Mariemaia is roused from sleep in the middle of the night. Her bedroom is dark since her grandfather has forbidden the use of a nightlight, proclaiming her too big to need one. Her stomach twists whenever she looks at the empty outlet. She misses the warm glow, but Grandfather is right and she is big now. Uncle Trowa is bending over her bed. His breath smells sweet and his eyes shine like the stars from the observation decks.
"Come on," he says. He hoists her up out of her warm cocoon. "I've got something magic to show you."
She nestles into her uncle's arms, lets him carry her through the empty house and into the garage. She doesn't remember being placed on the motorcycle, or Uncle Trowa chuckling as he wheels it out of the garage before starting it up. She remembers the heavy feel of a helmet too big for her, the wind whipping at her nightgown where it's caught at her knees, the bump of her bare feet against the warm motorcycle. She remembers feeling like she was flying, held tight by her uncle's strong arms and knees as he steered the machine through streets lined with neon lights.
The ride ends too soon. Mariemaia's teeth are chattering, her face is flushed from wind and excitement, and she laughs as Uncle Trowa swings her up into his arms again. "Why're we here?" she asks, looking around. She doesn't recognize the metal building in front of them, the glow of neon left behind.
"Magic," he repeats.
It's an observation deck, she realizes, as he carries her through the door. It's smaller, more run-down and not as shiny as the ones Grandfather occasionally brings her to. Space is laid out before them, black and bright. She can see Earth, swirled blue and white and green, and beyond it the sun burning bright and always in motion. Uncle Trowa has set her on the ground, is leaning against the metal railing as he stares out through the glass.
Mariemaia isn't a little girl anymore, isn't five-years-old and entranced by the magic of a terran eclipse. But she loops her arms over the railing and stands next to her uncle. Uncle Trowa seems smaller now, no longer larger than life, so she refuses to look at him, refuses to see a man where a giant used to be.
"I remember this," she says, voice soft and echoing. "You were so excited to show me the eclipse."
"It's one of the good points of being up here," he says. His voice is still the same as she remembers, still fond and amused. Against her will she looks over at him, watches as he takes a long pull from a glass bottle she had forgotten about. "Your mother always wanted to see the terran eclipses. No one else gets to see them, you realize? But look at that, Marie."
Mariemaia turns back to the viewing window, watches Earth creep closer, sees the sun slowly be blocked out by the passing.
"I had forgotten this," she admits. She blinks back tears.
"One day, that will be yours. All of that." He laughs and reaches over to ruffle her hair. "Leia's little girl. My niece. Ruler of the whole damn galaxy."
"But I'm not," she states, voice soft. The observation deck turns dark as Earth crawls between their colony and the sun.
"You will be," Uncle Trowa says, voice firm. He wraps an arm around her, pulls her tight to his side. Mariemaia shivers, bare feet twisting on the gritty floor. "Look at them. All snug in their beds. You're going to take them all by surprise. We're going to take them all by surprise."
Mariemaia wakes with a gasp, choking on air and unshed tears. She curls on her side, buries her face into the plush pillow, and tries to cling to the remnants of the dream. She wants to be five and carefree once again, wants that magic night and the feel of freedom whipping at her bare ankles.
/
Eventually, she gives up on reclaiming sleep or the dream. She climbs out of bed, brushes her teeth hard enough, long enough, that the bitter taste coating her tongue is replaced by something bright and metallic. When she exits the bathroom, Lady Une's door is still closed. She creeps closer, presses an ear lightly against the wood. She can hear her guardian on the other side, steady breathing and a deep snore on every fifth inhale that means she's still deep asleep.
She turns around, presses her back to the wooden door and stares at the hotel room. The curtains are pulled, but there's a small gap and a spear of light from one of the security lamps outside pierces the dark. It casts the unfamiliar furniture in strange shadows and shines on the tiles in the kitchenette. Mariemaia wraps her arms around herself, presses chilled fingers to the base of her throat to feel her pulse beat fast.
Too keyed up, she pulls on the shoes she'd kicked off near the sofa last night. She needs to get out of the room, needs to stretch her legs and clear her head. She slips the key card into the pocket of her pajama bottoms, slides the deadbolt free, and pauses, hand on the doorknob. If she strains her ears, she can still hear Lady Une snoring softly. She pulls the door open. The hallway is cast in a dim orange glow, more welcoming than the dark of the hotel room, the white glare of the security lights.
She doesn't leave a note; she'll be back before Lady Une wakes.
She closes the door firmly behind her.
/
The hallways are empty and the lobby is quiet. It's too early for new guests to arrive and too late for partiers returning from the downtown district. The colony is still set in night mode, the artificial sky dark with dimmed lights and the air cool. Mariemaia slips silently from the elevator bank to the doors leading out into the gardens. The fountains bubble lowly, lit with pale purple lights.
She skims her fingers along one of the fountains, feels chilled water swirl against her fingertips, and then descends into the gardens themselves. She takes the main avenue, past the shrubbed alcoves and meandering paths, skirts along the alcove she had seen Miss Relena, Dorothy, Heero Yuy, and Quatre Winner in just the other day. She breathes in recycled air, heavy with the metallic smell she's never been able to identify but all colonies seem to have and the sweet smell of imported flowers.
Mariemaia tips her head back, breathes deeply. She remembers the smell, thick like burning, back in L3. She hadn't liked it then, had wrinkled her nose and spent her time inside the house where the air purifiers ran day and night. Dekim had called it the smell of innovation. It had smelled too much like loss, like death, for her to find comfort in it.
Now, though, she finds that she's missed it. Has missed the tang in her nose that makes her feel like she's on the verge of sneezing. It reminds her of Uncle Trowa's motorcycle, of staring out an oversized observation window at a planet that would one day be hers. It reminds her of a woman's voice, sweet with laughter, and warm fingers in hers as she toddled down a street. It reminds her of sitting in an ornate room, waiting for Miss Relena to wake, and staring out a window at a half-built, half-forgotten colony.
She comes to the end of the avenue, a wall of shrubbery extends on either side of the two metal doors before her. An observation deck, she thinks. As she had suspected from a hotel like this one. She presses her hand against the door knob. The metal is cold beneath her skin.
"Does Lady Une know you're out so early?"
She half-turns, spots Quatre Winner a few paces away. Her stomach twists. She doesn't like that he got so close without her noticing. Quatre flashes her a small smile. He probably means for it to be reassuring, but she feels the hairs on the back of her neck, on her arms, raise. She feels like prey suddenly.
"What are you doing out here?" she asks instead.
Quatre's smile widens, as if that's the exact response he'd expected. "One of the perks of running a small empire is the insomnia." He shrugs casually, hands slipping into his pockets, and takes a few more steps toward her. Mariemaia's eyes dart down to his loafers, watches them move silently across the gravel.
"What're the others?"
"No questions," he replies, voice easy. Mariemaia shifts under the look he gives her. It's assessing, like she's a chess piece he's trying to find a purpose for. "Does Lady Une know you're out here?"
"She's sleeping."
Quatre nods. He leans back on his heels, stares at the metal doors behind her. "Wanted to visit the observation deck?"
"I…yes," she admits. Her hand tightens on the latch.
"It's not open at this time of morning," he notes. He reaches a hand up, runs it through disheveled blonde hair. "Lady Une should keep better tabs on you."
She bristles, glaring, and he laughs. "I can take care of myself," she bites out. "In case you've forgotten, I was the head of a rebellion."
Quatre's face sobers. He stares at her, eyes heavy and weighted with something she can't identify. "I don't think you'll let anyone forget that, Miss Mariemaia," he says simply. She opens her mouth, but he pulls out a keycard from his pocket, nods toward the door. "I would hardly be a good host if I didn't let you enjoy the view."
She steps aside as he approaches, runs the keycard over a sensor she hadn't noticed. There's a click and then Quatre presses on the latch, pushes the door open and gestures for Mariemaia to enter. She swallows, inches past him.
The metallic smell is stronger here and she wonders if there's also an access point to space nearby. There are dim lights along the floor, but the remainder of the light comes from the stars and space itself. Mariemaia releases a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. She steps up to the railing along the upper deck, rests her bare arms on the cold metal, and drinks in the view of space. She hears the door close, heavy and dull, and then Quatre Winner appears at her side. He doesn't look at her, eyes fixed on the observation window as well.
Mariemaia darts a glance in his direction. He has one elbow propped on the rail, chin resting in his palm, and his gaze is intent on the view outside. He hasn't changed since she saw him in Miss Relena's room, though his clothes are more rumpled and his waistcoat is missing. There's a tired line to his shoulders. It reminds her of Lady Une, of Miss Relena, of Heero Yuy's when he'd threatened to kill her.
"Thank you."
She jerks, looking up at Quatre Winner's face in surprise. Quatre isn't watching her though, he's still staring out the window. She can just make out the slight silver of old scars on his bare forearms in the light. "What for?"
"Sometimes it's nice to take a moment and stare at the stars," he comments. His voice is lighter, but she can hear the undertow of tiredness beneath it. "To put everything in perspective."
Mariemaia is quiet. She turns back to the observation window and stares at a resource satellite in the distance, at what might be an asteroid farther out. "My uncle brought me to one, once. I dreamt about it and…I wanted to see it again." They fall silent and it isn't quite comfortable, but it isn't uncomfortable either.
Eventually, Quatre stands, pulls out his phone to check a message on the screen. Mariemaia watches him from the corner of her eye, but his face gives nothing away. He taps a brief response, and returns his phone to his pocket.
"You'd be good in politics," she notes. "You never let people know what you're thinking."
Quatre offers her a wry smile. "I've been told my face is an open book," he counters.
Mariemaia can't imagine that. Quatre Winner cloaks himself in glitz and benevolence. She's seen him charm a smile from her guardian, knows he has donated to some charity Duo Maxwell mentioned in passing for colony war orphans. But she's also heard him hold his own in a verbal spar with her cousin, seen him watch Heero Yuy like he knows something he shouldn't. All smiles and well-wishes with eyes as calculating as Wufei's.
"I don't believe that," she says. "I think you're hiding something."
Quatre graces her with another smile, warm and amused, and an arched eyebrow that looks eerily like one of her cousin's. "And what am I hiding, Miss Mariemaia?"
Mariemaia shrugs. She toys with a loose strand of hair. "It wouldn't be hidden if I knew."
He laughs, slow and warm. "You'll have to let me know when you figure it out." He offers her his arm. "Come on. Lady Une is looking for you."
/
Lady Une is waiting in the lobby for her. She has her arms folded across her chest; her hair pinned up in two neat braids. Sometimes Mariemaia contemplates growing her hair out long enough to mimic the style. Then she remembers how annoying it is to manage it at shoulder-length and disregards the fancy. Quatre Winner offers her a smile that's warm enough though it doesn't reach his eyes, dips a bow that has her guardian rolling her eyes.
"Apologies, I should have had my staff notify you sooner," Quatre comments.
"And someone should have left a note," Lady Une adds, eyes locked on Mariemaia. Mariemaia shifts from foot to foot, shrugs insouciantly. "Thank you for watching over her."
"Of course," Quatre replies. He makes an aborted movement as though he's going to his straighten his missing waistcoat. He offers a self-deprecating smile, smooths a hand over his wrinkled shirt. "It's been an eventful few hours, I'm sure we all just wanted some clarity."
"Yes, we do," Lady Une states, voice edged in stone. Mariemaia glances at her curiously.
Quatre hums, looks around the lobby at the Preventers agents stationed by the front doors. "It has been quite the circus around here."
"I would think a hotel like this would be used to juggling acrobatic performances," she comments, voice dry.
Quatre's smile widens, eyes bright, and he chuckles quietly. "Usually we have more time to prepare," he states. He nods at them both. "I have business to take care of, but we should have dinner if you're free."
"I'm sure we can arrange something."
Mariemaia watches as Quatre Winner disappears through an employees-only door, then turns back to her guardian. Lady Une is staring at her, eyebrows raised and arms still crossed over her chest.
"What was that?" Mariemaia demands. Lady Une reaches over, rests a strong hand on Mariemaia's shoulder and turns her toward the elevators. "What were you talking about?" Mariemaia persists.
"Mariemaia, I'm going to say this once. If you pull a stunt like this again, I am going to assign a permanent guard to you," Lady Une states, ignoring her.
Mariemaia rolls her eyes as they enter the elevator and Lady Une presses the button for their floor. "Aren't you overreacting? I was fine."
"Mariemaia."
"I just went for a walk!"
"Without letting me know where you were going or who you were with." She pauses as the doors open on their empty hallway. "I thought you didn't trust Quatre."
"I don't."
"Then that's another reason for you to stay inside and not go running around an unfamiliar place."
"You brought me here!" Mariemaia protests. She waits while Lady Une fishes in her pocket for the key card, closes her fingers around the hard plastic of her own card and doesn't offer it. "I'm not going to stay locked in a room just because someone poisoned the Trade Minister! Just send me home if I'm that much of a burden." She slumps against the wall as Lady Une finally gets their door open.
"You are not a burden, stop being melodramatic." Lady Une holds the door, gestures for her to enter. Mariemaia groans, pushes off the wall, and stomps past her guardian. "I brought you here for a conference, not an investigation."
"Well, if you would just tell me things, I wouldn't have to go sneaking around!"
"I am not telling you the details of an on-going investigation, Mariemaia, and that is final." She slaps the room service menu down on the counter. "I have a few more interviews to complete this morning. I am trusting you to stay put. Order breakfast. Work on schoolwork. I'll be back for lunch."
"This is worse than house arrest," Mariemaia grouses. "And I would know, since I was under it."
"Mariemaia."
She ignores Lady Une, storming over to the sofa and throwing herself down onto it. "It's fine. The only adult who ever told me anything was Uncle Trowa and he's dead." She doesn't think of her mother, of her father, of her grandfather even. She closes her eyes, breathes deeply. "I'll be here when you get back."
When she opens her eyes, Lady Une is crouching in front of her. Mariemaia doesn't yelp, but she does jump in surprise. Lady Une is staring at her with wide brown eyes. There's an emotion in there that Mariemaia can't decipher, but she wants to.
"Not everyone in this world is out to get you, Mariemaia," she says, voice soft. Her hand reaches out as though it's going to brush the loose strands of Mariemaia's hair, but at the last moment it falls to the sofa cushion instead. "I am not out to get you. Or lie to you. There are some things I can't tell you, and an active investigation is one of them."
"What were you and Quatre Winner talking about downstairs?"
Lady Une is quiet for a moment. She sighs, runs a hand over her face like she has a headache.
"Why would this hotel be used to," she pauses, tries to remember the phrasing, "juggling performances?"
"We've used the hotel for meetings and drops before," Lady Une says finally. She meets Mariemaia's eyes steadily. "Quatre Winner has been a good ally. He's let us utilize his resources for reconnaissance purposes." She does reach out then, fingers squeezing Mariemaia's arm lightly. "Don't do anything foolish."
Mariemaia nods. She lays on the sofa, listens as Lady Une collects her briefcase, pulls on her blazer and slips on the heels she complains always pinch her toes. She waits until the hotel room door closes with a sharp click. She gets up then, wanders to the kitchenette to peruse the room service menu. She doesn't doubt Lady Une was telling her the truth just then, but she also can't shake the feeling that she was leaving something out as well. And that's almost the same as lying, isn't it?