LA LA LA LAW SCHOOL IS MAKING ME CRAZY GUYS

PW fanfic is pretty much my only stress-reliever.

I think there's one more chapter to this one, then I'm done.

I sat down in the seat Meekins usually occupied, and as Mia entered the room I busied myself by trying to find the speaker controls. Every interrogation room had an interior microphone which allowed conversations to be transmitted into the viewing chamber: the one for this room was almost magically crisp and clear, and I would be damned if I could find the volume knob for it. Of all the times I didn't want to eavesdrop!

"Hello, Sir Prosecutor."

An uncomfortable pause. "Mia…"

"I beg your pardon. I would ask you to remember that I am not Mia Fey. I am her spirit, being channeled by a medium. The last time we met, I was incorrectly addressed as Madame Attorney."

No answer. I scanned the desk once more: there was a knob that looked suspiciously like a volume control. I twisted it, to no effect. Belatedly I realized it had a tiny picture of a microphone next to it, and hastily reversed its position. I wasn't planning on saying anything, but I certainly didn't want the two of them interrupted by the Steel Samurai, if Pearls decided to call.

Mia was still speaking. "Mr. Wright has asked me for a few pieces of advice concerning his client, Mr. Armando. While I'm not entirely sure what I'm supposed to be helping with at this moment, I certainly sympathize with the plight of an uncooperative defendant, especially seeing as how Mr. Wright was one of my very most unwilling clients." I finally looked up at this. She was leafing through the case file quite leisurely, and after a moment she paused and shook her head. "But I'm not sure I can help him much with this case. This Armando seems to have completely lost his mind."

"Would you stop saying my name like I'm not sitting right in front of you, Kitten?" Irritated, but still warm.

It was mildly put, but I felt as if my breath had stopped. She simply stared: had it been me in his seat, I might have melted on the spot, in sheer embarrassment. Finally, she spoke again. "As far as I'm concerned, I don't know who you are."

The emphasis was all too clear: or what you are. And for that matter, don't call me Kitten. Twin glares were traded, one decidedly cool, the other a struggle for composure, no less clear for being masked.

Abruptly, he snapped, "Stop acting like any and all of my actions were totally unjustified. You have no idea what your death did to me."

"Oh, yes, I do. I most certainly do." Mia's voice didn't rise, yet I would rather have been anywhere else. Frantically I searched for the speaker controls once more, but it was hopeless. "Oh, I can perhaps understand or empathize with waking up alone and bitter, refusing to come to terms with your own inabilities. But then, you never had to watch me die, to discover my dead body, to know who'd done it, to later face down my killer." She paused, and when she continued, every word was tinged with bitterness, finally rising to end in anger. "And the whole time, to know that if you'd just listened to me, you wouldn't have had to die in the first place."

Silence. I had closed my eyes, unable to watch. "And then…" continued Mia's voice, "as I lay dying, to have the knowledge you were still alive. Too little, too late… to know that because I'd told no one, it would be my fault you awoke alone."

"Yes, alone!" he shouted, standing so quickly that his chair overturned once again, with a bang. "To find out there was nothing I could do, no way to even avenge you—my God, Mia, I would have faced down your murderer with pleasure! I would've—" I was almost a little in awe as he stopped, and with a concerted effort braced his hands on the table. This was a side of Armando I'd never seen: somewhere between the smug cool cat and the mysterious, bitter Godot. I couldn't see Mia's face very well, but something told me she was surprised, too. "Can you even wonder why I'm so filled with hate? Leaving aside the fact that Wright didn't do much in the way of protecting you, he also took away any chance I might have had at avenging you."

"Oh, please," Mia snapped. "I thought you got over all this already. Leave Phoenix out of this. You're going to harp on him now for being a good attorney? For correctly defending my sister? Well, why not just step back and let her go on trial for my mother's death again."

I myself always completely lost my train of thought (and sometimes all filters on my speech) when I got angry past the point of return: apparently it wasn't quite the same for Armando, though a long pause did ensue. His jaw tightened as he stared down at her, furious and completely without comment. Finally, ever so carefully, "I know we've already been through this. That was not my point, Mia."

"No. Of course not. Like a typical man, you were trying to make the completely irrational logic link between someone to blame for my death, and the one person you're now forced to rely on." Mia cocked her head. "I wouldn't be so completely devoid of sympathy if you didn't keep shoving away those who care for you, Diego."

Everything seemed to pause for a moment: the air in the room seemed to stop flowing, and no one moved a muscle. As if through a lens, I saw his throat move as he swallowed.

It was Mia, again, who broke the silence. "Maya… Phoenix… myself… even Pearl. I know it's hard to accept, but… like others before you, you've got to realize that sometimes… the harder you push people away, the more strongly they come back." My heart thudded, and I wondered vaguely if she was actually talking about Edgeworth, or if I were drawing too much of an imaginary link myself. "That no matter how much you casually pretend you don't care about your own fate, Phoenix and Maya are going to fight to the death for you."

The quiet returned. For the first time since she'd entered the room and sat down, Mia rose, with her usual smooth grace; she rounded the table and perched on its edge next to him. They were both silent.

"So you," he said abruptly, still not looking at her, "…you knew?"

At first I wasn't sure what he meant, and apparently neither did Mia. But finally, she answered, very softly, "Yes."

There was a clock somewhere in the interrogation room: I could hear it ticking as she continued. "The very day I died. Lana Skye came to find me, lent me her badge, and…well, you know better than I how many people the prosecution keeps tabs on. It was only for a few minutes, but I was there at the clinic. You never woke up. I never told anyone. I couldn't have, even if I'd wanted to."

I only realized that I'd been leaning forward in the chair when it began to slip out from under me: hurriedly I stood up, and put the chair in its place. I had never even thought to check with the witness-protection clinic, since I would have had to ask a favor from Edgeworth—and if Mia had gone with Lana's badge, there would have been no record of her presence there. Why hadn't she told me?

She had, ever so subtly, moved a hand to lay it atop his. The anger had faded from the atmosphere, a pervasive feeling of sorrow now coloring her gaze. "Diego, you said my name in your sleep. I would have gone to the ends of the earth to have someone there for you when you woke up, but… at the time I had no one to trust with the responsibility, and I never thought for a moment that I would die without at least having the chance to tell Maya about you."

There was a pause. Carefully, and just slowly enough that Mia audibly drew a breath in surprise, he reached up with one hand, fingers and thumb pressing on either side of his mask. There was a click, and its light went off. Once again, the air in the room was breathlessly silent. "Am I hideous, Jane?" he said, removing the device and looking at her.

I could only stare: I had never seen his face uncovered except in the mug shot included my file for defense counsel, and even though I myself had been the one to bring up in court the possibility of Dahlia stabbing his face with a knife, the raw scar that bisected Armando's face was still striking.

To my absolute astonishment, Mia had burst out laughing at his words. I had no idea what he'd meant, but she leaned forward and kissed his forehead, for the first time fondly touching his face. "Yes, sir. You were always hideous, you know."

"Oh, Mia," he said. I turned away as she pulled him toward her, both of them simultaneously laughing and weeping, grief and loneliness and desire combined.