"More tea, Master Quatre?"

"Thank you, Pagan," Quatre states.

Mariemaia watches as the older man pours tea from an ornate copper teapot. It's at odds with the sleek, modern furniture and pale neutrals decorating the hotel room. Mariemaia isn't quite sure what Miss Relena's job entails and how much paperwork she may or may not bring with her. She imagines there would be at least some though. However, everything is neat and tidy, stored away in closets or suitcases or, perhaps, safes.

Dorothy stretches out on one of the sofas, picks idly at the remaining Lady's Bracelets sitting on the dessert tray. Mariemaia watches as she takes a delicate bite, the corners of her mouth turning up into a sinful smile, and then licks phyllo crumbs and smeared chocolate from her fingers. Dorothy catches her eye, raises an eyebrow and finishes the dessert in her hand.

"Well, this is all rather tedious, isn't it?" she questions. She kicks off her shoes, letting them fall soundlessly onto the plush carpeting. Her head lolls to the side, searching out Relena. The Vice Foreign Minister has her back to them, gaze fixed out one of the wide, floor-to-ceiling windows. "Careful, Miss Relena, don't want to invite a sniper to target practice."

"Honestly, Dorothy."

"I'm simply being the voice of reason here. I'm sure Mister Winner would agree, wouldn't you?"

Quatre pauses in his tea-sipping, glances over at the window. "The glass is bulletproof, but it wouldn't do to invite any additional trouble."

But Relena doesn't turn around. Dorothy waits a beat, shrugs, and swipes the teacup Quatre sets on the coffee table. She takes a long sip of the lemongrass tea, ignoring Quatre's pointed stare.

"You could just ask for your own," he points out, amusement heavy in his tone.

"Where's the fun in that?" she questions. She smiles beatifically as one of the servants or guards or whatever they are steps forward to refill the cup. He's younger than the others that have been passing in and out of the room all evening, and he stares at Dorothy with wide brown eyes. "Thank you."

"Of course, Miss Dorothy," he replies, smiling back at her. There's a faint redness to his tanned face that Mariemaia finds curious.

"Careful, Amir, Miss Dorothy is known to bite the hand that feeds her."

Amir is still smiling as he steps back. "Ah, but with a mouth as lovely as hers, that may not be a problem, Master Quatre."

Dorothy tips her head back, laughs long and hard. It's not quite pleasant, not quite cutting, and it sets Mariemaia's teeth on edge. It also draws Miss Relena back from whatever she had been staring at out the window. She crosses the room and curls up on the end of the sofa closest to the chair Mariemaia has claimed as her own.

"Did you have enough to eat?" Relena questions, ignoring the other two as they fall to bickering.

"Yes," Mariemaia replies. It's true. Quatre had made a call when they'd arrived back at Miss Relena's suite and within twenty minutes, they had been brought tray after tray covered in a variety of dishes that left her so full she didn't even want to move. She's not sure how Dorothy can still be nibbling on desserts.

Relena leans over, hand resting lightly on Mariemaia's foot where it hangs over the edge of the chair. She squeezes lightly. "Everything will be fine. I promise."

"Careful with promises, Miss Relena," Mariemaia says. "In my experience they're slippery things."

Relena studies her with wide blue eyes. "Yes, I imagine they have been."

/

Mariemaia pretends to doze once they turn the news station on. She tucks her chin to her chest and carefully peers between her eyelashes at the three adults talking quietly. Miss Relena has lost her suit jacket while Quatre Winner has stripped down to his waistcoat once more. Dorothy is still stretched out on the chaise, but her gaze is more calculating and less playful now.

"It doesn't make sense," Relena is saying. Her fingers are busy in her hair, constantly twisting strands into braids, removing them, and then braiding once again.

"Have you heard from Mr. Dark and Broody?" Dorothy questions.

"No. I imagine that's good news though."

Quatre sighs, leans back into the chair and runs his hands over his face. "The last thing we need is another war starting."

"Do you really think it'll come to that?" Relena asks, voice hushed.

"Personally, I think Yergin's been hoping for one for a while. He was always complaining about the lack of defense put into place."

"There are the Preventers-"

"Yes, and Lady Une is doing a truly admirable job with them, but they aren't properly equipped to handle anything remotely like a rebellion. You remember what happened during the last one." There's a pause and Mariemaia can see the blurry shapes turn to glance at her.

"That was five years ago," Quatre says, voice soft.

"Yes, and can you honestly say anything has changed?" Dorothy questions. "Today's events prove that something is going on."

"But another war?" Quatre asks. "We're still recovering from the last one."

"An endless waltz," Relena sighs. Mariemaia starts at the words, remembers standing with Miss Relena in the bunker, remembers reciting those same words to her five years ago. She's surprised Relena still remembers them now.

"A what?"

"An endless waltz." Relena releases her hair, the strands untwining and falling straight once more. "The three beats of war, peace, and revolution continue on. Forever."

"That's fatalistic. Especially for you."

"Is it?" Relena questions. "Have we just been fooling ourselves that peace is truly attainable?"

"Maybe you two have-"

"Dorothy," Quatre says, voice tired, "please."

Dorothy pushes herself up into a seated position, back straight. "This is ridiculous. It's nothing more than hypothesizing in the dark."

"I suppose you'd prefer to jump in headfirst, guns blazing?"

"What I'm saying, Mister Winner, is what I've been saying for six years. We are one scandal away from a landslide, and you know it. The Barton Rebellion was the first nail in the coffin and this will likely be the last."

"Dorothy-"

"I know you see it too."

Mariemaia closes her eyes, feels the brush of displaced air as Dorothy passes.

"Where are you going?"

"I need air."

"What about snipers?" Miss Relena asks, voice teasing. Mariemaia can imagine the hopeful expression on her face, still longing for the smallest amount of peace. She wonders when Miss Relena will realize it's pointless.

"That's the nice thing about being a civilian, I'm not important enough for assassination."

The balcony doors slam shut. The air in the room seems colder. Mariemaia isn't sure if it's from the opening of the doors or the sudden loss of Dorothy. Her leg throbs from being held in one position for so long. She curls her hand into the sofa cushion, nails biting into the upholstery, and tries to ignore it.

"I'll speak with her," Quatre says softly.

She doesn't sense him pass, but moments later the balcony doors open and close quietly. She counts heartbeats, strains her ears to hear what Miss Relena is doing. The room is silent, not even the sound of guards or servants approaching to reprimand or offer more food.

"You can stop pretending," Miss Relena says, voice soft. Mariemaia waits, keeps breathing even and slow even though she wants to hold her breath at the words. "Mariemaia, I know you're awake."

Mariemaia blinks her eyes open. Miss Relena has a teacup in hand, bare feet tucked into the back of the sofa as she sits, half-turned on the sofa. She's not looking at Mariemaia though, her gaze is fixed on the gap between the curtains covering the balcony doors.

"How did you know?" she asks. She sits up, brushes hair out of her face.

"I used to pretend to fall asleep when my father met with dignitaries. It was the best way to find out things I wasn't supposed to know." There's a fond smile on her face, briefly obscured when she lifts the teacup to take a sip, but it's still there when she lowers the delicate porcelain. "I was usually caught, too."

Mariemaia huffs, leans into the sofa cushions to follow Relena's gaze, but the angle is wrong and the curtains block whatever is happening on the balcony. Mariemaia frowns. "She hasn't tossed him over, has she?"

Relena laughs, bright and surprised. She has to steady the hand holding the teacup. "Who? Dorothy and Quatre?" She shakes her head, smile still in place. "I'm sure she's thought about it."

Mariemaia shifts, draws her leg up and rests her arm against the folded knee. "Do you really believe there's a plan for another rebellion?" She pauses, considers. "A serious one?"

Relena shrugs. She stirs her tea slowly. "I don't see why not," she says finally. Her eyes flick up, gaze intent when it meets Mariemaia's. "Wasn't it you who said history repeats itself? Wise words for a little girl."

Mariemaia looks away. She pushes memories of Uncle Trowa's steady, strong hands away. The three-beat cadence of his voice as he tucked her in. When she looks up again, Relena has returned her attention to the balcony doors. "It was true."

"Maybe it still is."

"I didn't expect you to remember it." She watches the Vice Foreign Minister carefully. Notes the way her gaze flicks back to her face, blue eyes ringed in dark circles and smudged make-up, hair loose and tangled, blouse wrinkled from hours of waiting. This isn't the pressed-and-polished version from news interviews. It isn't the idealistic, stubborn teenager she'd once held prisoner. "I had just wanted to taunt you," she admits.

Relena's mouth twitches into a smile. She leans over to set the teacup in a porcelain saucer on the coffee table. "It worked," she replies. "I haven't forgotten the words."

The balcony doors open before Mariemaia can respond. She glances over as Quatre Winner steps into the room once more. He pulls the door closed, rubs absently at his bare arms. He smiles when he looks up and sees them.

"Miss Dorothy will be in momentarily," he states. His gaze shifts to Mariemaia and his smile softens. "I hope we didn't wake you."

"No," she replies truthfully.

The balcony doors swing open once more. Mariemaia lifts her eyes to stare past his shoulder as Dorothy enters, closing the French doors soundlessly behind her. She looks the most put-together out of all of them. Hair still sleek and shining, clothing wrinkle-free. She's still bare footed though, and there's a tremor in her hands whether from emotion or tiredness Mariemaia isn't sure. Dorothy's eyes flick to each of them dismissively before settling on Quatre once more.

"I thought you promised chess," she states.

"I did." He gestures to the small chess table set beneath one of the windows.

Dorothy crosses the room silently, her fingers brush Mariemaia's shoulder as she passes, and Mariemaia doesn't know what to make of it. She half-twists to watch as Dorothy takes a seat at the chess table, gaze intent on the pieces in front of her and fingers resting lightly on the tabletop. Quatre Winner takes a seat opposite her cousin, lounges in the chair almost carelessly even though his eyes are studying the board just as intently. It reminds her of something, but she can't place what it is.

/

She's half-dozing, for real this time, when the knock on the door comes. Quatre and Dorothy stop arguing over whether Dorothy illegally captured Quatre's bishop, and Mariemaia rubs her eyes, looking around. The older man, Pagan, and the servant from earlier appear from the adjoining room.

"Were you expecting anyone, Miss Relena?" Pagan questions.

"No," Relena answers. She sets her laptop aside, frowning.

"I'm sure it's nothing," Quatre says. He stands, smoothing down his waistcoat. "Probably Rashid checking on me."

"Honestly, it wasn't like someone opened fire on Yergin," Dorothy states. "If we were truly in danger then we shouldn't have enjoyed that delicious dinner."

"Just the same, you should wait here," the servant, or guard, or whatever he is, says.

Quatre disregards the orders, padding quietly across the room to check the door. Pagan bends slightly, speaking in hushed tones with Miss Relena, but Mariemaia doesn't pay attention to their conversation. She watches as Dorothy silently moves Quatre's remaining bishop to a different square. Her cousin glances up, meets Mariemaia's gaze, and smiles. She presses a finger to her lips and Mariemaia rolls her eyes, but doesn't say anything.

The door opens, Quatre's voice carrying warm and welcoming across the room. "Lady Une, please, come in."

Mariemaia sits up straighter, rubbing the remnants of exhaustion from her eyes, as her guardian steps into the room. Lady Une's hair is tied back, but she isn't wearing her glasses. She looks as tired as Mariemaia feels. As tired as Miss Relena looks when she thinks no one is paying attention.

"Lady Une," Relena says, standing. "Would you like some tea? Dessert?"

"No, thank you." Her eyes catch on Mariemaia and she offers her a tired smile. "I'm here to collect Mariemaia."

"Of course."

"Any news?" Dorothy drawls. She taps the edge of a pawn against the chessboard, blue eyes staring at Lady Une intently.

"I am sure you'll be pleased to hear that Minister Yergin is stable and expected to recover well."

"Ecstatic."

"And the suspect?" Quatre questions. His voice is nonchalant, but his gaze is as intent as Dorothy's. Mariemaia feels a shiver climb slowly up the rungs of her spine.

"Is still being questioned," Lady Une replies.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like some tea or coffee? We still have a few pastries left."

"The only thing I want after today is a warm bath and soft bed," Lady Une replies. "But thank you for the offer." She looks over at Mariemaia, head tilting questioningly. "Ready to go?"

"Yes, ma'am." She gets hurriedly to her feet, crossing the room to her guardian. She pauses, turns back to Relena Darlian. "Thank you for the meal." She pauses, meets Relena's gaze directly. "And the company."

Relena looks like the practiced politician once more, but she smiles warmly. "Anytime."

They're at the door, Pagan trailing them to lock it up, when she hears Quatre's exasperated voice and Dorothy's laughter. She half-turns to look, but Pagan has shut the door soundlessly behind her, and Lady Une is striding purposefully toward the elevators. Mariemaia hurries after her guardian, catching up as the elevator doors slide open.

"I didn't mean to take so long," Lady Une apologizes. She drapes her blazer over one arm, presses the button for their floor with the other. "You were alright?"

Mariemaia shrugs. "It wasn't terrible. The dessert was good, you should've taken Miss Relena up on her offer."

Lady Une's mouth twitches into a smile. "I ate earlier."

"Probably a protein shake and granola bar," Mariemaia comments as they reach their floor.

"Maybe you should consider a career as a psychic, Miss Know-It-All," Lady Une laughs. Mariemaia can't resist sticking her tongue out at her guardian, grinning as Lady Une elbows her gently as they make their way down the hall to their room. The smile fades from her face when they enter the suite and Lady Une secures the door behind them. "Is Trowa Barton really a suspect?" she questions.

Lady Une sighs heavily. She drops the blazer on a chair and crosses the room to the bathroom, fingers busy unpinning her hair. "Mariemaia, you know I can't discuss classified information with you."

Mariemaia frowns, arms crossing over her chest. She kicks her shoes off, disregarding where they land, and trails Lady Une to the bathroom. She leans against the doorframe, watching her guardian's fingers comb through waves of fine brown hair for stray pins. There's one near her left ear she hasn't noticed, but she doesn't point it out.

"Why not? It's not like I'd tell anyone."

"Because it's classified."

"And it's Trowa," she counters. "I should know."

Lady Une raises her eyebrows, hands stilling in her hair. Mariemaia avoids meeting her gaze in the mirror, stares pointedly at the errant bobby pin. "I thought you couldn't care less about Trowa Barton."

Mariemaia shrugs, lips pressed together thinly. "Maybe I want to make sure the imposter hasn't sullied my uncle's name."

Lady Une's eyebrows disappear under her bangs. "Of course, how silly of me."

"I'm just trying to understand. There was a roomful of people there, a full staff, why did Trowa Barton get pulled in as a suspect?"

She drops the pins into her toiletry bag and turns to face Mariemaia. "Trowa has some valuable information that we need. He's fine."

Mariemaia chews on the inside of her bottom lip as she thinks over Lady Une's words. Her fingers are cold where they're folded against her chest, cold against the inside of her elbows. "Was Yergin really poisoned?"

"There was poison found in his bloodstream," Lady Une replies, voice soft. "We are still investigating."

"And Trowa has important information about…Yergin? Or the missing shipments?"

"Mariemaia."

"I thought he was investigating the shipments, not the Trade Minister."

Lady Une pushes off from the bathroom vanity. She crosses the bathroom and rests a hand on Mariemaia's shoulders. "I know you're concerned," she says. "I'm sure this is bringing up memories, but everything will be fine. I promise."

Mariemaia snorts, pulls back and frowns at the ground. "I don't like being lied to or coddled." She turns from the bathroom, stomping across the living room to her bedroom.

"What do you want me to say, Mariemaia?" Lady Une trails her, exasperation wafting off of her with each word, each step. "Like it or not, you are a child and I am the adult here. I am your guardian. That means I protect you, no matter how difficult you make it."

"That doesn't mean you lie!"

"When have I lied to you?" Lady Une demands.

"You're lying right now!"

Lady Une reaches out, catching the door before it slams, and pushes it open. "What have I lied about?"

Mariemaia falls onto her bed, stares up at the ceiling.

"Mariemaia."

"I don't know," she admits. "But you're lying, I can tell. You aren't telling me something. I saw it when you were talking with the others during the interview. I saw it when you refused Miss Relena's offer to eat."

Lady Une sighs heavily. She stands at the foot of the bed, but she doesn't approach, doesn't reach out. "Sometimes you remind me so much of your father. Of Dorothy."

"And then you do this. You try to distract me."

"I'm not distracting you, I'm just…I'm tired." She does sit then, heavy and hesitant on the edge of the bed. "You have the same perceptive qualities that Treize and Dorothy both enjoyed showing off. Though I think your temper must come from your mother." The last bit is said with a half-smile Mariemaia refuses to acknowledge.

She stares stubbornly at the ceiling.

"I don't know what you thought you saw during the interview this evening, but no one lied to you. There's…history, between Relena and Dorothy and Quatre and myself."

"I don't trust him."

"Quatre? Why not?"

She shrugs, shifts her gaze to Lady Une. "I'm not sure," she admits. She isn't sure how to say he seems too nice and be taken seriously. "Just a feeling."

"He's been a good ally these past few years."

"Maybe that was his plan all along," she comments. Her gaze returns to the ceiling. "After all, it is his hotel where Yergin was attacked."

Lady Une hums quietly. She pats Mariemaia's foot lightly. "I think you're just tired. Quatre Winner has always been a good friend to have." The bed shifts as Lady Une stands. "We'll talk more in the morning when we've had time to sleep and recharge." She pauses, but Mariemaia doesn't move. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

She waits until the door shuts before climbing out of bed and changing into her pajamas. She pauses at the window, stares out at the colony. Downtown is still bustling, bright neon lights illuminating the darkness while the residential areas are a patchwork of shadow and artificial street lights. She climbs back into bed, snuggling beneath the lightweight duvet, and yawning widely.

Duo Maxwell, she realizes as she hovers on the cusp of sleep. Quatre's posture reminded her of Duo's when he's pretending to be a normal civilian. When he's pretending to be just a scrap-guy, just a contractor for Preventers. It's almost convincing, the loose shoulders and sprawled legs, the way one foot taps or catches around a chair rung. But the eyes give it away. Too calculating. Too alert. Too interested in their surroundings to be anything other than a soldier, to be anything less than dangerous.

She's never viewed Quatre Winner as dangerous before, but she may have to reassess, she thinks. It was his hotel where the incident happened. And, she remembers, he was the only one who noticed the trembling start before anyone else.

She falls into an uneasy sleep, dreaming of sharp smiles and sharper knives in the back.