[Fic] Nightshirt
Title: Nightshirt
Night: 1 - Fire/Candles
Character: Mariemaia
Notes: It's not that great, but my fic writing gears are a little rusty! Inspiration from this item from The J. Peterman Company.
Disclaimer: Standard
Nightshirt
by ArabianPrincess
Mariemaia stared at herself in the mirror. She had found her mother's favorite nightgown years ago, but she had been much too little to wear such a garment at the time. Now she could wear it without walking on the hem and with only rolling the sleeves twice. She wasn't sure she saw the same appeal her mother had seen in the nightgown. Servants who had been close to Leia Barton told Mariemaia that her mother had hated all the pomp of the upper class Dekim Barton was always trying to enter. This simple white nightshirt had been an excellent example, Mariemaia had been told, of how Leia saw herself.
They all say that Mother was a beauty, thought Mariemaia. How else could she have bedded my father? Mariemaia did not find herself beautiful. She was far too clever to be plain, but her face was not her best feature in her mind. Her body was much more akin to that of a young soldier, which was what she thought herself as, and had no need for frivolous feminine curves. Thus she did not appreciate the image in the mirror as much as her mother probably would have, for the deceased woman probably had no need for any adornment.
"Mariemaia!" came a shout from the other side of her bedroom door. "You better not burn those candles all night long!"
"I won't!" she half-promised. The soft glow of the candles had not helped soften her features at all. She could not help it. She should have been born a boy.
She put a wig on her head and tried to see if that would help the situation. Unfortunately, she just looked like a teenage boy trying to impersonate a woman. If it were not for that other agent, she would not care so much, but she found herself desperately wanting his attention despite herself. She had never cared about being girly at all until now. Disgusted with herself in more ways than one, she flung the wig across the room and sat on her bed with her head in her hands. It was no use. She would always be seen as "one of the boys." Why had she let this dumb crush get the better of her? Why was she letting herself get distracted like this?
Something, she was not quite sure what, caught her attention, and she found herself looking up abruptly, just in time to see that her wig had knocked over a candle and now the candle had caught a photo on fire. She rushed over to put the fire out and to right the candle. She then blew on the picture for good measure. It was her favorite picture of her mother.
As if worried about the other candles by it, she brought the photograph back with her to her bed, cradling it. Her mother seemed so happy and carefree in the picture. Mariemaia liked to think that if she had lived, Mother would have looked like that every day. It would have been a much better to which to sight to come home than she had now at least. Although truth be told, her life had not been all that difficult.
"Happy Christmas, Mother," she said to the photograph. She supposed that at some point very far back in her life, she had a normal Christmas. Unfortunately as long as she could remember, Christmas was a miserable time of year for her, being the anniversaries of her parents' deaths-on different years no less. Seeing the rest of the world hurry to be with their loved ones, it rubbed against her raw wound at this time of year.
As she inspected the picture, she was relieved to see that only a corner was burnt and that nothing had been there in that boring corner. She leaned over and grabbed her picture of her father. Then she thrust the two pictures next to each other as she had done too many times to count. She tried once more to imagine a picture of the two of them together. None existed to her knowledge, so she was forced to imagine how such a photo might look. She could always have used a computer to make such a picture, but somehow she knew it would not be the same.
"How many candles are your burning?!" demanded the voice on the other side of the door. "You'll burn the house down if you don't put those out."
"I won't burn the house down," she insisted.
"I know how often you fall asleep before blowing out candles. Put them out now!"
"I can handle a little fire," Mariemaia maintained. "Go do a crossword puzzle or something. Stop worrying about me; you have enough grey hairs already! You're starting to look old!"
There was a pause, but eventually she heard footsteps recede into the back of the house.
"Finally! Honestly!" she muttered under her breath as soon as she was sure she was alone once more. She shook her head and put the pictures against a frame. One day she would put the photos in a frame together properly.
She picked up the wig once more and tried it on. No, she still did not like what she saw. Frustrated once more, she tossed the wig onto the bed and tried in vain to make herself look like a woman-a desirable one at that.
She tore the nightshirt off and lay on the floor, watching the light bounce around on the ceiling, pondering her predicament. Simple is just not me, she decided. I need flashier. I need bigger. She bit her lower lip as she thought.
*beep* *beep* *beep*
She glanced over at the clock. Midnight.
"Put out those candles, Mariemaia!"
Merry Birthday to me.