Wings of Love Part 8/? (VIII) (3x4, 4x3)
Two of my original characters are back. You know who they are any they are © of me. All the
rest is © Sunrise, Asahi, Bandai, etc. cause Gundam Wing is sooo not mine! Warning, this is a
big Mariemaia chapter!
February 29, A.C. 197 :: 09:08
"There's something' about a leap year that makes everyone crazy," muttered Duo as he reclined
in a sprawling position on a cot. The foreclosure of his scrap heap business had led the cheery
brunette straight back into conflict, and back into barracks. "Once a Shinigami, always a
Shinigami," he had told Lady Une upon signing in as a Preventer.
Now he was back to his own strange soldier fanaticism, lying kicked back on that blasted cot
hold a pickle in one relaxed, outstretched hand. Quite frankly, Trowa didn't even know why he
was here. In all reality, the heart-stricken young man wanted nothing more than to avenge the
death of his beloved Quatre alone ... But the Barton Followers were unfortunately a world-wide
threat to peace, and he would not get his wish.
Damn Fate. Who told her to butt in, anyways? His cause, along with fifty other things, had
become an official Preventer battle-ground, with the clock ticking away at how many minutes or
even seconds they had to stop this nonsense-- And he was the Commander, God help them all.
He sighed, wishing for the old days of lonely piloting, loyal to no one but himself and those he
chose to call "friend". All gone ...
So many of his old colleagues had rejoined him here. It was a strange group of lovers of Quatre
and followers of Quatre, not to mention those who had their own, more confusing reasons for
fighting battles.
Duo was of both the former group and the latter one.
"Man! Look at all the people here-Maguanacs, Preventers-you'd think you were thrown' a party,
Trowa!"
"That's not quite the intention."
"Hey, lighten up! You'd think Death were standin' at /your/ door!" The braided American then
glanced at himself and grinned. "Okay, so I'm here, but that doesn't count!" Trowa just
continued to stare at the Shinigami in a strange, vacant kind of manner. Duo scrunched up his
nose and then grinned again. He was rather like a Cheshire cat. The Lion half expected him to
up and start disappearing. "I got a pickle," the Raven said, holding out his prize. "You want
half?"
"I think I'll pass."
"Suit yourself." The black clad raven then began munching his pickle happily, crunching sounds
going clear across the room. Trowa turned away from him, repulsed by the casual happiness.
Of course, it was only a disguise for Duo's true emotions, but the Lion found it repulsive just the
same. The Shinigami was rather like a laughing hyena, and Mother Nature knew that Lions and
Hyenas don't mix well.
The Latin decided to turn to Sally Po instead, who had left her Preventor partner behind this
round, so it seemed. That, or Wu-fei had utterly refused to join in on some idiotic idealistic
crusade, but that was the Dragon's nature and it was forgivable, after all, not many people lose a
wife to war at age 14.
The blond woman spied him and forced her painted lips into a painted smile. "How you hanging
in there, Trowa?"
"I'm hanging, that's for sure."
The false smile on the older woman's face faded. "I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault. If I'd have been more careful he'd still be here."
"Hey, if I'm not allowed to beat myself up about it then you can't either."
The corner of Trowa's mouth twitched, then faded. "It's just so strange. When you've survive so
much you begin to think yourself immortal ... That this can't happen ..." His voice drifted off as
he stared at the wall. /He's gone/ he thought. /Gone forever, and there's nothing I can do about
it. Let it alone, Nanashi./
A finger poked at his shoulder and the Latin whirled around, startled. He caught his breath when
he realized that it was only Lucrezia Noin, redressed in the familiar Preventor uniform.
"So, you gonna let me sign in, or am I just going to stand here all day?"
"Noin? Why are you here?"
"Let's just say that I've got nothing left to lose either."
Trowa nodded gravely. "The Maguanacs said something of the same thing."
*************************************************************************
February 29, A.C. 197 :: 09:30
Lady Une's shoes tapped softly on the floor as she wheeled her red-headed charge to the class
room. Mariemaia's eyes flicked nervously aorund the halls, unsure of what to think of all of this.
She had never before been to school, only tutored by Barton family members and those
honorable enough to come near her. The idea of public schooling was foreign, as was the idea
of fellow classmates.
What were other children like? She had never met one. What did she do? What could she say?
The Lady said they played games and told stories. What were those? She said they learned
many things here at school, like sharing and friendship along with the bookwork she had been
tutored. When the small girl asked questions of her, Lady Une only told her that she was a smart
girl, three years ahead of her age, and that she would figure it out.
That didn't give the confused invalid much comfort. She had a strange feeling that she wasn't
very likable.
Slowly, the brown haired woman turned the knob to the fifth grade classroom and wheeled
Mariemaia inside. At the oak desk of the young, blond teacher she stopped, and stepped back.
"Thank you so much, Miss Harris. Mariemaia's all yours."
The little girl stared out the door, frightened, as her "mommy" left. The door slid shut, and she
heard a couple snickers from the back of the room.
What was so funny? Her wheelchair?
The young teacher stood up and smiled. She seemed nice. Her blond hair was braided around
her head and she had bright green eyes that seemed to smile at the world like spring leaves.
"Good morning, class," she stated kindly. "We have a new student today. Her name is
Mariemaia Khushrenada."
The snickers increased. They /knew/ her. They ahd seen her on T.V. She was going to take over
the world. A couple students laughed. Mariemaia felt her cheeks slowly turning red. These
children didn't like her. They knew all about her. They had secrets and she had none. Her worst
was on vids for all the world to see.
"Now, class!" shouted Miss Harris sharply. "I will not have you behaving so poorly. You are to
treat her with the respect you give other new students, and I expect you all to help her adjust to
the new school."
The snickering stopped, but several students kept wide grins on their sinister faces.
"Now, Miss Mariemaia, I'm going to put you in tis seat in the front, right beside-"
The door squeaked softly open from other side of the room as a small figure tried to slip in the
class late, unnoticed. Miss Harris narrowed her eyes and looked at the door. Mr. Drakon, why
are you late?" The voice was sharp and unforgiving.
The dark clad figure tried to shrink himself into the wall. He wasn't happy to be late and he
wanted to hide himself. At his cowardly manuever the whole class burst into laughter. "Freak's
at it again," snicker a boy. "Bet Taro nailed him good today," came another. Mariemaia just
stared, appalled. What rudeness! Why were they acting this way.
"Young man," continued Miss Harris. "I want an answer from you."
"I-I-" the boy stuttered with fear. He was young for a fifth grader. That meant he probably
skipped grades too. The red-head bet the older kids picked on him. She bet a bully caught him
and made him late. The pale boy tilted his head and sure enough, the sharp eyed girl spotted a
bruise on his left cheek.
"Spit it out."
"I- Iforgotmyhomeworkandfinallyhadtogobackandgetit."he finally spat out. This only caused the
class to laugh even more. This time, Miss Harris didn't stop it. Maybe she wasn't so nice as she
seemed.
"Well, sit down and get right to work. If it happens again I'm calling your parents."
The young boy nodded and slipped into the seat next to Mariemaia. She tried to make eye
contact with him, but he avoided her gaze, staring down at his notebook on the table, hands
curled in his lap.
Mariemaia felt something hit her in the back of the head and slip down into her wheelchair. She
felt around and grabbed it. Seeing it was a note, the girl opened it and peeked inside.
/Better watch out, Queenie. You're about to be dethroned./
She folded the paper very numb. They hated her. That was a threat. She glanced around to see
he passed the note, but everyone was shuffling around for last nights homework. She looked
back to the white haired boy. He was still staring vacantly at his desk.
She decided that that was a good idea, but when she looked down there was another note.
Should I open it?/ she thought. She might as well. For the second time in five minutes, she
opened a note.
/Sorry .../ it said. She looked over at the boy, figuring it was from him. He shuffled his feet a
little in response. Yep, it was him. She sat back in her chair and pondered ...
Why did everyone hate him?
*****************************************************************************
February 29, A.C. 197 :: 11:18
Veinte Barton was an old man, probably the age of Dakim or older. His face was hardened and
tan from years of war experience in the Alliance, then OZ, then the White Fang, and onward.
Now he ran the coalition to put the rightful group in charge of the E.S.U.N., which as far as he
was concerned, was the Barton family.
The grizzled man was moreover, a frustrated genius, whose talents were useless in peacetime
endeavors. He was a soldier by nature and by breed. A military dictator, his voice boomed
above the crowds in a frightening and manipulative manner. He had charisma, and at 6 foot high
with barely greyed brown hair he was a masterpiece of strength and bravado for his age.
All in all, Veinte Barton was a very convincing leader.
The military mastermind currently sat in isolation, staring out his balcony at the colony-scape
below. Pulling at his sculpted beard he pondered the foul-ups that his minions had made to
allow the attack of the E.S.U.N. Preventors. Of course, he had been lucky. They had, after all,
only discovered his secondary base of X-19989. He had thousands of other smaller bases spread
throughout the L3 and L4 colony clusters, with not a single Preventor aware as to their existance.
L3 was a bigger target than L4, that was why he had connived his way into the control of that
area.
The old man smirked. Yes, Mariemaia had turned out to be a clever decoy yet again, and
although the murder of Quatre R. Winner had not gone smoothly, it had been carried out
none-the-less. Now he had complete control of L4, and not a person on Earth would ever expect
it. Of course, he would have liked to have kept his prized Mariemaia, but another capture could
be arranged so easily.
Besides, the Winner boy was the important knock-off. With the slipping of a few messages, he
had been able to silence the Winner sisters quite easily after that.
All was going as planned ... A few tangles, but no knots, and that was welcome news. No one
was going to stop the Barton family this time. After all, the Gundams were long gone.
A knock broke through his repose. Veinte snarled, "I said I would have NO visitors!"
"It's me, sir ..." came the meek reply.
A smile cracked that rigid old face. "Ah, Terrance. Come in, young man." The door cracked
open and in came the mud blond grandson of Veinte. Slate grey eyes examine the old man with
caution, trying to avoid the wrath of one who could easily silence him with a quick, hort blow to
the head- or something more messy, but just as effective.
"Sit down." The bear-like man gestured to a nearby chair, cold eyes flicking with a remote wave
of kindness. The grey eyes ran in the family, however, Veinte's were more like flint- a stone of
ancient warfare-rather then the cultured slate of his grandson's.
The youth sat, tapping his fingers together in his lap nervously. Veinte noticed.
"Don't do that, Terrance. It makes you look weak."
"Yes, sir." The boy stopped, and stared his grandfather in the face. "I talked with Donaldson
again. I told him to give me all the information he had gathered from his encounter with the
false Trowa Barton or else. He complied and I've gathered quite a bit of extra research on him."
The young man held out a manila folder, and Veinte took it grudgingly, opening it to the first
page of a set of meticulously crafted notes and records. HIs grandson never slouched, when it
came to information. Veinte's only regret was that the boy was not as thorough on the
battlefield.
"Trowa Barton has no record of his real name. For a time his worked as a mercenary, then as the
real Trowa's mechanic for Operation Meteor. He was present at the death of Trowa and thus
inherited his name and place in the project-operating as you know, Gundam Heavyarms.
Nanashi was also known to have spent time in a travelling circus as a clown. He's rather
attached to a young woman by the name of Catherine Bloom there. She's rather his adopted
sister, so if push comes to shove she can be threatened."
"I'm quite well aware of this basic information, Terrance. Dakim left excellent records."
The youth nodded, muddy mop bobbing up and down on his slim face. "I have more interesting
information." The youth paused, trying to collect himself to reveal the knowledge that could
destroy this admirable pilot.
"Our "Trowa Barton" was in love with Quatre Raberba Winner."
Veinte smiled, brows cracking into his skull as he thought. "Now, this could proved useful," he
crooned, eyes gazing up at the ceiling. "The young pilot will be seeking revenge ... It's
dangerous ... He could expose the true intent of the Valentine Battle, but ... With more proper
decoys he could be eliminated, and the Preventor lured out ..."
His mind twisted fiendishly over the hundreds of possibilities available at this new conclusion of
evidence. He could even black mail ... Homophobia was a common disorder even in these
modern times. The Winner name and more could be tarnished. He could unravel all kinds of
things about the "immorality" of E.S.U.N. government. Ah, he didn't enjoy thwarting a hundred
vultures with one tiny pebble of truth ...
Power was finally within the Barton grasp.
"Terrance, you are dismissed."
"Yes, sir."
********************************************************************************
February 29, A.C. 197 :: 12:12
Mariemaia sat alone in her wheelchair, patent leather shoes swaying back and forth as she swung
her legs. She could believe Lady Une made her go to school. This was so horrible and when it
wasn't horrible, it was boring. Kids hated her- for her past, for her condition, even for being
years ahead of them. So there she was, an 8 year old invalid in a wheelchair and the fifth grade.
All in all, the little red-head was the perfect object for teasing.
This was rather the reason she was sitting all alone, instead of playing during recess. She
sighed-everyone hated her-was bigger than her. She'd had spit wads and evil notes thrown at her
from the back all morning long. It was all so frustrating. /People are pigs/ she thought, and
contemplated one day teaching them a lesson. The memory of Relena's hand flying at her face
stopped the thought and she blinked back tears.
"Hello ..." The young red-head started as the voice broke through her thoughts. Eyes focused in
on the face. It was the late boy, the one who had been staring at his desk all day. Wide-eyes
stared at her, blinking back fear and other things. Mariemaia stared, fascinated. His eyes were
cool and kind of creepy! They were a neat color too!-violet with little green flecks. Green
flecks like the color of Trowa-kun's eyes.
An even greater thought hit her. He hadn't poked a single jibe!
"Hi!" she replied, cheerily now.
"Sorry they're so mean," he mumbled. The boy scuffed his feet, pulling at the tight collar of his
navy blue uniform. White hair fell into his face in an untidy manner but it worked well for him.
He reminded her of Heero Yuy. Heero was nice. He was going to save her. She pursed her lips
for a minute, examining the boy closer. There was something odd about the boy ... Like the way
he wrote with both hands, and the white hair, and the purple eyes ... And there was something
else ...
"They were mean to you too," she replied without thinking, still trying to figure out what else
was odd about the boy.
He only shrugged in reply. "I'm used to it," he said.
"They call you crazy," stated the red-head. The boy shrugged again. "I think that's silly."
"Maybe they're right."
The blue eyed girl shook her red head. "Now you're being silly!"
"Huh?" They boy blinked at her. She looked at his eyes, almost black because of the size of his
pupils. They drew her in in such a strange way. She looked away, and then looked back. The
boy had turned to watch the other boys playing soccer. He didn't really watch where the ball
moved, he just watch the others boys, tracking with his eyes where they went.
Suddenly, Mariemaia saw the ball flying their way, straight toward her new friend's face.
"Hey, look out!" she cried.
The boy looked around frantically, but couldn't find the ball and it hit him square in the face.
Mariemaia quirked her eyebrows. He had been staring right at the ball! Well, sort of ...
"Are you okay?" She asked.
A classmate ran up to retrieve the ball. "Nice going, smarty!" he sneered.
Mariemaia proceeded to stick her tongue out at him as he ran off with the ball. "Rude dude!"
she spat and then giggled at the rhyme.
The boy just stared out at the game again, watching the people run foolishly around the field.
"I'm okay," he mumbled numbly.
The red-headed invalid sat and thought a minute, trying to put together all the things she had
noticed today. Finally, the pieces fit.
"You're blind," she said matter-of-factly. The white-haired child jumped to look at her. "How
do you see the players?"
"How did you know I was blind? Nobody knows!"
Mariemaia quirked again. How could nobody know he was blind. Maybe it was too obvious, or
maybe she just noticed things like that ... But blindness was an obvious disorder ... Then again,
he still wrote and he didn't read Braille.
She shrugged. "You took forever to write when you wrote today and you never dodged any
spitballs. They hit you, just like the ball did when you were staring it straight in the face. I
know you're not stupid, so that has to be the reason." She paused. "But that doesn't tell me how
you see me, 'cause I know you do."
The boy sat down, feeling the cool brick of the building through his jacket. She was an
observant child, but even his teachers-even his dad didn't know. He could write, but it required
concentration. However, he could never follow moving objects with his mind, at least
non-living ones. He wasn't good enough. How his mind found letters even he didn't know.
Maybe some spirit secretly told him.
"How do you see me?" the girl repeated.
The boy started again and stared at the red-head. "I'm afraid to tell you ..." he whispered.
"You'll call me crazy."
"I won't, or I would have done it already. You can't scare me. Really, people have died in front
of me, and I've been shot." She gestured to the wheelchair. She paused. "People have even died
for me ... Try me."
The boy took a deep breath. This girl wouldn't take no for an answer. Maybe, just maybe ...
"What's your name?" he asked, conveniently changing the subject.
It threw the red-head off, at least for the moment.
"My name is Mariemaia Khushrenada, daughter of Tr-" she clasped her hand over her mouth,
realizing she was falling into an old arrogant routine.
"You're Mariemaia?" The boy tried to smile.
The girl nodded, pale hand still covering her mouth.
"It's okay. Dakim Barton drowned that into you. I'm Gavin- Gavin Drakon." He held out his
hand and Mariemaia took it and shook it, noting with casual interest the Gavin shook with his
left hand-even though he mostly wrote with his write. She remembered him switching pencil
hands in class and then figured he was ambidextrous.
"Nice to meet you!" said the girl, smiling.
"Likewise." He let loose his hand, brows knitting together. "Can I tell you a secret?"
"Sure, noone's ever told me a secret before ... I've-never had a friend."
The boy's eyes popped open in surprise, but they soon faded back to normal. "You want to know
how I see you?"
She nodded.
"You know that thing the scientists call Life Aura? Well, I see it. I can see plants and some
rocks. Animals and people are clearer. I see their spirits- I see the real person."
"So you know me ... better than me." She paused, thinking about the kids calling him crazy.
"You see ghosts, too. You talk to them." Mariemaia's observant nature had payed off again.
The boy nodded, "And worse."
"Cool!"
"Come one, aren't you going to say I'm crazy?"
The red-headed child shook her head.
"But you can't prove that I see them."
"I can't prove you don't. You're blind, but you see me. I believe you."
"Really?" The voice was hopeful.
"Really." Mariemaia sat and thought for a moment. Gavin sees dead people. He talks to them.
What if ...
"I have a friend of mine who died. His name was Quatre R. Winner. Have you talked to him?"
The boy's mouth dropped open in shock.
TBC.