Read The Healing Touch
As I have never read the manga this is based solely on the anime and the odd spoilery thing I picked up off Wikipedia, but as I change around the official story to suit mine anyway, not to mention completely make things up, hopefully it won’t matter too much.
This is a companion story to “Paths of Silver” and “Chasing the Lightning”, and it is a Miria/Galatea story with tiny hints of other pairings in it.
The order in which to read these stories:
1. Paths of Silver
2. Chasing the Lightning
3. The Healing Touch
4. Awakened Love
5. Apple-Shaped Heart
Warning: this story contains descriptions of sex.
The Healing Touch
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by Carola “Ryûchan” Eriksson
Although she was otherwise firmly set against allowing those around her to give her any special treatment merely because she was their chosen Captain, Miria found herself almost pathetically happy that she had been ganged up upon and forced to accept the private sleeping chamber previously belonging to Pieta’s Mayor as her own.
Days had passed now, the women were healing and their course had been set, much to Miria’s joy and relief, but she like most of them was still bone tired. To some extent it was because she was the Captain that Miria was tired, she had done her damnedest to keep a strong front, an impeccable, solid and dependable mask for the others, shrugging off both fatigue and injury over and over.
The bed was terribly opulent for just one person, large and soft and with pretty little swirls and patterns carved into the wood. Had she not been so tired Miria was sure she would not have been able to make herself sleep in something so soft after years of the hard ground and her sword at her back, but it was with a grateful sigh she laid her head on the pillow now.
A sharp and painful twinge in the area of her left hip reminded her of one of the other drawbacks of that Captain’s mask. Reasoning that her own injuries were not as bad as some, Miria had deflected regeneration help and instead wrapped her wounds to heal on their own as she went about her business. It had not been fun, nor the pain negligible, but it was not the first time she had done such things, and she managed fine. Or so she thought.
Most of the injuries had healed well and left no lingering ill effects, but there had been a wound in the area of her hip that, although healed over now, clearly was not quite right. Miria had felt some discomfort from it, and the occasional twinge of pain, and realized that there was something locked inside, a tip of something or a sliver of rock, something small yet big enough to cause her body to protest. She had considered her options.
She could not go to Tabitha or the others for the sheer embarrassment of it, their Captain whining over a mere splinter and all that, and asking Clare, Helen or Deneve for help would be tantamount to asking to be endlessly mother-henned. Miria grinned into her pillow at the thought of her three adoring and often over-protective little sisters, whom rarely treated her as their Captain anymore. She liked that.
Since asking Teresa or Irene for help felt even worse than going to the younger warriors in charge of the field-hospital, Miria had decided to try to carve the offending thing out by herself, despite the awkward angle she would have to do it from. It wasn’t as if anyone would see if she made a mess and tore a chunk out of herself, she would just be patient and keep herself well wrapped until fully regenerated, again.
Of course it had to happen that earlier that day while they were tearing down some buildings on the edge of town for material for the wall, Miria had been forced to use Phantom speed to save Yuma from being buried in the resulting rubble. The small jab of pain had ten-doubled, badly enough so that she had stumbled on that last step, although thankfully Yuma had somehow managed to wriggle herself into both a stumble and a fall as soon as they had stopped, unintentionally covering up Miria’s little mishap with her own.
Groaning quietly Miria forced herself out of bed and over to the small table that held washing utensils, a large and ornate bowl, and an equally ornate pitcher of cold water. The Mayor’s old shaving knife was both sharp and pointed enough to serve her, and Miria had already gathered her own small collection of bandages, otherwise hidden away in one of the drawers of the very elegant dark wood desk the Mayor had also been forced to leave behind.
Stripping herself out of her uniform to wash up it occurred to her idly that she should encourage everyone to refrain from using their uniforms unless sparring or when out scouting, instead making use of the vast store of clothing left behind in the city when people had fled. She had a momentary thought of herself wearing the clothes of the rather rotund little man that had been Pieta’s Mayor, and chuckled. Would not that have been a sight? Almost as comical as Galatea wearing the abandoned clothing of a barmaid, or...
The amusement trailed off as Miria’s thoughts moved to the tall and statuesque woman that in her childhood had saved Miria’s life.
Galatea had been on Miria’s mind a lot of late, almost disturbingly so, though Miria found that little she could do would change that. It was no small wonder, the woman was always there, whether it was to offer unswerving help and support or to simply tease Miria out of her mind.
Ironically Galatea was the one that had come to mind first when Miria had considered getting help taking the splinter out, but for some reason her thoughts had zeroed in on undressing in front of the other woman, and a wave of terrible embarrassment had not only overruled the idea but beaten it to a bloody death as well.
Embarrassment was not a feeling previously all that familiar to Miria, but since Galatea had entered her life in Pieta it seemed it was something she was going to be all too accustomed to. Sometimes the playful teasing was harmless enough, but other times... She could feel her face heat up even now when she thought of the outrageous joke Galatea had pulled, declaring in front of the majority of the others that if she had her choice of lives, Galatea would have had Miria for her wife. The small comfort she had at the time taken in the knowledge that no-one knew that by ‘Strawberry’ Galatea was referring to her was now gone, as enough women had heard Galatea use the odd nickname for Miria by now for it to be common knowledge.
Galatea had called her beautiful, then.
Lost in her thoughts Miria just stood there, absentmindedly moving her hand through the water in the bowl in front of her, the task she had set out to do momentarily forgotten. ‘My beautiful wife Strawberry’ Galatea had said. Did she mean it?
Could someone so stunning herself as Galatea really think that Miria was...
Frowning at herself Miria shook the thought away. What kind of ridiculousness was she thinking of now? Why in the world would she take Galatea’s playfulness seriously, and of what possible difference could any of that be?
With a bit more briskness than strictly called for Miria washed her hands, soaked her washcloth and set about cleaning her torso with merciless precision. She would not think of Galatea any further.
Noises from below let her occupy her mind with something else. Directly below this room assigned to her was a rather impressive kitchen, and focusing her hearing Miria could indistinctly make out Helen’s voice. Something about apples? No wonder, it was always about apples with Helen, although the other girls were starting to catch onto her joking about putting apples in every type of food known to man by now.
A deeper voice chimed in, and although she could not really tell who it belonged to Miria could take a guess. If the usual suspects were in the kitchen, then that meant Helen and Deneve likely with Clare and Irene as well, since only Irene and Helen among all the women present knew their way around a kitchen enough to provide food for the rest. Irene, undoubtedly from her long years of living alone in a foreign land, had proven a quite capable cook, and was trying to impart some of this knowledge to the younger warriors with varying degree of success.
Miria could practically see them now, bickering playfully while Helen threatened to put apples into soup or something equally absurd, and while Deneve and Clare did their routine in response Irene would silently go ahead with the actual work. Then the door would open and Galatea, another person known to roam the larders and actively promote eating, would come in and...
No, wait. She did it again, found some way to let her thoughts stray back to Galatea.
With a grimace she focused on cleaning her lower body. That was right, she would not hear or see or think anything, especially not about Galatea. She would not think of her, not picture her, not imagine that she heard her voice...
“Strawberry?”
Yes, Galatea sounded precisely like that, and Miria would not imagine that she heard it.
“Strawberry? Miria? Are you alright?” The hand on her shoulder actually made Miria jump in surprise. “Did you not hear me at the door?”
“Galatea!”
“Yes... it is me.” The taller woman said slowly, eyeing Miria with suspicion. Then silver eyes dipped down to take in the naked body in front of her, and not only did Galatea’s eyes quite blatantly stop at the level of Miria’s chest, but her expression changed as well.
Suddenly overcome with a need to cover herself Miria pressed the washcloth to her chest in a futile gesture, as not only was the cloth quite small but also Miria was not sure exactly what she wanted to hide. She settled for crossing her arms over her chest and nonchalantly turning her back to Galatea.
“What are you doing, Strawberry?” Galatea wondered, her momentary distraction of naked skin no longer as accessible and allowing her to focus on other things. She picked up a roll of bandages and eyed the razor. “Miria, are you hurt?”
Perhaps it was because the woman would so seldom say it that Miria liked how Galatea said her name so much. Pushing that idle thought aside Miria gave in and explained to Galatea about the thing troubling her hip.
“You should have told me.” Galatea frowned and looked around. Miria was so relieved that Galatea did not admonish her for not asking for help that she did not protest when the other woman picked up knife, cloth, bandages and bowl and urged Miria to move over to the desk instead.
Finding herself half-sitting naked on the edge of the large desk with Galatea kneeling between her legs was something that made Miria’s breath become strained and her body break out in goosebumps, and she stared unblinkingly at a distant spot on the ceiling.
“Are you cold?” Galatea asked kindly and soothingly stroked the leg opposite her. Miria bit her lip and shivered. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”
Strong, capable hands probed the area of Miria’s hip, then lifted the leg slightly and probed again. Miria gasped and squirmed, wondering why her heartbeat had picked up and tried to will it to calm down again. Strangely she heard Galatea breathe in deeply through her nose, and then whisper something Miria suspected was not intended to be spoken out loud. “You are killing me here.”
She probed further and, hitting the problem spot, got a different kind of gasp from Miria. “Here? Alright.” Supporting Miria’s leg on the edge of her shoulder Galatea went to work with steady hands. Miria tried to keep staring at that spot in the ceiling, but when Galatea’s arm brushed lightly against parts that Miria had never conceived would know touch, she slammed her eyes shut and grabbed the edge of the desk as tightly as she dared.
“It is the tip of a claw.” Galatea spoke in a very quiet voice before replacing the razor with the cold washcloth. Water ran in tiny rivulets down from the cut, feeling ice cold against far too heated skin without doing anything much to help. It was all very confusing really, if Miria had been quite able to form much of coherent thoughts anymore.
Having washed the wound to satisfaction Galatea replaced the cloth with her hand, and from the telltale tingle Miria knew that Galatea was attempting to use her yoki-manipulating abilities to speed up Miria’s regeneration there. Miria herself was more focused on a different and much stronger tingle, and on not allowing herself to make strange and inappropriate noises.
Galatea stroked Miria’s side encouragingly while she kept her hand in place, aiding the healing as best she could. Miria trembled in response, but Galatea said nothing about it. Finally the small cut had joined together on the outside, although it would take a while longer before it healed within, and Galatea moved her hand away. Instead she leaned in and bestowed the spot with a tender kiss.
With a yelp Miria jerked strongly, jostling them both, and then... froze.
No longer breathing Miria stared into the ceiling with wide and unseeing eyes. Although equally still Galatea did not stop breathing for long, and when small puffs of air caressed against hot flesh, Miria whimpered.
The tip of a hesitant tongue reached out to touch against surprisingly wet heat, making Miria moan. A more steady exploring swipe stumbled upon that tiny point of incredible sensitivity and pleasure that neither woman had even known existed, and with a cry Miria bucked her hips strongly into Galatea’s face.
“Galatea!”
With a deep growl Galatea grabbed moving hips with both hands and dove in, devouring Miria with some force. Acting on instinct Miria spread her legs wider and grabbed Galatea’s head, a stream of sounds and Galatea’s name flowing from her lips unchecked.
When Miria thought she was going to go insane from it all, Galatea suddenly stood up. A look passed between them, and then they were both impatiently tearing Galatea’s uniform apart in their hurry to take it off. Lips met, again and again while hands roamed, until finally they were both naked. Hips aligned in an angle that made them both gasp and move with abandon, rocking together on the edge of the desk heedless of the upturned bowl spilling its contents in a puddle around their feet, the bandages and torn fabric littering the floor, or the thumping of the desk as it struck the wall with each grinding thrust.
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The muffled sound of rhythmic thumping made everyone in the kitchen look up towards the ceiling.
“What do you think she’s doing?” Helen wondered, listening to how the sounds continued.
Irene hid a slight grimace and turned back to where she had been cutting vegetables for soup. “It is nothing you need to concern yourselves about, so leave it be.”
“Could she be hammering something?” Deneve suggested, but couldn’t really come up with what.
The sound stopped and Helen and Deneve went back to helping Irene, while Clare and Teresa were virtually hanging off one another, talking.
“There!” Helen turned to the others with wide eyes. “Did you hear that? She’s screaming!”
The screaming abruptly stopped and was replaced by more thumping, only coming from a different direction. Irene sighed and put her knife aside.
“It didn’t sound like she was screaming from pain.” Teresa mused, absently leaning on Clare.
They listened for a while as the thumping continued and changed in speed and strength, until the screaming returned.
“STOP!” Irene raised a hand as three agitated young warriors, and one optional extra that never seemed agitated unless it had to do with Clare, prepared to make a dash out of the room. “Your Captain is neither in trouble nor in pain, and she really will not want your company right now. Stay here.”
The noises stopped, and after a long moment of listening intently, Helen, Deneve and Clare relaxed. They had just gotten back to their previous activities when the screaming started up again, sans the thumping.
This time the younger women did not wait for Irene to reason with them, instead they dashed out of the room and up the stairs. With a small apologetic shrug to Irene Teresa followed them.
The screaming had just stopped when they reached Miria’s room, but Helen kicked open the door all the same.
If they had taken the time to notice such things, the women crowding the door would have noticed that the room was unusually messy, there was bandages and torn clothing strewn across the floor along with blankets, a puddle of water, a washing bowl, and a small upturned table. All their attention however was taken by the bed and the two women entwined upon it.
The couple helplessly shuddered together a few more times before sliding apart, and the flushed and scowling Galatea reached down to snag a blanket to cover themselves with. No-one spoke for a moment, as the women just inside the room were too stunned and Miria too out of breath.
Irene made her way through the hall that had filled up with blushing women drawn there by the sound of a group loudly running around, until she reached the ones standing in the room. With an apologetic look towards Miria and Galatea she began ushering the staring group out, but Miria stopped her.
“Girls...” Miria cleared her throat, trying to pretend that she was not blushing furiously. “Was there anything you wanted?”
When a hesitant group of shaking heads was her answer, Miria nodded. “Good, good.” She tried and failed not to react when Galatea moved around to place a few small kisses along Miria’s neck. “If there is anything you want, if someone needs to talk to me or if anything happens, don’t hesitate to knock on this door.”
“But if there really is nothing that needs my attention right now... Gala and I would like to be alone for a while.”
Irene nodded and walked away dragging Clare and Smirking Teresa along with her. Deneve, blushing and trying to avoid looking in Miria’s direction again, grabbed the gaping Helen and pulled her away as well, closing the door carefully in her wake.
“Now then...” Galatea whispered huskily into Miria’s ear. “Where were we?”
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Some time later Miria lay on her back in the very soft bed that suddenly seemed just the right size, at least while it came with a naked Galatea sprawled out under its blankets with various limbs possessively splayed over her. Smiling she watched the tall woman sleep, her face appearing peaceful and younger in slumber, causing Miria to feel an almost achingly deep surge of warmth and affection for her.
She leaned over and kissed her lightly, enormously charmed when Galatea in response squirmed and then snuggled in closer.
“Mine.” Galatea murmured sleepily into Miria’s neck, wrapping her arms around her lover.
“Yes Gala.” Miria answered with affectionate amusement. “There is no doubt about that anymore, you made sure of that.”
“We could have done without having every single woman in Pieta seeing us in bed together though.” Miria sighed; it had not escaped her notice that the hallway had been full of goggling young women earlier. And she really, really dreaded the next time she would talk to Helen.
“No, it was a good thing.” Galatea roused herself from sleep to carry her end of the sudden conversation. “That way it will spread so much faster.”
“What will? That I am yours?” The suggestion was only partially made in jest, Miria had a feeling Galatea would be possessive about her.
“Mm, that too. Though I meant the knowledge that something like this is possible even for creatures like us. The Organization made sure we all would think these things are irrelevant for us to know, because we were told we could never have anything like it.”
“Like what?”
“Love, Miri.” She snuggled closer still. “Love, sex, a relationship... maybe even family, in a way. Reasons for living.”
“Things we can only have with others like ourselves, but that the Organization would not want us to know about because they want us to have no stronger purpose in life than to fight yoma and obey them.” Miria said slowly, beginning to see what Galatea was getting at.
“The kids realize it is still possible for them, and then maybe they start wondering what else might still be.” Galatea sounded sleepier. “That maybe those dream lives aren’t quite as impossible as they thought.”
“You have given this a lot of thought.” Miria was a touch impressed; she certainly had not thought anything along those lines. Mainly she had just been unable to think of anything but Galatea. “And here I thought you just really really wanted me.” She added playfully.
“Of this there can be no doubt.” Galatea grinned into Miria’s neck, nipping her lightly. “To think I have spent so long trying to get you to fall for me, when all I needed to do was to ravish you.”
Miria chuckled and kissed the top of the fair head. “Sleep now, beautiful. We’ll talk more in the morning.”
Galatea murmured something that Miria thought sounded like “If that’s what you want to call it” and then promptly obeyed without protest. Miria closed her eyes to do the same, but could not help but to smile when it came to her... dream lives, specifically Galatea’s dream life.
There was probably quite a few more ‘orphans’ than Galatea had intended, but they did have them and the house in the city she had specified, even if the city was Pieta, and most importantly, Galatea as her ‘wife’. It was a beautiful dream indeed.
Miria’s smile widened. It was not a bad reality either.
