“Duo looked away from the unwavering blue-green gaze. God, all of this was so easy for Quatre. He had nothing to run from, nothing that continued to eat at him.” (Excerpt from pt1)

Is Duo right?

Quatre reached out to the phone. He'd left Duo in the suite's living room, left him sprawled out on a couch with his eyes riveted on the ceiling. Quatre lifted the receiver to his ear and listened to that same familiar dead tone resonate. Then he reached out with his other hand and began dialing that number, that number he'd memorized almost 6 months ago. He sighed as he listened to the line ring. He lay back on his own bed and stared up at the bedroom's ceiling, partly hoping that Catherine wouldn't answer the phone. He wasn't up to sounding cheery, even for someone as kind as she. Quatre's eyes roved the flawless ceiling. Calling Trowa was one of the few indulgences he allowed himself these days. This would be his third call to Trowa in the last 6 months. The first occurred on the day he and Dorothy had their final falling out. The second took place on the day he and Duo made the decision to raise a child together. And, now this third call would take place on the day he bought…these. Quatre reached into his pocket and pulled out the small velvet box. The line continued to ring. With one hand and a little difficulty, Quatre was able to pry the box open. Two rings, made out of platinum gold, shined back at him. They were men's rings and identical to their very stones. The ringing stopped and was replaced by a click as an answering machine picked up.

A joyful female voice came over the earpiece. “Trowa and Catherine are not in right now. Leave a message after the roar.”

Quatre blinked blue-green eyes. Without fail, a lion's roar came over the earpiece, signaling the caller to leave a message. Quatre placed the receiver back on its cradle. Perhaps, he wasn't so lucky this time. Trowa wasn't just going to sit around and wait for his call.

~*(Begin Flashback)*~

Dorothy…Quatre frowned as he brought a hand to his sore cheek. He'd never expected that reaction from her. Yes, in the years they'd spent together, even with all the passing of catty retorts from her to him, he'd never pictured her reacting so vehemently to his proposal. He wanted to marry her, raise children with her---He rubbed his tender cheek—grow old with her.

He didn't take her out to nice restaurant, or on a cruise to propose. No, he did it in bed, on a whim. They were partly dressed. She was in a silken slip and he was in a pair of pants. Her head was tucked under his chin, her bare thigh was thrown over his leg, and his hand was on her hip. It wasn't post coital cuddling on their part. They were just lying there in silence. He enjoyed these bouts of quiet. There were no games, although he'd come to love them; there were no reasons to be on guard, although he accepted the necessity at times; and there were no reasons to want to be anywhere else, although at times he'd wished her to the far corners of the Earth. His hand squeezed her hip as he kissed the top of her head. Today, her scent was jasmine. He nuzzled the top of her head and spoke into her hair. “Dorothy,” he murmured into a fall of gleaming blond hair. “I don't want this to end...” His hand slipped from her hip to between their bodies. He could feel her breath against his chest.

Her reply was simple. “Then disregard your work and stay in bed with me all day.”

He laughed softly against her hair. “I've already called in.” He let the back of his hand graze the space between her parted thighs before letting it settle on the lowest part of her abdomen.

She moaned against his chest as she rubbed her thigh against him. “Mr. Winner, I do believe you have designs on my body.”

“Not just your body.” He eased himself downward on the bed to kiss her forehead.

“That's a change,” she said against his collarbone.

“I'm serious, Dorothy.” His eyes moved to the window. He watched white curtains billow outward with the fresh breeze. “We're already living together…and we've managed not to kill each other…”

“That's only because of your conscience and that fact that I've stopped fencing…”

He closed his eyes and sighed. Apparently, she'd never let him live that moment down, that moment almost a decade ago on Zechs's ship Libra when she skewered him with her foil. Despite his mild exasperation he continued, “We're already living together…why not live as man and wife…”

“You want a church to sanction what we're doing?” She moved her head from under his chin and peered up at him.

He stared back at her, directly into a confused azure gaze. “I want to see you in all white. I want our friends to be there. I want to fly you off to some resort and 'take' you, 'bed' you as my wife.” He hid a smile. Over the years, she'd rubbed off on him. He was evening talking in the same playful manner that was her forte.

“Wife?” Her thigh was still over his leg and his hand still rested on her lower abdomen. “Wife?” Her eyes grew wide and large.

He'd knocked her speechless, for once. He continued, pleased that he'd caused her to be stricken by surprise. It was rare to see this acute look of astonishment on her face. He continued to whisper, “I want a family,” the back of his hand stroked her taut abdomen, “with you…only you.”

She edged away from him on the bed, but her eyes were still on him. “You want me big and round…and tottering about…”

“No…” His hand moved away from her abdomen to clutch her hand. “I want us to create a life together.” His eyes shone with the desire. His thumb stroked the inside of her palm.

She tried to remove her hand, but he held onto it. “I don't want the same,” she said. “I don't want marriage…I don't want children…”

He stared back at her, partly expecting her to laugh off her comments, throw her arms around him, and welcome him to a fun sexual romp to consummate their plans to spend a lifetime together. It wasn't an unreasonable expectation. She'd done it before; dashed his hopes and then returned his love with equal or more fervor not two seconds later. That was her way. She destroyed him and then rebuilt him. And, now he was waiting for her to do it again.

But the moment didn't come. Instead of warm arms and passionate lips he received, “I don't want to depend on you. I'm perfectly happy the way we are.” She tugged her hand free from his grasp and rolled away from him to sit up at the side of the bed.

He lay there for a moment in shock before rolling over to sit up and join on her on the side of the bed. He pinned her with a questioning blue-green gaze. “You don't want to depend on me? That's ridiculous. It's what people do with each other. It's what you've been doing all this time.”

She looked away from him.

He continued to eye her. “You're happy the way things are? I can accept that. But what are you happy with?”

“We're good in bed,” was her reply.

“And?”

“You make great coffee.”

Quatre sighed. He wasn't going let this bother him. If she was in one of her moods, then fine. He'd leave her to brood. He was about to move from the bed when she asked, “You said you wanted to marry me…why would you want something like that?”

He watched the curtains billow. He couldn't come up with anything that sounded sane. He settled on, “I like the person you've made me.”

“Made you? Sentimental?” She scoffed. “I didn't make you that way.”

He didn't bother responding. He'd make some of that great coffee and drink it by himself. But, she kept talking.

“Nothing's changed with you. You're the same boy I wounded years ago. That's not who I want for a husband. That's not what I want to build my life around.”

He watched her from his position beside her. She didn't waste a glance on him, but her tone was soft as she continued the insults. “I suppose someday…when I'm tired of being alone, I'll want a child…but I don't want to be married to one.”

Perhaps, he'd been desensitized to this variety of harshness. This wasn't the first time she'd commented on his relatively gentle, undemanding nature. “Why are you so threatened by my proposal, Dorothy? Decline it, but don't try to wound me in the process. It's tiring,” he muttered. He made a move to leave the bed, but she turned to him in one fierce motion and cracked her hand against his cheek.

“You don't love me… You love yourself! Marriage? A child? You just want something to claim!”

He stared back at her, shocked by the sudden outburst. His cheek throbbed.

Her face was red, a direct contrast to her flaxen tresses.

And, he got up from the bed and left. Barefoot, he padded out of the bedroom. His destination was set: the kitchen. He descended a long sweeping staircase and made it across a cool stretch of marble to a spacious kitchen. It was just his luck; he ran into the cook.

A man with a long, droopy mustache looked up at him. A huge white hat was propped on his meaty head and large red handkerchief was tied around his equally thick neck. “Master Winner! I have a wonderful dinner planned for you and Mistress Catalonia. It's--” The cook stopped upon seeing the expression on Quatre's face.

The blond held his cheek with one hand and peered back at him.

“Master Winner…”

“Do you ever get tired of cooking just for two?”

The cook blinked back at him before saying, “No…”

“Why?” Quatre walked over the freezer and removed a large ice tray.

The cook unwrapped the large handkerchief he kept around his neck. “It's just one of those things...” He watched as Quatre cracked the ice cubes free of the tray. The cook's eyes moved over the blossoming red mark on his cheek. At that moment, he supposed whatever reply he gave would have more bearing than usual. He walked over and offered Quatre his handkerchief. He finally managed a thoughtful answer. “I cook because it's gratifying…not just for me…but for others.”

Quatre waved away the handkerchief. His tone was surprisingly curt. “I can't take that. It's yours.”

The cook continued to push it in his direction while attempting to sound especially good-natured. “Like my wife says: Cooking…it's one of the few ways I make myself happy without being completely selfish.”

Quatre paused, but then he reached out a hand to take the handkerchief. “Thank you, Sergio.” Quatre laid the cloth out on the table before placing the ice cubes on it. The timer for the oven suddenly went off and the cook left his side to attend to the roast. “You're right,” murmured Quatre. “It's not selfishness…as long as the other person wants the same…”
~*(End Flashback)*~

Quatre continued to lie back against the bed. Should he call again? Perhaps in a half hour? He thought about the cheery message on the Trowa's answering machine. Maybe after an hour? He looked at the rings, two shiny half circles embedded in the soft foam of the velvet box. He'd bought the rings, but what was his intention? Was it as Dorothy had accused him? On some level, was he now trying to lay claim to Duo? Lock him into an agreement?

~*(Begin Flashback)*~

Quatre had been in his study for the last hour. His cheek continued to sting. It was purple by now, but not a terrible nuisance. But, Dorothy…He tried not to frown. He wasn't going to do it, wasn't going to play peacemaker, as she termed it. He hadn't done anything wrong. And, if she wanted to make things right between them, she'd come looking for him and be the bigger person, because he was tired of assuming the role. He looked up at the monitor of his laptop. She called *him* a child? He continued to stare at the glowing screen. What nonsense. The sacrifices he made for her were numerous, not to mention costly. He'd lost some of his closest friends over her. But, even now, when he was on the verge of hating her, he didn't regret the decision. He'd made a choice that could never be undone.

He sighed…he hadn't kept all his promises. His fingers moved over the keyboard. Although he'd abandoned his friends, he'd kept tabs on them. It was one of the benefits of being well versed in espionage; a person developed a knack for finding people, even those who didn't want to be found.

He murmured the names as they each appeared on his screen. “Lucretia Noin, Zechs Marquise, Lady Une, Chang Wufei, Trowa Barton…” Those were the people he'd abandoned when he decided to leave Preventers. He was a deserter, but weren't Heero, and Duo as well? They'd left before he did. And, what about Wufei? He'd left almost 2 years after Quatre had. Quatre shook his head. It wasn't fair to call anyone who'd finally wanted to live his/her life outside the realm of world protection a deserter. Everyone deserved a chance at individual happiness.

Once again, Quatre's fingers moved over the keyboard. It took him under 20 minutes to hack into the Preventers database. Quatre tsked. Lady Une was getting sloppy. Quatre's lips moved as his eyes passed over the words on screen. “Trowa Barton…current location…unknown…resigned from Preventers as of…” Quatre sat up straight in his chair. Yes, he kept tabs on his friends…but not consistently. He then realized why it was so easy to access Trowa's files. The information on his screen was dated…by a year. “He left…he left as well…”
~*(End Flashback)*~

Again with the rings…Why couldn't he stop staring at them? Quatre sighed as he tightened his grip around the velvet box, causing it to clap closed. The rings were nothing, a gesture…of solidarity.

~*(Begin Flashback)*~

He still couldn't believe it. Five days had passed and his bruise had diminished to a nice sickly yellow, yet it was as if he never made the proposal. It was as if he'd imagined the entire incident. But, it was that same diminishing bruise that served as the perfect testimony of his rejection. Quatre's eyes chased Dorothy's form. He was fine with rejection. He'd developed a tough skin over the years. But this, this denial was too much, even for someone as forgiving as he. He continued to watch her. There was an array of flowers spread about before her. They were in the sitting room and he watched her arrange a set of orchids and lilies, a combination he didn't understand. She was humming a part of some obscure aria only serious operagoers would recognize. It had been like this for five days. They slept in the same bed, ate meals together, and shared petty banter, as usual. Quatre allowed himself an expression of strained patience. Even if she could stand to live like this, he couldn't.

“Dorothy.”

“Hmmm?” She murmured without turning around.

“Would you mind facing me?”

“That's an interesting way to pose that question. If I don't give in, I'm the villain.”

He frowned. But, she did turn around as he said, “You said that you like things the way they are, Dorothy. What if I told you I don't feel the same?”

Her face didn't change expression. “Careful…”

“Careful?” His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by that?”

Her gaze fixed on him. “You're about to make a hypocrite of yourself.” He blinked back her as she continued, “*You* said you never wanted this to end…and then you proposed marriage…marriage isn't a perpetuation of the standard…it changes everything.”

“For the better--”

She looked away from him. “Always the optimist…”

He watched her in disbelief. He'd lost a handle about what they were arguing about three retorts ago. He stood from his position in an armchair. “Maybe…but after living with you this long…doesn't it surprise you that I still am?”

She whipped around to face him, but he'd already turned to leave the room. All he left her with was the sight of his back as he exited the sitting room.

His study. He was heading there again. For the last five days it had become his retreat. And, in the last five days it had also served another purpose. He'd realized in those five days why he was so desperate to have Dorothy locked to his side, even if she was also the thorn in the same side. He'd come to depend on her, almost to the extreme. She was his stimulation. She frustrated him, inspired him, and in rare moments, put him at ease. She turned him on, turned him off. To put it poetically, she was the fuel behind his fire and the extinguisher for the same flames. In an odd way, she made him feel like more of a man. She never coddled him, never assumed he couldn't take what she dished out. And, what drew him even more to her was the fact that he didn't *have* to fit into the set role of diplomat around her, even though she accused him of doing that very thing all too often. But somehow, with her rejection of his proposal, he'd realized she wasn't enough, he needed more. He needed the people he'd left behind, the people who didn't see him with Dorothy's eyes, the people who didn't…openly accuse him of being soft-hearted, whether they felt that way or not.

Quatre sat at his desk and let his hands dance over the keyboard of a blue iridescent laptop. The last five days had been fruitful. He'd narrowed down Trowa's location. His eyes followed the information on screen. Funny enough. There were over 2,000 “Trowa Barton's” in the colonies alone. No doubt the majority of these people were modeling themselves after the real Trowa Barton. After Dekim Barton's downfall and successful saving of the earth from disaster there were many books written on the lineage of the notorious man. After the resulting success of these biographies anyone could choose to become a Leia, Trowa, or Mariemeia Barton…depending on which Barton they identified with. Quatre shook his head. People always wanted to lay claim to some celebrity or piece of notoriety. It gave them a feeling of connectedness to something larger then themselves.

He sighed. But his task was relatively easy. The corner of his mouth lifted. And his eyes shined with something other than optimism. How many “Trowa Barton's” lived with a “Catherine Bloom”? There was one more keystroke required. The answer came: only one.

It had been years since Quatre actually said the words, but he relished them as they spilled from his lips. “Mission accomplished.”
~*(End Flashback)*~

What was he expecting from this call to Trowa? The blond closed his eyes for a moment. He was not so naïve as to expect heartfelt advice from Trowa. A small smile touched Quatre's lips. No, he wasn't looking for Trowa's advice. He needed that sense of normalcy Trowa always seemed to bring to his life. Trowa… was a grounding force, his grounding force. The smile wavered. Over the years nothing seemed to change.

~*(Begin Flashback)*~

After three rings, someone picked up on the other line. Quatre waited silently. And then it came, a deep male voice almost devoid of inflection. “Hello?”

Recognition hit Quatre like a wave. His mouth opened but no sound came out.

The voice came again. “Hello?”

Quatre heard the noise of shifting filter over the earpiece. He reacted immediately. “Trowa, don't hang up.”

There was a long pause where neither person breathed nor spoke. Quatre swallowed. His grip increased on the phone.

There seemed to be recognition on the other end of the line as well. “Quatre…”

“Yes.” Quatre lowered his gaze. It fell to the floor. He watched a patch of waxen floor.

“You left her.” It was more of a statement than a question, even though it sought confirmation.

Quatre thought back to his earlier conversation with Dorothy. His eyes moved around the study. It had had only been five minutes since that fateful keystroke, the keystroke that brought up Trowa's residence and number. No doubt, Dorothy was still in the sitting room arranging flowers. There continued to be silence on the line. He wasn't sure what spurred him to answer, “Yes…yes I have.” But the words came without forethought and regret.

“You should visit.”

Quatre's eyes darted around the room. “I should?”

“Catherine. She asked about you yesterday.”

“…”

“I suppose you aren't the only new type I know.”

Quatre actually found himself smiling. This was the oddest conversation he'd had to date. Years had passed, and yet it was as if only a day had gone by. But nonetheless, the smile persisted. “Yes, yes…I suppose you're right.”
~*(End Flashback)*~

Duo looked up from his position on the leather sofa. He turned his head to the side to get a better look at Quatre. “So, was he in?”

Quatre stepped away from his position in the doorway. “No, he wasn't. But it's all right. I realized I didn't need him.”

“Ok.” Duo turned his gaze back at the ceiling. His arms were behind his head, but his position was not one of repose; he simply didn't know what to do with himself. He kept replaying Heero's visit in his head. And, each time he did, he found one more reason to reprimand himself. God, he was an idiot…He just stood there and let Heero molest him…and the saddest thing was…he wanted it…every bit of it. God, he felt like a slut…Duo suppressed a groan…no, he was a man-slut. He had to be accurate. He shook his head in silent disgust and sunk deeper into the couch.

Quatre had seated himself cross-legged on the floor beside the leather sofa. “Duo…”

“Hmm?” Duo turned his head to the side to peer at Quatre.

“You never asked me about the errand.”

As best as he could with his arms behind his head, Duo shrugged. “Was it important?”

“…”

“Obviously, you didn't get food. That's what room service is for.” Duo's gaze left Quatre and began to rove the surroundings. “Umm…I'm guessing it's not entertainment. We've got every channel known to man.” His eyes found Quatre once again. “You've got me.”

“I went to a jewelry store…to pick up an order.”

Duo raised an eyebrow. “I never pictured you as the jewelry type…but I guess there's always time for an image change.”

“The order wasn't just for myself.”

“For Layla?” Duo snorted amicably. “Smooth move. Women like gifts, especially prospective mothers.”

Quatre's mouth sagged. He shook his head and simply reached into his pocket to pull out the small velvet box. He opened it and put the box directly in Duo's line of vision.

“Men's rings? Quatre, you don't buy men's rings for women…”

For the first time in his life, Quatre brought a hand to his forehead and shook his head in exasperation. “For you, Duo, one of the rings is for you.”

Duo's mouth fell open. “…” He actually sat up. His arms fell to his sides. “…Ok…” He watched as Quatre removed one of the rings from the case and handed it to him. With his mouth still open, Duo accepted the token. He peered at it with one open eye. It was a platinum gold ring with a yellowish brown stone. It took him a while to realize what it was. “…Amber,” he murmured, “It's a fossil…” He looked back at Quatre. “Why'd you give this to me?”

Quatre's face was unreadable, but his tone wasn't unkind. “Look at the inset.”

Duo turned the gift around with his fingers. He squinted at the inside of the ring. Three pairs of numbers separated by two dashes came into his line of sight. He recognized the date and started to laugh.

The blank expression didn't leave Quatre's face. He lifted his own ring from the box. The stone on his ring was amber as well. “To commemorate our decision to become fathers.”

Duo lifted his own ring and tapped it against Quatre's as if the two were clinking wine glasses. Duo smirked. “To commemorate our decision to have our offspring filch us for everything we're worth. To late nights and no social life.” His smile grew wider.

But Quatre didn't share his jovial expression. The blond murmured, “It isn't too late to back out.”

Duo's smile drooped. “What?”

In a guarded tone, Quatre's continued, “There's still time. Heero came for you. You have a chance together.”

“…” Duo lowered the hand that held the ring. “Heero…”

“It isn't fair to have you stuck in an agreement.”

“ 'Stuck'? What do you mean by that?” He watched Quatre. The blond gave him neither a reply nor an expression to interpret. Duo sighed. “Look, I'm going to be honest with you. Earlier, if you hadn't come when you did, I probably would have been out of here. Probably at some motel with a bottle of Wild Turkey and a naked, satisfied Heero.”

The mask cracked. Quatre found himself stifling a chuckle.

Duo continued in a slapstick fashion, “Hey, I'm not kidding. You have a man-slut for a friend. I have no morals. That's what you're here for. You, my friend, are my sense of reason.” Duo sobered up. He rolled the ring between his fingers. “No, seriously…I realized something today. The way Heero and I are…” Duo made a noise of disgust. “He won't change for me and I sure as hell won't change for him…He's too stubborn to apologize and too much of an idiot to realize when he's totally in the wrong.” Duo looked directly at Quatre. “As long as we don't want the same thing….”

“…”

Duo's gaze wavered as he said again, “As long as we don't want the same thing…”

Finally, Quatre spoke up, “…it's selfish to be together…”

“Because it's wrong to try to change people…” Duo snorted. “We're two smart cookies…too bad…too bad…” Duo snorted again. “But you know what that means…we're going to be celibate…for the rest of our lives…”

Quatre sighed and looked back at two laughing indigo eyes. Duo…at least he had humor to fall back on.

Dorothy sighed. She had wasted her breath. For the last 15 minutes, she'd, unsuccessfully, tried to convince Mariemeia to return home and keep her own nose in her own business. Dorothy brought a hand to her temple. Her fingers massaged a throbbing vein there. Finally, an idea occurred. She turned to the redhead teenager. She whispered her name as if it were some lovely secret. “Mariemeia, I've had a change of heart. You can come along.”

Cagily, Mariemeia peered back at her. She wasn't a simpleton. She was automatically put on guard by Dorothy's change in tone. “There is a condition?”

Dorothy managed a benign expression. “Only that you acquire the permission to join me on this trip. As to avoid ambiguity, call Une and ask for her consent. You're not leaving here without it.”

Mariemeia's mouth fell open but she quickly closed it. “As you wish.” Her face changed expression. “But I don't even know our destination. What am I supposed to tell--”

Dorothy actually smirked. “Well, I guess that makes it even harder for you to win Une's approval for this impromptu excursion.”

A rather unfazed Mariemeia didn't bother with a response.

Dorothy watched as she reached into a handbag and pulled out a palm-sized unit, much like the one Dorothy had broken not fifteen minutes before. Dorothy raised an eyebrow. So…they had similar tastes…

Mariemeia exited the dining room and found her way to that same sitting room she greeted Dorothy in only hours ago. After making sure the room was locked to anyone who wanted to enter, she seated herself on a plush cream chair. She opened the palm sized com unit. She smirked. Her latest toy followed voice commands. “Lady Une,” she murmured while bringing the unit closer to her face.

The screen blipped as it dialed Une's residence. Three rings, four rings. Mariemeia's smirk wilted, but before the expression could move to a full out frown, the screen went entirely white before filling itself with color. A face appeared. “Mei, is there a problem?”

The near frown disappeared. Mariemeia's eyes grew soft as she peered back at Lady Une. “No, not at all.”

~*(Begin Flashback)*~

She was 10. Her birthday had passed just a week ago. Mariemeia sat at her desk. Her small hands moved over her scrapbook. She turned another page. Some of the clips were in color. Her eyes acknowledged one photograph in particular. Short dashingly rendered golden brown hair…a clear and almost radiant complexion…brilliant white teeth… a strong, confident jaw line…and blue eyes that shone with confidence and devotion. He was a man for the masses. She sighed as she let a finger glide over the glossy surface of the picture. It moved over the navy uniform. “Treize Kushrenada.” Her father. Her finger continued to move over the picture. It traversed from Treize's navy uniform to the maroon uniform of the person slightly behind him. The finger moved upwards. Another face…this one also with a clear complexion, but that was where the similarities ended... This other face had less admirable attributes… brown eyes, and a severe line for a mouth. Mariemeia's eyes moved over the face again…but she saw something else other than the two buns at Une's head… a look of devotion, this one not for the people, but for one man.

“Lady Une.” Mariemeia turned the page. There were more shots of Treize and each one he maintained the same regality. A person almost forgot about the other people in the picture when he was present, whether he dominated the frame or not. Mariemeia turned another page. This time her eyes caught on one of the few pictures Treize wasn't in. The picture was of Lady Une. The glasses and buns had been abandoned. Her hair was long and fell almost to her waist. The OZ uniform was left behind for a royal blue dress. Mariemeia's blue eyes assessed the picture. This was the Une she knew. But the picture was dated by three years. She acknowledged this with a parting of her lips. This was the Une when her father still lived.

But she knew more about that time, knew what inspired these two Unes. She found herself closing the scrapbook. And, was it the same now? Was Une still in love with her father? She pushed the scrapbook aside. Enough to raise his child born by another woman? Was her devotion to Treize so unrelenting that…she'd put up with this other woman's child…just to hold a piece of Treize to herself?

Mariemeia wiped at her eyes. Not one tear fell from them, but the action on her part was involuntary. She remembered her first time seeing Une. There was a whip of long chocolate hair as the older woman tackled her and Relena to the ground to save them from the powerful blast let loose by Wing Gundam on the Barton underground base. She remembered looking up in awe and confusion. Une's arms still shielded her and Relena. Mariemeia's hands fell from her face to her lap. Mariemeia thought of moments later…when Une was crouched behind her, holding her as she bled from the chest, from the bullet she'd taken to protect Miss Relena…And even as she fell unconscious, she remembered Une's voice screaming something about there still being hope (1)… Une was always trying to save her, but for what? Why? Was it because of Father? Was that the only reason? Did it matter? Mariemeia glanced around at her rather posh room. Her family, the few distant survivors at least, were still trying to live down the whole world domination bit on her part. She allowed herself a small frown. They were still trying to piece their lives together…they didn't have time to deal with her…a dysfunctional haughty youth…who had so easily been used as a tool for supremacy on a universal scale… “Dekim,” she murmured thinking of the man who'd fed her ego to massive proportions. What was she now? Lady Une's ward…

Before she knew it, she was moving out of her quarters and down the hallway past a series of rooms. The Persian rugs softened her footsteps. She found herself standing in the doorway of Une's bedroom. The doors to the balcony were thrown open and Une was seated outside in a white chair. Her back was to Mariemeia and long sweeps of medium brown hair were moved up and down in a wavelike motion by a gentle breeze. Mariemeia stood there watching Une, partly unsure of why she'd made her way to the woman's room.

“Mariemeia.”

Mariemeia's heart pounded furiously, but her face didn't betray her alarm as Une suddenly turned to face her. But despite the tight reign on her visible emotion she found herself asking, “How did you know I was here?”

Warm brown eyes moved over her form. “Everything seems to go silent when you're around.”

“…”

“It was the same with Treize.”

Mariemeia felt her lips betraying her. They dipped downwards.

“Is there something wrong, Mariemeia?”

“I'm not always like father.”

Curiously, Une stared back at her. “You're right. You are your own person.”

Mariemeia took a step back, but even as she did she asked, “May I join you…on the balcony?”

Lady Une administered a gentle rebuke. “Mariemeia, how many times must I tell you? You can save being formal for people who try your patience.” Une reached out a hand to call her over. “You don't have to ask permission to be with me.”

“I don't…” The murmur was so low Une missed it entirely. Mariemeia's steps were slow as she walked over to join Une.

Une had turned back to the view. Mariemeia followed her gaze and took in a lush green landscape.

Lady Une sighed at the view. “It's one of the benefits of spending Novembers here. The weather's always pleasant, but… there's a downside. We miss the changing of the leaves. It's something I never thought I'd miss.”

“Is that all you miss?” Mariemeia's eyes didn't move from the landscape.

“I suppose not. It's rather silly to only grow wistful over leaves.”

“But you grow wistful…”

Lady Une turned to Mariemeia but no words left her lips.

Mariemeia's eyes followed a passing sparrow. She watched the little bird's wings beat with even-paced flaps. “You don't have to take care of me.”

There was barely a pause before Une responded, “You're right. I don't.”

Mariemeia's head whipped around at the rather matter-of-fact comment. Her eyes widened in both shock and unease. Perhaps, her fears weren't all for nothing.

And then out of nowhere, she felt Une's hand on her hair. Long elegant fingers smoothed back her red tresses. “I don't take care of you out of obligation. There isn't anything to owe. I…take care of you because …”

“Of your love for Father…”

Une's hand paused in its smoothing motion. Her eyes went wide before softening. “Perhaps, it started that way…but you're mine now.” The hand moved again. “I can only think of your happiness.”

Sincere, that was the only accurate description for Une's expression. Mariemeia closed her eyes. She couldn't look at her. If she did, she'd surely embarrass herself, but nevertheless, despite that disparaging thought, she found herself leaning against the gentle hand. Lady Une…did she actually…
~*(End Flashback)*~

Mariemeia brought her face closer to the unit and waited expectantly for Une's answer.

Une stared blankly back at her. “You want to go with Dorothy…to an unknown destination…for what reason?”

Mariemeia managed an angelic expression. “A reunion.”

“A reunion?”

“I can't tell you more. Otherwise…”

“Otherwise what?”

“You'd want to come along.”

Une shook her head. Her blank expression was interrupted by a laugh. “Oh, I see…does this trip, by any chance, involve you stirring up more trouble?”

“...”

“I'm right? Well, I don't have to remind you that even Dorothy has her limits.” Une sighed before saying, “But, I trust you to restrain yourself. And, I suppose that will be my downfall some day…”

“Does that mean?”

Une nodded. “You can go, but I want to hear from you twice a day.”

Mariemeia's expression of glee sagged to a pout. “…”

Une fixed her with a moderately stern gaze. “I'd say I'm being incredibly lenient considering I don't know where you're going.”

The pout disappeared and was replaced by an uncharacteristically sheepish expression. “Point taken.”

“Now, I'd like to talk with Dorothy.”

“May I ask why?”

“No, you may not.”

Think Une's being too lenient? Don't worry. Everything will be explained in part 6 or 7. ~Tralla crosses her fingers and hopes she hasn't made a liar out of herself~ And regarding Heero and Dorothy, we'll soon get their perspectives…

(1) Many Thanks to GypsyRead aka Arisama for being an absolute goddess. She helped me out with some Endless Waltz info. ^_^

Part 6