Note: Events in this sort of follow "Sweet Demon of Mine". It's not absolutely necessary to read that beforehand, but it might help. I do not own Noir or any of its characters.
Forgiven
Noir fanfiction by LeeT911 (LeeT911@hotmail.com)
* * *
Kirika wakes with the dawn. Soft morning light bathes the apartment in a warm glow. A new day, a new beginning. It hardly feels that way to her.
It had been a new beginning, after that day at the Manor, but nothing had changed. She had thought she could start a new life with Mireille, but it was just more of the same. Things weren't really any different. Maybe Mireille took care of her a little more, but it was because Kirika was injured. She had thought that maybe, maybe after her wound had healed, things would pick up. It's been months now since she's been in full physical health.
Last night had helped, a bit. It had felt like they had been close to something, but that something still eluded them. Kirika glances over at Mireille. She's not awake, not at this hour. It's much too early for her.
Kirika sighs, wonders if she can extricate herself from the bed without waking Mireille. Probably. The blonde is very near, but not actually touching her. Slowly, Kirika slides out from under the covers, careful not to shift her weight too quickly and disturb her partner. This morning she manages to get out cleanly. Back when they had first started sharing the bed, it had been impossible for either one to get up without waking the other. Assassin's instincts. Nowadays, it's about even money.
Silently, Kirika picks up her clothes and moves away from the sleeping area to get dressed. A walk. That was what she needed, an early morning walk. It was nice to see the sunrise sometimes, to see that shining orb light the heavens and banish the shadows of night. Maybe if she hurried, she could watch the sun crown Paris this day.
* * *
I can't remember the last time I woke without Kirika beside me, yet this morning the bed is strangely empty. I touch the shape of her depression on the mattress; it is cool. She's been gone for some time. My eyes can't see anyone in the apartment, and my ears don't detect anything else either.
She's probably gone for a walk. She does that every now and then. She says she needs some time alone. Hasn't she been alone enough?
I find myself wishing I could be the one to change that. I find myself wishing she would come back now, just so I could see her. Just so I could talk to her... But who am I kidding? Will I actually tell her? Probably not.
* * *
Of their own accord, Kirika's feet carry her back to the apartment building. She looks up, surprised to find she is home. Her sense of despondency hasn't left. Reluctantly, she trudges up the stairs.
Kirika is greeted by the smell of tea and toast as she pushes open the door. The smell is undeniably pleasant, but it fails to stir hunger in her. Eating seems like a chore.
"Good morning!" Mireille yells from the kitchen, pleased to see her young charge return. "Up early today? How about some breakfast?"
Kirika shrugs off her jacket, steps into the kitchen doorway. There is still a sad look about her. Nonetheless, she tries to smile for Mireille, not wanting to dampen her partner's cheery mood. "Arigato." She says, taking a seat.
* * *
I can see that whatever haunted her last night hasn't left her. It pains me to see her pretend. The way she walks in and smiles for me. I know she's unhappy. Her smile is so obviously forced. I would have been better off without it. She hardly ever smiles anyway; if she doesn't I won't think twice about it.
"Thank you." She says as she takes a seat, but she was thinking something else.
"Tea?" I ask her as she starts to eat, and she nods her acquiescence without meeting my eyes.
We eat in silence. We haven't done that in a long time. I worry about her. But I also selfishly worry about myself. I worry that something is bothering her, and it will cause our relationship to slip away. It seems that I can't think about anything but Kirika these days. I find myself wishing I could change the past just so her existence would be that much brighter.
* * *
Kirika stuffs the last bit of food in her mouth and swallows quickly, standing up to clear her dishes. Mireille, lost in thought, hardly seems to notice her at all.
The dark-haired girl makes it to the sink before Mireille realizes she is alone at the table. "Finished already?"
"I'm not hungry." Kirika's statement is punctuated by the sound of her dishes clattering in the sink.
"Why not?"
Because I can't eat with you watching me so intently. The thought is not voiced. Instead, Kirika turns on the tap, trying vainly to drown out the world.
* * *
She stands at the sink, with her back to me. "Kirika." I call, but there is no reaction. "Kirika?" I reach out to touch her, reassure her, but she twists away as I brush her arm.
"Go away." Her whisper is barely audible over the sound of running water. "Leave me alone."
Why doesn't she trust me? Why can't she tell me what's really bothering her? She turns around then, and for the first time, she sees that she can hurt me. Maybe at the outset, I had helped her to help myself, but now, I want nothing but to ease her burden. Now, I honestly only want to make her happy.
We stare at each other for a short while, anxious. Her eyes flicker as they drop to the floor. She turns away again, shutting off the tap as an afterthought. "I'm sorry," she mumbles into the silence, "I'm sorry, Mireille."
"It's okay."
"Do you believe in God, Mireille?" She says my name, but she speaks outwards, into the apartment, as though she was really asking someone else.
"No."
"What about Heaven?"
"I'm not sure." I step closer to her, and I can see the wetness on her face, I can hear the emotion cracking her voice.
"I am sure. There's no heaven for me, and there are no gods for me either. I used to think that I didn't need God's forgiveness. I used to think... I used to think that if I had yours, that would be enough. I'm sorry, Mireille, but it's not. I... I need more from you, even if I know I don't deserve it. But I can't... I can't ask this of you, Mireille. I'm sorry..."
For one fleeting moment, I'm afraid she's going to break and run away, but she looks up at me and the feeling passes. She just stands there, crying openly in front of me. There's no effort at all at hiding it. She stares me directly in the eyes, blinking only when the tears overwhelm her. I can feel my own tears welling up as I take another step towards Kirika. I have to tell her. I would do anything for this girl, but it seems the words refuse to come. Instead, I take her hands in mine.
* * *
Kirika feels Mireille's hands close over hers. Mireille's mouth opens slightly, but no sound ensues. Kirika looks away, suddenly embarrassed. She is anxious, absolutely terrified of rejection, but there's no other choice. She's been meaning to say something for a long time, but every possible outcome scares her. These emotions are so foreign to her she's afraid of letting herself feel sometimes.
Is this love? She doesn't know. Kirika stiffens, tries to pull away. What if she's wrong? What if...
Mireille's arms wrap around her, and blue eyes pierce her own. "Kirika..." The blonde whispers.
* * *
I never believed in love at first sight. It may seem kind of cynical, but life hasn't given me much to believe in. Kirika though... Kirika is different. I do believe in her. Somewhere down the line, I learned that she would give anything for me. I wish I could only prove to her that I would do the same.
She looks at me, with those deceptively innocent eyes, and although I see through them, I still have sympathy for this girl. In fact, what I feel for her goes far beyond sympathy.
It seems strange that she, the quiet one, had been the first to voice her feelings, even if only in writing. I wonder if she even understood herself when she wrote me that letter. I know she understands herself now. She needs me. If nothing else, I can tell myself I'm doing this for her. If nothing else, I owe her this much.
I lean closer. She doesn't flinch, just stares at me with her mouth slightly agape. I wonder if she realizes what I'm about to do. Our noses brush. She doesn't blink. I press my lips to hers and her eyes close, but that's the extent of her reaction. She smells like the fresh morning air; the faint taste of tea still on her lips. I kiss her, and though she doesn't respond, she doesn't push me away.
She opens her eyes when I stop. "Kiss me again."
I oblige.
* * *
Kirika reciprocates this time, ever so gently. She is hungry, eager, but somehow gentle at the same time. When Mireille pulls away, she tries to follow her, reluctant to let this end so quickly.
Mireille's hands hold the girl back. "Didn't anyone ever tell you assassins can't love?" She asks breathlessly.
"No." Kirika says defiantly, leaning in for another kiss.
It is a long while before they manage to pull themselves apart. To Kirika, the entire experience is new and alluring. In all her life, she's never read a love story, never watched a sappy romantic movie. For her, there's no basis for comparison, but it doesn't matter. Right now, this is all that counts.
* * *
I'd almost forgotten what if feels like to be kissed. The simplicity of it makes it even stranger. I want to be here, with Kirika, even though we are rarely apart. I want to stay here, touching her, even though we share the same bed. I want to hold her and kiss her because I know she's never felt this before. I don't care what the world thinks. To me, this lonely girl is deserving. Deserving and deprived.
Kirika opens her eyes, and I see they are warm, unguarded. Half of her is nervous, shy, wary of overstepping my acceptance; but the other half is deliriously happy. I don't think I've ever seen her this excited. Maybe that's all I ever wanted, to make her happy. The sight of her like this, it's almost overwhelming. Perhaps I really do love her.
"Mi... Mireille?" She stutters, questioning.
"Hmm?" I put a hand on her head and run my fingers through her hair. It's wild and tangled because she never grooms it. Somehow, that doesn't make her any less beautiful. She nuzzles against my hand, silent. I wonder what she meant to ask, but I'm not going to push her.
After a few minutes, she takes my hand and holds it against her cheek. Then, slowly, she reaches over and touches my face. Her fingertips brush lightly over my skin, questing. "Mireille?"
"What is it?"
"You're so beautiful."
It's not what I thought she wanted say, but it pulls at my heart nonetheless. Just one thought. So simple, yet it seems to have an inexplicable power over me. I draw her into a fierce hug.
This is acceptance; this is forgiveness. This is for everything the world inflicted upon you.
I know I wasn't wrong to let this girl live.
* * *
END