Key:

"sp" –denotes spoken dialogue

'sp' –denotes thought dialogue

italics(sp)- denote expressed thought and speech

A/N: For those new to the Gunslinger Girl franchise, keep in mind that since this takes place in Italy everybody is presumably speaking Italian.

IX

The cafeteria bustled with the chatter and shuffle of the many workers and few agents residing at this compound that wasn't supposed to exist. Close to the center of this bustle and chatter, Nyromi and Joaquin sat beside each other. While Nyromi sipped the remainder of her tea, Joaquin took little bites of his meal between fits of moving it around.

"What did you two talk about?" Joaquin finally piped picking at his roast beef.

"Some information I needed," Nyromi answered. "Don't play with your food, that's bad manners."

"Sorry," Joaquin said taking another small bite.

"Now, now; it's not like I'm going to marry him. You are still my number one priority."

"Really?"

"Really; really," Nyromi ruffled up Joaquin's hair. "Christ your hair grows fast; I cut it only two weeks ago. We'll have to cut it shorter tomorrow. If this keeps up, I'm just going to have to shave you bald."

"Wha…?!" Joaquin quickly raised his hands to cover his head.

"I'm only joking; I don't much like bald heads."

"Okay; 'Omi," Joaquin breathed in relief.

"Now; eat your food" Nyromi commanded. "In our line of work, we need a lot of protein and minerals."

With a smile and a quick nod, Joaquin resumed his usual speed eating.

'Just like he used to,' Nyromi thought resting her head in her hand. Tears threatened, but refused to form. Nyromi looked upon her ward with great fondness, wondering if this was what salvation felt like.


In a corner of the cafeteria, the Foundation's new additions conversed.

"They look happy don't they?" Olga said with her head cupped in her hands.

"That's our fratello for you," Antonio replied.

"Pardon, but wouldn't they be sorella in your language."

"True," Mauricio answered, "but that is used only during a boy's childhood…usually."

"Yes," Antonio interrupted. "Eventually the boy will become a man and men come first. This way is better, so that it doesn't offend anybody."

After a tense moment, Olga turned back to her drink.

"Men," she uttered under her breath followed by hushed Russian curses.


Many days had passed since Jean left for his briefing in Rome. Upon his return, he handed Nyromi a reservation card for a new restaurant.

"Jean, this…this place…"

"I figured, if we are to discuss matters we should do so in a more…relaxed atmosphere."

"O…okay."

"Do you not have a dress?"

"No, I…I have one, I just don't…wear it often."

"Will nineteen hundred be fine?"

"Y…yes, that'll be fine."

"Excellent; I'll be waiting by the gate." With a wave Jean left, "Till then…"

Nyromi stood speechless in the courtyard, not sure of how to act or what to say. Despite being in her mid-twenties, Nyromi had never been approached by a man in such a way. If her posture and beauty didn't intimidate them, they would shy away when they found out she was…a gypsy. Filled with excitement and fear, Nyromi sprinted back to her room after looking at her watch. It was already sixteen hundred.

Spying Joaquin in the distance, Nyromi scooped up the boy in passing. Approaching her door, she quickly opened it before stepping inside and depositing Joaquin on her bed. Nyromi began to pace back and forth completely unaware she was speaking in London slang.

"Why couldn't he ask for something bloody simple? I mean, I like pizza or some other simple Italian dish, Italians like Italian food don't they? We could've just gone out for pizza and everything would be dog's bollocks. God, I don't even like French food. Bloody hell, I don't even like the French."

"What's wrong?" Joaquin asked sitting up on the bed.

"But no, now he wants to take me to some flaming dive in the heart of Rome and the tosser chose somewhere with a dress code no less. I just want to talk is all; it's not like we're going out as a couple. Is it? "

"'Omi, what's wrong?!" Joaquin raised his voice.

"Oh, you speak English?"

"Sort of, I'm American…remember?"

"Oh, I thought…never you mind. Sweet, sweet child; I have a dilemma."

"What kind of dilemma?"

"I…," Nyromi gulped hard, "…have a date."


Nyromi dressed herself with military efficiency stopping only while Joaquin went off to ask the other female workers for items she didn't have. Her makeup bag had gone unused for such a time that its contents had long since dried out. After two and a half hours, Nyromi took one long glance in her mirror before turning to Joaquin sitting on her bed,"Now Joaquin, I demand your honest opinion."

Joaquin's eyes were wide with Nyromi's image before him. The bold fuchsia of the nightdress accented her eyes in such a way, it made them appear almost ethereal. Nyromi's auburn hair, no longer in short pigtailed braids, was now adorned in a classic Dutch braid with the end teasing the small of her back. Speechless, the child was frozen in awe.

"Is something wrong?" Nyromi asked nervously.

"N…no," Joaquin blushed looking away. "It's…I mean… you're…very pretty."

Not used to such comments, even from a child, Nyromi shied away.

"Thank you. I'm really not used to wearing dresses; this will be only my third time wearing one. Hopefully he'll forgive my shoes."

Looking down, they both shared a giggle at the black padded slippers that normally accompanied her sneaking suit.

"You'll be okay," Joaquin chimed. "I mean, how often do you notice at somebody's shoes?"

"You'll be surprised. That SMS training never does go away. Well my young ward, I'm off to venture on uncharted waters. Will you be at this juncture when I get back, to hear of my perilous journey?"

"Uh-huh, right here."

Smiling at Joaquin's innocence, Nyromi blew a kiss in his direction before departing for the unknown.


"Is you salad…fine," Jean asked.

Upon entering the restaurant, Jean tried his best to be as suave and debonair as he could. Even though he had called three times to confirm his reservation, he slipped the maitre'd a hundred euro bill. His nervous gait returned when Nyromi made no mention of the gesture. The silence had broken few times for simple requests and comments, but little else.

"Yes, it's fine; and your soup?"

"Not bad, but I'd wish they used more leeks and less onions."

Suddenly, Nyromi laughed at Jean's carp.

"D…did I say something funny," Jean asked as his emotions ran wild. He didn't know whether to be charmed, flattered, or embarrassed.

"Yes, actually; you complained. I apologize; it's just something I find funny."

"Oh," Jean stated flatly before returning to his soup.

"No, nothing like that, I assure you. It's that I find people complain about things they either have complete control over or things they have no control over at all."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, not to offend you commander, but you could have requested they use more leeks and less onions."

"Touché."

They shared a small chuckle at this exchange of wit as they began to relax. A few moments later, their main course's arrived. Jean had ordered filet mignon aux oignons with a side of boeuf en brochette. Nyromi not familiar with French cuisine in the slightest; ordered glazed duck breast with a side of steamed greens.

The waiter had given her such obnoxious glares that she almost requested a plate of haggis. This had not been lost on Jean; but when Nyromi responded to his whims of the waiter with courtesy and respect, the waiter's continued agony was more than enough.

"A gypsy rose," Jean muttered under his breath.

"I'm sorry?" Nyromi answered.

"…So…tell me about yourself."

"Nothing much to tell really," Nyromi began between bites. "I was born in Dorechester and raised in Holyhead. My father was a ferryman and my mother; I don't remember much of her."

"Please go on," Jean said finishing his meal.

"I was eighteen when I joined the RAF. I excelled and was recommended for the SAS just before I turned twenty. I've since been shuffled between different agencies around the world."

"Impressive, and what does your family think of all this?"

"If you don't mind, I'd prefer not to talk on that."

"I…I understand."

Suddenly, the waiter appeared casting a weary eye at Nyromi.

"Is everything to your liking sir?"

"Yes, very fine."

"And your…guest?"

"The lady is also very pleased; thank you," Nyromi answered with a wry smile. "We'll be sure to leave a very nice compensation."

With a bow the waiter hurried away from the table.

"Are you really thinking of leaving him something?" Jean asked in a hushed voice.

"A euro; at most," Nyromi said before sipping her wine.

Laughing Jean motioned for the check and pulled out his wallet. On their way out, Nyromi suddenly remembered what she came for.

"There's something I've been meaning to ask you."

"Yes?" Jean answered.

"Joaquin's very impressive for his age. He pick's up lessons so fast, I'm afraid I'll run out."

"That he is," Jean stated growing very stiff.

"If you don't mind, I'd like you to detail your training methods. With that, I think I can provide a more thorough regimen."

"Believe me when I say I'm simply a humble Carabinieri. I doubt any of my methods would match yours."

"I see."


A few days had passed since the dinner date. Nyromi and Jean would wave to each other in passing. Nyromi was constantly training Joaquin or training herself. Jean had been asked to review potential recruits. With so much business to attend to, there was little time to attend to any relationship with each other. This however, did not stop Jean from blaming the child for this inconvenience.

Sitting at his desk, a list lay before Jean as he tapped a pen against the fine wood grain. Closing another personnel file, Jean took his pen in hand and made a fluid line. The axe had fallen on yet another candidate. Taking another file, he tapped his pen against his desk once again when the door suddenly burst open.

Dressed in a sports bra and track pants, Nyromi's bare feet padded their way across the splinters of the shattered doorjamb. Their only decoration, a pair of ankle weights bearing an emblazoned '50kg'. A sensual; yet frightening image of presence.

Putting her palms flat on Jean's desk, Nyromi's wrist weights were in plain view. Identical to the set around her ankles, they also bared the mark of '50kg'.

"How?" Nyromi asked with trembling in her voice. "How could you?! He's only a child!!"

"Can I help you Miss Lautani?" Jean answered; his surprise turning into agitation.

"While running with the security personnel this morning, they had some…interesting things to say."

"If it is anything negative; I'm sure he or she simply doesn't like my authority. Rumors tend to be vicious when they gat out of hand."

"So, the security personnel, the construction workers, the administrative staff, and the cafeteria crew are all plotting against you? Over a hundred people who say the same thing are wrong, is that what you're telling me?"

"…I did what was necessary," Jean answered leaning back in his chair. "What have you taught him? Takedowns, circus tricks? Exactly how are cartwheels and back flips beneficial in the field?"

"I'll show you. Tomorrow, we go. Let's see whose methods are better."

"Excuse me?"

"We fight; you and me. First knockout wins."

"Very well, rank will be dismissed. I'll inform Director Lorenzo in an hour. I hope you don't mind being embarrassed."

"Ten hundred in the gymnasium; don't be late."

Storming out of Jean's office, Nyromi slammed the door behind her. The heavy wooden door rattled against the empty doorjamb before slowly opening again.

Infuriated, Jean picked up his phone. After dialing a short series of numbers, he yelled into the mouthpiece.

"I want the personnel file for Nyromi Lautani immediately!"