Maya Fey was slowly but surely beginning to sorely regret her decision to take the bus today.
Although the morning had started out promising enough — nothing but blue sky and endless, gorgeous sunshine — the afternoon had quickly given way to a decidedly drearier look, and the clouds that were rolling in now almost certainly spoke of heavy rain. They meandered across the horizon, dark and swollen with precipitation, the sun feebly shining through and painting the city in shades of pale, watery grey. Even the air felt damp, unseasonably sticky and thick for early March. By the look of it, the rain could start falling any moment now . . . and of course, she'd missed the most recent bus, so the next one wouldn't be coming for about twenty more minutes. (That was if the bus was running according to schedule today, the chances of which were slight.)
And she'd forgotten to carry an umbrella.
Oh, well, she thought to herself, never really one to put too much energy into complaining. Maybe it'll be pretty, at least. And if the rain gets too heavy, I can always try walking back to the village. It was certainly possible — her cousin, Pearly, had pulled it off on more than one occasion in the past, and if that little girl could do it, so could she.
Then again, the more she thought about it, the more Maya realized that Pearl really had always had more of an innate sense of self-sufficiency than she ever could. While she, herself, had grown up virtually without a mother, she'd had Mia for much of her adult life to take care of her, help her when she needed it. Pearl, on the other hand, had never really seemed to need rescuing all the time. Morgan Fey had certainly sheltered her, to say the least, but there had always been such a maturity about that child that those smothering tactics hadn't harmed her ability to hold her own. Perhaps it was the fact that Pearl had grown up an only child (or at least, thinking that she was Morgan Fey's only daughter.) When there was no older sibling, no friendly figure to admire or mimic, then one must simply turn inward, grow on their own.
Or maybe, said a nasty, menacing voice at the back of Maya's brain, one that seemed to be showing itself far more often lately, it's because you're weak. You've always been like this. You always need saving. And every time someone swoops in to protect you, someone always ends up hurt. Just like at the Temple — just like —
Quickly, Maya shut that thought down before it could go any farther. She'd come alarmingly close to thinking about her mother, and that was a subject that she did her best to avoid these days. It had been about a month since the incident at Hazakura Temple, but the pain still seemed as fresh and deep as if it had happened yesterday. All those memories continued to flood back to her at her most vulnerable moments, attacking when she least expected it. Most of that night was a haze, but some moments came to her in flashes; the three glowing crimson lines cutting through the darkness, the sound of her own voice shouting "help me!" as if from a great distance, and then, horribly, the face of the woman that she hadn't even realized was Misty Fey all along. She'd waited so long for any sign that her mother might still be out there somewhere, that they might one day have some hope of repairing the relationship she'd lost . . . only to eventually unwittingly cause her mother's murder.
No matter what Nick and the others told her, she couldn't rid herself of that terrible guilt. It was her fault, that was the truth of it all. If it hadn't been for her, if she hadn't been so foolish and wandered like a lost lamb right up to the sacrificial altar, then Misty Fey would never have needed to try and save her. Worst of all, if her mother's plan hadn't at least partially succeeded, it could have been Pearly that wound up injured, or far worse. It seemed to Maya that all she was capable of doing lately was putting others in danger. She felt rather a hazard to be around, practically a kiss from the grim reaper himself. Phoenix had jumped from a burning bridge just to get to her, Mr. Armando was in prison after committing an unforgivable act, and her mother . . . her mother . . . under the circumstances, it was hard to feel as though she were even deserving of all that effort.
She didn't dare say any of this out loud. After all they'd been through, the last thing she wanted was to put more on Nick and Pearly; knowing them as well as she did, she understood all too clearly how badly it would frighten them if they knew the extent to which she felt these things. If there was one thing she'd learned from Hazakurain, it was that she absolutely refused to continue to be a burden to anyone else. Most especially the ones she loved and cared for. As far as she was concerned, she'd suffered enough losses in this lifetime. Mia's death had all but cut a hole straight through the center of her chest, leaving emptiness where there once had been a part of her. Life moved on and she'd worked through the grief, of course — smiling all the while, in typical Maya fashion — but that feeling of being incomplete had never totally left her. And now, with Misty Fey's death, she felt as though the rest of her had been hollowed out entirely, too, and all that was left behind was a husk. A pumpkin, forever smiling.
A few wet patters on her cheeks and the tip of her nose drew her out of her thoughts. Blinking, surprised, she glanced up, greeted by the sight of a misty shadow moving in from the mountains. Rain's started, she realized, lifting up her hands to catch a few of the droplets as they began to fall more quickly. Maya sighed, resigned, and craned her neck to glance in either direction along the road; it didn't look as though that bus would be showing up anytime soon. A quick review of her options left her with quite little to go on: stay here and get drenched, or start walking. Squaring her shoulders, doing her best to cling to the optimistic attitude that had gotten her through everything else, she strengthened her resolve and began the considerable trek back to Kurain Village.
It was actually pretty peaceful, she realized, taking a little stroll in the rain like this. Nah, this isn't bad at all, she thought, the smile on her face turning more genuine as she took the time to splash playfully through a growing puddle nearby. Only now that she was alone did it occur to Maya just how little time she had to herself these days. Not that she minded having company — working with Nick at the office provided a nice distraction from all the drama and horror that the Kurain Channeling Technique seemed to carry with it, and beyond that, he was one of her closest friends and confidantes. But she had to admit, it was nice to have the alone time, too, if only to just have a few moments to get all those messy, convoluted feelings about everything that had happened sorted out in her head.
As it turned out, she didn't have much time to think on it. Moments earlier, she'd heard the sound of a car driving by on the road, its wheels spinning against the water on the pavement. She hadn't paid much attention to it, but now, she became acutely aware of the fact that the car was slowing down . . . right next to where she was standing. The car slowed to halt at the curb. Every nerve in her body immediately tensed; was this yet another trick? Images ran unbidden to her mind, flashbacks of her time spent locked up in Matt Engarde's wine cellar. Nice going, Maya, she thought bitterly to herself. You were alone for two seconds and already, you're in trouble again. Did she run? Did she call for help? Whatever she might have decided would be the best course of action in a crisis, she'd never know — stress-induced fear kept her rooted to the spot.
An instant later, though, she realized (feeling extraordinarily dumb all the while) that she had nothing to fear. The driver of the car — an ostentatious shade of red that signified the presence of a luxury vehicle — rolled down the window, sticking his head out and revealing himself to be —
"Mr. Edgeworth," breathed Maya, the tension falling from her body.
Miles Edgeworth regarded her with a strange sort of curiosity; there was confusion, but something deeper than that reading in his steel-grey eyes. She felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment and hoped that he wasn't pitying her. All too aware of how she must seem to someone like him — a silly girl, a foolish child, all soaking wet and alone, frightened at every little thing — she shifted her feet, trying to resist the urge to nervously fiddle with her bracelets. He looked weary, but not entirely unfriendly. Hard to believe that this guy was the same "Demon Prosecutor" who'd very nearly gotten her convicted of murder all those years ago.
"Miss Fey?" he called, subtle concern reflected in the way his eyebrows crinkled together as he spoke. "What on earth are you doing? It's miserable out."
A nervous laugh fell, disjointed and false, from her lips. She knew Nick would be able to see right through the feigned casual attitude, but she wasn't sure about Edgeworth. Sometimes it was hard to get a read on just how much he knew at all times. "Oh, it's nothing, really," she answered, punctuating her sentence with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I'm supposed to be doing some training today. At the village. I — I missed the bus, so I was just going to walk back, you know?"
Edgeworth looked less than convinced. "Today's conditions hardly seem ideal for an afternoon stroll to the mountains," he said rather dryly. Then, with a touch of the awkwardness that he always seemed to have whenever making himself more accessible to others, he added, "Do you need some help?"
I just want to be alone right now, she caught herself thinking, knowing how dangerous that isolating behavior was but also too wrapped up in wanting it to care. Rather than admit to any of this, though, she said, "Nah, it's okay, really. I need the exercise. Nick and I grabbed some burgers for dinner — you know how it is. Thanks anyway, though, Mr. Edgeworth."
She turned to leave, figuring that this would be a good enough excuse for him. He was probably just asking her out of politeness, after all, rather than actually meaning to go out of his way. Not that she could particularly blame him if that were the case — she simply wasn't as close with him as she was with Nick, and therefore wouldn't expect anything from him other than cordial conversations that never reached too deeply. After a moment, though, she was taken by surprise.
"Wait, Miss Fey," Edgeworth called, stopping her in her tracks. She looked over her shoulder back at him, utterly bemused, as he asked, "Are you sure you'll be alright? It will be dark soon, after all. If you'd like, I can always drive you there — if not the entire way, then at the very least a good deal closer. It would be no trouble, I'm on my way home for the evening."
The longer she stood there allowing herself to get drenched to the bone, the more promising Mr. Edgeworth's offer began to sound. She glanced at the sky, nothing but anvil-bottomed clouds visible for what seemed like miles, the rain thundering down around her with gathering strength and speed. It didn't look as though it would let up anytime soon . . . and now that she thought about it, walking through the rain really wasn't quite so pleasant, after all. Her acolyte robes already clung to her skin, heavy with water, her bangs dripping. When she thought of the comfort of a dry car, a place to get warm and comfortable . . . and maybe Mr. Edgeworth's car has heated seats . . .
On the other hand, though, some part of her almost resented the offer. Why does everyone feel like they need to help me all the time? she couldn't help but think, though she had to admit, she was probably more frustrated with herself for being helpless than anything else. For a moment, she hated the knowledgeable look on Edgeworth's face, wondering what he must be thinking of her. Did he believe she was unstable now, after what had happened at the Temple? Did he not trust her to be able to get by on her own?
Eventually, though, discomfort won over pride and she said, "O-okay, well . . . if you wouldn't mind."
"Not at all."
He pressed a button off to his right and she heard the click of the passenger door unlocking. Quickly, she scurried over and climbed inside, doing her best to squeeze the excess water out of her robes and hair before she sat down.
"Sorry," she mumbled as she settled in and closed the door, fumbling for her seatbelt. "I don't want to get your car all wet."
Edgeworth simply gave his head a tiny shake, and though he didn't tell her, she knew that he meant to say it was fine. When her seatbelt clicked into place, he regarded her for just a moment before putting the car into drive and heading off. As the rain poured down in sheets around the vehicle, blurring the landscape through the windows, Maya had to admit she was grateful that she no longer had to walk in it. The car was comfortable, too, sleek and well-maintained, with a smooth leather interior. There were so many little gadgets on the dashboard that she didn't even know where to begin to look; part of her wanted to laugh, imagining Pearly trying to figure out what all of them did.
For a while, the ride was entirely silent. Edgeworth didn't seem to be bothered by the quiet, his eyes fixed squarely on the road, but Maya shifted uncomfortably, not accustomed to stretches of silence for this long. With Nick, it felt like they always had something to talk about — or at least, she always had something to talk about while he listened and occasionally interjected exasperated remarks. She and Mr. Edgeworth weren't acquainted on that same level at all, though, and to say it was awkward would be an understatement. Still, he'd offered his help to her, and she was grateful enough that the lack of conversation didn't bother her. It gave her time to be alone with her thoughts, just as she'd wanted to when she was out in the rain. She stared thoughtfully out the window, completely absorbed in her own mind.
To her shock, it was Edgeworth who broke the quiet between them. "Ah — Maya," he said, somehow managing to sound decisive even when he faltered.
Startled, she looked up, twisting in her seat to face him. "Hmm?"
"Has everything . . . been alright with you as of late? You have been faring well, I hope?" he asked. The halting tone to his voice took Maya the slightest bit off-guard; it seemed such a far cry from the typical Miles Edgeworth that she saw so often in court, commanding and unwavering. Questions such as these, she supposed, didn't come to him quite as naturally as courtroom jargon. Still, she had to admire his effort.
"Me? Oh — oh, yeah, I've been doing fine," she answered, taking great care to keep her tone of voice light, to stray as far as possible away from the darker worries that plagued her every night when she tried to go to sleep. "Nick's been busy and all, so I've been helping him take care of the office. He'd be all hopeless without me and Pearly there to keep things sane, you know," she joked, doing whatever she could to take the attention away from herself. Still, curiosity overruled her caution. "Why do you ask?"
For a moment, Edgeworth paused, as if he wasn't quite sure how he ought to continue. As Maya observed him quietly, she thought he looked rather like he was playing a game of chess, deciding what the next best maneuver would be. Just when she'd started to think that perhaps he didn't want to talk to her anymore, he answered with, "Well, I've no intention of prying, but it's just that you've seemed a bit troubled by something lately."
A chill that had nothing to do with the rainwater ran all through Maya's body. Had she really been that obvious? Nick and Edgeworth had only faced each other in court a handful of times since the incident at the Temple, and they hadn't seen much of each other outside of the courtroom lately. So that would only afford him so many opportunities to notice anything strange about her behavior, yet he'd already figured her out so fast? Worry gripped her like a tight fist around her stomach; if Mr. Edgeworth could see it, then did that mean Nick and Pearly had noticed the change, too? Maybe, she reasoned desperately, they weren't as observant as Edgeworth. Or maybe Edgeworth didn't really know anything at all, and he was simply trying to drag information out of her. Still . . . bluffing had never been his style, that was more Nick's thing.
Her mind grappled desperately for an answer, yet nothing came to mind. How much exactly had he noticed? What could possibly explain it away?
"It's . . . nothing," she finished lamely, knowing how paper-thin it sounded. "Really, I'm doing okay. I guess it's just been kinda stressful lately because the office has been so busy, and with my medium training picking up and everything."
If Edgeworth thought her excuse was flimsy, he didn't say so. Instead, he echoed, "Your . . . training." The skepticism in his voice still rang true no matter how he tried to disguise it, but at least he was good enough not to say anything about it. "That has been going well for you, then?" was all he said.
Well, if she were being entirely honest, it hadn't been working out too well lately at all. Hesitation had planted its seeds in her heart, and they were bursting into bloom quite marvelously with every second that she spent at Kurain Village. She hated passionately the sudden reluctance that filled her every time she meditated or tried working on her channeling; it was her culture, she'd been raised on this technique, inherited such an important position in the Fey clan from her mother . . . and yet, she couldn't bring herself to want to be involved with it any longer. Every time she channeled a spirit, something terrible ended up happening. The case with Dr. Grey, Hazakura Temple . . . she couldn't bear the thought of putting more people in danger. On more than one occasion, she'd entertained the idea of just giving it all up and letting Morgan win, letting Pearly become the new Master. Pearl was a better medium, anyway, and would be a far more competent leader. The cold truth of it all was that Maya, deep in her heart of hearts, felt disenchanted with the whole thing. What was the point of being a medium, after all, when she was too scared to channel spirits?
Still, she pushed past all that and answered, "Uh-huh. I've been working really hard. Maybe that's why I seem different."
"Hm. Yes . . . perhaps," Edgeworth agreed, though he didn't sound sold on it. He opened his mouth as if to say something else, then appeared to think better of it, shutting it again. This internal struggle of his seemed to drag on for a few seconds before he at last concluded on the right words. "However, I believe I have a simpler answer. Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong — but I don't believe I am." Casting her a sideways glance, he said, in a voice much more grounded than before, "What happened at the Temple — it still haunts you, does it not?"
His words struck true. Maya stammered for a moment, searching for the right words, hating how she crumbled under even the easiest questions. Everything she wanted to say, every clever retort she could possibly think of, fumbled and fell short on its way out of her mouth, leaving her without even the slightest argument.
"I — I'm —" she stuttered, nervously trying to dodge the question.
"Don't lie to me," Edgeworth responded, and though the words themselves were stern, there was nothing overly harsh or unfriendly in the way that he said it.
Maya took a deep, shuddering breath, willing herself not to feel like an animal backed into a corner. This, she reminded herself, was simply Mr. Edgeworth's style, forceful and steady, forever moving forward to find the truth of the matter, regardless of what that may be. He likely didn't intend to come across as unrelenting; she figured that he simply wasn't always aware of how intimidating he could be. With that in mind, she felt that she owed him at least a halfway truthful answers. Something that would confirm his suspicions but remain casual enough to keep him from worrying too much. At least then this line of questioning might be over.
Looking down at her hands where she held them folded in her lap, she at last slowly began, "I guess so. I mean, sometimes. But that's normal, right? I'm bound to have good days and bad days. Some are worse than others, sure, but that doesn't mean that I'm totally falling apart. I'm gonna be a-okay, Mr. Edgeworth, don't worry!" As if to prove her point, she plastered another bright, cheerful grin onto her features, hoping to convince herself every bit as much as Edgeworth.
The prosecutor made a thoughtful little hum, and Maya felt positive that he still didn't buy it, but he didn't pursue it any further. The ride descended into silence once again, this time decidedly more uncomfortable than the first. Part of her wished that she'd been a little more honest — she hated feeling like she'd disappointed anybody, especially someone who'd teamed up with Nick to help her out so much in the past — but deep down, she knew that she just couldn't face what Edgeworth was trying to get her to talk about. Not yet. The thought of opening her mouth and letting all those terrible feelings spill out was frightening; it was like purging the poison from her own body and allowing that venom to go out and infect the rest of the world. Talking about it, in her mind, made it all too real.
"Please don't misinterpret my meaning," Edgeworth spoke up after a while, jolting her out of her thoughts. "Behind all this interrogating, I mean. I only wish to — to somehow — listen to me, I know what it's like, Maya. How you must be feeling, that is." A pause spanned between them; Maya didn't dare interrupt. "I would only like to let you know that you mustn't fool yourself into believing it your duty to go it alone."
Once Edgeworth had finished bravely sojourning through his sentence, quiet fell between the two of them again. Utterly stunned, Maya blinked and stared at him, hardly able to believe it. She didn't think she'd ever seen such a vulnerable side to this man — only on a handful of occasions with Nick, and never with just her before. Though he was clearly struggling to make himself available, to push past those carefully-constructed walls that Manfred von Karma had taught him to build up, the effort was a valiant one, and she certainly got the impact of what he was trying to say. He was referring, of course, to the DL-6 Incident, to the fact that he'd gone for so long believing himself to be the true murderer of his own father. She didn't dare bring any of that up; it was well-known that the subject was to be avoided as carefully as possible with Edgeworth. Still . . . for him to talk about it at all with her, even in this delicate capacity, was a remarkable feat. Guilt washed over her. If Edgeworth could bring himself to talk about the most painful time in his life with her, even on this scale, then couldn't she also open up a bit?
"I . . . still dream about her sometimes," she confessed at last, unable to meet Edgeworth's gaze.
"Your mother." It wasn't a question.
His certainty bothered her — had he really suspected as much all this time? — but she slowly nodded her head, all the same. "I see her in the garden . . . on that night. And I know what's going to happen, so I try to get help, but . . . " her voice trailed off. She imagined that she didn't need to fully disclose the ending of her recurring nightmare in order for Edgeworth to figure out what happened. Sure enough, when she looked up in order to attempt to gauge his reaction, there was a quiet understanding in his gaze, even as he stared out at the road.
Edgeworth seemed to think on what she'd told him for what felt like an eternity. At last, after he'd finished his deliberating, he said, "You must absolve yourself of that guilt, Maya." She looked up at him questioningly, but before she could so much as say Huh? he pressed on. "Whatever you're thinking about your role in all that occurred that night, whatever blame you have been trying so desperately to assign yourself, it will do you no good. You have to let that go." There was another lengthy pause; he seemed to be wondering if he ought to say whatever else was on his mind. After a moment, though, he decided it best, and added, "Misty Fey's death was not your fault. You need to understand this."
"But — but I was the one who —"
"To insist otherwise," he continued, cutting her self-blame short, "would be to diminish the sacrifice she made for you."
The sacrifice? She supposed he had a point. After all, the same thing had happened to him with Gregory Edgeworth. His father, believing mistakenly that his own son had shot and killed him, lied and condemned another man in order to protect him. That had been an act of parental love, no matter how long it had taken Edgeworth to see it that way. For the first time, it dawned on her just how much she and Miles Edgeworth had in common. Both of them had lost beloved parents under such awful circumstances, and both, she could see now, had dealt with the resultant grief and guilt in similar ways. Perhaps that was how he'd picked up so easily on everything that she'd tried so hard to hide.
"Have you talked to Wright about any of this?" Edgeworth asked her after a moment, though his voice suggested that he already knew the answer.
Maya frowned, but quickly chased the expression away. "I . . . I've been hanging in there, you know?" she said at last, as truthfully as she could. "Pearly needs me to be strong for her. She lost her mom, too, after all. I've gotta be able to take care of her. And Nick . . . I just don't wanna worry him, after all he's already been through for my sake."
Edgeworth seemed to ponder this for a few seconds. "I think," he concluded, a wry smirk lifting up the corners of his mouth, "you're perhaps underestimating Wright a bit. I believe him capable of handling more than you might realize."
Deep down, Maya knew he was right. Nick had been there for her so many times before, what would ever stop him from supporting her now? There was nothing to be afraid of, really, when she thought of it that way. Before she could respond properly to Edgeworth, though, the car began to slow down once again. The rain had subsided just the slightest bit, and through the window, she could see the mountains of Kurain Village cutting an imposing silhouette against the darkening evening sky. They'd made it! And just in time, too. As the vehicle drew to a stop, Maya reached to unbuckle her seatbelt.
"Well, looks like this is my stop. Thanks for the ride, Mr. Edgeworth!" she said, chipper as ever once again.
"It was no trouble. Thank you," he replied, surprising her with the ease with which those words seemed to leave him, "for confiding in me."
Mr. Edgeworth, she couldn't help but think with the slightest smile, you've really come a long way.
Somewhat warily, she asked, "Hey, uh . . . you won't tell Nick about what I said, right?"
With the car still idling, Edgeworth turned to look at her, expression thoughtful and concerned all at once. The frown on his face deepened the slightest bit — there was no mistaking that disapproval in his gaze. Still, he sighed, resigned to whatever decision he had reached (apparently against his better judgement) and responded, "I will not. But," he added — of course, there was always some condition with lawyers, "I would ask that you at least promise me that you will. If not today, then I certainly urge you to reach out to him as soon as possible."
She supposed she'd walked right into that one. Still . . . she had to admit, the thought of finally opening up and letting all of it out felt cathartic. And Nick would understand. He'd always understood before. Edgeworth's idea, she imagined, was better than continuing to put on a brave face, pretending that everything was okay all the time. Even if it didn't entirely succeed, she guessed that there was at least no harm in giving it a try. After all, it wasn't as if she could feel any worse about the situation at present.
Keeping all that in mind, Maya took a deep breath, willing herself to be brave as she agreed, "Okay. I'll be sure to talk to him. I promise." Without waiting for any confirmation of this, she turned and clambered out of the car. "Bye, Mr. Edgeworth," she called cheerily, sounding and feeling much more genuine than she had before. "And thanks again for the lift!"
And as she headed back to the village to continue her training, some part of her did feel lighter. As if some great weight had, at last, begun the arduous process of lifting itself from her chest. Just like always, she promised herself she'd keep smiling — even if it meant having to face the very things that intimidated her the most.
