Disclaimer:I don't own Gundam Wing.

Warnings: None.

Characters: Mariemaia, Dorothy

Author's Note: Uh, right, so this one was a challenge surprisingly. Written for gw500 and the prompt of "lie." I would love to hear your thoughts on it by the way.

Dedication: To Rachel because she gave me advice that I may not have followed after all. And because she has volunteered to suffer through my family with me. She is a gem among coal.

The first time Mariemaia met her cousin was at a function Lady Une had brought her to and was hosted by Miss Relena. She had heard of her before (who hadn't?) but until that moment their paths had never crossed surprisingly. Oh, she knew of her and had seen her on television, in textbooks, in tabloids, even in Preventers once or twice, but they had never met face-to-face. Skirting the edges of one group of politicians in a heated debate she heard the soft laugh that seemed arrogant even in mirth, laughing at something that clearly wasn't meant to be laughed at judging by her companion's face.

It wasn't until later that she actually bumped into her, mingling about politicians and trying not to be stepped on or brought into "intelligent conversation" by people four times her age. Her first impression is cold eyes and strange eyebrows that she's happy she never inherited from her father's side. Her second impression is haughtiness and calculating tones that make her blood chill slightly in the humid air. She decides that she likes Dorothy almost immediately.

"You look nothing like your father," Dorothy announces upon seeing her. She lifts the glass in a vague sort of salute and glances around. "A bit young to be here, aren't you?"

"Aren't you?" Mariemaia challenges back. The blonde girl gives a slight smile; more an enigmatic curl to her lips and tilts her chin slightly.

"Touché Miss Mariemaia," she agrees. "Walk with me," she says almost as an afterthought. Mariemaia likes to think she had a choice, but when confronted with the person of Dorothy Catalonia one has little choice when it comes to her orders, so she follows her to the veranda overlooking the sea below. "I see your physical therapy has done wonders, not even a limp. Impressive," she notes.

"I've heard of you, you're Treize's cousin."

"That would make me your second cousin as a matter of fact. Bloodlines, they're significantly important, even these days." She takes another sip of the champagne in her glass and turns her back to the view, staring instead at the politicians and high officials and other such people with nonsense titles. "Especially these days it seems."

"And why is that?"

But it seems that Dorothy has moved on. "Your grandfather raised you, right?"

"Yes, Dekim did after my mother died. So did my uncle until he was murdered as well." She eyes this woman, the one she's heard about and never met, the one related to her, her only relative left, and tries to find their differences since they seem far too similar for her taste.

"Ah, yes." A strand of pale hair catches the afternoon sun as she twirls it around her finger effortlessly. Mariemaia wonders idly what she'd look like as a blonde but finds the idea appalling. "Grandfathers are interesting creatures," she muses and Mariemaia isn't sure if it's affectionately or not. "Doting one moment, callous the next."

"Dekim never doted." It was always Uncle Trowa who gave her treats and took her places, even when her mother was still alive. Dekim never liked that, thought she was too young, and had quickly instilled fear and maturity into her.

"I find it interesting that you feel no familial ties. It isn't "father" or "grandfather" but Treize and Dekim. Did you refer to your mother in this way?" Mariemaia's eyes narrow and Dorothy lets out a soft laugh, setting the champagne glass down on the stone banister. "So tell me what you have heard of me then because I have heard quite a lot about you it seems."

"Oh, the usual things textbooks prattle on about," Mariemaia answers idly. She boosts herself up so that she is sitting on the banister, legs swinging absently in the new shoes Lady Une purchased for her last week. The wind ruffles her hair and she turns her head slightly, following Dorothy's line of vision. "You were a war-hawk of some sort, involved in the attempted destruction of Earth, a member of Romefeller, cousin to the notoriously late Treize Khushrenada and granddaughter to the late Duke Dermail. I find that textbooks leave a lot to be desired when it comes to history."

"Of course they do. Only those who live the history, who experience it first hand, can ever relate it. Scholars hiding behind dirty glasses can't ever hope to achieve an accurate account." Miss Relena turns to them and Dorothy gives a smile that Mariemaia tries to decipher before lifting her glass in a vague salute. Miss Relena shakes her head and moves on to another dignitary. "I'm sure you yourself is mentioned in them somewhere and that the account is completely false or not altogether there. Am I right?"

"Unfortunately." A blonde boy (who Mariemaia thinks was once a Gundam Pilot but can't be sure) sees them and begins to approach. She raises an eyebrow when he notices her talking to Dorothy and turns away, heading instead to speak with Relena. "Many people still don't trust me it seems."

"On the contrary," Dorothy responds, watching the boy walk away. "Quatre probably trusts you implicitly, he's simple like that. And many delegates trust you as well, thinking you were only a pawn in Dekim's hands. Of course, now that you're with Une, you are perfectly harmless." The last word is bitten out and Mariemaia eyes her uneasily. "Your father mentioned you to me once."

She feels like a sledgehammer hit her in the chest. As if the bullet Dekim had fired at her is back, burning its way through tissue, sinew, and nerves. Her body trembles on its perch and her knuckles turn white as she grips the roughly polished stone. No one has ever mentioned her father knowing of her existence, she has no recollection of him visiting her at any time. Oh, sure, the mobile suits were most likely his as Dekim claimed, but they were probably left over relics her grandfather had procured or stolen. But now…now…

"What?"

"Mm, it was years ago of course." She eyes her cousin in a manner purely analytical. "You may have been three at the time I believe, yes, probably. Long before Dekim got his hands on you at any rate but 

before your mother died." She pauses and turns her back on the crowd, staring out at the too-blue ocean and a sailboat in the distance.

"He…mentioned me?"

Dorothy's eyes meet hers and for a moment the hardness melts and she sees actual emotions burning deep within them, pity and sorrow and remembrance and even bitterness. But then she blinks and her gaze returns to the ocean and Mariemaia feels dizzy again. Dizzy and unsure, lost and drifting in a tidal wave of emotions she never even realized she had.

"Showed me a picture of you too. I think I still have it – I got all of his things after…" She trails off and goes still and Mariemaia realizes she's fighting back tears. "After his death. Anyway, I have it if you want it. I told him when he showed it to me that you looked absolutely nothing like him, which is true you realize. He laughed at me and told me that you resembled our grandfather's side more which I found hilarious but true. You look a lot like our great grandmother, of course I see some of the Barton in you, especially your nose and cheekbones, but you have Khushrenada, your eyes and intelligence especially, in you too I suppose and that's really all that matters."

"Why are you telling me this?" She wonders if it hurts more that her father knew about her and never saw her than it did when she thought he didn't know of her. She thinks it does because this way he had a choice and she apparently wasn't an option.

"I don't know, rare burst of sentimentality apparently it seems. It almost killed him when he found out you were dead along with Leia. Dekim was the one who informed him of your deaths." She picks at a loose thread that isn't there. "It was always Mariemaia-this and Mariemaia-that, even bought you a diamond necklace for your second birthday. Can you believe it? A two-year-old wearing diamonds," she laughed.

"A teardrop…" the girl whispers and her voice catches. She remembers the necklace now, still has it surprisingly but always thought it was her mother's, not hers.

"Yes, for the sadness it brought to him by being separated from you." She rolls her blue eyes and chuckles softly. "Your father was a sentimental fool at times you realize, but he loved both you and your mother very much just the same."

"I never…I thought…"

"I know what you thought," she sighs. "You thought the same things most deluded people think." She ignores the glare. "You look nothing like your father," she repeats and there's a trace of sadness beneath her words. "Though his hair was redder when he was younger so perhaps… At any rate, my point is that you have his personality. Your drive and your intelligence are his."

"Dorothy…"

"Oh, look, the Ambassador to Italy is summoning me," Dorothy sighs. Mariemaia looks up to see an older man approaching with an intent look on his face. "Honestly, he never lets it rest, I won that duel fairly." She pushes away from the banister but pauses, turning to glance back at the young girl sitting there. "I will deny ever being charitable if confronted, understood."

"Yes, of course."

"Also, I have old family albums, and some from Treize. There may be some photos of your mother in there." Her expression softens again. "Stop by sometime if you wish to see them." A gravelly voice calls through the crowd and she rolls her eyes before a smile dances across her mouth. "Why Prime Minister De Luca, what a surprise to see you here…" Dorothy's voice trills as she departs.

Mariemaia continues to sit there, watching her cousin walk away arm-in-arm with the ambassador. Idly her hand reaches up, fingers grasping the pendent around her neck, feeling the point of the teardrop bite into her forefinger. She feels vaguely like she's been lied to all her life, but then again she's felt that way since her mother died only she didn't have a name for that emotion back then. Not like now.

Her hand tightens convulsively as her mind whispers Father…Dad softly across her frontal lobe and suddenly she has a memory of tearing open wrapping paper covered in balloons and words she couldn't read but knew the meaning of. Of seeing the box and hearing her mother's gasp when she reveals the sparkly necklace inside. Of laughter, of happiness, of security. Sometimes she wonders if she'll ever feel truly that way again, even with Lady Une's care.