A.N. Before anything else, I'd like to thank you for reading this fanfiction. Even if you hate it, even if you don't read everything...thank you.

Special thanks to: Kiskaloo, Piero, and all the others on the chatbox who helped me when I was stuck during prewriting. Your suggestions won't be up for several chapters, but without them one of this story's climaxes wouldn't exist. Also, your interest in this fanfiction is what got me to start working on this chapter so soon.

Mind you, this chapter will be short.

Disclaimer: I do not own Gunslinger Girl, -Il Teatrino-, or any of the characters in this story.


Broken Brain, Healing Heart

Chapter One

Compliment


A compliment is a statement of an agreeable truth; flattery is a statement of an agreeable untruth.

Sir John A. MacDonald


Triela panted with exhaustion. She'd been running...actually, how long had she been running? With each step her shotgun grew heavier slung across her shoulder. After each breath it was harder to keep her handgun steady as she fired round after round. Her hair hung in her eyes, sweat ran down her cheeks. Gripping her last stun grenade, she lifted her arm to fling it into the next room when a man's voice stopped her.

"Good work, Triela. We're done for today." Then, a louder, "Stop the simulation!"

Relaxing, the first-generation cyborg nodded, still breathing heavily, took a moment to compose herself, and walked down the long hallway toward the entrance of the training grounds.

The other fratello were waiting in front, and as she exited the building Rico hopped off the fence and sprinted forward to the first round of targets. Pausing to wish the others good luck, she opened the passenger door of Hillshire's Mercedes and waited. The few minutes it took for him to arrive gave her artificial heart time to calm down.

Her handler got into the car with something akin to a smile on his face, an expression that Triela had never seen grace his features. He said nothing until they were out on the highway.

"Um...Hillshire?"

"Yes?"

"Where are we going?" she asked, bewildered. She'd been told that there were no missions scheduled for them today.

"I thought we'd go grab something to eat. That new cafeteria staff doesn't know what they're doing."

"Oh. Um, okay."

He was still smiling. Why the hell was he smiling?

"You did really well in there, Triela. Better than Petrushka, judging by the look on Alessandro's face."

Ah. So that was it.

"You really don't like him, do you?" asked Triela. She scrutinized his face, judged every movement as he answered, his smile wavering a bit. She glanced at his speedometer and noticed the needle jump from the usual 100 km per hour to 110.

"No, I don't."

She opened her mouth to ask why, but there was no need.

"He doesn't take things seriously enough. If his cyborg were injured, he would just take her in for repairs. And he'd let it happen again and again, not caring whether her lifespan was shortened by two days or two years." Hillshire let out a deep breath and Triela watched in relief as the little needle drifted toward the left again.

When they hit traffic, her handler turned to her. He wasn't smiling like an idiot again—thank God—but his eyes had softened.

"Triela, you really did do well out there. I'm proud of you."

The warm tone of his voice caught her off guard. Sure, they had become closer, but it was just too weird for him to be acting like this. At the same time, each word of praise lifted her spirits higher and higher. Suddenly she was blushing and grinning like Henrietta.

Ugh, thought Triela. I'm such a goddamn hypocrite!


Claes watched her roommate enter carefully, analyzing every movement. The other girls had spilled everything to her, and before she interrogated Triela she wanted to see what she could observe for herself.

The blonde entered, smiling faintly. She stood in the doorway for a heartbeat and then walked over to where Claes sat at the easel. "What is it this time? Another landscape?"

"Yes," said Claes, not taking her eyes off Triela. Another second of silence. Then, "Where were you?"

"Oh." Triela glanced at the ceiling. "We, uh, went out for dinner."

"Who's we?" Claes took off her glasses slowly, watching Triela's blue eyes widen. "The others have been back for hours."

The blonde choked out a laugh. "Claes, you sound like the parent of a teenager who broke curfew."

"That's not so far from the truth, actually."

Triela stood still, staring at her fellow cyborg. Then she sighed.

"Hillshire took me out to eat, all right?" she muttered, then turned away so she wouldn't have to see the smile. Score one for Claes.

"Oh?" Triela could feel her best friend's eyebrows rising. "Where? How fancy was it? Did you order dessert?"

"It wasn't pricey. Family-owned. But it was really good."

"Did you order dessert?" Claes insisted.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I'm reading a book." Claes held up a thick hardcover. "This woman is a genius. She's figured out how to tell from the first date if a guy is the one or not." She watched in satisfaction as her friend's caramel-colored complexion turned crimson.

"Claes!"

"Well, did you?"

"...Yes." Score two.

Claes chuckled, then threw her head back and laughed. "I knew it!"

Triela picked up the spare blanket from its place against the wall and flung it at her psychiatrist-farmer-painter-roommate.


A.N. Once again, thank you very much for reading!

Any and all feedback is appreciated!