Talk Therapy


Disclaimer: Gunslinger Girl is not mine. Meir is Nachtsider's creation. Linked to my previous fics Her Prince Charming, A Picture Is Worth Your Life, Such A Tease and Life Goes On. Enjoy.



The knock on her door warned Claes to slip her latest paperback addiction out of sight. "Who is it?"

"It's me. Triela. Can we talk? It's important."

Normally she did not welcome interruption of her private reading sessions. More so than her own bunk, the reading room she inherited from her "father" was hers, an inviolable fortress of solitude.

Still– she caught the slight urgency in Triela's voice. There was a first time for everything. And friends came first.

"I'm unlocking the door."


"Thanks a bunch, Claes," the relieved Triela muttered. "I owe you a lot."

"Is that so?" Personally Claes wondered about the absence of the usual teasing about her locking up to read porn. "So what is it?"

"Can I lock the door first?"

Curious, Claes nodded assent. Once the knob clicked in place, Triela looked around the room. "There aren't any hidden cameras or tape recorders here, right?"

"Not that I know of, no."

"Coming from you, that sounds good enough." After a long moment of hesitation, Triela spilled her guts. "I have a problem."

Claes' thoughts stopped in their mental tracks. Did I hear that right? Triela –the oldest and most mature of the junior intelligence agents; the official big sister that everyone, even the adults, sought advice and reassurance from; who always had a lifesaving answer for every problem encountered– was in a bind?

Never in her conditioning-deadened, mnemonic exercise-sharpened memory had she encountered such a situation. Indeed she would have posed the rhetorical question of "What is it?" but for a sudden stroke of (admittedly impish) insight.

"It's Hillshire, isn't it?"

Watching Triela flounder in dismay entertained even someone who held herself above such pettiness. "How did you know?" the much-embarrassed blonde demanded minus the customary grabbing and shaking object of ire by the shoulders.

"Elementary, my dear Triela. Most of the emotional and social troubles encountered by us mechanical bodies are about their handlers. You," Claes pushed her glasses up her nose, "Are no exemption."

"I take my hat off to you, Claes." Not a drop of sarcasm in her words. "You're a genius."

"I only try. Now, what exactly is your issue with Hillshire?"

"First, promise not to laugh."

An eyebrow rose behind its clear lens shield.

"Just do it," the irritated Triela muttered.

"All right." Claes held up one palm. "I swear I will not laugh."

Triela decided to take what she could, include a deep breath. "Okay. It started out like this…"


To Be Continued