The sun warms us as we stand, two statues, lost in our solitude. I watch as the wind moves through her short red hair, a fragile figure seemingly held captive by the wheelchair that supports her. I wish to touch her, connect with her in some way, but our relationship doesn't seem to allow that. We both grew up too fast, lost too much, and the scars left on us are too recent, too raw, to be touched. She hurts me, reminds me of everything I've lost. Yet I am grateful for her. Mariemeia is a gift.
"Lady Une..." she says, one eyebrow quirked. Her voice trembles slightly and the set of her eyes belies her attempt at casualness. She is so much like her father.
"Yes, Miss Mariemeia." I respond. She pauses, gathering her courage. We are always so formal. There is a distance between us that seems almost interminable. Only briefly is that gulf crossed: holding her hand as she determinedly goes through her physical exercises, a quiet moment over meals, the occasional amusing incident that sends faint smiles across both our faces. Once I caught her playing "Preventer". I watched a few seconds in shocked awe before she noticed me. She told me in a haughty tone that she was training to defend the peace she had almost once destroyed, her eyes daring me to call her immature. 'Very well," I replied, 'continue'. The only Preventer she knew then was me.
"What was my father like?" The words spill out of her in a rush.
Treize. For a second an almost physical shock of pain courses through my body, replacing the constant dull ache caused by his absence. When he died, I felt my soul died with him. What do I tell Mariemeia about her father? That he was a dedicated soldier who memorized the names of all who had died serving him? That he was able to inspire such loyalty? She knows too much of this already. Should I tell her he liked sunsets. That he couldn't stand the thought of useless death. That he loved people so much he had to keep his distance lest get swallowed up by them. That he wore gloves to protect himself. That he loved roses. I still can't bear the smell of roses. That he ordered the deaths of countless innocents because he had shining vision of what humanity should be. That he bought animals in cages and set them free. That they came back. That he was the perfect gentlemen. That he gave me back myself. Should I tell her that I loved him. That in spite of how I loved him, followed him, respected him, that I never really understood him, though I was one who understood him best. Should I tell her that he was the first person to ever touch me, truly, the only person to breach my walls and show me how to reach out to others.
But it is hard. Always so hard. My throat hurts, and I swallow, closing my eyes for a second to hold the tears in check.
Treize would have loved Mariemeia had he met her.
Placing my hand on her shoulder I feel the gulf between us close, "He was a beautiful person, just like you..."