A/N: Not sure what this is, but I like it. And because I actually like the end product, this probably means that I am delirious from lack of rest right now. I decided to post this even though nobody likes Kay, and the Ace Attorney category on this website is screwed-up and dead these days. As a side note, I don't ship Kay/Edgeworth, despite the fact that this drabble was partially inspired by an old prompt asking for Kay/Edgeworth.
Frozen Jelly
As Alba gets hauled away from the embassy—at last—he looks nothing like the straight-backed and arrogant man who had so persistently fought against their accusations and overwhelming evidence. He doesn't look like the hunched, good-natured ambassador, either. He looks only like what he is—old, pathetic, and broken.
Kay watches him go, wishing she could muster up a feeling of triumph, success, maybe, or even loathing. Instead, she only feels tired. She'd been running on adrenaline and hatred the past few hours. As this finally ebbs, she is left drained. More drained than she's ever been her entire life. Kay waits for the trauma of everything that happened in the past six or so hours (only a few hours? Was it really that short a time?) to finally hit her. It's all long overdue, after all. And when it does hit, it hits her hard—like a sledgehammer to her brain.
"Whoa." She stumbles. An agile hand springs out to steady her. He holds her arm gently and gazes at her, his brow furrowed.
"Kay...?" There is concern in Edgeworth's voice. He had been discussing evidence and facts with Franziska only moments ago. Kay looks around at them—Edgeworth, Franziska, Detective Gumshoe, Agent Lang (hell, even Larry and the old hag)—and wonders how they're still standing.
Jeez, she thinks as their faces suddenly begin swimming in front of her vision. She feels lightheaded—only Edgeworth's grip stands between her and collapsing to the floor—as images, sensations, whip through her mind. The cold barrel of the gun against her temple, Death's icy fingers brushing her cheek, blood streaming from Lang's leg. A chilling laugh that used to haunt her in every quiet moment. She shivers.
"Kay," Edgeworth says, loudly. She gets the feeling that he's said her names several times now, and she didn't notice. "Kay."
"Mr. Edgeworth," she manages, to let him know she hears him. Jeez, Mr. Edgeworth, she wants to say. Give me a break. I'm not deaf.
She stumbles again, but she's trapped in his firm hold. His steadfast grip on her speaks of warmth, safety, stability. She shakes her head, to clear it. She keeps seeing her father's face.
Dad's everywhere today, she notices. In Gumshoe's worried gaze, Yew's taunts, Edgeworth's protective arms, her imagination...
"Kay," Edgeworth says again. "Kay, let's go home."