Hi there. First fanfic up. Reviews are certainly appreciated. I'd love to know you're out there, and what you think.
Can you hear her?
Disclaimer:
The characters - Mireille Bouquet, and Yumura Kirika from the anime 'Noir' - are neither my original creations, nor are owned by me. This work is in no way done for commercial gain, and is presented for entertainment purposes only. These characters are based on the original anime series by Ryoe Tsukimura, for whom I have utmost respect.
(I have taken the liberty of deciding it is not the Parisian sewers, but rather the aqueducts, they use as their range for target practice. Also, apologies if Kirika's ID card isn't in Kanji; that's what it most resembles, as far as I can tell from those few glimpses of it.)
Please enjoy!
A Disturbing Enigma
(Mireille's POV – expanded upon scenes in Episode 18, The Darkness Within Me)
A disturbing enigma. With those three words and my wish, frankly, that I had never seen one, I'd driven Kirika away. Her distressed backing from where I stood, Walther hot in my hand, twisted another pain in with the ones already in my head.
Not in my heart. I was an assassin. It was my calling, and – at a lesser level, I suppose – something which had always been associated with my now entirely murdered Corsican family. No, assassins weren't allowed the luxury of a heart. Hearts could be broken. If you had one, you could die.
I cleared my eyes and reloaded. The ancient Paris aqueducts made a fine and private place for the killing of my pain. With uncounted bullet casings clinking onto the stone at my feet, I spent a long time trying.
Who knew where Kirika went when she needed time alone. At one time it was along the river to paint. Since her artist friend Milosh died, I don't think she's been back. I had tried to warn her. Getting involved with someone made you do stupid things – for them, and sometimes to them, on purpose or not. People you care about got killed. I…hadn't been able to say more at the time, hoping she'd understand. As it was, I'd given in to old pain that day, huddling out of view in the kitchen so she wouldn't see. We all die. Why should I care? Assassins didn't have hearts.
I caught the emptied clip from my automatic, and rubbed my eyes with the back of a wrist. Must be the gun smoke bothering them; they felt gritty. Just one more round. I was going to pit a hole into the stone wall deep enough that I could sink my fist in it. It was better that way than breaking your hand.
The apartment was empty when I came up. Night's blue darkness flowed in the window as I sat leaning my chin against laced fingers. My disturbing enigma wasn't home. No mail in the box downstairs to distract me, none in the computer's either. Just as well. I didn't need company. I was fine alone.
Her jacket was lying on the bed. When I'd moved it to crawl beneath the covers, a thump from its landing revealed it had contents. Her gun. And her precious ID card. She had left them. Had gone when I asked her. I hadn't asked her to do this.
I studied the laminated card printed in Japanese. I could read the kanji, if quite imprecisely, but not her face. The stolid, enigmatic expression still disturbed me. Did it disturb her as well? I clutched that piece of her tightly before setting it and her gun back on the jacket.
Who was Yuumura Kirika? Did either of us know?
___
In streaming sunlight the next morning I stood against the wall, seeking warmth I hadn't had beside me as I slept. Had tried to sleep. It was my turn, I guess, to gaze out this window. I always wondered what Kirika saw from it. The bblrrrt of my cell phone's ringer startled me. It was her, her voice questioning. But I hadn't found answers yet. I couldn't respond, and broke our connection.
Tonight I had agreed to a rendezvous. The caller indicated it would resolve questions. Presumably about the book. It had seemed chancy alone, but what wasn't in this business? At eight I stood in Gustav Plaza, waiting. My contact didn't show. But as I watched those around me, and in his absence, my mind was finding something.
Yuumura Kirika was a young woman with a mop of unruly dark hair who couldn't remember her past, just as I couldn't get away from mine. Who spoke short sentences in a quiet voice. Who made very good tea. Who didn't curse, unlike me at times. Who was a frighteningly good shot. One who understood assignments and didn't shrink from what needed doing. And like me, was a child of the Soldats. Part of the true Noir, whatever that meant.
She also shared my bed. I mean, there was only one in my place. It was big enough for both, so why not? Ironically, the arrangement was reassuring, and it wasn't more than temporary anyway, right? Assassins worked alone. Heartlessly.
Except…for when there were two.
Who would kill to save the other, no matter what the cost.
Tonight my heart gave Kirika back what she'd forgotten. Hers gave me my life when she didn't have to. They were what we had both been looking for.
Thank you for reading! (The paragraph breaks aren't as I prefer, but that is the only way it will allow them.) If you enjoyed it, please drop me a note at the little box right there... ;)