Chapter 1 - Untitled

Mireille shut the computer down and pushed her chair away from the pool
table that served her as a desk. She swiveled herself around as the
chair moved backwards. Outside the pool of light that spilled over the
paperwork on the table, the apartment was dark and full of shadows.
Mireille yawned, clamping her jaws shut so she wouldn't wake the
apartment's only other occupant. She glanced towards the bed, and
imagined the girl asleep. Standing, she climbed the few stairs, and
gazed down at the recumbent figure.

Kirika (for Mireille always thought of her with that name, knowing full
well it may not truly be hers) slept, as she always did, her eyes not
quite closed, her body laid out neatly on her back. There was a
watchfulness about her, as if she were more cat than human, just
waiting for the mouse to move before she pounced.

Mireille watched her for a few moments, watched the blanket rise and
fall in a steady, slow rhythm, then stepped silently past the sleeping
form. She closed the bathroom door before she switched on the light.

As the hot water hit her skin, she sagged against the wall. Leaning her
forehead on her arms, she closed her eyes while the tiny fingers of
water kneaded tension from her body. She stood upright, turned the
water off, and squeezed the excess from her hair. Stepping from the
shower, Mireille wrapped herself in a towel, switched off the light,
counted to ten and stepped back into the darkness.

Diffuse, orange light spilled in through windows. Her eyes adjusted
quickly and she made her way to the bed with sure, soft steps. Standing
above the sleeping girl, Mireille gazed down pleasantly, waiting for
her to wake. It wasn't long before the dark eyes fluttered, then
opened. Their gaze was clear and unfettered by emotion as Mireille
pulled the towel from her body. She climbed under the blanket, waiting
a moment, as Kirika rolled herself over to face the blonde.

For a long moment they stared at one another, neither moving, neither
speaking. Then, as she did every night, Kirika reached an arm out,
drawing Mireille in towards her in a soft, but firm kiss. Her lips were
warm as Mireille's tongue ran across them, and her tongue even warmer,
as her lips parted. Neither made a sound as they kissed, indeed the
only noises that could be heard in the apartment were the ticking of
the clock, and the sound of bodies as they moved softly against one
another. Perhaps, after an extended kiss, there might be a soft intake
of breath, but that would be all. In silence, Mireille reached out and
stroked Kirika's face, and in silence, Kirika's eyes closed, as she
pressed her cheek into Mireille's palm.

It was always like this - the silent passion - every night between
them, and every day, it was as if it had never been. No words were
spoken during the night, and no words were spoken by day, of what
passed between them. Not a look, or a touch passed between them that
might give the slightest clue that this was anything more than a dream
in the night.

Mireille thought back to their first night together...

***

Spring had brought fog from the river. The streets were obscured; the
streetlights transformed into glowing eyes in the haze. Mireille sped
her steps up, thinking that Kirika might be worried. She glanced up at
the window, but was unable to make out anything. If the girl stood
there, she was invisible in the vapors rising from the cooling
cobblestones.

The door opened as Mireille approached. So, she had been seen after
all. She smiled as she said, "I'm home," and waited to be greeted with
Kirika's usual, somber, "Welcome home."

Dinner was a simple affair, bread, pasta, salad, all eaten in the near
silence they both found comforting. They had no job pending, nowhere to
be in particular and the night stretched before them with atypical
leisure. Mireille worked on the computer, erasing all traces of their
presence from their last job. Kirika simply stood at the window,
staring down into the muddied air.

"Don't you get bored?" Mireille's voice pulled Kirika out of her
reverie. "Don't you get bored, just staring, night after night, out
that window?" Mireille repeated, looking down at her computer screen.

Kirika shrugged. "Every day is different from the one before. I don't
get bored." She paused, then said, "You've been coming home late a lot
recently." Her voice held no inflection, but the implication, the
accusation, was there.

Mireille's head jerked up at the statement, her lips tight. She spent a
moment in thought, then said, "There's someone I had to see about
something." She kept her voice even, refusing to answer the unspoken
question.

"A man?" came the inquiry. Kirika's quiet voice could not quite hide
the emotion that lay behind the words.

Mireille let her lids droop low over her eyes, as she said, "No." As
she spoke the word, a phrase came unbidden into her mind.

There was a soft hiss, and Kirika's eyes went momentarily wide, as if
she too, had heard the phrase...behind those eyes was understanding -
and a momentary flash of unaccustomed pain.

Mireille stared at Kirika for a long moment, jumping when her computer
beeped. She turned her attention to the screen, completing the process
of wiping files from her hard drive. She felt bewildered and unhappy,
but could not say why. The phrase echoed bizarrely in her
mind..."lover's quarrel," it said over and over.

Her life had fallen into a pattern since the girl had come to live with
her. Subtle differences had been made in her schedule now that it had
to accommodate two people. But it was a familiar, dare she say,
comfortable, pattern nonetheless.

They rarely spoke of themselves - or more of themselves than was
absolutely relevant. Kirika knew nothing, in any case, to speak of.
They had no claim on each other, on each other's time, emotion or
attention outside their communal need to know about Soldats. Mireille
had never spoken to the girl of her life away from the apartment, of
the woman she visited occasionally. So why did she feel so guilty - as
if she had been deceiving Kirika?

Mireille shut the computer with a snap. "I'm going to take a shower,"
she announced, and pushed herself away from the table. Another change
in her life...she had always been a night owl, an occupational
advantage she had thought. But Kirika was a morning person, and was
often gone from the apartment by the time Mireille awoke. As a
concession to the girl, Mireille had shifted taking her shower to the
evening, so Kirika could take long, solitary, hot showers when she woke
and not feel as if she was imposing on her....

On her what? Mentor? Not that...Kirika was as good, if not better, than
Mireille herself at what they did. Partner, Mireille settled on. They
were partners, professionally and on the quest for Kirika's - and
Noir's - true identity.

The apartment was not dark. Mireille expected to see Kirika asleep on
the bed, but although the bedding was turned down, the girl stood in
her spot by the window. Mireille could see her silhouette clearly
against the hazy orange light from the street. Kirika turned as
Mireille approached, stepping down into the apartment.

They faced each other in silence. Mireille felt words spring to her
lips, although she wasn't sure why she was saying them. "I'm sorry,"
she said.

Kirika turned her head away, shaking it slightly. "It's not your
fault."

Mireille reached out a hand, but dropped it at her side before she
could touch the other woman. "I didn't realize."

Again, the head shake. "Neither did I." She took a step past
Mireille...

And was caught up abruptly by a kiss. Mireille pressed her lips hard
into Kirika's, making sure that the girl did not doubt her intention.
This was no kiss of consolation, or comfort...this was a kiss filled
with need, with adult passion and recognition that nothing is forever.

Kirika's eyes widened, then closed. She threw her arms around
Mireille's neck, pressing her body into the other woman's, opened her
mouth with a soft sigh.

Mireille, for a brief moment, considered pushing the girl away,
apologizing again, taking back the action with a tearful rejection, but
as her tongue met Kirika's all thought of that fled from her mind. Her
arms tightened reflexively around the slim form as her head bent low.

So many things they didn't say - so many things they never would say.
Mireille's hair fell onto Kirika's shoulders as they embraced, their
bodies fusing together. Mireille felt Kirika pull away and she opened
her eyes slowly, afraid to see the fear or betrayal in those brown
eyes. Instead she was met with a soft, shy smile, and eyes that burned,
for once, with desire not brought on by a need for vengeance.

Mireille took Kirika's hand in her own and pulled the girl across the
floor and up the stairs. She sat down on the bed in front of Kirika and
slipped her tank top over her head. Kirika sank slowly to her knees in
front of the blonde, her dark hair shadowing her eyes in the gloom.
Mireille could feel hands stroking her shoulders and arms, touching her
gently. She reached out and drew herself closer to Kirika, focused on
her lips, as if she was aiming a gun. As they kissed silently, Kirika's
hands slipped from her arms around her waist.

The younger woman broke away with a shake of her head, and looked up
questioningly, then lowered her head slowly until her cheek rested on
Mireille's breasts. Mireille reached up to stroke Kirika's hair, but
stopped midmotion, as lips brushed across her nipple, followed by a
tongue, then teeth. Mireille bit back a moan, but sucked in her breath
as Kirika began to suck on her, only pulling away for a moment to shed
her own blouse.

Mireille let her own hands trail across Kirika's skin, feeling the
softness so at odds with the strange, coarse calluses on her hands that
now held her breasts, stroking them, squeezing them until her head
rolled back with pleasure. Mireille sank backwards, while Kirika
followed, never taking her mouth from Mireille.

A soft gasp escaped Kirika, when Mireille's hands moved across her
chest. Small hardnesses, small breasts, almost childlike, and Mireille
pushed Kirika off her with force.

"I ..." she began, her breath coming in great gasps, as her body
screamed for the other woman's touch, for the continued attention of
mouth and hands. "I don't think we should..." A finger pressed against
her lips, quieting her.

"It's alright." A whisper in her ear, the softest of sounds. Then the
hands and mouth returned and Mireille could no longer find words with
which to protest.

Her body burned then, with the need to feel and taste Kirika and she
rolled over onto the smaller woman. Her experienced hands coaxed a
reaction from Kirika and she smiled down at the dark eyes, sensing
surprise. She lowered her head for a long, sweet, warm kiss, the taste
of garlic and wine on Kirika's breath, the scent of floral shampoo in
her hair.

Mireille moved lower, teasing Kirika with her tongue, finding soft
areas to sink her teeth into, running her lips over those small, sweet
nipples. Soundlessly, Kirika arched her back in pleasure and Mireille
slipped a hand down to the small of her back, pressing the lithe body
upwards, sliding further to feel the tight muscles of her @$$.

Mireille kissed her way down Kirika's slight body, feeling those
muscles bunch as her lips reached the top of the other woman's shorts.
The blonde lifted her head, waiting for a sign. Kirika's head lifted
for a moment, then Mireille felt a hand on her head, pressing down,
letting her know that she could have what she most wanted.

She wasted no time with teasing now, stripping the rest of the clothes
from Kirika's body, parting her legs and lowering her mouth to the soft
wetness beneath her. Still no sound came from the younger woman, as
Mireille's tongue parted her lower lips and traced spirals on the pink
flesh. Kirika's body squirmed, her breath coming faster, more
insistent. Mireille closed her lips on Kirika's clit, and began to
thrust into the other woman. With a choked whimper, Kirika's body
stiffened in climax, her head thrown back, her mouth open, her hands
locked into Mireille's hair.

Time began again a moment later, when Kirika relaxed back, breathing
deeply, her eyes closed, one hand thrown over her forehead, one hand
still in Mireille's hair. As the blonde idly stroked one hand along
Kirika's hip, she wondered briefly if this was the girl's first...and
swallowed the thought harshly.

Hands wandered across her back, massaging, stroking, tracing, until
Mireille's muscles released whatever tension lay trapped within. The
hands stroked her neck, coaxing her back up, until Mireille, on hands
and knees, hovered over the younger woman.

Kirika reached up, finding nipples once again, as she raised her mouth
to Mireille's, letting her tongue trace the full lips.

Again Mireille opened her mouth to speak, and again a finger was
pressed against it, asking for her silence. Mireille kissed the finger,
then lowered her head. Blonde and brown hair mingled on the pillow, as
she sank down over Kirika, her body silhouetted against the hazy light
from dimmed streetlamps.

***

Mireille rolled over onto her back, drawing Kirika's form on top of her
own. She looked up into russet eyes made dark by the low light from the
street. Nights passed now with a rich silence that enfolded them; quiet
that was broken only by the small noises of two people finding comfort
in each other, or the harsh loud noises of life coming to a violent
end.

Months had passed this way - months of small steps towards the truth,
and small moments of intimacy, followed by comforting stillness that
lay upon them like a blanket.

Kirika's lips brushed across Mireille's eyes, cheeks, nose, lips, ears,
each touch brief. Their lovemaking was, for both of them, a
reaffirmation of their humanity, but also a confirmation of their
mortality. No vows of fidelity or eternity passed their lips, only
pleasure and pain acknowledged in the simple act of sex.

Mireille leaned up to capture Kirika's mouth, stifling a cry as fingers
filled her, moving rapidly and insistently. Her fingers bit into
Kirika's back while she arched with pleasure, watched by dark, curious
eyes.



In the morning, Mireille awoke to find the apartment filled with bright
sunshine and the smell of freshly brewed tea. She rolled over in the
bed and inhaled, smelling Kirika on her hands, on the pillow, in the
bedclothes. The snick of the door closing broke her train of thought,
and wiped the small, private smile from her face.

She wrapped a shirt around herself, and stepped down to the main room,
where a pot of tea sat next to a croissant at her place at the pool
table. Mireille poured herself tea, took a bite of the croissant, and
turned in her chair to look out the window. The small smile returned,
with the thought that, perhaps, it was possible to speak volumes even
in perfect silence.

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