12Shameless Plugs:Renata and Donatello star in Salvezza and they come to me from roastpuff. You should read that when you're done with this, then jam his inbox full of messages pleading for an update to that story. Renaldo, Aurelio and Enzo were all hijacked from Life, Liberty, And, courtesy of Sintendo. Orazio and Guinevere are the stars of Rebirth of a Queen, penned by LoC978. Check those out after you're done writing my praises, if you haven't already.
Affliction
The rifle bucked and bucked again, spitting ordnance at the targets spaced out along the hill. Bernardo smiled as Beatrice put a burst in a target's paper head. She was getting better, but still nowhere near as good as the girl who stood ten paces away. Each burst from Rico's Beretta ripped holes in the head or chest of a paper target. The farther targets gave her trouble, though. The last few rounds in her magazine missed twice as often as they landed. Beatrice hadn't even attempted shots at such range, knowing her aim was still relatively poor.
Even so, Bernardo ruffled her hair and smiled at his cyborg. "Nice shooting."
The staccato report from Rico's rifle ended as the last rounds found their way into the hillside of the outdoor range. Jean's sigh was audible, even to Bernardo. "Terrible, Rico. Keep practicing. You'll get better." Rico's head drooped at the harsh words, but she obediently slapped another magazine into the weapon and readied it. Jean's phone rang.
"Jean," he answered. "Yes. Alright," he said, switching the phone to his left hand. Rico, Bernardo and Beatrice looked on, curious. Noticing his errant cyborg, Jean frowned at her and pointed to the targets. Without a word, Rico took aim with the rifle. Jean wandered off, holding a hand to his other ear in an attempt to block out the sound of gunfire behind him. Cyborg and handler watched him leave while Rico worked on her target practice.
A frown wrinkled Beatrice's cute features. "Why is he so mean to you, Rico?"
The blonde girl didn't answer at first. Beatrice sneezed and wiped her nose. Bernardo wondered again if he should take her to see a doctor immediately instead of waiting for her weekly checkup on Wednesday.
The sound of gunfire stopped. Rico set the gun down on a nearby table and began loading rounds into both empty magazines, chatting casually as she did so, "He's not mean to me at all. Jean just wants to make sure I practice a lot so I can be good at what I do. Sometimes he gets mad if I don't live up to his expectations, but he has high expectations. I just need to practice more and try harder." She finished the last bit with a sincere smile, slapping home a full mag.
Bernardo and Beatrice exchanged a look, then she reloaded her weapon and began shooting again. The two cyborgs shot in silence, interspersed by bursts of gunfire. Bernardo watched his charge practice, but his mind was elsewhere. For as much as he disliked Jean's methods, Rico was a crack shot, excellent in unarmed combat and utterly ruthless if told to be so. She was also cheerful, childish and absolutely adored her handler despite his rough ways.
Beatrice, on the other hand... well, Beatrice had... a cold. He stole a glance at her short brown locks and her cute little face, scrunched up in concentration. She had been missing practice recently, more than he would have liked. Maybe he should institute a training regimen that was more strict, but she was just now starting to open up, to show some hints of real personality. Secretly he quite enjoyed that bit. Bernardo had always been good with children and his sister's children thought it was great when Uncle Bernie came to watch them. Now that Beatrice was starting to act more like a little girl and less like a ruthless killing machine he wasn't sure he wanted to let her go back.
He just didn't know what to do.
Bernardo had Beatrice pack in the target practice right around the time Jean told Rico to finish up and run a few laps. He really didn't let up on that girl. Jean wanted to discuss some things with him, so Bernardo had told his little cyborg he would find her when he was done. She had some time to kill, and as she walked back to her room to drop off her rifle, the soft strains of violin music drifted through the campus. Beatrice had no musical talent and usually ignored Henrietta's playing, but she paused to listen. It sounded... nice. On impulse she headed towards her room to drop off the gun, sneezing along the way. Unburdened, she hurried back to listen to Henrietta play in the large ballroom. The door was open when she got there and Beatrice timidly peeked around the corner before entering.
Henrietta was alone, dwarfed by the huge size of the room. She was a small girl of no more than ten or twelve years, wearing a simple white blouse and black skirt today. Her short brown hair was cut in a style quite like Beatrice's and her eyes were closed as she intently played. She drew the bow across the strings the way one might caress a lover, with equal parts tenderness and passion. The sounds of her instrument reverberated off the hardwood floors and plaster walls, filling the room with soft, stringed harmonies.
Beatrice walked into the room, unnoticed. She let herself be carried away by the music, as if she were floating on a fluffy cloud of symphonious pleasure, oblivious to life's cares. Except some part of that cloud must've gone up her nose because she sneezed. The sudden interruption was enough to bring the violin away from Henrietta's chin as a look of surprise covered her face.
Beatrice's hands had gone to cover her mouth and nose, but the sneeze had been loud just the same. "I'm sorry!" she squeaked into cupped hands. Her eyes shone with embarrassment.
"That's alright, Beatrice. Do you like my playing?" Beatrice, hands still over her mouth, nodded. "Then I'll play some more," Henrietta said with a smile.
As the air filled with music once again, Beatrice wiped her nose, doing her best to make no noise. She stood there engrossed, handkerchief in hand, until the next sneeze overtook her. Henrietta paid her no mind and finished her song. Letting her hands drop to her sides, she took a little bow as Beatrice clapped her hands with glee.
"You're so good! Did you learn how to play for Mireille?"
"Yes," she said, setting the instrument back into its case. "He wanted me to learn to play because it would help me grow accustomed to my prosthetics. It did, but now I play because I like to."
"Wow." Beatrice's admiration was plain. "I don't know how to do anything like that."
"If I could find the time I could teach you. I'm supposed to teach Angelica how to play, too. I could start a class!"
"That would be great! I'd love to learn to... to..." She could feel the sneeze coming this time, and readied her hanky. Henrietta was facing away, latching the case. She looked over quizzically as the other girl's sentence trailed off.
"ACHOO!" Following the sneeze Beatrice snuffled a bit.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm getting sick, I think."
"Oh." Henrietta clearly didn't know what to say to that, though she finally settled on, "Have you seen Dr. Bianchi?"
"I didn't want to trouble him, and my check-up is in two days."
"Oh." The other girl smiled sweetly and said, "I'm going to meet some of the other girls for tea. Would you like to come?"
"I would love to!" Beatrice said, stifling another sneeze.
Having stopped by her room again to fetch a clean hanky, Beatrice stood in front of the door to the room shared by Triela and Claes. She hesitated a minute, then knocked softly. Claes's voice came from the other side of the door, "Come in!"
Beatrice opened the door and looked in. Henrietta was seated at a small table in the middle of the room which held a full tea set and places for four. Claes herself lounged on the top bunk of the bunk bed on the left side of the room, a small book open in front of her. Otherwise, the room was furnished with a bookcase and dressers, themselves decorated with books, pictures and a collection of stuffed bears. The smells of fresh, cupcakes and steeping tea did their best to assail her nose, but she was far too stuffy to take notice.
Claes greeted her, then went back to reading. Henrietta smiled warmly and bade her take a seat. Beatrice walked in, closing the door soundlessly behind her.
Henrietta herself was seated such that Claes was in front of her and the door was to her left side. Beatrice took the seat that faced the door, placing the handkerchief on her lap, ready for quick use.
"Would you like some tea?" Henrietta asked, hand on the teapot.
"Yes, please." Henrietta smiled cheerfully, then poured tea into the cup in front of Beatrice.
"Thank you, Henrietta."
"My pleasure."
"You know," Henrietta began, "you've been here for a while but we haven't really gotten the chance to talk much."
"No." Beatrice didn't really know what else to say. A few days ago, her colleagues, the other girls, hadn't mattered enough to her for her to care about chatting or drinking tea with them. Something had changed. She didn't know what, and she didn't know how best to say it so she merely sat in silence.
"Were you expecting more people?" she asked, finally, looking at the vacant chairs.
"I always set four places, just in case. I always invite Rico, but she never seems to have the time."
Beatrice nodded. "Jean told her to run laps after target practice." Henrietta sighed.
A knock sounded at the door. Claes bade the visitor enter and the tall girl did. She was just an inch or two taller than Claes, of a height with Triela. Her red hair was hastily done up in a bun. She wore a dark blue jacket over a black blouse. Her skirt matched her jacket while her socks matched her blouse. Black shoes covered her feet while a shy smile covered her face.
"Renata! Glad you could make it! Please, have a seat," Henrietta said, gesturing to the vacant seat with its back to the door. The other girls offered greetings in turn.
Henrietta offered tea to the new girl who took it politely. Beatrice blew on her tea to cool it, then took a sip.
"Oh! Don't forget the sugar," Henrietta said, playing the perfect hostess.
"No, thank you. I'm fine," Beatrice replied, then sipped again. The tea was quite good and it felt good on her throat.
"Would you care for some sugar?" Henrietta asked Renata.
"Yes, please." Henrietta moved the sugar bowl between Renata and herself.
"Henrietta needs something to sweeten hers," Claes chided from the bunk.
"It's kinda bitter, otherwise," Henrietta agreed, spooning some sugar into her cup and stirring.
"Sugar makes it better, but honey is even tastier. I'm sure if I ask Donatello for some honey he would get some for us," the red-haired girl said, then added two spoons of sugar to her own cup.
"That's alright. The taste doesn't bother me," Beatrice said, holding the cup and feeling its warmth.
"What did Triela call you?" Claes asked of Henrietta. "Sweety?" Henrietta smiled sweetly at the memory.
"Oh! Where is Triela?" Beatrice asked. She had wondered before and Claes's question brought it back to the forefront of her mind.
"Yes, isn't this her room?" Renata asked, her gaze travelling the length of the collection of bears.
"Hers and mine," Claes responded. "And she's off on an assignment with Hilshire. We're not sure when they'll be back."
"Does Triela get along with Hilshire?" Renata asked, setting her teacup on the table.
"They do seem to argue a lot," Beatrice agreed, still holding her tea.
Henrietta and Claes exchanged a knowing look, then giggled. Renata and Beatrice, on the other hand, exchanged a look of confusion, obviously not privy to what had caused the other girls' mirth.
"Triela is just as devoted to Hilshire as any of us are to our handlers," Henrietta said, as she stared off into space, the corners of her mouth pulled up in a dreamy smile.
Renata pondered that and sipped her tea. Beatrice said, "You think so, Claes?" She figured Claes would know since, of all of them, she probably saw the most of Triela.
"Triela is every bit as devoted to Hilshire as any of you are to your handlers," she said. Focusing on the words, Beatrice missed the bitterness that had crept into the older girl's voice. Renata sent a sympathetic look her way and opened her mouth to speak, but Henrietta cut her off with a tactful change of subject.
"Do you really think you're getting sick, Beatrice?"
"Beatrice is sick?" Renata asked, turning her sympathetic eyes toward the girl across the table from her. Even Claes hazarded a glance.
"I don't know. I've been sneezing a lot recently. I'll see Dr. Bianchi on Wednesday, though, and he'll know what to do." Beatrice felt slightly self-conscious with so many pairs of eyes on her.
"Dr. Bianchi is out of the country right now," Claes said, shifting to look down at the assemblage of girls more comfortably. "He's attending some conference in America and won't be back until the weekend."
"Oh!" The same sentiment echoed from three mouths, almost at once.
"I certainly hope it's nothing serious, then," Renata said, her voice tinged with concern.
Beatrice shook her head. "I'm fine."
"This is your first time coming for tea?" Renata asked, looking at Beatrice over her teacup.
"Yeah, what brought you here?" Claes inquired, genuinely curious.
"She was listening to me play so I invited her," Henrietta answered, practically beaming. She was proud of her skill with the violin and appreciated an audience.
"You are quite good, you know." The taller girl smiled at her.
"Yes, very," Beatrice agreed. "I just never really noticed until just today..." her voice trailed off as she thought. Actually, it had been a few days ago, after the incident with Gobetti. Everything had seemed so much more... vivid since that day. And she found that she really did care about the other girls if she took the time to think about it. She really resented Jean's treatment of Rico and the disregard — almost contempt — that Marco showed to Angelica. She felt sorry for Claes for having no one. Of course Claes had the other girls, but, thinking of how she cherished her own handler, it just wasn't the same. She really enjoyed Henrietta's music and Priscilla's cooing and a hundred other things she had totally ignored before today.
"Beatrice?" Renata said. "Your nose is running."
She must have started to daydream or something. She wiped her nose with the handkerchief on her lap, but when she opened her mouth to speak, the only thing that came out were dry coughs. She managed to wrench her head around and cough into the hanky. It came all at once, a spasm of hacking that left her breathless and brought tears to her eyes.
The other girls looked on, their concern palpable in the small room, but no one knew what to say. The silence was punctuated only by Beatrice's wheezing breaths.
A knock echoed from the door, bringing everyone back to reality. Belatedly, Claes said, "Come in," just as the door opened to show a concerned Bernardo.
"Girls," he said, addressing them as a group. Then, "Bicé, are you alright?"
She nodded but couldn't find the breath to speak. She slid off her chair and walked over to him. He squatted down next to her and placed a hand on her forehead. His eyes widened in concern.
"Beatrice! You're burning up!"
Bernardo was suddenly very concerned for the welfare of his little partner. She felt like she had a fever and looked like she wanted to collapse. The other girls looked on but said nothing.
"Claes, can you go find Dr. Bianchi and tell him Bicé needs to see him right now?"
"Dr. Bianchi's not here, sir," she said, sitting up on the bed.
"Bicé's sick, she needs a doctor!" Bernardo's desperation was plain.
"Yes, sir," she said, dropping onto the floor. Claes ran out the door, stocking-clad feet sliding on hardwood.
Beatrice wavered, then pitched forward. He caught her before she fell. Realizing what had happened, she looked at her handler and smiled. This won't do at all, Bernardo thought. I'll have to carry her.
Without further ado, he took the little girl in his arms and lifted her off her feet, spun on his heel and jogged out the door. Renata and Henrietta exchanged a glance, then bolted out the door after him, tea all but forgotten.
The infirmary was across the campus, a sizable walk under normal conditions, but Bernardo wanted to get Beatrice there as soon as possible. He jogged out into the receding light of an increasingly cloudy day. Claes was well ahead of him and he could hear Renata and Henrietta shouting for their handlers. At this rate the entire agency would know how careless he had been with his cyborg, but there was nothing for it, now. Jean would certainly come down on him for his neglect, but Beatrice's health was foremost on his mind. It had deteriorated much more rapidly than he would have thought possible.
Beatrice snuggled into his embrace and closed her eyes. He broke into a run. While he was in good shape, running while carrying a cyborg was taxing and in short order his arms ached and his breath came in ragged gasps. And he was barely halfway there. He ran until his muscles burned and his veins pumped battery acid. Then he ran some more.
The shouts that had gone up had attracted some of the other cyborgs and handlers. Renaldo paced him, asking questions, but Bernardo had no breath to waste on answers. Mireille and Henrietta were behind him and Rico ran to intercept him as his legs did their best to carry him to his destination.
Up a flight of stairs, the door to the infirmary loomed in front of him. Claes, worry creasing her features, was standing by the door. She opened it for him. Through it were more stairs. He climbed another flight, trying to ignore the pain in his thighs. He turned the corner and made his way through a hallway filled with concerned agents, sympathetic cyborgs and curious doctors. Bernardo jogged to the nearest room and set Beatrice gently down on the clean, white sheets of the nearest bed, then collapsed into a nearby chair, his arms uncramping.
Voices sounded in the doorway and from the hall outside:
"Is she gonna be alright?"
"We were just having tea, and..."
"That man really was sick..."
"Maybe she's got AIDS or the Plague!"
"Shut up, 'Naldo!"
"She'll get better, won't she, Miss Mirielle?"
"Out of the way! Move! Let us through!"
The doctors made their way in and made preparations to move Beatrice. Bernardo spotted Dr. Gilliani directing and giving orders. Even if Dr. Bianchi wasn't here, Bernardo reasoned, his staff was competent.
"Mr. Bernardo?" Beatrice's voice sounded so tiny. He looked over at her. Her face looked rather flushed and tears were welling up in the corners of her eyes. "I didn't get you in trouble, did I?"
"No, not at all. It'll be fine, Bicé. Everything'll be fine." His arms hung limply at his sides, feeling just starting to return to them. His breathing was mostly back to normal but his heart was still pumping fast.
She said nothing as the doctors wheeled her out and down the hall. Jean stood in the doorway, his face betraying no emotion. "We have to talk," he said.
Bernardo pushed himself to his feet, noting the protests from his legs. He walked out into the hall. The crowd was milling about, several conversations going at once. Rico was watching Beatrice get wheeled away, a concerned frown on her face. Henrietta was explaining what had happened to her handler while Renata added some details of her own for the edification her handler, Donatello. Marco looked on from down the hall, arms crossed. His girl was nowhere to be seen.
"'Naldo, what are you doing!?" Aurelio demanded of his ward. The cyborg in question was short and stocky, with a mess of blonde hair hidden under a ragged, blue cap. In stark contrast to the decor of the girls, he wore shorts and a tank top with a pair of flip flops. He looked up, thumb frozen over the keypad of his cell phone.
"Calling Enzo..."
"Don't do that! He's on an op. He could be trying to sneak up on terrorists when his phone rings!"
The boy looked down at his phone, then back to his handler. Down the hall, Jean put his own phone to his ear and said, "Hilshire? It's Jean. Look... there's been a problem..."
"Then why does Jean get to call Hilshire!?" the boy demanded, looking back at Aurelio.
"Because he's Jean. If you were Jean you could call Hilshire, too."
"What? What's that supposed to mean!? I'm not Jean!"
"Consider yourself lucky. C'mon." Aurelio took the boy by the arm and the pair continued to argue as they descended the stairs.
As they left, a tiny girl came around the corner, looking confused. She was pale and freckled, short and skinny and her loose, copper tresses reached just down to her shoulders. Her garb was simple: black pants and a dark purple shirt. She stood staring for a minute before a voice behind her called out, "Slow down, Gwen, I'm not as fast as you!"
Gwen ran back down the stairs and tried to help her handler climb, offering words of dubious encouragement: "C'mon Orazio!" The man panted and huffed his way up the stairs. He reached the top and turned the corner, the little girl on one hand, a cane in the other. He was stocky, with brown hair back in a ponytail and he leaned heavily on his cane as he tried to catch his breath.
"What did I miss?" he asked.
Claes walked towards the pair and guided them back down the stairs, offering to explain. Orazio sighed as he climbed back down the stairs again, listening intently to what Claes had to say.
Jean finished his phone conversation and the other remnants of Section Two abruptly found somewhere else to be.
"We need to talk, Bernardo."
Next: Strength of Steel