Mireille Bouquet scanned the throng of welcomers at the arrival hall of Charles De Gaulle International Airport. The fact that her sharp sapphire eyes failed to detect the familiar black bob did little to allay her anxiety. Few things remained in life that could agitate Mireille; this homecoming was one of them. After all, it had been twelve months since she had last seen her partner. And now, she was nowhere to be seen.
A movement to her right caught her attention. A slender figure dressed in a white polo shirt and tan capris detached itself from the crowd. It wore a russet scarf as well, which would have been commonplace enough - except that the color of the fabric matched the color of the figure's eyes perfectly. At the exact moment that Mireille recognized the smiling burgundy orbs, the figure spoke:
"Welcome home, Mireyu."
~~~~~
"You...look different, Kirika."
They were speeding towards the French capital, Kirika weaving effortlessly through the Parisian traffic. What Mireille had intended to say was, You're different, Kirika, but had changed her words at the last instant.
The younger woman glanced quickly at the blonde. Mireille laughed reassuringly.
"I meant that in a good way. You look so...chic and grown up."
Kirika smiled. Pleasure and shyness commingled in the slight curve of her lips.
"You look good too, Mireyu." After a pause, the younger woman added. "But you've always looked good."
The verbal compliment surprised Mireille. Her partner had changed, in appearance as well as in attitude. The unruly locks Mireille had used to cut short herself had grown out to cascading waves. The russet eyes were narrower; the oriental cheekbones sharper; the lithe body an inch or two taller. And then there were all the signs of a budding confidence and individuality: the clothes, the car, even the compliments.
"When did you learn to drive?"
"A few months ago." This time, it was Kirika who anticipated Mireille's unspoken question. "It made it easier to find new places to sketch."
"So you've been driving all over France?"
Kirika nodded.
"What made you choose a BMW Mini Cooper Convertible though?"
Kirika blushed.
"I thought you would like it."
Mireille had to grin at the response. At least Kirika's endearing compulsion to pick things she thought Mireille would like hadn't changed. The color of the Mini Cooper even matched the bright yellow of Mireille's old scooter.
"I like it a lot."
Kirika smiled. They drove the rest of the way home in companionable silence.
~~~~~
"It feels wonderful to be back."
Mireille smiled as she padded around the apartment. Kirika had kept it exactly as it had been. Mireille paused at the window, stopping first to examine how much their plants had grown, and then drinking in the familiar sights beyond the sill. She didn't know how long she had stood there, when Kirika's voice interrupted her reverie.
"I drew a bath for you. It must have been a long and tiring flight."
Mireille smiled her thanks at the younger woman. It was something else that hadn't changed: Kirika's ability to anticipate her wants.
In the bath, Mireille found that Kirika had lain out all her favorite scents and unguents. As she sank into the water, she deliberately chose to ignore the tumult that had sprung in her heart and in her head upon seeing her partner again. It seemed safer to reflect instead on the somewhat dizzy combination of changes and constants that confronted her with the current Kirika. The younger woman was still quiet, still reserved, and obviously still cared for Mireille greatly, but the old docility and submissiveness seemed to have gone. In a way, Mireille reflected, it was as if Kirika had moved from the world of shadows to the world of substance. It was a good sign in the sense that it showed how far Kirika had gone from the tortured amnesiac Mireille had first met. It was a bad sign in the sense that Mireille suddenly didn't know how to navigate the waters between them. Well, Mireille thought with an air of resignation, at the end of the day, it simply meant that they had to start from scratch all over again.
~~~~~
Feeling infinitely better after her long soak, Mireille left the bathroom to dry herself in the bedroom. Out of habit, she had walked out naked, absently rubbing her hair with the towel.
Which is how Kirika found her when the Japanese girl entered the bedroom.
"Mireyu, I -"
Kirika blushed at the sight of the naked form and quickly averted her eyes. But Mireille had caught the younger woman's entranced gaze before she had torn it away.
"I'm sorry, Mireyu. I thought you had dressed."
"It's not your fault," Mireille responded with a hint of embarrassment. "I shouldn't have walked out naked."
Kirika nodded, though she had already turned away. "I'll wait for you in the kitchen."
It was only after the younger woman had left that Mireille became aware of the pounding in her chest. It had been a mere instant, but she had seen the liquid desire in Kirika's eyes - and had been aroused by it. She sank, trembling, into the bed, her hard-won equilibrium gone. Mireille sighed. It was as if the last twelve months had never happened. It was as if she'd never fled France at all.