A/N: I started this over a year ago, but just recently found it and decided to dust it off. Written without knowledge of AA6 and with a healthy dose of headcanon.
The open notebook on Ema's desk has accumulated more crumbs than words. They escape her notice until she rests her forehead and feels the texture on her skin. She sits up, brushes the page off, sighs. Pulls her textbook closer and starts from the top, again.
The words don't mean any more than they did before the sun set. It's frustrating; they look like good words. Five syllables, familiar prefixes and suffixes, some from labels of things she's secretly touched in a lab. But once they're strung together into sentences, she's lost, even more so on a page without diagrams. She flips through in search of pictures and finds a scanned thumbprint sample, a color drawing of various molecules, and a photo of an investigator kneeling next to a chalk outline. Longing bubbles up in her like fizz climbing the inside of a beaker. She returns to the picture-free page and picks up her pen.
It's not long before a fresh coat of crumbs litters the desk. Slumping, she pushes her chair away (she spins a few times, because it's a rolling chair and she can, and what's the point of life if she can't study science or play with rotary motion) and trudges to the fridge to grab a drink to wash down the snacks. Her hand hovers over a soda before she remembers evaluations are coming up at the precinct. She takes out her last beer.
The pop of the lid as she flips it up satisfies her. She stands by the fridge as she takes her first gulp, light still spilling from the door she didn't quite close, and eyes her sofa. If she sits she'll probably sprawl to fill the empty cushion, not waking until the sun comes back.
Impulse control is for people who have their life together. She sets the beer on the side table and settles in with her favorite blanket, a blue design covered in atoms.
Her nose is tucked into the place where the sofa's arm meets its back when she hears scratching outside. She lifts her chin onto the sofa's arm, but the sound stops; she figures it's just the city life, or maybe a bat. That thought reminds her that she left the window open. It's the peak of summer, and even at night her apartment's not cold, but she begrudgingly rises to close it. She's just swung a foot onto the floor when a shadow enters through the window. A shadow much too large to be a bat.
The part of Ema that's awake goes into crisis mode, mentally locating her state-issued gun (not in reach) and then other potential weapons. The figure approaches, swooshy shapes with sharp edges that fall over the couch. Ema grits her teeth and settles her weight for hand-to-hand combat.
"Boo!"
Ema squeaks an un-detective-like squeak, one hand clutching the blanket that's fallen off. "Kay. Do you have any idea what time it is?"
"Only in the dead of night…"
The rest of the song loops through Ema's mind. She clamps her mouth shut as if the next line will spring from it. Back when they boarded together in Europe she sang it often enough, sometimes while playing an electric keyboard Lana had sent her. But it was daylight then, and her heart is still racing, not that she wants Kay to know that.
"You'd better have a scientific reason for coming here this late," Ema says, getting up to click on a lamp. Other than her scarf, Kay's simple dark suit is perfect for camouflage. Ema's irritation turns to apprehension. "A legal scientific reason."
"Aw, you always used to be so happy to see me."
"You used to use the door."
Kay picks up the beer and takes a swig. "I just couldn't wait until morning to see my favorite forensic expert."
Though her arms are crossed, Ema feels her shoulders relax. "You're going to need more than that." Kay's scarf tickles Ema's neck as she hooks an arm around Ema's waist and kisses her cheek.
"I need to bring the truth to light by sunrise, and I didn't know anyone better to help than the smartest, most scientific woman in the police department. Source: science."
"If that's how it is, then you've come to the right shitty apartment. What's the case?" Ema takes back the beer and wrinkles her nose; it's gone flat. Instead of answering, Kay opens Ema's refrigerator. "That was the last one."
"Drat." The refrigerator light shines on Kay's pin—the one she made as a teen when she discovered her family legacy. At the time, Ema had been amazed by its craftsmanship. She even keeps an owl-shaped pin on her bag that Kay made her. Now its crow counterpart makes her skin prickle.
"Why are you still wearing that?"
"I thought we could discuss business first," Kay says, shutting the door with a crooked smile.
"What? No, the pin." Face heating, Ema crosses her arms again, and Kay's forehead wrinkles in a familiar way.
"First you want me to be less stealthy, now you want me to hide more? I didn't wear it to criminal affairs, if that's what you're worried about."
"The pin's not a big deal while you're here," Ema concedes. "But you should watch your back. I saw the book you wrote with DePlume. Her stuff is amazing, of course, but it digs deep—someone could decode the identifying details."
"Congratulations on your book deal, Kay," Kay says in an imitation of Ema's voice, a skill she's picked up for phone calls and recordings. "Look, I had like five hundred debates with Dad about this, so I don't really need my girl-fling-whatever to get all protective, too. If it's that much of a problem I can just take some fingerprinting powder and go."
"No, don't do that. You know you're always welcome, brazen heroics and all. I'm just—I'm a mess right now, sorry." Ema kneads at her forehead, wishing she'd gotten at least a full can of beer. Crabbiness is no excuse for making Kay feel like she's ashamed of her. She may not have been able to commit to being a member of the new Yatagarasu, but she owes Kay several favors and admires her drive to uncover the truth enough to lend her gadgets and hiding places. "The book was incredible. They keep talking about it at work."
"Ooh, criminal affairs celebrity status. Nice." Kay's cheeky face makes Ema wonder fondly why she worried. "A mess, though? What's up?"
Groaning, Ema gestures at her desk. "I want to retake the test, but my studying isn't going much better than last time. Oh, why can't they just put a can of luminol in my hands? You can't restrict a heart full of science to multiple choice!"
Kay hops into the chair and spins like Ema did, her scarf twirling around and around before she stops. "Ugh, I see what you mean, this stuff is awful."
"It is not! It just…it just requires a little more scientific investigation."
"Then let's buddy up for it," Kay says with a crack of her knuckles. "I owe you for the finger-printing I want you to do. Besides, it'll be like old times."
"I wouldn't mind, but don't you hate this kind of studying?" Like her, Kay was always better on practical exams than written ones, but she passed with enough flying colors to make it into Interpol, her dream job. After a couple of beers Ema might have begrudged her that, but usually she's glad flying around so much helps Kay keep a lower profile, even if it makes things a little lonelier for Ema.
"Sure, textbooks are boring, but I'm Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth's daughter. I know a thing or two about decoding five-syllable nonsense."
In truth, Ema's so relieved for the help and company that she doesn't complain about Kay disrespecting the chief. Lacking another chair, she leans over Kay's shoulder while they dive in, though with her fingers climbing up and down Kay's back she can't say how much they'll have done by morning.