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whiskeycoffeeTitle: Know Too Much
Author: m.jules
Summary: It should have never happened. She'll never remember that it did.
Rating: Teen? I'm bad with ratings.
Disclaimer: Gunslinger Girl and its characters do not belong to me and I am not making a profit.
Author's Notes: This is what happens when you have incomplete canon: I have to make up my own reasons. After Elsa, Giuse started withdrawing from Henrietta. This was just one theory on why. (Well, that, and I couldn't get the mental image out of my head.)
For my Henrietta claim at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
4purposes, prompt: WINTER: The wolf breaks free.
Giuse stood at the window of the operating room, shadows under his eyes standing out in stark contrast to his strained, pale face. His hands gripped the edge of the desk until his knuckles turned white but he knew if he relaxed his grip, his hands would shake. He couldn’t admit that.
“Doctor, is there… is there any way you can only take her memory of that night?” he spoke into the microphone. “I don’t want her to forget the whole week… it was her vacation.”
The doctor grunted, the sound strangely inhuman through the speaker that connected the operation room with the small observation room. “Taking memories is a risky business,” he said. “But then, you know that.” There was a heavy sigh – exasperation, Giuse suspected. He knew they were already annoyed with him for his indecision as to whether to put Henrietta through this conditioning. No one knew exactly what had happened on their last night in Sicily; Giuse wouldn’t tell.
“We’ll do our best,” the doctor finally conceded and Giuse breathed a sigh of relief, collapsing into the chair behind him. He watched the needle press into Henrietta’s skin, watched it pierce the cybernetic muscle beneath, and winced. Guilt wracked him again and, just for a moment, he wished he could forget, too.
“Well, that was… frightening. Hand me another drink, Fermi.”
“Here ya go. I’ve heard of dying for love, man, but I don’t mind sayin’, that was a little creepy.”
“No, I believe her; I don’t think she would have shot. She knows how Giuse feels about her.”
There was a heavy silence in the room and the two detectives looked over at the young man standing by the window, the weight of a new and heavy burden on his shoulders. Gabrielli sat up a little straighter, the neck of the beer bottle caught between two of her fingers.
“You do… you do love her, don’t you?” she asked, sounding worried. Fermi couldn’t help a glance through the doorway into the room where Henrietta slept peacefully, her hair tousled above the sheets and blankets and the jacket that Giuse had tucked around her.
“Of course,” Giuse said, sounding strangled. “Of course I do.”
“I heard you sent Henrietta in for conditioning.” Jean’s voice stopped Giuse in his tracks and he turned slowly, facing his brother.
“Yes,” Giuse admitted, feeling sick all over again. “I did.” He expected a smug expression, approval, maybe even gloating. Instead, Jean frowned, his eyebrows drawing together.
“Why?”
Irritation snapped across Giuse’s expression, bled into his voice. “Aren’t you the one always telling me I should increase her level of conditioning?” he barked, clenching his fists as he felt his hands begin to shake again. “I thought you’d be happy about it.”
“You didn’t do it to make me happy,” Jean pointed out calmly, crossing his arms over his chest. “And it wasn’t that long ago you fought tooth and nail to keep her from being re-conditioned even when she put another handler in danger. What happened, Giuseppe? What did she do?”
“Nothing,” Giuse growled, his gaze darting away with the lie. “She’s my cyborg. I’ll train her as I see fit.” It nauseated him to even utter the words but they did the trick. Jean let the subject drop and Giuse stalked down the hall to his bedroom. The procedure was over; it would still be several hours before Henrietta awoke, before he knew the tally of the damage done. He stretched out on his bed and threw an arm over his eyes, trying to remember if he’d taken any pictures of her while they were in Sicily… how many pictures she’d taken of the house, of the city, of him. Even if she forgot, could he help her remember?
Or would she remember too much?
He knew what the cold, hard pressure against his temple was before his eyes ever opened and his first thought was panic – if an intruder was in his bedroom, did that mean they’d already gotten Henrietta? He threw one hand up to knock the gun away from his head, hoping to catch the would-be assassin by surprise, and found his wrist nearly broken by an iron grip. His mind registered how small the fingers were and his world starting coming apart before he ever opened his eyes to see her.
Henrietta sat on his stomach, her knees on either side of his ribcage, eyes wide and wet in the moonlight. Her mouth trembled and the hand around his wrist tightened until he could feel the bones shift. He hoped she didn’t break them.
“Henrietta?” he gasped. He heard her voice in his head – ‘Why would I kill myself when you’re so good to me?’ – and thought, This can’t be what it seems.
“Giuse,” she whispered and he saw dark spots appearing on her light blue night shirt. Tears, he realized. She was crying. “Why can’t I make you love me?”
“Don’t be silly,” he said, trying his best to sound firm and in control when he knew she held his life in her hands.
“I love you so much.” Her voice shook and it was then he noticed that her hands were trembling, her whole body shuddering with emotion. “She told me I don't love you but I do... I just want to make you happy, Giuse.”
He knew he had to think fast but his mind was empty as a clean slate. What would happen if he didn’t say he loved her?
What would happen if he did?
Hirscher met him in the parking lot, a worried look on his face. Giuse almost turned around to get back in his Porsche; Hirscher was the last person he wanted to see. The German was of the same mind as Giuse on conditioning. Giuse wondered what Hirscher would have done if Triela had awakened him with a gun to his head. He almost asked then thought better of it.
“Henrietta’s out of conditioning,” Hirscher said flatly and Giuse wondered if he was only imagining the disapproval in his tone. “She’s in her room now.”
“Thank you,” Giuse said, making his voice gruff to disguise the lingering guilt. He shifted the bag he held and Hirscher’s eyes fell to it, questioning. Giuse lifted it slightly. “For Henrietta,” he explained. Gifts. Rewards. Atonement offerings. Bribes.
Giuse went to Henrietta’s room, the bag in his hand, and held his breath when she answered the door. How much did she remember? How much had she forgotten?
“Giuse!” She sounded surprised to see him, bright and happy, color brushing across her high cheekbones. “Is something wrong?”
“I had your film developed,” Giuse answered, forcing himself to sound normal, pleasant. “I thought you might like to see the pictures you took.”
“Of course!” Henrietta answered, excited. She took the bag from him and held it without even peeking inside.
“Do you want to look at them now?” he asked. “I haven’t seen them.”
“You… you want to look at them with me?” Her eyes went wide and round, her blush deepening. “Okay.” She ducked her head shyly and opened the door further, allowing him to follow her inside. He deliberately did not close the door behind himself.
She began to look through the pictures and he watched from over her shoulder. “These are beautiful,” she said. “Where is it, Giuse?”
His heart crashed into his stomach like a block of ice and he swallowed hard, flexing his right hand. “That’s Sicily,” he answered, forcing himself to sound light, as if nothing was wrong.
“I went to Sicily?” She moved through more pictures, found one of Giuse standing on the balcony of his family villa, the wind ruffling his hair. Her finger hovered above the lacquered surface of the photograph, not quite touching. “Did you… did you take me to Sicily?”
“Yes,” he answered, trying to keep the disappointment from creeping into his tone.
“I wish I could remember,” she whispered and he thought he heard tears in her voice.
She buried her face in his shoulder and he felt tears soak through his shirt into his skin. Her small body shook with hiccups and choked-off sobs as the hand holding the gun fell away from his temple. Tentatively, he rested his hands on her back, still not daring to move her from this precarious position, not while she still held the gun.
She arched into the touch with such need that he could almost feel her pulling at his soul through his skin, siphoning out every drop of affection he held for her. He froze, uncertain, and heard a thud as the gun dropped from her delicate fingers and hit the wooden floor beside the bed.
Both of her small hands clutched at him as she cried into his neck and somewhere amidst her sobs he heard her whisper, “I love you, Giuse.”
He didn’t say a word but held her until she cried herself to sleep.
They looked at the rest of the pictures in silence and he left her in her room, still staring at a picture he’d taken of her in a wide-brimmed hat, smiling and laughing on the balcony as the wind tried to snatch the hat off her head.
He walked back to his room, telling himself with every step that it had been the right thing to do. She didn’t remember Elsa, didn’t remember Sicily. As much as he’d wanted her to have the memories of her vacation, he told himself it was better this way – safer. And, for the most part, he believed it.
Author: m.jules
Summary: It should have never happened. She'll never remember that it did.
Rating: Teen? I'm bad with ratings.
Disclaimer: Gunslinger Girl and its characters do not belong to me and I am not making a profit.
Author's Notes: This is what happens when you have incomplete canon: I have to make up my own reasons. After Elsa, Giuse started withdrawing from Henrietta. This was just one theory on why. (Well, that, and I couldn't get the mental image out of my head.)
For my Henrietta claim at
4purposes, prompt: WINTER: The wolf breaks free.Giuse stood at the window of the operating room, shadows under his eyes standing out in stark contrast to his strained, pale face. His hands gripped the edge of the desk until his knuckles turned white but he knew if he relaxed his grip, his hands would shake. He couldn’t admit that.
“Doctor, is there… is there any way you can only take her memory of that night?” he spoke into the microphone. “I don’t want her to forget the whole week… it was her vacation.”
The doctor grunted, the sound strangely inhuman through the speaker that connected the operation room with the small observation room. “Taking memories is a risky business,” he said. “But then, you know that.” There was a heavy sigh – exasperation, Giuse suspected. He knew they were already annoyed with him for his indecision as to whether to put Henrietta through this conditioning. No one knew exactly what had happened on their last night in Sicily; Giuse wouldn’t tell.
“We’ll do our best,” the doctor finally conceded and Giuse breathed a sigh of relief, collapsing into the chair behind him. He watched the needle press into Henrietta’s skin, watched it pierce the cybernetic muscle beneath, and winced. Guilt wracked him again and, just for a moment, he wished he could forget, too.
“Well, that was… frightening. Hand me another drink, Fermi.”
“Here ya go. I’ve heard of dying for love, man, but I don’t mind sayin’, that was a little creepy.”
“No, I believe her; I don’t think she would have shot. She knows how Giuse feels about her.”
There was a heavy silence in the room and the two detectives looked over at the young man standing by the window, the weight of a new and heavy burden on his shoulders. Gabrielli sat up a little straighter, the neck of the beer bottle caught between two of her fingers.
“You do… you do love her, don’t you?” she asked, sounding worried. Fermi couldn’t help a glance through the doorway into the room where Henrietta slept peacefully, her hair tousled above the sheets and blankets and the jacket that Giuse had tucked around her.
“Of course,” Giuse said, sounding strangled. “Of course I do.”
“I heard you sent Henrietta in for conditioning.” Jean’s voice stopped Giuse in his tracks and he turned slowly, facing his brother.
“Yes,” Giuse admitted, feeling sick all over again. “I did.” He expected a smug expression, approval, maybe even gloating. Instead, Jean frowned, his eyebrows drawing together.
“Why?”
Irritation snapped across Giuse’s expression, bled into his voice. “Aren’t you the one always telling me I should increase her level of conditioning?” he barked, clenching his fists as he felt his hands begin to shake again. “I thought you’d be happy about it.”
“You didn’t do it to make me happy,” Jean pointed out calmly, crossing his arms over his chest. “And it wasn’t that long ago you fought tooth and nail to keep her from being re-conditioned even when she put another handler in danger. What happened, Giuseppe? What did she do?”
“Nothing,” Giuse growled, his gaze darting away with the lie. “She’s my cyborg. I’ll train her as I see fit.” It nauseated him to even utter the words but they did the trick. Jean let the subject drop and Giuse stalked down the hall to his bedroom. The procedure was over; it would still be several hours before Henrietta awoke, before he knew the tally of the damage done. He stretched out on his bed and threw an arm over his eyes, trying to remember if he’d taken any pictures of her while they were in Sicily… how many pictures she’d taken of the house, of the city, of him. Even if she forgot, could he help her remember?
Or would she remember too much?
He knew what the cold, hard pressure against his temple was before his eyes ever opened and his first thought was panic – if an intruder was in his bedroom, did that mean they’d already gotten Henrietta? He threw one hand up to knock the gun away from his head, hoping to catch the would-be assassin by surprise, and found his wrist nearly broken by an iron grip. His mind registered how small the fingers were and his world starting coming apart before he ever opened his eyes to see her.
Henrietta sat on his stomach, her knees on either side of his ribcage, eyes wide and wet in the moonlight. Her mouth trembled and the hand around his wrist tightened until he could feel the bones shift. He hoped she didn’t break them.
“Henrietta?” he gasped. He heard her voice in his head – ‘Why would I kill myself when you’re so good to me?’ – and thought, This can’t be what it seems.
“Giuse,” she whispered and he saw dark spots appearing on her light blue night shirt. Tears, he realized. She was crying. “Why can’t I make you love me?”
“Don’t be silly,” he said, trying his best to sound firm and in control when he knew she held his life in her hands.
“I love you so much.” Her voice shook and it was then he noticed that her hands were trembling, her whole body shuddering with emotion. “She told me I don't love you but I do... I just want to make you happy, Giuse.”
He knew he had to think fast but his mind was empty as a clean slate. What would happen if he didn’t say he loved her?
What would happen if he did?
Hirscher met him in the parking lot, a worried look on his face. Giuse almost turned around to get back in his Porsche; Hirscher was the last person he wanted to see. The German was of the same mind as Giuse on conditioning. Giuse wondered what Hirscher would have done if Triela had awakened him with a gun to his head. He almost asked then thought better of it.
“Henrietta’s out of conditioning,” Hirscher said flatly and Giuse wondered if he was only imagining the disapproval in his tone. “She’s in her room now.”
“Thank you,” Giuse said, making his voice gruff to disguise the lingering guilt. He shifted the bag he held and Hirscher’s eyes fell to it, questioning. Giuse lifted it slightly. “For Henrietta,” he explained. Gifts. Rewards. Atonement offerings. Bribes.
Giuse went to Henrietta’s room, the bag in his hand, and held his breath when she answered the door. How much did she remember? How much had she forgotten?
“Giuse!” She sounded surprised to see him, bright and happy, color brushing across her high cheekbones. “Is something wrong?”
“I had your film developed,” Giuse answered, forcing himself to sound normal, pleasant. “I thought you might like to see the pictures you took.”
“Of course!” Henrietta answered, excited. She took the bag from him and held it without even peeking inside.
“Do you want to look at them now?” he asked. “I haven’t seen them.”
“You… you want to look at them with me?” Her eyes went wide and round, her blush deepening. “Okay.” She ducked her head shyly and opened the door further, allowing him to follow her inside. He deliberately did not close the door behind himself.
She began to look through the pictures and he watched from over her shoulder. “These are beautiful,” she said. “Where is it, Giuse?”
His heart crashed into his stomach like a block of ice and he swallowed hard, flexing his right hand. “That’s Sicily,” he answered, forcing himself to sound light, as if nothing was wrong.
“I went to Sicily?” She moved through more pictures, found one of Giuse standing on the balcony of his family villa, the wind ruffling his hair. Her finger hovered above the lacquered surface of the photograph, not quite touching. “Did you… did you take me to Sicily?”
“Yes,” he answered, trying to keep the disappointment from creeping into his tone.
“I wish I could remember,” she whispered and he thought he heard tears in her voice.
She buried her face in his shoulder and he felt tears soak through his shirt into his skin. Her small body shook with hiccups and choked-off sobs as the hand holding the gun fell away from his temple. Tentatively, he rested his hands on her back, still not daring to move her from this precarious position, not while she still held the gun.
She arched into the touch with such need that he could almost feel her pulling at his soul through his skin, siphoning out every drop of affection he held for her. He froze, uncertain, and heard a thud as the gun dropped from her delicate fingers and hit the wooden floor beside the bed.
Both of her small hands clutched at him as she cried into his neck and somewhere amidst her sobs he heard her whisper, “I love you, Giuse.”
He didn’t say a word but held her until she cried herself to sleep.
They looked at the rest of the pictures in silence and he left her in her room, still staring at a picture he’d taken of her in a wide-brimmed hat, smiling and laughing on the balcony as the wind tried to snatch the hat off her head.
He walked back to his room, telling himself with every step that it had been the right thing to do. She didn’t remember Elsa, didn’t remember Sicily. As much as he’d wanted her to have the memories of her vacation, he told himself it was better this way – safer. And, for the most part, he believed it.
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Date: 2007-02-11 10:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-12 02:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-11 10:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-12 02:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-12 02:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-12 03:02 pm (UTC)Kinda like Soubi and Ritsuka...no subject
Date: 2007-02-12 05:52 am (UTC)I really liked this, and I love how you build it up so you really wonder what happened, and what could cause Guise to do something that he's shown distaste for (the conditioning).
no subject
Date: 2007-02-12 03:06 pm (UTC)Glad you liked it. I couldn't get the image out of my head, of Henrietta holding a gun to his head and begging him to love her. Of course, in my original idea, he kissed her, but like I said. He just keeps refusing to go there. *laugh*
no subject
Date: 2007-02-12 05:18 pm (UTC)The image of Henrietta with a gun begging him to love her is both heartbreaking and hot all at once.
(Speaking of which, where are you in Saiyuki? I'm wondering when I can start requesting Saiyuki fic when you do memes.)
no subject
Date: 2007-02-12 07:42 pm (UTC)Once again, you succeed to deliver good prose. Seriously consider taking your fanfiction to FFN; you write Giuseppe and Henrietta better than any other GSG author I've seen.
Just one thing... Maybe you could consider branching out a bit? As in, like, writing about another fratello or something. Your ideas are so vivid and your stories play out well, I think it would be mean to just stick to Giuseppe/Henrietta. XD; But write what you want, it's only a suggestion.
no subject
Date: 2007-02-14 02:22 am (UTC)*Blushes* Thank you for the compliment! I haven't updated my FFN stories in... over three years. *laugh* I'm just lazy! But I will do my best.
I've thought about it, but so far, none of the other fratelli appeal to me on the level that Giuse and Henrietta do. I like them, but... they just don't speak to me quite the same way. *shrug* If they ever tell me a story, I'll be sure to write it. *grin*