Kara was rocking on her heels at the entrance to the hospital, waiting for the van to arrive. She'd gotten the call from Priscilla about Michele and she'd rushed over.

As soon as the van pulled up, she wrenched open the side door, almost tearing it off the hinges as it slammed into the stops with a screech of overloaded metal.

"Easy on the equipment, Kara!" Michele scolded her.

Kara fired off questions like a machine gun. "Are you okay? What happened? Who did this to you? Priscilla said you'd been shot? Is it serious? Can you move? Are you in pain? Where are you hit?"

"Kara Michelle!" Michele roared and she snapped to rigid attention.

"I'm fine, Kara," he said, much more softly. "I took a small-caliber bullet to my thigh, but I'm not in any real danger. The doctors are going to remove the bullet and stitch me up and I'll be out in a few hours."

The look of relief on her face was conspicuous. She helped him step down to the ground and insisted he lean against her as they went to the emergency care area.


Ferro parked the Ferrari in front of the handler's dorm and Claes walked back to her room. She removed all her clothes and bundled them up and changed into a large t-shirt and gym shorts. Her boots had blood on them so she pulled them on and walked to the laundry area. She threw the clothes into the wash and set it for cold water to prevent the blood from setting. She wet down some paper towels and used it to wipe the blood off her boots and then headed for the baths and drew a tub of hot water and soaked her body and washed her hair.

After her bath, she dried off and checked the laundry. Removing her clothes from the washer, she visually inspected them to be sure the blood had been cleaned and tossed them into the dryer.

She grabbed her watering pot and filled it from a spigot in the sink before heading to the Music Room. As she approached the closed door she heard the sounds of the piano being played. She worked the latch and pushed the door open and saw someone with long black hair sitting at the piano, working the keys. With Angelica dead, that meant it had to be Kara. She stepped into the room and crossed over to the plants, but Kara continued playing, either oblivious to her presence or pointedly ignoring her.

As Claes leaned over to start watering, the music abruptly stopped.

"Thank you for protecting Michele," she heard Kara say.

Claes merely nodded and continued to water the plants, her back to Kara.

"I'm sorry you had to break your promise," Kara added.

"No you're not," Claes replied, still concentrating on watering the plants.

"Okay, I admit to being glad you prevented harm from coming to Michele or yourself," Kara clarified.

"Afraid he'll die on you and you'll end up a lab rat like me?" Claes said.

Anger flared in Kara like a fire. If Claes was in range she would have slapped her, but instead she clamped down on her emotions and regained her composure.

"That was uncalled for," she said.

"Cut close to home, did I? I sometimes wonder if it was such a good idea to have you all fall in love with your handlers. It seems to cause more problems then it solves," Claes noted as she passed the piano to reach her herbs, which she had brought in from the garden to protect them from the cold.

A cutting remark sprang into Kara's head, but she again bit it down.

"I honestly would have preferred you were never in that situation to begin with, Claes, but since you were, I am nonetheless thankful you took the decision you did," Kara said.

Claes didn't respond, instead moving down to the next pot.

"You're mad at him, aren't you?" Kara said.

"He knew of my promise," Claes said, her voice cold. "He said he understood it and he told me to honor it, even when it was difficult to do so. And yet, in the end, he ordered me to shoot that man."

"He pleaded with you to defend yourself," Kara snapped. "There's a difference."

"All he had was a knife, Kara. I could have incapacitated him with my bare hands. I didn't need to use a gun. I didn't need to shoot him."

"When was the last time you fought someone hand to hand?" Kara asked. "Not to mention our armor is optimized for bullets, not blades, so if he had been able to break through your defenses with the knife Michele described, he might have inflicted serious damage on you."

"Maybe," Claes replied, going back to watering. "I guess we'll never know."

Kara pushed back the bench and stood up. "Outside. Now."

"Why?"

"We're going to spar and find out," Kara replied.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"If you couldn't have easily defeated him, maybe you won't wallow in self-pity."

"You're a cyborg, Kara. He wasn't," Claes noted.

"I'm a Series 2 model. My upper body strength is inferior to yours, so if you can take me, then you could have taken him, but if you can't stop me, you might not have been able to stop him."

"Look, if this is about me insulting Michele, I apologize," Claes said.

"This is about you, Claes. I admit I don't understand how someone so intelligent and logical can bind themselves in superstition and myth. Either the person you made the promise with cared for you or they didn't. If they did not, then they wanted you to never change from some ideal they had of you and that was selfish of them and you owe them nothing. And if they did care for you, then they would not have wanted you to die to keep it now would they?"

"You don't understand…"

"I understand that you are not a coward, Claes. You were not about to just stand there and meekly accept whatever fate a piece of trash like Marcello Palumbo had decided to impose on you," Kara said, before turning and leaving the room.


After she finished watering the plants, Claes returned to the laundry, returned her watering can to a peg on the wall, and retrieved her clothes from the dryer. She folded them neatly and carried them back to her room. As she opened the door, she let out an audible sigh as she saw Triela sitting at the table.

Triela hadn't missed the sigh and immediately noticed Claes looked more pensive then usual.

"What happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Claes replied.

"Sorry, but I'm the designated shoulder to cry on today," Triela said.

"Triela…"

"Claes, we've known each other for some time. It's pretty clear you are upset. Holding it in isn't going to help."

Claes sighed again. She put her clothes in the drawer, pulled off her boots and climbed up onto her bed where she lay on her back. She didn't want to talk about it, but if the handlers didn't already know, they would soon enough and they'd share it with their cyborgs and then she'd have more then just Triela pressing her for details.

"I killed someone today."

"Claes, if you're not going to be serious, I can't help you."

"I am serious. I shot someone in the head at point-blank range. There is still blood on my coat if you don't believe me."

Triela jumped up and climbed the ladder until she could look at Claes.

"What? How? When?"

"I was with Michele. We were helping Section 1 capture a terrorist. He shot Michele in the thigh and came after me. I…I pulled the trigger and killed him."

"How did you get a gun?"

"Do you remember Elenora Gabrielli? She had a spare pistol that she gave me."

"Wait a minute. You said Michele was shot? What the hell was Kara doing?" Triela demanded.

"She wasn't there. No fratelli were."

"Michele picked you for a combat mission? Did he take leave of his senses?" Triela asked, incredulous.

"It wasn't his decision, evidently. Ferro ordered him to go pick up some paperwork at the Ministry of the Interior. Priscilla ordered me to report to his car and wait for him."

"Mio dio," Triela breathed. "I need to make us some tea."

"I don't want any," Claes replied.

"Yes you do," Triela retorted. She poured some bottled water into an electric kettle and plugged it in. Once it was hot, she transferred it to a pot with teabags in it and let it seep for a few minutes before pouring a cup for her and one for Claes.

"It's ready," Triela said.

"I told you I don't want any," Claes replied.

"Don't make me come up there and drag you down," Triela warned. She wrote "Do Not Disturb – I MEAN IT!" on a piece of paper and taped it to the outside of the door.

Claes rose and climbed down the ladder, taking a seat, a heavy sulk on her face.

"It's your favorite," Triela replied as she placed sugar on the table.

Claes' sulk deepened.

"Now, please tell me what happened," Triela requested.