Disclaimer: There are very few things in this world that I own. Gunslinger Girl is not one of them.
Rebirth of a Queen
a Gunslinger Girl fanfiction by LoC978
Introduction: Two Guys, a Girl, an Intensive Care Unit... and a Cyborg.
The lobby was pretty much what she expected. Sterile. All White: walls, floor, lights. The only color in the room seemed to come in through the windows that covered most of the north and south walls. Stretching from perhaps a meter off the floor to a few centimeters under the 3+ meter high ceiling, they let in the fading orange sunlight of an autumn sunset. The ticking of a round clock that hung over the double doors on the west wall was nearly the only sound. Seated in a chair on the west wall was a tall, bored looking blond man in an expensive black suit. He exhaled sharply through his nostrils as the receptionist across the room began typing.
One of the west doors opened, and a man in a white lab coat walked briskly through the door. He seemed to be engrossed in the contents of a clipboard he held in his left hand. He was muttering under his breath. Something about the 'alveolar epithelium'. The little girl with short blond hair in the center of the room made a note of the term, meaning to look it up later. The man in the lab coat pushed through the east doors without slowing his stride. The receptionist's phone rang quietly...
The blond man shifted in his seat slightly, and the girl quickly checked every entrance, doors, windows, even the ventilation shaft above the receptionist's desk. The man sighed impatiently, checking his watch. He began tapping his foot. The girl relaxed again, and began listening to the receptionist repeat back someone's address.
One of the west doors opened again, this time admitting a man of middling height with a barrel chest and his shoulder-length brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. A pair of frameless glasses rested upon his square-jawed, clean shaven face. He took a step in, and faced the seated man. He seemed to be favoring his right leg slightly.
"Good evening, Mr. Gallo," said the blond man, rising from his seat and offering his hand.
"Evening, Jean," the bespectacled man replied, shaking the offered hand firmly, "I know it's been awhile, but, could we dispense with the formality please? It makes my skin crawl."
Jean actually smiled a little. "Sure, Orazio. Whatever you're most comfortable with."
The man called Orazio squatted down and faced the girl, offering his hand to her. "You must be Rico. It's an honor to finally meet you. I've heard some impressive things about you..."
The little girl shook his hand, and took note of how uncomfortable he looked in a black Armani suit that was almost identical to Jean's. Like a small brown bear stuffed into a penguin skin. She grinned suddenly at the mental image, trying to hold back a giggle.
Orazio stood back up with a slight grunt of effort as Jean drew a sheet of paper out from under his jacket.
"Here's the list you requested." Jean said.
Orazio took the paper and scanned it for a moment. "Ah, good... Hmm... Nothing about their condition here. Oh well. Let's start from the top."
"Alright. Follow me," Jean moved through the east doors, and down the hallway. Orazio and Rico followed.
"... victim of a hit-and-run. She has multiple fractures. We tried to locate her family, but she seems to be homeless," the doctor finished.
Orazio looked down from the observatory to where the dark haired, skinny fifteen year old girl was resting peacefully. "She doesn't seem too terribly injured. Were there complications in the surgery or something?"
"No... But there will be permanent scarring, and she'll walk with a limp for the rest of her life."
"So will I," Orazio said. Then, to Jean, "Let's move on to the next."
"... the knife punctured her large intestines, but we managed to stabilize her. Her parents are American, and they live on a military base close to Napoli."
The blond, 13 year old girl seemed to be a mass of bruises. It was difficult to tell what her face had looked like this morning.
"Have they been contacted?"
"We're having trouble reaching them, but we managed to contact a friend of theirs about an hour ago."
"And the girl, She'll pull through?"
"We're confident that her life is no longer in danger."
"Who's next on the list, Jean?"
Three stops later, Orazio and Jean stood with a short doctor in his late thirties. He appeared to be of middle-eastern descent. Rico appeared to be lost in the skeletal and muscular system charts on one of the walls. Jean could tell she wasn't. Just like he'd trained her.
"Her left arm, leg, and clavicle are all shattered. Four ribs are broken. Her left lung collapsed, and she can't breathe without that respirator she's hooked to. I'm afraid the odds of her survival are slim, gentlemen," the doctor sighed heavily as he finished giving his report.
"Any family?" Orazio asked quietly.
"She's an only child, and her parents were murdered the night she went missing. That was three months ago. We haven't found any extended family, since the couple moved here from Ireland nine years ago," the doctor said.
"They became Italian citizens?" Jean sounded surprised.
"Indeed. The government accepted their application shortly after they arrived. It's not that hard to do," the Arab man smiled.
Orazio gazed down at the six year old, red haired victim. So much younger than the people he'd lost to terrorism. At least they'd gotten a shot at life. And most of them had died on their feet, fighting for what they believed in. His mouth tightened angrily. Al-Qaeda, Hezbollah, Padania... ideology aside, they were all the same to him. Linked by their preferred methods. Though it was probable she wouldn't appreciate it, this little girl would get her revenge. He crumpled up the paper full of incident reports Jean had given him.
"So, you've made your decision, then?" Jean asked.
Orazio nodded, then, turning to the doctor, "What's her name?"
"Giovanna Addison."