I've been re-watching Mobile Fighter G Gundam lately and am near tears over the fact that there is a strong lack of post-2008 fanfiction for it. Over the past few days I've made it my mission to stop this, at least a little bit. This is a George de Sand/Maria Louise oneshot, set a few years after the end of G Gundam. Maria is 18 and George is 25—I checked, that is the accurate age difference—so yeah, if you have a problem with it sue me now. Unmatched levels of miscommunication and fluff ahead. Also, I picture Maria to be an independent young woman, so she may be a bit sassier in this fic than you expected (if there's still anyone but me checking the G Gundam section).

"Maria, are you alright?"

Neo-France's princess looked up from her game of solitaire, giving the gundam pilot in front of her a questioning look. "Why wouldn't I be? Of course, I'm fine." What that meant was, 'No, I am not alright. I am past the point of no return. I am seriously screwed, and you are seriously—really hot in that shirt. God, why don't you wear casual clothes around the palace more often?', but she didn't expect George to know. It appeared he had just rolled out of bed, bangs mussed up along the side of his face and sleep in his eyes. She sighed, pointing a finger in the direction of the dining quarters. "Breakfast is already made. The sausage was really good today, you should try some."

"Thank you," he said, bowing his head in respect for the princess before wandering off towards where she had directed him.

At times like this, it was hard for Maria not to rip her hair out in frustration. It had been years since she had first started watching George in his Gundam fights, and months since he had come to live with them, yet she had made a total of zero progress in the dating department. She was willing to admit that she was silly and stupid and especially so back during the thirteenth Gundam Fights, so she could understand why he might still see her as an annoying prissy piece of royalty who got in the way of his matches, but for god sakes, she was eighteen years old and she had needs! This wasn't just some laughable little crush anymore either. She really, genuinely liked George—a lot. And not because he was a fancy pilot or an "honorable knight", but because he was him. Polite, charming, elegant George. Obnoxious, overbearing, too much of a smart-ass to handle George. Just thinking about him was making her upset. "Ugh, this sucks!" She shouted into the empty parlor, throwing the card in her hand on the table and flopping back onto the sofa.

"Princess, are you alright?!"

'Are. You. Serious.'

George de Sand explained in a calm manner once discovering that she was in fact fine that he had heard her calling out and was worried she might have been hurt or—and he added this part with a chuckle—perhaps kidnapped for real this time.

"Ha-ha, right. Well no worries here, just go back to your breakfast." She flashed him the toothiest, fakest smile she could manage without going overboard and trampled off to the gardens, her brain screaming at her to get out of there at all costs. He watched her go, concern showing through on his normally amused-looking face, but eventually turned back to return to his meal, telling himself he would confront the princess about it afterwards.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the palace, Maria was marching through the rose gardens like they were on death row, spitting on a particularly red and thorny one that graced the center of an unlucky bush. 'Great. So he still remembers that fake-kidnapping incident. And what's more, he thinks it's funny. Just lovely.'

Once George had finished with his food, he went back to his room to exchange his slippers for boots and made his way around the palace in search of the blonde haired girl. He was actually nervous he had offended her—nervous, was it even possible for him to be nervous? He most certainly felt so, letting his eyes scan the gardens from a window view when he spotted Maria, back facing him as she bent down to sniff some flowers. He padded down the brick path quietly, as not to disturb or upset the princess while she was alone, and let him use the time to quickly determine what he was going to say to her.

Honestly, even by the time he reached her he didn't know. "Miss Maria...?" He said, bowing his head and waiting for a response as she turned around to face him.

"What's up?" She spoke with all her usual pep and vigor, but it lacked authenticity.

"Nothing, I...just...have I done something to upset you, Maria?"

A flicker of hope showed in her green eyes. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, I would never want to make the princess angry with me."

And in a moment, the flicker was gone. Maria Louise clenched her fists, looked him in the eye and said with full conviction, "If you're only being nice to me because I'm the princess then you need to stop. I am a human being, not just a royal of your ever-beloved country or whatever you like to call it. I'm not meant to bother you; you don't have to come running every time I make a little noise because you work for my father. If I'm such a nuisance to you then you should quit the act and stop treating me well for the sake of keeping up appearances!" Letting out of puff of air she didn't realize she'd been holding, she loosened her grip and and took a deep breath. "Okay, I think I'm done. Have a pleasant day, George de Sand."

As she brushed past him without even a glance his way, he felt his heart drop to his stomach. "Please, Miss Maria, wait up!" He easily caught up with her, long legs stepping twice the distance as hers, and kept pace with her easily as he attempted to find out what was going on. "Clearly I've done something to upset you, but if I'm understanding your reasons for being cross with me I think it is all just a misunderstanding."

She then stopped in her tracks, saying coldly, "What's there to misunderstand? I'm a princess, you're one of the knights. You are to protect me and be thoughtful in your actions towards me. It's just part of the job for you, correct?"

"No." At that she whipped her head to look at him, his arms folded across his chest and a serious—seriously pissed—expression on his face. "Do you ever see any of the other knights talking to you so frequently? Have any of them ever come running at the sound of your voice? Have any of them ever offered to"—he said this now as he tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear—"take you on rides on their mobile suits? Or better yet, have any of them ever requested you come to their rooms upon turning eighteen?"

Her face was flushed the very darkest shade of pink as she recalled when he would ask her to join him up in his room for research and conversations and chess and the like. It was true that the previous king had made a rule that all descendants of royalty were not allowed in anyone's private room but their own until they were legally adults, as to ensure and enforce that nothing of illegal activity could occur.

"And," he added, warm breath tickling her ear, "have any of the other knights been so possessive of the princess that they defeated every single one of your admirers in fencing duels with the confident wager that if they won, they could take my room in the palace?"

All she could do was shake her head, unable to face him directly out of both sheer embarrassment and excitement at this discovery. After a few moments of silence (silence that was easily filled by the chirping of birds and the loud thrumming beat of her heart), she spoke. "I...I...you look really attractive right now, I'm sorry, I have to look away." Seconds passed. "Okay, I'm better. What was I saying again? Oh, right! You, you...I've always thought you just did what everybody else did, because it was your duty to Neo-France or whatever...I didn't completely realize the lack of other knights doing for me what you did. What you do. And so I—can you stop doing that thing with your face?"

"What thing with my face?"

"It's this...this really dumb look you get when you're listening to people and it always looks remarkably good and you're making me ramble."

"Maria?"

The princess turned her face upwards to Neo-France's pilot, a blush staining her cheeks. "Yeah? So, now that I said all this are you—"

"May I kiss you?"

She huffed, usual personality returning. "Well, if you're not going to let me finish my sentence, no."

He sighed. "May I kiss you when your sentence is over?"

With a quick nod of her head, she said, "Now that I said all this are you going to let me hang out in your room even more? Because I really want to make out on your bed—hope that wasn't too forward for you. Okay, sentence over."

It was his turn to blush, and he mumbled "Of course" before gently placing his lips over hers, drawing her body in for a hug as he did so. She made a pleased noise in the back of her throat, clinging to his shirt until he drew away and hugged her once more, burying his face into her neck. "You smell nice," he muttered partially to himself.

"Yeah, you should definitely invite me to your room tonight."