End Is Beginning

Noir fanfiction by LeeT911

Kirika watched the droplet of water bead on the tip of the faucet. The world around her swam in and out of focus, but that drop of water stayed crystal clear. Leaky faucet. But you didn't expect much else from a cheap motel, not the kind where you paid cash and they didn't ask questions.

That drop was going to fall soon, all the way down, until it hit the curved basin of the sink and sent that dripping sound reverberating through the air. Except no one was going to hear it, because Mireille was being much too noisy in the next room.

She had a good reason for it though. After all, Kirika was sitting on the toilet, propped up against the sink, bleeding freely onto the tiled floor. It hurt. A lot. Gunshot wounds tended to do that. Kirika wasn't new to them, but that didn't diminish the pain. She'd never been injured quite this seriously. At least, she didn't think so. The pain was making it hard for her to think clearly. She wanted very much to clutch her stomach, but moving her arms just brought more pain, and she knew that touching her wound wouldn't do any good. So she sat there, opening and closing her jaw unthinkingly, as though it would keep the agony away.

As the drop started its fall, her vision cleared momentarily, and she watched the delicate bead of water slide down the drain. Then the bathroom blurred out again as the next drop started forming. She never got to see that one, the pain forcing her eyes closed.

When they opened again, they were met by Mireille's concerned blue orbs. Mireille... She was so beautiful... Even with the bandages, the sweat-matted hair, and the streaks of grime across her face.

"Still awake?" The blonde asked, a fleeting smile gracing her face just long enough to make it seem strained. Arrayed on the sink were all the medical supplies Mireille had rushed out to buy at the nearby pharmacy.

Kirika tried to nod, but the room spun around her head, and she had to blink several times before it would stay still.

Mireille ignored her silence. "These might help the pain." She said, placing some powdery tablets in the younger girl's mouth.

Without waiting for water, Kirika crunched down on the pills, the startling bitterness temporarily jolting her consciousness. Mireille must have noticed her sudden awareness, because she stopped whatever she was doing in order to talk to her partner. "I need to get the bullet out and stop the bleeding, okay? So this is going to be a little difficult, but I need you stay awake okay? You..." Kirika lost the rest as the world receded once more into the background. However, just as the pain was becoming more distant, cold air assaulted her from all directions. Her clothes had been cut away.

She felt sandpaper brush across her side and over her wound. It was agonizing. She looked down to see it was only a gauze pad wiping away the blood. So much blood... And yet it didn't scare her. She hardly registered the fact that all that red fluid was hers. Besides, she'd seen plenty of blood in her days, however few they might be.

Mireille's voice interrupted again. "Does that hurt?"

"No." Kirika managed to mumble, lying through the seething haze of pain.

Reassured, the blonde proceeded to pour alcohol over the wound before starting the serious work.

Kirika screamed into the unforgiving night.

She woke with a start, shivering coldly despite being bathed in sweat. She wanted to kick away the sheets covering her, but her entire body felt numb and chilled to the bone. Her eyes opened, only to find that they were unseeing, as though a curtain had been pulled over them. She wanted to speak, but when her mouth opened, no sound ensued.

Am I dead?

The veil over her eyes disappeared suddenly, replaced with blinding light and fuzzy moving images. The sound of water reached her ears, and she gradually became aware of how terribly dry her throat was. She felt weak all over. She didn't think she would be able to reach the water that sounded so close.

Is this Hell?

A large object moved into her field view, temporarily blocking out the stinging light. Fine, cobweb-like strands brushed over her face, but she couldn't see what they were, her vision unable to pick up details. She desperately wanted to say something, anything, but her lips managed only a slight quivering. Two azure pools suddenly appeared in the shape above, drawing her attention. Below them, something moved, and although she couldn't quite tell what, the voice gave it away.

"Kirika."

Mireille!

The shout echoed in her head only. The blurry shape above her made no indication of having heard anything at all. The voice continued.

"Kirika, if you're awake, you should try to take this."

Something liquid was poured into her mouth, bitter and sickly sweet at the same time. Her parched throat clammed up, causing her to gag convulsively and initiate a coughing fit. It was then that she realized even the tiniest of motions caused an incredible pain to shoot up her side, pain that only further distorted her warped vision.

When she finally settled, the pain was still there, a constant throbbing in her abdomen. She felt gentle hands on her face, wiping away the medicine she had coughed up. The next thing placed to her lips was clean clear water, and she drank deeply, soothing both her throat and her stomach.

She was exhausted all of a sudden, her muscles filled with weariness. The light above burned into her eyes, intensifying the ever-present aches. Her eyelids drifted closed.

"It's okay if you're tired. Sleep."

She felt the damp cloth being replaced on her forehead, the cool water quenching the fire burning under her skin.

Yes. Sleep...

Kirika stirred again later that night. Or perhaps it was the night of the day after, she had no way of telling. She woke gradually at first, the world around her blending into a solid white haze. But as soon as she realized she was still alive, her instincts took over, brutally snapping her awake and making her minutely aware of every detail. There was no time to revel in the simple bliss of sleep. Such was the curse of her destiny. Every night was tense, filled with possible threats. Every awakening brought with it the uncertainty of danger. For an assassin, there were no peaceful nights, no pleasant dreams. Except perhaps in death.

She was lying in bed, staring up at the unbroken ceiling of the same motel room. It was hot now, instead of cold, despite the fact that she felt naked underneath the sheets, save for something wrapped tightly around her waist. She could see clearly again. The moon shone brightly in the sky beyond the window. Off to her right, the bathroom light was on, illuminating the slick blood still adorning the floor. She could see a bloodied cloth floating in the bowl of water placed beside the bed.

With a considerable amount of effort, she turned her neck to the other side, finding Mireille propped up against the headboard of the double bed. The blonde was asleep, Kirika's left hand clutched firmly in her lap. She wore the same dirty clothes Kirika had last seen her in, covered in dust and blood. Her own wounds looked unattended to, the makeshift bandages covering them soaked through with blood and other fluids. Kirika wanted very much to help her, to talk to her, but Mireille seemed so thoroughly worn out that she couldn't bring herself to disturb the blonde.

Instead, Kirika closed her eyes once more, relishing the feel of Mireille's soft skin against her own.

The dawn drew Kirika from her rest, calling an urgent need to her attention. Without thinking, she withdrew her hand from Mireille and tried to sit up.

Pain flared immediately, wracking her body and forcing her back down to the bed. Her abdominal muscles tightened in reflex, only making the pain worse. She managed not to scream, though a tense exhalation whistled through her lips.

Instantly, Mireille was hovering over her, holding her, soothing her. "You shouldn't move."

Kirika found her voice this time. "I need to go to the bathroom."

Carefully, Mireille draped her partner's arm over her shoulder and slid off the bed. They made their way to the bathroom slowly, Kirika wincing at every step. At first, she was all too aware of her nudity, of how close she was to Mireille, but soon, the ordeal of simply making the short trip overshadowed her modesty.

They paused in the doorway, Kirika leaning against the doorframe while she gathered her strength. The bathroom was a mess, dried pools of blood on the floor and red handprints on the walls. Tweezers and needle still lay on the sink, bloody and unwashed. Used towels and bandages, as well as Kirika's ripped clothes, had been haphazardly dumped into the bathtub. The smell of death made both their noses crinkle.

"Watch out, it's slippery." Mireille warned. "I didn't have time to clean yet."

Another minute, and Kirika was safely settled onto the toilet. Mireille backed out, lightly closing the door behind her. "Call me when you-"

"Mireille?" Kirika interrupted, causing the blonde to poke her head back into the bathroom.

"What is it?"

"Was I dying?"

"Don't be silly." Mireille retorted, turning away to hide her haggard features.

The dark-haired girl surveyed the carnage around her once more. "I'm sorry." She whispered.

No reply.

"I promised to make you tea."

The blonde only shook her head, retreated back into the main room. "Call me when you're done. I'll help you back to the bed."

Later that day, Kirika lay in bed, listening to the sounds of Mireille scrubbing the bathroom floor. It was slow work, the blood crusted and dried, having been there for more than a day.

The blonde had gone out earlier, to buy food and cleaning products, as well as new clothes for the both of them. The new outfits fit them reasonably well, despite being somewhat plain and "tasteless", as Mireille called them. Still, considering the time she usually spent shopping for clothes, the speed at which Mireille had acquired these items was no less than miraculous. Kirika assumed it had something to do with the fact that she was lying injured in a motel.

Now that she was conscious again, she didn't like being alone. Somehow, part of her still believed Mireille would leave her behind. The feverish delusions brought on by her injury had melded with her memories, and she was no longer sure of what to believe. Some things remained concrete, but most of it was disjointed images of scenes she could no longer recall. And although she wanted very much to ask Mireille about what had happened, the blonde seemed busy, and Kirika was scared.

She lay there, comfortable in her new clothes, staring at the ceiling and trying to remember the feel of Mireille's hands on her skin, wrapping her wounds, dressing her. She wished the blonde would attend to herself, get cleaned up, take a shower maybe. Mireille certainly looked like she needed it.

Kirika wasn't about to tell her partner what to do though. When Mireille had the time, she would undoubtedly get around to taking care of herself. Still, Kirika hated feeling as though she were more important, just because she was hurt more gravely. The blonde needed just as much rest after such trying times. Kirika sighed. She wished she could say something, but though her voice had returned with her wits, her courage had not.

"What is it?" Mireille stood in the doorway, yellow rubber gloves on her hands.

The younger girl raised her head to eye her partner, ignoring the pain that came with tightening her back muscles. "You should take a break."

It was Mireille's turn to sigh. "As soon as I finish with this."

Kirika let her head drop back to the pillow, not knowing what else to say, and hating herself for it.

Much later, Mireille emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered and clad in an oversized t-shirt. She meandered over to the bed and collapsed on top of it. "I hope your not hungry, because I just want to sleep right now."

"I'm not." Kirika said, even though she was, just a bit, but it could wait until next morning.

"Good." The blonde flicked off the light, closing her eyes before her head even touched the pillow.

"Mireille?"

"Hmm?" Those blue eyes didn't even flutter.

Kirika's mouth opened halfway, the question forming in her throat, but not yet voiced. It was just that the time never seemed right, that she could never ask what she desperately needed to know. She let out her breath slowly. It could wait. Mireille seemed so utterly drained.

Biting back the pain, Kirika reached out with one timid hand and smoothed away the long blonde hair. "Sleep well."

Despite her weakened state of health, Kirika was once again the first to wake. Her muscles were stiff from constantly lying in the same position, but she was powerless to change that. She could not sleep on anything but her back, and sitting up required using torn muscles. Her stomach growled indignantly, but she didn't think that was enough of a reason to wake Mireille.

She turned her attention to her partner, watched the morning light wash gently over Mireille's sleeping form. Kirika stared for many minutes, counting the rhythmic breaths. It wasn't a first for her, watching Mireille sleep, but this time, it struck her how vulnerable Mireille looked. All those other times, Mireille had seemed... ready, somehow. She had seemed alert, even in her slumber, coiled, as though the slightest disturbance could make her spring into action.

It wasn't like that now.

The blonde hadn't moved since last night. She was still curled up into a ball, hugging the pillow to herself. She seemed completely and utterly exhausted. It was unlikely Mireille had slept very much during the last few days.

Careful not to disturb her wound, Kirika pulled the sheets up around her partner's shoulders. Unconsciously, her fingers brushed back the long blonde hair, clearing it away from Mireille's face. For a moment, she lost herself in the task, and she watched almost reverently as Mireille snuggled deeper into the bed, slowly letting out her breath. But just as quickly, the blonde resumed her deep even breathing, and Kirika pulled her hands away guiltily.

She wished she could get up, but she wasn't sure her torn muscles would allow it. Instead, she reached for the phone next to the bed and the phone book placed conveniently below it.

Mireille slept on, and Kirika began looking for a restaurant that would deliver breakfast.

Mireille was awake when the knock sounded at the door, although she hadn't yet summoned up the strength to get out of bed. Warily, one eye creaked open as her right hand groped for the pistol in her purse. She paused as her eyes met with Kirika's, lying inches from her own.

"I ordered breakfast."

Stifling a yawn, the blonde rolled out of bed and grabbed her purse, replacing her weapon but leaving her hand on it as she made for the door.

When she returned, she carried a smile on her sleepy face and a paper bag under her arm. "It smells wonderful. What did you order?"

"I wanted pancakes."

Mireille's smile grew even bigger. "Did I get pancakes too?"

"Umm... We can share..."

The endearing laugh at that comment only made Kirika redden. Part of her wondered why Mireille had suddenly become so playful, but she found the change refreshing compared to yesterday's morbidity. She even managed a small smile despite her embarrassment.

"So what am I having?" The blonde inquired as she sat next to Kirika and helped the younger girl sit up.

"Croissants?"

"Sounds good."

"And tea for the both of us." Kirika added cautiously.

Mireille paused to consider her. For the briefest moment, a whirlwind of emotions danced through blue eyes, but when they looked up at Kirika again, they were certain once more. "Thank you." She said simply.

"I'll still make you tea when we get back. I promise."

Mireille didn't answer. She only nodded, and proceeded to take the food out of its bag. Kirika cursed herself for dampening the mood.

They ate in silence.

Kirika dropped the magazine she held over her head and glanced towards the window, where her partner sat with her own magazine. She didn't understand how the blonde could actually enjoy reading these things. It wasn't as if Mireille needed the make-up tips and whatnot.

Sighing, Kirika pushed the magazine off the bed. She wondered what Mireille was thinking of. She wondered if Mireille was really reading or if she was just as preoccupied with more immediate concerns, just as Kirika herself was. Breakfast had been several hours ago. The forced immobility was making her cranky. There was a big difference between thinking on your own time and being forced to do so out of boredom.

She took a deep breath and gathered her courage, something she had never found herself to be lacking before. "Mireille?"

"What is it?"

"What happens now?"

There was a rustle as Mireille closed the magazine and glanced over to where Kirika lay prone on the bed. "What do you mean?"

"Are we going home?"

The bed creaked as it shifted to accommodate Mireille's weight. "As soon as you get better."

All of a sudden, Kirika was keenly aware of the body beside her. The hairs on her bare arm fluttered upright at the sensation of nearby warmth. She resisted the urge to turn towards it, and her voice barely came out in a whisper. "Can I still stay with you?"

Mireille watched Kirika's quivering lip come to a stop as the younger girl unconsciously held her breath. She could see the tenseness in her partner. It was obvious how much this meant to Kirika. Gingerly, the blonde reached out and placed her hands on the taut shoulders. "Of course."

A single tear squeezed its way out of Kirika's still closed eyes as she abruptly resumed breathing. She felt gentle fingers brush across her shoulders and trail down to her bandaged waist.

"What's wrong? Does it hurt?"

The dark-haired girl made no effort to look up. Instead, she turned her head away from the voice, wincing in pain. "Why do you care?"

Carefully, Mireille slipped her arms around Kirika's neck and lay down next to her. "I don't know." She whispered quietly. Ever so lightly, she touched her lips to a smooth cheek, catching the lone tear before it traveled any further.

Kirika's breath hitched as she felt the contact, and her eyes flew open. Soft blue orbs regarded her calmly. Slowly, she raised her fingers to touch the face hovering overhead. "What are we going to do now?"

"Whatever you want, Kirika. Whatever you want."

It warmed her incredibly, that Mireille was willing to have her, willing to indulge her. It struck her then, that it didn't really matter why Mireille cared. Just the fact that she did was enough. And if that never changed, it would be absolutely perfect.

END