A/N: I'll say this again: MAJOR AZRAN LEGACY SPOILERS CONTAINED HEREIN. If that doesn't bother you, please continue reading. ^^ Anyway, while I was playing the game for the first time and I got to Emmy's...part, I immediately stopped playing and wrote this. (And I don't even like her! xD But I feel like this game gave me a ton of perspective on her). I hope you enjoy and please pardon the slight profanity. :3
"Emotional connections are dangerous, Emmeline. I'll not have you compromise our mission."
Her answer was cold and determined just as she had rehearsed it. "Understood, Leon. I'll get the answers we need."
He laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. Yet after hearing it for the last several years, she was prepared for its chill and this time did not flinch.
"Good. That is what I like to hear." He grinned maniacally before suddenly sobering as if realizing the gravity of her pursuit. "You must not allow Layton to find out—I'm certain I can trust you to stick to the program. I've got quite enough…interesting information on him already, but we need him in order to unlock the secret of the Azran."
"You can count on me!" she said it with much feeling now, every fiber of her being desperately wishing to please her uncle—to bring back that sweet man who had called her his sunflower so often while she was growing up. (Anything to bring that man back again). His descent into madness hadn't occurred all at once—it had been very gradual, like growing out of an old pair of shoes or perming your hair to perfection. These things took time and Leon going completely insane had happened almost without her noticing, but it was undeniable now. Watching an archaeology professor's every move, hoping that eventually he'd give her the answers they sought…? It sounded absolutely crazy. How did they even know for sure that the professor would actually do it?
But as usual, Emmy didn't argue. Not even to correct her uncle on her preferred name. The name he had refused to use since turning into this monster.
"You must leave quickly. My informants have been monitoring his correspondence for some time now and today—he should be leaving for Misthallery. If you can intercept him before he arrives, that would be most ideal."
"I'll leave now."
Bronev grinned. "That is exactly what I wanted to hear, Emmeline."
.∆.
Emmy followed Uncle Leon's orders to the letter—after all, she was meant to wait until an opportunity presented itself…and then strike. Otherwise innocent, like a python lying in wait. And she knew the blow would be devastatingly deep with lasting effects (for that idiot professor trusted far too easily—Leon had warned her against doing such herself)—and such a wound would not heal easily. She tried to convince herself that the pain she would undoubtedly cause did not mean anything—that Targent had lofty, noble goals of which Professor Layton would never take part if not for her involvement…
"Emmy, do you take sugar with your tea?"
But she just couldn't do it. It was always something in the back of her mind that one day, inevitably, she would have to betray this man in order to fulfill her original goal, her higher purpose. But she hadn't counted on caring so much. That little detail had taken her completely by surprise. Uncle Leon would've said something by now about how Layton had already caught on to their little scheme and was manipulating her in his own way…but Emmy knew it wasn't true. Professor Layton was an unbelievably genuine man; a far cry from what Uncle Leon had become and in many ways, a welcome relief. He would probably never call her his bright sunflower like Leon once had, but…
"Yes, just a cube or two!"
…maybe it didn't matter. Maybe she could just be his assistant forever. She had already completed what Uncle Leon had warned would be the most dangerous part—somehow, even though the professor had been extremely reluctant to have one at first, she had succeeded in becoming his assistant. Emmy could have congratulated herself on a job well done…if only there hadn't been the matter of her quickly growing to care for the professor despite her own aims. There was just something…uncommonly good about him. It made her believe that perhaps the professor could magically change the father figure she once knew back into his original form…much like he had seemingly brought the real Janis Quatlane back from the grave. Somehow, he had figured Oswald Whistler out—maybe he could figure a corrupted man out too.
"I hope you don't mind three," the professor informed her cheerfully as he entered the room, tea service tray in hand.
"No, three sounds perfect…a sort of happy medium."
"Hmm." And by that pause, Emmy knew the professor had figured something out—something substantial. She froze like prey caught by predator, praying to whoever would listen. Please don't be me. She couldn't face her uncle's displeasure. Please don't be me. Would he ever call her his sunflower again if she failed? Please don't be me…
"Emmy, forgive me," the professor began, his tone quite measured, quite controlled, quite mild—but Emmy had seen the professor back super criminals into a corner using that exact same tone. Just because he didn't sound angry didn't mean that she was out of hot water yet.
"A gentleman never means to pry—" Why then was her heart beating so quickly? Why couldn't she breathe?
"But I have noticed you seem a bit…shall we say, distracted lately." Oh. False alarm. Holy hell. A false alarm.
"Distracted?" She didn't even have to feign the confusion—after all, she made sure she was damn good at what she did. 'Distracted' left room for error. Perhaps she just needed to redefine her purpose, strengthen her resolve just a bit more, reign in her emotions a little tighter…
…distance herself from the professor entirely. His suspicion could not resurface. Even a degree of it could be her undoing. She would have to erect a wall. Another wall she didn't want to build. Why couldn't she be here on her own volition?
"Oh, I don't mean to criticize you," the professor reassured her so easily, she almost believed him. But any criticism—especially a claim about appearing distracted—was bad news; it meant her mask was slipping. "And I do realize 'distracted' has far more negative connotations that positive but…there appears to be something on your mind. Something…" he paused, bringing his hand to his chin in his classic thinking pose, "substantial."
She recoiled at the word he used—the same word she had used to describe his very own thought process. In a moment of blind panic, she wondered if he could read minds. Though scientifically impossible as far as she knew, it would certainly explain a lot about Hershel Layton.
She crossed her arms defensively and made sure her voice held the correct percentage of disbelief. "I don't know what you're talking about, Professor."
Any moment he would be pointing at her—her heart reaccelerated at the thought—but he didn't. He sighed and resumed his seat on the sofa beside her as they continued to go through the mountain of paperwork that had accumulated since their last adventure.
The professor fingered the brim of his hat before he served himself a cup of tea from the tray. As he was doing so, he said quite regretfully, "I didn't mean to make you feel patronized, my dear—" the term of endearment from his lips made her almost drop her tea cup. Her mouth fell open in a comical misrepresentation of such; he had never called her that before. Six months not once had he ever alluded to caring for her in the slightest and now…
"But I would be lying if I did not say I was concerned. Has something…happened recently?" he asked delicately, finally looking her in the eyes again and for a moment, Emmy could swear he could see everything. "I may not know a whole lot about your personal life, but should you feel the need…I am a willing listener."
She could've told him everything then. About how terrified she was to lose Uncle Leon…and now him, the man she had sworn to betray. The loss of Professor Layton was not something she was looking forward to…but she had already made her decision. She just wanted Uncle Leon back. (Why couldn't she have both?) And somehow, she was pretty sure the professor would understand her motivation in the end. He seemed to understand everything else so well even without every piece of information. He was such a brilliant man…and it killed her to know she would one day have to leave him. Why couldn't she have been even more distant from the start? They shouldn't even be having this conversation…
"I just—"
And then, mercifully, Luke exuberantly burst through the door. For a few moments, the professor continued to stare at her, appearing to completely ignore Luke's enthusiastic recount of his school day, but true to his word, he turned to the boy and said with a smile unfeigned, "Ho ho, I'm glad you finally managed to spell 'incontrovertible' correctly, Luke! What did I tell you about practicing?"
"You were absolutely right, Professor!" he gushed, holding his spelling test with one hundred percent in his hands. "And thank you for helping me memorize that rhyme, Emmy," he said as he turned in her direction, surprising her. "I couldn't have done it without you!"
It only took a second of sitting in front of the boy for her to recollect herself. She could not believe her luck. "Wow, it seems as though adults do know a thing or two about passing spelling tests! What was that you said about me not knowing what I was talking about?"
Luke frowned, "Oh shut up, Emmy."
The professor chuckled goodnaturedly. "Now Luke, that's no way to speak to a lady," he reproved gently.
Luke scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Fine. Emmy, I'm sorry," he said mechanically.
"That doesn't sound very sincere…" she prodded, waiting for the imminent explosion.
"Emmy, you'll—" he growled.
"Sorry, you're going to have to save your insults for later, Luke. I really should get going now," she announced. She knew she was already under careful surveillance from Layton after her slip of the tongue earlier and the pressure of remaining in his presence was growing unbearable.
The professor seemed understandable—if slightly taken aback. "Ah—Well—Luke can carry on in your absence if it's a break you require."
She took her chance and seized it. "Yes I—I just need more sleep. Maybe heading back early tonight will help."
"I completely agree."
"Hey, where are you going? You can't just run away from an argument like this!"
She smirked. "Say all you want Luke, but I've already won." As she shut the door behind her, she distinctly heard Luke cry in exasperation, "Can you believe her, Professor? Oh, the nerve!"
"I've already won, Luke," she whispered to herself as she made her way toward her scooter. It was small comfort that it was such a marginal win, but as long as she snapped out of this foolish tendency to dwell on what her betrayal would mean, it would stay that way. And the professor would never suspect a thing. That was all she could hope for.