FIC: When Spies meet Relatives for Rent [Gundam Wing, Middie & Mrs Darlian & Weyridge]
Title: When Spies meet Relatives for Rent
Author: Omnicat
Unofficially Adapted From: Masashi Ikeda & co’s Gundam Wing, including side stories; in particular Episode Zero.
Spoilers & Desirable Foreknowledge: All of the above.
Warnings: None.
Characters & Pairings: Middie, Marquis Weyridge, Mrs Darlian, mention of Lady Une and Relena
Summary: Middie meets Marquis Weyridge and Mrs Darlian, right when she could use some elders to get her out of trouble.
Author’s Note: The title is based on A) Weyridge’s spontaneous grandfather status, which I’m convinced was just a clumsily translated remainder of the Japanese habit of referring to non-relatives like they are relatives, but has sparked much entertaining debate in English-speaking GW fandom, and B) Mrs Darlian’s total absence from the scene where Relena begs her to always be her mother onwards.
When Spies meet Relatives for Rent
The following scene requires some historical context. (But not too much.)
Before Middie Une became a spy, she had the biggest mouth on the block, her opinions were always ready to make themselves heard, and she naturally managed to embarass her parents often and deeply; afterwards, she guarded her words like they were rabid dogs that would tear out your eyeballs when let loose, seemed to have forgotten how to give a straight answer, and generally acted like you’d expect a fourteen-year-old to do when she has just managed to fight her way out of almost three years of playing trojan horse for an overzealous warlord. Long and depressing story short, it took a long time for her family, friends and a shrink or two to get her to open her mouth again, and once they did, nobody could quite bring themselves to tell her to shut it again - even when she really, really should have shut her mouth.
Fast forward another ten years or so, and Middie had come to terms with the fact that putting a lid on it required a degree of control over what came out of her mouth that she simply no longer had. She had grown used to her big mouth getting her into trouble, and figured that if it hadn’t killed her yet, it was no use worrying over the possibility that it one day still might.
That is, until she became a Preventer agent and suddenly had to deal with a strict pseudo-military ranking system (never mind that half of her superior officers didn’t seem to give a hoot) and even stricter security protocols. Part of her was taken straight back to her ten-year-old self, and every near-slip up was like a small but not insignificant wrecking ball against the mental wall she had built around her early teens. The assault slowly but surely built up to the present; in particular, the moment when two kind strangers, a middle-aged woman and an elderly man, found her on the verge of panic two blocks away from the convention centre she was supposed to be on duty in, contemplating throwing up in a trash can.
It was all a bit of a blur afterwards. Lots of “Are you okay, you look like you’re about to faint.” and “Here, sit down on this bench and take a deep breath.”-type things, a cool, wet handkerchief to press to her face, and one of them letting her squeeze their hands to mush as she tried to calm down.
Eventually the man said “I see from your uniform that you’re with the Preventer’s. Should they be contacted about what happened to you?”, to which she managed to hollowly answer: “No. I am a disgrace to Preventers everywhere. It would be better if my employers never heard of this episode and I threw myself in the way of a serial killer at the soonest possible notice.”
Which was of course followed by the question “Poor dear, whatever makes you say that?”, and she could have smacked herself for letting her mouth run away from her yet again.
But it didn’t stop her from answering. Even now, Middie firmly believed that spitting the words out was much healthier than allowing them to cower and hide in the back of your throat.
“I talked back to the Minister of Trade when he made one of those patronizing veiled insults of his,” she whispered, not daring to look up at the pair that had come to her aid. “and he flew into a rage at my nerve and demanded to see my ID, implying that I was a Political Perspective reporter in disguise and I’d snuck in to stir up trouble and bait him into saying things I could twist out of perspective for an article. But I’ve only been in Russia for two days and my Mobile Stand-By ID turns out to be a month overdue for replacement and someone screwed up my name on the staff list to make it say Lady instead of Middie and nobody here knows me or can vouch for me and, and -”
She couldn’t quite go into the way she’d all but fled the moment someone mentioned going back to the local branch to get things sorted out and ended up weighing the pros and cons of emptying her stomach in the nearest receptacle. Luckily, she didn’t have to.
The woman patted her hand. “What did you say your name was, dear?”
“Middie. Middie Une.”
“And someone trustworthy to vouch for your identity and involvement with the Preventer agency would suffice to solve this situation?”
“Yes, but where would I find -” Middie stopped and stared. “But why would you? And who are you?”
The woman gave her an eye-crinkling smile. “I am Maryne Darlian, and this is my good friend, the Marquis Weyridge. My daughter Relena mentioned a Middie Une to me once. You fit her description to the T.”
Middie’s mouth fell open. “She did?”
“Relena doesn’t meet a lot of people outside of her work. She greatly enjoyed your company that day, so of course she would tell her mother all about it.”
“Of course,” Middie echoed, still too stunned to contribute anything of her own. You go shopping with a living legend once and Lady Luck never lets you hear the end of it.
“Are you sure about this, Maryne?” the Marquis asked.
“Yes, quite.” Mrs Darlian stood up from the bench and held out her hand to Middie. “Are you alright to go back, dear? Time’s getting on, we should hurry if we don’t want to be late.”
“Um, yes.” Middie got up so fast she forgot to take the proffered hand. “Are you really sure?”
“If Maryne’s way doesn’t work, we can always claim you’re my granddaughter,” the Marquis joked.
Mrs Darlian shook her head fondly. “You and your granddaughters. You say that to every pretty young girl you meet.”
While the Marquis and the Vice Foreign Minister’s mother exchanged banter, Middie seized the opportunity to rake her hands through her hair, say a little prayer, and make some mental notes.
- Call dad and have nice, relaxing talk first thing tomorrow.
- Tardiness and inattention are sins just like lack of self-restraint. Get the damn ID renewed.
- Russia supposed to be Vodkaland. Find out if true.
- Actually, stress-drinking is bad too. Start caring once hangover kicks in.
PSAN: Okay, since my writer's block once again extends to personal communication as well as fiction writing, I'll just say it here: hi mistaria! Nice to meet you. Please hang in there until I manage to kick my ass back into gear and answer you properly. ._.;;
Spies Of Our Lives
Middie Une shows up out of nowhere and enlists with the Preventers. Paranoia ensues. Or it would, if Trowa had any say in it.
When Spies meet Howard’s Hawaiian, and Its Namesake
When Spies have Job Interviews
When Spies meet their Karmic Twins
When Spies have Boring Assignments
When Spies meet Wise Old Masters
When Spies have Interesting Assignments
When Spies meet No-One. In Fact, This Never Happened
When Spies have Days Off
When Spies meet the No-Nonsense, Unimpressed Truth
When Spies have Family Outings
When Spies meet Relatives for Rent
When Spies have Utterly Bizarre Assignments
When Spies meet the Undead Doctor
When Spies have No Good, Very Bad Days
When Spies meet the Ghost of Love Disasters Past
When Spies have Reconciliation, Finally!
When Spies meet Their Ever After
Author: Omnicat
Unofficially Adapted From: Masashi Ikeda & co’s Gundam Wing, including side stories; in particular Episode Zero.
Spoilers & Desirable Foreknowledge: All of the above.
Warnings: None.
Characters & Pairings: Middie, Marquis Weyridge, Mrs Darlian, mention of Lady Une and Relena
Summary: Middie meets Marquis Weyridge and Mrs Darlian, right when she could use some elders to get her out of trouble.
Author’s Note: The title is based on A) Weyridge’s spontaneous grandfather status, which I’m convinced was just a clumsily translated remainder of the Japanese habit of referring to non-relatives like they are relatives, but has sparked much entertaining debate in English-speaking GW fandom, and B) Mrs Darlian’s total absence from the scene where Relena begs her to always be her mother onwards.
When Spies meet Relatives for Rent
The following scene requires some historical context. (But not too much.)
Before Middie Une became a spy, she had the biggest mouth on the block, her opinions were always ready to make themselves heard, and she naturally managed to embarass her parents often and deeply; afterwards, she guarded her words like they were rabid dogs that would tear out your eyeballs when let loose, seemed to have forgotten how to give a straight answer, and generally acted like you’d expect a fourteen-year-old to do when she has just managed to fight her way out of almost three years of playing trojan horse for an overzealous warlord. Long and depressing story short, it took a long time for her family, friends and a shrink or two to get her to open her mouth again, and once they did, nobody could quite bring themselves to tell her to shut it again - even when she really, really should have shut her mouth.
Fast forward another ten years or so, and Middie had come to terms with the fact that putting a lid on it required a degree of control over what came out of her mouth that she simply no longer had. She had grown used to her big mouth getting her into trouble, and figured that if it hadn’t killed her yet, it was no use worrying over the possibility that it one day still might.
That is, until she became a Preventer agent and suddenly had to deal with a strict pseudo-military ranking system (never mind that half of her superior officers didn’t seem to give a hoot) and even stricter security protocols. Part of her was taken straight back to her ten-year-old self, and every near-slip up was like a small but not insignificant wrecking ball against the mental wall she had built around her early teens. The assault slowly but surely built up to the present; in particular, the moment when two kind strangers, a middle-aged woman and an elderly man, found her on the verge of panic two blocks away from the convention centre she was supposed to be on duty in, contemplating throwing up in a trash can.
It was all a bit of a blur afterwards. Lots of “Are you okay, you look like you’re about to faint.” and “Here, sit down on this bench and take a deep breath.”-type things, a cool, wet handkerchief to press to her face, and one of them letting her squeeze their hands to mush as she tried to calm down.
Eventually the man said “I see from your uniform that you’re with the Preventer’s. Should they be contacted about what happened to you?”, to which she managed to hollowly answer: “No. I am a disgrace to Preventers everywhere. It would be better if my employers never heard of this episode and I threw myself in the way of a serial killer at the soonest possible notice.”
Which was of course followed by the question “Poor dear, whatever makes you say that?”, and she could have smacked herself for letting her mouth run away from her yet again.
But it didn’t stop her from answering. Even now, Middie firmly believed that spitting the words out was much healthier than allowing them to cower and hide in the back of your throat.
“I talked back to the Minister of Trade when he made one of those patronizing veiled insults of his,” she whispered, not daring to look up at the pair that had come to her aid. “and he flew into a rage at my nerve and demanded to see my ID, implying that I was a Political Perspective reporter in disguise and I’d snuck in to stir up trouble and bait him into saying things I could twist out of perspective for an article. But I’ve only been in Russia for two days and my Mobile Stand-By ID turns out to be a month overdue for replacement and someone screwed up my name on the staff list to make it say Lady instead of Middie and nobody here knows me or can vouch for me and, and -”
She couldn’t quite go into the way she’d all but fled the moment someone mentioned going back to the local branch to get things sorted out and ended up weighing the pros and cons of emptying her stomach in the nearest receptacle. Luckily, she didn’t have to.
The woman patted her hand. “What did you say your name was, dear?”
“Middie. Middie Une.”
“And someone trustworthy to vouch for your identity and involvement with the Preventer agency would suffice to solve this situation?”
“Yes, but where would I find -” Middie stopped and stared. “But why would you? And who are you?”
The woman gave her an eye-crinkling smile. “I am Maryne Darlian, and this is my good friend, the Marquis Weyridge. My daughter Relena mentioned a Middie Une to me once. You fit her description to the T.”
Middie’s mouth fell open. “She did?”
“Relena doesn’t meet a lot of people outside of her work. She greatly enjoyed your company that day, so of course she would tell her mother all about it.”
“Of course,” Middie echoed, still too stunned to contribute anything of her own. You go shopping with a living legend once and Lady Luck never lets you hear the end of it.
“Are you sure about this, Maryne?” the Marquis asked.
“Yes, quite.” Mrs Darlian stood up from the bench and held out her hand to Middie. “Are you alright to go back, dear? Time’s getting on, we should hurry if we don’t want to be late.”
“Um, yes.” Middie got up so fast she forgot to take the proffered hand. “Are you really sure?”
“If Maryne’s way doesn’t work, we can always claim you’re my granddaughter,” the Marquis joked.
Mrs Darlian shook her head fondly. “You and your granddaughters. You say that to every pretty young girl you meet.”
While the Marquis and the Vice Foreign Minister’s mother exchanged banter, Middie seized the opportunity to rake her hands through her hair, say a little prayer, and make some mental notes.
- Call dad and have nice, relaxing talk first thing tomorrow.
- Tardiness and inattention are sins just like lack of self-restraint. Get the damn ID renewed.
- Russia supposed to be Vodkaland. Find out if true.
- Actually, stress-drinking is bad too. Start caring once hangover kicks in.
PSAN: Okay, since my writer's block once again extends to personal communication as well as fiction writing, I'll just say it here: hi mistaria! Nice to meet you. Please hang in there until I manage to kick my ass back into gear and answer you properly. ._.;;
Spies Of Our Lives
Middie Une shows up out of nowhere and enlists with the Preventers. Paranoia ensues. Or it would, if Trowa had any say in it.
When Spies meet Howard’s Hawaiian, and Its Namesake
When Spies have Job Interviews
When Spies meet their Karmic Twins
When Spies have Boring Assignments
When Spies meet Wise Old Masters
When Spies have Interesting Assignments
When Spies meet No-One. In Fact, This Never Happened
When Spies have Days Off
When Spies meet the No-Nonsense, Unimpressed Truth
When Spies have Family Outings
When Spies meet Relatives for Rent
When Spies have Utterly Bizarre Assignments
When Spies meet the Undead Doctor
When Spies have No Good, Very Bad Days
When Spies meet the Ghost of Love Disasters Past
When Spies have Reconciliation, Finally!
When Spies meet Their Ever After