Afterwards

 Immo

 immo@hamena.org

 

 Author's comments: Okay, I know the title sucks ass. Don't blame me.

 It was either that, or

 'Josie and the Pussycats' cuz that was the cd I've been listening to

 repetitively. Buy the cd

 everybody! Oh, by the way, I love Eliza Dushku. She's the girl that

 plays Faith in Buffy the

 Vampire Slayer, Missy in Bring It On!, Annabel in Soul Survivors,

 Danielle (Dan the Man) in

 The New Guy (Watch it for the bathing suit scene!) and a whole list

 that I won't bother, cuz

 I'm too busy worshipping her. :P Its late. Um, its a Noir fic with

 femslashy/yuri/shoujo-ai/

 girl-girl love/angsty thing. Cool. I think girlgirl love is cute. So

 shut up.

 

 COMMENTS, COMPLIMENTS, REVIEWS, COMPLAINTS, FLAMES (please, no?),

 ARE WELCOME (cept for the

 flames). Please. I'm doing an analysis on Oedipus. Leave my psycotic

 psychoticness alone (but

 all C&Cs and Rs are welcome!) and read the fic.

 

 ~-~-~

 

 It might've been better if I had died that night. I don't know, but

 sometimes I think

 it would've been so much better if Mireille had killed me as soon as

 I approached her. Then

 she wouldn't be going through this.

 "I don't regret a thing." Mireille and that beautiful smile.

 What a lie that was. When she thought I was asleep, she would cry,

 and I would just

 lay there and listen to her, because there was nothing I could do.

 There was nothing I

 wouldn't do for her, but really, there was nothing I could do.

 It was stupid of both of us to think that love would conquer all.

 Shallow breaths and

 passion-filled nights don't erase the blood on our hands. Especially

 not mine. I haven't even

 made penance for my crimes against her.

 She would never admit to regret, not my Mireille. She was strong,

 and I was so proud

 of her, so drawn to her and her curious ways. Sometimes, I feel like

 I have nothing inside me

 and she would fill me with herself, her light, her face, her being.

 Lately, I've been unresponsive, I've withdrawn into myself, and she

 worries. I don't

 want her to worry, but its so hard not to think about these things.

 Does her family haunt her at night, screaming for revenge?

 Why does she continue like this?

 And I watch her, sometimes, when she's not looking and try to see

 those ghosts that

 surround her. I know she has one, or some, because I do too. How

 does it feel to have a 

 Chloe, eternally poking you with a dessert fork?

 Just thinking about her sometimes, in an ethereal form, grinning

 delightfully, makes

 me smile too. But I dread it everytime I see the phantom glare at me

 accusingly.

 Love can't win all the time, just as hate can't win all the time

 either. Altena, dear

 mother, forgive me. For I have sinned.

 Love can't erase the trainings of Noir. I was brought up, knowing

 nothing else except

 Noir. How could I abandon it?

 Noir was two...

 How could Mireille abandon her family?

 The breeze was warm, a perfect summer day, sitting in an outdoor cafe.

 Five to twelve. Would she be late?

 When arms wrapped around me from behind in a tight hug, I knew that

 was a stupid

 question. Stupid, stupid. Of course she wouldn't be late.

 "Good afternoon,"

 It was amazing how, just the touch of her lips brushing against my

 ear, the slight

 growl in her voice, could set me on fire. She brandished a rose,

 brushing it deftly across my

 lips, and I found myself blushing when I saw an elderly couple

 watching us in amusement.

 "Mireille..." I leaned my head back, and she kissed me on the lips

 tenderly, before

 moving to her seat opposite me. How could anyone be so beautiful?

 How could anyone be so damned beautiful, yet so dangerous? My eyes

 trained on her

 hands.

 "Kirika, there's a show at the Paris Opera House." Two tickets

 appeared in her hands.

 "Lets go watch."

 "What are we watching?"

 Merielle shrugged, grinning. "Does it matter?"

 

 And when we sat in those plush red seats, and I leaned back,

 watching the opera, it

 didn't really matter. The music, the whole of the opera, was

 beautiful.

 "Have you heard of Le Fantôme de l'opéra?" Her words whispered into

 my ear. I 

 shivered, as a hand brushed teasingly against my thigh.

 "Phantom of the Opera? Isn't that a musical?" I responded in a

 breathless tone,

 Mireille's hair tickling my forehead, as the blonde nipped at the my

 neck.

 'Mireille...'

 "Mireille," I was ashamed of the lust that was so evident in my

 voice. And even when

 I tried to squirm away from her, I returned those kisses. "We're in

 public..."

 "In public, in private, in our own box number five." Mireille

 chuckled when I let out

 a loud gasp. "Only le fantôme de l'opéra will see us. Now... kiss me."

 It didn't really matter which opera we were watching, because as the

 orchestra played

 on, I was just thankful it muffled the sounds we were making.

 Mireille could be quite the 

 risk-taker when she felt like it, and as I lay against her chest,

 listening to her heart 

 slowing back to normal pace, I wonder how much I've changed her.

 We ran down the steps, past the other opera-goers, and giggled and

 apologized when we

 bumped into people, no amount of sour looks or complaints could kill

 our mood. We were

 together, alive, and well.

 Wandering the streets, we kissed, chased each other, watched the

 lamplights flicker

 on and off for a while, then watched the dark waters below us, on a

 bridge.

 I had buried whatever normal life I had in those dark waters. Maybe

 I should go and

 buy myself a new sketchbook... but was that really necessary when I

 know that simple drawings

 on paper could not give me nearly as much life as Mireille did?

 Strange how to people could meet under such strange circumstances,

 yes, that was us.

 Stranger still how one could love the murderer of your family, how

 you could fall in love

 with the person who said they would kill you.

 Heh.

 It was funny.

 That feeling. That word. Love.

 

 *-*-*

 

 We had finally gotten past that last hurdle.

 Didn't know it was so hard for both of us to just show that we cared

 for each other.

 We could take out a small army by ourselves, and still, those three

 little words defeat us. I

 don't know what we're so afraid of, but neither of us could utter

 it, even a month after our

 run-in with Soldats, when everything fell to a close at the Manor.

 But was it really the end?

 That haunted expression in Kirika's eyes... it was still there.

 And Soldats still lurked around the corner. I could feel them. Smell

 them, maybe. A

 scent of old parchment, and fine red wine that intoxicated and made

 me feel sluggish and

 dangerously drunk.

 "Mireille?"

 I moved away from the window. I thought I had... no. It couldn't

 have been. I thought

 I had glimpsed the shine of the noonday sun off the cold steel of a

 gun. But that wasn't

 possible.

 I kept telling myself that, again and again, over and over.

 'It wasn't possible, it wasn't possible, it wasn't possible, it's

 very possible, you

 two embarassed their whole organization, the two of you managed to

 single-handedly cripple

 Soldats and off some of their most important and powerful members,

 you know the identity of

 the roots of Soldats, old men who sat in seats of power...'

 "Is something on your mind?"

 Our eyes met, and I fought an internal struggle. Should I tell

 Kirika about my

 worries? Or should I keep it to myself, keep this paranoia buried

 deep inside me and not

 scratch at a wound that was still fresh and red. Irritable if you

 touch it. Infections, and

 pus caking around the edges of the cut.

 "Nothing."

 "Here," Kirika got up from her seat and walked behind me, hands

 sliding across my

 tense shoulders, thumbs and fingers caressed the bare flesh of my

 back, slipping underneath

 my shirt to run dry heat across the my back.

 "Kirika," I couldn't help it, and arched my back, giving in to the

 smaller girl's

 ministrations.

 "That feels nice..."

 Lips trailed across the back of my neck.

 "THAT, feels even nicer," I purred. Kirika's mouth turned up into a

 small pink smile.

 "That's exactly what I want to hear."

 

 Later on in the early evening, I still had that feeling. We had

 decided to eat at a

 small diner we both loved, and it was easy to pick out the sore

 thumb amongst the regular

 patrons.

 "That one." I was sure. So sure.

 Kirika's eyes darted to the side, unnoticably, and she continued her

 meal. "I see."

 "That's why I've been acting all jumpy." pause. "Soldats."

 Kirika's hand tightened around the fork, she placed the utensil

 down, and reached for

 the stem of her wineglass, almost downing all the contents in one

 gulp.

 "No." Her voice was harsh.

 "I'm certain--"

 "No." Kirika said a bit louder now. "No. No more. Its not, Mireille.

 We leave them

 alone, they leave us alone. Please."

 I looked at the dark-eyed girl, saw a sort of anxiety in her.

 "I want to believe, I want to, Mireille. That they've left us alone.

 We have nothing

 to do with them, they have nothing to do with us." Kirika reached

 out to place her hand on

 top of mine. "Please. I *need* to."

 I could feel that rough spot on her finger, her trigger finger. Over

 time, if one

 pulls the trigger of a gun too much, one develops a callous on the

 spot. Like if a person

 writes too much. If one stops doing whatever it is that developed

 the callous in the first

 place, it will fade. But it takes some time.

 So I closed myself off to the newness in the environment, and

 ordered a strawberry

 shortcake for myself, and Kirika ordered a chocolate cheesecake,

 that she only managed to

 finish half of.

 "Lets go home."

 The bill was paid, and we went back to our apartment. The man had

 also paid his bill

 and was following us. But both Kirika and I ignored it. Or at least,

 I tried to. The

 comforting weight of my handgun in my purse was... of little

 comfort, as he followed us up

 the steps to our apartment... and stopped one floor before ours. I

 heard the jangle of his

 keys as he let himself into his apartment.

 I breathed out a sigh of relief. Overreating to the smallest thing,

 that's probably

 what Kirika was thinking right now as she unlocks the door to our

 apartment.

 The plant was outlined by the low-hanging moon, almost as if it

 perched on the

 windowsill. Kirika went to take a shower first, and I went and made

 some tea, the ritual had

 been set for us. I boiled the water and spooned tea leaves into the

 teapot. Then, I went and

 set the table for two. Usually, Kirika would be helping me... but

 tonight there was tension.

 I nursed my cup of tea, enjoying the herbal scent, when Kirika came

 out of the bathroom.

 Steam raced out between her legs, she was in her bathrobe, hair

 hanging wet and loose, towel

 draped over her arm.

 "Your turn." Kirika sat on the bed, and used the towel to slowly,

 meticulously, dry

 her hair.

 "The tea. It'll get cold."

 And there was that glare, I had seen that same glare when I had gone

 to 'rescue'

 Kirika from the kind mother. That glare that recognized me, but

 wished me a slow, painful,

 torturous death.

 "I'm sorry." She returned to normal, regret written clearly on her

 face.

 "No, its..." I was going to say it was my fault. But it wasn't. So

 it would have been

 a lie. It was awkward, just standing there, so I escaped to the

 washroom, and hid underneath

 the spray of the shower.

 When I came back out, Kirika was already in bed, her cup of tea

 finished. And my tea

 was already cold, so I just went back into the bathroom, wiped off

 the foggy mirror, and

 blow-dried my hair.

 Slipping under the covers, I turned so my back faced Kirika's.

 'So. This is a lover's quarrel.' Even though, outwardly I was

 relaxed, everything was

 a bundle of quivering nerves, and that delightful mixture of hurt

 and fear pricked my brain.

 A feather-light touch, and Kirika drew me into her arms, breath

 ruffling my hair.

 "I'm sorry."

 "I'm not mad at you."

 A soft chuckle that tickled my back.

 "Yes you are."

 Turning in Kirika's hold, our noses touching, breath smelling of

 minty freshness from

 the toothpaste, I smiled at her.

 "No." Lips touched in a kiss. "I'm not."

 

 *-*-*

 

 Merielle woke up. It was a dreary day, one of those rainy days that

 left everybody

 restless. Kirika was one of those people. The sheets bunched up

 around her legs, and the

 blonde kicked them off irritably. 

 "Kirika?" She called out, knowing full well that she wasn't going to

 get a reply. The

 girl had probably run down to one of her favorite breakfast places.

 And sure enough, when

 Mireille went to find her, she was sitting at their table, breakfast

 already ordered.

 "I ordered for two."

 Mireille nodded, and thanked the waitress when she came back with

 their breakfast and

 the newspaper. Since they didn't accept contracts anymore and had

 'retired' from the assasin

 business, Mireille had found the time to read the newspaper. Most of

 the time, she scoured

 the headlines, wondering, searching for something which never

 appeared.

 "Your omelette is getting cold."

 Mirielle put down the paper.

 "I was wondering..." Kirika started. Mireille paused, and the russet-

 haired girl

 continued. "I was wondering if, maybe, you think visiting Canada...

 wouldn't it be nice? I

 mean, there's the Niagara Falls. I heard there's always snow there,

 so maybe catch some

 skiing?"

 Mireille nodded, putting fork and knife down. "A vacation?"

 "Yes."

 The blonde smiled, a sparkle of interest in her eyes. "You know not

 all parts of

 Canada have snow this time of year, right?"

 Kirika blushed. "Of course. You're teasing me."

 "I wouldn't dare!" Mireille laughed, and cut out a small corner of

 her omelette. She

 never used to eat breakfast.

 "We'll have so much fun!" That child-like glee, that Mireille

 mirrored. Both had been

 deprived of most of their childhood, and now they relived it with

 each other. Plans were laid

 down, each detail was examined, equipment, money, everything was

 accounted for on sheets of

 napkin that the owner of the establishment gladly provided his

 customers with. It was like a

 grand adventure for them.

 Travelling to a place that didn't involve shooting at, being shot

 at, or other such

 things that lead to an unnaturally short life.

 "Be right back. Washroom."

 She walked through the door, and immediately froze.

 "You couldn't escape us, you know that."

 Kirika's mouth opened and closed, no words coming out, the coldness

 of the blade,

 pressed against her throat made her eyes water.

 "I killed you."

 "Well, obviously, you didn't do a good job, did you." The figure

 murmurred

 humorously. "You weren't as sloppy when you killed that man in the

 floor below yours."

 "How did you know...?"

 "Merielle was right. I was watching her. But that man was innocent,

 you know."

 Her mouth went dry.

 "No. You're dead."

 "You're repeating yourself."

 "No, no. I KILLED you." Kirika insisted. "You're DEAD."

 "But I'm alive."

 "I could kill you again."

 "I'll come back." Was the malicious reply. "And I won't be as nice."

 Kirika quavered at the tone of voice, reduced to a child again.

 "But... I did kill

 you."

 "Fine." The person sighed, and lowered the blade. "This is a

 horrible nightmare that

 you'll never ever wake up from, Kirika. It could be a dream. Here."

 The person handed her a gun, cold to the touch. Her gun. She knew

 her gun. Eyes rose

 to search the person's face, and they smiled reassuringly. "It's a

 nightmare. It doesn't make

 any sense. And you know, only when you've finished what you started

 in this horrible dream,

 when you were just a little girl, will this end. Am I not right?"

 "...It was beginning to be a very good dream."

 "It was." The person nodded sagely. "For you it was. But you know

 what they say, 'All

 good things must come to an end'."

 "Yes. Altena." Arms wrapped around her and a kiss brushed her

 forehead.

 "You have things to do, Kirika."

 It was a horrible nightmare. She couldn't control her limbs,

 couldn't stop herself as

 she checked the gun mechanically, then stalked out the door. The

 owner was nowhere in sight,

 and the light that filtered through the rain-splattered glass made

 everything have a horrible

 sickening feel to it. It was a nightmare. Just a nightmare.

 She walked up behind Mireille, and the blonde didn't turn around,

 still bent over

 those plans to Canada, talking aloud.

 "Plane tickets, we could go get them tomorrow... actually, we could

 leave right away!

 There's nothing holding us back here anymore!" Mireille still didn't

 turn around, as she

 laughed. "Of course, we'll have to worry about the non-existant

 snow..."

 If this was all just a horrible nightmare... then if she woke up,

 Mireille wouldn't

 be real, right? So. It had to end like this. Everything would end.

 Or would a new nightmare

 just begin? She really did like this dream.

 "Mireille?" Kirika relished how her tongue wrapped around the

 syllables of the

 blonde's name.

 "Yes?" And Kirika loved how Mireille answered her.

 She still didn't look back. She really should. Or maybe she

 shouldn't. Kirika didn't

 have control... not the control she wanted. She could feel HER

 watching...

 "Hey... you know I... you know." That caught Kirika off-guard. "I

 can't say it. But

 maybe I'll say it some day, Kirika. I don't know. It seems like

 everytime I say those three

 little words to anyone, they end up dead."

 Laughter. Mireille's laughter, and Kirika's, who sounded near

 hysterical. She cocked

 her gun, and she could see Mireille's shoulders freeze at the sound,

 gasp at the feel of the

 barrel against the back of her head.

 "Seems like you and I are the same." Kirika didn't know why, but

 tears were running

 down her face. "We just can't seem to keep the people we love."

 

 ~-~-~

 

 OOC: SO late at night, gonna do Oedipus homework and that sucks

 crap. My class is so funny.

 We have one of those class-clown kids as Oedipus, and a Guyanese

 girl who always kisses her

 teeth at and give attitude to people playing Tiresias, the blind

 soothsayer. So funny.

 guy:...You have no power or truth. You are blind, your ears and mind

 as well as your eyes.

 (The guy adds a 'haha!' at the end)

 girl: You are a pitiful figure. These reproaches you fling at me,

 all these people will fling

 them at you--and before very long. (Add a lot of kissing teeth,

 attitude at the 'flinging'

 parts, and eye-rolling. So it'll look like this:)

 girl: You (