Perfect. Standing ankle-deep in the springy grass of the canal bank, Kirika glanced at the area around her and smiled slightly, pleased. Warm, early-morning sun fell all around, gleaming along the shimmering blue waters and dancing along the greenery underfoot; the sky was perfectly clear, hardly more than a few cottony, puffball clouds floating lazily overhead. Aside from a few people lounging and walking along behind her, this side of the canal was almost empty. On the other side, a boutique mall would provide people for watching and drawing. It was an excellent place to do some impromptu sketches. Only for a few hours, though. Mirelle's plane was due at the airport in the early evening, and it would take her about forty-five minutes to get home after that. Kirika had figured it out in detail to make sure her plans for the night went right. She'd checked and double-checked each recipe in her menu, cleaned the apartment – not that there was much to clean, really – and written up a list of everything she could possibly need. After a little bit of relaxing time, she would make the rounds of the grocery stores, then head home and whip up the welcome-home dinner. She'd already baked the pies yesterday. Of course, she'd also seen Alexander Hollinder yesterday. Her petite face took on a thoughtful cast. She had stopped at the new art store to get a few extra supplies, and he'd been inside, chatting with one of the male employees. It had felt – odd, to see him. As if she were breaking some sort of unwritten rule. She'd made sure he hadn't seen her, paying for her things quickly while he was distracted with his conversation, but it had made her feel almost guilty. It wasn't his fault she couldn't get close to anyone. Besides, Kirika reminded herself, he has a girlfriend, that 'Lisa' from the day before. All he was doing was making polite conversation with another artist who was nice enough to give him his drawing back, and she was irritated. He probably wouldn't want to talk with me again. Not that she minded, really. It would have just been nice, having someone she could talk to, especially about things Mirelle wouldn't understand. Settling herself in the grass, Kirika opened her backpack and removed one of her newer sketchbooks, propping it on her knees and setting her small bag of pencils beside her. The backpack itself flopped over just a bit, contents fanning slightly out the opening, but that was alright. She knew she could stick everything back inside quick enough if it came to that. Leaning back against a good-sized rock, she brushed her bangs from her eyes, the corners of her lips curving up in a faint smile. So, who should I sketch first? -------- "Kirika!" The pencil in Kirika's hand twitched slightly, leaving a hardly noticeable squiggle in the dusty red outline of a building that rose half-finished from the paper on her lap. Instinctively, she dropped the drawing tool, her other hand moving behind her toward the Beretta tucked at the small of her back. A half-second later, though, she was startled to recognize the male voice. "Alexander?" "Sorry." A shadow fell across the grass as the young man came up beside her, hands stuffed in the pockets of his oversized sweatshirt and a cheerful, faintly sheepish grin on his face. "I didn't mean to scare you. I was just surprised – I saw you at the store yesterday, but by the time I finished talking with Luke, you were gone. Mind if I sit down?" Kirika shook her head mutely, too surprised to refuse, and Alex sat down in the grass on the opposite side as her backpack, long legs sprawling a bit atop the delicate blades. "I didn't want to miss you again." He grinned at her in a friendly, innocent sort of way. "That picture turned out so much better with the pencils you picked. I'd show you, but I didn't bring it with me." "That's alright." Kirika ducked her head, smiling back just slightly in spite of herself. Truth be told, Alexander reminded her more than a little of Milosh, but in a good way. The young artist was like a happy puppy, amusing and playful without any predatory instincts just yet. Still, she had to ask. "Was your girlfriend irritated with you?" "Girlfriend?" When she looked up, Alex was gaping at her, eyes wide and stunned. After a few seconds, he appeared to understand, bursting into laughter. "You mean Lisa? She's not my girlfriend, Kirika – she's my cousin." Cousin? Kirika immediately felt like an idiot. Alexander grinned, patting her elbow – and apparently missing the flash of discomfort on her face at the contact. "She and my Aunt moved to England a few years back, but we grew up together, and they visit three or four times a year. I forget how impatient she can be sometimes." He shook his head. "No wonder you didn't stop to talk yesterday. If I had that scowl pointed at me, I'd be scared, too." So that was what he thought, that she'd avoided him to keep from angering his cousin. Well, it was as good an explanation as any, really. Though why he really cared was a mystery to the Japanese assassin. Still, the idea that someone besides Mirelle did care made her feel oddly bold, stronger and more confident than usual. A sparrow winged its way gracefully down to the grass in front of them, hopping slightly on its two thin legs as it searched for seeds and bugs in the dirt. Caught by the image, Kirika smiled faintly, flipping to a clean page in her sketchbook. "So – so what brought you here?" She asked, voice quiet and shy. "It's my favorite place to sketch." The young man admitted, arms folded casually. "Actually, sketch and people-watch. It's a hobby of mine, especially in the morning." He grinned, leaning back against the boulder. "So what about you?" "Just some new sketches." Kirika blushed slightly, motioning toward her backpack and the opposite bank with her free hand. Her right hand, now holding a deep brown pencil, was busy sketching out the rounded outlines of the sparrow's sleek, feathered body. "I was looking for someplace different today." "Really? Can I see?" Alex looked avidly at the fan of sketchpads spread on her other side, one eyebrow raised. Kirika hesitated for a moment. It couldn't hurt to let him see her art. There was nothing really he could learn about her from it, anyway. Slowly, she nodded. With a gleeful grin, her fellow artist snagged the top book and set it in his own lap, carefully opening the pages. "Wow – this is incredible. Did you use paint here on this shadow, or regular ink? You're kidding, a calligraphy brush? I'd never think of that. Have you ever tried eraser smudging?" The conversation took off swiftly from there. Alexander was surprisingly knowledgeable about different techniques, and he seemed interested and impressed by Kirika's various dabbles. Even better, he didn't ask anything about her personally, although he did volunteer some bits and pieces of information on his own life. The sun rose high, burning off the faint chill that still clung to the pavement below; people arrived, shopped, and left while the two of them chatted, pausing occasionally to sketch something that caught their eye. By the time Kirika glanced away again, she was startled to realize it was half-past noon. Her face filled with dismay. "Oh no!" "What's wrong?" Alex frowned, one of her sketchbooks still balanced and open on his knees as he compared one of her techniques to his own attempt. Kirika snapped the pad in her hand shut, hurrying to gather up her supplies. "My par – " She managed to catch herself before finishing that sentence awkwardly, thank goodness. "My best friend, my roommate. She's coming back today from a business trip, and I'm making a special dinner." "And I made you late for it." Looking instantly apologetic, the young man closed her book and dropped it into the open pouch of her backpack, hopping to his feet. One hand brushed absently at the back of his jeans to clear away any dirt. "I'm sorry, Kirika." Suddenly he brightened. "I know! Have you ever ridden on a moped?" "Once or twice." Kirika replied absently, tugging the zippers shut. Mirelle did have a scooter, and they'd used it a few times, although not recently. Alexander grinned, motioning for her to follow him. "Come on, then! I have a spare helmet for Lisa, and she's about your size. We can hit the store and get you home in time to spare!" Kirika paused for a few seconds, staring at the young man's lean back as he strode toward the street. Trained assassin instinct warred with her sharp desire to make things perfect for Mirelle's homecoming. It was absolutely stupid – but would it be more foolish to refuse at this point? Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she hurried after him, steps light and swift. This really would help, and it was nice of him to offer. "Thank you, Alex." "No problem." He smiled over his shoulder as they reached a gleaming, deep blue two-wheeler parked near the curb. The expression was almost shy. "It's my fault anyway. But it's really sweet of you to make a special dinner for her." Now Kirika smiled, a soft, gentle tugging of her lips while she pulled on the dark helmet. "Not really." "She's special, too." --------- Thank god that's over. Mirelle paused as she stepped from the air-conditioned lobby and into the bright early-evening sun, tilting her head back to feel the gentle caress of warmth against her face. Around her, straggling travelers trickled past, clutching at their tote bags, suitcases, backpacks and rolling luggage like anchors to the worlds they left behind; some headed inside, ready for parts unknown, while others were moving back out into the busy chaos of the Parisian streets. Mirelle could have cared less. She was home, back where she belonged. Never again would she take a job like this last one. It wasn't necessarily that the hit itself had gone wrong. On the contrary, the idiots at the 'retreat' had been hardly any more challenge than children. She'd known it was going to be a piece of cake when she'd been able to pass off her bruised arm as the result of a mugging by a black assailant in the city. After that, it had been a simple matter of gaining the target's trust, getting him to a place on his own, and finishing him off. The whole operation hadn't taken more than three days, all told. No, the problem hadn't been anything logistical, but strangely personal. Kirika had been on her mind constantly ever since she'd left the apartment. In the taxi, on the plane, at the retreat information seminar, and especially in her room at night, flashes of her dark-haired shadow had flitted through her thoughts. She'd wondered what her partner was doing, whether she was alright, whether Soldats had kept their word and left her alone. Whether Kirika was missing her as much as she missed the little Japanese. Sleeping had been an almost painful chore. The bed seemed somehow too large, even though she knew it was smaller than the one she shared with Kirika; the sheets had been too cold, rough and empty without the usual lean warmth curled safe on the mattress next to her. The first morning, she'd woken with her eyes aching and gritty, body curled tight around one of the pillows and hugging it to her chest. Mirelle shifted uncomfortably, remembering the faint damp patch beneath her cheek, the lingering taste of saltwater on her lips. She'd managed to pass off the redness with jet lag, but it had been slightly unnerving to think she had been crying in her sleep. It was as if her professional cool had been cut in half without her partner at her side. And the second night? A faint blush blossomed on her pale cheeks. Although she didn't remember much of her dreams, she knew Kirika had been in them. The scattered fragments she did recall, though, were definitely not normal. Hot, panting breath spilling across her neck, well-clipped nails scratching sharply down her bare back, the warm weight of a slender, familiar body lying over hers, pressing against hers. Her own hands sliding across smooth, golden-tan skin, fingers tangled in that thick, silky mane – the close, dizzying scent of her partner filling her nose, that heady mix of fresh tea and smoky-sweet jasmine that would always mean Kirika in her heart. A flash of that delicate face and those rust-colored eyes, vivid and filled with dark light, looking down at her in a way she'd never seen before . . . she had awakened with a start that morning, breathing hard, her entire body flushed and aching. Then the stark, painful emptiness of the room had almost been enough to drive her mad. Shaking herself in the present, Mirelle twitched the strap of her carry-on bag on her shoulder, regaining her wavering poise. The jump in time zones and altitudes must have messed with her head more than she realized, that was all. It was something to note for later jobs, in case they ever went somewhere similar again. But she was finished with it for now. All she needed was to hail a cab, and she'd finally be back where she belonged. "Pleased to be home, Miss Bouquet?" She knew that voice. Male, slightly older, with a refined elegance regardless of which language it spoke. Her mind automatically readied her body for a fight, reminding herself that there were a few potential witnesses still close by and that her Walter was tucked in the holster at the small of her back. Thank goodness she'd taken care of that in the airport bathroom, the minute she'd passed through the security checkpoints. Glancing to one side, she raised an elegant, nonchalant eyebrow. "Not that it's any of your business, Mr. Breffort, but yes. Going somewhere?" Far, far away, hung the unspoken implication. "Actually, I came to meet you, my dear." The silver-haired gentleman stood calmly a few feet away, hands resting on the head of his ornate cane. Remy Breffort looked immaculate and professional, just as he had the last two times they'd met; a dark blue business suit, white dress shirt, black tie and well-kept black shoes. The eyes that seemed to echo the faint smile on his lips were blue as well, their shrewd intellect overlaid with a deceptive serenity. He actually looked pleased to see her, as amazingly strange as that seemed. "I thought perhaps you might like a ride back to your apartment." "Really." Mirelle managed not to snort in sarcasm, but it was a very near thing. A young man – hardly more than twenty-five – stood to one side of Breffort and a couple steps behind, dressed like any other businessman. The gun under his suit jacket was hardly noticeable, and he carried it with an air of someone accustomed to its weight. On the other hand, he didn't seem to be paying as much attention to her as to their surroundings, and he stood far enough back that she could have drawn, hit Breffort and still gotten out of the crossfire range before he could get his weapon free. Not a bodyguard, then, unless he was a very inept one. An assistant, perhaps. Did Soldats give their Council members personal assistants? "I would have assumed you were a busy man." "Ah." Breffort waved his hand negligently, dismissing her half-scornful claim with an air of amusement. "I can't deny my business takes up quite a bit of time, but something such as this, I can make all the time in the world." His mouth twitched, the ghost of an almost impudent grin given the circumstances. "Have you any other objections, lady Mirelle?" Mirelle couldn't help it – she was tired, achy, irritated, and more than ready to be home with her Kirika. Arms folded, she turned and faced Breffort directly, using a glare she knew could put terror in the hearts of most people. "How about the fact that I just don't like you?" The young man behind Breffort took a step backward, eyes wide in fear . . . but the Soldats' High Councilman simply laughed, face lighting up as if she'd said something amazingly funny. "Oh, my dear, leave it to you to be so refreshingly frank." He smiled, holding up a hand. "Although considering the circumstances of our last two meetings, I can certainly understand. If I were in your place, I would very likely feel the same. Assuming I had survived, which is rather unlikely." The grin faded, eyes calm and direct as they focused on her face. "But I would like to speak with you, and I would like to help you get home. Although I have no right, I would ask that you allow me this privilege." For the first time, Mirelle hesitated. If it had been any other Soldat, she would have told him to get lost in no uncertain terms, and probably threatened him besides. But strangely, there was something about Breffort that gave her pause. Perhaps because he had told her about the Manor, given her the directions to save the one thing that mattered in her life. Or perhaps it was because of something in his eyes, the faint spark that seemed almost like caring. Could one of these beasts, who had so horribly destroyed their lives time and time again, be able to care? She didn't want to believe it. Still, he didn't seem to have any reason to lie. Slowly, she nodded. "Fine." Her voice came out laden with sarcasm as she flipped her hair back over one shoulder. "I suppose you know the way?" Breffort nodded in return, ignoring the faint squeak that came from his young companion. "Indeed." Turning, he led the way to a black limo parked a few dozen feet back at the curb, windows just slightly tinted. The armed 'businessman' hurried past them to open the back door, looking rather rattled. Breffort smiled genially, motioning toward him. "I almost forgot to introduce my assistant, Duncan Anderson. Say hello, Duncan." The young man blinked nervously, and Mirelle tried not to laugh as his eyes darted from his employer to her. Poor boy, she'd obviously scared him. Still, his tenor voice was admirably steady, if not entirely sincere. "It's nice to meet you, m'am." She nodded, unable to keep the faint grin from twitching at the corners of her mouth. Breffort glanced over his shoulder, and she realized he was smiling, too. Damnit, she hadn't meant for him to find her amusing. Brushing by the older man with a silent snarl, she stepped boldly into the gorgeous leather-upholstered interior, ignoring a soft snort of laughter from the High Councilman. Breffort climbed calmly in after her, settling comfortably on the deep brown bench-seat, left leg slightly stretched out to ease the ache in his sore knee. Mirelle knew it was the reason he carried a cane, knew he limped ever so faintly without support, though she hadn't managed to find a corresponding injury in any of her intel. Anderson followed, shutting the door with one hand. And sitting next to his master like a good dog. The blonde Corsican was surprised to notice the snide thought was just slightly less sarcastic than usual. Her mental revelation was startling; could she actually be feeling soft for these two? In a blink, her eyes had gone steely and cold, and she leaned back against the seat, crossing her legs as she waited. "So, now that the niceties are out of the way, what do you really want, Mr. Breffort?" Anderson twitched a bit, no doubt insulted on the Councilman's behalf, but Breffort simply smiled, his own eyes faintly regretful. "I suppose it was foolish to hope you accepted my plain answers." He sighed. Around them, the limo started up, merging into the steady stream of airport traffic as they headed for the apartment. "Would it bother you if I admitted that I wanted to make sure the two of you were well-healed?" The two of us – Mirelle's heart tightened with a momentary flash of fear for Kirika. If these bastards had laid a hand on her partner, they were going to pay dearly . . . strangely, though, there was no veiled threat in his tone, nothing more than a deep, carefully hidden flicker of concern. It was a bit disconcerting from someone she was used to considering solely as an enemy. "Maybe." The blonde met his gaze with her own, answering honestly for a change. "We're fine, though." Honest didn't necessarily mean detailed. Breffort's smile returned, quiet and gentle. "I'm glad to hear that." He replied warmly. "I was a bit worried, considering," a pause, "the last time I saw you myself." Mirelle could well imagine. The last time he'd seen them with his own eyes, they'd been limping out of the Manor, having just defeated Altena and survived the final 'trial' of Noir. Kirika's gunshot wound had been bleeding freely, her own wounds were either red and inflamed or hastily bandaged, both of them spattered with blood and grime, tear tracks down their faces; they'd been a right bloody mess, the pair of them. One corner of her mouth curled up in an amused smirk. "Looks can be deceiving." The elder High Councilman tipped his head back and laughed, the sound rich and somehow comforting. "That they can." He agreed. Anderson was staring back and forth between the two of them, obviously more than a little confused. Both assassin and Soldat ignored him, Breffort leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "I was also – pleased, to find out the two of you were staying together." "Oh?" Mirelle raised an eyebrow, unable to think of an adequately snide reply for that comment. Breffort nodded. "Presumptuous though it was, I worried about you and young Miss Yuumura." He tilted his head to one side. "Emotions can be – more chaotic and frightening than physical danger, sometimes. And leave worse scars." A faint thread of unease started tickling Mirelle's spine, though it had nothing to do with any physical threat. "She's my partner." Her voice came out slightly clipped, and she cursed herself for it. "I would never just leave her to fend for herself. We're not like you people." "Ah." Breffort didn't smile, but something in his eyes said he wanted to, as annoying as that was. One elegant silver eyebrow rose in return. "Then the two of you – " "Are partners, family." Unbidden, her dreams from the night before flashed in her head, echoed with a memory of that strange moment three days before. The blond Corsican throttled down a sudden strange blush, keeping her expression composed with effort. "Nothing else." Breffort nodded, face warm and serious without a trace of smirk. Mirelle was glad; if he had smiled, she might have had to hurt him. Instead, his voice was neutral, no inflection at all. "Very well. As long as the two of you are happy, I'm very pleased." Mirelle paused, then nodded in return. Somehow, she believed the comment, inane as that might have been. For a few minutes, they rode in silence, an odd quiet that was both comfortable and faintly tense with things unsaid. Outside, the busy traffic gave way to tree-lined streets of tall apartment houses, glowing golden-red in the setting sun. Almost home – the thought made her heart jump, warmth touching her eyes for no more than a moment. Home, with her Kirika. Breffort folded his hands across his knees, still leaning forward, a flash of concern once more in his expression. "I believe you also have a right to know, my dear. There has been some talk lately in the underworld about the two of you." "Oh really?" Mirelle snorted lightly. This was more what she had expected – though in truth, she'd heard a bit of it from Paula and the rest of her contacts already. And she'd expected Breffort to be threatening her, not warning her. The High Councilman smiled wryly. "Indeed. By maintaining your independence, you've created – an imbalance, I suppose you could call it. Some see you as a potential tool, some as a liability, and some have disregarded you entirely. At the moment, there are several different factions jockeying for power, both within Soldats and outside. It could get rather dangerous to stay openly in Paris until things have sorted themselves out." "We live in dangerous times." Mirelle quoted, the usual smirk crossing her lips. "So are you one of those factions looking for power, Breffort? Are we a potential tool for your games?" Breffort shook his head, looking slightly amused. "Oh no, my dear. Personally, I think anyone fool enough to try and use the two of you deserves whatever punishment they get." His smile was calm and oddly genuine. "And in truth, my reasons have nothing to do with power, either gaining or keeping it. I only wanted to warn you of your danger. Perhaps to suggest a holiday? I hear many people enjoy Hawaii, especially the Americans." "The Americans enjoy quite a bit that isn't good for them." The blonde Corsican remarked dryly. Breffort laughed, and she continued in a more serious tone, "If these fools want to come after us, let them come. We won't hide from our past or our demons anymore." The limo pulled up at the curb, and Breffort nodded. "I thought as much. Still, I felt you should know." He watched with a smile as Anderson scrambled to open the back door for her. As she climbed gracefully from the back of the auto, though, the silver-haired High Councilman leaned forward to touch her forearm lightly. Surprised, Mirelle turned back. "You may not be hiding from your past, my dear, but you're still running. Be careful you don't lose something precious by doing it." Speechless, Mirelle stared at him with wide eyes. Once again, there was no innuendo, no dark ulterior motive that she could see. Instead, his gaze was so direct and understanding she could hardly stand to meet it. Slowly, she drew her arm back to her side. "Goodbye, Mr. Breffort." He smiled and nodded, once again the aristocratic gentleman. "Goodbye, Miss Bouquet. Give my regards to Miss Yuumura." Anderson shut the door, and the limo pulled away from the curb. Mirelle watched until it turned the corner and vanished completely; looking up, she realized without surprise that he had dropped her directly in front of their apartment building. Pain in the ass. Shifting her bag on her shoulder, she slipped inside and started up the steps. Unconsciously, her pace quickened as she topped the second staircase, then again at the third. By the time she reached the door of the apartment, her keys were in her hand. The door unlocked in an instant, swinging open in a cloud of mouth-watering scents that, in truth, the blonde Corsican barely noticed. Where was – Inside, Kirika's sensitive hearing had picked up the swift, scatto steps of Mirelle's boots on the stairs, and a wide smile curved her lips while she hurried to make one last check of her preparations. Everything was in place. Looking up as the lock clicked open, the young Japanese couldn't help the smiling warmth that swept her face. "Mireyu!" Kirika. Fierce relief flooded through Mirelle at the familiar sight of her partner, only a few feet away, her expression soft and full of joy. Two quick strides, and she was through the door, knocking it shut with one hand while the other tossed her carry-on bag aside. Kirika was not-quite-running now, hurrying to her, and Mirelle found herself catching the smaller, hurtling frame with open arms. Holding the Japanese young woman against her own body, close and hard, Mirelle breathed in the scent of Kirika's hair, eyes sliding shut by themselves. She was home – this was what she'd wanted, what she'd been missing for three days. Kirika snuggled in the warm embrace, surprised and more than a little pleased. She hadn't really meant to hug Mirelle; as much as she'd have liked to, it just wasn't the way they did things, and it might have made the Corsican angry. But the sight of her golden-maned partner in the doorway, finally back, had nearly undone her completely. She'd managed not to sprint down the hall – that would have been horribly embarrassing – but she knew she was moving much faster than normal by the time she reached her fellow assassin. Then Mirelle's arms had been flung around her, nearly crushing her against that lean elegant frame, one gentle hand stroking her short hair for a moment while Mirelle rested her chin atop the unruly mane. Kirika almost forgot to breathe, comfort and safety welling up through her. "Mireyu." "Kirika." Mirelle sounded relieved and faintly teasing all at once. "So you missed me, huh?" "Mmmm." Kirika agreed. It was easier to admit with her head tucked against Mirelle's shoulder, hiding her from that probing sapphire gaze. The arms around her loosened, pulling back so Mirelle could look at her. The blonde was smiling, eyes full of warmth, and gentle fingers tucked a wayward lock of dark hair behind Kirika's ear. One eyebrow rose. "Is that – veal I smell?" Kirika blinked, suddenly reminded of her work. "Oh!" She nodded, blushing faintly, and couldn't help the shy smile of her own. "Yes. Breaded veal." Padding back down the hall, she motioned toward the pool table. "And fettuccini alfredo, and steamed cauliflower with butter. It's almost ready." Mirelle's eyes widened, stunned. Now that she was paying attention to something besides Kirika, she realized there was a stunning array of scents coming from the kitchen. And even from the direction of the bathroom. Awed, she realized the entire apartment had been cleaned from top to bottom as well. "You did all this in three days?" "Um-hmm." Kirika ducked her head shyly. "Did you want to shower first?" Thinking for a moment, Mirelle couldn't help the warm, fierce grin that seemed to spread from her face through her whole body. "I think I will – that plane was a nightmare." Her stomach grumbled loudly, and she winced, making Kirika laugh. "A quick shower. Very quick." The Japanese young woman smiled back, the expression glowing. "There's that new violet-kiwi wash you like." She offered. "And the peach lotion." Mirelle laughed and shook her head, grinning as she picked up her bag to toss it on the bed. "Maybe I should leave more often." She teased. "I get presents!" Kirika squeaked softly from the kitchen, and Mirelle just laughed again. "I'm kidding, Kirika. Never again. And I brought you a few things, too." Feeling her partner's warm, surprised glow in spite of the walls that separated them, Mirelle stepped into the bathroom and flicked on the fan, smiling as she caught sight of the two bottles placed carefully on the sink. Breffort didn't know what he was talking about, she concluded, turning the shower knob before stepping hastily out of her clothes. She and Kirika were fine just the way they were. Thinking of his warning, she stuffed it firmly into the back of her mind. I'll tell her in the morning. After all, tonight is special. What's the worst that could happen? ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Poor Mirelle, so sure of herself. And so completely wrong. (smirk) Next one is an action chapter, and should set the stage for the major fun that'll be starting up. And there'll be quite a bit of fluff building. Pleeeeease R&R?
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