Lady Une is dressed and in the kitchen sipping coffee out of a travel mug when Mariemaia stumbles in on Monday morning. She glances up at Mariemaia, eyebrows raised. "Good morning."
"Good morning," Mariemaia replies. "You're dressed."
"I have an early meeting with President Veertig," she replies. She flips through the folder of notes laid out on the counter. "Henri will drop you at school and then we'll go on to Preventers."
Mariemaia clenches her teeth, feels herself bristling. It's a reasonable statement, it isn't the first time Lady Une has had early meetings, but it feels too much like keeping an eye on her. She pours herself a bowl of cereal and reviews her literature notes while Lady Une mutters to herself over the reports.
"Is something going on?" she asks finally. Friday the Vice Foreign Minister, today the ESUN President…
"Nothing we can't get a handle on," Lady Une responds smoothly. She looks up to catch Mariemaia's eye. "There will always be someone thinking they can do a better job, someone who craves the idea of power. This is just a band of upstarts, they don't have any support."
"Yet," Mariemaia points out.
"Yet," Lady Une agrees. "And we're already positioning ourselves to take them down. There's nothing to worry about." There's the sound of the car pulling up out front and Lady Une shuffles everything neatly back into her folder. "That's Henri, come on."
. . ... . .
Mariemaia spends the morning contemplating Lady Une's words from both Friday's dinner disaster and this morning's stilted breakfast. There was always someone who craved power, someone who thought they could do a better job, someone who owed allegiance only to themselves. Five years ago that had been her, following Dekim's orders and believing that the Barton Foundation was reshaping the world for the better, that she was doing what her father wanted her to do. She still isn't sure how much of that was true and how much of that was a lie.
She pauses in her absent-minded pencil sketching, a passable likeness to the tree outside the classroom window just beginning to take shape in the margins of her history notebook. That had been her five years ago, but hadn't she also just told Heero Yuy that she sometimes wished they had succeeded, even now? She wonders if this is why Lady Une accompanied her this morning. If there had been something more under her words. Was it a warning? A reminder? The Gundam pilots seem to think she isn't a prisoner, but even a lapdog has a leash.
She thinks back over the weekend, the sudden appearance of the photo albums. There had been a look in Lady Une's eyes, a tightness to her mouth when she thought Mariemaia was distracted by the photographs. Mariemaia isn't sure why exactly Lady Une took on the role of being her guardian, over the years she had come to the conclusion that it was a combination of being the head of the world's security team and a misplaced sense of duty to her late father, but maybe the time had finally come where she was regretting this obligation?
"Miss Khushrenada, if you're done daydreaming perhaps you would like to pay attention?"
Mariemaia jumps as Dr. Arthav appears at her shoulder. Her classmates erupt into giggles and her face flushes as she hastily picks her pencil up from where it's fallen to the floor. Dr. Arthav stares at her from behind his oversized glasses, his dark eyes glittering like an insect's.
"Perhaps it is boring listening to history you have lived?" he asks. "But it is always good to get another perspective."
"Apologies," she mumbles. She turns back to the open history book and tries to recall where they are in the timeline.
"At least you are not drooling like Mister Drost," he says drily. He steps away from her desk, approaching the sleeping boy in the back. "As I was saying, the Siberian battle resulted in the self-detonation of one of the pilots who chose to die for his beliefs rather than surrender to OZ." There's a thump as Dr. Arthav drops a book on Drost's desk, startling the boy awake.
Mariemaia frowns at the slideshow at the front of the room, staring at the photos of the two mobile suits, the smudge of a pilot standing on an open hatch, the image of the Gundam lying fragmented in the ice, covered in flames and smoke.
"So, one of the pilots died?"
"Reports vary on what exactly befell the pilot," Dr. Arthav answers. "Some say he died there on the ice, others say he recovered but perished in the final battle with Libra." Mariemaia knows what's coming before he says it and her lips thin. "Some say that, remarkably, he made it and faced off against the Barton Foundation a year later, before perishing."
She feels the eyes turn to her, but she focuses on the presentation at the front of the room, stares as the pictures change. She sees Treize standing with Lady Une, profile sharp against the smoke from the broken Gundam. It's not the same Gundam, it isn't even the same scenario, but she remembers the feeling as the bunker's defenses gave way and Zero crash landed in the middle of the Presidential manor. Her grip tightens on her pencil.
"Well?" one of the girls in class demands. "Is it true?"
Mariemaia sniffs, tilts her chin as she draws her eyes away from the battlefield photos, drags herself back from the wail of the perimeter alerts and the flashing red emergency lights. Her classmates are all staring at her curiously. "Like I had time to do a background check on my would-be assassin," she sniffs. She sees the curious looks morph into ones of disgust. Good, she thinks viciously.
Dr. Arthav is studying her quietly. She doesn't like the way the light reflects off his glasses. "It's a shame he perished in such a meaningless battle."
This is a new approach. She's used to teachers and classmates, even politicians, trying to get the identities of the Gundam pilots from her, but usually they're more forthright in their questioning. She lifts one eyebrow and stares coolly at her teacher. "Which battle are you referring to? I thought there was no way of knowing which claimed the pilot?"
"What purpose did these battles serve in the grand scheme of things?" Dr. Arthav questions. He adjusts his glasses and she can see his insect eyes still staring at her. "Did they stop the desire to fight?"
"There's no such thing as a meaningless battle," she retorts. She can feel her face flushing again and lifts her chin. "Conflict is a part of life; a battle is just an extension of that. It is the ultimate demonstration of your beliefs, there is nothing more honest than an honorable battle. If it were up to people like you the colonies would still be under control of the Alliance."
Dr. Arthav continues to study her while her classmates whisper amongst themselves. "A young, idealistic, and naïve answer," he says at last. "A testament to a youth that hasn't had to sacrifice anything before."
Mariemaia bites her tongue hard enough to taste blood as the bell rings.
. . ... . .
Trowa and Heero are waiting for her outside the locker rooms. She can still sense the tension stretching between them, from Heero's crossed arms to Trowa's deliberately casual slouch. It's a sharp contrast to Saturday morning and she wonders if Lady Une did reprimand Heero for his involvement in her schoolyard escape. Mariemaia sidesteps them into the locker room to change quickly. When she exits they're leaning against the wall, shoulders brushing, silently reading something on Heero's phone.
"No," Trowa says after a moment, still studying the phone. "Tell Wufei I can do it."
"Catherine will have a fit."
"Only if you tell her." Trowa glances up and catches sight of her hovering in the doorway. He tilts his head toward the gym and practice rooms, pushing off of the wall. "Ready?"
"Yes," she replies.
Trowa leads the way to the practice room and Heero trails behind her. She can't help but feel like she's being flanked. It sets her teeth on edge and she pushes down the feeling. She's felt off ever since history and she blames Dr. Arthav and the school's fascination with the wars.
Soon, Mariemaia has fallen into the rhythm of the yoga positions and breathing. Trowa is taking her through the usual positions, forcing her to hold each pose for longer than she's used to, but she's surprised to find it isn't terrible. Trowa still demonstrates each pose, still talks her through each movement, but his own movements are still slightly stilted, without the reach he usually gets on his right side. Heero doesn't interfere this time, he leans against the wall and types out messages or shopping lists or whatever it is Gundam pilots do to amuse themselves, while Trowa adjusts her posture.
In spite of herself, she feels herself relaxing in the quiet room. She's almost disappointed when Trowa calls time. Mariemaia lays on her mat, staring at the ceiling. She tilts her head back and sees Heero glowering at something on his phone while Trowa drinks from a water bottle. Sighing, she rolls up into a sitting position.
"Did you people think you died?" she asks Heero.
Heero glances up and catches her eye, shrugs. "Wouldn't be the first time," he replies. She catches Trowa's amused smile and frowns. "I don't think I've done anything recently to earn that description though."
"No?" Trowa questions, voice soft. Heero shoots him a disgruntled look before noticing Trowa's smile. He shakes his head.
"I mean, history. My teacher thinks you died."
"And did you tell him the truth?"
Mariemaia snorts. "Please, then I'd have people pestering me for a chance to meet the Savior Gundam Pilots."
"You're studying the Eve Wars?" Trowa asks.
"And the Barton Rebellion." She pushes up from the floor. "It's fascinating. The historians get everything right." The Gundam pilots frown at her and Mariemaia shrugs, grabbing her shoes from where she'd left them by the door. "They can't seem to decide whether you died in Siberia, from Libra, or maybe we tortured and killed you when you broke into the bunker?"
Heero actually laughs at that and Mariemaia's eyes narrow. He pockets his phone and gives her a curious look. "What about the others?"
She shrugs. "Somehow they've managed better with anonymity."
"Probably because we weren't as recognizable," Trowa comments, voice dry. Heero looks as though he wants to argue, but he just shakes his head again and opens the door to the practice room. Trowa's gaze slips over Heero and lands on Mariemaia. "How are you taking inquiries?" he asks.
Mariemaia feels her smile drop. She rolls her eyes and gives another shrug. "Nothing I haven't heard before," she replies, voice flippant. She follows Heero out the door. "I have better things to do than wallow in past failures." She keeps her shoulders squared as she crosses the gym to the locker rooms. She can feel Heero and Trowa watching her and it feels like they're looking for something. She just isn't sure what it is.
. . ... . .
Noin is waiting for her in the atrium after she's changed and made her way upstairs. Noin gives her a warm smile that Mariemaia can't help but return. Sometimes it's easy to forget that the woman is a highly trained soldier and one of the highest ranking Preventers agents.
"Hello," she greets.
"Hello," Mariemaia replies. It's warm enough, but there's an undercurrent of wariness that Mariemaia hopes Noin doesn't pick up on.
Noin gives her another smile and tilts her head toward a quiet alcove, away from the information desk and any civilians who may be entering or exiting. Mariemaia follows her across the polished marble floor, feeling the thump of her bag against her left leg with every other step. The alcove is a positioned well to overlook everyone in the atrium without being overheard themselves.
"Lady Une sent me," Noin informs her. "She's in a meeting with President Veertig."
Mariemaia frowns, adjusts the strap of her satchel. "I thought her meeting was this morning."
"It was," Noin replies. She rolls her eyes and brushes her hair back from her face. Mariemaia doesn't see the point since it immediately flops back into her eyes, but Noin leaves it. "You know the President," she says after a moment. "What should last twenty minutes lasts eight hours—"
"And what should last six hours lasts six minutes," Mariemaia finishes. Noin flashes her a conspiratorial look and Mariemaia feels herself smile back. "What are they meeting about this time?"
"Just some precautions Lady Une wants to put in place. Veertig isn't being very accommodating." Mariemaia frowns again. "She says you're welcome to wait for her and Henri, but honestly I'm not sure how long they'll be."
"What's my alternative?"
"Looking at it," Noin replies. "Shift just finished and I can drop you home."
Mariemaia studies the small group of civilians clustered around the information desk. They're arguing with Agent Huang, their voices echoing in the tall atrium, bouncing off the marble and glass fixtures. After a moment she lets out a sigh and meets Noin's eyes. "At least you're a better driver than Heero Yuy."
Noin's face splits in another smile. "And with that ringing endorsement, let's get out of here." She slings an arm around Mariemaia's shoulders, guiding her toward the door leading to the parking garage. "How's school going? How's math?" She looks up in time to catch the mischievous glint in Noin's dark eyes.
"Ugh, please," Mariemaia groans.
Noin's laughter echoes down the stairwell as they make their way to the parking garage. Mariemaia finds herself smiling back.