Disclaimer: Don't own it.
An Invitation
Franziska von Karma eases against the cushions of the booth, raises her cup to her lips and takes a sip. The tea is at the perfect temperature and wonderfully calming, and she settles the cup down with a contented sigh. The atmosphere of this place is tranquil, café walls painted in soothing colours. It invites her to relax and unwind a little. In a few days, she's flying to Zheng Fa, working with Interpol on yet another case, but she has a break now, so why not make a best of it?
She's completely relaxed and much occupied in her thoughts, so when a bright, feminine voice goes, "Franziska?" she jolts upright a little too frantically, completely caught off-guard.
More than a little annoyed, she turns slowly to face the source of the voice and upon finding a stranger's face, she's ready to snap at this woman who thinks she can address her so familiarly on their first –
"It's me," the woman continues. "Maya. Maya Fey."
Franziska can't help but stare, trying to connect the cheerful, young face of the teenager she had once tried to convict for murder to the woman standing in front of her now. At 27 years old, Maya Fey's features have left their former childish cuteness and bloomed into a full, mature beauty. Where there had been circles (rounded cheeks, wide eyes) there were now angles; slim almond-shaped eyes, angled cheekbones, her eyelashes long and curling, lips painted with a subtle shade of lipstick. Her spirit medium robes had been replaced by a floral sundress, and her hair was no longer in that strange topknot but left to hang free down her back. Looking at that matured face reminds Franziska of a photograph she had seen one time, of a legendary defense attorney with that same hair and similar eyes. But when Maya beams at her full-force, Franziska takes comfort in seeing something familiar on someone so changed.
"Would you mind if I joined you?" Maya says, and because why not, Franziska nods. Maya gracefully sidles in to the seat across the table on the other side of the booth.
There's a minute of awkward silence, and Franziska looks to the side, discomfited, wondering why she agreed and that they were only thrown together by haphazard circumstances, she used to be her enemy, they weren't even friends and the two of them have absolutely nothing that they could talk about –
"How many years has it been?" Maya asks, interrupting Franziska's train of thought. "I almost didn't recognize you, Franziska. You look so... mature. And you've grown your hair out, too. I like it."
Franziska is completely at odds at how to accept the compliments. "Thank you," she eventually manages to say. She considers returning the compliment, but before she has the chance to, Maya speaks again, a slightly embarrassed smile on her lips.
"You know, one day, a few years ago, I remember picking up a newspaper and seeing your name, right there in front of me. 'Genius Prosecutor Franziska von Karma Unravels Smuggling Ring.' I remember being so surprised! Surprised, and impressed too."
Maya laughs a little before her eyes shift upwards to meet Franziska's straight on. "And from what I've read recently, you haven't slowed down at all. You're charging ahead as fearlessly as ever. You're amazing, Franziska."
To be honest, she is surprised and more than a little touched at those words. Touched, and guilty, because in 8 years, Maya Fey hasn't crossed her mind at all.
To her immense surprise, conversation flows smoothly and she finds she spends the morning with Maya Fey quite pleasantly. They exchange bits of information, what they've been up to this past few years. Mostly, Maya lets Franziska talk about her experiences overseas and answers questions on her own life quickly and vaguely. It strikes Franziska as a bit odd.
And that's not the only thing that does. Even if she chatted a little about Miles or made a passing comment about that Scruffy, Maya doesn't once during their conversation, bring up the person who serves as the greatest thing they have in common. And since she doesn't, Franziska doesn't either.
"You're always flying off from country to country," Maya remarks, absently stirring her tea. "It's tough, if someone wants to contact you. So I guess meeting you here is a real piece of luck, because…" There's a slight pause before Maya gently places her left hand on the table. Franziska follows the movement and eventually her gaze rests on those slender fingers. When her eyes find that huge diamond perched on that gold band, her eyes widen.
She's speechless for a few moments before she finally remembers her manners and offers her congratulations. Her eyes drift back to the ring. That diamond was gorgeous. "That fool Phoenix Wright has surprisingly good taste," she says, smirking.
There's a sudden clattering noise, and Franziska looks up, startled. Maya's cup of tea is now lying on its side, contents streaming out at an alarming rate. Her eyes go up to Maya's face, and there her eyes are completely round, mouth agape in compete shock.
Maya hurriedly mops up the mess, stammering apologies. When the tea is cleaned up, she says, in that same stammer, "Ah, wow, you think Nick's my – ah, no. He isn't. We were never… like that." Maya's voice falls from high and flustered to something much lower and steeped in regret. "Actually, I haven't even spoken to him. For years now."
Franziska feels something flicker in her chest, and can't quite understand what it is.
"But, anyhow," Maya says hurriedly, shaking her head slightly. "The wedding is in eight months. I've given an invitation to Mr Edgeworth and Detective Gumshoe too." She rummages around in her purse and offers a white card out to her. "I know you're very busy. And I know you might not even be in the country then. But… if you could, I would really love it if you came."
Franziska takes it, takes a moment to look the invitation over and admire the formal gold lettering stamped on the pristine white card. You are hereby invited to the wedding of Maya Fey and Eric Draycott. "… I'll think about it."
"Thank you," says Maya, smiling in that overwhelmingly sincere way. She rises, hefting her purse, waving goodbye. Franziska waves back rather distractedly, eyes still on the wedding invitation in her hands.
Maya is already a few paces from the table when the question finally breaks through. "Did you invite him?" The words are barely audible; just a passing thought that escaped her lips before she could catch it. She wonders if Maya even heard.
Her answer is made clear in how Maya freezes, stopping cold mid-step. Then she's turning back to face Franziska, just slightly, just so the prosecutor can see the shadow of that profile. Maya smiles again, just a tiny corner of her mouth ticking up that's almost not there, before she says, "I did. I sent out the invitations months ago, but he hasn't… hasn't gotten back to me yet." There's only a slight hesitation before she turns around more fully, and Franziska can see her expression has turned sunny again. "It was wonderful seeing you again." Then another quick turn, a few more steps, and she's out the door and gone.
I haven't even spoken to him, Maya had said. For years now.
Even though there's no logical reason for it – she hasn't seen Maya Fey in years, Maya Fey isn't even her friend – that same unsettling feeling returns. Franziska takes a deep breath, and decides to put all thoughts of Maya Fey and her wedding from her mind. For now, at least. She has a case to work on. She can't be distracted.
As she takes another breath to calm her mind, her eyes slide shut instinctively and it's not the image of Maya's parting wave and smile that appears behind those lids. Instead, it's that tiny, sad smile. The one that only appeared as she spoke of Wright.
Franziska does attend.
Maya glows like every bride should, magnificent in her wedding dress. Her maid of honour is a teenaged girl dressed in purple, with brown hair done up in loops and an intense gaze that seems oddly familiar. And up there, in an incredibly sharp tuxedo, stands Maya's groom. He's a very handsome man, sharp, clean-cut, tall.
During the ceremony, Miles sits beside her, on Franziska's right, and Scruffy beside him, honking into a handkerchief as the bride and groom take their vows.
It's a bit strange in such a packed wedding hall, but over on her other side, there's an empty seat.
At the wedding reception, it's the same story. Four chairs for the three of them. She shares a knowing look with Miles, while Scruffy, the buffoon, just goes, "Look, Mr Edgeworth, sir, we have an extra seat!"
Once, she looks up to the table where the bride and groom sit. Maya Fey catches her looking and sends her a smile, but then those eyes shift over, a subtle flick, to that one empty chair, and that big smile fades just a little.
When Franziska opens the door to the washroom, it only takes her a second to recognize the sound coming from within.
The sound of a woman crying.
She hesitates at the door, her first instinct being to leave and give the woman her privacy, but then she catches a glimpse of silky white cloth and before she knows it, her feet have moved on their own. There, leaning against the sink, eyes closed -
The bride. Maya Fey. Her cheeks are noticeably tearstained. The sound of the washroom door closing makes her eyes open, and the moment she sees Franziska standing there, she gives a quiet squeak of surprise. "Franziska!"
The genius prosecutor remains silent, unsure at what to do because exactly how do you properly comfort someone even when you don't know what's the matter with them?
Fortunately, she's saved from trying to make any awkward attempts at comfort when Maya suddenly bursts out, "I know what you're thinking. What kind of bride am I, holed up in the washroom crying on my wedding day?"
Franziska says nothing, just focuses on the redness of Maya's eyes and the way her hands are fisting on the skirt of her wedding dress. At her silence, those hands clench tighter around the sleek fabric until -
Like a dam broken, Maya speaks, all in a rush, like she's afraid the words will disappear if she doesn't get them out fast enough. "He didn't RSVP. I knew he didn't. But I still…" Her voice cracks. "I still made sure he had a seat. It's just… I imagined he'd arrive at the very end, you know? Like in his cases. He'd just make it by the skin of his teeth. He'd show up, wearing that ridiculous blue suit, grinning in that sheepish way he always did. And that we'd… that somehow, he'd be my best friend again. There to walk me down the aisle. That somehow, magically, we'd forget the last 7 years we've spent estranged from each other and everything would just… just go back to how it used to be.
"I'm such an idiot," she says with a choked laugh. Her eyes slide shut with another fresh stream of tears.
Franziska's throat feels dry, but she eventually comes to her senses and reaches into her purse for a handkerchief. Maya takes it gratefully, and wipes at her eyes. Her immaculate makeup is not too badly off. Already her eyes are starting to lose their redness. A few more minutes, and you wouldn't even know any of this happened.
Eventually, she manages to smile. "Please, don't worry about me. I'm just… being silly." Without waiting for an answer, Maya walks past Franziska and pushes the door open. Franziska sees the last of that white cloth slip past the door and the next second, she's gone.
Miles and Scruffy are staying longer, but it's time for her to return. She gives a polite farewell to the groom, who returns it, but is fairly surprised when Maya sweeps her into a tight hug. "Thank you so much for coming," she says. Then, her voice shifts to a whisper, words meant for Franziska only. "I'm sorry you had to see that. Please, don't worry about me."
Then she's released and Maya chirps a quick, "Don't be a stranger!" before being led away back to the reception by her husband.
Franziska steps out of the reception hall and onto the stairs leading down to the street, relishing the cool air outside. It was a little stuffy in there, and she's infinitely glad the fresh air out here is a significant improvement.
She feels tired. Not physically - she spent most of the night seated and chose practical low heels for the event - but mentally, she's exhausted. There's no logical explanation for it. But there's no mistaking how completely wrung out she feels, after an event that's supposedly celebratory and joyous.
(The memory of Maya standing in that washroom, face streaked with tears, resurfaces, and the night is suddenly colder.)
"You are a fool, Phoenix Wright," she whispers harshly to the empty air.
She's never believed those words more.
A/N: This was a very impromptu fic, written on a whim, a plot bunny that just wouldn't leave me alone until it was written down. Please enjoy, and as always, thank you for reading!