Author's note: Since no two web sites translate the same, you will need to go to Freetranslation .com for this story.
Crossing the Bridge
A Gunslinger Girl Fan Fiction
By
Danjo3
Ever since the break up of Section 2 some ten years ago, cybernetic implants have become a common way to treat people with disabilities and sever injuries. And even though they are nothing like the ones my sister's and I have, it still means I no longer have to keep my physical condition a secret. My past life with Section 2 is another story. That part of my life is strictly off limits. My sisters and I hope that one day soon, it will all be declassified so we can collaborate on a book of our adventures. Hey, we may even get a movie deal out of it. My Dad tells me not to hold my breath. He says the day the Italian Government let's that information slip will be the day all hell freezes over. Oh well, it doesn't hurt to dream does it?
Speaking of Dad, he's on his way over now to change the oil in my car. Sure, I can do it myself, but why bother when I can manipulate him into doing it? It's simple really. I call him up and tell him I'm getting ready to start the job and then ask him in my helpless female voice, 'Now how do I do it again?' Before I know it, he's out in the driveway with his head under the hood grumbling to himself. Now this service isn't completely free. I still have to listen to his standard lecture on how I need to learn these things and how I need to be more self-sufficient. He tells me he won't always be around to take care of me. God! He just turned 50 but you would think by the way he talks that he's already got one foot in the grave.
"Ich bin nicht a junger mann irgendein mehr." he says.
"Ja, ich kenne Papa." I say.
Now that he's retired, he only speaks Italian when he absolutely has to. But that's all right – after putting up with him for fourteen years I'm fluent in the language. As a matter of fact, the 12th of next month will be eight years since my adoption became final. It was really sweet how it came about. He had taken me out to a really nice restaurant for my sixteenth birthday and then over a delicious Tiramisù, popped the question as it were. He asked me to be his legal daughter. Once I regained my composure, I said yes. It was very out of character for the former Mr. Hillshire. I remember that during the adoption proceedings he had told me that I could have my real name back if I wanted. I told him to forget it. For one, I had worked to damn hard for my name to let it go and for two if I were going to be his daughter, I wanted his name. So here I am, Triela Hartman, daughter of Victor Hartman. If you haven't noticed I'm very proud of my name.
He and I have a great relationship now partly due to the fact that we no longer live under the same roof. It's not that he gets on my nerves exactly, it's just that… well… OK so he gets on my nerves. Dad and I sometimes have a problem seeing eye to eye on things. I guess he's like a lot of fathers in that he's overly protective and has a tendency to try and run my life. I have to remind him ever now and then that I am a grown woman and capable of making my own decisions. In all honesty, however, I can see why he feels the way he does. My younger years following the break up of Section 2 were definitely not good ones. My transition from Intelligence Operative to civilian was quite the ordeal.
The reason Section 2 got the axe is simple: Money. The powers that be decided that Section 1 could do our job just as well as we could and at a fraction of the cost. And so, with a few pen strokes, Section 2 ceased to be. While all of the adults had known this for months in advance, neither I nor any of the other girls had any idea that we were being disbanded. Lorenzo and some of the higher ups in the PWS, including Monica, had decided that the information would be kept from us until after the fact and they had good reason for making that decision (more on that later). Lorenzo and Jean had even come up with a cover story to explainwhy everything was being torn down and packed up. We were told we were moving off the campus we shared with Section 1 to our very own, state of the art facility. Because none of us too much liked Section 1 or our aging home, we were thrilled at the thought of a brand new place. What troubled us, however, was that none of the adults seemed happy about it. Hell, they seemed down right depressed and whenever we would ask them questions about the up coming move, we would get nothing but quick, generic answers. But, being the dedicated company girls we were, we never pushed it.
The night before the supposed move, Claes and I had nothing left in our room but a few suitcase filled with civilian clothes and personal items – all the rest of our stuff had already been packed up and taken away. It was at that time Dad came up to make sure I would be ready to go in the morning. I told him how excited I was and that I would probably have a hard time sleeping. He just gave me a sad smile and asked me something that threw me for a loop. He asked me for my SIG. When I asked him why, he mumbled something about it being on the safe side. Safe side? What did he mean by that? I had been living and breathing guns for the last four years. What could possibly be unsafe? After he left, Claes told me that Vinnie, her new handler who she had only had for a very short time, had taken hers to.
The next morning the two of us loaded up his car and took off. I really wasn't all that surprised when we pulled into his driveway. I figured he was just stopping by to pick up something he had forgotten that morning. He then turned off the car and just sat there staring straight ahead.
"Mr. Hillshire," I finally asked, "are you alright?"
"Triela," he said, "you need to take your bags into the house."
"What?" I asked, thoroughly confused.
"Take your bags inside." he said.
"Why?" I asked.
"Goddamn it Triela, just do it… please."
Once we were inside he sat me in the living room and told me exactly what had happened. To say I was in a state of shock would be an understatement. He told me that section 2 no longer existed. He told me that the people I loved and considered my family had been scatted to the wind. He told me that the only life I had ever known was now just a memory. I tried to choke back my tears.
"What about the other girls?" I asked.
"They're being taken care of." he said.
"What do you mean, taken care of?"
"The PWS let them decide what they wanted to do. They can either stay with their Handlers or be placed with a foster family."
When he told me this, I assumed all of the other girls were in the same situation I was nowin, all of them wondering why their worlds had suddenly been turned upside down.
"Will I still be able to see them?" I asked.
"I… I don't know." he said.
"You don't know? They're my sisters!"
"Calm down."
"Claes is my best friend!"
"I know that. Look, I'm going to see what I can do."
"How long have you known about this?"
"For quite a while."
"So you've been lying to me all this time?"
"Triela…"
"I trusted you! We're supposed to be Fratello!"
"It wasn't my decision."
"Oh, so I guess that makes it alright. You know what? You're a Bastard! You and all the rest of those stupid adults! Where do you get off playing with our lives like this? Who do you think you are?"
"Listen to me…"
"No! You listen to me. You said we have a choice. Well I'm not staying here. I don't want anything to do with you!"
"Triela please, I'm trying to make this right."
"You can't make it right! You never cared about me anyway. "I'm just a thing to you!" I started for the door.
"You know that's not true. If I didn't care, you wouldn't be here right now. I would have just walked away like the others did!"
It took a moment for that to sink in. "What are you saying?"
He was silent, unable to look at me.
"WHAT ARE YOU SAYING!"
"Not all of the Handlers… took their girls." he said.
It was like a knife in my heart. He explained to me that of the eleven girls in Section 2 at the time, only Claes, Henrietta, Petrushka, Pia, and myself had been taken. The other six, including Angie and Rico, had simply been abandoned. I knew that most of those girls deeply loved their Handlers. I could not even imagine what they were going through at that moment. How could they have done this to us? I sank to my knees, sobbing. I felt lost, adrift. He knelt down and put his arms around me. Hugged me gently.
"I'm sorry, Triela," he whispered, "I'm so sorry…"
I did a lot of thinking and soul searching after that and came to the realization that what happened really wasn't Dad's fault. Politicians and Lawmakers had doomed Section 2 and a group of selfish Handlers had doomed my orphaned sisters. I told him that if we were going to be together, there could be no more lies. He would have to answer all my questions honestly and the first one was the most important – What had really happened to the girls who had been left behind. The story he told was sad beyond words. On that last morning they were all told that before going to the new facility they would have to receive a special inoculation. I'm sure this must have struck them as very strange but they, like me, would not have questioned it. One by one they were led to the examination room where a nurse was waiting to give them the shot, but as you've probably already guessed it was no booster, it was a sedative. Once they had fallen asleep, they were taken to that terrible white room where they were totally re-conditioned. Their minds raped, their memories erased. They went to their new families not knowing who or what they were.
I knew that because of Italian law concerning foster care, I would never be able to locate my lost sisters and even if I could, what would be the point? They wouldn't have the slightest idea who I was. The bitterness I feel about this and the hatred I have for their Handlers remains to this day. I often fantasize about strapping them down and subjecting them to the same needle they used on my friends.
He also told me how I came to the Agency. I found out that it was he who had actually rescued me from those monsters in Amsterdam. He also told me about the lady from my dreams – Rachelle Bereaux. The lady who had given her life to save mine. When I think of my mother, it is her face I will always see.
I felt this was a good a time as any to confess to something that had been bothering me for a long time. I had to tell him because after demanding his honesty, I would have been a hypocrite not to.
"Mr. Hillshire," I said, "there's something I want to tell you."
"What is it?"
"It's about Mario." Even though we were no longer Agency employees, I was scared to death of how he would react. Even as close as we are now as father and daughter, he can still intimidate the hell out of me when he wants to.
"Yeah?" he said.
"After he got away from me and I went after him… it's just that… I…"
"Let him go?"
You could hear my jaw hit the floor. "You… you knew?"
"Of coarse I did," he said, smiling, "You're not that slick."
"Why didn't you ever say anything?"
"I figured you had your reasons for doing it."
"And you wanted to buy me Christmas presents?"
"Why not?" he said, "I wasn't paying for them."
You can see now why I can't help but love the big idiot.
A few days later he told me I was going to be taken off the conditioning drugs and to let him know as soon as I started feeling bad because there would more then likely be some complications. Complications was putting it mildly. About two weeks later I started feeling nervous and fidgety. I had a hard time concentrating and then suddenly started running a high fever. I was then taken back to the Agency and put in the infirmary to go through the hell of withdrawal. For an entire week I was in a state of delirium and because I was constantly throwing up, I had to be put on intravenous fluids to keep me from dehydrating. It seemed like my brain was on fire and my body felt as though I had fallen down a flight of stairs. I was shaking like a leaf and always in a cold sweat. If it had not been for the copious amounts of Valium I was given, I don't think I would have made it. Dad stayed at my bedside the entire time, holding my hand and putting cold clothes on my forehead. When it was finally over I was completely exhausted. I was taken home where I spent another week lying on the couch watching TV, which really wasn't so bad because I had the luxury of having Dad wait on me hand and foot.
The only life I had ever known up to that point had been spent under the influence but now my mind was my own and I was to find out that leaning to use it would be a challenge.
About three months after the break up, there was finally some good news. I was finally reunited with Claes and Henrietta. Before the end came, Chief Lorenzo had given the order that none of us were to have any contact with each other. He felt that this would make our transition to civilian life easier, so we were kept apart. Then Jose, Vinnie and my Dad, who had all transferred to Section 1, came to an obvious realization. Since there was no more Section 2 and Lorenzo had retired, there really wasn't anyone left to enforce the no contact order, so they said screw it. We were together again and it was wonderful. Jose started calling us the three musketeers. Unfortunately, Petrushka and Pia no longer lived in Rome so, for the time being, we had to be content with emails and phone calls.
It was about this time Dad started his campaign to normalize me. He told me that in my life before the SWA, I was Catholic so he started taking me to mass every Sunday. He also enrolled me in St. Agatha's, an all girls school. God, what a disaster that was. It didn't take me long to realize that me and school just didn't get along. Don't misunderstand me – it wasn't the schools fault, it's just that I had grown accustom to a certain life style. Lets face it, for me it was no big deal to jet to Milan, off a couple of Padania scumbags and be home in time for dinner. I'd killed people in almost every city in Italy. I stayed in the best hotels and dined in the finest resturants (Handlers had very generous expense accounts). I was the Agency's premier assassin. They called me the Princess. Now I was expected to trade in my trench coat and shotgun for a stupid little plaid skirt and book bag. Being in that school sometimes felt like being on another planet. What's more, I just couldn't seem to stay out of trouble. Incorrigible they called me. I swear, I spent more time in the office then I did in any of my classes. On several occasions, my Dad was called in to see the Principal and on his last visit she told him that if I didn't shape up I was going to get the boot.
He was also very troubled by my preoccupation with members of the opposite sex. If he had really known just how preoccupied I was, he would have locked me in my room and thrown away the key. Now I wouldn't exactly say that I was promiscuous, it was more a matter of making up for lost time. The different things I suddenly found interesting, once I was off the conditioning, fascinated me.
Eventually I decided enough was enough. I made up my mind that as soon as I turned eighteen I was going to join the Carabinieri. If I were a normal girl off the street this, of course, would be impossible, but keep in mind I had plenty of previous experience and a lot of connections. My enlistment would not be a problem. I thought Dad would go ballistic when I told him of my plans but to my surprise, he was all for it.
"You're getting to damn wild." he said, "You need some discipline in you're life."
I guess I was driving the poor guy out of his tree. And so I embarked on my illustrious career in the military. It's something I really excel at. As a matter of fact, two years ago I was accepted into the Gruppo di Intervento Speciale, a very elite group of individuals. No small feat, if I do say so my self. However, I don't plan on making this my career. I've got my future all planned out. When this hitch is up, I'm applying for the Polizia di Stato. I figure I'll do five or six years with them and then it's on to Section 1, my old stomping grounds. Signore Fermi says they're saving a seat for me.
Dad says, "Sie schließlich haben es zusammen."
Unlike me, Claes had no problem making the transition to civilian life. She finished High School and went on to college where she graduated with a degree in literature. She works at a publishing house now - a job she hates. She, like so may other people in her field, wants to be a famous, best selling author. We shared an apartment for a while after she moved out of Vinnies place but I don't think my life style created an atmosphere that was conducive to writing. I still try to drag her out with me every chance I get.
"You're not going to spend the night in front of that damn computer again." I tell her as I push her out the door, "Let's go!"
"God, don't you ever run out of steam?" she asks.
"Hey, you said it yourself - have fun while you're still young."
Henrietta also easily made the switch. She's still in school working towards a degree in foreign languages. She's still living with Jose. After the break up, he announced that the two of them would also stay together and he to would be adopting her. Funny thing is, it never happened. Year after year went by while Jose constantly came up with excuses as to why he was putting it off. Towards the end there, the reasons got pretty lame. I think he even blamed the weather once or twice. Claes and I had questioned Henrietta several times as to what was going on, but she simply echoed whatever it was he was saying. As far as I was concerned, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out. By the time Henrietta had turned 17, the two of them were going at it like rabbits. Don't get me wrong – I really love those two and love the fact that they're in love, but it always kind of creeped me out that Jose was looking at an eleven year old girl and making plans for a future sexual relationship with her. Henrietta swears up and down that nothing happened
between the two of them until she turned 17, but I sometimes wonder. I have to admit though, their devotion to one another is really touching, and yes I'm a little jealous but when it comes to guys, I'm in no hurry. I figure my true love is waiting for me out there somewhere – I just have to be patient.
A while back the five of us finally got together for a reunion. I didn't even think it was going to happen seeing as it took almost a year of off again on again planning. Trying to find a weekend that fit into the schedules of five women with varying careers was a nightmare. We also realized that none of our places was big enough to accommodate everyone, so Vinnie stepped up and volunteered his house while he and his wife Gianna went to stay with Jose. Yes, Claes has a mother figure in her life, as does Pia. Dad has dated on and off over the years but it never seems to pan out.
"I'm sorry Vic, but this just isn't going to work out."
"Why not?"
"It's Triela."
"What about her?"
"Well for one, she's got you wrapped around her little finger and for two… I'm sorry to say this Vic, but… she's a hateful little bitch."
For some reason, they all seem to feel that way and I cannot for the life of me understand why…
Anyway, it was the first time the five of us had been together at the same time since the break up and I have to say, it was a big success. On Friday, the first thing we did, for old time sake, was a little target practice. Vinnie's house sat on a large tract of land and his neighbors were far enough away that we figured we would not disturb them. We went all the way out back to where a small levee by a river would serve as a backdrop. We strung a piece of wire between two trees, and hung paper targets from it with clothespins. We had four pistols – three SIGs belonging to Jose, Vinnie, and myself and Dad's old Beretta. Dad was so sure that one of the other girls would end up shooting herself that he didn't want to give it up at first. He said that after ten years they were too out of practice but I managed to convince him that shooting was just like riding a bike, you never forget. We blasted away at the targets, giggling like little schoolgirls.
The strangest reaction came from Henrietta. She had not so much as touched a gun since the break up and when she had finished squeezing off her first clip from my P226, she turned to me with a smile on her face and said, "God that felt good!"
We would have stayed out there the rest of the day but low and behold, after only about 45 minutes, the cops showed up. They probably would have taken us all to jail if it had not been for the fact that I was in the Carabinieri and knew one of the officers. We tried our best not to laugh when they gave us a little lecture on responsible gun use, wishing more then anything we could tell them just who it was they were talking to.
We then spent the rest of the afternoon catching up. Petrushka graduated college with a business degree and currently works for a telecommunications company in Padova, a city about 30 miles outside of Venice. She and Alessandro had a falling out some time back and rarely talk anymore. It's interesting to note that in her spare time, she teaches ballet to children at a local community center.
Pia, who lives in Torino, has three distinctions none of the rest of us have. First off, she's the only one to have been married. Secondly, she's the only one to be divorced, and third, she's the only one to have a child – a beautiful 1 ½ year old boy named Rinaldo. He was staying with his Dad on that weekend. She brought him with her when she came for a visit last year and we couldn't get enough of him. If you're curious at all, both Claes and I plan on starting families of our own once we find our Prince Charming. Henrietta, who also someday wants children, will of course have to take the adoption route. Dad suggested that I find a nice German boy to settle down with but I told him I already have one in my life and that's one to many.
We went out that evening for dinner at Antico Arco, and then spent the rest of the night visiting various clubs in downtown Rome. I have to admit, we imbibed a little more then we should have, and ended up getting a little crazy. Since Henrietta was the only girl in our pack who had a significant other, the big joke for the night was directing all of the guys who hit on us in her direction. She had her hands full for a while there. Oh, and by the way, there are few things in this life as hilarious as seeing the normally reserved Claes, totally looped.
The weekend was fast coming to a close and Sunday night found us sitting around the living room in our pj's talking about life in general. The mood, however, became somber as the conversation inevitably turned to our old lives at the SWA. A time that as the years passed, seemed more and more like a dream. We poured glasses of Barolo and toasted our lost sisters, praying that wherever they were at that moment, they had found true happiness. I knew that at this point, it wouldn't take much to trigger a crying jag and as it turns out, it was Henrietta who managed to start it. She went to her room and came back with a photo album and inside was something none of us even knew still existed - the precious pictures she had taken, so many years ago. It's hard to put into words what it was like to see those sweet, innocent looking little girls smiling for the camera as if they had no care in the world. Only the five of us would ever know what was truly behind those smiles. Only we knew the enormity of what was being asked of those children and what they were so freely giving. The tears came easily.
I saw my own image. A small blond girl sitting at a table dressing a teddy bear. As I looked at her face, a face that had once been mine, I saw a lot of different things. I saw fear, doubt and insecurity, but there was also something else. In her eyes I saw an inner strength and faith I knew I no longer possessed. I was suddenly very proud of that little girl.
I wanted to reach back through time and take her hand. I wanted to hold and comfort her. I wanted to tell her everything would be all right.
"Be patient little one," I would say to her, "soon you'll be crossing the bridge."
The End
Note: If I have used anyone else's ideas or characters in this story, I wish to apologize. It was totally unintentional.