Talk Therapy

Disclaimer: Gunslinger Girl is not mine.

Chapter Six: Her Prince Charming

That she wore her usual grey suit instead of that lapis lazuli spaghetti strap dress (his fault; he bought it for her on a whim and Priscilla's teasing), her hair tied up again into her favored twin tails, reassured him some that she wasn't up to a prank. Or was she? Maybe she was toying with him again. But how?

Erratically he wished that she should wear the dress more often. It did look good on her. Or was it that she looked good in it? Which came first, the dress or the girl?

Forcibly purging his mind of all impure thought, Hilshire straightened his posture so as to be worthy of respect in both their minds. "What is it, Triela?"

Triela fidgeted. She perfectly knew how to begin, having gone over the dialogue with Angelica and Claes a hundred times. But she felt she lacked– conviction? Courage?

That got her. I am not afraid of Hilshire.

"Hilshire." She spoke slowly, measuring each word's effect. "I'm really sorry for all the trouble I've caused you."

A serious British eyebrow rose slightly in surprise. "Huh?"

"Sorry. For causing you trouble. You know. Teasing you in front of all the other handlers and girls. Walking around with my hair down. Wearing a backless dress. Talking behind your back. Stuff to annoy you and make fun of you."

Every admission scorched her tanned face. She could barely look him in the eyes, almost gave in to fidgeting and yet somehow suppressed the temptation to violently rearrange the face of the blundering blockhead gaping at her every word.

"So… I'm really sorry, and I promise I won't give you trouble of any sort anymore."

Done, Triela waited.

Don't you dare smirk, you bastard, or I'll lose it and punch you in the nose, your forgiveness and favor be damned…

Hilshire didn't know what to think or do. An obedient Triela? Apologizing for all her hijinks and promising to be a considerate girl from now on? Is the world coming to an end?

"Hilshire?"

She intently scrutinized him. Rather like a high school student trying to peek at her grades on the teacher's desk.

The exact same image, he realized, of that broken, bleeding girl he saved from that burning snuff house in Amsterdam. The girl Ratiel gave her life up for– and to whom he in turn gave his beloved's name. The girl he'd never really stopped regarding her as despite suit and shotgun and superhuman strength.

"Will you forgive me?"

Though he stumbled over his words, he already knew the answer from the beginning, the conclusion already sealed in stone.

"Uh… Sure. No problem."

"Really?" Triela sounded quite earnest to get his approval. That scared him a bit.

"Yes. There's no problem."

"Then… thanks… I guess…"

Letting out a deep sight of relief, she turned to leave. Then Hilshire remembered something he'd been meaning to tell her all this time, but never really had either the occasion to say so nor judged her mood to be right. Something that he felt he just had to get out of his system to clear the air between them. And what better time than now, with the new, improved Triela Mk II?

"Uh? Triela?"

She paused, worried anew and a bit irritated as to what frivolous detail he was about invoke. "What is it?"

"You– you don't have to tie your hair into ponytails if you don't want to."

"Huh?"

"I mean– uh, what I want to say is…" Hilshire tried to impose order on his confused thoughts. He found himself saying "You look good with your hair down."

The look on her face told him that he might have chosen the wrong words yet again.

Triela couldn't believe herself.

The imbecile! Here I am, practically kowtowing for his forgiveness, and he has the chutzpah– thank you for that word, my dear English teacher and ever-loving handler!– to make me do that silly stunt again after I've apologized for it? Why, I ought to kick his–

But she realized that Hilshire was as embarrassed as she was. Maybe even more. And that his comment wasn't exactly– bad.

Praise? From Hilshire? About my looks?

Her smile's brilliance dazzled him. He knew it was wrong to think and feel that way– my metaphors really need work– but he couldn't complain. She looked so– good.

"Sure thing, Hun."

Whistling, satisfied that she was leaving her handler staring at her back yet again, Triela walked away.

The dress goes on this Thursday. I hope you like it, my prince charming...

Maybe I really should condition her more, the dazed Hilshire thought to himself as he shook his head and watched his wearisome– but admittedly endearing– trouble child walk away.

Hidden from sight, Claes smiled at her accomplishment. Freda Claes Johansson, psychotherapist. Not a bad job, isn't it, Sir Raballo?

No. Not at all…

END