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He calls her ma belle when they're in the kitchen.
They're baking and it's as messy as it could get, and the flour's gotten on the floor and on her clothes and in her hair and on her face.
When Frenchie puts the new batch of cookies in the oven he stands up, looks at her with a tenderness she doesn't think she's seen in her whole life and smiles the softest of smiles. It makes her heart flutter.
Slowly, he lifts up his hand and gently wipes away the bit of flour on her cheek. Kimiko leans into his touch, almost craving it. Her starved soul makes her skin feel like it's burning at each contact, but none like his. Her whole body is on fire when he's near her.
"Ma belle..." Frenchie whispers, and Kimiko closes her eyes to the sound.
She thinks it's like music.
Ma chéri is the only nickname that's not reserved for her.
It's almost always preceded by a teasing sentence and followed by a wicked smile and a twinkle in Frenchie's eyes. Either he's teasing or he's bragging; rarely, it's when he's angry, though then there's an entirely different vocabulary he prefers to use.
However, when he's talking to her, he's always gentle and kind, and each time he makes her smile - makes laughter bubble in her chest and escape her, and it almost makes her shy.
It feels wrong, somehow. Being happy after so much pain. But, Kimiko thinks she deserves to have a sense of normalcy sometimes. Deserves to laugh with this beautiful, caring man and forget all the trauma that's under her skin.
So, Kimiko lets herself pretend, lets the guilt go, and looks at Frenchie with a smile she tries to not let show so as not to give him the satisfaction (which is a part of the game), and feels happy.
Frenchie falls asleep in the bed next to her and she lets the sound of his breathing help lull her to sleep, nudges the tiniest bit closer so she can hear his heartbeat in the quiet of the night.
She hopes his sleep will last longer tonight, that bad dreams and nightmares won't wake him up too soon before he gets any decent rest.
Unfortunately, she doesn't think either of them got more than three hours before she can feel him stir violently next to her, a stream of words in French leaving his mouth in a whisper, barely discernable. Kimiko's heart breaks at his whimpers, and she slowly touches his hand, moves up his arm, and gently cups his cheek to help him wake. This is one of the moments when she wishes she could speak, when she wants to will her vocal chords to work, force her mind to let her form words.
Frenchie opens his eyes with a jerk of his body, but he doesn't hurt her. When his eyes find hers, it takes him a few moments before he's truly back to reality, and she can tell he's okay by the deep sigh that leaves his body.
He moves closer to her and she turns so that her back it to his chest and he nuzzles his nose in her hair and breathes in her scent deeply, grounding himself. His hold tightens around her waist and she places her hands over his, entwining their fingers.
Kimiko can feel his breathing evening, can tell he's falling back to sleep.
"Ma vie..." it's always said as a final whisper before they fall asleep.
"Touch her again," Frenchie snarls, the man under him shivering as he holds his broken arm, trying not to yell in the pain it's causing him. Frenchie has a gun under his chin, and the man looks down at it instead of up at Frenchie. Lâche. "and while she's breaking your other arm, I will be breaking your legs. And then your spine. And then I'll let ma moitié have the neck." Frenchie turns back to Kimiko, and smiles. "As a present."
Kimiko smiles back.
She hates it when he calls her mon ange. It's only ever when he is afraid, the fear tainting his melodic voice. It shakes her to her core, makes her lose her composure for the shortest of moments. Makes her want to drop everything and run to him, to convince him that she's fine; to convince herself that he is, too.
Frenchie loses sight of her, guns blazing around him, and he yells it with more desperation than she's ever heard him feel.
Kimiko cannot yell back.
She hates it when he calls her mon ange.
His hand is cut clean off, her hands covered in his blood and it's all she can see. It burns her skin and she wishes she could claw it off, but no matter how hard she tries to scrub, how many time she washes it, she can still see it, still feel it all over herself.
She looks up from the sink to the mirror, sees her disheveled hair and her eyes puffed and red from crying, can see the cuts on her cheek and the bruises starting to form.
And there, in the corner near her mouth, the traces of blood from his fingertips.
"L'amour de ma vie." he had whispered with difficulty, the blood loss making him dizzy and tired, so tired. His fingers gently caressed her lips, moving up to put a strand of her hair back behind her ear. "Ma raison de vivre." Frenchie said and suddenly they moved him, took him away from her even though she clawed to get him back, but Butcher pulled her to the side, hands on both of her shoulders, forcing her to look up at him.
"They'll fix him." he said. "Let them help him."
Kimiko comes back to the present, feeling her knuckles sting in pain.
The mirror is broken.
He holds her with the hand he has left.
"Je t'aime." he says, their foreheads touching and she can feel his breath on her lips. He moves down, kisses her deeply. "From the first."
Kimiko pulls him into another kiss, refuses to let go. Can taste his tears.
"Mon cœur..." her voice is hoarse, barely heard, but his hold on her tightens. It's the only thing she has ever managed to say. "Mon cœur."
The world around them fades.