Disclaimer: Noir does not belong to me. This is a work of fanfiction and no commercial profit will be gained, yaddayadda.
Disclaimer 2: Please take this work with a great pinch of salt and a hearty sense of humour. I love my MiriKiri too.
A Dream of Lilac
It was one thing to be frightened of someone when you were a child and the other person was a famed princess, quite another to find yourself a grown woman and a renowned assassin, shaking helplessly before the same person. Mireille felt the trembling invade her again as she lay under the cover of maroon sheets. Silvana knew she was part of Noir, knew what she was now, yet she had blithely strode up, her cold smile slicing through Mireille and leaving splinters where it touched. Why did she allow Silvana this hold over her? Why...
Her eyes fluttered closed, and a louder breath escaped her lips. Mireille held it to herself for a few heartbeats, waited, but Kirika did not stir. Her breathing remained regular and soft, the measured sounds of a sleeper, though she could wake in half a second if the situation called for it, Mireille knew. Kirika was that kind of blade. Perhaps she was a sturdier one than Silvana, the Intoccabile who refused fear. But it was Silvana's presence which inspired awe, struck anxiety deep into the hearts of her foes like invisible swords, and Mireille herself had fallen under her spell the first day they met. Seeing her again was a surprise. More than a surprise.
Mireille caught at her lower lip with tongue and teeth, wrinkled her eyes to stave off memory. Her heartbeat insisting on accelerating anyhow. She bit down and tasted blood, real or imagined she could not know.
The trouble was, she wasn't a girl anymore. She might have felt the heady flush of embarrassment in her childhood days, but the same sensation brought other feelings with it now. Other. Drawing her nails lightly down her body, Mireille felt goosebumps rise under her touch. The thrill of tactile contact hummed palpably down her spine. To have waylaid her at that precise location, Silvana must have known what she felt about the place, the time she had spent there with her father. Silvana must have known she would always remember that place, because she had been called from it to meet Don Salvatore and his daughter.
She had had a knife. Mireille's hand hovered over her crotch, pausing as her rational mind kicked in and informed her quite politely of what she was about to do. This was Silvana she was thinking of. Their enemy, Intoccabile, who was going to kill her if she kept herself distracted with such things-
The rough cement wall, merciless, dug into her back. Fine strands of purple hair tickled her nose. Mireille was too stunned to move. Silvana pressed in, along with the deadly perfume of her presence, ignoring how Mireille shook. It was a cruelty she could not permit. Could. Not. Her fingers crept down another inch, curled, frozen by terrified hesitation.
Kirika was just here, barely a hand's breadth away. She would know.
Not if she was quiet.
It was foolishness, thinking of an enemy like this. Not to mention very dangerous.
Danger.
Her lips parted, and her hand slipped another inch, sliding over warm wetness. Mireille tensed in rapt fascination as Silvana's lips hovered nearer. A quick flash of teeth and the pink folds caught hold of her, sucked her in till she had no breath left and was only capable of a weak squirming. Sapped of strength, curiously weightless, she felt herself collapse against the robed woman. Silvana wedged her harder against the wall. There was a blur of movement and slender fingers circled her throat, squeezing. But the burning sensation she feared did not follow; the touch was the harshest of caresses. The nails prickling her skin razed new fires into being.
Stop, she tried to say. But her mouth worked uselessly, and Silvana was smiling, smiling, fully aware of what she was doing. Her fingers darted down, digging deep under clothing that suddenly seemed utterly inadequate for the occasion. Then Silvana made a sudden, sharp movement, and Mireille shuddered as death darted nearer. And it was good. Yes, just there. Right there...
"...urgh," she rasped.
"Mireille?"
Mireille gasped, flying upright. But her hand, caught between her thighs, stayed, and with a final jolt, the blood rushed to her head all at once. She couldn't stop the moan that escaped.
"Merde! Kirika!"
"Uh." Kirika was staring at her face.
It was impossible to be cool in a situation such as this. But Mireille tried on a pleasant smile. Heat lingered on her cheeks. "Go back to sleep."
Kirika's large black eyes widened to an impossible circumference. "Ah," she said softly, then shrank back beneath the sheets so quickly that Mireille only caught the blur of movement. "Goodnight!" her voice drifted up, muffled.
Still very pale, Mireille retrieved her fingers and curled them into a fist. She remained seated on the bed, looking at the shock of dark hair that remained above the covers. A few heartbeats later, Kirika's eyes peeked out. She made a small sound of surprise on immediately meeting Mireille's steady gaze.
Mireille's eyebrow twitched. Finally she pushed back the bedclothes with a swish and walked to the bathroom nearby. There, she couldn't help but stare at her reflection. It looked straight back at her, expressionless, as she terminated the flow of water gushing out of the tap. She brushed a lock of blonde aside; it fell back. Exasperated, Mireille dropped her face into cupped hands. Her shoulders shook as the humiliation and the hilarity of the situation hit in successive waves. "Oh, merde," she repeated in a mutter. To catch her in that precise state, and for her to react in such a manner! Adrenaline, she told herself while she took her time wiping her hands dry, the assassin's friend and enemy. It had nothing to do with Kirika. Hormones, maybe. She hadn't so much as touched herself in months, and finding someone was out of the question.
The seconds ticked by.
Mireille had her back against the door, her arms crossed. Perhaps she was waiting for the right moment. Hopefully Kirika would fall asleep again. Might be time to start rethinking their sleeping arrangements.
Another ten minutes wandered by. Impatience nipped at her, but Mireille knew the value of good timing. She had had to wait hours to get a clear shot. This was nothing.
When she let the next ten minutes pass, she began to suspect more difficulty in this venture than she had expected. Mireille sighed.
Just then, there came a quiet knocking at the door. She stiffened.
"Mireille? Are you all right?"
"Kirika." Her voice emerged normally, brightly. Raising her head, she smiled at herself in the glass. "I'm nearly done in here. Go back to sleep."
"Okay."
Silence. Mireille waited. Her smile wavered. Then came the sound of soft feet padding away.
She heaved another sigh. What was she to do with Kirika? Yuumura Kirika, she murmured to herself. Assassin extraordinaire. Noir. Her partner, for now. She looked young, but her Japanese ancestry might account for some of that. She could be one of the kids down at the other neighbourhood, which wouldn't put her age too far from Mireille's. And if one were to believe the date on her ID card...
She was washing her hands for the third time, watching the droplets dribble free from slender palms a bit burred after years of shooting. No, there was no way to find out how far Kirika's knowledge of the birds and the bees extended, short of asking her directly, which Mireille baulked at.
There was no help for it. She would have to get out of the bathroom.
Mireille turned the knob noiselessly and slipped out with barely a squeak of the hinges. Her passage across the floor was equally silent, her eyes trained upon the small lump that was Kirika under the covers. She slid in, slightly curled, with her face turned away as always. Nary a squeak.
Mireille put a hand to her mouth to catch her small sound of relief. She felt exhausted by the ordeal. It had been more tiring than a long stakeout.
She fell gratefully towards sleep.
"Sorry."
"Huh?" Habit blinked weary eyes to life in one second flat.
The voice came from a long way off. Kirika also slept turned away from her. "Sorry," it repeated, "I didn't mean to do that."
"Do you ... know?" she heard herself asking.
"Yes." Pause. "A little."
"Mmm."
A longer pause. "You will kill her, won't you? When the time comes."
Mireille closed her eyes. "Of course I will."
By unspoken mutual consent, they drifted off. Mireille's last conscious thoughts concerned her sanity and how it wouldn't remain with her for long at this rate, even if she survived the next fight. Mostly asleep, she managed to be pleased that the memory of Silvana had drifted off the forefront of her mind.
Extraneous footnote: Merde either means "shit" or I am sadly mistaken. Unfortunately the latter circumstance occurs very often.