Chapter 7

Your Life

Everything seemed still, yet alive. It was like they were stuck in heaven, the way the gold evening reflected in the lake.

Noir sat there, watching Tsuki and Rhain finish unpacking the large woven basket. It's been a while since they had seen traditional baskets like that—let alone, going on a picnic together. It was something Noir never thought of. They had biked around Paris and ate small snacks by rivers or dined out . . . but an actual picnic? For some reason, not doing so made Mireille feel stupid.

"That's . . . a lot," said Mireille, watching Tsuki snap open a bag of potato chips, then remove fluffernutter sandwiches in plastic bags from the basket. "Wait, peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich?"

"You too adult for that?" scoffed Rhain, pausing in the middle of lighting small candles with a familiar cigarette lighter. They fitted perfectly into small teacups on plates they placed in the middle of the blanket.

"You calling me old?" challenged Mireille, raising an eyebrow.

"I didn't say shit. You assumed!"

"Anyway," said Tsuki, unwrapping goat cheese and crackers. "We brought lots of food because we didn't know what you liked. We've got chips, macaroni salad, water bottles, soda, watermelon, steak, pepperoni—"

"My favorite!" chimed Tsuki.

"Ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise, slices of salami and chicken—."

"Chicken can die," grumbled Tsuki.

"Celery with peanut butter, carrots, apples—."

"You can stop now," said Mireille.

"Shall I add poison to so-and-so's drink in courtesy to their warm aura?" offered Rhain, feigning a wide smile, as she popped open a bottle of Champaign.

Mireille smiled. "Now you're talking," she said, as Rhain served them champaign in plexi-glass wine glasses.

"Oh," added Tsuki, swathing butter on honey wheat bread. "Did you guys bring swimming suits?"

"What for?" asked Mireille.

"What else? Wait, you didn't? I thought we told Kirika to bring swimming suits." Tsuki paused, looking at Kirika. "I didn't, huh?"

Mireille gave Kirika her usual glare, to which the Japanese shrugged cutely. She smiled apologetically, but smiled. Mireille couldn't help but return the expression. The weather was decent, almost balmy, and the atmosphere perfect. Mireille closed her eyes, allowing nostalgia to take over. It was the best way to replace their edgy Soldats conversation with something warm and familiar.

Kirika was right: they had nothing to worry about. They still didn't know who Tsuki and Rhain were, but they knew they were in good company. So Noir feasted on simple things. They helped butter the bread, pass out the napkins, and organize the food on their blanket. From there, they all ate in reasonably content silence. Every now and then, Rhain and Mireille muttered what they thought the other didn't hear, but there was something comforting about it. Bickering over small things felt normal.

In the middle of chewing on her pepperoni and cracker, Mireille finally asked, "So, what's your story?" She slapped the side of her neck at the whine of a mosquito.

"Here," said Tsuki, handing over bug spray; Mireille choked on her own cloud of bugspray all around her. "We're just like you, Mireille. We're humans."

"Seems kind of unfair, doesn't it?" grunted Mireille, chin on her hand as she chewed her cracker. "You know everything about us, but we don't about you? What kind of common ground is that? We're not friends—but have some courtesy."

Rhain poked a fork in Mireille's direction. "We saved your pretty polished ass. Give us that courtesy."

Tsuki snickered with Rhain, while Kirika looked between both parties nervously. She shot a look at Rhain. "You didn't save us. We still had to take down V's men. You barely got us out there alive. Also, Mireille has another point: you haven't answered any of our questions, yet."

"Ok, ok," said Rhain, hands up.

"Wow, just like that?" growled Mireille, glaring at Rhain, then Kirika.

Rhain cried out, "I'm sorry, she's just so damn—ARGH! When someone as sweet as her looks at you like that, you don't just turn her away! But when a bitch like you looks at us, it just makes us want to piss you off even more." Rhain snorted, then burst into laughter at her own joke. This earned her a glare from Mireille, who then gave Kirika the ey.

Mireille continued. "So, where did you learn those moves?"

"Same as you?" said Rhain, as if confused by an obvious answer.

Mireille stood up, growling impatiently. "I can't do this anymore."

"Whattttt?" exclaimed Rhain, hiding a sneer, looking up after her.

"Is it so nauseating to give us answers?" snapped Mireille.

"We are all connected, Mireille, by a similar black thread," stated Tsuki. "Our story isn't so happy or amazing. It has no happy beginning, but it definitely could have a happy ending. Because it was our life and we chose it to be that way—see, that's what we're trying to tell you here!"

"Is that so?" murmured Mireille, who started wading into the water. She became overzealous by the chilly water, remembering the childish excitement she felt every time she went in, the fresh smell of water. She felt a smile pull at her lips, slowly but surely. The water was already past her knees; she accepted the cold water and the cold world it belonged to. She sank deeper, until she felt the coldness seep pass her thighs, soaking and adding weight to her jean shorts. And just like that, Rhain shoved her.

For just a moment, Mireille allowed gravity to drown her. She was floating—no, flying. It was the best feeling in the world, allowing your body to go limp, your hair moving on its own accord. You felt invincible, safe, and one with everything around you. Mireille was in a different world; everything felt warmer, clearer.

When Mireille finally resurfaced, slicking back her slimy hair, she heard Rhain laughing.

Rhain was pointing, bent over. "DUMPED! You so got dumped! Ahaha, no boyfriends for you!"

Mireille wiped the water from her eyes, hissing through her teeth. "That's the second time you've done that!"

But then she heard someone else laugh. Not smiling, not chuckling, not lightly giggling. Not stifling it behind a hand. Laughing. It was Kirika. Her whole body shook, shoulders shuddering, head rolling back. She wasn't holding back.

This innocent atmosphere lured out the little girl locked inside Mireille all those many dark years. For a moment, she'd really thought little Mireille was dead with the Bouquet family. But as Mireille laughed along, she realized she how much she missed this happy, knotting pain in her stomach. She certainly hadn't laughed this long, either. She was almost in love with it, like a child listening to her first song.

It was finally dark enough to start the fire. Mireille looked at the sunset. They watched its glow crumble behind the trees that blocked the sky. The two "sisters" kindled the embers of a fire in a pocket between a giant slanted boulder and a smaller cluster of rocks hugging the corner of the brush. Mireille watched the orange glow in Kirika's now black eyes. They just sat there while Rhain poked through the underbrush for sticks.

"Bored, huh?" hummed Mireille.

Kirika shook her head, giving a small smile. Her content showed in the way she leaned into the fire or watched the other two bustle around.

Vexed, Mireille said to Tsuki, "I'm not gonna ask again. Who are you?"

"What does it matter?" sighed Tsuki. "We're like you, trying to live, trying to lock our pasts away in a chest, let it rot there until cobwebs collect. Please respect that."

Mireille chuckled. "It's not as if I'm going to use the info to track you down and murder you in your beds. At least not Tsuki."

"Bully!" roared Rhain from somewhere in the darkness.

"How old are you?" asked Kirika.

"Seventeen," said Rhain, who sat joined them, tossing a bundle of sticks on the ground.

"So, answer her but not me?" growled Mireille.

"Did you say something?" asked Rhain, carefully placing the sticks one by one into the fire.

"WAIT," shouted Mireille. "You're only in high school?"

"We were home-schooled . . . by the Soldats," said Tsuki. "Calm down, Kirika's the same age and you weren't swooned away by that."

Rhain laughed, pretending to prod Mireille with her stick, its tip on fire. "You, my beloved friend, need a few anti-depressants. And a RIFLE, maybe . . ."

"If you didn't go to school, then what is your daily bread?" asked Kirika, staring them down hard.

"We are not Noir, but we always hoped our 'black shields protect'," said Tsuki. She suddenly smiled. "Ya know, who said you had to get into all this dark mumbo jumbo crap? Who said you had to kill just to kill? How about joining us and making a new living off of protecting others?"

The fire glow in Noir's eyes seemed to flicker. "Soldats who protect? Huh. That's new," said Mireille, staring into the flames. "So that's what you do? Go around protecting people with your kill skills?"

"That's our ideals versus the current Soldats," said Rhain, shrugging. "We came along, wondering if you agreed. Can you imagine Noir itself changing its very meaning? I mean, c'mon, you're Noir. No one can tell you what to do."

Kirika's face had gradually lit up. She was beginning to grasp Tsuki and Rhain's philosophy. "It's better than what we've been doing," she whispered. Everyone looked at her, Mireille especially holding her breath. "However . . . it doesn't atone for everything we've been doing. It sounds tempting, to use what we're good at for the good. But . . . it doesn't change anything. Killing is killing. We don't have to kill or protect. We can just get new jobs, with new habits."

"What do you really want from us?" asked Mireille, staring at their new acquaintances.

"It's not what we want," said Tsuki, grinning. "I think you know what I'm going to say next."

"What?" blurted Mireille.

Rhain laughed at Tsuki, who drooped. "C'mon, Mireille, I was hoping to sound cool here."

"What she means is," began Rhain, turning to Noir, "what is it you want, Noir?"

Mireille looked at them. Not glared. Not observe. Just. Stared. "First off," said Mireille, "to not to be addressed as Noir, as if we were angels of death."

"You are, whether you like it or not—."

"And second," interrupted Mireille, looking sideways at Kirika next to her.

Kirika's eyes met hers, the warmth of their irises battling— searching beyond the color, beyond the fire, beyond the smiles, facial expressions, their gestures. All those battling feelings, those curious glances they shared, seemed to disappear, and their eyes seemed to smile gently and genuinely.

Ever since their work bound them together, Mireille had not gotten used to Kirika's casual, deadly movements, or her eerily calm voice and blank, dark eyes. They used to be full and black, like glistening pools of darkness. Now, they were a soft burnt sienna.

"What's that? Hmmmm?" sang Rhain, leaning in with her hand to her ear as if straining to hear.

"All I want is Kirika," said Mireille. "To be happy." She pressed her cheek against the palm of her hand, looking toward the silver blue lake. "All I care about is seeing that she is protected, that her feelings are protected. That she never suffers what she's gone through. Ever."

Despite the dancing shadows, Mireille could read Kirika's face more than she ever could. It never occurred to her how much she really did love Kirika. Honestly, she'd been the only one there for her. She stood by Mireille's side a majority of her life, even seemingly more than her remaining childhood with Uncle Claude. Mireille's love for him was nostalgic, not full, not fresh or true; he had only been the fragments of what was gone. The more she tried to think about her family, the more she forgot what her mother, father, and brother looked like. The more she thought about it, the more their faces became Kirika's.

The sweet, burning flutter in Mireille's chest wasn't the same love as one would have for family or for a lover—yes, she felt like kissing Kirika and hugging her . . . but it wasn't like that. Not one bit. It was just simply love. Love in its simplest, purest, most genuine form.

"Interesting," said Rhain, mimicking how Mireille sat on the blanket, leaning in, hand pressed against cheek. "Mireille Bouquet . . . heh, the Soldats said you'd end up like your father. But not even close . . . even Altena knew that. How creepy . . ."

Mireille laughed dryly. "Altena was just a crazy bitch who dropped herself into hell."

"She knew about the truth about humanity, though. She's been through a lot, even though it clouded her judgment. But in the end, it made her insightful. That's what made her a leader—not a crazy good leader, but a leader."

"She may knew the truth about humanity, but she didn't know anything about me. Or my father." Mireille paused, then frowned. "But neither did I. All I remember is a loving father who got his family into something dark. His love was the only love I knew. I hold onto that with deep pain because that's all I knew—his love. And yet, I didn't really know him. So, maybe Altena knew people like him, but we'll be fair in saying that neither of us knew him."

Mireille seemed to drift off in reminiscence.

"In a world of darkness, it's hard to trust anyone," said Tsuki. "But when you do find that one person, you'd do anything for them. The Soldats were mistaken in thinking they could forge an extension of their will—two simple harbingers of death—whereas Altena forged a bond. That's what the trials and the Three Saplings was for . . ."

"Please stop," whispered Kirika.

Everyone felt the world around them again. They looked at Kirika, almost confused.

"Don't talk about Chloe like that," snarled Kirika, engrossed by the fire. "It's true that, in the end, I chose Mireille. But these trials of 'choosing' . . . it was cruel. Altena pitted us against each other just to win each other's affection, just so to see which two were more dedicated to each other, just to see which two would fight the most for each other against this world—a simple, yet heinous tactic on the Soldats' end." Kirika's brow crinkled as her lips trembled. "The three of us could have been friends."

Tsuki nodded. "We came here to add more sense and meaning to what was originally not a bad idea on Altena's end: not to bend but mend the two most powerful assassins. There is really no point to life without someone to share it with."

"So," whispered Kirika, "you came to help us realize our bond, to strengthen it?"

"So you could have a stronger Noir than before," said Mireille. There was almost an ominous edge to her tone, but she smiled it off. She closed her eyes, then reopened them. "You're using us. But . . . I guess anything to keep Kirika with me, against the world. Just the two of us . . ."

"Not the world. Just a few people here and there," corrected Tsuki, shaking her head hopelessly. "The world's not as bad as you think, ya know."

Mireille stiffened. "Don't," she snarled.

Tsuki leaned forward, returning the glare. "Don't act like you're the only ones who've suffered. You're not the only human beings."

"Have you really walked around your very neighborhood thinking every human being was horrible?" challenged Rhain, folding her arms. "You've met your few who have reminded you that not everyone is bad, right? Like, I dunno, Kirika?"

Rhain's sarcasm threw Tsuki and Kirika into a fit of giggles. Mireille glared at them, as if they had ruined the sour mood. However, she seemed to absorb Rhain's last words as her gaze on Kirika softened. The Japanese leaned a bit into her, sideways, almost on to her shoulder. Then, she contained herself, sitting up with her knees almost touching Mireille's.

The touch was different from their many times sleeping in the same bed, backs pressed against each other. Making tea side by side. Eating across from each other during meals. Fighting side by side. Even during their lazy afternoons in the parks, they didn't sit this close to each other; Kirika was sometimes painting while Mireille was reading or lazing in the grass. But never in her future did Mireille see herself sitting next to the killer of her family, at a campfire, with their worst enemies.

To not stare into someone's eyes; to not speak a word; to not move; to just listen to your surroundings and sit there and accept their very existence next to you—that was love. Both women felt it through this simple accident of their knees touching each other on their rock.

After some thoughtful silence, Kirika said, "Mireille?"

"Hm?"

"What . . . now?"

Mireille had closed her eyes, feeling sluggish. She just smiled, shrugging, and leaned forward to catch the warmth of the fire. "Dunno."

"Whatever you want, right?" said Rhain. "Your life, not the Soldats'."

"We know that," retorted Mireille. "What do you think we've been trying to do these past couple of weeks?"

"Oh, bite me, Noir," snapped Rhain, rolling her eyes. "I finally warm up to you—literally, with a goddamn campfire—and you can't embrace it! Not to fucking mention we brought food and—oh, I dunno—pulled you out of there after V died when his reinforcements drove in!"

Everyone laughed, and that's all Noir ever wanted to do.