Les Poètes maudits

It’s only a matter of time before the Port Mafia returns on the scene. If not to pick up what’s left of their fallen ones, then to confirm the enemy has been annihilated. Any human with a sparkle of survival instinct would run, even if it means crawling through mud in search of a soul ignorant enough to help you get back on your feet. But how is Paule expected to mimic humanity when all that’s left in her is vain anger toward the world?

She didn’t save her sister, no instead she pushed her deeper into an organization that will use her as a weapon. It’ll be too late by the time she realizes what she’s gotten herself into, and then she’ll run toward her own death or repeat all of Paule’s mistakes.

A breathy laugh escapes her lips. She doesn’t even have the energy for one last prayer for a God that was never her Father. Her vision blurs, until her legs melts into the burned grass around her. When she can’t see anything but old memories, she closes her eyes and let her life play behind her eyelids. She sees the three years spent with Arthurine — all the highs and the lows — cradling Chuuya’s weak body in her arms, her fight with her partner, a loud bang, then nine years of loneliness and anger, searching for her sister, becoming the King of Assassins; then she finally finds her again and her world shift. The last week replays like an eternity. Her last words exchanged with Chuuya fades to black, just as her body finds the strength for one last stray tear and as her mind mutters one last apology. To Arthurine. To Chuuya. To herself. For betraying her. For failing to protect her. For never being human enough.

—☆—

When she opens her eyes again, she almost stumbles backward, her legs struggling to keep her steady. The soft moonlight has been replaced with headache-inducing fluorescent lights. All her muscles are tight, tense, and ready to fight back — one arm outstretched in front of her and one finger on the trigger of a gun she remembers loosing years ago; the other arm is curled around a tiny weight pressed against her, a thin and damp body with a breathing so weak the chest barely rises. When she looks down, the sight of a head full of ginger locks and pale skin barely covered by a hospital gown makes her heart skip a bit. She looks around and everything falls back into place. The lights, the gun, Chuuya’s seven-year-old body pressed against her chest and, right in front of her, Arthurine. Standing. Alive.

She doesn’t look any more informed than Paule does. Her breathing is shallow as she looks at her own hands, like she can’t even recognize that body as her own. Her hands are covered by gloves, but unharmed. Paule’s finger flies off the trigger at the realization of the exact moment she came back to and what she was about to do. Her arm, shameful, falls to her side. The movement is enough to wake Arthurine out of her trance: she looks up, with stray strands of hair falling in front of her eyes. She looks like she’s seen a ghost — and Paule must not be any better. Their eyes meet for only a second full of so many contradictory emotions they can’t make an answer out of it.

Their hypnotic trance is cut short by deafening alarms and red lights taking over the entire room. They both look up in alert, Paule’s hand flies to Chuuya’s fragile ear, after she’s quickly shoved her gun back in the waistband of her pants. This was never meant to happen, their plan was organized down to the second to leave before the enemy could realize Chuuya was gone. Had they not-

“Let’s go.”

Arthurine’s tight grip on her wrist and the pull that follows wake Paule from her stupor. She’s exited the main lab by the time she realizes what’s happening. She tears her arms away to curl it back around Chuuya in a protective shield.

“I’m not going back to France.”

Arthurine stares at her, full of disbelief. “I know. Me neither. But if we don’t leave now, we won’t be going anywhere alive. And that includes Chuuya.”

Just the right words for Paule to move before thinking. Her legs run through the maze of corridors and back doors that lead them out of the building. Her feet never stop moving, her arms stay around Chuuya, but with each step new questions rise. How much of this is real? How did she came back at this exact moment? Why? What happened to Arthurine? At that time they didn’t know Chuuya’s name; did she return with all of her memories as well? Or maybe Paule is the only conscious being in whatever hell she’s fallen into?

Arthurine leads them to their exit point, the armed corpse of a Japanese soldier she’s killed cover their backs — anyone who tries to attack them falls to the ground with holes in their chest in seconds. When they get out by an emergency exit, Paule brushes her finger on the door to take a hold of the building through her ability; without ever stopping running, she makes the building crumbles onto itself with the weight of gravity, she stops when the concrete has dug so deep it makes the ground shake. Arthurine leads them to a car that absolutely does not belong to them, it takes her merely three minutes to break the car opens, hotwire it, get Paule in the passenger seat with Chuuya safe in her lap, and starts driving. Only then does she take a deep breath.

Paule, on the contrary, isn’t relaxing at all. She’s still expecting Arthurine to get them back to France — maybe this is just a ploy to make sure they finish their mission this time.

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know,” Arthurine blurts out. “We just need to get out of here before anyone finds out we’re still alive. And that we have Chuuya.”

“Half an hour ago you wanted to bring her back to France,” Paule protests. It might be manipulative, but she needs to be sure of something.

“That was eight years ago,” Arthurine, salty, mutters under her breath.

She glances at Paule after her lack of reaction. The heavy silence they share only gives one answer among the many unanswered questions. The car almost flies off the road, if not for Paule’s quick reflexes making her grab the wheel before they run into a tree.

“See, this is why I’m the designated driver,” Paule comments with an embarrassed chuckle, matched by Arthurine’s.

“I’ll find somewhere to stop…Then we’ll talk.”

After that, no words are exchanged. Complete silence — aside from the car’s engine and the various radio stations Paul goes through to find a 24/7 radio news channel. She finds what she’s looking for, but they don’t hear anything about a building collapsing onto itself in Yokohama. They’re so used to seeing information get classified that this doesn’t surprise nor reassure them in the slightest.

Arthurine keeps her eyes on the road, Paule keeps hers on Chuuya. Making sure she stays alive is more important than all the guilt she feels when she stares at the child’s thin body and instead sees her sister, nine years older, using all the strength in her being to stop her from destroying the world. She swallows all her feelings down. Like a good soldier. She must focus on Chuuya’s well-being.

Even when they finally reach a gas station far away from Yokohama, taking care of the kid takes priority over the conversation they needed to have almost a decade ago. Arthurine parks the car in a spot far away from any light or camera before going to the small store with the cash they got themselves for their mission. Meanwhile, Paule transfers Chuuya to the backseat where she lays her down, enveloped in her jacket. She takes off her hat, a weight so natural over her head she wasn’t paying attention to it, and puts it under Chuuya’s head as a makeshift pillow. A lopsided smile takes over her lips; maybe she should give it to her when her head will be big enough. It suits her better.

Arthurine returns with water, food that doesn’t require much chewing for Chuuya, and a small first-aid kit. They work together to disinfect and bandage the wounds left from the IVs she was attached to; there’s no hesitation in the hands of those two women trained to kill. The silent understanding takes over all of Paule’s worries — both about Arthurine and her own ability to protect Chuuya.

When the girl is curled up in the backseat under the pair’s warmest garments, looking more asleep than passed out, the two of them finally authorize themselves to breathe. And talk. They’re both leaning back against the hood of the car, which has all its windows opened to let free the faintest sound Chuuya could make. Arthurine’s hugging herself to feel more warmth, Paule keeps her hands deep in her pockets. Neither of them find the strength to look at the other, yet they both speak at the same time.

“You died,” they state in unison, leaving them both laughing sourly.

“What happened?” Arthurine ends up asking. “I’d never thought you’d find someone stronger than you.”

“I could say the same about you, and yet you got beaten by teenagers,” Paule bites back, in a tone that doesn’t fall into deaf ears but instead gets picked up Arthurine’s cleverness.

“Something’s telling me it’s the same for you. Let me guess, Dazai-kun?”

“Along with everything the Port Mafia had to back her up.”

“What happened?” This time, her voice is confused.

The least she owes her is honesty. So, through the shame and regrets, she talks. Starting with the moment the Arahabaki rumors reached her to her last breath in the forest. She leaves out the worst of it, as each of her words make her realize how far she was willing to go just to get to Chuuya. Bile rises up her throat. She’s never explained her plan in its entirety out loud, only her darkest thoughts she based it on knew of it. It’ll stay that way. She won’t ever forget herself if this is how she looses Chuuya and Arthurine for the second time.

“By the time I realized how wrong I was, I was dying. Then I woke up here,” she concludes in a sigh.

During her entire speech, her eyes haven’t left the ground once. She can’t bring herself to look at Arthurine; for now she’ll satisfy herself with quiet hums, steady breathings, and the suffocating sensation that she’s being stared at.

“I thought you wanted to protect her,” Arthurine says, in a tone less judgmental than those words let you believe.

“I do,” Paule answers, words firm. “But… It’s been nine years, and she grew up. By the time I found her, she was anything but a weak kid anymore.”

“Yeah… I can’t believe she was basically a gang leader at 15.”

“She was no leader. They were using her.”

Arthurine giggles. The sound, melodic yet mocking, is enough for Paule to look up and finally see who she’s been talking to. She looks up and finds no anger, no resentment, not even some judgment for how stupid her goal sounds. Instead, she finds more understanding than she’ll ever deserve.

“What?” she asks, eyebrows drawn together.

“Nothing, it’s just… Dazai-kun came to the same conclusion, that’s all.”

“And it’s funny because…?”

“I’m merely noticing that you both have the same unique way to care for Chuuya.”

“She doesn’t ‘care.’” Paule rolls her eyes. “She’s keeping her close to use her power, just like her little orphan friends did.”

“Hm. So you think Mori-san let her sacrifice most of the Port Mafia’s ability users, just for Chuuya?”

“Remember when the President of the DGSS said we were more than a thousand men?”

It’s enough to make Arthurine shut up. Having herself wanted to possess Chuuya’s ability — albeit for different reasons — she can understand how far someone pragmatic like Mori Ougai will be willing to go to get a weapon that can defeat anything.

“Chuuya and Dazai-kun are a match made in heaven.”

Paule snarls. “They’re not. They will fail someday. There’ll come a day where Dazai will be too late to close Chuuya's gate and—”

She’s stopped by a leather glove covering her hand. When she returns her attention to Arthurine, she’s being looked at with promises she’s not sure to deserve.

“You talk a lot in present tense but…” She looks behind her, Paule follows her gaze to be met with the sight of Chuuya’s peaceful form sleeping in the backseat. “The only Chuuya I see is doing just fine.”

“We just saved her from government-funded human experimentation.”

“Yeah, saved,” Arthurine is quick to answer. “Maybe this is a second chance for us.”

Paule looks away. Guilt overrides how hopeful this scene is meant to be.

“I’d gladly go through everything the devil has in store for us, if it means spending just a little more time with you.”

Paule inhales a sharp breath. She doesn’t find the time to answer, and yet Arthurine is slow in her movements as she sneaks between her legs, cupping her cheeks and resting her forehead against hers.

“You were right, Chuuya deserves a quiet life. I’m sorry it took me this much to realize it.”

She gulps. “I shouldn’t have acted on impulse. I should have thought this through. And instead I—” Her voice breaks into a sob. “I fucking shot you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”

Her hands fly to Arthurine’s back and grip tightly onto the fabric of her coat. And with her partner’s hold weakening from the surprise, Paule’s head hides in the crook of her neck where dark hair tickles her cheek. Arthurine hugs her back; and sobs resonates through the empty parking lot.

Logically, she knows it’s been nine years since Arthurine — anyone at all — last hugged her. And yet it feels like an eternity ago. Nine years, three times longer than the time she’s spent with Arthurine, of resenting her (former) partner and obsessively looking for Chuuya to give herself some kind of purpose. Nine years of destroying the memories left of her past and any hope for a better future.

She’s soothed until her breathing has slowed down and her thoughts stop telling her she’s only good for destroying everything she touches.

“It’s okay, I forgive you.” She hears multiple time, until she’s sniffled back all of her tears and feel strong enough to raise her head.

She knows she looks like a mess of red cheeks and puffy eyes, she still gather the courage to let her hands fall to Arthurine’s hips, squeeze her through the heavy coat; she pulls her forward until their front are meeting , arms circle her neck for lack of better place. She can finally look at her partner again: she appears more relaxed than when they woke up here despite the stray tears falling down her cheeks.

“I missed you,” Arthurine confesses as she wipes them away while letting her tears run.

Paule smiles; the words make her heart tightens in her chest. Arthurine notices, so she continues.

“I’ve spent eight years wondering who I was. It felt like something was missing, even when I had managed to settle down again. But… Deep down, I always knew it was someone I was looking for. And when I started remembering you the ache only grew stronger. Because now I knew the only one I needed was gone.”

The bite in the inside of her cheek stings, but it’s the only thing stopping her from crying again.

“I missed you too,” she manages to articulate against a growing sob. Despite how much each word hurt, she keeps going: “I spent nine years hating you because it was easier than admitting I couldn’t keep going without you. I mean…” She chuckles bitterly. “I lost myself in my search to fix everything and instead I kept destroying more in my way.” She sighs, the words are heavy on her chest. She wouldn’t be digging so deep into herself had Arthurine not taken off her gloves to scratch the base of her skull. “I don’t even feel like the same person anymore.”

“Then I’ll learn to love this new version of you,” Arthurine answers like it’s common sense. “And when you’ll change again, I’ll keep loving you. I’ll love you through each facet of you, even the ones you hate.”

Her forehead falls against her partner’s; she exhales deeply. “God, I love you so much.” And those words, long awaited feel so natural on her lips she forgets it’s her first time pronouncing them. “You really think it can get better?”

“Between us?”

“Between everything.”

“Well…” She looks behind Paule. “Being moms is going to change us.”

She chokes on her own spit. “Moms?”

“Wasn’t it the plan?” She frowns. “Raising Chuuya in the countryside and all of that?”

“Yeah but-” Heat raises to her cheeks. “-Chuuya’s my sister, I can’t be her mom!”

She rolls her eyes. “Semantics. If you want to raise her, at least one of us will have to legally adopt her.”

“As if we won’t be forging fake papers.”

“It’ll always be legal if we don’t get caught.”

She can’t help chuckling at how many answers Arthurine finds, as if she had been the one able to loose hours upon hours of what could have been.

“So you’re really set? We won’t be going back to France?”

“You forget I’ve spent a good amount of time in Japan, the thought of never going back doesn’t make me as homesick as it used to. So, unless your dream countryside is in France, no we won’t.”

Her smile never leaves her face, she’s never felt so happy, and just for once she allows herself to think it’ll only be getting better.

She leans forward to press her lips against Arthurine’s in a kiss that will pour her overflowing love into her heart. Except it never happens, they barely brush against one another for they both get distracted by shuffling sounds coming from the backseat.

They’re both up and alert immediately. When they open the car door, they find Chuuya awake but sitting and hyperventilating. Paule leaves Arthurine room to handle it; out of the two of them, she’s the only one who was allowed a few years of childhood, she might handle this a little better.

And indeed she does. She guides Chuuya’s breathing until it’s back to normal without crowding her. Meanwhile she uses her ability to create tiny cubes that illuminate the car like fairy lights. Paule is left pacing behind her partner, eyes glued on her child. And when Chuuya’s calm again, and their eyes meet, it takes everything for her not to push Arthurine away and crush Chuuya against her chest. But her teary blue eyes are innocent, clueless of everything Paule has done to her. She’s not the same. She can’t remember things that never happened to her. It eases Paule, more than she’d like to admit.

Arthurine’s taking care of Chuuya like she was made to have children. She gives her water, and make sure the kid doesn’t swallow too fast. Then various question follow, she manages to not make them sound overwhelming. Even Paule feels comforted, she comes closer until she’s crouched down against the car door. Chuuya’s not physically hurt, and the only thing she can remember is her name. So, naturally, her first question is:

“Who are you?”

“I’m Arthurine,” she answers, hand on her chest, before pointing at her partner. “This is Paule.”

She also gives her a look that ask Paule to continue the explanation.

“You were in a very dangerous place,” she starts in the most reassuring voice she can make. “And we were the ones who rescued you. We’ll make sure no one ever hurt you again.”

Her answer is the start of a beginning, too vague or else it’ll mean making up lies that will backfire once Chuuya' grows up. It’s only a matter of time before she asks about her real parents, who her protectors really are, or what happened in the seven years she’s forgotten, but for now her child mind clings onto the first beacon of safety, so she nods. Both Paule’s and Arthurine’s shoulder visibly relax.

They need to find money, a place to live, fake IDs, work eventually, a school for Chuuya; all while they make sure neither the French nor the Japanese governments are after them, that N. didn’t make it out alive this time and, mostly importantly that Chuuya grows up happy.

Right now, their priority is making her eat a little.

Second chance never meant a paradise devoid of obstacles, they may even face new struggles no training ever prepared them for. But as they exchange a look while Chuuya’s slurping applesauce from a pouch, they both catch themselves thinking that everything will be alright.

But her master is dead, Black 12 quickly learns. It's the first thing she did when she was freed from his control, the woman tells her, she also asks her name. Black 12 can't answer; she's a weapon, weapons don't have name. So the woman names her Paule Verlaine and introduces herself as Arthurine Rimbaud. She's here to help, she promises, she'll brings her home. And Black 12's Paule's body follows her, and Black 12's Paule's broken mind latches on to her, like a kitten seeing a human and mistaking it for its mother. If her master's dead, then Arthurine is the one she must obey.

Home turns out to be the headquarters of the European intelligence agency. She's examined, mind, body, and soul, by doctors and officers who can't figure out how she's alive. The results of the tests prove that she's conscious or, as they put it, that she's human. She doesn't believe a word they say. She kills two of the exterminators. As she's breaking the arms of the third, Arthurine stops her. Everything has been happening under her watchful gaze, from the moment Paule was born she's been starring at her. Paule is left banging on yellowish translucent walls; it's Pan's rough grip that stops her. Her body falls limp on the floor.

When she wakes up, she explains what happened, at Arthurine's demand. She swears she's felt those hands. That body was real, she was awake.

"You just escaped something traumatic, your mind must be playing tricks."

She quickly learns that this mind of her is not trustworthy.

—☆—

Paule never meant to become a secret agent. It happened fast, perhaps even faster than when her previous master was giving her orders. One moment the president of the intelligence agency was explaining how useful she would be, another Arthurine was telling her how happy she would be if they were partners, the next Paule accepts to join them. If Arthurine is her master, then she must obeys. And if Arthurine wants her by her side, then she must stay. It doesn't matter that she doesn't want to be a secret agent, her master's will matters more than hers.

This decision is followed by months of training. She's good, but not good enough yet. She's sloppy. Her kills aren't clean enough. She should be able to break every bone in a body without anything piercing the skin. Her practice dummies are people who know too much, prisoners with a life-sentence, or political enemies that can't see the light of day again. They all beg for their life, but Paule's code can't register pleas. It makes killing easier. She kills all of them. A cleaning crew dispose of what's left behind. On some days, Arthurine cups her cheek and tells her she's making wonderful progress. On other, she stays still at the other side of the training room and barks that she'll never be allowed on actual missions at this rate. When that happens, Paule gets up and ask for another try. On some days, Arthurine brings a new prisoner into the room. On others, she snaps that there's nothing left, she's lost her last chance until the other incompetents finish their own jobs. When that happens, Paule apologizes, head and shoulders lowered, she promises to be better, to be enough. On some days, Arthurine coos with her hand cupping her cheek because she knows she's doing her best, she just needs to be harsh during her training to make sure she doesn't get herself killed in her missions (You understand, don't you? I'm doing this for you.). On others, the only thing Paule is allowed is a sharp glare.

Arthurine never takes her eyes off of her. No matter how angry she is. She doesn't leave Paule. She doesn't stop looking at her.

The only time Paule spends alone is when she has to shower or use the restroom. Even then, Arthurine insists she doesn't have to lock the door. To be partners they have to fully trust each others. When Arthurine locks the door, it's because she's learned it from a very young age and now that she's grown she struggles to break that habit. It has nothing to do with Paule, she trusts her with every part of her being. Arthurine never follows her in the bathroom — she still deserves some privacy, especially when she's naked — but it never meant she wasn't alone.

It doesn't matter the time of day, nor how well she's done in training, when she enters the bathroom she knows she'll see Pan in there. Sometimes behind her in the mirror, sometimes facing her in the shower. Sometimes he waits for her to open the curtain after she's showered, sometimes he's already here when she opens the bathroom door. Every time he disappears right after she called for help. Arthurine has never seen him, but Paule knows he's real. She's hit him, she's felt his hand on her body. It can't be an hallucination — schizophrenia, or PTSD, or whatever else. It can't be. She knows what she's seeing.

Today was a good day. Only one bone broke through the skin of her target, and she's even managed to land hits on Arthurine during sparring. Her master is proud of her, she's doing a lot of progress, maybe they can even open a wine bottle to celebrate her good work. It brings a light smile on her face that stays as they leave the training room, a smile that flatters when they enter their shared quarters and her master orders her to shower first.

She stares at the closed door. Pan might already be behind it. She hopes so. If he is, then Paule can be quick enough and prove Arthurine she isn't crazy. She quickly takes her clean clothes — she’d rather get this over with as soon as possible — and with a deep exhale she opens the bathroom door. It's empty. No one is waiting for her, not even in the shower. She stays in the middle of the room, frozen. If Pan isn't here yet, then that means he'll show up later and that's what she hates the most. He always comes when she's the most vulnerable, always touches when she can't reach to strike back.

"What are you waiting for?"

A voice pierces through her panic. It's Arthurine's. She waits, leaning against the door frame with her arms closed and her eyebrows drawn together. Paule looks back at her with panic in her eyes that she can't rid of, no mater how much her master keeps repeating her that she must learn to look strong. At the pathetic sight in front of her, of a weapon made for killing but unable to shower on her own without crying, Arthurine sighs.

"Nothing's going to happen to you."

"You say that everyday and yet-"

"And yet nothing happens. You're imagining it. It's not happening."

Paule clenches her jaw. If Arthurine's saying so, then it must be true. But no matter how hard she tries it just won't register itself in her code. Pan's hands feel more real than the air she breathes, there's no changing that.

"Would me showering with you help?" Arthurine asks out of the blue.

"But-"

"You can't stay like that any longer," she shrugs. "If Pan only shows up when you shower, I'll see him."

The reasoning makes sense, so Paule accepts. With a smile, Arthurine walks into the room and locks the door behind her. She begins undressing herself, like all of this is normal and suddenly privacy doesn't mater. She must be used to it, Paule concludes, she's been a soldier for years, maybe there was a time where she only had communal showers. Paule tries to not be too shy about it, but it's hard when her body is covered in disgusting burn scars that curl over her skin. It's the true form of her skill, a power too strong for her body to handle. She hates that in-between human and weapon. She's too much of a weapon for a human body; she's too human to be a fully-functioning weapon.

"Hey…"

Fingers trail over a scar on her shoulder. But when she turns around, Pan isn't here. Just Arthurine. Just her master. The shower is running, she doesn't remember turning it on.

"It's just me. Come on, I'm freezing."

"The shower is too small, we can't go at the same time."

"I need help washing my hair."

"Oh."

And Paule follows, because her master needs her and she must obey her master.

The shower is in fact too small; their bodies have to be pressed together to fit. But Arthurine's touch are gentle, soft. She's not like Pan. She helps Paule wash her back, she's careful with the scar, and she never let her eyes leave her. Nor her hands. Arthurine is always touching her — because she doesn't know where else to put her hands, she says, but Paule's hands are fine behind her back. By the time they're done rinsing the soap, she has her arms wrapped around Paule's neck.

"You know," she starts in a purr, "it's been a year since I found you."

"It has?"

"Hm-hm," she nods. "I guess it's kind of like your birthday."

"I'm not one year old."

She rolls her eyes, "Semantics. We should celebrate."

"I'm not interested."

"But it's tradition! Everyone celebrates their birthday."

"You don't."

"My birthday is classified information."

As she speaks, Arthurine's hand cups her scarred cheek. The words blur together as she leans into the touch. Perhaps she should celebrate her birthday, Arthurine already promised they'd open a bottle of wine anyways. A couple of hours of relaxing won't kill her. Can she even get drunk? She's never been sick, but maybe she can get drunk if she tries hard enough. She knows it's something humans do a lot, giving it a try might answer some of her questions. So she accepts.

After their shower, Arthurine changes into a tank top and a pair of shorts, which Paule doesn't understand. She's always complaining that it's too cold, surely showing so much skin can't help. But her master shuts her questions by saying alcohol will warm her up.

And it does. After two full glasses, Arthurine stops complaining about the cold, she even insists it's getting hot in the room. Paule doesn't think so, even after drinking the same amount of wine. She doesn't feel warm, nor dizzy, nor anything she knows should happen when you get drunk. Instead, she's fully conscious and too busy wondering how inhuman her body must be to notice Arthurine getting closer to her. Her cheeks are rosy, damp hair clings to her forehead; a strap of her top has fallen down her shoulder and revealed far more cleavage than Paule is comfortable looking at. She wants to push her away, but Arthurine is her master, she doesn't want to disobey her — and when her master leans forward to cup her cheeks, she understands she must stay here.

"Do you want your birthday gift?" she whispers against her face. Paule nods, she's not exactly sure what else she's supposed to do. "Close your eyes."

And she obeys, because it's her master's orders.

She fears Pan pulling her away now that she's vulnerable, but she doesn't feel any rough hands. Only soft lips against hers, in a chaste kiss that makes her brain shut down for a second. Silence is short-lived, questions return to ask her if she should be enjoying it, and why she can't, and why Arthurine is doing this to her when their relationship is meant to be professional. It must only be the alcohol. Maybe she'll forget it in the morning and everything will return to normal.

—☆—

It doesn't.

Many other months pass, and Paule is finally done with her training. She can go on missions, with Arthurine as her partner — it's what the official papers say, the truth is Arthurine is still her master, she gives orders and Paule executes. She's a perfect soldier now, everyone praises her skills. Especially Arthurine.

They've grown… closer, over the past months. Paule isn't sure how to describe it. Sometimes they hug. Arthurine kisses her good night before going to bed. They shower together when Paule is too scared to enter the bathroom alone — Pan is still there every time she's alone, but some days her master insists she's being too needy, so she has to deal with him. One day her master shot one of her colleagues who expressed wanting 'a piece of that blonde chick of yours'. Paule has killed anyone trying to hurt Arthurine. She can’t understand what their relationship is, because as much as Arthurine claim she’s not a machine, she has merely two years of life as a human — spent as a soldier, disconnected from human civilization.

"It's your birthday today," Arthurine comments as they're getting ready for the night, in a safehouse that only has one bed.

Paule freezes for a second, before resuming getting their weapons ready for the next day. They need to leave early after all. She has her back to Arthurine but she can hear her getting closer.

"I didn't keep track of it."

"You should. Everyone keeps track of their birthdays."

"Well, I'm not celebrating it. So it would be a waste of time."

"Too bad, I had the perfect gift to celebrate."

Her words are accompanied with cold arms circling her waist, and a body pressing against her. A naked body, she notes. She tenses; she might not know much about humans, but she's not clueless either. When you work as a spy, you have to understand human behaviors, and Arthurine is not exactly being subtle.

"You want to have sex," she comments, as a simple matter of fact.

Whispering against her ear, Arthurine answers: "It's more than time, don't you think?"

Paule lets go of the weapons she was holding to cover Arthurine's freezing hands under her shirt with hers. "The only touch I've felt is when Pan-"

Arthurine sighs, "Paule, those hands aren't real. You're imagining them."

"I don't. I can't dream, I'm not hum-"

"Will you stop with that?" She lets go of her. Paule instantly mourns the touch. She turns around but Arthurine is already putting on a robe as she keeps ranting. "You are human. If you're not, that means I've spent years trying to fix a broken toy. Is that what you're implying? That I don't know what I'm doing?"

"No, of course not…" She puts her hands around Arthurine's waist, now her turn to hug her from behind. "I'm sorry," she mumbles against her shoulder. "I'm just… scared. I've never done it. And I want you to feel good, not just put up with me."

Arthurine turns around to cup her cheek, Paule leans into the touch. "I know that, and I don't care. I only want you." She pauses. "Will you? Let me have you?"

Paule nods and, just like that, she's being pushed onto the bed; Arthurine, naked again, crawls over her with a hungry smile on her face.

—☆—

After that, Arthurine says they’re dating. It's only logical, after all: they already do everything a couple do, the only thing left is putting a label on it. Paul trusts her master; she had absolutely no knowledge about relationships before being born. A machine doesn't need a partner, it's made to operate alone. Arthurine, on the contrary, insists she can only work with her other half.

Paule is that other half.

They’re glued to each other's hip in and outside their bedroom. Arthurine doesn't go on missions with anyone else anymore. Paule never even considered being with anyone but her master. They shower together everyday now, safe for the few times where Arthurine has meetings with the higher ups — Paule is not trusted with technical information, she only has to execute; it's easier that way.

The first time this happened, she waited until long into the night, sitting on the bed doing nothing but zoning out. She just wanted her master, her partner, to be back. But instead of smiling when she came home, Arthurine sighed. She's already doing so much, and with the war getting worse everyday, she's barely getting any rest anymore. Does Paule really think she has the energy to deal with her stupid fears after working all day?

No, she doesn't. Sorry, Paule should have thought about it. It won't happen again.

No, no — Arthurine cups Paule's cheek — it's fine. She knows how scary it must be to be alone. They'll shower together and then go to bed, with that work?

Yes, yes, of course.

But even if it's fine, Paule can't stand seeing her partner mad. So she showers alone when Arthurine can't be here. Every single time like he's never left, Pan is here to haunt her. And every single time, Arthurine comes home to Paule zoning out in bed, showered and changed, in comfortable pajamas, but unable to wash away the feelings of Pan's hand on her scarred skin. Some days, Arthurine ignores her until she's ready for bed. On others, she immediately hugs her and brushes away her stray tears. Rough hands are replaced by freezing ones. Paule can't help leaning into it. And once the cold touches her, it never leaves. Arthurine's body is all over hers. Over the months, Paule has learned to hold, to squeeze, to caress, to kiss and to suck. She's learned to enjoy it too; even if her body can't feel pleasure, she's more than happy to see her master enjoying herself. That's more than enough for her.

Then they fall asleep together, naked if they're too tired to clean up. And they wake up to a whole other day, side by side, where Pan hiding in the bathroom is an issue they don't have to think about until nightfall.

The higher ups praise their combined skills, as well as Paule's rapid progress. Together, they think, they have the power to change the war once and for all.

—☆—

Paule learned they were going to Japan when they were in the plane. She figures out why they were going to Japan when she's holding an unconscious, pale, underweight kid in her arms. Arthurine trusts her with them as she gathers all the documents the DGSS might want to look into. And Paule doesn't want to call her master stupid, but leaving her alone with a kid is a terrible idea. She can feel their power shimmering under their skin, just like their own; the smell of mixed chemicals make her dizzy, her grip tightens on the small body. She knows why they were in that tube, what Japan wanted to do with them, and what France plans to.

A weapon. Tied to the government, not a single individual. Or, if the project gives perfect results, a weapon that can't even think enough to choose its master. This child might not ever get the opportunity to be born like Paule was. They won't ever open their eyes and, for just a second, experience pure innocence — not knowing anything of the world but the warmth of the sun and the cold of the breeze against your skin, until your face is cupped by a savior promising you a home. And love. And everything you can ever dream of.

Who would that kid be entrusted with? Surely Arthurine can't take care of them on top of Paule. Maybe her workload would be reduced if Paule was the one in charge of the kid.

But then it would mean training the kid without ever letting them taste sunlight. She can't do that. She was born an adult, it was too late for her to have a normal life, but that kid is exactly that: a kid. If they're born far away from this lab, they can hope to grow up without ever knowing of it, or of France's plan to use their power. But Paule can't just send them away to a random orphanage and pray for the best, not with the dangerous power they carry; they need someone who understands to raise them.

"I'm done," Arthurine tells her without looking at her. "Let's go."

"No." Paule answers. Voice sharp, back straight, it takes everything for her to not curl up when Arthurine turns around with fatigue in her eyes. "We won't be bringing this kid back to France."

"And why would we not?"

"They deserve a normal life, far away from everything."

"His power alone could end the war, do you not understand this?"

"Stripping Japan of them — him — is enough. The war is almost over, we…" Because there isn't a single world where Paule would imagine herself without her partner. "We could leave, raise him in the countryside…. Give him a normal life where he won't have to know about their origins."

As she talks, her heartbeat speeds up. She has never made it an habit of talking back to Arthurine, especially not when it came to work. Direct orders are directs orders; they're not meant to be discussed. Paule is to bring this boy back to France and leave his fate into the higherups' hands. To hell with her personal feelings.

But, as she looks at this poor child, still soaked in the chemicals from the tube he was trapped into, everything Paule has learned disappears.

Arthurine rolls her eyes. "You're speaking nonsense. Let's go, before we get caught."

"If your plan is to go back to HQ. I won't follow you."

"My plan is to go back home, Paule. Let's go." Arthurine's tone is getting more irritated with each word.

"I said I won't."

She can't tell what pushed her to draw her gun, before she realizes what she's done it's aimed at her master and she can't go back.

"Paule…" Arthurine sighs, a mix between annoyance and anger. "You don't know what you're doing."

"This child deserves a life."

"He'll have one. Just like you did."

"Can't you realize how hard it is to live knowing you're not human?" she asks, a sob cracking in her voice. Of course she can't, no matter how much she pretends to, there'll always be a little something separating them. The same that make Arthurine unable to believe Paule when she says Pan is in the bathroom, or that make Paule see Arthurine as her master. "You can't force that onto a child."

"Paule…" This time, Arthurine sounds saddened. "You should have told me how bad you were feeling. Do you hear yourself? You're projecting, it's not healt-"

"I'm fine," she snaps. "Will you stop treating me like I'm insane when I'm the one who doesn't want to turn a child into a weapon?"

"I started off as a child and I turned out fine. So did you. Now come on, that's enough. We don't have much time left to leave."

"No!"

And her finger pulls the trigger. But, instead of hitting Arthurine, the bullet is caught by a body covered in a yellow glow. One she's so familiar with but looks so different outside of the bathroom.

Without any emotion crossing his face, like a puppet with its strings cut, Pan stares back at her, shielding Arthurine from any other attack.

No attack ever comes. Paule, with her limbs shaking and her breath stuck in her throat, is too busy watching the familiar glow of Arthurine's ability covering Pan to fight back. Everything is the same, from the clothes to the blood covering them, like he's been picked straight up from the field. Or from their bathroom.

"H… How..?"

Arthurine straightens up and, with her hands behind her back, walks around Pan to face her. Her eyes are cold, distant, gone is the warmth of her love replaced by harsh professionalism.

"My ability allows me to use one corpse at a time as a weapon," she explains, her eyes glued on Paule. "This one is getting old. If you try to run with this child, I'll have to use whatever means it takes to bring him back home. Do you understand?"

"But-" Her breathing is shallow, tears threaten to escape her eyes with her gaze going from Arthurine to Oan in quick succession. Did Arthurine not believe her because she's always known where Pan was meant to be? "Does that mean-"

"I asked you a question, Paule." Her voice is firm. "Do you understand?"

Paule takes a deep breath, a shaky one. She might be a stronger, but with an arm holding a child, and her mind coded to refuse hurting her master — not even counting the threat of Pan's hands falling on her — she has no chance of winning.

Arthurine cups her cheek, she's looking at her with a light smile over her lips.

"You know that, everything I've done, I've done it because I love you."

Paule nods weakly. "I love you too."

"Good. Now, enough with your nonsense. Let's go home."