When Elves Sing Pt3 END

Elfen Lied-fanfic. Set after the end of the series. What became of Lucy and the others at Kaede House after the events in the series? For that matter, what will happen to the diclonius race?
Third and final part of a story that is now finished at long last.
(Lucy/Aiko, Nana/Mayu)

Read WHEN ELVES SING PT3 END

Disclaimer: see part 1.





When Elves Sing Pt3 END
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by Carola “Ryûchan” Eriksson








When Lucy had officially made Nana her younger sister and second in command in both the Diclonius Foundation and what the world at large considered their ‘family company’, Nana had not imagined it would entail accepting interviews and appearing on talk shows in Lucy’s place and on behalf of her entire species, yet here she was. Fortunately the years had given Nana experience with these things so that she had little cause for concern, in fact some things even amused her secretly, like the perfectly coiffed hostess covering up what had just before the show been barely concealed boredom with excessive enthusiasm and interest that really wasn’t going to land her a better job anytime soon.

Nana herself was impeccably dressed, though too formally so, in dark blues and a slash of warm pink, knowing well how this made her appear far less forbidding and intimidating than Lucy’s style of all-black and all-strict business wardrobe. It was for the sake of all their kind that Nana, with her usually friendly smile and more accessible appearance, was the public image of the Blackhorn family and the Diclonius Foundation. Lucy, sometimes without really meaning to, tended to frighten people... a lot.

She answered questions with a warm and pleasant voice, keeping an honest face and the impression of something like the friendly woman next door, smiling a lot and even laughing slightly at the hostess quite tired attempt at a joke earlier. While this would have been in her nature to do anyway, sadly it was a quite calculated thing in situations like these. Inwardly she sighed and wished, if only briefly, that it was over so she could go home and just hug her wife.

“...the first Kaede House. As you all know, ‘Kaede House’ are the dormitory-like buildings where upper teenage diclonii live during their school years until they are ready to live on their own, as good adult members of society.” The question had been about the commonly called ‘diclonii-town’ in Kamakura, and why this specific part of the country has such a higher concentration of diclonius girls than anywhere else in Japan. Nana hedged the question slightly, her reply focusing on the first Kaede House and its later companions, where the older children had been housed while adapting to life among humans, as if that was the reason. It was only part of it though, as in truth the area around Kamakura held a higher diclonius birth-rate than any other place in Japan, but thanks to many humans still opting to abandon their newborns to the Foundation the actual numbers was something the public had no knowledge of.

“While we are building Kaede Houses and schools on several locations around the country, the concentration of diclonius in Kamakura will likely always be a bit higher than in other places, mainly because it is convenient but also because the people in Kamakura tend to be very understanding and accepting of little diclonius girls.” Nana smiled and waved at the camera as if she was sending a greeting to the people of her hometown. “I’m sure the other cities we have located in will prove to be stable and understanding environments for our little girls as well, aside from a bit of initial growing pains. And if nothing else, our presence means a lot of employment possibilities and should do some good for the local economy.”

“Ah yes, the unemployment rate does seem to have dropped quite a bit in all places where the Diclonius Foundation has established itself.” The hostess made no secret out of reading from her card. “We have a representative from one of the cities you recently announced as a future location for a Kaede House with us today, let's see if he has anything to say?” She twirled around and pointed to a lean man that looked uncomfortable in his ‘on TV’ finery.

The gruff-sounding man asked several questions about job opportunities in both the long and short term that the Diclonius Foundation was bringing, and Nana replied as best she could, referring him to the websites for both Blackhorn Corporated and the Diclonius Foundation for specific details in his particular town, but also promised to speak with him privately after the show. It was with a silent sigh of resignation Nana made that offer, knowing it meant at least an additional hour before she would be able to go home, but also aware of the public image she was building with personal offers like these. This man, his eyes suddenly alight with a touch of shrewdness knowing he would get a chance at a personal recommendation by her, was far from the first person she had more or less handed out a job to in this fashion, nor would he be the last. As with most things, they were counting on this little bit of positive reputation she was garnering to help counter the instinctively negative and fearful response that was a natural reaction to their kind for most humans, although Nana did not like having to think like that.

“Why do you need to build your schools and dorms in Japanese cities anyway?” A husky young man asked as he raised his arm, sounding and appearing merely curious despite his words. “Why not stay on those islands of yours?”

“The Blackhorn Islands, while thankfully large enough to house our Japanese little ones for now, are hardly big enough or have the kind of infrastructure for someone to live their entire lives on.” Nana smiled at the boy, a bit thankful that the question was asked without malice as it often tended to. Curious children that wanted to understand was a large part of why she agreed to come to this show after all. “Despite what you might read in the papers the Blackhorn Islands are far from a country of their own, so that would just not be feasible. And besides, all our little ones are Japanese, conceived, born and bred, surely you would agree that they have a right to live on the mainland as well?”

The young man smiled back at her and nodded, either satisfied with the brief explanation or having just received the reply he had expected. An older man with dark eyes and greying hair leaned forward in one of the lounge chairs that was spread in a loose circle around the tiny dais where Nana and the hostess were seated, signifying the special guests present for the show. The contempt virtually poured out of him even before he spoke, making Nana suppress a shudder and eye him with hidden wariness.

“Rights, you say?” He smirked slightly, barely enough for the cameras to catch. “Isn’t it rather ironic to be talking about rights when it is true that you... Diclonius... have claimed not to be subject to Japanese law?” His eyes gleamed as he spoke, and Nana recalled that he was a particularly zealously religious politician whom was trying to make a name for himself recently by his anti-diclonius opinions. Sadly there were always people willing to listen to men like that and to the message of hate. “You cannot have rights without having obligations as well, nor can you have the rewards and benefits of civilized society without following its laws and regulations, any child knows that. Or are you saying that you Diclonius are above all that?”

His words caused a quiet chattering to break out on the benches behind him, with people both protesting his words and agreeing with him. The other special guests were louder in their arguments, and to Nana’s relief they were mostly arguing against him. Gathering herself quickly Nana gave the audience a wide and perfectly white smile while gesturing slightly for silence.

“You are of course referring to how Diclonius have been exempt from the law, and yes indeed also the rights, in Japan and many other countries around the world. In that you are partially right, and of course I agree with you, to have rights in a society you are also obliged to follow the rules of that society.” Nana put on the best innocently grateful look she could muster and matched her tone to that, mostly because she knew from experience with men like these that it would annoy him, but also because it would force him to work a bit for his venom. “You are very kind to bring that up, most people do not realize the problem, understandably, and it is something we are working on globally, Diclonius and humans alike.”

She turned an earnest enough-looking face towards the show hostess and the camera, continuing. “While most people have heard of my sister’s declaration that we, the Diclonius of Japan, are not subject to Japanese law, not everyone knows the whole story behind that statement. It is simply that, again globally, we have jointly decided that while we as a people are not recognised to have equal rights or have the protection of the law that others do, we will not be held accountable by those laws.” She gave a small smile, more of a quirk of the lips really, to emphasize her words. “If the part of the law which is meant to protect a person’s rights does not apply to a Diclonius child, then the part which is meant to restrict or punish should not either. It is quite understandable, yes?”

“It is much like the situation in the past, when the law was applied differently to people judging on their skin colour, their ethnic group or sexuality, as you can imagine.” Nana tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and pretended that she didn’t notice the dark glare from the man whose thunder she’d temporarily stolen. He’d probably get a second wind for his message of hate any moment now, but she was determined not to be goaded by him. “We have people, Diclonius and humans alike, all over the world right now that are actively petitioning both local government and the UN to oversee the laws, and amend the Human Rights to apply to Diclonius as well.” She smiled a little smile of honest gratitude out towards the audience and the cameras. “Progress is being made, thankfully, and if I may I would like to say that I am personally grateful to each and every person that take a stand, in whatever way, towards gaining equal rights to all of us as people.”

There was a moment where Nana’s focus went inward. To her side she could feel as much as see that hateful man sneer and open his mouth to deliver his poison, just as she could feel the audience still hanging onto her words. She calculated what to say next, and inside she regretted that it came down to doing just that, but this too was part of the responsibility she held for the future of her kind. It wasn’t pleasant and not what she would have wanted, but she had accepted it long ago. She took a deep breath and made sure the camera would catch her doing so.

“But I know that for many, what I just said amounts to so much abstract talk. It is hard to follow just how important these things are without an example to clarify things.” She gazed out seriously at audience and cameras alike. This was only a moderately popular TV-show, but her next few words were sure to rocket sections if not all of this particular episode onto other shows, like news broadcasts and debates, on all sorts of networks, and into online media and newspapers. “In the hopes of making things clearer to all of you, I am going to tell you something I have never spoken publicly about before.”

She saw the exact moment realization hit the talkshow hostess eyes, lighting them up with an ambitious hunger as the woman saw the opportunity before her. A few frantic gestures from her and every camera in the studio focused on Nana, while the hostess grabbed the chance to become the one that got inside information from one the Blackhorn sisters with both hands and a slightly maniacal smile. For a brief moment Nana idly wondered just how unhappy the woman must be with her current job.

“While it is fairly common knowledge that the Blackhorn name was given me by my sister upon being adopted into her family, it might surprise some to hear that Nana was not always my name.” Pink eyes reached out to everyone watching, no longer calculating or performing, but honest in remembered pain. “I was once simply nanaban, number seven, and that is where the name I now go by stems from. I was the seventh of the diclonius children subjected to experimental...”

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

Nana’s account for her early years as a laboratory specimen, while actually brief and not going into any great and painfully gory detail, had indeed been the conversational bomb she had expected it to be. The show itself had dragged on longer than intended because of it, and with the additional time she had to spend, Nana did not manage to get out of there for a fairly long time. By the time she made it to her car she was exhausted and wanted little else than to nod off as the chauffeur drove her to the waiting helicopter.

She realized what was waiting for her the moment the car stopped at the platform, sensing the person inside before she ever even touched the doors to the helicopter – black, as everything else her sister made or bought – and certainly long before she saw the person sitting there waiting for her.

They smiled at each other but said nothing as their transportation lifted from the platform to set off for their island home. Nana had not expected Lucy to be there, but once she started giving out personal information on that random talkshow, well, she really should have she supposed.

As they left the city behind Lucy shook her head slightly, her smile turning a bit wry. “That certainly stirred things up, Nana.”

“Mm, it sure did.” She gave her sister a knowing look. “Just like you intended me to do, right?” Lucy had never said a word about it, but Nana had still figured out what the general idea was. Over the years they had come to work like that, intuitively understanding what the other’s plan was and what was needed from them, without words.

“You stirred up the hornet’s nest a few months ago with that blanket statement about the law, and let the world stew on that without a word of explanation. It was about time for me to step in and provide that explanation, for maximum effect... yes?”

It had taken some time, when they were younger and Nana new to her place in the organization, before Nana realized that Lucy’s blundering and heavy-handed intimidation was, at least sometimes, intentional, and with the purpose of creating an opening for Nana to step in and smooth things over. Lucy set herself up to be the dark one, the unreasonable, the intimidating and disliked one, so that Nana could be the voice of reason, the approachable and diplomatic one... the one that was liked. It was their working dynamic and it worked well for them indeed, but it made Nana sad at times as she knew that this dark portrayal mirrored Lucy’s views of herself. She had honestly forgiven Lucy years ago, but Lucy would probably never truly forgive herself.

“Of course.” Those pink eyes so similar to Nana’s own gazed upon Nana with affection and pride, until an expression of regret crossed them. “I didn’t expect you to go into such...” Lucy frowned and looked away briefly. “...personal detail. I thought you would speak of the forced euthanasia of diclonius infants, or the blatant stealing of them for lab experiments, not...” Lucy grimaced and let the words fade away. Nana knew what she meant.

“I know. And I did speak of those things as well, but...” It was Nana’s turn to make a face. “A survivor’s account, even a brief one, has a bit more weight.”

“You are so brave.” Lucy sighed. “I could not do what you did.”

They shared a silent look of understanding. No, the past weighed far too heavily on Lucy for her to make herself vulnerable that way, and dwelling on past crimes, past pain, was a good way to stir that murderous rage she kept firmly in check these days. By and large, Lucy still hated humanity, or at least most of it, and she always would.

“You certainly silenced that putrid little man but good.” Lucy teased gently, trying to lighten the mood. “I don’t think he got another word in after that.”

“Oh please,” Nana made a silly face and waved it away. “as if that ignorant little man and his hate was all that important. He wasn’t the reason I spoke about the past. More importantly...” She pointed at what appeared to be an oversized cooler. “just what is that?”

“That...” Lucy chuckled. “is what my wife ordered me to buy and bring for when your wife has cravings. As you can imagine, it is mostly ice-cream.”

“Goodness.” Nana laughed a little herself. “I can imagine. There are times I’m convinced our daughter will be born frozen solid from all that ice-cream.”

“Consider yourself fortunate that Mayu’s cravings are as normal as they are. Ai mostly ate french-fries in horrible combinations with things like pickles and chocolate sauce.” They both shuddered a little in remembrance. “I was convinced I was going to be the proud ‘father’ of a pink french-fry.”

“And yet my little niece is a happily perfect, healthy and beautiful little girl.” The wide smile that the thought of her adorable niece brought to Nana’s lips faded suddenly with another alarming thought. “Uh oh.”

“I was wondering when you’d realize.” Lucy smirked.

“Maybe she didn’t watch the show?” Nana tried, hopefully. “Yuka is probably busy preparing for Kohta to take care of the kids on his own before she’s supposed to come here to be with Mayu, she probably didn’t have the time to watch television.”

Lucy snorted. “You know full well she not only watched it, she recorded it as well. Yuka saves anything you appear in on television or in the papers.”

Indeed Yuka’s maternal behaviour towards Nana and Mayu didn’t stop when the two girls grew up, moved out and got married, not in the slightest. Yuka kept diligent tabs on both of her ‘daughters’, and was even scheduled to come stay with them as Mayu’s due date grew near, as support.

“I’d say that she’ll be contacting me sometime before tomorrow morning to demand that I arrange her transport.” Lucy grinned a bit wickedly, but patted Nana’s knee in a sympathetic gesture. “I suggest you get prepared before then, and I don’t mean just the guestroom.”

Nana feigned a pout at her sister, but it soon melted into a happy little smile mirrored by Lucy. They sat in comfortable silence the last tiny stretch of the way, simply smiling contentedly as they watched through the windows as the island that had been so many things to them in their lives, meant so many things to each of them, rapidly grew closer.

The island that now, because of the family that awaited them both there, was simply home.

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
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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 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.

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

“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?”

Patching Her Up 2: Scar

CLAYMORE-fanfic. Miria has a weakness, but that's ok, so does Galatea.
(Galatea/Miria)


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

Read Patching Her Up 2: Scar

Disclaimer: Claymore belongs to Yagi Norihiro as far as I know, and certainly not this little dragon.
This story is based on the idea that Galatea ended up in Pieta with the others in the anime (and that things turned out a bit better, I suppose), and has of course absolutely nothing to do with the manga (which I have not read). It might even fit a little bit with my Claymore series that begins in “Paths of Silver”... if you squint.

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 and a one-shot.






Patching Her Up 2: Scar
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by Carola “Ryûchan” Eriksson







”That hurts!” The whiny complaint was one Miria could scarcely believe she was hearing, at least not from the person she was currently crouching in front of.

“If you don’t wriggle around so much it would be over faster, and it wouldn’t hurt as much.” She explained with some patience, even if it was starting to wear a bit by now. Miria was a warrior and a leader, not a healer... how had she ended up doing this?

Oh, yes. That’s right. Galatea.

The tall, proud, often superior and, even Miria had to admit it, somewhat regal warrior had turned silver eyes on Miria and pouted. Pouted. At Miria.

So she had caved like a house of cards, and accepted the unwanted nursing duty which really should have fallen to one of the other girls, one of the girls more suited for these things. But oh no, when Galatea wants something, she usually gets it.

Of course, Miria could relate. She wouldn’t be keen on letting the younger girls that all looked up to her, looked to Miria for leadership and guidance, see her injured if she could help it, either. If injured, Miria would try to patch herself up as best she could. Enhanced healing had its perks, thankfully.

“You have the hands and gentle touch of a fisherwoman.” Galatea sniped, sniffing slightly and twitching in place once again. Miria sighed.

She had been wholly unprepared for this whiny and sulky side of ‘prince’ Galatea, a warrior as stoic and unflinching as the best of them normally. But as she had followed Galatea to a secluded room to get to work on the rather nasty gash that ran mid-thigh to calf on one of the woman’s unusually long legs, she soon found herself having to fight what seemed to be an overgrown and twitchy two-year-old for every stitch.

“Known a lot of those, have you?” Miria asked archly, pursing her lips and raising an eyebrow at prince pouty, knowing exactly what the answer would be. “Fisherwomen’s hands, that is.”

The transformation was instantaneous. With a rather self-satisfied smirk, the flirty woman whom had all the younger girls blushing as she walked by was back, oozing charm as she gave Miria a suggestive look.

“My fair share, why?” The whine was replaced by a sultry tone as Galatea leaned forward to bat her eyes at Miria in a rather outrageous move that would just look silly on anyone else. “You know I’m irresistible.”

Miria just grunted a little in response and refused to look at Galatea, far to busy multitasking; patting herself on the back mentally for distracting her difficult patient so easily, mentally shaking her head at Galatea for being oh so very predictable, and of course continuing stitching up the long pale leg in front of her while the woman held still.

“Why, Strawberry...” Galatea flirted, her smile far too smug but an honestly exited gleam in her eyes. “Are you jealous?”

Miria wondered idly why exactly it was that while Galatea seemed to be just naturally an outrageous flirt, and would indeed practice her charms on any woman within earshot sometimes, the taller woman had zeroed in on her. Galatea was particularly insistent, not to mention persistent, with Miria, no matter how little response she was given. It had quite frankly confused the hell out of Miria to begin with.

“Mmmmaybe.” She hummed, hiding a smile. While she still wasn’t sure what Galatea was really after, she had changed tactics with the woman and found, to her delight, that whenever Miria would flirt right back the poised and self-assured Galatea tended to flounder like a schoolboy. Sometimes she worried that she might perhaps have become somewhat twisted herself, to take such pleasure in making the other woman blush over her.

“R-really?” Immediately Galatea sat up straighter, the sly womanizer in her visibly having to struggle not to break out into a silly but delighted grin at Miria’s response. Eagerly she leaned even more forward. “Those others meant nothing, you’re the only one for me, Miri...ow!”

Miria’s elation was short-lived as the movement jostled the leg she was working on, and reminded her patient that she was displeased with the world currently.

“Honestly, Galatea...” Miria sighed again and carefully wiped a little bit of blood away from the wound. “I’m almost done, if you could just hold still for a little while longer I’ll have you all wrapped up.”

The pout was back, and while Miria tried not to she couldn’t help but soften at the sight of it.

“I don’t know why you’re having such a hard time with this anyway.” She chided gently, not entirely aware that she was caressing the leg under her hands comfortingly between the few remaining stitches. “You didn’t make a sound when that Awakened one sliced your leg open.”

In fact Galatea hadn’t so much as twitched as far as Miria could tell. Normally the attack wouldn’t have connected, but it had been a bad place and a bad situation, and if not for Galatea one of the younger girls would have been cut in half instead. It was quite the noble thing to do, really, and of course Galatea had been admired for it afterwards.

“In fact, if you hate being stitched so much, why don’t you at least try to enhance your healing?” Galatea was a warrior whose abilities were offensive rather than defensive, and as such her powers were not focused towards the physical. Still, by raising the yoma levels in herself she could probably heal much of the injury on her own, if not all of it.

“I don’t want to be ugly.” Was the quiet and reluctant answer. Galatea looked away, and after a moment of silence she continued. “Especially not in front of you.”

“Oh.”

Miria was unsure of what to say to the quiet admission, much less how to feel. Strangely her cheeks warmed and she couldn’t make herself look at Galatea anymore, focusing instead on tying off the stitches and gently wiping them down.

Reaching for the bandages she started with a slender pale foot and slowly worked upwards.

“Will there be a... scar?”

The question was so quiet that Miria did a double take to make sure Galatea had spoken. She eyed the long line of small and neat stitches she had carefully made sure to make, despite Galatea being difficult, and tried to understand why it would matter to creatures like them.

“I... don’t think so?” She offered, hesitantly, not having enough of a healer’s sense to be able to give any real assurances but well aware of their enhanced healing nonetheless. Suddenly thinking of the many scars on her own body she frowned, uncertain. “Does that matter?”

The squirming was back, even though Miria was merely finishing bandaging up, however absently.

“I don’t want to be ugly...” Galatea repeated quietly in a mutter. “...for you.”

Swallowing an unexpected lump in her throat, Miria focused on tying of the top of the bandages. While Galatea could sometimes appear to be a bit more vain than one would expect from a warrior of their kind, Miria was sure that underneath her uniform Galatea had the same tortured and gut-wrenching appearance as they all did, so what did a scar or two more matter? And yet, looking closely at the tall woman it was plain to see that Galatea did not have scars or other blemishes on any part of her body readily visible. Not like the rest of them.

Not like Miria herself. She felt a touch of regret suddenly for all the battles that had left their mark on her, but quickly shook off such whimsical thoughts.

“Don’t worry, Galatea.” She patted the bandaged knee gently before rising. “Short of you loosing yourself, that would never happen.”

She moved about putting away the supplies and the soiled cloth, taking a moment to give Galatea time to compose herself and Miria herself the chance to chase away strange thoughts she had no business dwelling over. She was already moving towards the door when Galatea’s voice stopped her.

“What...” The pout now on the tall woman’s lips were a playful one, but Miria still felt curiously powerless to resist it. “...no reward for being a good girl?”

A short laugh erupted from Miria before she could control herself.

Wrestling her expression under control she adopted a playfully thoughtful expression as she turned around and walked the few steps back towards Galatea, who was grinning at her, apparently quite pleased with herself. Miria tapped her lips as if in thought.

“Hmm... I guess...” She wondered briefly if she had been overtaken by some kind of madness, to even consider what she knew she was going to do. But the grin on Galatea’s face as she prepared to hop down from the high perch she had been sitting on until now made Miria feel a bit reckless, and giddy. “If you had really been a good girl...”

No-one could really match Miria when it came to speed.

Before Galatea had even realized that she had moved, Miria was already standing in between long legs, grabbing that flawlessly beautiful face with both hands, and placed what was meant to be a chaste kiss on the other woman’s lips.

Only, while it started out chaste, once the stunned and immobile Galatea made a small noise of surprise, chaste became far less so... even without Galatea’s participation.

Sucking a full lower lip into her mouth to give it a playful lick before finally stepping back, a bit breathless herself from the rather unexpected turn of events, Miria quickly leaned in to whisper into a slightly pink ear in as sultry a voice she could muster.

“Just imagine if you had really been a good girl.”

Then, barely containing a laugh that threatened to bubble up, the suddenly quite happy Miria all but skipped out of the room, not really caring if any of the younger warriors would see her grinning like a fool as she did so.

She didn’t get far before a whimper followed by a noisy scrambling reached her ears. Several fair heads peeked out into the corridor to gawk, amazed, between the now chuckling Miria and the open door through which Galatea was seen stumbling across the floor.

Possessed by some evil impulse Miria called over her shoulder to the wide-eyed and blushing Galatea. “Don’t forget to put on some pants before you come out here... baby.”

With a gasp and a yelp Galatea disappeared from sight, followed by an impossibly loud crash as she slid right into some furniture, upending it. The spectacle drew even more fair-headed young girls to the hallway, and a chorus of gasps and whispered speculation followed them.

Miria walked along, humming to herself and generally unusually happy with the world at large. Touching her lips she grinned widely at a tiny patch of blue sky among the grey that was visible through a window as she passed it by.

It was shaping up to be a fine day in Pieta.

Patching Her Up 1: Thought

NOIR-fanfic. Sometimes even the most skillful of assassins get hurt. Or worried.
(Mireille/Kirika)


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

Read Patching Her Up 1: Thought

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 and a one-shot.






Patching Her Up 1: Thought
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by Carola “Ryûchan” Eriksson







”How stupid!” She scolds as she cleans various cuts and bruises. “You’re supposed to be a professional. This is a rookie thing to do, and you know it.”

She knows she is a bit less than gentle as she patches her young partner up, but the girl remains passive, not complaining the treatment. Those dark eyes follow her movements with an intensity that for some unnerving reason makes Mireille feel ashamed.

“Look, I know that in the kind of fights that we end up in it is hard, if not impossible, to escape without injury all the time, but...” She wills herself to calm though her voice still reveals both her exasperation and irritation over the situation. She grabs the bandages. “Its all fine and well to do whatever necessary to live through the moment, but if you do it at the cost of your ability to fight, then you’re as good as dead already.”

She sighs and meet dark eyes with an unusually open expression of concern in her own.

“You yanked your right arm right out of the socket, and your left hand is sprained to the point you couldn’t get it to close around a gun, much less pull a trigger. You came damn close to breaking something, you know?” She stilled her ministrations, merely sitting on the floor in front of the girl on the bed, bandages forgotten in her hand. “What were you going to do if there had been anyone else there? Attack them with your teeth? Or maybe your feet?”

The dark head tilts and brows knit. She sighs again, from a strange surge of affection this time. She can tell that the younger girl is giving serious thought to what was mostly sarcasm on her part.

“You’re actually thinking about it, aren’t you?” She asks, a smile twitching briefly at the corner of her lips. The girl nods.

“Well...” She murmurs, reluctant to admit it but honest enough to know it to be true. “If anyone could manage to kill opponents with just the use of her teeth or toes, it would be you.” Mireille can’t even imagine how, but then again, she wouldn’t have imagined killing someone with their own sunglasses or the wheels of a toy car either.

Another thought intrudes, another memory, and her expression darkens. The words slip past her lips before she had given them leave to escape. “You, and maybe Chloe, of course.”

Another thoughtful look on the young face before her, and another small nod.

Mireille grinds her teeth together and tries to clamp down on her temper. She is angry and she doesn’t want to take any closer look at why.

“Yes, of course. Chloe, the perfect killer.” Her voice is dripping with sarcasm, and she stretches the fabric of the bandages with a touch more ferociousness than is strictly called for. Kirika merely watches, silently as ever. “Just... perfect.”

“Why did you do it, anyway?” Avoiding dark eyes now to finally begin the bandaging that should already be finished. “I know you know better.”

“You.”

The simple answer in that quiet voice is startling enough that she freezes for a moment before looking up, blinking in confusion.

“You were in danger. I had to protect you.” Unspoken was the part where Kirika would do so even at the cost of her own health or safety, and never think twice of it.

Feeling strangely flustered Mireille tries to focus on the arm in front of her. She isn’t sure of how to react, but after a moment angered offence is just easier to take than the all-encompassing confusion and almost adolescent shyness. She growls.

“Because I’m not a perfect killer like Chloe, is that it?” Her voice is brittle with resentment and anger, but most of all with the jealousy she carefully avoids acknowledging to herself. “I may not be versed in how to kill using random toys or tiny blades, but I am far from defenceless. I need no babysitter.”

“We are partners, equal partners.” Bitter words in some ways, as she in the beginning had thought herself the senior, more experienced and more skilled of the two of them. “Unless...” She hesitates, the words tasting like blood in her mouth. “You don’t feel you can trust your back to someone that doesn’t have that skill?”

It is the only way she can ask if Kirika would have preferred Chloe as her partner, and she hates the fact that she has given in to her insecurities and asked almost as much as she fears the answer.

“Chloe...” The quiet voice begins, contemplatively, as brown eyes no longer looks at Mireille but into the distance. That small but important change causes a painful pressure in the blonde’s chest even before Kirika speaks. “I... like Chloe.”

She cannot breathe. All the air has left the room in an instant.

“I would trust Chloe to have my back if we were in a fight.”

Images of just that, the two oh so very lethal girls fighting back-to-back in a crowd of assassins, dance on the inside of Mireille’s eyelids as she closes her eyes for the briefest of moments. Angrily she opens them again, forcing away the memories of that one important and painful moment where she had first realized that there was another that not only challenged her place at Kirika’s side, but perhaps was better suited for it than she could ever be. Kirika and Chloe had been flawless together. Perfect.

“I would kill for Chloe.” Kirika is rather matter of fact, and now her eyes focus back on Mireille’s with a different kind of intensity, a different kind of expression than usual. She smiles, that tiny, sweet and surprisingly innocent-looking smile of hers.

“I would, however, not die for Chloe.”

Dark eyes bore into Mireille’s, their meaning clear. She gasps.

“Oh.” She mutters quietly, feeling surprisingly shy and aware that she has started to blush rather badly. Of course. To people like them, to be willing to kill for someone wasn’t a particularly big deal, but to be willing to die for someone... that was far more significant.

Try though she does Mireille cannot keep herself from smiling slightly, a smile unusually bashful for her in fact, as she wraps up the bandaging with a far more gentle touch than before. As she finishes fastening the edges of it on Kirika’s upper arm, her gaze slides upward to find brown eyes staring unwaveringly back at her.

That is right. She ducks her head slightly to hide the smile until she can get it better under control. Kirika is always watching her.

Always, unwaveringly.

A gentle if not entirely intentional caress of the bandaged arm as she stands up, and Mireille meets Kirika’s gaze with an unusually warm and affectionate one of her own. She reaches out to briefly run her fingers through short dark hair. The younger girl does not protest the gesture, only smiles slightly and continues to meet Mireille’s eyes.

Yes, that is right. Kirika had been watching Mireille from the start and never once looked away.

With a little thrill in her heart it begins to dawn upon Mireille that somewhere along the line of their dark and blood-soaked acquaintance... she has started to look right back.

Silvana pt2 End

Noir-fanfic. And life goes on for the darkness and the untouchable one.
(Silvana/Chloe)

Read Silvana pt2 End

Disclaimers in part 1. Spoiler warning for much of the show and the ending in particular.





SILVANA pt2 End
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by Carola “Ryûchan” Eriksson






The children that, free from any restrictions of the adult world, would happily greet Silvana and show her their sweet and guileless faces as she watched them play took to Chloe with enthusiasm. All it took was a smile from the girl as she helped return a lost toy and the young children seemed to decide that she was one of their own, eagerly coming running after the both of them when they were out walking in the fields to play with Chloe.

It shocked her the first time she heard herself laugh at the children’s antics with Chloe, a sound so foreign to her life before that point that Silvana could not remember when last she had laughed. Chloe’s response, her bright smile and sun-flushed face sent something to flutter in Silvana’s chest, and she wondered if this was normal, what an ordinary woman might feel. After that day she would find many occasions to laugh, indeed it seemed as if her young companion deliberately set out to garner that response from her. Silvana soon found herself helpless to prevent the small smile that took up almost permanent residence on her lips in Chloe’s presence.

It was peaceful and sweet, and Silvana would have been perfectly content to allow those days to continue forever. Awareness of change intruded at quite an unexpected moment however.

She had watched the children at play in the fields, even laughed as Chloe chased the little ones around, tossing and twirling whatever squealing child she’d pretend to catch up to, and merely enjoyed the moment and the sunlight. With the children cheering her on Chloe had suddenly grabbed Silvana by the waist and twirled her through the air. Even though Silvana, ever before as untouchable as her name suggested, had gotten used to the casual, and perhaps even increasing, touch between them by now, this latest move had her too stunned to react any further than simply gripping onto Chloe’s arms. Something the children did jostled them, and down they tumbled into the grass, Silvana at the bottom of what quickly became a pile of squirming and laughing little bodies.

Chloe was directly above Silvana, protectively braced as if to prevent any climbing or jumping child from accidently hurting her. For some reason there was a pain in Silvana’s chest, and she felt herself tremble slightly and hold her breath as stared unblinkingly at the face so very close to her own. It crossed her mind in a strangely detached way that although she always likened the beauty she found in Chloe to that of the light and dark of the moonlit night, the girl always smelled of sunshine, grass, and for some reason apples. It was a warm, soothing scent, completely void of the acrid tang that always tainted a gun-wielder.

There was a strange expression on Chloe’s face which Silvana could not understand. Distracted by this she did not notice that her hands inched up towards Chloe’s shoulders, or how the distance between their faces shrank away. Their lips brushed just barely at first, the contact far too light to be considered a kiss, and then returned for a soft and gentle caress far more worthy of the name.

Then, as abruptly as it had been initiated, Chloe’s warm, sweet weight was gone and Silvana was left blinking into that endlessly blue sky. She found her feet and her self-control, aided by the loud but guileless laughter of children, hiding well the confusion she felt at what had just transpired. Confusion soon made place for charmed amusement when she caught sight of the persistent blush dusting pale cheeks even as Chloe used the children’s games to avoid meeting Silvana’s eyes.

The girl was adorably shy with her affection and Silvana decided not to make her any more uncomfortable than she had to be. After all, she knew Chloe’s story, she knew of the boundless devotion the girl had carried for so long, and the bitter, to say nothing of brutal, rejection that had followed. She was after all the one who had picked up Chloe’s broken form and nursed her back to health. In bits and pieces the story had all been told.

Chloe, tall and lanky and only recently filling out into a more adult form, with a beauty too subtle to see at first glance and her manners too innocent and direct, had gone up against Mireille Bouquet, the aristocratic and fashion-model beautiful Odette Bouquet’s equally striking daughter whom was world-wise and undoubtedly more experienced in matters of attraction, as rivals in love. Not that Silvana suspected that appearances or experience had mattered in the end, Chloe had never truly been in the running to begin with, despite the sincerity of her boundless love.

Rejected and robbed of not only the love she had carried since childhood but of her destiny, identity and only family as well in one fell swoop, Chloe had persisted with a dignity and resilience that Silvana doubted she could have matched in similar circumstances. Chloe accepted and moved on, slowly rebuilding herself and her life over time.

That affection had grown between them with the passage of time was not surprising, although it had indeed come as a surprise to Silvana, for they were kindred in so many things. Still, Silvana had barely begun to get accustomed to that affection and now it seemed as if their bond was already deepening, changing into something she was entirely unfamiliar with and woefully unprepared for. It was a sad truth to face that young Chloe, although rejected and now shy, had more experience in matters of the heart than she.

Time passed after their tumble in sunlit grass, and Silvana did not speak of what had transpired between them in effort of overcoming the awkwardness that initially set in once they were alone. Chloe soon relaxed again, and after a few days their interactions were for most part back to what had become usual for them. For most part.

If their eyes lingered a little longer on the other in ill-disguised secret, or if Chloe would blush and act bashfully where she previously had not, neither of them mentioned it out loud. Silvana was less successful in quieting her own mind, and in the days that followed she would find that Chloe dominated her every thought. Distracted and troubled by the direction of her thoughts, Silvana opted to remain behind when Chloe went for a particularly long run one evening in lieu of the sparring they usually engaged in.

Cool or lukewarm baths were things Silvana was long accustomed to, only upon occasion allowing herself the luxury of hot water. It was born from practicality, but for that particular evening the cool water felt like a blessing, soothing an increasingly feverish reaction in mind and body alike. She lay back in the large tub and watched clouds chase one another across the darkening sky through the window, her own thoughts keeping pace with them.

Chloe was young, so very young, and Silvana was not. It was surely both shameful and inappropriate to allow herself to harbour such thoughts and feelings for one so young, especially since life had more or less placed Chloe in Silvana’s care.

It was all well and good that Mireille Bouquet had taken a lover as young as Chloe, the daughter of Corsica was a fair bit younger than Silvana herself and besides which, the destiny of Noir had probably decided for them since birth, if not before. It did not quite apply to Silvana and Chloe.

Yes, Chloe was indeed young, but then again Silvana could not demean her by considering her a child either. The dark and blood-soaked life she had led was not that of a child, and what was more, the time spent in Sicily with Silvana meant that surely by now Chloe would be seen as an adult by whatever standard one would choose to measure. A young adult, certainly, but an adult nonetheless.

It was as she distractedly allowed herself to dwell on the many changes, inside and out, that Chloe had undergone during their time together, that it occurred to Silvana that she was giving serious consideration to taking Chloe as her lover.

The thought stilled all else, and for one long moment Silvana found herself staring up at the rise of an early moon. She could scarcely breathe.

Finally closing her eyes and shaking herself out of her absorbed stupor, Silvana sighed at her own folly. The water was beyond cold by now and so was she, having spent far too long in it even for her. She found her feet and rose slowly, feeling slightly unsteady, in the tub while casting her eyes about for the towel and robe she hoped she had managed to remember to bring even in her preoccupied state.

While she stood there with the water still running in rivulets down pale skin the door opened with a violent burst, startling her, and a worried Chloe came hurrying into the room with Silvana’s name on her lips.

Time froze for a moment, with Silvana naked and shocked that she had not heard the younger woman approach, much less call for her, and with Chloe locked in helpless staring, her narrow eyes gone alarmingly wide.

As finally she became aware of in just what manner Chloe was eyeing her naked body, a knowing smile made its way to Silvana’s lips quite unbidden. Chloe flinched at the reaction and, with an adorable blush on her face, closed her eyes to whip around and run from the room.

Instead she spun face first into the doorframe, the force of the impact bouncing her off to catch a glancing blow against the thick wooden door upon the back of her head, and finally deposit her in an ungainly and undignified heap on the stone floor just outside.

Silvana was out of the tub and at Chloe’s side, gently cradling the burgundy head to her still bare and wet chest, even before she realized what she had just witnessed. Chloe kept her eyes squeezed firmly shut in mortification as Silvana carefully probed the bleeding nose that had taken quite a bump in the spectacular turn of events. She, Silvana Greone, had just watched as one of death’s most powerful and graceful angels, the one that usually moved with the poise and surety of a large feline predator, had become as a fumbling adolescent boy... at the sight of her.

At the sight of Silvana.

Chloe had not behaved thus, never revealed even a trace of anything less than full mastery of her movements, in front of that dark-haired child. Not even when faced with the other girl’s nakedness had she stumbled, Silvana knew, her physical composure remaining perfect even though her emotional one had not been.

But for Silvana Chloe had bloodied her own nose and given herself a sizeable bump on the head, to say nothing of her loss of dignity. The smile that bloomed on Silvana’s lips at the realization was wider than any she had ever worn, and not at all mysterious.

Pleased, yes, perhaps even a little proud and smug, but overall just happy with Chloe, herself, and the world at large.

She did not stop smiling as she dotingly tended to the mortified and increasingly cranky young woman, making sure that nothing had permanently come to mar what she now considered to be the delicate beauty of Chloe’s face. The smile followed her to bed that night, still teasing the edges of her lips as she slept, and returned in force upon catching first glimpse of Chloe the next morning.

She had never really known much of happiness in her life, and certainly not like this. It was intoxicating.

It was during a mundane thing, simply the two of them preparing for a meal together, that true insight hit Silvana in full.

The decision had been made.

There was no point in debating the point further, or attempting to fight against it. All that was left was to embrace it fully, and perhaps, in their own special way, this too was destiny.

Their destiny.

And Silvana would dedicate her life to Chloe and Chloe’s happiness. It was something she would do gladly, and the one thing in this world she would do not for honour or duty, but for herself.

Chloe chose that moment to step up beside her, peering over Silvana’s shoulder to see what had caught the older woman’s attention so much that she had stopped chopping vegetables to simply stand there, staring. Silvana let the knife in her hand slip quietly down onto the chopping board.

As she turned towards Chloe Silvana was unaware of the almost fiercely tender and loving expression she wore, even as it stunned Chloe to immobility.

Then she had wrapped the slender young woman up in her arms and kissed her, giving in to her longing at long last.

She tasted the shock and hesitation along with the softness, and also, a small but amused part of Silvana added with glee, the little bits Chloe thought she had stolen in secret while they were preparing their food.

Finally Chloe responded, with fervour, and their kiss grew dizzying. Silvana embraced Chloe closer, more possessively, and the younger woman eagerly accommodated her. Neither knew how long they leaned against the cupboards, dinner preparations forgotten to wilt and desiccate behind them, before Silvana led her young lover to bed.

For the future there would of course be obstacles to face and hurdles to overcome, but some things would ever remain true; Silvana would love, honour and cherish Chloe for the rest of her days. Anything else would not have been in her nature. Chloe, finally free to love and be loved fully, would never have cause to think that anything else would ever be more important to Silvana... and so these two daughters of the moonlit night would live out their mostly peaceful, loving lives in the sunlight.

And Silvana would be untouchable no more.