Laugh With Me pt1

STAR TREK VOYAGER-fanfic. When two very unlikely people onboard experience some drunken hilarity, even B'Elanna can get caught in the consequences.
(Seven/B'Elanna)

Read Laugh With Me pt1

Disclaimer: Seven, B’Elanna and all things Star Trek as everyone knows do not belong to me, and I’m just borrowing them. Additionally the first joke told by Captain Janeway is likewise borrowed, but unfortunately I don’t know where it originates from. I read it on jjchopper’s tumblr (http://jumblr-crumblr.tumblr.com/) and thinking it was hers set out to obtain permission to use it. (do check out her deviantart account as well, she has some very funny STV jokes on there, although they tend to be J/7) Should anyone that reads this know where the joke comes from, then please tell me so that I can give proper credit.




Laugh With Me pt1
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by Carola “Ryûchan” Eriksson




Some days in the Delta Quadrant was more trying than others. Some days even had B’Elanna Torres turn her eyes towards distant bulkheads and wonder what higher power or potential deity she had managed to piss off that day.

For most part B’Elanna Torres would have said that the day everything changed for her was one of the latter.

It started innocuously enough, for Voyager at least. A slight near-miss with a hostile nebula had happened during the nightshift, something no-one onboard took lightly anymore, but thankfully B’Elanna’s much put-upon ship had escaped not much worse for wear this time. Hostile nebulas or things masquerading as such were after all Voyager’s worst nemesis, regardless of what the Borg might consider themselves, and tended to exact a heavy toll on ship and crew alike. The morning senior staff meeting had reminded B’Elanna that Neelix latest and much dreaded social event was scheduled for that evening, and made her vaguely formed plans of getting rest moot.

Protests from Seven regarding irrelevant and unproductive activities ensured that Captain Janeway decreed that attendance was mandatory, and no absences would be excused. Torn between sarcastically thanking Seven and simply slamming her own head on the briefing room table, B’Elanna was just too tired to say or do either.

She did wonder however, how a woman as smart as Seven could somehow fail to realize after repeating the same pattern again and again, that the best thing she could do for these enforced social events was to keep her mouth shut?

The day after that had been rather average, as if to lull B’Elanna into a false sense of security. There was a fair amount of work to do, which was the way that B’Elanna liked it, but nothing was altogether pressing. Seven crossed her path a few times to annoy her, or possibly to make alterations to Astrometrics, but B’Elanna kept her cool. Tom also crossed her path a few times, managing to be even more annoying with his immature giggling and secretive comments suggesting that he had something planned for the party that she wasn’t going to find out about. She didn’t have the patience, or the interest, to deal with him so she sent him away.

And so the evening arrived, and B’Elanna was well aware that she was late. Some last minute work had cropped up, of course, but mostly she had just been procrastinating, knowing that thanks to Seven’s intervention there would be no casual dropping in to make her appearance and then take off quickly tonight.

When she got there the party was already in full swing, and in fairly good spirits too. Once more ignoring Tom, B’Elanna walked up to Harry and chatted with him, moving on to mingle with Chakotay, and Nicoletti, and finally wound up talking to Neelix and Sam Wildman.

That was when it happened.

A strange sound registered over the general noise of the room, and gradually the room hushed as everyone, B’Elanna included, stopped talking and turned towards the sound. At first B’Elanna couldn’t believe her eyes.

“an, an you wanna hear a joke, Schevun?” Captain Janeway boomed merrily, clearly drunk out of her mind, as she waved her mug about in one hand so wildly that the drink in it sloshed over the edges. Her other arm was slung companionably across the shoulders of an even more incredible sight, a slouching and loose-limbed Seven who was staring drunkenly into her obviously empty mug with narrow eyes, as if more of her beverage would appear if she did so.

“The Prime Directive!”

A brief moment of silence followed, and then Janeway released Seven to slap herself on the leg as she laughed uproariously. Another second of Seven squinting as she tilted her head in thought, and then something completely unprecedented happened.

Seven smiled, a big, toothy, amazing smile, and burst out laughing. It was a full, deep belly laugh that pulled the already unsteady woman first to her knees, and then finally down on the floor. Even lying down on the floor with both arms held to her stomach, Seven howled with laughter.

Pleased with herself, Captain Janeway laughed harder when Seven started to and seemed unable to stop. “Schtil got it.” She declared and flopped down on the floor next to the laughing Seven. “Hey, Schevun? Wanna hear anuther?”

She lifted her mostly empty mug and crowed to the room. “The Temporal Prime Directive!”

Renewed gales of laughter erupted from the prone Seven, and Janeway joined in, letting go of her mug to slam her hand into the floor while she laughed raucously.

“I... have one... Captain.” Seven gasped after a long moment of laughing, her voice strained from her alcohol-induced hilarity though her mode of speech was unaffected, and with one slender blue-clad arm being waived about unsteadily in Janeway’s direction. “A pilot... at the helm... and the helm itself... during flight... in a starship!”

Yet more howling, and after a second of blinking, Janeway started up again. “Gud one!” The Captain declared, now face-first into the flooring and apparently finding nothing wrong in that arrangement.

“What in Gre’thor is going on?” B’Elanna wrestled her mind back from the land of denial long enough to hiss at those around her. “Neelix? Anyone?”

Wide, horrified eyes and an almost room-covering dance of shaking faces met her in all directions.

“...” The shaking and snorting Captain said, indistinctly, while awkwardly trying to wave her arm at Seven but not able to figure out how it had twisted against the floor, and only managing a weak little twitch instead. “Akochemoyaaa!”

Unfortunately, the last howl was quite audible, and was followed by not only gales of drunken laughter from the two shuddering women rolling around on the floor, but also from a handful of other places in the room.

Slapping a hand across her eyes while discreetly trying not to smile, B’Elanna knew she had to do something, and fast. She didn’t dare glance in Chakotay’s direction, and cast her eyes everywhere else for inspiration.

She found it in a pale face with wide eyes that met hers for just a moment, and then turned to, with not much success, make a mad dash towards the door.

“TOM PARIS!” B’Elanna bellowed, earning snickers from the floor and a sea of faces turning towards the helmrat in question. “STOP RIGHT THERE!” Whether on instinct or for some other reason, several hands immediately reached out and stopped the escape attempt.

Tuvok emerged from the crowd just as an angry looking Chakotay stepped up closer. “I bet you anything that juvenile moron spiked the punch.” B’Elanna growled, wishing in hindsight that she had paid more attention earlier that day. “No way the Captain would have let herself get soused otherwise.”

“Oh dear,” Neelix exclaimed, worried. “the punch is supposed to be alcohol free. I specifically promised Seven it would be.”

“Will you handle him?” B’Elanna quietly asked Chakotay, mostly for the sake of getting her old friend out of the room as soon as possible before further laughing erupted.

“Oh yes.” Was the clipped answer as the big man set off, but the anger and humiliation still burning in his eyes promised a world of hurt for one Thomas Eugene Paris.

With a slight nod to B’Elanna Tuvok walked over and simply lifted Captain Janeway up from the floor. Cradling the not entirely coherent woman surprisingly gently he stopped in front of B’Elanna and Neelix briefly. “I will escort the Captain to her quarters.”

“...ey, pretty Schammy!” The recumbent woman grinned widely up at Sam Wildman who just happened to be in her line of sight. B’Elanna was surprised and vaguely curious to see a rather prominent blush spread on Sam’s face at the Captain’s drunken compliment. The Captain made to say something else, but Tuvok was quick to turn around and march out of the room.

“Neelix, Sam, can you take the crowd?” B’Elanna continued quietly. “Do damage control if you can, get the punch away somewhere the Doc can have a look at it later.” She scanned the crowds for a certain familiar face. “Harry is around here somewhere, recruit him and whoever else you need that’s not too drunk to help out.”

As Sam and Neelix nodded and set off to do just that, it left really only one thing to do, and only one person to do it. B’Elanna sighed and internally cursed her luck as she walked over to Seven.

She was in no way prepared for the beaming smile directed at her when Seven spotted her, or her own reaction to it.

“Lieutenant Torres!” Seven exclaimed, looking and sounding delighted. “Hello!” The awkwardness of the little hand-wave was made up for with mass enthusiasm, and the sight of Seven beaming up at her, looking adorable while waving madly, made B’Elanna blush.

“Hello Seven.” She said gently and crouched down to get a good grip under Seven’s arms. Seven grew cross-eyed and let out a little ‘ooooh!’ as their faces inadvertently came close to one another, then a little squeak as B’Elanna heaved her up on her feet and hooked Seven’s arm over her shoulders.

“The room is spinning.” Seven confided to B’Elanna in a whisper. “I suspect damage to the internal stabilizers.”

“Uhuh.” B’Elanna muttered in amusement while staggering just a little before adjusting as Seven put most on her weight on B’Elanna. Seven weighed a lot more than she looked. “We’re going to go to your quarters, Seven, can you walk with me?”

“I do not have quarters.” Seven said conversationally while clinging to B’Elanna’s neck, her feet far too out of control to be of much use. “I have some shared space in a storage facility.”

That brought B’Elanna to a sudden, blinking halt. Seven didn’t seem to mind, in fact Seven didn’t seem to even notice that they’d stopped.

“Change of plans, then.” B’Elanna said, frowning. “We’ll go to my quarters instead.”

Hearing no objections, she set out to do just that. She did idly wonder why Ms Giggles of Borg had suddenly gone so quiet, but didn’t really look at Seven until they reached the turbolift. When she did, B’Elanna yelped, flinched hard and almost threw Seven off of her.

The other woman’s face was very close to her own, and she stared at B’Elanna unblinkingly.

“Seven!” B’Elanna scolded, trying to calm herself from the shock as well as gathering Seven up again and into the lift. “What are you doing?” She leaned them both against the turbolift wall and stated her deck number.

“I was observing you.” Seven informed blithely, not realizing at all that she had rattled B’Elanna badly. “I like observing you, Lieutenant.”

“Oh.” B’Elanna wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Should she be flattered or insulted? She settled for awkward curiosity for now. “Why?”

In her current state Seven’s usual head-tilt became a head-swivel as she appeared to give it some thought. B’Elanna gripped her a little tighter, just to be on the safe side.

“You are fascinating, Lieutenant.” To B’Elanna’s mind-blowing shock Seven reached up to lightly trace her hand over the side of B’Elanna’s face. “Intelligent... beautiful... intuitive...”

The slow and gentle caress reached the outer edges of B’Elanna’s forehead ridges, and Seven’s voice and expression softened, became touched by something warm. “Perfect.”

B’Elanna short-circuited. She could say or do nothing, she simply stood there blushing furiously as her heart threatened to pound right out of her chest. It was all she could do to even remember to take the occasional breath.

The hand disappeared, but it was no relief as instead a pale head leaned down to rest rather intimately on B’Elanna’s shoulder.

“I like that sound.” Seven revealed quietly. “It is unique. Like you.”

B’Elanna stared dumbly into the door, realizing only as she felt a slight shift around her that she had been simply standing there as the lift door had both opened and closed, and that their turbolift was now on its way somewhere else, presumably to pick up other passengers.

“Forget this walking stuff.” She muttered in embarrassment and awkwardly managed to jostle Seven enough to hit her commbadge. “Computer, two to beam directly to the Torres quarters.”

Briefly the world turned into sparkles, and then they were standing in the middle of B’Elanna’s living room. If Seven had even noticed the change she gave no sign.

Finally B’Elanna managed to wrestle herself into some semblance of control, and nudged Seven carefully. A weary little sigh was her only reward, because Seven did not even raise her head.

“Tired, Seven?” B’Elanna might be confused as anything and pretty darn embarrassed, but she was not without compassion. “You should probably try to get some sleep.”

Seven grumbled as B’Elanna gently guided her towards the bedroom. “I do not like to sleep.” Seven complained in something close to a whine. “Deck plating is hard, and uncomfortable.”

B’Elanna stopped, connecting the two comments and not liking the conclusion. “Well, I assure you that you will be sleeping in my bed tonight, and my bed is quite soft. Okay?”

A bit more resolutely she steered the other woman towards the bed. “I’m sorry that you’ll have to sleep in your uniform, but I’m afraid I don’t know how you take that thing off.”

Suggestions flashed through her mind, but they were mostly rude and involved for most part some kind of solvent and a rigorous scrubbing. Some part of her suggested the use of B’Elanna’s teeth, which was the point where B’Elanna nearly tossed Seven in the direction of the bed. Forcing herself to calm instead, she gingerly supported Seven with one arm and reached over to pull the comforters down.

“It is done like this.” Seven said helpfully and reached up to a spot on the side of the biosuit’s neckline.

B’Elanna’s head whipped around in horror just as Seven’s biosuit fell to the floor in a little rush of air. For the umpteenth time that night, it seemed, B’Elanna felt herself freeze in place.

Seven gave a little all-over shrug and gingerly stepped out of her shoes. As her feet were still wobbly and uncooperative, and B’Elanna’s supportive grip had gone numb, as she took a half-step to clear the shoes she ended up falling instead, face first, onto the bed.

She didn’t move. B’Elanna on her part was too stunned to.

The image of naked Seven seemed to be permanently burned into her corneas, displaying against the ceiling with perfect clarity no matter how much B’Elanna blinked.

And then there was the warm weight pressed up against her side and resting on part of B’Elanna’s arm.

“Kahless’ left incisor!” B’Elanna swore under her breath and managed to ease herself out of bed. The sound of soft, even breathing indicating that Seven was asleep, temporarily made B’Elanna think she was safe. Then she turned around.

“Grraahh!” B’Elanna growled and covered her eyes, but it was too late, a perfect imprint of the Borgly behind had joined the one she had of the front, and she just knew that life would never be the same again. Worse, Seven was flung across the bed sideways, her head barely on a pillow and a fair part of those long legs hanging off the side.

With a long-suffering sigh, and a furious blush which she did her best to ignore, B’Elanna got her arms around the naked blonde and pulled her into a better sleeping position. Seven grunted in protest but did not awaken, and B’Elanna felt relieved when she could pull the comforter up and tuck it around her unexpected guest.

Finally she threaded her fingers through Seven’s hair as gently as she could, releasing it from the bun so that it would not be uncomfortable to sleep in. This final deed done, B’Elanna staggered over to her couch and threw herself on it, exhausted.

As she stared at the ceiling, head full of questions and confusion - not to mention gorgeous smiling naked Borg dancing through her mind - sleep eluded her for the longest time, leaving the already so tired B’Elanna to suffer a very long night.

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A Day At The Mayor’s Office

WITHOUT MEN-fanfic. It is hard being the mayor, especially when... cows are involved?
(Cleotilde/Rosalba)

Read A Day At The Mayor’s Office

Disclaimer: I have no clue who owns the rights to the “Without Men” movie, still.
So, yeah, I watched “Without Men” before going to bed, and basically had this dream. ^^;




A Day At The Mayor’s Office
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By Carola “Ryûchan” Eriksson




Ubaldina marched into the room which served as the mayor’s office, causing her once-nemesis Rosalba to look up at her, clearly startled.

“Can’t you control her?” Ubaldina demanded with an angry wave of her arm towards the door. Obediently Rosalba looked to said doorway where, after a good long moment, a pouting and clearly reluctant Cleotilde shuffled in.

Rosalba considered. “Oh, I can. But she likes my big behind the way it is, and would not prefer me in any of your dresses, so I don’t want to.” As always when the conversation touched on The Pig, however indirectly, Ubaldina’s eyes moved to look at anything but Rosalba. “What is the problem?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Both women began to wave their arms and deliver their grievances in increasingly loud voices to be heard over the other. Rosalba put a stop to it with a curt little motion of her hand. “Stop!”

Her lover, standing just inside the door with her arms crossed over her chest and looking for all the world like a five-year-old a breath away from throwing a temper tantrum, immediately grew quiet. It took Ubaldina a moment to peter out into silence as well.

Rosalba waited a moment more before nodding. “Good. I will hear you both.” A look to Ubaldina. “You start.”

“Cleotilde has gone loco.” Ubaldina sighed, no longer as loud or as irritated. “As you know, I am taking Perestroika to the next village in the morning to be bred, and as I was checking up on her just now, I found this one” An accusing finger pointed at Cleotilde. “stealing her!”

“I was not stealing her!” Was Cleotilde’s angry outburst at the accusation. “I was liberating her!”

Sometimes, just sometimes, Rosalba wondered at how her husband –The Pig – had handled his job, and if he had ever been faced with problems such as the ones she did. After all, in all modesty Rosalba was much more intelligent and strong-willed than the no good swine, and she often found herself baffled. Plus, Rosalba could read.

“Cleo,” She began carefully, rubbing her temples to ward off a slight ache that was settling there. “why were you stealing or liberating Perestroika?”

The question had Cleotilde change from standing there with a posture as if she was waiting to be scolded, to rushing forward to lean on Rosalba’s desk, eyes wide and earnest. “She is taking her to a male! Forcing her to, to, to...”

Ubaldina made a rude noise and rolled her eyes, while Rosalba, secretly charmed with her lover’s concern for the village cow, reached over to pat Cleotilde’s hand soothingly.

“Cleotilde, we brought this up at the last village meeting, remember? The girls are taking Perestroika to be bred so that we may eventually have two cows providing milk for all of us.” Absently Rosalba began stroking a bare arm instead. “You were there, you know that the vote was almost unanimously in favour.”

Thinking back though, the only vote against had been Cleotilde.

“But, but... nobody asked Perestroika!” A sad and upset little pout made its appearance. “What if she doesn’t want to go to no nasty bull?”

Slightly flushed Rosalba turned wide eyes on Ubaldina, clearly asking for help. Ubaldina blushed just a little herself, although not for the same reason as Rosalba who probably wanted to drag her lover into the back and ravish her Ubaldina figured, because she was reluctantly charmed that someone cared that much for her cow. It had nothing to do with the attractive and usually self-assure woman pouting adorably before her, oh no, Ubaldina knew she preferred the men.

“I know my vaca.” She explained. “She does not mind a visit to the bull, she has done that before... although it was some time ago now. If she does not like him she will reject him, and I will take her away.”

“Are you sure?” Cleotilde asked suspiciously while Rosalba, unseen by the former, gave Ubaldina a grateful look.

“Of course! I have had Perestroika since she was a baby.” It was proud and fond words, Ubaldina cared a great deal for her cow. “It will be good for her to have a daughter in the village. She will like the company, I think.”

“See?” Rosalba asked, smiling reassuringly at her lover. “Perestroika will be taken good care of. And just think, in...” She trailed off and looked questioningly at Ubaldina.

“About the same time as it takes a woman.” The resident cow expert shrugged.

“...in early spring, then, we will have a baby calf around. I bet it would be very cute.”

Cleotilde attempted to scoff and appear as if the thought of cute baby calves were something that did not interest her in the slightest, but it was a poor performance at best.

“Can you promise not to try to liberate Perestroika again?” Rosalba asked, hiding her smile.

A slightly grumpy nod and a shuffling of feet was her answer.

“You could... go give her... a brushing... maybe?” Ubaldina suggested slowly, watching the spectacle and feeling somewhat bad for the other woman. As a result Cleotilde perked up slightly and, with a brief look and nod at Rosalba, took off to presumably find the cow.

She left silence and two women staring at the door in her wake.

“She is rather... sensitive, isn’t she?” Ubaldina asked after a long moment.

“Yes.” Rosalba sighed happily, a dreamy smile on her lips. “She is a very delicate person.”

Then both women realized with whom they were speaking, and with an awkward sense of embarrassment said their goodbyes, Ubaldina fleeing the room and Rosalba pretending to go over paperwork while in truth spending her time thinking of her beautiful Cleotilde.

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So it was that roughly nine months later the first birth in the village since the startling events that had left them – mostly – without men, was the birth of a calf. Cecilia and Ubaldina presided over the birth, with a horrified Rosalba watching and gasping but at least mostly keeping out of the way, until Cecilia could go outside and declare to the waiting women – and a nervously pacing Cleotilde – that it was in fact a female calf.

Although technically belonging to Ubaldina, it would soon not be an unusual sight to see the woman who liked to appear tougher than anyone walking around with the young calf in tow, petting it and talking to it with delight.

The calf would, on Cleotilde’s suggestion, be named Brownelle.

Patching Her Up 9: Scrapes

WITHOUT MEN-fanfic. Getting injured in this village is not easy.
(Cleotilde/Rosalba)


This is the ninth installment in my series of short stories called "Patching Her Up".

Read Patching Her Up 9: Scrapes

Disclaimer: I have no clue who owns the rights to the “Without Men” movie, and I’m just borrowing because a certain person made me do it.

My “Patching Her Up” series is just a series of short stories unrelated to one another, from different fandoms, that have a certain theme in common. Each part is a stand-alone.




Patching Her Up 9: Scrapes
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by Carola “Ryûchan” Eriksson





”I’m sorry, did that hurt?” Cecilia asked blithely as her patient flinched and grit her teeth.

“Mmno!” Cleotilde gasped in reply, furiously blinking so that the others would not see the tears that had once again sprung to her eyes. “Can’t feel a thing.”

“What about this?” The village’s only and self-appointed nurse/doctor/herbalist asked cheerfully and jabbed a cotton swab dipped in disinfectant into the large abrasion that covered Cleotilde’s left cheek. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

Although she had clenched her jaw to prevent from screaming, Cleotilde’s roar of pain was more than audible enough.

“Cecilia, stop! What are you doing?” Rosalba protested and intervened, gently cradling her teary-eyed lover’s face. “My poor baby, look at your pretty face!”

While Cleotilde had tried hard to keep her strong and stoic image intact for the ordeal, by now her unconsciously pouty lips were quivering. Rosalba cooed and sat down in Cleo’s lap to place careful little kisses around the scrapes on her girlfriend’s face.

“Well, disinfecting her was pointless.” Cecilia declared airily while eyeing Rosalba. She tucked the rest of it away and smiled at Magnolia. “I’ll just put some of that ointment on her face, and then we can put some of those band-aids on and she’ll be done.”

With a smitten smile and admiring eyes Magnolia exchanged the bottle of disinfectant for the strange purple jar with the overpowering smell. Rosalba patted Cleotilde’s hair a few times before finally getting off her lap to let Cecilia continue her ministrations.

Cleotilde eyed the jar with growing alarm. “What is that? Why do I need it?” The smell was truly rank and tear-inducing, Rosalba would not let her sleep in the bed if she smelled like that... perhaps she would not even have sex with her before sending Cleotilde to sleep in the other room. “No, I don’t want it.”

Again Rosalba soothed her fidgety lover, stroking her arm encouragingly. “What is that for, Cecilia?”

The widely smiling Cecilia was very aware of Magnolia’s besotted gaze following her every move, she was most definitely getting lucky tonight. “It is a concoction which helps with healing, soothes the pain, and keeps infections away. If she wears it she will not get a scar.”

Rosalba’s gasp was almost a scream. “A scar! On her beautiful face? Oh no!” She turned on her wide-eyed lover. “You are going to wear it!”

At Cleotilde’s meek nod Rosalba kissed her uninjured cheek a few times more and squeezed her hand in sympathy. “Oh, oh. Be brave my love.”

With a flourish Cecilia smeared the greenish goo on Cleotilde and had Magnolia hand her the band-aids. Within moments Cleotilde was properly bandaged up, with a strong scent of something foul clinging to her. Cecilia and Magnolia giggled as they disappeared into Cecilia’s home, no-one in town stupid enough to interrupt them there.

“Oh darling...” Rosalba cooed again as she began to lead Cleotilde away. “I promise I will make a new rule, no more piñatas allowed, not even for birthdays...”

--------------

As they too were out of sight, Virgelina turned to Ubaldina. “Wasn’t that...”

“Yes.” Ubaldina nodded and looked in the direction of Cecilia’s home. “That was the liniment for cows that she made for Perestroika.”

Patching Her Up 8: Match

SEIREI NO MORIBITO-fanfic. Balsa always had good reasons why she never could return Tanda's feelings, even if he and Torogai never wanted to understand.
(Balsa/female OC)


This is the eight installment in my series of short stories called "Patching Her Up".

Read Patching Her Up 8: Match

Disclaimer: Seirei no Moribito belongs to Nahoko Uehashi, Production I.G and probably a bunch of others, but then again I’m only borrowing Balsa and the others for a little bit.

My “Patching Her Up” series is just a series of short stories unrelated to one another, from different fandoms, that have a certain theme in common. Each part is a stand-alone.






Patching Her Up 8: Match
--------------------------------------------
by Carola “Ryûchan” Eriksson







”It’s no more than a scratch.” Balsa pointed out even though she had already taken off her bracer when told to do so. While the injury was insignificant she wasn’t stupid enough to turn down medical care when it was offered her by people she trusted, that and arguing with Tanda or Torogai in order to get them to let it go was just expending more energy than the whole thing was worth.

The ancient little woman nodded sagely as she eyed Balsa’s arm from out of the corner of her eye. “Yes, it is nothing that would kill you. Unless it gets infected.”

The cut was shallow and narrow but long, reaching from wrist to elbow on Balsa’s right arm. The reason her bracers had not done their job protecting some of that area was simply that Balsa had not been wearing them when the attack that would give her the injury came. She had, in fact, been in the river, washing both herself and her clothing at the time.

“Which, knowing you, it will be soon enough.” The old shamaness snorted and took another bite of a pickled egg. “So you will get it patched up. Be grateful.”

“Oh, I am grateful. Even if I think you just insulted my hygiene.” Balsa said sardonically, causing Torogai to chuckle into her food. The woman was older than the very dirt, it seemed, and had not changed a bit since Balsa was a little girl. Still, sometimes Balsa felt as if she wasn’t much younger. “I take it that you won’t see to it personally?”

The old woman snorted again, amused, before she reached over and served herself some more from the cauldron hanging over the fireplace. “No. And Tanda is busy collecting herbs for his medicines right now.”

Balsa nodded, well aware of this and secretly grateful for this moment of being able to fully relax in what was one of the very few places remaining from her childhood that had felt anything remotely like a home. Tanda’s presence always weighed on her, like a yoke pressing her down and growing heavier each passing year. The tension, the expectant glances and wounded looks... it was suffocating sometimes.

She had made her position clear on so many occasions, but it never helped. It hadn’t helped when Tanda was a growing boy of fourteen, and it still hadn’t the last time she had been there to visit. He still gave her the doe-eyed looks, the not so veiled attempts at suggesting she settle down, and he always tried to talk to her about his feelings. Worse, whether by his choice or hers, Torogai always brought up the many ways in which he would make a good father and husband, and point out what a good match he would be for Balsa.

Somewhere along the line Balsa had begun pretending that she did not see or hear Tanda’s attempts, and simply ignored Torogai’s extolling of her student’s virtues. If they after almost twenty years still could not accept that Balsa just wasn’t interested in him, despite her saying so to both of them, clearly and on many occasions, then nothing was going to get through to them. Her only hope was to be patient until Tanda tired of this waiting game he had invented for himself. She knew for an absolute fact that she had never and would never encourage him.

Sooner or later Torogai would insist that Tanda find a woman that would marry him, to take care of him and take him into her clan, even if it wasn’t Balsa. Balsa herself had always hoped it would be sooner.

Which brought them to the current situation.

“She will.” Torogai pointed with her long chopsticks at the young woman who had just entered with a small bowl of water in her hands. “It will be a good opportunity to see her work, but don’t worry, I’ll be watching.”

The young woman smiled timidly. “If Master Torogai wishes it, I will do my best.”

“I know you will, Sakae.” Balsa reassured, smiling slightly in return as the other woman knelt at her side and, as she gently grasped the injured arm, gazed up at Balsa through long, black lashes.

It was an unexpected complication.

When Balsa had received a message from Torogai months earlier that Torogai’s sister’s great-great grandchild needed an escort from her remote village, Balsa had not thought twice about changing her plans, and set out immediately. If anything she had been intrigued that there was living kin to the ancient shamaness, that there existed proof that Torogai had not simply sprung out of the dirt in the dawn of time.

The village itself had been as all villages of the Yakue were to Balsa, warm, accepting and welcoming, tugging at the hidden strings of her heart and making her wish for somewhere, someplace, to belong to. Torogai’s sister Furugan, the much, much younger sister the tiny woman insisted, was all but identical to the cantankerous old woman Balsa had known for most of her life.

The sight of the grandchild however had brought all of Balsa’s senses to an abrupt standstill.

She was somewhat on the tall side, reed slender yet with curves generous enough to make Balsa’s mouth go dry on several occasions during their brief acquaintance, and her darkly tanned skin looked tantalizingly smooth and inviting. Ironically, at that first meeting none of that registered in Balsa’s mind. All she could see was the beautiful face, with large brown eyes and full and dangerously compelling lips, framed by long, gentle waves of soft black hair.

Although Sakae now, in Torogai’s presence, acted demurely and with the respect towards an elder woman that was the Yakue way, when Balsa had first seen her she had immediately marked herself as something of a quiet rebel. When scolded by her mother for not wearing the traditional topknot in front of their visitor her reply may have been softly spoken and unassuming, but Balsa had seen a spark of temper in dark eyes as well as a touch of pride. Sakae wore her hair as she wanted because she would not be anything other than who she was, and she left it up to others whether to accept her as such or not.

The hidden amusement on the old woman’s face and the mother’s resigned sigh had spoken volumes. Balsa had wanted to tell herself that this was why Sakae intrigued her, and why her eyes continued to seek the woman out for the duration of that evening. Unfortunately Balsa was more than old enough to know better.

Balsa, Sakae and a handful of other Yakue heading towards other villages on the way to Yogo set out the following morning, and it was no small journey to undertake. As men and women in the small company left them, reaching their destinations along the way, new joined in, and as such Balsa and Sakae were never alone. She was grateful for that, unsettled by how strong her attraction for the younger woman was, and uncomfortable with the rather obvious fact that the intrigue was not one-sided.

For the duration of their journey, Sakae had made it no secret that she was fascinated by Balsa. Although soft-spoken and gentle, the younger woman was surprisingly hard to dissuade once she had decided something... and Sakae was interested in hearing everything there was about Balsa, whether about her past or her person.

Balsa ascribed this interest to that she was, as all the people from Sakae’s village had called her to begin with, the protector of Nyuga Ro Chaga, and something of a living legend among the Yakue by now. Chagum’s tale would be passed on down the generations, and Balsa’s own part in it would be remembered in Yakue myths long after even her bones were dust. It was, she supposed, only natural that Sakae, a shamaness in training, would want to hear the accounts in Balsa’s own words when she had the chance.

It was difficult though, Balsa was by nature rather taciturn as it was, and to speak of that harrowing yet joyous time she had been given with the boy her heart named ‘son’ and her reason called ‘prince’ did not come easy. Sakae had a way of wheedling the words out with little more than a kind smile though, and her questions were not limited to just Balsa’s time with Chagum.

While hers was a solitary life, by necessity and choice a warrior’s life, Balsa had not gone through it unaware of her preferences, nor without knowing a lover’s touch. Though they had been few and, with the exception of the very first one, casual encounters, the women Balsa had been with had left her at least not completely ignorant to flirtatious advances.

This time however Balsa doubted herself. The blushing, the special smiles, the gentle touches... the heated looks... there must be another explanation. This wonderful young woman could not be interested in a worn old warrior like Balsa, not like that.

With a careful touch Sakae cleaned the scratch, applied salve and expertly bandaged Balsa’s arm. Balsa watched her do it without meaning to, and their eyes met. Lost for a long moment in eyes so dark brown they almost appeared black, and the warm and almost painful feeling they brought on, Balsa was far less guarded than usual.

Sakae walked away with a hypnotic swing to her hips and a mysterious little smile over her shoulder, presumably to put away the supplies and clean up, and Balsa’s eyes obediently followed.

“She shows promise.” Torogai hummed with approval and an almost smug air, as if she in any way had a hand Sakae’s education until now. “Beautiful, too... resembles me when I was a girl.”

Now that was a sobering if not ridiculous thought, and it snapped Balsa’s attention back to her surroundings quite nicely. She hid her amused smile as well as she could and refrained to comment, knowing by the raised eyebrow and the huff that Torogai read her mind all too well on that point.

“Tanda certainly seems to think so.” The old woman pointed out. “He seemed quite smitten in fact, couldn’t keep his eyes off her.” A sly glance at Balsa to gauge her reaction.

This too was a painfully familiar thing. Torogai would point out the appeal of some young woman that she would suggest could capture Tanda’s eye, or mention marriage offers she had received on behalf of respectable women that might make a good match for him. It was always designed to make Balsa jealous, but Torogai never seemed to realize no matter what Balsa said or did, that the thought of Tanda finding another woman to marry only brought wistful hope.

But this time... this time it was different.

Unbeknownst to Balsa herself she scowled darkly, causing the ancient shamaness to gape in surprise at her. She thought back to how Tanda had acted around Sakae.

When they had been introduced upon Balsa and Sakae reaching the hut, Tanda had indeed reacted rather clearly to Sakae’s beauty, not quite blushing but certainly wide-eyed and a touch bashful. He was exceedingly courteous and considerate towards her, and between his own invented tasks and those given him by Torogai, he had been showing her his skills and abilities at every opportunity.

He had been unusually polite, even for Tanda, and the doe-eyed looks and insinuations towards Balsa were kept to a minimum. The longing and adoring looks were instead directed at Sakae, and even now, in finding a chore which would keep him away for a while, his actions followed a very familiar pattern. This was when Torogai would have attempted to convince Balsa of Tanda’s good qualities as a potential husband in the past, only this time Balsa was not the intended target.

Smitten? It was more than that. Tanda wanted Sakae for his wife.

One of Balsa’s hands had found her spear as Torogai’s words awoke a jealousy and anguish in her that she had never known before. She gripped it so hard her knuckles turned white.

“She will make a good match for Tanda.” The old woman said shrewdly, her eyes not missing a thing in Balsa’s expression. “It is why my sister sent her here, of course. To see if a match could be arranged with my Tanda.”

Balsa said nothing, nor did she move. She merely closed her eyes against the unexpected pain, it felt as if Torogai’s words had run Balsa’s own spear right through her heart, and she was powerless to stop her. She could not even breathe.

“What?” So focused on Balsa’s reaction had Torogai been that she had not seen Sakae return while they were speaking. The young woman looked beyond shocked at the news. “That is why I am here?”

“Ah, yes child.” Torogai said awkwardly, this was not a good way to tell her great-grandniece of the plans she and her sister had come up with, this was not at all the way it was meant to go. “My sister had concerns that there was no-one suited for you in your village, and we both thought that if you met, you and Tanda could come to take a liking to one another. He would make a good husband and a good father.”

The shock was replaced by growing anger, hurt and betrayal. She turned wounded eyes on Balsa. “Did you know of this?”

“No.” Balsa swore in a pained voice, barely more than a whisper. “I did not.”

Dark eyes softened and warmed slightly at that, and Sakae nodded. Her expression hardened again as she turned back towards Torogai, but as she was about to speak the door opened.

Tanda was smiling when he came in, his arms full of woven baskets filled to the brim in addition to the one slung across his back. The three sets of eyes that turned to him and the tension in the room was enough to instantly wipe the smile off his face and replace it with a worried frown. Quickly he closed the door behind him and, after look at Torogai, placed his burden on the floor next to it.

Sakae stared at him for a long moment, making him fidget and pale, before finally dismissing him and focusing again on Torogai.

“With all respect, Master Torogai, to you and my great-grandmother both, but that is still my decision.” Her voice hummed with restrained anger. “The reason there are no suitable men for me in my own village is that I am not interested in them.”

“I will be no man’s wife.” A defiant glare towards the wide-eyed Tanda. “Not even if that man is your prized student, aunt.”

With her words still ringing in the air, their meaning still sinking in, Sakae stalked over to where Balsa sat, cupped the startled warrior’s face in her hands, and kissed her.

What Sakae lacked in experience she made up for with enthusiasm and intent. Balsa responded without conscious thought or consideration for their company, but before she knew it, it ended as suddenly as it had begun. Sakae stepped back and turned towards Torogai again.

“I thank you for your hospitality.” She sounded very formal and polite, and strangely no longer so angry it made her voice rebound between the walls of the hut in its intensity. “But I believe it is best that I take my leave now.”

With that she swiftly gathered up her belongings, which she had yet to unpack since arriving, and marched out the door.

The silence in her wake was deafening.

No-one spoke or stirred. Then, with a jarringly loud noise in the still room, Balsa’s travel pack landed at her feet.

“Well?” Torogai demanded in a wry tone of voice. “Aren’t you going to go after her? Surely you’re not letting her go alone, this is wolf country you know.”

Startled, Balsa looked up to see Torogai smile at her, something knowing in the ancient woman’s eyes that for some reason made Balsa blush. She nodded and quickly scooped up her spear and her belongings and headed for the door.

Tanda turned away and would not look at her. Balsa kept her eyes averted from him as well as she passed him by the door.

It hurt.

Even after all these years of hurting over him or, if unintentionally on his part, being hurt by him, this managed to bring an all-new kind of pain. She had never meant to hurt his feelings, not before and not now, even if he never seemed to be as considerate to her feelings as she had tried to be to his. She had loved him once, loved the playmate and little brother she had in him, but the years had erased that little brother more and more until little remained.

Perhaps now he would finally understand. Perhaps, in time, they would be able to build a new friendship, a true one this time, in the place where the complicated mess of self-told lies and expectations that were them had been. Balsa hoped so, but only time could tell.

“Take good care of her.” Balsa heard Torogai say before the door closed behind her. At least Torogai was understanding, perhaps even a bit approving despite how things turned out. That meant a lot. The old woman meant a lot to Balsa.

The slender figure walking back and forth next to the horses, however, already meant more than Balsa could say for all that they had known one another for such a short time. Just the sight of her now filled Balsa with something so rare as a glimmer of hope for the future.

Patching Her Up 7: Spin

STRIKE WITCHES-fanfic. When Trude gets injured it leads to some unexpected discoveries on Minna’s part.
(Minna/Trude)


This is the seventh installment in my series of short stories called "Patching Her Up".

Read Patching Her Up 7: Spin

Disclaimer: All things Strike Witches belong to Gonzo and a bunch of others, though I’m sure I’m not hurting anything by borrowing them for a bit.

My “Patching Her Up” series is just a series of short stories unrelated to one another, from different fandoms, that have a certain theme in common. Each part is a stand-alone.






Patching Her Up 7: Spin
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by Carola “Ryûchan” Eriksson







When it had happened, Gertrud Barkhorn had not let the slightest wince or grunt escape her to reveal to those around her that something was wrong. The tall and stoic young woman had taken the blow, and the pain, with the same determination she applied to everything in her life. That the damage in question was not caused by the enemy, at least not directly, but by her younger comrades was doubly unfortunate, as it made her all the more reluctant to admit injury.

At least she had saved Lynette from crashing, which, given that they had been high over land rather than ocean at the time, had most likely spared the girl serious injury or even her life.

It wasn’t until they returned to base, another threat averted and another enemy downed by the 501st, that Minna realized something was amiss with her old friend. As the others made quick work of getting out of their Strikers to allow the mechanics care for their gear, Gertrud remained in hers. Dark eyes met Minna’s, and the twitch of expression that crossed them sent a message of alarm to the redhead.

She had shooed everyone but Mio out of the hangar, attempting to not let her anxiety show, when Gertrud had quietly requested that Yoshika remain behind with them.

Gertrud had been unable to get out of her Strikers on her own, and once they got them off her it was clear why. Her left leg was black and hung at an angle that made it quite clear that it was broken.

Minna had for that initial moment been too horrified to do anything but stand there, with Gertrud’s arm slung across her shoulders and the taller girl’s weight resting on her, while Mio shouted for medical personnel. Young Yoshika had been quick to react, with a gasp she had hurried to apply her own massive, if not entirely fine-tuned, healing power to the damage. In no time Gertrud had been taken away to the medical wing to be worked on by doctors and witches with healing abilities.

It was very fortunate that they had such good medical care, or an injury like Gertrud’s could have meant losing the use of the damaged leg. Instead she was healed up fairly expediently, with no long-term consequences, a gift not only to Gertrud and those that loved her, but to the world as well. Gertrud Barkhorn was, after all, one of the top ranking witches in active duty, her ability to take out the enemy bar none.

Short term though Gertrud was grounded, only for two weeks but still something that did not sit well with the Karlsland soldier. Because her leg was weakened and wobbly – not to mention quite tender – for a time afterwards, she would be forced to wear a bracing bandage until her leg was stronger. The doctors calculated that with the work done and the overall natural strength, physical condition and healing rate Gertrud had, it would take at least two weeks until she was in fighting form again.

Minna, knowing her friend’s stubbornness, thought it would take a week at most.

She knew she would have to browbeat the other woman into allowing herself to heal, and that she didn’t dare leave Gertrud out of her sight lest the stubborn brunette would find a way to get to her Strikers and take to the skies. For that reason she remained vigilant, and kept a very close eye on Gertrud after the incident.

Or at least that was what Minna told herself.

------------------

Three days after the injury Minna and Trude were in Trude’s room, Minna there to help remove soaked bandages and reapply the brace as the other girl had been caught outside in the rain and not accepted help to get inside quickly.

Brown eyes had watched Minna apprehensively as she had ushered Trude inside her room, helped her out of the wet clothes and into a fresh uniform. The look turned increasingly perturbed as Minna knelt on the floor beside the bed and took care of reapplying the splint and the bandages.

Finally Trude could take no more silence. “Aren’t you going to yell at me? Just get it over with.”

Privately Minna had been enjoying the cute pout that she didn’t get to see nearly enough of, and had thought Trude’s obvious worry had been punishment enough. “Hmm? Am I supposed to yell at you?”

“Yes, well, I mean, aren’t you?” Trude sounded unsure, and continued in a subdued voice. “I rather expected you to want to hit me after what happened, so...” She trailed off, glancing at Minna as if to gauge her reaction.

The amusement faded and gave way for regret, and perhaps a little hurt at the reaction. Yes, Minna regretted the one time she had slapped Trude if the brunette was going to fear that kind of behaviour from her from now on, but at the time Minna had been hysterical, nearly out of her mind with worry and fear. They could have lost Trude that day. She could have lost her... and Minna never wanted to lose a loved one again.

“No, of course not.” Minna looked up at Gertrud and allowed her emotions to show in her eyes. “I would never hurt you deliberately, you must know that.” She sighed a bit mournfully. “What happened that day was...”

Warm fingers brushing against her lips stopped her mid-sentence. Minna blinked and flushed in surprise.

Yes... surprise. That the brief touch felt curiously electric had nothing to do with it.

“I know.” Trude, leaning back after having succeeded in silencing Minna, looked as serious as ever. “Honestly, I do, and I deserved it then, needed it even. I just thought that maybe you felt what happened the other day was another display of...” She grimaced, displeased with herself. “reckless negligence, unbefitting a soldier of Karlsland.”

“Oh Trude. As if you could ever do anything ‘unbefitting a soldier’.” The sigh this time was warm, affectionate, as was the little kiss Minna bestowed a bandaged knee with on an impulse. She wasn’t sure which one of them was the more stunned by the action, she herself or the suddenly deeply blushing young woman in front of her. She continued speaking, hoping Trude would let it go without asking anything. “You were heroic the other day, saving someone. It wasn’t the same thing at all, although yes you did scare and worry me then too.”

“You should have told me you were injured, but you know that.” A pointed look. “And you should definitely take better care of yourself, not let your stubborn pride get in the way of healing.”

Trude accepted the gentle rebuke with a slight nod. “I’m fine now, though. I don’t really need the brace.”

“It takes more than a little bump to get rid of me.” She tried to joke to put Minna at ease. The smile vanished as she realized that the red eyes before her were gleaming with what looked like unshed tears.

She panicked.

“No, really! I’m fine!” Trude blurted out and scrambled to her feet, reaching down to awkwardly pull her old friend to her feet. “I was only unsteady at first, but now I’m fine.”

It was the small sniff and the unconscious gesture, one that looked as if she meant to wipe at averted eyes with one delicate hand, that snapped Trude’s self-control.

Suddenly she grabbed the other woman and scooped her up into her arms while leaping, hopping and spinning across the room. “See? I’m just fine.”

Minna, having reacted with a startled yelp and then to throw her arms tightly around Trude’s neck, paid no attention to the room as it swirled by. Instead she stared in wonder at the face so close to her own.

Trude was flitting around with Minna in her arms as if the redhead weighed next to nothing, yet it was clear that she was not using her abilities to augment her strength. As a soldier Minna’s training had of course increased her strength and stamina which in turn increased her weight, and to swing her around like this, in bridal style even, was quite the testament to Trude’s natural strength.

Flushing with warmth Minna admired the perfect combination of solid, taut muscle and soft, feminine curves that was her old friend. She knew that Trude considered herself to be plain and bulky, but Minna had always thought her lovely, that the strong, chiselled planes of her face bore a kind of nobility that fit well with innate nobility and stoicism of who Trude was.

Then of course there were those eyes. Those warm brown eyes that had a gentleness to them, that would reveal the at times fragile soul Minna considered herself to be one of the fortunate few to truly know.

Minna realized that her heart was beating fast and that the strong surge of heat that washed over her, emanating it seemed from somewhere in her midsection, was something she was in fact familiar with. Feeling a bit breathless and quite sure she was blushing, she stared mesmerized at Trude.

Was the room spinning or was she?

So absorbed by watching Trude and the feelings the other girl awakened in her was Minna that she didn’t realize what she was doing until she felt Trude’s soft and slightly open lips against her own. All thoughts vanished and some deeply buried instinct took over.

While Trude let out a muffled yelp of surprise and started flailing, Minna wrapped her arms tighter around Trude’s neck and deepened the kiss. She didn’t even notice when they stumbled around... and fell.

The impact of teeth against teeth wasn’t painful, exactly, but it brought Minna back to her senses.

She found herself draped over Trude, arms pinned underneath the other girl’s back as the two of them lay across the foot of Trude’s bed. Wide brown eyes stared up at her, stunned, and Minna realized with chagrin what she had done, and to whom.

They stared at one another in silence for a long moment, blushing. Then finally Minna gasped and tried to move.

“Your leg!” She tried to get up but was held in place not only by her own arms being pinned underneath them, but also by Trude’s embrace. “Oh Trude, does it hurt? Should I get a doctor?”

Trude had to clear her throat a few times before she managed something other than an awkward croaking, but managed to shake her head clearly enough. “N-no, I didn’t hit it on anything, and it doesn’t hurt.” Her eyes darted to meet Minna’s and the away again. “I think I’m almost fully recovered, really.”

Another silent moment, in which Minna tried to catch Trude’s gaze and Trude avoided her.

“Are... you sure I’m not hurting you?” Minna asked quietly, allowing her body to relax against Trude’s. “You don’t want me to move?”

The brunette blushed even darker. “N-no, you’re not hurting...” She trailed off, and suddenly an expression of regret and sadness floated past before being hidden by something a bit apologetic. “But you should probably get up, since you got the wrong soldier and all.”

Trude’s arms disappeared from around Minna who missed them instantly. Carefully she eased one hand free from underneath them, to gently brush some hair out of wide and sorrowful brown eyes.

“No.” She smiled affectionately down at the woman still pinned under her. “I got the right soldier at long last.” A light caress of a jawline that jumped slightly at the touch. “But that doesn’t mean that I have the right to... throw myself at her.”

“Literally.” She added wryly, and waited.

For a long moment Trude simply blinked at her without saying anything, but then finally a pair of hands came back up to hesitantly grasp Minnas waist.

“The right one?” The quiet question was hopeful and perhaps just a slight bit needy.

“Absolutely. The right one.” Minna assured with a smile, surprising even herself with how certain she was of this. Mere hours ago this would not have crossed her mind. Mere hours ago she hadn’t realized the true depth of her emotions where Trude was involved. “If that’s alright with you?”

The nodding was shy but enthusiastic.

“But Minna, aren’t you and...”

“There is no-one else.” Minna cut in firmly and honestly. She didn’t want there to be any doubt. “There are only you... if you want to.”

The reply came not in words, but in a sweet smile and such a loving expression in dark eyes that it was Minna’s turn to feel bashful. She wet her lips and caught the glance that immediately zeroed in on them.

With a wicked little grin she leaned in as if to kiss Trude, slowly, only to veer off at the last moment and lean down to whisper into her ear.

The words were in their native tongue, so rarely used at their base, and they were spoken so closely to Trude’s ear that Minna’s lips lightly brushed against it. They were not poetry, but honest and heartfelt, and spoken in such a sultry voice that they made Trude shiver and gasp in reaction.

Finally Minna returned to Trude’s lips, and she kissed her.

It was slow and poignant, but it was not the sweet and careful kiss of a young lover unsure of herself. It was the needy, hungry and deeply emotional kiss of a woman who had known love before, who had loved and lost and knew to cherish this second chance and waste nothing. While herself inexperienced in these matters, Trude was only too willing to follow Minna’s pace.

---------------------

Gertrud Barkhorn would end up straining her almost-but-not-quite healed leg mysteriously, and was forced to endure two full weeks of recuperation while more or less immobile to not put any further strain on her leg. The recuperation came with its very own private nurse in Minna, who had taken the blame for Gertrud’s relapse but would not say how or why, which in the end might not have been the most restful of arrangements.

She was eventually declared healthy, after an incident where Erica commented at length on their commanding officer’s fascinating and painfully obvious new hobby of bending over in various positions while in Gertrud’s line of sight, and of Gertrud’s even more blatantly obvious interest and appreciation of said new hobby. The whole thing ended in a chase over the entirety of the base, during which Gertrud proved herself to be fully fit... and the bandages did not survive the exercise.

The private celebration that took place in Gertrud’s room that night was such that the following morning Minna would be confronted by several bleary-eyed members of the squadron, demanding in no uncertain terms that a shopping trip would be undertaken post-haste... and that earplugs would be bought.

Lots and lots of earplugs.

Patching Her Up 6: Dating

STAR TREK VOYAGER-fanfic. Seven and B'Elanna have a little chat about dating.
(Seven/B'Elanna)


This is the sixth installment in my series of short stories called "Patching Her Up".

Read Patching Her Up 6: Dating

Disclaimer: All things Star Trek Voyager belongs to... err... actually I don’t know anymore, just that they don’t belong to me, but that I can dream.

My “Patching Her Up” series is just a series of short stories unrelated to one another, from different fandoms, that have a certain theme in common. Each part is a stand-alone.






Patching Her Up 6: Dating
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by Carola “Ryûchan” Eriksson







Sometimes, B’Elanna mused, you had to wonder at the brilliance of Voyager’s commanding officers, when they sent the ship’s Doc and number one nurse off on an away-mission together. Certainly, Sam Wildman was more than capable of performing any nursing duties Tom would have – in B’Elanna’s opinion far better, too – but as the woman in question had not been cleared of her duties in the bio-sciences to instead keep station at Sickbay, the beleaguered Ensign had her hands full trying to juggle the two. And as such she hadn’t been there when B’Elanna came in, of course.

Not a problem, B’Elanna was handy with a dermal regenerator and was fairly certain she wouldn’t kill herself from injecting too much or the wrong thing with a hypospray, she was pretty sturdy after all, and didn’t want to harass the woman. Heaven knew Sam might even want to take a moment to see her kid while the girl was still awake, or something.

She had not, however, counted on Seven coming in while B’Elanna was juggling medical equipment on her own. One disapproving tilt of a gleaming Borg brow, and B’Elanna soon found herself sitting there obediently while Seven proved to be quite apt at the technical aspects of nursing.

B’Elanna was not surprised at Seven’s skill, in fact there was precious few jobs onboard that she would think Seven could not perform if she had to, and the ones she couldn’t... were the kind you couldn’t learn about from a database.

“Seven?” B’Elanna asked after a while, studying the face before her and feeling concerned at what she saw. “Hey, Seven?”

Slender hands stilled their movements and a pair of intense eyes met B’Elanna’s own. B’Elanna’s own eyes widened a little and she tried not to squirm.

“What’s wrong?” Simple and to the point, but she could see the question forming even before Seven began to speak, so she continued. “I can see that something is wrong, Seven. You’re frowning.”

She cursed a sudden lack of impulse control as she found herself reaching out to poke gently at the furrow in question. By her expression Seven was as surprised as B’Elanna felt embarrassed by herself, but she covered it up quickly and smiled encouragingly at the blonde.

“I might not be your first choice to talk to about it, or, you know, even on the list of people you would consider talking to about it, but humour me? What is wrong, and can I do something to help?”

The frown deepened a bit before the blonde eventually nodded slightly. The eyes turned even more intense, and as they met her own B’Elanna felt slightly dizzy. “You have injured yourself.”

“Um, yes?” B’Elanna felt confused. “Not deliberately though, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Strangely enough Seven seemed to look at B’Elanna as if she was trying to gauge whether to believe her or not. B’Elanna wasn’t sure if she should feel insulted, or... something else. While she wondered, the ‘something else’ won out.

“Are you certain it was not due to Ensign Paris’ claim that he has...” Uncharacteristically, Seven faltered. B’Elanna marvelled at this, perhaps Janeway was slowly managing to teach her a thing or two about tact after all.

Personally she thought it would be a pity, though she hadn’t always appreciated Seven’s straightforwardness in the past. “Tom said he left me, huh?”

A split second of hesitation, followed by a deepening frown. “Yes. Is this inaccurate?”

“Well, yes and no. Technically I was trying to be mature about breaking it off with him when he turned around and decided he would rather be the one breaking up than the one broken up with. It was about as asinine and childish as one could have expected.” B’Elanna smiled a bit sheepishly, she wasn’t upset at the parting nor was she surprised that Tom would have told people that he broke up with her. People thought what they wanted anyway. But still, she had tried to keep things civil, had wanted them both to act like grownups.

“I see.” Seven nodded, her eyes turning thoughtful. “I suspected that his statements were... inaccurate.”

Although she wondered idly just what Tom might have said about her in that case, B’Elanna mostly just found herself amused by Seven’s reaction. It seemed so... adorable. “Oh? Why is that?”

“His claims were absurd, and not like you. Also it would be both illogical and unlikely that he would willingly let you go. You are by far the superior mate, and Ensign Paris must surely have been aware that he could never have... deserved you.”

B’Elanna blinked, and felt her cheeks burn. Talk about surreal. “Um, wow, thanks Seven. That was so many compliments in one go that I don’t know what to say.”

Seven’s version of a shrug faced her. “I was merely stating the facts.”

She could not have stopped the smile that stretched across her face if she tried, but she didn’t really want to. B’Elanna looked away for a moment, feeling a bit more bashful than she had in a very long time. The warmth that bloomed in her chest was unbelievable. Wow indeed.

As she looked back up she wondered if Seven could see the affection in her eyes, or know what it meant. “And you were worried about me? That I might be upset enough to try to hurt myself?”

“Yes.” A small but more tentative nod. “But these injuries are not...”

“Self-inflicted?” B’Elanna finished for Seven, still smiling warmly. “No, or at least not really. I’ve been... distracted lately, and ended up a bit too clumsy at the wrong moment because of it, that’s all.”

“Distracted?” The frown, which had eased away after B’Elanna’s explanations, returned along with a renewed intensity of gaze. “What would distract you to the point of causing you injury?”

Oh gee, a pair of beautiful blue eyes, maybe? They had certainly been showing up in her thoughts a lot lately, and at very awkward times, too.

“It’s nothing bad, honest.” B’Elanna assured, trying to ignore her embarrassment. “I’ve been working out how I feel about someone, and it has kept me a bit preoccupied.”

“Not Ensign Paris?” Apparently relieved enough of her concerns Seven returned to B’Elanna’s injuries, but she still looked at her attentively, reassuring B’Elanna that Seven was still interested and listening.

“No, not Tom. That is over and done with, and has been for quite some time.” She admitted, and admired those long, Borg-adorned fingers when Seven carefully nudged B’Elanna’s arm a bit to the side. “It is someone else.”

She knew that the little tilt of the head was all the reply she was going to get from Seven to that comment, Seven would not have the urge to gossip and ask just who it was B’Elanna had on her mind. She thought it was cute, but then again it seemed almost anything about the woman was just adorable to B’Elanna these days. It was remarkable, really, that it took so long for her to figure it out.

“What about you, Seven?” She began carefully, trying for a friendly but casual air. “Have you considered dating again?”

Surprisingly enough Seven straightened up and looked at B’Elanna with darkening eyes that had gone quite narrow. “If this is about Ensign Paris, my previous reply stands. I am not interested.”

Ah, of course. Tom had wasted no time in trying to woo the most beautiful, and perhaps the most unattainable, woman on the ship. That made sense.

But Seven had turned him down, and with the expression the tall woman wore at the moment, in no uncertain terms too. B’Elanna fought the urge to giggle. “No, I’m not talking about Tom, but good for you if you turned him down. You’re smarter than I was.”

She could see the urge to protest as the expression in Seven’s eyes turned a bit confused and awkward, and found it charming. “I meant in general, Seven. Have you thought about whether you would like to try dating again if you met the right person, or if there is anyone onboard that you might like to try it with?”

“I...” Seven hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the subject. For a moment B’Elanna regretted bringing it up. “I have not. Ensign Paris’ recent availability changes nothing. The parameters based on the Doctor’s criteria are quite...”

“Wait, what?” B’Elanna interrupted, frowning. “The Doctor’s criteria? Shouldn’t that be your criteria, Seven?”

“As I am... still largely unfamiliar with the process, the Doctor has been kind enough to lend me his aid in the selection process. While we have very briefly touched on the characteristics of courtship in various species, this information has been too light and too broad to be of any aid, and so the Doctor devised a basic general form suitable for the average human female, which I have customized somewhat. A list of parameters based solely on criteria devised by myself would be...” A slight grimace crossed Seven’s features. “very brief, and not very illuminating.”

B’Elanna blinked. “Oh... wow.” She scratched her cheek a little, trying to think of a good way to say this. “I, uh, may not be anyone’s idea of an expert on dating, Seven, though I can at least assure you I have more experience than the Doc has. And I see several things wrong with what you just said already.”

“How so?” Briefly checking so that no further injuries required attending, Seven lay the instruments aside to stand in perfect attention before B’Elanna, head tilted in what was a sure sign of interest on her part.

“Well, uh, for one thing there’s no such thing as ‘basic’ criteria, we all have our own preferences and our own wants, and these can change a lot over time as it is. Plus, you know, it isn’t at all uncommon to fall for someone who doesn’t meet those preferences or wants in the slightest.” How did she end up giving life advice to strangely innocent but frightfully intelligent former Borg women, again? Oh yeah, an impulse decision to gauge just how unrequited her feelings for the woman really were, that’s right. Good job there.

“For another, Seven, even if there were such a thing as a basic list for average human females... you’re not exactly average, nor entirely human. Being a half-breed myself I assure you I’m not saying that to be hurtful, it is just the truth.”

Seven nodded. “Yes, of course. Captain Janeway and the Doctor’s assurances to the contrary, I do not see myself as a human, at least not entirely. I am still and always shall be in many ways Borg, although I am no drone.”

B’Elanna smiled a little and nodded, relieved that Seven had such a clear sense of self. From personal experience it was when one tried to embrace one side of one’s heritage and completely ignore the other that the problems began, and she’d rather Seven didn’t have to go through years of struggles before coming to that conclusion the way B’Elanna had.

“Look, Seven, let’s just ignore the Doctor’s list and teachings for now, because I don’t think he is the right person to listen to in this instance. Maybe you could talk to the Captain? If she can get over the embarrassment she’ll undoubtedly feel and take the time to sit down with you to talk about it, you’ll probably learn a lot more than the Doc can teach you.”

“Mostly though, when you finally feel like you are ready to try dating someone, it should be all about your own preferences, no-one else’s. Like... do you like this person, do you want to spend time with him, do you find yourself thinking of him when he’s not around... does being around him make you feel happy, or, no let’s go with happy for now, things like that.” B’Elanna grimaced. “There’s the physical things as well, like do you want to kiss this someone, and so on, but I think I’ll leave that for Janeway.”

“The bottom line is that you should feel like you want to date a certain someone, not find someone to date because you should try dating itself.” She paused briefly. “Does that make any kind of sense, or did I just confuse you further?”

Seven nodded, clearly deep in thought. “I see. Your suggestions are quite different from the Doctor’s, and I shall have to consider this to see how I could apply them. Perhaps I will attempt to bring the subject up with the Captain as well.” She refocused her attention on B’Elanna. “However, as I find myself reluctant to repeat the failure of my dating and indeed have neither the skill nor the interest for it, my inquiries are merely for the sake of understanding, and not for practice.”

“You don’t want to date, got it. But why ‘failure’ and ‘skill’? Those shouldn’t be factors in dating, well, not really anyway.” At least not in any way that Seven might currently interpret it, B’Elanna told herself.

“As I am sure you are aware, my one attempt at dating did not go well.” Seven sighed, and while B’Elanna had to silently agree, in a way she had been impressed that Seven had managed to land her date in Sickbay on the first try. “I cannot dance, have no interest in telling a male that he is beautiful when I do not think so, and I do not enjoy attempting to ingest strange food which does not suit my constitution in a setting with a multitude of onlookers and high noise levels.” Blue eyes made B’Elanna gulp with their intensity. “I also find nothing pleasurable about replicated dead flora.”

So, no flowers and no fancy restaurant dinners or public dancing, check. Actually, that sounded rather nice, like maybe Seven would appreciate a quiet dinner for two at home instead.

“So you do something else for a date, something you could both enjoy. Dates aren’t limited to public dinners and dancing, Seven. And not every woman likes flowers.” She winked at Seven even though she didn’t mind flowers on occasion herself. She did rather prefer chocolate, anyway. “If you don’t find a guy attractive in some way I don’t think you should be dating him, but if you for some reason do anyway, you’re in no way required to tell him that he is... erm... beautiful. Is there no-one onboard Voyager that you think qualify as beautiful or just attractive in some way though, male or female?”

Stunned and wide blue eyes looked back at B’Elanna.

“Females...” Seven’s voice was quiet, hesitant. “...are an option?”

“Oh.” And so it was B’Elanna’s turn to be stunned. “Um, yes? Of course? We’re not living in the dark ages, you can be interested in whomever you want, gender, species and whatnot aside. I think basically only children or close blood relations are considered taboo in the Federation, though a lot of people would say getting involved with someone who is married is too.” She frowned. “What exactly has the Doc been teaching you?”

Seven did not answer, and looking a bit closer B’Elanna could practically see the thoughts and emotions churn behind blue eyes. Alarmed she wondered if she hadn’t just done Seven a huge disservice... perhaps B’Elanna should just have kept her big mouth shut.

“Erm, Seven?” She began gently, reaching out to touch a blue arm. “A-are you okay?”

For a long moment there was silence, then... B’Elanna could practically see the very moment when Seven’s thoughts crystallized and snapped into place, a conclusion reached.

“You.”

“What?” B’Elanna felt she had missed a step somewhere, or some part of the conversation. “Me? What about me?”

“If indeed it is permissible to consider an individual of the same gender, then the one person onboard Voyager that I find beautiful and attractive in many ways is... you, Lieutenant.”

B’Elanna realized that she was gaping, and it felt like her eyes were about to fall out of their sockets, but she could do little about it. Her head was spinning far too much as it was. “Me? Really?”

“I believe I have said so before, Lieutenant. You are superior in every conceivable way. So yes, I do find you beautiful and attractive.”

“Kahless!” B’Elanna gasped and blinked at the blonde. Was this really happening? Reflexively she blurted out the first thing she could think of. “I think you’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen, and I’m so attracted to you I haven’t been able to think straight for days.”

She had never seen Seven blush before, and she found the sight, oh yes indeed, beyond adorable.

“Is... that so?” The hesitantly hopeful question was asked with what passed as shyness for Seven, complete with briefly downcast eyes.

“Yes, it sure is.” B’Elanna assured warmly, gently taking Seven’s hand in hers. “It’s the truth, but I wouldn’t blame you if you don’t believe me right away. Maybe, if you feel like giving me the chance to, I can prove it to you in time.”

Seven eyed their joined hands and, after a moment’s awkwardness, turned hers to grasp B’Elanna back. “Your injuries, they were because of me?”

“Mm, from being distracted by thinking about you, yeah.” She grinned, feeling a bit foolish to admit it. She was rewarded however by a small smile on Seven’s lips.

That warm and dizzy feeling was back, and with a vengeance.

“So, uh, Seven? If you were to feel someday that you would like to try to date again, would you tell me? I promise I would not make you do things you don’t want to or feel comfortable with, or make you eat things you don’t want to try.” B’Elanna smiled self-consciously. “I even promise not to give you any dead flowers.”

Seven looked at her, considering. “Would there be crowds, real or holographic?”

“No, not unless you decided you wanted there to be. I’d rather be alone with you anyway.”

Seven nodded, the tiny smile widening.

“Tomorrow?” She finally asked. “Would tomorrow be acceptable?”

“To-tomorrow?” B’Elanna nodded a bit too enthusiastically. “Yes! I mean, yes, tomorrow would be great.”

“Good.” Seven squeezed B’Elanna’s hand slightly before letting go and taking a step back. “Tonight I shall have to have a conversation with Captain Janeway. I need her advice.”

With that Seven walked out of Sickbay at her usual brisk pace, although she slowed briefly by the exit and looked at B’Elanna over her shoulder. Then she was gone.

B’Elanna exhaled explosively, running a slightly unsteady hand through her hair. “Wow. Just... wow.” She muttered to herself under her breath.

“I’ll contact you with the details later then, gorgeous,” She told the air in the direction of the door fondly. “so we can agree on when and where to meet.” Seven might still hear her, but even if she didn’t that was fine too.

She grinned at the ceiling, feeling lighter and more energized than she had in a very long time. In fact B’Elanna was downright happy.

“Someday...” She told Voyager’s bulkheads in a low, conspiratorial voice. “I’ll get that woman to call me by my name.”

Patching Her Up 5: Beginning

NOIR-fanfic. The end has come and gone, and the girls have some things to talk about.
(Mireille/Kirika)


And so we return to our regularly scheduled series. XD
This is the fifth installment in my series of short stories called "Patching Her Up".

Read Patching Her Up 5: Beginning

Disclaimer: All things Noir belong to Bee Train and probably others, perhaps even to Raimi/Tapert by now, but at any rate I’m just borrowing.

My “Patching Her Up” series is just a series of short stories unrelated to one another, from different fandoms, that have a certain theme in common. Each part is a stand-alone.






Patching Her Up 5: Beginning
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by Carola “Ryûchan” Eriksson







The room was small and sparsely furnished, not that anything more than the bed, a small table with two chairs and tiny, well-worn settee for two would have fit in there, but it was safe enough and had its own tiny bathroom. A far cry from their spacious Parisian studio loft it might have been, but it was good enough for now. If an emergency arose they could even, albeit with difficulty, access the roof through the window in front, not that Mireille expected trouble.

They weren’t even in Mireille’s beloved Paris now, but rather the first city they’d reached where there presence wouldn’t stick out of the crowd. Soldats probably knew where they were anyway, and for that reason the small space was packed with hidden weapons by now, yet after the events at the Manor... Soldats had not attempted to contact them. Not yet anyway.

It was time to heal wounds and gather strength.

The old apartment was lost to them, in fact there was precious little left of it. Mireille had, in that dark place she had been after losing her partner, remained there for a while, sleeping in the ruined shards of their bed, sitting at the broken table, and staring out the gaping holes that had once been windows. She hadn’t noticed the cold or the dark, overwhelmed as she was with the despair within.

There was nothing to go back to there. They had nothing in the way of personal belongings worth collecting, even if anything had managed to survive the onslaught. They would have to start anew someplace else, and thankfully had the funds to do so.

The important part was that they had each other.

Not even the watch, Mireille’s father’s watch, had meant a thing in the end, not compared to Kirika. Whatever she might have said, Mireille had known it the very moment she shook off the despair and set out towards the Manor, that she was going there to get her partner back. To get her Kirika back.

Nothing else mattered, not even vengeance.

The first-aid kit Mireille had stocked her car with before setting out had been used up patching mainly Kirika, but also Mireille herself, up enough that they didn’t simply bleed out on the road. As it were the seats of the car were ruined, and Mireille traded it in for a proper if shady treatment of Kirika’s wounds. They had another one by now, a shabby and easily overlooked one that would still last them across the country and then some if they needed it to.

So far though things had been quiet. The proprietor of the run-down hotel where Mireille and Kirika rented their tiny room was friendly and accommodating enough, and though she had been on careful lookout Mireille had yet to spot anyone spying on them on Soldats behalf. That of course didn’t mean that Soldats didn’t know where they were, only that they would leave them be for now.

Most likely Soldats had bigger problems right now than the famed Noir. The Manor had gone down in flames, taking Althena and the other leaders of her insane pseudo-religious phalange with it, and when Mireille and Kirika had left... ironically the remaining highest leaders of Soldats had turned on one another, and only one remained standing that either of them knew of. The man which had attempted to make a deal with Mireille.

Likely there were all sorts of struggles for power going on, and whatever factions there might be, none of them would have enough manpower to waste, should they even have the ambition to, by sending them after Noir. Unless Kirika and Mireille made a move against them, they would have little reason to.

So that was why it was time to rest up and heal, finally. Perhaps also make up some plans for their future.

The past, individual and shared, had been... delicately discussed.

The pain Mireille carried over the murder of her parents would not be so easily or quickly put behind her, but she understood at last that while Kirika’s hands might have been the ones holding the gun, the one that killed them had been Althena. She accepted and forgave Kirika, just as she acknowledged Kirika’s own pain and loss.

Sometimes Mireille wondered if Althena had personally seen to the assassination of Kirika’s parents, hoping that at least Kirika herself had not been made part of that act but afraid to ask and stir up even more pain. Kirika herself seemed not to have any memory of her parents, but her memories of her early years were fragmented at best.

Eventually though their conversation turned to Kirika’s days at the Manor, and to Chloe.

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“You kissed her?” After days of calm, this sudden explosion of Mireille’s temper seemed all the more loud, Mireille’s anger all the more intense. “You kissed her!”

Kirika blinked, as if she couldn’t quite understand why Mireille was angry. A small part of Mireille was aghast at herself for reacting this way, but powerless to stop it.

“No...” Kirika tilted her head as she explained. “Chloe kissed me. I did not...” She frowned a little as she tried to find a word that would fit. “...participate.”

“So you let her kiss you.” Mireille demanded. “Is that supposed to be any better? What else did she do?”

Taking a moment to order her thoughts, Kirika proceeded to tell Mireille about most of what had transpired at the Mansion. She told her about walking around the ruins with Chloe, of sparring with the taller girl, and of how Chloe had been hiding outside Kirika’s bedroom window at night.

She told Mireille of reading the book, and how she nearly shot Althena. She told her of the times she had bathed together with Chloe, and how Althena had sent the two of them off to cleanse and prepare for the ritual, which was how Chloe had come to kiss Kirika.

Mireille’s face had taken on a strangely red hue by the time Kirika got to that part.

“Naked? You let her kiss you, and hold you, while naked?” Unexpectedly she let out a strangled and frustrated cry. “And that, that... woman! ‘To strengthen your bond’...” Mireille growled. “She wanted you to sleep together!”

Kirika shook her head. “No, Chloe had her own bedroom at the Manor. I saw it.”

Staring hard at the younger woman sitting on the edge of their bed, looking completely sweet and innocent as ever, Mireille realized that she had to calm down. She was letting herself act insane with jealousy, and while it didn’t seem to frighten her, Kirika had not really deserved to be treated like this. The situation then had been different, and Kirika had been different.

In the end, her choice had been made abundantly clear. In the end, they had all said their vows of love in actions rather than words.

She by arriving there, not for the revenge she had lived for but to take back the one she loved. Kirika by the choice she made in the end, no matter how hard or heart-rending, when she had sacrificed someone she considered the other part of herself to save Mireille. And Chloe... Mireille had always known about Chloe, she had thought the girl wore her love for Kirika on her sleeve, but that moment on the battleground... the expression in Chloe’s eyes, her scream when she realized that Kirika was saying without words that Mireille was the one she really loved... it had stunned Mireille.

There was no point in being angry at Chloe anymore. The girl had received a dark and cruel fate she did not deserve, anymore than any of them, and Mireille should pity her. Maybe someday she would even actually be able to. But for now it was enough to know that Chloe was dead.

And Kirika was hers.

Not that they had in any way acted on it or even said so, it was entirely possible that Kirika was innocent enough not to realize what had really happened, what the Noir ritual really was. Two of the deadliest women in the world, fighting to the death... for the love of the third.

Her and Chloe, for Kirika’s love.

Not that Mireille harboured any illusions that she could actually have beaten Chloe on her own. She was skilled, one of the best perhaps, but she wasn’t in Chloe and Kirika’s league. No-one was.

But be that as it may, Chloe was gone and Mireille was the one that was here, right now, with Kirika. The one that was going to build a life and a future with Kirika.

She rubbed her face with one hand, briskly, as if to chase away old ghosts and thoughts. Then she glanced at Kirika and smirked. The brunette looked back questioningly, looking as if she was about to speak. She didn’t get the chance to.

Mireille pounced, pushing the other girl down on the bed that was just wide enough to fit them both with a bit of effort and no more, and pinned her down. Kirika made a startled little sound but did not object.

And then Mireille kissed her.

Despite the somewhat aggressive approach, the kiss itself was gentle, tender. It spoke of Mireille’s longing and her desperate need for Kirika in her life, by her side. It was their first, it was sweet, and it was brief.

Before Kirika had the chance to at all react it was over, Mireille withdrew to rest their heads together so that her lips were next to Kirika’s ear, without Kirika being able to see Mireille’s face.

“You are mine.” Mireille’s voice was deeper in pitch and soft as velvet, a touch possessive and dangerous but mostly suggestive of things that made Kirika shiver involuntarily. “You... are... mine.”

“I won’t share you, with anything or anyone. Remember that.”

From the heat where the side of Mireille’s face rested against her own Kirika could tell that the blonde was blushing as she spoke. Slowly, small hands reached up to embrace the body perched carefully over her own.

“And just so you know, I am yours and only yours.”

They remained still like that, simply breathing together, for a long moment.

“You know I have said it before, that you and I were always bound together by Fate’s thread. A black thread for certain, but Fate’s thread nonetheless.” Mireille leaned her face into Kirika’s slightly, turning the touch into a kind of caress. “I don’t know if you can understand it right now, but that ceremony, the fires of the ritual of Noir...”

“It married us. We are the heart of darkness, together. The two maidens of death that are one.”

She closed her eyes and breathed Kirika in. “Not because of the words of an ancient book or the machinations of a madwoman, but because of us. Because of what we are and what we became for one another. And for all that we are willing to do for each other.”

“I don’t ask that you understand it yet, if you need time you can have all you want. But I ask that you are aware of it, of what you are to me.” There was a touch of desperation in Mireille’s voice as she leaned back to look into Kirika’s eyes. “Is that alright with you?”

Her reply was a pair of delicate hands that reached up, cupped her face, and pulled her down for a kiss.

Kirika was an inexperienced kisser, having been kissed twice but not responded to either, and somewhat hesitant at what to do at first. But the emotion was genuine, and after the first initial moment of shock and marvel, Mireille was only too happy to give it her best as well. Kirika’s hands wound up in Mireille’s hair, and the kiss grew enthusiastic and animated.

They remained like that for as long as Mireille, propped up with her weight on her arms as she was, dared to. Once she feared she would topple over and risk putting weight on Kirika she drew back, gasping for air.

All that could be heard was their laboured breathing as they looked at one another for a long moment. Then Mireille, smiling, leaned their foreheads together and gently brushed a hand over Kirika’s bandages.

“We’d better get up. I have to change these for you.”

“I feel fine.” Kirika’s protest was as softly spoken as ever, but her voice had a slightly breathy quality to it that made Mireille’s heart beat harder.

“And to keep you ‘fine’, I have to change it for you.” She grinned at the adorably recalcitrant girl as she sat up. “You know that.”

With gentle hands Mireille changed Kirika’s bandages, relieved beyond words to find that her earlier actions had not caused any bleeding. Thankfully it seemed that they both possessed remarkable healing abilities, and of course as nearly life-long assassins they were resistant, or perhaps just very intimately familiar with, pain. It would not restrict or cripple them the way it would other people, but even so Mireille had to be careful with Kirika for a while. No roughhousing until Kirika was back to full strength.

The thought heated Mireille’s cheeks as she finished re-bandaging Kirika and helped the younger girl get ready for bed. It was a bit early still, but the emotional outpouring had been tiring, and they could both need all the rest they could get.

As Mireille double-checked her safeguards and turned off the lights she heard the cute little ‘yoisho’ sound Kirika made as she got into bed and crawled over towards the wall. Mireille quickly got herself ready for bed as well, and joined her partner.

Instead of positioning themselves back to back as they usually did, Mireille lay down and carefully urged Kirika into a comfortable position half draped over her. It was something she had longed to do for nearly as long as Kirika had shared her bed, and some nights of late Mireille had awakened to find herself spooning the younger girl in her sleep. Now though she could wrap her arms around Kirika like she had always wanted to, and feel the other girl come to rest on her shoulder with a contented sigh.

Placing a loving kiss into baby soft brown hair Mireille tucked the blanket a little higher on her lover. She closed her eyes and basked in the tranquillity of the moment.

Their breathing evened out, and sleep beckoned.

Then, in a whisper...

“Kirika? What do you think about getting another apartment in Paris?”