys and hurled herself into Kirika's arms. She discovered that her partner had done the same and for a few seconds they remained in silence, embracing each other. Neither of the two had come to terms with what had happened and neither were able to make up their minds to break the intimate silence they had created.
"Mireille…"
"Yes?"
"There's something that you still haven't answered."
Mireille closed her eyes, distractedly caressing Kirika's black locks.
"Are you afraid of me?" the Japanese asked a few seconds after, when it was clear that Mireille wasn't going to add anything.
The Corsican girl sighed. Kirika broke the embrace and pulled her towards the window where the light of the moon allowed her to better observe Mireille's features.
"I would be lying to you if I told you no," the blonde responded, after a few seconds, averting her gaze to the inside of the apartment, "I fear that dark side that seems to be able to overpower you, and those eyes that are not yours and of waking up in the middle of the night, looking at you and realizing that I'm sleeping with someone different."
Mireille made a pause. Kirika lowered her head. At that moment her companion tightened her arms around her form. Kirika looked at her, but her eyes remained fixed on one of the buildings that was located outside the window.
"On the other hand, I have discovered three things. I had always thought that your change was due to some sort of dirty trick of Altena's that simply made you cruel and ruthless. Today, nevertheless, I have a different theory. I wasn't there when you… uh… transformed the first time, but I bet that, like today, you felt some sort of deep pain just before doing it. What I believe, Kirika, is that when you receive a particularly hard blow that you don't allow yourself to express your pain and in the long run this pain takes possession of your body and changes you into a completely different person."
Kirika recalled a terrible scene. An entire village fighting and dying because of her… she agreed in silence without looking away from Mireille's eyes.
"The second thing I have discovered is that you are able to control it. The first time I thought it was by accident that you regained control over yourself when I looked in your eyes but today it became clear to me that you are willing to fight even with yourself in order to keep me from harm. Something that I did not even have the smallest doubt about, because, as you very well reminded me, when my incredible carelessness allows some thug to get close to my back, you are always there to save me," she finished with a smile that made Kirika consider it unnecessary to apologize.
Between the two a comfortable silence installed itself. Mireille continued holding and caressing Kirika without looking at her and she continued to hang onto every small change in Mireille's expression.
"Mireille," she called again.
"Yes?"
"What was the third thing you discovered today?"
This time Mireille did turn her head to fix her gaze on her and, for one moment, Kirika was surprised and shocked by the immense love that her bright eyes transmitted to her.
"The third thing," she said, slowly, almost in a whisper, "is that sometimes I'm afraid of you, but this fear is nothing compared to the profound terror that I have at the simple idea of losing you."
Unable to respond, Kirika held onto Mireille fiercely. The blonde smiled as she listened to how her companion muffled a sob.
"Oh, come now. It's not worth crying over. Of course, I also have a question I want to ask you."
Kirika separated herself from her, drying her tears.
"Ask."
"I know that it's not the best time but… why did you kiss Chloe?" Mireille inquired, her expression in between amused and jealous.
Kirika searched her memories thoroughly. Her kissing Chloe…? Oh, yes, now she remembered.
"I didn't kiss her," she replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, "she kissed me."
"Why?"
"I don't know. She adored me for my abilities and she wanted at all costs for her and I to be Noir."
"And what did you feel?"
Kirika looked at her companion.
"Jealous? Remember, she has died…"
"I know," Mireille replied with a snort, "but answer the question."
"I felt… honestly, I didn't feel anything. Everything was the same to me. I think I would have killed her in that moment if I had had to do it. My evil side, which was the one that controlled me in that moment, didn't feel anything for anyone."
"And your good side?" Mireille asked smoothly.
Kirika looked at her, surprised, until she saw the mischievous smile of her companion. She returned the smile and raised her head to Mireille's ear.
"My other side also didn't feel anything for anyone. Except you, of course."
Mireille felt how the excitement began to seize her form. Her face rushed over Kirika's and both began kissing once again. Kirika felt an agreeable sensation in her stomach, a tickling that grew along with the kiss, which, in its first few moments, exchanged innocence for passion.
Without out hardly realizing what she was doing, Mireille lowered her hand to Kirika's stomach. The other woman wasn't able to avoid sighing when she felt the fingers of the blonde playing against the skin of her navel.
Suddenly, Mireille backed away, breaking the kiss. Even though the disappointed expression of Kirika was eloquent enough, she opened her mouth to question.
"Kirika, are you sure…?"
The Japanese girl nodded.
"But… I mean, do you know what we're about to do?"
"No," Kirika responded, looking at her with confidence, " but whatever it is, I think now is the time to discover it with you."
Mireille didn't need anything else. At first, Kirika thought she was setting out to kiss her once again, but her lips alighted gracefully over the delicate skin of her neck. Kirika felt vulnerable, a sensation she barely knew, but that, to her surprise, she enjoyed. Never had she let anyone approach that zone, so unprotected and vital, as her jugular, easy to cut and tear, as she very well knew. Only Mireille. She blindly placed her trust in her, and she was willing to follow her to death itself if she asked. Because Mireille was different from the rest of the people she knew. She was her life, her entire world. She thought all this before the new sensations flooded her mind and made it impossible for her to continue thinking with any sort of clarity.
The cool air that entered through the window, opened previously by her now blonde lover, brushing agreeably over her nude body covered in pearls of sweat. Kirika, her breathing staggered, listened as the agitated breathing of Mireille kept the same tempo. Embarrassed yet at the same time fascinated by her discovery, Kirika sighed, not without blushing, upon thinking of the kisses they had interchanged. In the words of love that she never would have believed she would speak, and that, nonetheless, had whispered falteringly into Mireille's ear. In the beauty of her nude form, bathed by the light of the full moon.
She turned her head, Mireille doing the same. The blonde still had an arm wrapped around the waist of the Japanese, as if she feared that Kirika was going to leave running from one moment to the next. In silence, they shared a long glance. Kirika once again remained bewitched by her eyes, looking at her at the same time with a degree of strangeness. Mireille grinned upon noticing it..
"Hey," she murmured, getting Kirika's attention, "what's wrong?"
"What do you mean?"
"You're looking at me as if it's the first time you laid eyes on me."
Kirika admitted, uncomfortable, that that was true. Once again she blushed, enough for Mireille in spite of the lack of light, was able to notice it.
"Well… it's just that…" she stuttered, before stopping herself.
"Come on. Speak," her partner commanded in an affectionate tone.
Kirika bit her lip.
"I don't know how… how to explain it…"
Before the girl could continue, Mireille situated herself over Kirika, holding her arms against the bed. The Japanese protested weakly, feeling completely ignored by Mireille.
"Don't force me to make you speak because you know I can," she threatened once again adopting her mischievous smile. Kirika evaluated the options that she had and finally, decided to concede to the blonde's request.
"It's nothing really… just that… I've always seen you as being very impulsive and impatient… I never thought that you could have so much patience with me, be so… tender…" Kirika explained, feeling stupid. And it was true, well, that she never had thought her partner in killing would be able to have so much tact and be the owner of delicateness so exquisite.
"Ah, I understand," Mireille replied with a pretended wounded tone, even though she failed to lose her grin because really she was delighted, "you believed that I was going to pounce on you as if I were some perverted…"
"I didn't say that!" Kirika exclaimed, slightly annoyed. She calmed upon hearing the amused laugh of Mireille. After, the laughing stopped and the face of her companion descended until it touched her own, to wrap her into a smooth and prolonged kiss.
If it were up to her she could have passed the entire night kissing Kirika, but she knew that the young Japanese was tired. She separated from her lying face up on her side of the bed. She was surprised to feel Kirika follow her, placing her head on her chest. Upon feeling Mireille wrap her arms around her, she sighed and closed her eyes.
The blonde remained silent, looking through the window, feeling how the breathing of Kirika was every time more relaxed and slow. In only a few hours it would be dawn. The idea of waking up to a new day at the side of a nude Kirika produced an unexpected satisfaction. The idea of waking up at her side every day of her life produced a pleasure difficult to explain.
She lowered her gaze to look at the head that was resting over her chest. Kirika was right, as usual. Mireille didn't know what love was. Now yes. She had discovered it for herself, she had discovered that she had two personalities. Never would she have imagined herself to be smiling with a silly air, or murmuring sweet nothings, but she had just done it. She had just discovered that Kirika took out the best in her, she made her a better person.
Suddenly, she felt tempted to make a promise. Even if Kirika couldn't hear it.
"Together," she murmured, "we will always be together. I promise you."
To her surprise, her companion tightened the grip on her hand significantly for a few seconds before once again relaxing.
Mireille smiled and closed her eyes. She was not at all surprised to discover her insomnia had been miraculously cured and that sleep began to seize her mind. She sighed deeply, before allowing herself to drift off, satisfied. Conscious that when she woke up she would see the form of Kirika at her side, now and forever, and that only at death would they part.