Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Concrete Angel ❯ One-Shot

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the song "Concrete Angel" by Martina McBride. I'm glaring at you now, so go away. No- DON'T! Just kidding, really!

Author's Notes: Y'know, Mariemaia just isn't loved enough. You've gotta feel bad for her- both of her parents are dead, her grandfather thinks she's a useless tool for world domination, and she's stuck in a wheelchair! So I've decided to honor Her Excellency with my very first serious fic- in other words, my first fic without humor. I heard this song and though most of the lyrics don't exactly match her situation, I thought that the chorus fit perfectly. So this isn't really a songfic since I'm only using the chorus. However, I'm going to try and incorporate some elements of the song into the fic. The chorus is from the song "Concrete Angel" by Martina McBride. Enjoy!

Through the wind and the rain, she stands hard as a stone

In a world that she can't rise above

But her dreams give her wings, and she flies to a place

Where she's loved

Concrete angel…

I sat alone, staring at the polished rock which bore the name of a father I'd never known. This fact was an enigma to me, the fact that I'd never even met him, and yet had proudly bore his name, had so zealously tried to ascertain his ideal. Or, to be exact, my grandfather's ideal of his ideal.

Grandfather. Hardly the word for that man. I had thought he had cared for me, that he had wanted to see that I received my birthright, received what was mine…but I could still hear the coldness in his voice, as cold as the bullet that had pierced my body.

We can always create another Mariemaia.

In his eyes, all I was at that moment- all I'd ever been- was a soulless tool of world domination. A way for him to secure the Barton Foundation's power as head of the world sphere. I could've died, and I doubt he would've batted an eyelash.

Miss Une began to approach me, an umbrella in her hands as the rain began to fall. Another enigma. She had loved my father, I knew this much- as to whether or not her affections were returned she'd never informed me. I, of course, had never asked. All I knew was that, despite her devotion to my father, she harbored no resentment toward me whatsoever. She had taken me in as her own child, and yet I had yet to even address her directly. Part of this was due to the fact that I had no idea how I was to address her. 'Miss Une' was fine for my own contemplation, but far too formal for a woman who had taken me in so selflessly. 'Lady Une' was even worse. She had given me no first name; for that matter, neither had anyone else. And under no circumstances could I call her Mother. Such a term would be far too familiar. There was no justification needed for this; it was a fact we both knew.

So I was left addressing her with small smiles, most of which were cultured showmanship, a few of which were sincere, none of which were anything more than owed her.

Nothing more than I owed anyone.

I refused to turn as her footsteps approached; this was my way of saying that I was not yet ready to leave. Miss Une left the umbrella with me as she walked away silently.

My enigmas. Perhaps they would drive me insane- would that be my future?

My father had shone so brightly in the eyes of so many. He had made his impression, he had carved his niche. For good or bad, he would not easily forgotten. I longed for someone in whose eyes I could shine that brightly, be so revered. Perhaps one day I would have other dreams, but this would always shine brightest in my heart.

I laughed at myself, chuckling at my pitiful aspiration: to be loved. Not that I wasn't cared for, of course; there were plenty who cared about my future enough to chastise my past, to impose their own opinions on the ideals of my father.

But my father had achieved one thing that still resonated within my soul: he was missed. He had touched lives, and those lives had been affected upon his passing. This thought caused a single question to eat at my soul: had my grandfather succeeded in killing me, would I honestly be missed?

The rain began to stop as one final thought passed through my mind, the thought that all of my enigmas- my contemplation- my worries... they were things that a seven-year-old girl should never have to worry about.

This time as Miss Une began to approach, I wheeled around to face her. We looked upon the stone for a few moments, the silence being all that was needed. Finally, still without speaking, we turned and headed toward the exit of the cemetery. It was at this point that I decided that, if nothing else, I would at least solve one of my own enigmas. I stopped and sat silently, my usual tactic for getting her attention. She stopped and turned.

"…yes?"

I sat, considering how to best pose my question. I finally decided to be forthright.

"What… am I … to call you?"

She smiled.

"If you'd like, you can just call me Une."

I smiled.

"I'd like that very much."

As we left the cemetery, I began to wonder if I could succeed in my dream after all…

~Owari~

So there you have it. My tribute to the world's most kawaii almost-empress. Corny? Lovely? Should I stick to odd humor? Tell me what you think! Thanks!