Ahh, the reference to Klavier was great too! I can't tell you have many times I've tittered while reading this. Just can't give you guys enough kudos for this bit of literature!

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I just had to bump this up. Just had to. I apoligize that I haven't replied to your latest chapter; I've had the time, and believe you me, I truly wanted to, but I couldn't think of anything to say. Y'all just blew me away. I was on the edge of my seat the entire time, chewing on my pinkie (A nervous habit I have) so hard I made it bleed. I honestly don't care that you skipped the first night; we didn't need it. But I nearly killed myself when my dad made me get off the computer and I wasn't finished with the 7th chapter.

What I'm really looking forward to now is what's gonna happen now that Lotta's taken that picture. For those of you who didn't notice, she didn't get what she came for, aka Klavier, but she got some real sweet goodie goods on Phoenix and Edgeworth. She's still gonna develop the film. Or at least I hope she will. That's just the first thing that came to my mind when I finished the chapter.

Last edited by Clarissa Gavin on Wed Apr 30, 2008 12:29 am, edited 1 time in total.

AHAHA, Just *tried* read the new chapter today, it's RUINED by the A*pril Foo*l's day. D8
*waits until later*

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I finally registered here so that I could post and congratulate you both on and thank you for what has to be the best Ace Attorney fanfic yet to be written.

I guess a problem with a lot of well-written and enjoyable fanfics is that by being so good they just leave you wishing for more. So Struggling then, by being so long and detailed is meaty enough to satisfy the most voracious reader.

For me, at least, the ending of PW3 left number of questions about the characters' fates, for instance: Will Phoenix ever get a clue about Edgeworth? Will Edgeworth ever come back from Europe? What on Earth would happen between Phoenix and Iris? What would Maya do now that she's become the Kurain Master? And so on. In answering all these questions so believably, Struggling presents such convincing sequel to the games that's easily more realistic and greatly preferable to the "Apollo Justice" future.

Now I'm done with serious praise, some gratuitious fangirling.

Chapter 3. Chapter 3 for me, was just incredible. I love Phoenix's and Maya's sibling interaction. It's just spot on in evoking the feel of the cases they did together in the games. Adding Edgeworth to the mix, with the latter two teaming up to pick on Nick is just... sublime. I really really hope that there might be more of that eventually. Also, the foreshadowing in this chapter was great. It wasn't until after a couple of re-reads that I was able to pick up on it, it's so well-hidden. It reminded me of J.K. Rowling (whose craftiness as an author I've long admired).

1000 Cranes and the brief appearance of Iris in chapter four were both really enjoyable and interesting to me. I haven't read anything else that attempted to portray Iris's feelings or motivations as a character, and so it was really nice to see it handled so well and with such sensitivity. Since it seems reasonable to guess that Iris might appear again in the main story given the subject matter, I'll say that I'm looking forward to it (if that's the case).

Hold Out Your Hand was both wonderful and evil. So lovely to get to read the young trio as written by you (singular or plural? I can't remember), great characterization, as always, and with deeper implications that are fairly staggering. Kudos.

To sum up, then: I like. Please keep it up.

Over the years of grueling office hours and forsaken vacations, Miles Edgeworth had become keenly aware that serving as High Prosecutor meant, along with standard paperwork and courtroom duties, tending to certain responsibilities unlisted in the job description. For instance, it was necessary that the High Prosecutor learn to sleep lightly during sporadic opportunity. After all, the High Prosecutor must be used to being woken and alert at any sign of possible crisis—from the ringing to a phone to a rush of footsteps that could mean anything from a scandal broken over the media to a serial killer broken free.

Even outside the office, ingrained habits were difficult to break. Registering noise, he stirred against uncomfortable, bleached sheets—and then listened to soft footsteps approaching his bedside. Feeling his senses becoming more alert, he recognized the demeanor they carried, having heard it countless times before from secretaries, detectives, and fellow prosecutors alike: uncertain, cringing, and apologetic.

“Um, Mr. Miles Edgeworth?”

He opened his eyes and found himself staring at a hospital ceiling.

A rush of bile rose in his throat at the sight of it. It inspired the memory of the other time he had woken up with eyes fixed to a white ceiling, identical to this one—now nearly twenty years ago, but still held in his mind's eye with perfect, unfaded clarity. But the brief flicker of twisting panic was quickly overshadowed by a lash of pain throbbing in his side—a sharp reminder of his Gumshoe-assisted retreat from the office to here, dragging him back into the present and away from the threshold of old nightmares long past.

He unclenched his hands from the sheets. His gaze fell from the ceiling and onto the source of the voice that had woken him.

“I'm sorry to disturb your rest, sir,” whispered the nurse. She was visible only as a faint silhouette hovering over him—we're the only ones here and I'm already awake, so why are you bothering to whisper? Miles sighed, pressing his head back against the pillow. There was no point in allowing himself to become irritated so easily. This isn't the office.

“Nevermind. What is it?”

“There's an... an urgent call waiting for you.” She bit her nails, sounding pained. “I'm terribly sorry. I know you've just been through surgery a few hours ago, but it's from, um... your elder sister, and she was quite insistent that I let her...”

That got his attention. Franziska?

He shifted upwards, fumbling in the darkness for the receiver on the bedstand. The nurse wound up retrieving it for him when he hissed in pain at having to twist in an uncomfortable way to reach for it. As she backed away, he propped it with both hands against his ear, though he could still hear the retreating shuffling of the nurse's feet—interspersed with loud sniffling—in the background. He supposed she hadn't been prepared for typical von Karma intolerance for technicalities that got in the way of what they wanted.

“Franziska? Is that you?”

Flat and unamused, but unmistakably her voice: “Miles Edgeworth.”

He squinted through the darkness towards the wall clock across the room. “You are aware that it's nearly... five in the morning.”

“Yes, I'm aware.”

“I'm in the hospital.”

“Yes, I'm aware.”

He let his eyes fall shut, leaning back against the pillows. “...Franziska.”

“Yes?”

“...was there something you wanted to talk to me about?”

“That's quite a presumption for you to make,” she said, disdain dripping from her voice. “Since you're so capable of asking such inane questions, I can only assume your recovery is progressing stably.”

He took the effort of moving an arm to pinch the bridge of his nose. He could still remember first hearing the exact same intonation for the first time when he was ten and she was three.

Still, a faint smile played on his lips. A wild mare will never change course, I suppose. “You heard about it.”

“Of course,” she scoffed. “You would do well not to underestimate me, Miles Edgeworth.”

“I wouldn't dream of it.” I'm surprised Detective Gumshoe managed to work up the courage to make the call, frankly.

“More specifically, I received word at my five o' clock in the morning, so you have no room to complain about the hour.” There was a sharp rapping on the other end, daring him to question her impeccable logic.

Miles frowned, adjusted the phone against his ear. In spite of the ridiculous words—typical Franziska—something strange and uneasy was laced within her tone as she spoke them. He had a growing suspicion that her reluctance to speak to the point was more than an attempt to be belligerent.

“I'm not sure how much you know,” he said. “To be frank, I don't know everything myself, yet, either. I haven't had a chance to speak with anyone.”

She responded with a grunt.

“Phoenix Wright,” she said abruptly.

“I'm sorry?”

“Phoenix Wright,” she repeated, a hint of irritation coloring her voice, “contacted me in order to explain your condition.”

“...Wright did?”

“Yes.”

Suddenly, Miles found that he was the one at a loss to respond.

“He was barely coherent,” Franziska continued, “trying to reassure himself of your safety more than anything. It was a rather pathetic display.”

His grip tightened on the phone.

“In fact,” she went on, “I would go as far as to say that it was enough to remind me of you.”

“Franziska, that's...”

Her voice instantly sharpened; his paltry response had apparently transformed suspicion into confirmation. “Do you know what you're doing, Miles Edgeworth?”

His lips parted to answer automatically, before he stopped.

“No. I probably don't.”

“I thought not.” A heavy pause hung between them. “You fool.”

He couldn't deny it.

“I believe this is,” she said, and her forcefully stony tone fractured, revealing something resembling melancholy beneath, “the most foolish thing you've ever done.”

“I know.”

“But nothing I can say would dissuade you.”

“I don't think it's likely.”

There was a long stretch of silence.

“I'll contact you again tomorrow,” she said abruptly. “Make sure the staff is providing you with proper treatment. I never trusted the backwards medical systems of your country.”

“I will.”

“And you can inform Mr. Phoenix Wright...” she began, then stopped, a palpable mixture of frustration and several other shades of resentment tightening in a knot about the offending name.

It's not his fault, Franziska.

“I'll be waiting for your call,” he said, as gently as he could.

She snorted. “It's not as though you'll be doing anything else worthwhile with your time for the remainder of the week, is it? Go back to sleep, Miles Edgeworth.”

She hung up.



He had always disliked hospitals. He disliked the notion of being doted on by strangers, he disliked the vulnerability of being a restricted to bed surrounded by white walls and the eerie sounds of clicking machinery, he disliked the memories associated with them, and he disliked the time lost that could have been spent doing something worthwhile.

By this time—a full day after his terse conversation with Franziska, and in spite of dealing with over a dozen visitors in between—he felt as though he'd been sleeping more in the past two days than he did over the span of an average two weeks. His body felt somehow uncomfortable with it, as though his joints were so used to the weight of constant stress that they protested now at them being lifted. It was a remarkably depressing notion.

Especially when one figured in the constant interruptions by visitors. He dared to hope that perhaps, after dismissing the final awkward detective last evening, today he would only have to worry about, inevitably, Detective Gumshoe. And Wright.

“Hello? Mr. Edgeworth...?”

Apparently not.

He cracked open one eye. It was still mostly dark outside, though he could see the pale whispers of morning sunlight at the horizon, made even fainter through the gauzy hospital curtains. Roughly seven in the morning, I would presume...

“Are you here...?”

He cracked the other eye towards the voice coming from the doorway. It sounded too young to be a nurse. The speaker's face was obscured by an armful of—Miles sighed inwardly—yet more flowers, but the white lab coat hanging around the young woman's ankles and the knot of brown hair at the top of her head was sufficient enough to give away her identity.

She tiptoed in almost conspiratorially, casting him a furtive, spylike glance before treading over to the table, only to find that it was already full to capacity. Ema seemed thrown by this, visibly puzzling over the conundrum with a crease of her brow—and then, as she scanned the other offerings more closely, her lips suddenly pursed in stark irritation. She shifted both of her gifts into the same elbow and set the one wrapped in purple ribbon to the floor in a rather ungentle manner. Slowly, carefully, she then slid the larger of her two burdens onto the corner of the newly cleared space.

Blinking away the last of the fog from his vision, Miles straightened to look at her more closely as she continued to go about her task, straining for balance.

“Good morning, Ms. Skye,” he greeted.

“Ah!” Ema yelped, jumping. The remaining vase of flowers fell from her arms and shattered against the floor, spilling water, porcelain fragments, and bright orange petals around her feet.

A moment of silence ticked by. Ema seemed afraid to move, or breathe. Slowly, she turned on her heels towards him, though her face was tilted downwards in an unmistakable desire to fold in on herself and disappear through the ground.

“Ah,” she repeated, but the sound now emerged in the shape of a despairing moan.

“Er,” Miles began, but Ema quickly shook her head to cut him off and stooped down onto her hands and knees, already apologizing, words practically tripping over each other as they rushed from her mouth.

“I'm really sorry!” she said, scrambling to gather up the broken pieces. Too quickly—several of them spilled from her hands. “I thought you'd already be up... you're in so early at the office every day and all, so I just assumed you were sort of a morning person by nature, and... I didn't mean to wake you!” she concluded miserably.

To begin with, I get up early because I have to, not because I want to... Though considering the level of her distress, it was probably best not to say that aloud.

“It's all right,” he said instead. “Though, shouldn't you be at the office...?”

“Er, y-yes,” Ema said, flustered. She stood and crossed the room to retrieve some of paper towels from the dispenser above the sink, using them to wipe up the water. “I'm sorry, I just thought I could spare a few minutes to drop these off... I know, it's unprofessional of me, but...”

“Never mind,” Miles sighed. “Just don't stay too long. I appreciate your consideration.”

Ema seemed to brighten a little at that. With renewed energy, she dumped the wad of used towels and remains of the vase into the nearby garbage can. The flowers still appeared mostly intact, so she swept them up in one hand, adjusted a few bent petals with the other, and began placing them delicately in the thin spaces between the rows of vases on the table. The effect produced wasn't terrible.

“Well, now that that's over with...” she said, putting her hands on her hips. She turned partway back towards him, considerably more collected now that the mess was gone and now that it was obvious he wasn't infuriated with her show of clumsiness.

“Those are from me,” she said, nodding towards the corner of the table, where the larger set still sat benignly. “And the, um, other ones are from Sis. She said to tell you she's sorry she couldn't come in personally, but she's working on a pretty intense case now, so she couldn't really take the time off.”

“No, I understand. We've all been in that position before.”

It seemed remarkable to Miles that Lana's career had taken to that level so quickly. Not for any lack of Lana's own capabilities, but given her circumstances, he had to admit that he'd had his doubts.

Ema nodded, lingering near the table. Her fingers knitting nervously in front of her chest, eyes skittered in jagged lines across the hospital floor. “So, um... are you feeling all right, Mr. Edgeworth?”

“If I was,” he said, “I wouldn't be in here.”

She gave a sort of half-squeak that transformed into a pained, nervous laugh. “Yes, you're right, of course. That was a silly question for me to ask...”

“But I suppose,” he allowed, “if we trust what the doctors here say, I will be soon enough.”

“Right! That's Mr. Edgeworth for you!” Ema exclaimed, with a sudden enthusiasm that was startlingly reminiscent of Detective Gumshoe. That would be a road best avoided. “The office definitely isn't the same without you. It was total panic yesterday after you disappeared...”

That hardly came as a surprise. Though in spite of himself, he did feel some measure of relief at, for once, not being the one expected to handle the fallout of an unexpected complication.

And as long as she's here, I may as well ask. “Do you know if they've managed to reassign my cases?”

The immediate change in mood was nearly enough to make Miles startle. Ema's smile suddenly collapsed into a darkened scowl, like an incoming rush of storm clouds over a grassy knoll. When she spoke next, her voice had a flat edge that was nearly unrecognizable from the mannerism of the excitable, self-conscious intern speaking mere seconds ago.

“Yeah, they have. I just got the notice this morning, actually. Prosecutor Embery's picked up one or two—no one could miss it, either, from all the complaining she's doing about it—but the rest have been relegated to...” She sucked in a hiss of breath through her teeth, “Mr. New Hope of the Precinct.”

Miles frowned. There's only one person she could be talking about.

“Is he...” he began, but trailed off. Ema was apparently intent on continuing her tirade.

“It's just not fair!” she said. “It's like he thinks he can just walk out and walk back in whenever he wants. None of the rest of us get that luxury! I mean, do you think they'd let me say 'oh, I'm going to take a break for... for... for some kind of painting expedition, hold my seat while I'm gone' just like that? It's completely ridiculous! And then he thinks he can yell at the rest of us for being unprofessional? The worst thing is, the office lets him get away with it, just because he's famous and good looking...”

I can't say I disagree with that assessment, Miles thought, wryly, but nonetheless...

“You have worked with him before, haven't you?” he asked.

“Just the once,” she said, running a hand through her hair—or attempting to, as her fingers collided awkwardly with the goggles resting atop her head. “It's not an experience I want to repeat.” She sighed mournfully and shook her head; when she spoke next, her intonation was that of a plea. “I was really looking forward to working with you again, too...”

“The cases have to be dealt with, no matter who's prosecuting,” he murmured. “I'm sure that you understand that.”

Her head jerked up briefly at the implied admonishment, before her shoulders sagged, righteous indignation drained away.

“I know. I do...” she said, voice tight with frustration. “It's just... I keep thinking that in a lot of ways actually working on the field isn't what I imagined it would be like. I wish we could get rid of all of these stupid politics and focus on what matters.”

You're hardly the only one.

“Unfortunately, politics are a significant part of public service,” he said, unable to keep the weariness from seeping into his voice. “The higher position one holds, I'm afraid the more one has to be conscious of appearances.”

“I know, I know, it's just...” She deflated again. “I really am sorry, I meant to come in here to try to cheer you up, not go off like that... but, it's not just me, you know? They've put you through so much, too, and Lana...”

Almost involuntarily, Miles felt his line of vision break from her and towards the window. It wasn't unearned. A familiar stab of guilt ghosted through his chest.

He offered: “I can understand your frustrations. I am glad that... Lana seems to be doing fairly well for herself now that she's parted ways from there.” Better, at the very least.

Ema's lips twitched downward briefly. He glanced back towards her.

Perhaps not...?

“She doesn't tell me much,” Ema said. “But I have a feeling sometimes it's harder for her than she lets on. I've already put everything that's happened back then behind us, but I don't... I don't think everyone else is willing to let her forget about it, even knowing her reasons...”

No, I expect not.

“I stopped by her office a couple of weeks ago so we could have lunch together, you know,” Ema continued, “And there was someone there who actually had the nerve to keep calling her Chief Prosecutor Skye—like that, not as an honest mistake or anything, but almost... to keep drilling it into her that that's all they'll ever see her as. Lana kept smiling, but she had that certain look about her... when I can tell she's really hurting, deep inside.”

“If that's true,” he said. “she must be grateful to have you here with her.”

“I don't know about that, really,” Ema said, though she managed a weak smile. “I mean... she owes you an awful lot, Mr. Edgeworth, for what you did for her—and I do, too, of course,” she added hastily, a light flush overtaking her cheeks.

“I could easily say the same for her,” Miles murmured.

Ema blinked. “Hm?”

“No,” he said, “never mind.” When she still looked puzzled, he added, “You should return to the office. Regardless of whether or not you're personally fond the prosecutor in charge, if I'm remembering that particular case correctly, there's great deal of field work still to be done. If you wish to be treated like a professional, then it's necessary that you to act like one, no matter what your relationship to your coworkers.”

“Y... yes, sir. You're right, of course.” Ema heaved another sigh, biting her lip. “I'm sorry for my attitude. I'll do my best...”

He folded his hands in his lap and met her gaze directly. “I expect nothing less of you. If you honestly believe the prosecutor is less than capable, I trust you will take responsibility of seeing that the investigation remains up to standard.”

Ema's eyes widened slightly. Then she nodded, steely resolution relit in her gaze. “Right! I will. I won't disappoint you, Mr. Edgeworth. And...” Her face softened. “...please get well soon.”

Once she had stepped out, and the door had shut securely behind her, he felt himself relax again. He had thought, after the previous evening, that he was done playing the part of the High Prosecutor for the duration of his hospital stay—but he supposed that had been a rather naïve presumption.

Chief Prosecutor...

He hadn't seen Lana since she had defeated him in court, back in August. Reading the newspapers, he had the distinct impression that she was determined to keep her newfound career as low key as possible. There had been an initial media blitz when her law firm had made the decision to give her a chance, and another small rush when they had faced each other—but although she seemed to be doing fairly well, he never saw her name anywhere near most notable cases.

It was understandable. When she did make it into the news, no matter what the context, it inevitably included a tangent about the corrupt history involving her prior connections with Damon Gant—and with himself.

It was unrealistic to hope for anything resembling a genuine fresh start. He knew that Lana understood that, too, since her release. There would be whispers following both of them for the rest of their lives.

Still.

His attention drifted back on the table across from his bed, where the heads of Ema's delivery of orange flowers poked casually from between the vases.

She's very fortunate.

Miles's eyes trailed to the wall where the clock was situated. It was nearly eight thirty by now—Wright would probably be arriving soon.

...as am I.

He eased back against the pillows, stiff and uncomfortable though they were, and let his tired eyes drift shut. If he had been asked four years ago—no, five months ago—if he could have imagined any of them ending up where they were now...

It's strange, isn't it, how things turn out...



The verdict had been three months in the making.

The trial had begun prior to his arrival. He had heard, even overseen, stories of its ilk dozens of times before—an argument between a young couple, over the pettiest of mishaps, that ended with one strangled to death and the other arrested for having done the strangling.

It wasn't the suspect or the circumstances of the crime that pertained to Miles's interest, but rather, the sheer length of the proceedings surrounding it—this country lacked the initial trial system. From Miles's perspective, that made for a bloated process where the same pieces of evidence and the same pool of witnesses were expounded upon again and again in a tug-of-war that struck him as almost shameless on the parts of both attorneys. All the same, the lack of time restriction to exhaust each component, however small, resulted in little doubt remaining when a conclusion was finally reached.

But another, subtler effect of this was that the trial itself seemed less of a public show than what Miles was accustomed to. The increased tedium involved with higher emphasis on sifting through unexciting technical details meant far less jeering from the part of the spectators, whose age range skewed much older and more solemn than he typically saw in courtroom sessions throughout his own career.

He had to admit that this, if nothing else, was a definite improvement.

All of these observations were recorded in his notes, laid out before him in the gallery, where he was positioned as an outside spectator over the trial. As the other men and women who had attended began to file out, he organized his material while keeping an eye on the demeanor of prosecutor, defense attorney, and condemned suspect alike.

When Miles had first arrived to set foot in foreign soil, separated from the city he called his home by an ocean and then some, he was only known as a prominent lawyer from America. Even with the complication of wielding a somewhat faulty command of the accompanying language, it was refreshing and almost unnerving to shake a coworker's hand and be able to meet them in the eye without a tired, cynical distrust underscoring the entire meeting.

He hadn't quite realized how resigned he had become to waking up in the morning and finding a fresh, less than glowing citation of his work or history in the papers—day after day, week after week, year after year—until he'd arrived in a backwards world where, inexplicably, it didn't happen anymore.

It was always temporary, of course. No matter where he went, it was only a matter of time until the unsavory details of his past began to bleed into the present, and officials who had been amicable at the prospect of welcoming a foreign prodigy became somewhat less accommodating when aware of the whispers of demon prosecutor in that same man's shadow.

He'd seen many different places over the past three years, but the cycle was generally the same wherever he went.

Nearly always, once introductions had passed between he and the officials of the area in question, he would begin by chiefly observing the local proceedings, taking notes for both the public records of the precinct and for his own purposes. Within five to six months on average, he usually found himself familiar enough with the country's methods of due process to stand at the bench himself to oversee a trial as prosecutor.

This meant that he had learned about all he was going to within a reasonable amount of time, and that it was time to hand in his resignation notice, go through the rounds of shaking hands again, and leave for the next country and begin the cycle anew—functioning as an observer of a legal system that maybe, in a few ways, might be a little less broken than the one he called his own.

He told himself that this was the least that he could do, after doing so much to embroil his own precinct in scandals, tarnishing its reputation.



Contact from home began sporadic, but since the incident with Matt Engarde a few years back—when he had first returned—had also settled down into a fairly regular routine. Detective Gumshoe was his primary source of information for developments at the Prosecutor's Office.

“It's a pretty bad mess, honestly,” he relayed. “Half the time it's like no one's really sure who's actually in charge. I don't even know how much longer I can expect to keep working here, if I'm being totally honest with you, sir. There's a lot of reshuffling going on.”

“Reshuffling?”

“Yeah. It's like they want to filter out a lot of the old guard who had ties to Prosecutor von Karma and Chief Gant, but this mess, lots of people are saying, is what led to that stunt with Diego Armando. You've got tons of people asking, 'how the heck did that guy slip in without a background check or even a legally registered name?' So it's slow going, trying to refill the ranks while keeping things in order. They want to make sure they don't hire someone they can't be sure isn't, you know, another killer.”

Usually this was followed by a pregnant pause, and then a tentative, “So are you, uh, planning on coming back anytime soon, sir?”

“If they're looking to cover up the traces of Manfred von Karma,” Miles said, “I doubt they'd be looking to welcome me back in open arms.”

“Well, yeah, maybe,” Gumshoe said, baffled by this unexpected turn of logic, “But still... no one can deny you were one of our top prosecutors, sir! Place just hasn't been the same ever since you took off. And it's not like all that stuff was your fault to begin with anyway...”

I'm afraid there are a lot of people who would vehemently disagree with you. “I think, for the time being, my time is better spent doing what I am now.”

But work aside, even without prompting from Miles, Gumshoe also felt the need to keep him up to date with the more personal side of the local happenings. Mostly this pertained to things relating to Maggey Byrde. On those threads of conversation, the prosecutor found himself diverting his attention back to his work and interjecting a well-timed “yes” or “I see” when there was a break between flustered, lovestruck rambling.

But once in a while—sometimes even catching himself off guard—he would break in and ask:

“How is Wright doing?”

“Wright?” Gumshoe echoed, thrown by the sudden shift in subject from Maggey's work at the animal shelter. “Oh, you mean... uh, far as I know, he's doing okay. I don't actually see him around that much, just those times when someone drops dead, so... but,” he added hastily, “he seems same as always as far as I can tell, with those weird girls pushing him around and all.”

“He's made a few headlines recently, I've noticed.”

“Oh, you saw those, huh?”

“Of course I did. They do have newspapers and television in Europe...”

“Yeah, that was really something, wasn't it? I thought he really might not make it that time, but y'know, if you can rely on anyone to pull a turnabout out of nowhere, it's that guy.” Gumshoe's voice reflected a mixture of exasperation and reluctant respect that had been built over the course of years. “But hey, you already knew that, didn't you, sir?”

“Yes,” Miles said. “Of course I do.”

He didn't realize he was smiling until after he had hung up the phone.

So he's doing all right. Of course he is. Of course...

The other person he spoke with semi-regularity—asides, of course, from Franziska, still operating in Germany—was the former chief prosecutor, Lana Skye. She had initiated the contact, after he had made it a point to vanish from the local scene a second time, not willing to let the media bog him down and make a spectacle of his departure. He'd asked, not with a small amount of incredulity, how she had managed to get a hold of his number—to which she answered that extracting the information from Detective Gumshoe hadn't exactly been difficult.

There was little he was able to offer in response to that other than a long, weary sigh.

The following conversation had been fairly cordial; she made it a deliberate, prolonged point to inform him of how distressed Ema had been upon receiving word about his 'suicide note'. He had apologized duly. Lana promised to pass on the message, and wasted no time asking if he had offered the same olive branch towards Phoenix Wright.

“We spoke.”

“And?”

“I think...” he had said, then sighed again. This wasn't exactly a subject he had been eager to broach, especially with Lana. “I think we came to an understanding.”

“You think?” Lana echoed, and there was something uncomfortably close to sympathy pressed in the undercurrent of her voice.

“Obviously, I can't actually speak for Wright.”

The continued exchanges afterwards had been somewhat less strained. She didn't call often; generally only when she had seen him in the news or to discuss recent developments at the precinct.

As the time passed a quiet sense of urgency had begin to underscore her words. The more they spoke, the more he was left—especially in the past year or so, when she had finally been released from prison—with the increased suspicion that she was expecting something of him. He had no solid evidence to support the notion, but her sentences began to carry a clipped quality to them, the impression of waiting for a response when he had none to offer.



His thoughts jarred back into the present as he realized the majority of the crowd had filtered out of the courtroom, finally leaving it mostly empty. Enclosing the day's notes into his briefcase and snapping it shut, he stood and followed suit, nodding in passing to the prosecutor of the house, who still organizing his things, a weary but satisfied expression on his face.

His phone went off when he was about halfway to the parking lot. A glance down told him that it was Lana.

As he answered it, continuing to make his way towards his car, he found himself hoping anew, vaguely, that his earlier suspicions were nothing more than baseless paranoia.

“Miles Edgeworth speaking.”

“Hello, Miles,” she greeted. “How have you been?”

“All right,” he said, “more or less. And yourself?”

“Better,” she answered.

As he pressed the phone between his cheek and his shoulder, shifting the grip of his briefcase from one hand to the other, he thought he had a fairly good idea of what she probably called to talk about. “I heard the news about your recent employment. Congratulations.”

“Yes,” she said. “The offer surprised me as well.”

Miles was certain he hadn't actually said anything about being surprised, but perhaps he hadn't needed to. Lana continued speaking.

“Obviously, I wasn't expecting anything like this to happen, but the head of the firm seemed sympathetic to my story. It's probably the best arrangement I can hope to have—certainly more than I deserve...”

“Still, I imagine you haven't had an easy time of it.”

She paused. “To be honest, it's been a surprisingly smooth transition. And, really, worrying about the minor complications is the least of my concerns right now—now that Ema's coming back.”

That was unexpected. He hadn't thought that Lana's younger sister would complete her overseas education so quickly—based on what he could recall of her, though she was enthusiastic, she hadn't struck him as especially brilliant. At least, not brilliant enough to justify cutting the duration of her schooling by half.

“She is? That seems rather...”

“Hasty, I know. But she's managed to gain an internship at the police department in forensic investigation. It's a relief—she was worried that she would fail the test, and still won't tell me the margin she did pass it by, but...”

Yes, that would explain it, I suppose. “Hmm.”

“It'll be wonderful to see her again.”

“I'm sure it will be. You can offer her my congratulations as well.”

“I will.”

He had finally reached the car. Still holding the phone in precarious balance against his shoulder, he began to dig for his keys, vaguely trying to think of a way to politely dismiss himself from the conversation.

“What about you?”

The question made him stop just as his fingers closed around metal. “What?”

“Are you planning on returning any time soon?” Lana asked. “It's been nearly three years now.”

Miles frowned. Some instinct, speaking from a sense of growing wariness at the way she framed the inquiry, made him withdraw his hand and leave the keys lying in his pocket. He grasped the phone again with his freed hand, straightening. “No, I still have work to do,” he said. “Here.”

“Your research, you mean...?”

“Yes.”

“If you don't mind my asking,” she said, pointed but not ungentle, “what is it that you're hoping to accomplish with all of that?”

I would think that would be obvious. “I'm hoping to find a way to mend the wreckage that's been consuming the Prosecutor's Office.” The wreckage that we left behind.

She said nothing at first, but Miles was certain that she heard the unspoken words. Finally, she said, quietly, “I'm not sure if the office will last that long.”

His frown deepened. “I don't follow your meaning.”

“What I mean is that I don't know that the office can afford to not to have you there—now more than ever.”

His grip around the handle of briefcase tightened as his jaw set. I'm used to hearing such ludicrous, alarmist claims from Detective Gumshoe, but from the likes of Lana Skye...

“Miles, I know you're aware of the state of things there. I can't offer much of a firsthand account anymore, but I still have contacts and the things I'm hearing...”

“Of course I'm aware,” he said, shortly. “That's precisely why I'm doing what I am now.”

“You've been out there for three years, Miles. There are people being hurt by the self-destruction of the office right now that can't wait for you.”

“It's not that simple.”

“That's an easy thing to say,” she said, and her tone remained coolly level in a clear echo of her old authority as Chief Prosecutor, “when looking at the situation from such distance.”

Where did this come from? he thought, feeling a pounding building within his skull at the unwelcome turn of conversation. He hadn't expected to wind up on the receiving end of a lecture. Why now?

But this was obviously something she had been waiting to tell him for some time.

“I know that it's been difficult,” he said, trying to keep his voice level, to match professionalism with professionalism. “But as I've also explained to Detective Gumshoe, multiple times, I doubt that my returning would help improve the situation. There are still a lot of lingering grudges associated with my name and my actions, as well you should know...”

“I don't believe that the office can afford to be that selective,” Lana said. “Grudges are one thing, but the reality of it is that they need all the help that they can get—help that you can offer.”

The sole person capable of offering assistance is a disgraced prosecutor thousands of miles away? he thought, incredulous.

“I'm hardly the only one who can intervene,” he pointed out. “And it's ridiculous to pretend that I am. Besides, from what I'm hearing, they've been doing fairly well recently, banding around that newcomer—in fact, the news can't seem to stop talking about 'promising new blood' on the scene...”

“Miles, you should know better than anyone else not to implicitly trust what any news headline or reporter has to say.”

“Nonetheless...”

Lana cut him off. “Listen to me. I've already seen Prosecutor Gavin at work firsthand. He's certainly talented—based on my observations, yes, I would venture to say he has a long and promising career ahead of him. But he's also very young. He's younger than you and I when we started, and he can't uphold the entire weight of the office by himself. No one person can, let alone someone fresh off the bar.”

“I'm aware of that,” Miles said, “but...”

“Besides,” she murmured. “Is that really what this is about?”

His grip on the phone tightened. It was clear that she was not about to let him wrest control of the conversation any time soon. “What do you mean?”

“What you keep saying, essentially, is that you're not needed,” she pressed on. “When, exactly, do you think you will be, if not now?”

“I can't say--”

“But that's exactly the problem. It's not about who's best equipped to offer help. Someone has to—and frankly, I doubt that Prosecutor Gavin or anyone else struggling right now genuinely cares about your history as long as the job is done—and if you keep trying making the same justification to keep away... if you're being honest with yourself, aren't you still running?”

The briefcase slipped from his hands onto the asphalt with a disorienting clunk. Whatever response he had been preparing to answer with died on his lips.

“I'm sorry,” Lana said quietly. “That was presumptuous of me. But I don't want you to repeat my mistake—to keep making excuses, refusing to face the people surrounding you, and staying silent while watching things fall apart before your eyes. You can't take back lost time, Miles.”

“I know that.” Privately, somewhat bitterly, he thought that he probably knew it better than she did. “The reason I'm out here is because I know things are falling apart. If you're suggesting I'm wasting my time by committing myself to this line of work——I'm afraid I'd have to offer strong disagreement.” The title of Chief Prosecutor nearly escaped from his mouth, half habit, half harsh endnote.

“No, that's not exactly what I meant,” Lana said, unfazed by the rising hostility in his voice. “Listen. When I took my first case, I had to confront a good deal of the same people from the office whose name I had dirtied in the past out of my own selfishness. No matter what I do from this point, I can't...”

She hesitated briefly before plunging on.

“I can't give Jake back his brother,” she said. “And I can't give Angel back her position. I can't help the people whose trials I interfered with who are already gone. No matter what I do, no matter how much I apologize, those things won't change. I can't change them.”

He exhaled sharply.

“And that's exactly why I can't turn away from them.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but there was nothing he could think to say.

“How long are you planning to keep hiding? Is the 'answer' you found so weak that you're not even willing to test it, Miles?”

“It's not that simple,” he finally managed to repeat, but even he heard the loss of conviction behind the words.

When Lana spoke again—she let the words hang between them long enough for the weakness of the denial to sink in for them both—she sounded weary, but not quite apologetic. “And also, Miles... it's not just Ema and I. There are many others, I'm sure, who are waiting for you to come back.”

“I don't know what you mean.”

Her long silence was more telling than any reply would have been. The wariness began to pool in his stomach as outright dread.

“I suppose I need to get back to this paperwork,” she said, finally. “I'm sure you have your own matters to attend to as well. I apologize for taking up so much of your time—I didn't expect to end up discussing all of this with you, either. But... please think about what I said.”

He lowered his phone after they had exchanged goodbyes, staring down into the blank screen.

Even after sliding soundlessly into the car—the weight of the briefcase hefted next to him rendered hollow and the rattle of papers inside oddly meaningless—he was unable to shake the feeling of being left in the aftermath of a summer storm, damp and miserable despite being surrounded by clear sky.



He handed in the resignation notice early, cutting the last cycle short—some three weeks after he had said goodbye to Lana over the phone. It was enough time to complete observation of another trial, and enough time to watch the news report yet another prosecutor back home being placed under inquiry for suspicion of evidence fraud. Alongside the scandal rolled endless interviews of an eighteen-year-old with barely a year of experience who, nonetheless, had somehow managed to become primary spokesperson for the entire office simply by virtue of the sheer incompetence surrounding him.

It was hard, watching it unfold, not to think back to the start of his own career—strained and sleep-deprived enough when he had been designated with the title of genius in what was still a reputable office. The young prosecutor speaking on the screen now didn't show any visible signs of strain, but, Miles thought grimly, it was only a matter of time.

He'd made arrangements to return after switching the television off that night, even still telling himself that it was a mistake. A cowardly mistake to be diverted from his plans because of one disapproving phone call. An arrogant mistake to think he could simply walk back in and begin the process of reform. A naïve mistake to even dare think that anyone there might ever be willing to trust him again.

And a quiet, lonely mistake, to think that he could still trust himself—not just in matters that pertained to law—other matters that he refused to let himself think about, that distracted him from work, that he already understood would never amount to anything.

The sentiment continued to twist within him the entire journey back, hours of travel and thousands of miles consumed and rendered into a blur by lingering, wrenching self-doubt.

It was still looping in his mind as he stepped off of the plane and made his way across the airport towards baggage claim. Logically, he reasoned, there was nothing stopping him from turning around, purchasing a new ticket, and going straight back the way he had came. There were a dozen reasons why he shouldn't be here and no good ones as to why he should have ever felt compelled to return.

Perhaps it would have meant that he was a hypocrite and a coward after all, but he had never tried to fool himself into thinking he was anything else.

Stepping on board an escalator, he made up his mind to collect his things and make his way to the front desk to request an immediate return flight—when he stopped short, feeling his blood freeze momentarily in his veins and his breath catch in his throat.

At the bottom of the escalator was a small gaggle of people peering up towards him, eagerly—people whose faces he recognized.

What are they... how ridiculous...!

Detective Gumshoe—undoubtedly, he was the one responsible for this embarrassing display—raised both arms over his head to wave madly, as though he could miss the congregation that, by all appearances, had been lying in wait to ambush him as soon as he came within sight. It took a beat for Miles to recognize, with some exasperation, the lanky man in orange copying his gestures as Larry Butz—though his attention seemed less on Miles and more on the stewardess who was passing by.

He'll never change. Neither of them will.

Maya Fey, still dressed in her absurd acolyte's robes, was laughing and hefting up a cardboard sign painted in bright colors in the shape of his name. It was garishly out of place in the otherwise dull grey surroundings of the airport, but if she noticed the discrepancy, as usual, she failed to show it. Her younger cousin—her name escaped him at the moment—flailed her arms as her height proved insufficient to match the upswing.

They had both grown since Miles had seen them last.

And then his gaze settled last upon the man standing just behind them, who was sporting a foolish, rather lopsided kind of grin—and a familiar rush of terrifying, electric warmth, one he hadn't experienced since he had last seen his face a year ago, the one he had tried to convince himself would pass with time, would pass with work, would pass with distance, would pass with the release of a shy nun from Hazakura—coursed its way through him.

Wright kept smiling.

The last, lingering doubt settled and faded in the back of his mind. He still wasn't sure if he was willing to say that coming back had been the right thing.

But he was certain now that it wasn't a mistake.



Red orbs bobbed back and forth in a blurry motion when Miles cracked his eyes, the sound of latex tapping lightly against the wall like faint raindrops across a windowpane. He squinted and a distorted Steel Samurai floated into view, with the words “GET WELL SOON” emblazoned underneath.

Balloons…?

Miles blinked rapidly when a half-gasp swung his attention to the foot of the bed. A little girl, hair in twin loops and wearing the customary purple, pink, and white acolyte spirit medium gear regarded him with wide grey eyes.

“He’s awake, Mystic Maya!”

Pearl Fey…?

Before he could make his throat work and ask the obvious question, a much more familiar voice chuckled next to his head, “Well, darn! There goes the surprise!”

He looked upwards. The balloons—there had to be at least a dozen—were no longer obscuring Maya’s face. She gave the knot she’d just finished tying to the railings a satisfied pat and stepped back, collapsing with a huff into the chair Wright had claimed for his own yesterday.

Or was it the day before yesterday? That was another unfortunate side effect of being hospitalized—losing track of the days. Time seemed to contort depending on his state of mind.

Pearl Fey hadn’t moved from the foot of the bed, shifting slightly from side to side as though she wasn’t quite sure of the proper protocol in this situation. Maya noticed and motioned towards the other side of the room where an unused chair sat next to an equally bereft bed.

“You don’t need to be shy, it’s just Mr. Edgeworth!”

“Just”? He smiled. Only Maya Fey could make something potentially insulting so charming.

Pearl flushed at Maya’s words, but didn’t speak as she bowed shortly before scurrying over to retrieve the chair. Though she was taller than the memory of their meeting in the airport allowed, it was still difficult to resist the urge to climb out of bed and offer assistance as she alternately grappled and dragged the reluctant piece of furniture to a position next to Maya’s own.

“This is quite an unexpected treat,” he said, once she sat down and caught her breath. I was beginning to wonder if Wright would ever allow us in the same room again.

Pearl kept darting glances towards where Miles’s IV met his arm with equal parts trepidation, curiosity, and a faint tinge of pity. Miles wondered if this was her first time with an extended hospital visit. He couldn't remember one way or the other if she had been there when Wright visited Franziska in the aftermath of de Killer's shooting.

“I-I’m terribly sorry to hear about what happened, Mr. Edgeworth!” The words erupted from her mouth with surprising force. “It must have been a horrible experience.”

“Yeah, I didn’t even know appendixes could burst like that!” Maya added, before she cupped her chin in her hand and assumed a more thoughtful pose. “Actually, now that I think about it, I’m not even sure I know where an appendix is…”

“I hope we aren’t disturbing your rest,” Pearl said.

“Not at all,” Miles said. I’ve had enough sleep to last me a while.

Maya muttered something Miles couldn’t catch, eyes distant as she counted off fingers to unspecified purpose. Pearl, seemingly having lost a large portion of her crippling shyness, fixed those slightly discomfiting eyes to his. He struggled to find something to say. The shadow of Maya’s balloons passed briefly across his face like a small cloud. He glanced up instinctively. Maya, noticing, smiled.

“I thought they might brighten up the room a little more,” she explained, pulling herself away from her musings. “Guess I got kind of carried away. I haven’t had balloons since I was a kid…”

Neither have I, he thought. Isn’t that usually the case? It was entirely possible he wasn’t up to date on his balloon etiquette.

“I wouldn’t say ‘carried away’. It’s…” Miles stopped, mentally rifling through his vocabulary for the proper words. Though he felt about twenty years too old to fully appreciate the gift, it wasn’t entirely unwelcome to have a present that skewed young instead of professional for a change.

Maya smiled at his discomfiture. “Thank you, Mr. Edgeworth.”

But I didn’t say anything…

“I suppose we could always exchange them for some flowers if you really want,” she teased, motioning towards his “garden” huddled against the far wall. The ensuing expression on his face prompted a peal of laughter. “Guess not, huh?”

“No, I am…grateful.” In a manner of speaking.

It had almost surprised him when Detective Gumshoe had shown up early in the morning on the second day of his arrival—shortly after his discussion with Franziska, actually—with that ridiculous mug of pansies and dandelions. Miles would have been happier with the return of his cell phone.

Then the rest had started trickling in; some from coworkers he had little more than a speaking relationship with, others he’d assumed actively disliked him. Logic dictated that most of it was about appearances than genuine well wishes, but sometimes the splash of color caught the corner of his eye as he spoke to a nurse or focused on the television in the corner and he found himself stunned anew.

“People have been very kind,” Miles said.

“You can say that again,” Maya said. She spread her hand above her eyes as she mock-surveyed the table, pushing the sleeves of her robes out of the way when they hampered her line of sight. “It looks like you’ve got enough over there to start your own shop.”

“Yes. They’re very lovely…and there are so many of them,” Pearl said. It could have been Miles’s imagination, but he thought her mouth twisted downwards in slight disapproval as she spoke.

“Most of them are from my coworkers,” he said. Only after the words left his lips did he wonder why Pearl Fey’s opinion of his public image was of any concern.

“Aww, and here I was telling Pearly all about your harem!”

A thousand different protests burst into his throat at once, knotting together as he coughed and hacked in an attempt to spit them out. “I…that’s…” he wheezed.

“I understand, Mr. Edgeworth!” Pearl exclaimed while he was still struggling. He paused, objections sliding from his mouth to an uncomfortable knot of foreboding in his stomach. “I just knew there had to be some mistake! After all, you have Ms. Oldbag, right?”

Through the most profound exercise of will, Miles managed to keep from outright shuddering at the sound of that name. Harder still to quash the irrational worry that speaking it out loud would be enough to summon the woman back to assault him with another verbal torrent of misguided affection.

“Ah…I’m afraid our relationship isn’t of that nature,” he said at last, attempting to maintain a sense of diplomacy.

He swallowed heavily when Pearl’s shoulders sagged. Children were hard for him to deal with in general—though Pearl Fey was more polite than most—but that didn’t mean he enjoyed feeling like the rain ruining a little girl’s picnic.

“See?” Maya said, elbowing Pearl lightly. “I knew there was something going on with those orchids!”

Against better his better judgment: “Orchids?”

“Initials K.G.? Signed with a heart?” Maya prompted, once again hovering over the bed. Her purple sleeves were almost painfully bright against the sterile hospital bed sheets.

“Oh...” Miles grimaced. “No, it's not like that. He's just a coworker.” One of the most frivolous ones I've had the 'pleasure' of meeting, at that.

Pearl’s head lifted. “D-does that mean there’s still a possibility for Ms. Oldbag? She cares so much about you, Mr. Edgeworth!”

Miles wondered if feigning sudden death would be enough to stop this conversation before it descended to a hitherto unknown level of ‘uncomfortable’. He squirmed, incision along his side protesting the sudden movement.

“I…”

I’m not exactly in the position of saying ‘never’, all things considered, he thought, but…

He shook his head slowly.

“Oh…” Pearl seemed to quietly fold in on herself, thumb raised to her lips as she lapsed into a contemplative silence. Perhaps there was something to this Fey ‘magical powers’ nonsense after all; Miles couldn’t think of any other way to explain the sudden prickle of guilt he felt over not being in a romantic relationship with Wendy Oldbag, of all people.

For a long stretch, the only sound was the steady humming of the hospital machinery. Above him, one of the balloons caught the breeze from the air-conditioning vent, Steel Samurai waggling his spear in a seemingly mocking fashion.

“Did you two come by yourselves?” He’d meant the words to come out casual, but instead they felt painfully obvious. He might as well have asked ‘where’s Wright?’ and allowed subtlety to fall to the wayside entirely.

“Oh, no! Nick’s here too. He’s still downstairs in the gift shop. He was taking forever­ so we just came up on our own,” Maya rolled her eyes and moved forward out of the chair to stage whisper in his ear. “Just so you’re forewarned, you’re probably getting tulips. I think that’s the only flower he knows…”

And sunflowers, if I recall those elementary school “art” classes correctly.

“Mystic Maya!” Pearl exclaimed, staring at where Maya’s other hand rested against Miles’s shoulder. “Mr. Nick was just trying to be thoughtful! I-I’m sure if you were in the hospital, he’d spend hours trying to find the perfect bouquet of roses!”

“You mean tulips!” Maya giggled. Her laughter was infectious, bouncing off the walls. It brought forth an amusing picture of Wright muddling his way through rows of overpriced bouquets and stuffed animals, utterly lost, and Miles found his own low chuckles joining hers.

Wright has no idea how lucky he is, Miles thought when they both subsided. “It’s the thought that counts, I suppose.”

“Yeah, that’s what they say,” Maya said, beaming. Then her expression softened. “This is going to sound bad, but I guess, in a way, I’m kind of glad you ended up here.”

“M-mystic Maya!” Pearl protested.

“No, I mean,” Maya said. “I guess I can’t judge, but you always seem to be working so hard. Maybe this is life’s way of giving you a vacation. Plus, it gives us a chance to catch up.”

“That’s a rather sad state of affairs, if hospitalization is required,” Miles said.

“Well, maybe that’s something we can--”

Maya was interrupted by the sound of a chair screeching in protest as Pearl stood up. Her eyes darted back and forth between the two of them as though honed upon an incoming disaster.

“Pearly…?”

“I-I think I’m going to go see what’s taking Mr. Nick so long!” she exclaimed, pausing only to make sure the door didn’t slam on her way out.

Miles quirked an eyebrow. “Should I…?” He stopped, not knowing exactly what he was asking or how much he should say.

“Don’t worry about it.” The edges of Maya’s smile seemed to waver, thinning in a way Miles had never seen before on her face—had never wanted to see. It reminded him too much of his own. “She’s going through one of those phases…you know?”

He nodded. Miles knew all about ‘those phases’; living with through adolescence with Franziska von Karma had made sure of that. In some respects, it seemed his own sister would never leave her own tumultuous growing pains behind.

“So, um, how has Nick been?” The sound of Maya’s voice jerked Miles back from his musings.

“In what sense?” Miles asked. It was a lawyer question, probing for more details—what Wright had said, or what he hadn’t.

“Well, I’ve been so busy lately that we haven’t had a chance to talk that much,” she said, staring down at knotted fingers against the heavy sleeves of her robes. “It was almost a surprise to his voice on the other line, explaining what had happened to you…”

He’d had his suspicions. These past few months, queries concerning how Maya was doing were always met with an uneasy squirm and a quick change of subject.

“So, I guess…you’d kind of know what was going on with him better than me right now…”

Knowing that he, no matter how he tried to rationalize it, was the one responsible for that tentative edge to her voice was almost unbearable.

“As far as I know,” Miles began, pushing down his own guilt and a spike of anger at Wright that momentarily dwarfed the blunt pain in his side, “his office is running about the same as it always does without you there to push things along: slowly.”

That made her lips twitch into a grin more reminiscent of her usual one. “That’s a relief to hear. He seemed sort of strange over the phone last night—I guess he was just worried. He can get a little bit weird when it comes to you, Mr. Edgeworth.”

Miles opened his mouth, then shut it.

“Oh, I didn’t mean anything strange by it!” She waved her hands rapidly when she saw the expression on his face, as if trying to ward off the mere suggestion of impropriety.

It’s difficult to imagine a vocabulary where “strange” isn’t a synonym for “weird”, but that’s not the problem.

“Just, I guess I don’t really entirely understand the whole ‘passionate rivalry’ thing—they don’t have a lot of those when it comes to spirit mediums… though it would be kind of cool if they did!” Her hands bunched into fists, grin stretched ear to ear. She didn’t look a day older than the first time he’d seen her dogging Wright’s footsteps in the courthouse, alternately chiding and encouraging. “Impassioned chanting! Hot-blooded spirit-channeling!”

Hot-blooded nonsense is more like it, he thought to himself. Regardless of how he felt concerning ‘spirit mediums’ and the rest of the hokum the gullible or desperate bought into, Maya was a friend, first and foremost.

Both his and Maya’s heads swung to the left in unison at the sudden sound of a throat clearing.

Wright stood in the doorway, Pearl at his side, and a vase brimming with pink tulips stark against the blue of his suit. “Hot-blooded…” He trailed off with a shake of his head. “Do I even want to know what you two were talking about?”

“Hi, Nick!” Maya called, waving. “I see you decided on the tulips!”

That earned her a look sour enough to curdle cream from Wright before he sighed it off. He turned towards the table along the wall, gaining a certain slump to his shoulders that told Miles the defense attorney was thinking something ridiculous, like he should have brought flowers sooner—as though Miles wanted an itchy, stopped-up nose as an accessory to the dull pain in his side. It had been hard enough convincing the nurses that, yes, he really did prefer them as far away from his bedside as possible.

Besides, if getting them didn’t occur to him in the first place, why bother to expend all the effort now?

Pearl reached towards the vase of tulips in the crook of Wright’s elbow.

“You go ahead and sit down next to Mystic Maya--” There was a certain emphasis on the ‘next to Mystic Maya’ as Pearl all but shoved Wright towards the hospital bedside. “--I’ll take care of these!”

Wright had mentioned the younger Fey’s matchmaking tendencies before with resigned affection, Miles remembered, but his stories hadn’t done justice to the resolve with which she regarded Wright until he did as bidden. Once he was settled to her satisfaction, she turned back around to find a spot in which to wedge his botanical offering alongside the rest.

Wright inched the chair closer to the bed, “So, how are you feeling?” He peered at Miles’s face with a scrutiny that not even Miles’s doctor usually matched.

“Better,” Miles replied, feeling no need to elaborate on the pain in his side.

“Mr. Edgeworth?” Pearl called from the other side of the room. Miles turned towards her. The vase looked almost comically large cradled in her small hands, tulips framing her face. “I’m terribly sorry, but I can’t seem to find room for it on the table.”

“Go ahead and set them on the floor,” he said with a wave of his hand. He hesitated, hand still extended, as he turned back to Maya and Wright. Even on the best of days, Wright was as easy to read as a picture book. In this particular case, more like a picture book detailing how Miles had just shot Wright’s puppy.

I suppose he put more thought into it than I assumed, Miles inwardly sighed. “On second thought, if you wouldn’t mind bringing them over here, we could put them on the stand next to the bed.”

Pearl stopped in mid crouch. “Would you like me to bring the orchids too?”

“No, just the tulips,” Miles said, avoiding Wright’s eyes. He felt flushed enough without further acknowledging Wright’s embarrassing behavior.

“Playing favorites, huh, Mr. Edgeworth?” Maya chirped as Pearl set the vase down.

Wright's head jerked towards Miles. Miles didn’t have to be a mind reader to understand that expression—mouth twisted into a compressed line of apprehension and doubt—either. He’d seen it yesterday in the trembling of Wright’s hand as the reporter had burst into the room.

What did you tell her? his expression asked.

“On the contrary,” he said, tartly. His hands felt cold. “Choosing something neutral is the antithesis of favoritism, wouldn’t you say?”

Wright got the message. His expression melted into something more contrite—and unhappy.

“I’m sorry if all that stuff earlier about your harem made you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to pry,” Maya said, ducking her head in apology. Even her hair bun seemed to wilt slightly.

“No,” Miles sighed. “You have nothing to feel guilty about.”

“What’s this about a harem?” Wright said, displaying his instinct to unerringly latch on to both the most trivial and awkward part of any given conversation—or testimony.

“I was teasing Mr. Edgeworth earlier, about his flowers,” Maya explained. “Pearly and I noticed most of them were from women and we kind of ran with it…”

“Oh, I see.” Wright looked like he’d swallowed something with a faintly bitter aftertaste at the thought of discussing Miles’s (fictional) love life. Miles’s hands twisted a little harder against the bed sheets. Do you even know what you want, Wright?

Maya twitched under the oppressive silence, kicking her legs forward. Pearl, for her part, fled back to the relative sanctuary of Miles’s flowers under the pretense of organizing the arrangements. Every so often she turned towards Wright and Maya, worrying the tip of her thumb against her lips.

“Are things going better at work?” Maya said, leaning forward past Wright once scuffing her sandals against tile lost its minimal appeal. “Um, non-romantically speaking, I mean!”

“Somewhat,” Miles evaded. “It was a relief when Ms. Skye informed me that my cases had been redistributed.”

“Lana came to visit you? But I thought…” Maya said. Wright turned towards his assistant with an unreadable look.

“No, her sister. Early this morning—very early,” Miles sighed. “I’m sure she or Detective Gumshoe will keep me appraised.”

“I guess that’s better than ten or fifteen people,” Wright mumbled.

“What do you mean, Nick?”

“Since I fell ill so suddenly, I accepted updates and reports from here yesterday,” Miles explained when Wright failed to answer. He looked morose.

Maya laughed. “I’ve heard of people taking work home, but I think this is the first I’ve ever heard of taking it to the hospital!” Then, turning to Wright: “You were here, Nick? That must have been a pretty funny to watch...”

“It was exhausting,” Wright said. He stared at the IV tube to where it snaked underneath the blankets before he raised his eyes to Miles’s face.

“And you didn’t even have to do any of it,” Miles shot back.

“Look, all I’m saying is that you need to take it easy. We don’t want you to have to stay any longer than you have to,” Wright said. His expression twisted into something too close to pity for Miles’s comfort.

“I’m not sure I could take it any easier than I already am,” Miles said. “Unless you want me comatose.”

Miles waited for a response, but Wright’s gaze fell towards the floor, eyes taking on a glassy look that signified a retreat into his own thoughts.

He’s taking this hospital stay harder than I am. It should have made Miles feel a measure of concern or guilt, but he found himself shoving down a bitter mixture of irritation and anger instead. Maybe I should ask the doctors to hook him up to the machines and allow me to go home, if he’s so obsessed with making my discomfort his own.

“So, um…hey, Mr. Edgeworth,” Maya interjected. Edgeworth turned his attention on her. She glanced at Phoenix uneasily, fingers worrying against the cuff of her robes in short, distracted motions, before continuing, louder. “Are you going to have a scar once you’re all healed up?”

“Yes, I will,” he replied. He looked down towards his abdomen reflexively, thankful for the change in subject.

“That’s so cool!” she exclaimed. She sounded a little too exuberant to be entirely natural, but the look on her face left little doubt that she honestly did think highly of scars for some reason.

Wright lifted his head. Apparently he echoed Miles’s similarly confused sentiments; the look on his face mirrored his disbelief just as strongly as if he’d said it out loud.

“I don’t really see--” he began. Maya turned towards him, cutting him off.

“It’s manly, Nick!” she said, aghast at his inability to comprehend the intrinsic masculine quality of a two inch cut on the side of someone’s stomach. “The only place that would be cooler is his face…”

“I’m sure Edgeworth will keep that in mind the next time he chooses which body part he’d like to be hospitalized over,” Wright replied.

She lapsed back into hurt silence, and Miles came to the uncomfortable realization that he nearly preferred it when Wright was downstairs.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Edgeworth. I was just thinking that there had to be something positive to all of this…”

How many times is she going to have to apologize today? The count was already too high, in his estimation.

“I’ll shed a few excess pounds, at least,” he said, attempting to lighten his voice and the mood. “And it’s been a while since I’ve had the luxury of sleeping in.”

“Just be glad you don’t work with Nick,” Maya said, motioning towards Wright. “Sleeping in is practically mandatory for him!”

Her smile wavered when neither man responded.

“Hey, you and Pearl were saying something about being hungry on the way, weren’t you?” Wright said after a pregnant pause. He pulled out his wallet automatically. “Why don’t you two go get something?”

“M-Mr. Nick, I’m fine!” Pearl said from where she stood across the room, a ribbon from one of the vases tightly entwined between her fingers as she regarded the scene playing out in front of her. “But, if you’d like to take Mystic Maya out to lunch, I’d be happy to keep Mr. Edgeworth company!”

Maya stood up slowly, as though her robes had suddenly turned to lead. She took a deep breath. “No, I’d rather go with you, Pearly!”

She plucked the wallet out of Wright’s hand, and pulled out two twenties, before sticking out her tongue at him.

“With the mood he’s in, Nick would just complain about whatever I got to eat,” she exclaimed. Then, deeper: “That’s too expensive. You don’t need two desserts. No, you can’t have a bite of mine! It’s like eating out with a mother.”

“Maya…” Wright’s voice came out strangled.

“Of course, on the other hand,” she continued, tapping her index finger against her chin in mock concentration. “I’m not sure leaving him with poor Mr. Edgeworth is the best thing either…” She motioned towards Miles: “Do you want us to take him off your hands for you?”

“I think I can manage,” Miles said. I’m sorry.

‘Don’t worry; I’m used to it,’ her grin seemed to say in return. Somehow that made him feel even worse.

“We’ll bring something back for you, Nick,” she said over her shoulder as she stuck out her hand towards Pearl. Pearl took it, and with one last glance behind on Pearl’s half and a quick ‘be back soon!’ on Maya’s, they were gone.



“We need to talk,” Wright said as soon as the door swung to a close.

“Am I really the one you should be talking to?” Miles asked, glancing at closed door pointedly.

“I…” Wright began, running his fingers through his hair distractedly.

“I don’t want to tell you what to do, but if this situation is going to have such a negative impact on your relationship with her, I’d rather just--”

“I was going to tell them,” Wright whispered; Miles had to strain to hear him over the humming of machinery. “And then I heard Maya’s voice, and it was like…”

Miles waited.

“I told myself I’d tell her in person, when they got here, but…” he trailed off again, hands clenching where they rested on his knees.

“I understand. This probably wasn’t the most opportune of times to broach the subject,” Miles sighed. Even though he was only peripherally involved in the girls’ lives through Wright, something icy briefly pressed against his throat when he considered how different their cheerful greeting this morning could have been.

Wright looked up. “It’s been really bothering you, huh?”

How can I even begin answer that? Miles thought.

“It’s not really a matter of ‘bothering’,” Miles said. “More that…it’s none of my business.”

Wright opened his mouth, but Miles continued before he could voice any objections.

“Maya Fey isn’t my assistant, and I can count the times I’ve met Pearl Fey on one hand,” Miles said. “Yes, I owe Maya more than I can ever repay. I’m very fond of her.”

He took a deep breath.

“But that has nothing to do with the fact that you’re a better judge of them than I am. I don’t want to…” He paused, searching for the correct words. “…pressure you.”

“You’re not pressuring me,” Wright said, an undercurrent of disbelief threading through his words.

“I don't want you to feel like you have to do anything,” Miles continued. “Whether it's about Maya knowing, or...”

“Or?”

“Anything else.” He felt unaccountably heavy. This was something nameless, but not unexpected. Something he’d been waiting for since the evening Wright had pressed his lips to his of his own accord; since the night he’d looked up at Wright through the driver-side window of his car and heard the words ‘so it’s a date’.

“I don’t think I like where this is going…” Wright mumbled lowly, exasperated. Then: “It’s a little late to still be thinking these lines, don’t you think? I already told you I'm here because I want to be.”

Yes, that’s what you said, but…

“...you don't seriously think that, do you? That you're guilting or forcing me into this?” Wright sounded terse, as though he was struggling to keep his words at the proper level of pressure.

“That's not exactly what I meant,” Miles said, choosing his words carefully. This situation was becoming more volatile than he liked, and the last thing he wanted was to end up in an argument that would have Wright storming out of the hospital.

“So, what do you mean?”

Miles sighed. There was no avoiding it at this point. “I know that all this isn’t what you would choose for yourself.”

Wright shook his head. “I still don’t understand what you’re...”

“You make…strange decisions when I’m involved. Like…” Miles eyes locked on Wright’s badge, resting benignly as always against the defense attorney’s lapel.

“You mean this?” Wright followed his line of sight. “Come on, Edgeworth, now you’re just being--”

“You told me a long time ago you would have never become a lawyer if it wasn’t for me.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

Miles wasn’t so sure about that. Those words, spoken in the aftermath of the Engarde trial, had a hint of the accusatory behind them, a lingering remnant from Wright’s earlier anger. Even now, the pressure of what Wright had sacrificed for him was enormous. Every time he thought about it it, he felt his tongue dry in his mouth, like wringing water from a sponge. It was a looming debt he could never repay.

“Don’t you ever wonder what would have happened if you became the stage actor you were studying to be?” Miles asked.

“Sometimes, but I think that’s normal,” Wright replied.

It's not normal. What you did isn't normal. Miles took a deep breath: “I don’t want you to have regrets because you feel some bizarre obligation to look out for my happiness at the expense of your own.”

Wright’s mouth dropped. For a moment, Miles hoped that he’d been stunned into speechlessness, that an argument could be avoided all together.

“Why don’t you ever listen to what I’m saying?!” Wright’s voice started quiet, then grew louder, boiling thick and hot.

Instinctively, Miles felt his tone and pitch rise to match. “Because you don’t make any sense!”

“Name me one time I’ve ever said—or even implied—I regretted choosing law—” Miles stared at Wright’s hands clenched around the railings of the bed. “—or you!”

“You don’t have to say anything. It’d be unnatural if you didn’t have any misgivings over the things you’ve done,” Miles said, modulating his tone back to professional with extreme effort. He thought of that look on Wright’s face when Maya had teased Miles about playing favorites, terrified and accusatory. You’re not even aware of it.

“I knew I wasn’t going to like this discussion…”

“You were the one that wanted clarification.” I didn’t want to talk about this either. I was hoping I’d never have to. How foolish of me…

“What can I do to make you understand?” Wright’s tone was defeated. He all but slumped back in his chair. “No matter what I do, it’s never enough, is it?”

“It’s not a matter of ‘doing’ something, Wright. If anything, you do too much.” Dimly, as the words spilled from his mouth too fast for him to filter, he wondered if this hadn't been how Lana felt that afternoon, months ago. “You rush in regardless of the circumstances. You don’t see a line between duty and choice. How can anyone be sure you do anything by volition instead of your compulsion to save people from--”

“I love you.”

Everything stopped.

Miles blinked away sunlight that was suddenly too bright, took a deep breath to calm a heartbeat that was suddenly too loud. Every atom of his focus turned towards Wright—the way Wright’s Adam’s apple bobbed in a nervous gulp when the other man's brain caught up with his mouth and informed him exactly what he had said; the way his pupils dilated slightly in thought; the way his hands trembled slightly against the steel railing of the bed.

The way the tension suddenly slipped from Wright’s spine as if it had never been there in the first place as he came to his decision.

Miles’s vision blurred.

“Edgeworth,” Wright began, then lapsed into a short silence before continuing, tentatively. “It’s true that this wasn’t my first pick in the ‘your life in thirty years’ poll. But if we all had to live our lives according to that standard, Larry would be married to the cutest girl in our kindergarten class, I’d be an astronaut, and you’d…be a defense attorney.”

“That’s a ridiculous oversimplification,” Miles managed, not very well.

“Maybe it is,” Wright admitted. Then, slowly, testing the weight of the words in his mouth: “But even though we didn’t meet under the nicest of circumstances…I don’t know what I’d do without Maya…just thinking about it is…”

He shook his head. “And, even though law wasn’t my first choice for a major, passing the bar was one of the proudest moments in my life.”

He glanced down at his badge, then tucked his hand under his lapel and thumbed across the gleaming surface.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is…I’m happy,” Wright said. “And maybe a little scared. But mostly happy.”

Miles nodded. It was the only thing he trusted himself to do.

When it felt like his throat was working again, he said, “You still owe Maya an apology.”

“You really are…” Wright shook his head, biting back laughter. “What happened to ‘I don’t know her as well as you do; I can’t tell you what to say to her, blah-blah-blah’?”

“I’d have to be an idiot not to understand that you hurt her feelings,” Miles replied.

“I know…” Wright’s smile faded. “I’ll make it up to her. And…” he took a deep breath, “I will tell her about everything that’s been going on. Probably not today, but soon. I just want it to be…I don’t want anything to go wrong…”

“I know,” Miles said. He thought back to his non-conversation with his sister a day and a half ago. Of all the ways to he’d have chosen for her to find out, that wasn’t exactly in the top ten. Not that Maya was anything like Franziska—Wright could announce his engagement to the sickly houseplant he kept sequestered in the corner of his office and she’d probably ask to help plan the wedding.

But sometimes the waiting itself is still a risk, Wright. You might not ever get your perfect chance…



“We’re back,” a voice announced. Miles looked towards the door. He saw two pairs of eyes peering through the crack, as though their owners still expected the verbal equivalent of bullets to be shooting back and forth.

I suppose neither of us were particularly subtle.

Wright followed his line of sight and sighed. The familiar mixture of exasperated affection was comforting, as was the rueful smile that followed.

“We’re not going to bite, you two,” he said, waving for both of them to come on inside.

Upon realizing that whatever had been making both of them so uncomfortable had been resolved—for the moment, at least—Maya opened the door wider and strolled in. Pearl trailed gingerly in her wake, like she was tiptoeing through a minefield.

“Here, we got you some chips!” Maya exclaimed once they reached the bed, tossing Wright a bright yellow bag. Wright took them with something less than enthusiasm, mumbling something about ‘forty dollars down the drain’.

“If you were that hungry, you should have come with us,” Maya retorted.

“Judging by this, I’m not sure there would have been enough money,” came Wright’s rejoinder as he wrestled with the bag. After a few more moments of grappling, he pulled the bag open and took a handful of crumbs.

Miles knew it wasn’t easy to eat potato chips with anything approaching grace, but Wright did a surprisingly passable job, unseemly crunching and rustling noises aside.

“So…are you ready to go?” Maya asked once he shook the last of the crumbs into his mouth.

Wright swallowed and blinked. “Go? Where?”

“To the office!” Maya took one of his hands and pulled him up out of his chair.

“Office?”

“Yeah, you know that place with your name on it? You inherited it from my sister?” Maya rolled her eyes, but her grip on his hand tightened. “You weren’t planning on bugging Mr. Edgeworth all day, were you?”

“I…”

“Mr. Nick, I thought you’d be more sensitive!” That would be Pearl Fey, rolling back her sleeves. “Mr. Edgeworth is sick! He can’t sit here entertaining guests all afternoon!”

As Wright threw up his hands and took a hesitant step back in the face of Pearl’s irritation, Maya pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ears and once again leaned down low next to Miles’s ear. Softly: “I’m sorry to come back and run like this, Mr. Edgeworth. It’s just…we’re probably going to have to go home tomorrow, and I at least wanted to…”

“I’m glad this gave you an excuse to visit,” he murmured, unsure whether she could hear him above Wright’s protests. “I imagine they’re getting more and more difficult to come by.”

He needs you. Don’t ever try to tell yourself otherwise.

She swallowed tightly. Her fingers tightened against his in a wordless ‘thank you’ before she straightened and smoothed down the front of her robe.

“Pearly is right! You can’t use a friend’s illness to get out of work, Nick,” she chided, effortlessly joining in the fray as though she never left.

Wright looked towards Miles, eyes wide in a silent plea for assistance.

“I am getting a little peaked,” Miles said instead. Maya aside, if Wright expected him to condone his slothful tendencies, he’d obviously taken leave of his senses. Without the Feys, he’d probably be living in the same apartment complex as Detective Gumshoe, and making approximately the same rate of pay. “And I’m sure you three have some catching up of your own to do.”

“All right, all right, I get it,” Wright grumbled as he was tugged towards the exit. “I’ll see you later,” he said before he left, craning his head for one last look before the door clicked shut.

Miles sighed, partially in relief, when silence descended. The room seemed several times larger without voices and bodies to fill it. He shifted to a more comfortable position, wincing slightly as the movement made his side twinge in retaliation. As long as he was braving his body’s wrath, he groped upwards to his pillow and shoved it further down to better support his head and neck.

Miles’s eyes fell closed.

He knew there were things he needed to consider: making sure the proper files made it to the prosecutors that had added his cases to their workload, a meeting with the Chief Prosecutor next week that he was still woefully unprepared for—and, of course, his discussion with Wright.

But for once, his mind was gloriously blank. There were no plans, no concerns, hovering in the dark beyond his eyelids for him to put into order before he could snatch a few hours of sleep. Duty, obligation, reality kept a respectful distance instead of jostling past the other in unending pressure.

‘I love you’ fluttered in the air.

---

Heh, I saw this on ff.net this morning and I couldn't help but grin.



*picks her jaw up off the floor*

That moment was perfect. Absolutely perfect.

I don't know what more I can say that I haven't already said in the past. Every time you two release a new chapter I fall deeper in love with this story. That phone call with Franziska took a completely different turn from what I was expecting, but it's really not a surprising development; Franziska's sharp enough to read between the lines, and she knows her brother too well. You can tell she still cares about him, despite her vocalized frustrations; you do a good job of showing that without pushing into the sentimental nonsense that she would no doubt avoid. I love that she called him at 5:00 in the morning in retribution, original caller be damned: there's something so snarky and childish about it....

Edgeworth's correspondence with Lana was enlightening. I was wondering what he was doing in Europe.... I know this is an AU after PW3, but I still secretly hope that Edgeworth's research somehow relates back to .



*heart melts*

Klavier signing his cards with hearts = Aww. Maya making something of it = XD And good Lord, Maya, a harem?! I actually laughed out loud when I saw that. Poor disillusioned and impressionable Pearls (...and poor, hapless Miles).

The entire tulip thread was great. You knew he was going to walk in with them but that didn't diminish the joke in the slightest.

The conversation involving the four of them is one of the most terse conversations I think I have ever read. I was relieved when Maya and Pearls left for lunch because the tension was becoming so uncomfortable (and I wasn't even in the room! :p ). It makes me want to throttle Nick for not just telling them, but at the same time I completely understand his reservations.



...

Nick I swear if you don't apologize to her in the next chapter I'm going to completely deplete your soul's life bar with the magatama the next time I pick up the game.

In conclusion: A+, would read again (probably will read again later today just to catch anything I missed).

---

HOLY FUCKING GOD... *faints*

*comes to 20 min. later* Seriously, that was the best chapter yet. I can't think of anything to say about that that I haven't already said about previous chapters, so instead, I shall give you a detailed account of what happened while I was reading this chapter.

After I read the first little bit of it, I burst into my sis's room at 8:30 AM (on a Saturday) saying, "Hey Soph, guess what? A new chapter of Struggling is up. And it's f**king awesome." Then I leave the room like nothing happened.

When I finally got around to reading more of it after my HW was done, I squee'd a whole bunch of times. Just as I finished the part with the Lana phone call, I got called for lunch.

Now, I've succesfully read the whole thing, and right after I finished, I burst into our living room exclaiming, "Holy f**king God, that was the best thing I've ever read!" I keep repeating the phrase "Holy f**king God" under my breath while pacing around the room, during which time my sister looks at me like I'm crazy. I'm currently trying to get her to come and read the part with the "I love you" thing. She and my father think I've said the f word far too many times in one day right now.

So, yeah, that's what happened. Hopefully this is enough to show how much I love you guys. 'Cause I love you with all my heart and then some. *glomps Mu and Raelle* Can't wait for more! No, seriously, I might actually be forced to kill myself if you don't write more soon. So get to it! Please?

Officer 1BDI: Aww, thank you for your response; they're always a joy for us to read. The "I love you" moment was actually a late addition to the chapter outline, so I'm glad it turned out all right for you. <3 And yes, Phoenix is and always will be a bit of a dope, but he's in kind of an understandably tough situation, I think...



We've definitely been having a lot of fun with Klavier. :D (We have been since the first chapter, actually...)

Clarissa Gavin: W-wow, I'm not sure what to say except that I'm really happy you liked it so much! You guys' responses make our dayyyys, seriously. And don't worry, we're still truckin' forward~

We've been planning to write this chapter from Edgeworth's POV for a while, but actually attempting it threw us both pretty badly at first. Lots of bawwwws of frustration at each other trying to get his voice down compared to Phoenix's. XD; But it's a relief to have it finally out there.

---

I've finally decided to make a comment on the story. I've been following it for what seems like forever, and it is, by far, one of my favorite Ace Attorney fan fictions. Ever. Evidence of this being that, when I just saw that the new chapter was up, I started screaming like crazy. I think I disturbed my dog, as she looked at me like I was completely insane. XD
The story is just so expertly written and well executed.

I began reading the story before I was actually a Phoenix/Edgeworth shipper- I started off extremely opposed to the pair, but it slowly grew on me, and it's now one of my favorite pairings. This story was definitely part of the driving force behind me becoming a supporter of the pairing, and I'm glad I decided to read it.

As for the new chapter- it's awesome. The "I love you" scene was pure win, and I started to tear up. I don't cry easily at all, and this is the first time I've almost cried from something that's not actually sad; the scene was very touching. I felt really bad for Phoenix throughout the final scene. Sorry for the length of the post- if I didn't cut this post short, I'd probably continue to gush on and on about how much I enjoy reading each new chapter.

I'll continue to sit here and eagerly await each chapter. ^_^

Ive always been a huge / fan since Apollo justice, but as I stated a while back, I simply ADORE this series. This is the first series in a while that made me laugh, gasp, and whine in the same chapter. I keep this topic in my FireFox shortcuts, and I feel guilty for checking this every day, haha~ <3

But this chapter was exceptionally good.
At the beggining, I was imagining everything so clearly. The part about Ema smashing a vase and Edgeworth's reaction was awesome, and I felt really bad for edgeworth when Lana called him and talked to him.
Also, when Phoenix confessed after the two lovely ladies left the room, I stopped reading and went to calm down. I went to my Myspace and the Animations on CR and sat there for about ten minutes thinking.

But anyway, to keep it front making me gush my devotion to this, this absolutely adorable and cute story is definately never to be forgotten as a PW/AJ obsessor~

Keep going, you guys =]

---

Well I've told you I've been in love with this fic for eternity, today I decided to sketch out a scene from the latest chapter. It's not done, obviously... I only started it today. But this is how far I've gotten.


I always fail at drawing Phoenix Wright characters... but oh well.. This is how I imagined it in my head.. sorry if it's not accurate. Also, Yeah, Phoenix was going to go where that big open blank wall is, but once again I haven't gotten that far yet, and I'm liking it without him right now, may change my mind later.

I VERY MUCH HOPE it's ok that I started sketching this... If not, I'm sorry... I'll delete it right away.

PS- I've been in my fair share of hospitals in the past, so I can sympathize with him right now.. Time doesn't really exist anymore inside them...



/EDIT- I updated the picture, that's how far I've gotten so far... Phoenix was added, things adjusted a lot, and starting to color and fix up lines as I go along. This.... will be a chore, but I'm having fun.

---

Last edited by PouchedRat on Sun May 11, 2008 3:39 pm, edited 1 time in total.

Kyaaaaa! That is MORE than okay, that is gorgeous! Wow! I'm not exaggerating - that's just how I pictured it, too, and I love the expression on his face. It's lovely. You are a wonderful artist. <333

Sorry, give me a second to recollect my lost mind here--just, wow, this seriously made my week, possibly my life. Thank you so much! I'd love to see it finished, but as you can see there is keyboard mashing ajfkljaslfjf going on already :D

eating with edy, darkling280, thank you for your kind words, too! It really is super heartening that people liked this chapter, since I'd say it's one of the ones we struggled hardest with so far--and hearing that we even helped someone come to like P/E made me (us, I'm sure) grin hugely too.

We love you guys~

---

Well! Somehow this chapter contained a lot of surprises. Firstly, the POV change, which is really something I never considered that you would do, but worked out amazingly well, since aside from the new advancement of the story, we're suddenly/finally getting some insight on Edgeworth and his own perspective of what's going on now, as well as the history. And getting the story from the High Prosecutor's POV is pretty sobering. Even though Phoenix realised himself, in the last chapter, that he only thinks of his happiness, NOW it seems like there's still so much more that he hasn't realised, in terms of what kind of fall-out their relationship could have. It makes me kind of worried; but then I think that well, there's no reason Edgeworth's perception is flawless either. Perhaps it's just skewed towards the negative, rather than the positive, like Phoenix's.

Lana features pretty heavily in this chapter, without even making an appearance. I'd almost forgotten about her, now she's an important character again! All the things she said about the prosecutor's office -- it's so interesting! I really wonder what's going to come of it. As everything, Ema's intense frustration with Klavier was excellent. Bringing GS4 characters into an AU helps the reality of the story, because even if certain events don't occur, those people would still exist, however unpleasant they may be. (Not that I don't like Klavier. I was wondering if you guys ship Klavier/Ema, actually -- but I'm not asking, that could spoil things.)

I'm worried about the photograph now. I just have this feeling of impending doom. I'm really looking forward to whatever happens next in that regard.

Your Maya is just awesome. I really love her and I wish she would stay around more. And by the way, I really can't blame Phoenix for not telling, because the idea of this new information being introduced to Pearl is terrifying; however you look at it, it's going to be a world-changing event for her. But then again, perhaps I'm not giving her enough credit. She is getting older, after all.

There you go. It was wonderful. I tend to get puzzled whenever I finish reading a new chapter, because with everything that's going on in the story, sometimes it seems like you would need 200 chapters to finish it. But I'm sure I'll love it, no matter how it turns out. (I hope all this praise doesn't embarrass you; I promise I won't do it EVERY time there's a new chapter.)

Oh wow, you guys. I'm...really...almost speechless. As Raelle has mentioned, this was an incredibly difficult chapter to write, so seeing that people are really enjoying it to this point is just amazingly gratifying to hear after so much sweat and tears on our part.

Officer 1BDI:
Thank you so much for your comments. Reading through your thoughts is really a highlight. One of the things both of us were nervous about was how Kalvier would come across in this chapter, since both Ema and Edgeworth are kind of dismissive of the poor guy. So hearing you enjoyed what we did with him was a relief.

Yeah, Phoenix has been really unfair to Maya, but I think he tends to take her for granted way too much. Even in the games, he often needs someone else--usually Mia--to point out her emotional state to him. I think, at this point in time, he wants to have his cake and eat it too--enjoy a romantic relationship with Edgeworth sans all the problems and judgements that might come with it.

Clarissa Gavin:
Awww, that is really, really flattering to hear! It's sort of strange for me, hearing a reaction so similar to my own when a fic I loved was being updated. It's like, "wait a minute...people think that way about our fic? Really? They like it THAT much? W-wow..."

I don't think there's a higher compliment to be paid than hearing that a reader has enjoyed something thing to that degree. I know that our updates are sort of long in coming, and our chapters are also equally long in length (I'm so sorry, Funk, Lyssie, and Julie!), so I appreciate the devotion it takes to sit down and read this fic. It's really awe-inspiring to get this sort of praise.

darkling280:
I'm beginning to sound like a broken record, but hearing that our fic helped you like P/E when you didn't before? That's also a high honor to bestow upon us!

Really, both Raelle and I have strived to make this fic enjoyable to non-P/E fans as well as fans of the couple--trying to find gthat balance between romance and the set up of the plot. I'm never really sure if any 'non-fans' are reading with that in mind, or reading at all, so hearing from you really makes my day! Even if you're the only one, hearing that we accomplished our goal with one person is an amazing feeling.

eating with edy:
Hahaha, I know that feeling! I was really unsure about the phrasing of the "I love you" scene. Both Raelle and I eventually agreed that it was important that this chapter address why Phoenix hadn't told Maya over the phone, and also have an emotional payoff of some sort. So, in that respect, I'm really happy that the scene worked as intended for you.

Also, hearing that you check this thread regularly makes me feel good! Again, I know we're slow--and that's my fault, so don't blame Raelle!--but I'd like to think we're pretty steady...

PouchedRat:
I'm completely and totally stunned by this. I LOVE the expression on Edgeworth's face, adn the layout of the room. Just everything is perfect. I'm just so...hahaha,, I can't believe someone has taken the time to draw a scene from our fic! Isn't this the sort of thing that happens to other writers?

Thank you so much. It's an honor that you would spend your time drawing something that lovely based on something we've written.

Silent:
I really owe you an apology. I always get a little bit nervous about bumping the thread after a certain amount of time has passed between chapters--it feels like begging for attention, as ridiculous as that might sound. So I really have to thank you from the bottom of my heart for both this review and the last one you gave. (And I'll try to do better about responding! I just feel so overwhelmed when I see the outpouring this thread gets, I feel like nothing I say could be enough)

I'm really, really happy that the GS4 elements are working for you. Now that the cat is out of the bag, so to speak, I can say that the fic was written with that in mind from the very beginning, and that Klavier isn't the only GS4 character that's had a--heavily disguised--cameo. As you said, just because this fic is AU doesn't mean that these characters aren't still around. I'm going to be tight lipped about anything else concerning Klavier, though, since it seems like anything else I can think of to say is a large spoiler one way or the other...


We'll continue to do our best to keep the fic as enjoyable as possible! And thank you to all of our readers for sticking with us this long. It's also gratifying to see the hit counter on this thread increase~

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Notes: NOT ANOTHER SIDE STORY. Like the others, it could probably be read as a standalone, but with this one in particular a few parts will likely make more sense in context of the main fic. It's meant to be read after Chapter Eight.



It was the first time Lana actually set foot in the village of Kurain.

She had heard plenty of stories and seen plenty of faded photographs—when Mia had shown her, she retrieved the mementos of her birthplace from a small box on the highest shelf in her dorm room. But in spite of several years of friendship, she had never found the time—and never had the feeling Mia had the inclination to encourage her—to see the place for herself.

Not that she thought she could have ever mistaken it. True to her memory of the secondhand sources, the buildings looked as though they had been transplanted here straight from ancient Japan, and the single young girl within eyesight wandering the area was clad in what Lana could only assume was a traditional ceremonial robe.

She pulled the keys from the ignition of her car and sat back, taking a moment to further absorb the sight. Witnessing the village in reality was as disorienting as merely hearing stories about it a decade ago had been. Despite the open fields that surrounded it, there was a feeling of enclosed seclusion hanging over the area. The only visible acknowledgments of the outside world were a single telephone booth and a run-down tourist's shack across from it.

Try as she might to frame Mia, whose mind was as sharp and quick-witted and even as cynical as anyone Lana knew from the city, always careful to present herself as professionally as she could, against this place, nothing seemed to make it fit.

Lana stepped out of her car, ignoring the building cramp in her legs—dwelling in the city for a lifetime didn't do much to prepare one for a drive that lasted nearly four hours, especially the rough patch near the end—and listening to the crunch of dirt beneath her shoes intermixed with the distant, but unmistakable, rush of a flowing waterfall.

The breeze that touched her face was light, but it cast the world around her through a strange new filter, free from noise and bustle.

Even the air tastes different here.

Suddenly, the span of four hours' worth of distance didn't seem enough for a place so removed from the constant roar of the life she had always known.

As she pivoted back to retrieve the bouquet of flowers lying in the passenger seat of her car, she heard a voice call out.

“Lana!”

Straightening, she turned towards the source—a young girl clad in long, dark robes rushing towards her, one hand stretched skywards as high as it could go and waving frantically. Closing in, the girl finally screeched to a stop, her sandals kicking up a small puff of dust in front of the car's headlights.

“Lana,” Maya repeated, breathless, hair beads still rattling around her. “You made it!”

“Yes,” Lana replied, smiling. “Hello.”

They met each others' eyes.

It was the first time Lana had seen Mia's little sister for herself, too. Somehow, the old images of the small girl crying over shattered pieces of pottery aligned relatively smoothly with the young woman standing before her now.

“I'm actually really relieved,” Maya said. “I was worried the directions I gave you were too confusing. I always head down to the city and back by train, so I don't know the roads very well...”

“No, they were clear enough.” That wasn't entirely truthful—after Maya had fumbled and corrected herself for the fourth time over the phone, Lana made up her mind to personally look up the information, for safety's sake. Although the majority of the trip had been composed of empty country road, it proved to be a wise decision.

“Still, I kept double-guessing myself all day...” Maya said, rapping her chin with her knuckles in mock distress. “I couldn't get my mind off it. 'Oh no, what if Lana ends up stranded in, er, Kansas or something, it'd be all my fault!' The elders kept telling me to focus and get my head screwed on straight...” Her smile turned slightly sheepish. “But never mind that, you're here! I really appreciate you taking the time. I know it's out of the way.”

“It's no problem at all,” Lana replied. “I'm happy to be here. I've been curious about this place for a long time.”

“There really isn't too much to see,” Maya laughed, extending her hand towards the dirt road. “Really, you're probably looking at at least half of all there is to look at right now.”

“I have a feeling you're selling your village short,” Lana said. “But it's not as though that's the only reason I came. I wanted to meet you at last, too.”

“Yeah,” Maya said. “Me too. For a long time.”

They both fell quiet, and despite what she said, Lana recognized, watching her, that Maya's gaze was unnaturally piercing, flickering up and down in quiet appraisal—searching for something beyond a lawyer who had once been an acquaintance of her sister's. Maya had probably caught her doing the same thing, after all.

They were both looking for traces of Mia.

At first glance, there was little resemblance. No one would mistake the sisters for each other, with the bounce in Maya's step, the sound of bells in her voice, and the youthful flush to her cheeks that belied factual knowledge of her age.

The discrepancy in clothing made it even more difficult—Maya's heavy robes, outfitted with what looked like an endless string of ceremonial beads, starkly contrasted Mia's carefully groomed suits and high heels. But as Lana continued to study, there were faint traces there—both sisters had a similar, slightly stocky build, though Maya was considerably shorter—and the curves at the corners of their eyes were very similar.

In the distance, the shrill whistle of a departing train seemed to break the spell around them. Maya broke eye contact first, folding her hands behind her back.

“I'm sorry,” she said, “I'm being rude, aren't I? I mean, you are a guest here, so I have to act a proper host! Can I get you anything? Tea, or a snack, or...”

Her eyes fell to the flowers lying prone in Lana's arms. Her voice trailed off into silence, as effectively as though a noose had been cut.

“Ha ha,” Maya said, softly. “I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm playing at.”

Her arms fell back to her sides, shoulders straightening, and for the first time she spoke with the quiet gravity of a young woman who had witnessed and survived her family's collapse around her.

“You want to see her... right?”

More than any physical resemblance, it was then that Lana felt Mia's shadow entwined within that of her younger sister's.

“Yes,” Lana said, her fingers clasping more tightly around the bouquet. “I would like that.”



When she had first heard of her friend's murder, she hadn't allowed herself to properly grieve. There was too much then, having to keep her jaw set and voice cold and anguish suppressed as she executed Damon Gant's orders. It had just seemed like one more sin amongst countless sins to feel guilt for during the darkest period of her life.

The news had broken on the job. She was looking into the documents of some important case in the records room, micromanaging and correcting pithy errors, but primarily rearranging the documents that were deemed necessary to be rearranged by will of the chief.

The details of that specific case had long been lost to her, but she remembered hearing. There hadn't any calls—only a faded television as she walked out, manila folders tucked under her arm and miserable job completed—and then her head jerked up at the sound of a news anchor speaking and she knew, alongside everyone else who cared to know, with all the familiarity and warmth of a stranger, that Mia Fey had been killed in her own office.

The folders had threatened to slip briefly from her hands before she regained her composure and quickly left the area. The world bent surreally before her, just for an instant, leaving her mind blank—but to the outside world, she was sure, nothing appeared different about the Chief Prosecutor's icy demeanor.

But she dreamt that night. Finally, she dreamt of something besides breaking into a darkened room with a storm raging outside and her heart pounding and vision blurring at the sight of her sister crumpled into an unconscious heap on the ground. Most of the other dreams she'd ever had, beyond that single nightmare, had faded long ago.

It was a mixed blessing. Or rather, it was strange and horrible, waking up more peaceful than she had in what felt like an eternity in the wake of her friend's death—grateful, more than anything else, for the lingering ghosts of fond college memories filled with laughter and exchanged notes and family photographs.

But maybe—in spite of what had happened and what she had become—maybe Mia would have been happy to have granted her that one night of reprieve.

She had been different back then, carrying determination tempered with faith instead of resignation. She and Ema might have lost their parents, but they were still alive and they still had each other, and with her enrollment into university, even as their time with each other dwindled due to classes and intensive studies, it seemed certain at last that they had secured a future—together.

Ema had been eight years old, running in circles around the apartment with a magnifying glass and an empty spray can, chattering excitedly about finding traces of the bad criminals for Big Sis to put away once and for all in the courtroom. They would always be together, the Skye sisters, an unstoppable team, a beacon of shining justice in a city full of rotten criminals.

There had been many smiles back in those days. They were living life to the tune of a melody, orchestrated for a tomorrow where she and Ema would be able to work and make things better—make some kind of difference in the world.

Mia had laughed when Lana shared those stories with her. Up against the formidable Skye coalition, she said, she wasn't sure that a simple defense attorney like her would have any prayer of fighting back.

Those had been good times, with every step and breath charged with the assurance of the future. When she had accepted her diploma, Mia at her side and Ema watching from the stands, it had seemed absurd to even conceive of anything beyond the promise of an endless procession of halcyon days.



The world had changed since then. Or rather, Damon Gant and SL-9 had swept into her life and changed her—beyond recognition, she believed, for a long, long time. And then just as quickly, with the intervention of Miles Edgeworth and Phoenix Wright, both specters had withdrawn from her life, leaving her surrounded by the barren walls and vast, unshakable stillness of the prison house.

It was for the best. She'd found that she could still smile and her face would not break, but the prospect of breathing and walking and living in the face of what she had done and the thousand justified grudges that came with it seemed suffocating, intolerable. She wasn't sure if she would ever be able to look Jake Marshall in the eye again. She wasn't sure that Angel Starr, her old friend and associate, would ever stop hating her. And she wasn't sure that she could blame them for it.

But that didn't mean she was content to sit by in complete idleness—she had kept up with the news and kept up with some of her contacts. There had been phone calls with Ema at least once every week. Those, and her attempts to come to terms with two years lost and two years' worth of victims felt like a more tangible timekeeper than the rising and setting of the sun just beyond her window.

Yes, the world had changed.

And Mia was gone.

When the door to her cell was unlocked and she was granted her freedom, they told her it had been two years. It felt like far less. She tucked her hair behind her ear and glanced into the mirror—her face looked the same. Younger, even, compared to her memories of living in a world overpowered by the oppressive grey cast by Damon Gant.

After exiting the building and taking a moment to breathe in fresh air and wonder at the expanse of blank sky above, her first true act of freedom was calling her sister. Ema answered instantly. She had known what day this was.

“I can't wait to see you again,” she said. She was crying. “I've missed you so much. Are you okay? Do you need anything? If there's anything I can help you with...”

It hit Lana then, with a damp, muted sort of shock, that her young sister's voice sounded different, older, almost unfamiliarly so—rather than that of a young girl, she spoke with the more mature cast of a young woman working towards a career. In the grind of passing days lived in confinement, the transition had been gradual, and thus went largely unnoticed—but now the discrepancy seemed the most obvious thing in the world.

Ema had been living on her own for a long time, continuously growing, beyond her reach. Perhaps her appearance was different than how Lana remembered, too. Maybe she had finally grown into the lanky teenage frame that had so frustrated her when she was still under Lana's care. Maybe she had finally given in, after years of squealing and haughty resistance, and taught herself to apply makeup and perfume. Maybe she had learned to dress in something besides ratty lab coats. Maybe she had become old enough to fall in love with someone.

As Ema continued talking—about flight schedules, about school, about careers, about the future—mostly her own future—a bittersweet tightness formed in Lana's throat.

She'd spent two years trying to come to terms with a present that had already faded into past by the time she was released.

“I'll come in to see you as soon as I can!” Ema declared, oblivious in her happiness. “As soon as tests are done. One way or another... but don't worry, just focus on getting settled back in, okay? Just let me know how you're doing, Sis... I'm here for you.”

By the time Ema said goodbye, in order to return to her studies, Lana was on her way back to her old apartment complex and drying her eyes with the loose end of her muffler.

And then the rest of the calls began to pour in. People she hadn't heard from in months, years, almost all ceremonial in nature—expressing relief at her freedom and sympathy for what she had been through. Echoes, mostly, of the same sentiments she had heard from them all when the truth behind SL-9 had been exposed.

She kept them as cordial and brief as possible. Her head was still swimming—it was almost funny, she thought, that the first thing she found herself wanting to do after being locked in a cell for two years was to re-lock herself in her own room, away from the prying questions and concern from colleagues that seemed separated from her by an era.

She never quite made it through the doors of the apartment building. It came within viewing distance—she saw that the bricks were more faded than she remembered, and the sign had was different, signaling a change in ownership since she had been here last—and she turned the phone off and turned directions on a sudden, but commanding impulse.

There was a modest hotel one block away. She went in to request a room for the night, maybe two, maybe more. The receptionist could not quite hide her stare as Lana signed the papers, clearly recognizing the criminal she had seen on television.

As soon as she had finished filling out the last signature, she wordlessly made her way up to the room and sat on the bed without bothering to turn on the lights. She had so carefully considered her atonement and her plans while confined in the prison. It had been easy then.

Everything seemed easy, she thought, when considering them from so far a distance. Without having to be confronted with the real thing. It had been like that before she went to prison, and it would be like that afterwards—it had been like that even before SL-9, back in her college days. She should have seen it coming. Perhaps, even after everything, she still retained some old, silly remnant of naiveté.

Mia would have laughed.

When that struck her, out of nowhere, she found herself holding back a bubble of soft laughter. It was funny.

Keeping that in mind quelled the disorientation, just a little bit—and it was easier to fall asleep after that. The next morning she would plan in earnest.



Eventually she did manage to secure an apartment for herself—quietly, ducking any stray journalists who thought it might be interesting to do a follow-up on the story of the disgraced Chief Prosecutor now that her sentence had been fulfilled. It was about a month after that that she had received the call.

Lana remembered that she half considered simply not answering—but as the fourth ring wore on, sat up from where she had been reading and, with some resignation, picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Pardon my intrusion,” came the thick voice over the line. “This would be former Chief Prosecutor Lana Skye, would it not?”

She bit back a sigh. She shouldn't have bothered answering after all. “Yes...”

“Marvin Grossberg,” he introduced himself. “Mia's former employer.”

Lana blinked.

“It's an honor, sir.”

“Not at all, my dear,” he said, amicably enough. “I've heard plenty of you from Mia over the years. Enough that it almost feels as though I know you personally.”

Lana swallowed. It was hard to say whether more of her unease stemmed from the skepticism of the moment or the dull ache that accompanied confirmation that Mia had kept speaking of her even after they had, for the most part, parted ways.

“But I digress...” Grossberg said, sensing her discomfort and clearing his throat. “It's good to hear that you're finally out of that miserable place. It must have been a difficult time for you.”

“No,” she said. “Truth be told, I felt more liberated than I had in a long time.”

“Yes, I suppose I can understand what you mean. You were put through a terrible ordeal—the likes of which most of us are hard-pressed to even imagine.” He paused briefly, then went on, grating sympathy becoming even further pronounced: “I imagine your position at the Prosecutor's Office is lost.”

“Of course.”

“That is a shame,” Grossberg said heavily. “A true shame. Mia spoke very highly of you and your talents. I'm aware we've not had much of a chance to meet, but I did notice you carried a spark in you similar to the one I saw in her, so long ago...”

She knew that he meant well, but it was one of the last things she ever wanted to hear again.

“I appreciate the concern, Mr. Grossberg,” Lana said, politely, “but please don't be troubled. What happened is the natural consequence of my own actions.”

“Perhaps, perhaps,” he rumbled. “What do you plan to do from here on out, my dear?”

She hesitated briefly. This was information she had declined to share with any reporter, or indeed, anyone outside of Ema and briefly to Miles Edgeworth. “I was hoping to re-enter the field somehow,” she admitted. “Not as a prosecutor, obviously, but I'm sure there's somehow I can make myself useful again—repay my debt to society in a substantial manner.”

“Yes...” Grossberg huffed. “Yes, I'm glad to hear you say that. As a matter of fact, that's what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“I'm sorry?”

“You are right. If you want back into the courtroom and in the field of criminal law, there are other options available.”

“Meaning...?”

“A switch to the other side of the bench. It's happening more and more, you know. Even my own Diego Armando pulled it off—right under my mustache, I might add! If Diego found it in him to make the jump, surely there's something available for you.”

Lana said nothing for few seconds, but a million different thoughts vied desperately for her attention within that space of time. She spoke cautiously.

“Is that an offer, Mr. Grossberg?”

“Well... to be frank, I doubt I could take you on myself,” Grossberg admitted, sounding genuinely apologetic. “Funny I should mention Diego, but that whole kerfluffle's brought a bit of unwelcome scrutiny to my own offices—but nevermind that, my dear. I do have a few friends in the right places I'm willing to contact. It's not right that your career was cut short the way it was.”

Lana relaxed fractionally. Of course. No guarantees.

But still. The option honestly hadn't occurred to her. A defense attorney?

True, it would mean working from the opposite side of the bench as Ema—but she had learned in the follow-up from SL-9 it was possible that a thread of cooperation from both sides could accomplish more than a host of detectives and a single prosecutor on one. A defense attorney—saving innocents directly rather than protecting them by punishing criminals. Learning to believe in people by trade rather than doubt them.

What Mia had done.

“Thank you,” she said, slowly. “I'll consider it.”

“Think nothing of it,” Grossberg declared. “I'll arrange the pertinent meetings as soon as I can. It's the least I can do for one of Mia's closest friends.”

Even now, she found herself thinking, after hanging up the phone, even now it was as though Mia was still there to push her forward to find her way in a world that, for a moment, she had believed was content to move on without her.



And that was how she ended up at this place.

The office that extended the offer was a modest one—not quite a big name in the field, but a respectable enough one. It was a undeniably step down from the rank of Chief Prosecutor, but here in the cramped cubicle, surrounded by an endless sea of paperwork and ringing phones, where it often felt like she was playing secretary far more than defense attorney, she found she could breathe easier than in all the years locked in Gant's office.

And it really wasn't a bad feeling, she thought, being able to play a part in saving people.

She was organizing her papers and fending off haughty questions from an equally haughty assistant when the phone began to ring. Being occupied, she didn't bothered to check caller ID before answering, and frowned upon hearing an unfamiliar girl's voice filter through.

“Um, hello. Is this Lana Skye?”

“Yes, it is. Can I help you with something?”

“Oh, good!” the unknown girl exclaimed. Lana's frown deepened; it didn't sound like someone desperate enough to ask for her services or calculating enough to hail from the press. “I was worried that I might have gotten it wrong, or maybe Nick wrote it down wrong—he's done that before and it was a pretty embarrassing hassle, so...”

Nick? Perhaps she had just dialed the wrong number.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Oh! S-sorry!” The apology came out as more a squeak than a spoken word. “I guess I'm a little flustered. You see, I'm calling about... um, how do I put this?” The girl sucked in her breath, and then said all at once: “I'm Maya Fey, Mia Fey's little sister.”

Lana nearly dropped the pen that she was holding.

It was strange how life tended to hit one with these things without warning, out of nowhere. A phone call bursting onto the scene, as she had treaded the halls with arms overflowing with paperwork, informing her that a serial killer was on the loose in the same building that held her sister. A phone call, as she was shredding files and listening to the ticking of the second hand of the clock, informing her that there was a corpse left in the back of Miles Edgeworth's car.

And now.

“One second, Maya,” she murmured. She placed one hand over the receiver and looked up at the assistant, who was clearing his throat in obvious impatience.

“Alex, excuse me for a second. I need to take this call.”

Upon seeing her lifting her head, his mouth already opened to begin reciting the data of another report. His jaw set with the force of a capital offense when she interrupted him.

“With due respect, Prosecutor Skye, these papers need to be dealt with.”

“I know,” she said, keeping her voice level. “I'll get to them shortly.”

His stare became petulant. “We're not taking any new clients right now, you're aware.”

“I know. I'll only be a minute, Alex. Please.”

His lips pursed together in stormy disapproval, but he seemed to understand that he wasn't going to convince her. Making sure that she heard his indignant sigh as he turned, he dropped the paper unceremoniously back onto the desk and disappeared through the door. As it slammed behind him, she could hear him muttering something under his breath about professionalism—or rather the lack thereof.

Lana shook her head as she watched him leave, with equal parts exasperation and something—not quite fondness, but close to it.

He'd had a bad temperament about him for as long as Lana had known him—an oddly appropriate match with his uneven cut of dark red hair—but he had talent, and passion on top of that. If he could learn to keep his temper in check, she thought, he would probably go far. There were a lot of young people like that who had recently been appearing on the scene, freshly graduated and eager to make names for themselves. The incoming wave of a new generation.

It was a wistful thought, but a comforting one at the same time. To see that the world really was capable of picking up the pieces left behind by she and her ilk and moving on.

But it wasn't until after she had surprised the firm by agreeing to take him on as her assistant in court that she realized that what had really drawn her to him, despite his sour countenance, was recognition of that particular spark of youthful energy. That grimace. The fire blazing around someone who would stop at nothing to achieve their goals. It was an echo of a time that was lost to her now, when things had been easier—no, not easier, exactly. But simpler for sure.

She had seen it in someone else, long ago.



The college lecture hall held something like five hundred students. Awash amongst a sea of innumerable faces but still driven by the high from earning the scholarships that allowed her to attend university in the first place, Lana had been determined to distinguish herself from the masses. It was easy to pick out those who had coasted here on virtue of their parents' money, but she was different—succeeding here meant nothing less than ensuring her future. It meant ensuring Ema's future. The alternative was unthinkable.

So she took care to pay painstaking attention to detail, making sure her professors knew how eager she was to grasp what they lessons they had to offer—not just through regular attendance and constant questions, but through volunteer work, through extracurricular activity and through perfect test scores and painstakingly accurate reports that came back with glowing words of praise emblazoned next to her name.

Her confidence had built.

It was a good thing, in retrospect, because she couldn't imagine meeting the force that was Mia, much less befriending her, if she had been lacking in self-assurance.

The site of their first encounter was one office visit of many—Lana made a point to find whatever reason she could to build connections amongst the faculty, whether to secure her performance in an upcoming exam or simply to hear more stories of their personal experiences in the field. That time, she had been seeking revision for a paper on some legal technicality. Her face was turned downwards towards the pages, still trying to identify typos at the last minute, as her fingers curled around the bronze doorknob.

Her head rose as she picked up the sound of voices on the other side. That wasn't unusual—in a classroom that held so many students, it wasn't unusual to find her appointments undercut by more spontaneous visits from her classmates.

But this was different. It sounded like an argument—a particularly heated one. Lana picked up the sound of her professor's voice, old and dusty, beyond the door, along with that of an unfamiliar female. She stopped outside the door, wondering if she should just leave and try again for another time—but I did have an appointment arranged...

She pushed the door open in increments, first a crack, then enough to slip a foot into, then the entire way, so that the knob collided briefly with the side wall. The other student, standing with both hands flattened against the professor's desk, turned her head at the sound of intrusion.

Lana saw her own profile darkened against the drapes of the office window. For a split second, it felt as though the world had turned upside down, and she wondered if she hadn't somehow stepped through the doorway into a bizarre sort of fun house, filled with mirrors.

Then she forced herself back into the land of reason and recognized it was simply another student, her age, who bore a striking but ultimately superficial resemblance to her. Staring for a moment longer before recalling her manners, Lana could not recall a time when she had seemed a single step away from engaging in frustrated violence, much less let the sentiment write itself so openly all over her face.

“Miss Skye,” the professor called from behind the desk. The tone of his voice suggested that he had just been thrown a lifeline. “On time as usual.”

The other student straightened, face flushed, visibly attempting to recompose herself.

“Excuse me, then. We'll continue some other time?”

“If you like, Ms. Fey, but as I said, there's little I can do if he doesn't wish to speak to you.”

Lana stared after her until the sound of the door slamming behind her pushed her briefly back into reality. Trying to remember why she had come here, she turned back to the professor, uncertain if it was appropriate to express her curiosity. He shook his head, sighing.

“Honestly,” the professor mumbled as he gestured for Lana to sit across from him, “Sometimes I just don't know what to make of the passion you young people have. You could all do to be a little less stubborn.”

Lana barely heard him beyond registering the implied dismissal. Her mind was still on the young woman named Fey and the lines of hardened resolve engraved along her mouth as she had turned and left. It was a strange, striking kind of steely fire that she didn't think she had ever glimpsed before—not in anyone else and certainly not in herself.

After that, no matter where she went, Lana detected Mia, or at least traces of her presence, everywhere—as though a blindfold had been forcibly removed from her eyes. She often caught her walking through the hallways in confident strides, many times exiting the professor's office when she arrived, or arriving just as she exited, the same determined expression on her face. And in the minutes before class began, it was often Lana in one corner and Mia in the other, both of them occupied in reviewing notes, before the rest of the waves of bodies began to pile in. And she heard people talking, students and professors alike, about the irrepressible first year who looked set on becoming a lawyer at any cost.

Lana continued to wonder.

She never took the initiative to approach Mia on those days when they were alone together in class, but it was something like five office visits later—about three weeks—that introductions were forced upon her regardless. It carried the unmistakable feeling of inevitability about it.

The professor was late when she entered, but sitting with gaze fixed rigidly in front of her in the chair before his desk was the unmistakably form of Mia Fey, long dark hair draped over the back, intermingled with the length of her beige muffler.

Lana stood awkwardly for a moment, beyond the other woman's detection, before speaking.

“He's not here?” she asked. Her face flushed immediately after the words escaped from her mouth—that much was obvious.

It didn't seem to bother Mia. Her head turned upwards, looking back towards Lana, and a frown ghosted her expression, before settling back into neutrality. She nodded. “I've been waiting here for about...” She checked her watch. “Fifteen minutes now.” She eyed her. “Sorry. Is what you need to talk to him about important?”

“Well...” Lana began. Was it important? Compared to the stony expression on her classmate's face, she suddenly wasn't so sure. “To me, it is. I wanted to ask for help researching something for my term paper.”

“That sounds like it'd be pretty important, no matter who it is.” Mia paused. “He might be avoiding me. My apologies.”

“I'm sure that's not the case,” Lana said. “And even if it was, that's no way for a professor to act.”

Mia laughed. Lana blinked at first, then felt herself relaxing, a smile teasing at the corners of her mouth of its own volition.

“I think it, you say it,” Mia said, her own lips quirking upwards at the corners. “That's handy. He might listen to me if it's coming out of someone else's mouth.”

Lana couldn't think of anything to say to that. She settled in the plainer chair at the side of the room, close to the bookshelf.

“You're Mia, aren't you?” she asked. “Mia Fey?”

“That's right,” Mia answered. “And you're...”

“Lana Skye.”

“That's a good name,” she remarked. “Easy enough to remember. And it suits you.”

It seemed intended as a compliment. The room fell back into a quiet—a quiet that seemed to strike Mia as comfortable, as she was clearly occupied by thoughts that had nothing to do with Lana. Lana, for her part, watching her, found the old ember of curiosity that had ignited when she had first caught the tail end of her argument with the professor begin to flicker actively again.

“A lot of people talk about you...” she began.

“Oh, really?” Mia raised an amused eyebrow.

“No, no,” Lana said quickly, momentarily flustered. “Not in a bad way. You just make an impression.”

“I've heard of you before, too, actually,” Mia said. “Though I was never any good at remembering names. But I've heard of you. It's hard not to. You're the top student in the class.”

“The way I hear others telling it, that's you, actually.”

“The way I hear others telling it,” Mia said, “I practically had a doppelganger in there with me the past three months and never noticed it, so we might as well split the title between us.”

Lana smiled.

“So if you don't mind my asking,” she said, “what is it you keep coming here for? I've seen you talking to the professor before. It sounds like you're dealing with something urgent...”

“Urgent?” Mia echoed. “Probably not from his perspective. But it is sort of personal.”

“You don't have to tell me,” Lana said. “I'm sorry. I know it's none of my business.”

Mia studied her for a long moment, and Lana shifted briefly with the prickling unease that came with suddenly becoming an object of intense scrutiny. Finally, Mia seemed to judge her trustworthy, and spoke.

“There's a man—a lawyer—I've been trying to get into contact with,” she said. “The problem is, he'd rather not talk to me if he can help it. So I've been trying to use the resources here to get closer to him, but it's an uphill battle.”

“What's his name?” Lana wondered, intrigued. “Maybe I've heard of him.”

“Marvin Grossberg.”

Yes—that name was familiar. He was perhaps the head of what was perhaps the top defense firm in the area with a long history. They had read some of his essays in class. The sheer of volume work was impressive enough that Lana had heard him cited more than once as the most impressive defense attorney in the region until Gregory Edgeworth had appeared on the scene.

But that was all she had, and it was nothing that any student couldn't find out with five minutes of quick research.

“Why do you want to talk to him?”

Mia gave a dry laugh. “I don't think you'd believe me if I told you.”

Lana opened her mouth to reply, but she was cut short by the sound of a door opening and weary, plodding footsteps. She straightened her shoulders back to attention and saw Mia mirroring the action from the corner of her eye.

“Ms. Fey,” he said, not bothering to keep a note of exasperation from his voice. “I apologize, but I do have an appointment scheduled with Ms. Skye about scholastic matters, but I'm afraid...”

“It's all right,” Lana broke in. “I won't take long. She can talk to you as soon as I'm done, right?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she detected Mia flashing an appreciative grin—so fast that she almost missed it, and she was certain that the professor had.

Once their respective business was taken care of—Lana had a part of the previous day's lecture clarified and Mia had a strained reassurance that everything reasonable was being done on her behalf—they continued talking as they made their way back to the dormitories, where Mia lived. And Lana couldn't shake the feeling that, although they had just properly met in the past half hour, there was a comfortable, worn sense that came with speaking with Mia Fey that made her feel as though she had been there for years, a lifetime—mysteries and all.



With Alex and old memories successfully dismissed for the moment, Lana turned her attention back onto the phone.

“Maya? Thank you for waiting.”

“Oh, no!” Maya answered quickly. “Don't worry about it! I'm just glad I managed to reach you... ha ha, my hands were practically shaking when I was trying to dial...”

Lana leaned back, recalling experience with equally skittish interns and fresh employees.

“I've heard so much about you.”

“You, too!” Maya exclaimed. “I can't believe Nick didn't tell me sooner that he met you, let alone defended you!”

“Nick?”

“Oh! Phoenix, I mean. Phoenix Wright. We call him Nick. I mean, I do.”

Lana smiled. Mia had been funny about names as well—not seeming to hold any particular shame at approximating when her memory failed to accurately match them with someone's face.

“But seriously, that jerk...” Maya chided, in spite of his absence. There was wry laughter contained beneath her words. She sounded a little more at ease. “It really hit me like a truck when he mentioned it and I remembered hearing about you before, but I'm sure you know how he is...”

“He does strike me as a little oblivious,” Lana admitted. “But well-meaning.”

Maya chuckled. “Yep, that's Nick, all right. Well, like I said, I'm just glad I managed to get a hold of you now! Better late than never.”

“Absolutely. I'm glad to hear from you.”

“Yeah, you too!” Maya paused. “So, um... well...”

“Yes?”

“I... um... well, I feel sort of dumb,” Maya admitted. “Now that I've called, I can't seem to think of anything to actually say...”

“Well, that's--” Lana began. Natural, was her intention.

“No, give me a second, I'll think of something!” Maya protested. “I'm not as airheaded as that. Okay,” with a deep breath, “So... you were Chief Prosecutor, right, Lana? That's really amazing! You know, for being Mia's sister, I really didn't have any clue what was going on with the district or any of that stuff...”

“Not many people do, honestly,” Lana said. Trying to drag Mia's descriptions of her sister back from the recesses of her memory, she added, “And I'm sure you had your own things to worry about.”

“Still, it doesn't make me a very responsible citizen, does it?” Maya said.

If we're talking about my time as Chief Prosecutor, Lana thought, it's not as though I have any room to criticize about responsibility.

“But, being Chief Prosecutor... so, hmm...” Maya dragged the sound out, audibly searching for some way to connect that subject to another possible topic. “That means you worked with Mr. Edgeworth, right?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Wow,” Maya said. Then, more slowly, “Mr. Armando too...?”

It took Lana a moment to connect the name to the news reports that had surrounded it, but when she did, she spoke with a softened voice.

“No,” Lana said. “I was already dismissed when all of that happened, so I never had the chance to meet him personally.”

“Oh.” Maya sounded vaguely chastised. “I'm sorry. I just heard about all this not too long ago, so I'm still not sure what all happened when, exactly...”

“That's all right. Honestly, sometimes I'm not sure myself.”

“Well, that's that,” Maya said. She hummed briefly, then clarified, “But you still talk to Mr. Edgeworth, right?”

“Yes, sometimes.”

“Um...” She took another deep breath, signaling a breaking down of reservation, and said in a near rush: “Is he doing okay? The last time I saw him, when he was talking about the Prosecutor's Office and stuff, he seemed really, really stressed. Nick's useless when it comes to knowing about that, of course, so I was wondering—I mean...”

“I don't work there myself any more, obviously,” Lana began.

“I'm sorry!” Maya said. “I didn't mean to...”

“No, it's all right. I do still have contacts there, after all—in fact, he's one of them. But if you want to know my opinion...”

“Y-yes?”

“The main problem is that the public doesn't have faith in us—them, now, I suppose—anymore. You've seen a lot of it unfolding yourself, as Mr. Wright's assistant, I'm sure, the troubles the prosecutors seem to keep falling into each year... in Mr. Wright's first year alone, he nearly wiped out the establishment with Chief Gant and Prosecutor von Karma, after all.” It seemed prudent to avoid being too specific with events that happened beyond that.

Maya sounded thoughtful. “Yes...”

“But amidst the shuffling and the attempts to save face, there's a lot of people who need help who are falling through the cracks. Miles—Prosecutor Edgeworth, that is... he's working to make sure that that doesn't happen when he can help it.”

“It reminds me a lot of Kurain,” Maya said.

“Kurain?” Lana repeated.

“Oh, just, you know... having to deal with bad public opinion. It's not a big deal, just something that struck me. But I feel badly for him. It must be hard... and it's a shame. It's not like it's even really his fault... or yours.”

“I don't think it's quite that simple,” Lana said. “Since there are still people dealing with the repercussions even now. But... he's doing his best to move forward. I am, too.”

“Yeah!” Maya exclaimed with renewed enthusiasm. “Nick said you became a defense attorney! That's really amazing. I bet you're more professional about it than he is. Honestly, he can be so... really, if you could give him some pointers about running an office, it might make my job a little easier...”

“Maybe,” Lana said, laughing quietly. “You called just as I was in the middle of reviewing some paperwork, actually. I don't blame him for avoiding it when he can.”

“Oh, I didn't realize I was bothering you! Even though I'm calling during Nick's office hours, too... well, not that it matters much, since he never actually takes cases, he's always too busy sleeping or watching television or... or chasing after Mr. Edgeworth or something...”

Chasing after Miles?

“Anyway, I'll let you go. But, um...”

“Yes?”

“Would you like to come up to Kurain sometime?” Before Lana, slightly astonished, could answer, Maya quickly went on, “I'd really like for us to meet face to face, and...”

Lana waited.

“And... and I'm sure Sis would, too.”

If Lana had felt initial reluctance to the suggestion, it evaporated with that.

“I'd love to.”

“Great!” Maya exclaimed, sounding more relieved, somehow, than outright happy. “I'll call back and we can work something out, okay?”

“Yes, that sounds fine.”

“And, um...” If such a thing as a verbal fidget was possible, Maya had clearly mastered it.

“Is there something else?” Lana asked.

“No,” Maya said, quickly. “It's just, well...”

“Yes...?”

“...you really remind me a lot of her.”

Lana startled. “Maya...”

“So, I'll see you later!” Maya finished, voice booming through the phone in an unnaturally high pitch. She seemed determined to leave the conversation at that, and hung up the phone.

As Lana followed in suit, withdrawing from the replaced receiver to return to the papers Alex had left, she felt a familiar heaviness, like an old, nearly-forgotten ache, set upon her hands in its place. She'd heard the comparison many times before, but it sounded as wrong as ever to her—even moreso, coming from one of the last remnants of her family.

I'm nothing like Mia.



They had both marveled at how much they had in common. Mia never did tell her the full story—it was only in the aftermath of her death, with Phoenix Wright's emergence onto the scene as her successor, that the details finally began to etch in—but they had both lost their parents, and they both had, if the other's stories were to be trusted, excitable younger sisters. And they both had the same drive to carve out unlikely successes within the city limits.

Everyone else saw the similarities, too. Fey and Skye, at the top of the class—anyone could have sworn they were sisters. Born with the same brain. Practically sharing a face. You wanted to stay on their good side—even the authority of the professors seemed to waver before them.

Lana found the attention somewhat discomforting, honestly—but it was hard not to be at least a little flattered when her classmates greeted her with a mixture of awe and empathy in their eyes. And she did think that it was an honor to be considered on the same level of intelligence and determination as Mia. She really did.

But the longer Lana knew her, as the months dragged on and they talked together and studied together and even covered for each other when sicknesses or family emergencies arose, all she seemed to be able to see, with deeper and deeper clarity, was their differences.

She wasn't perfect. She'd always known that. But in some of the moments lingering by Mia's side—following in her shadows, it felt, at times—were the first occasions she found herself thinking that she was a coward.

Mia's assault on the faculty never wavered. In fact, it only seemed to increase with intensity, arguments escalating behind closed doors. Lana began to hear various members of the staff, from tenured professors to student assistants, muttering under their breaths about Mia Fey, her unreasonable demands, and her relentless temperament.

None of it seemed to faze Mia. In fact, their stubborn resistance towards acquiescing with her demands only seemed to drive her further forward.

Lana was at a loss to think of any instance where Mia was willing to give ground once she had made her mind up—not only in her strange task of being placed in contact with Marvin Grossberg (although she had the increasing impression that the requests Mia was making went beyond that—into riskier territory, dangerous territory, territory that had their professors avoiding eye contact and adjusting their collars to disguise a faint tremble of the hand), but in any disagreement of fact or principle.

There had been a day when she and their professor had engaged in an ideological argument right in the middle of class, before the eyes of everyone else. Mia was unflinching, standing and declaring bluntly that the attitude he was expressing in regards to potential clients and contractors—in the structure of a business model—was wrong.

Lana had stayed silent in her seat, watching the spectacle with the rest of the student body. There was nothing she could say. She had nothing to say—not in the face of something so uncontainable. Not for Mia, and not for herself, who was deluded enough when she had first stepped into this lecture hall of five hundred to think that she was the one who was different.

“I'm worried about you,” Lana told her once—the day after finals, when most students were chattering excitedly about vacation plans. “Do you even sleep anymore?”

Even Lana had been distracted all day, thinking about being able to spend proper time with Ema again at last—and maybe even get to introduce her to Mia. Those plans had been quickly dashed by Mia herself. Her last test had wrapped up two days previous, she had said, and yet she was still chained to her desk, poring over reports and taking laborious notes, with apparently every intention of remaining on campus over the summer and continuing whatever it was her personal inquiries were.

Mia sighed and set her pen down. In the flickering light, Lana could make out the word suicide scribbled in her handwriting across the article in front of her.

“Not all people are like you, Lana,” Mia said.

Lana blinked. “I'm sorry?”

Mia chewed briefly on her lower lip, gazing at the wall across from her rather than meeting Lana's gaze. It was clear that she was finally giving voice to ruminations she had been sitting on for a while. “It's just like you said—you're here to make a difference. To be together with your sister, working for a better tomorrow—you know, that's a noble thing. Most people are here because they've heard law pays well. You're a good person.”

“And you're...” Lana began, bewildered.

“No,” Mia interrupted, “I'm not the same as you. I'm not here to help anyone.”

It never even crossed Lana's mind that Mia might be here for personal profit as well. It was out of the question. But it was also beyond her to see what it was that she was trying to imply.

“Then, what are you doing here?”

“I'm...”

Mia hesitated. She always did, whenever this came up, and even though Lana still remained unprivy to the specifics, but the unspoken signals were enough for Lana to understand that perhaps she would never be privy—whatever demons laid in Mia's past and her motivation now were that heavy.

But this time, Mia's eyes drifted slowly to the wall to Lana—and she abruptly shook her head, Lana had the impression more at herself than anything.

“There's a man in this city who tore my family apart,” Mia said, flat disgust dripping from her words. “And he's still living on the fat checks he was rewarded with for it. I have to find him and see what he gets what's coming to him.”

Lana stared.

“You mean, to take revenge...?”

Mia turned towards her friend fully with a jerk of motion that could almost be mistaken for a flinch.

“Yes,” she said after a moment, sitting back, a strange, unamused smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “That's what it seems to come down to.”

They stared at each other for a moment, before Lana crossed the room and sat down in the spare chair. Mia followed her movement with her gaze. She seemed to be waiting for Lana to react. For the first time Lana could remember, she even seemed uncertain.

Lana thought for a moment.

“I don't know,” she said, thinking out her words as she said them, “if that was supposed to make me run away screaming or not, but it fell a little flat. I'm sorry. I still think you're a good person, too.” Another pause. “You'll have to endure it.”

Mia burst out laughing—raucous, uncontrollable laughter, and Lana found herself unable to keep from joining in.

“You really are something,” Mia said, once they had both calmed down. “When I find him, you'll bring him down for me in the courtroom, won't you, Lana?”

“Of course,” she said, looking at Mia, whose eyes were burning with that fierce determination that had so struck her the first time they had met—eyes that could only have been tempered by hardship. It hit her then, in a sudden rush of power that never could have come from aspirations as vague as making a better tomorrow.

That's why I'm here.



The graves were quiet.

Maya led her some distance from the village proper. The breeze, which had felt welcoming upon arrival, turned a touch more aggressive the further they treaded through tall grass and over sloping hills. The heightened sense of isolation was almost intoxicating; Lana hadn't realized they had arrived until Maya stopped and knelt before them on the ground in a thoughtful, withdrawn sort of silence.

Lana moved next to her. Mia was buried beneath a simple white headstone, inscribed with her name, the span of her life, and the simple phrase beloved sister and friend.

And next to it, in similarly humble trappings, was another that bore the name Diego Armando.

She murmured, gaze fixed on the latter: “I didn't realize...”

“It's okay,” Maya said, following her gaze and smiling faintly. “There's probably hardly anyone who knows. Mr. Armando didn't seem to have any living relatives, so...”

Lana set the flowers down against the engraving of her friend's name. Maya watched her, but her eyes were distant, focused elsewhere.

“It wasn't easy convincing the elders,” Maya said slowly, her fingers twisting around a length of hair. “Even being the successor of the Fey line. A lot of the elders thought, given what happened with he and my mother, that it was blasphemous to even think of interring him in our sacred ground.”

“You convinced them, though,” Lana said. “It must have been hard. I'm sure they're both grateful to you...”

Maya nodded, but then kept speaking, slowly, her train of thought undeterred. “Some of them didn't even want Sis to be here, either. Because she 'abandoned her heritage', they said, as Misty Fey's eldest daughter. She attached herself to the outside world... so that means she doesn't deserve to rest here anymore...”

“That's terrible,” Lana murmured.

There wasn't much love lost between Mia and the 'village elders' even when she had been alive. She had always spoken of them with an undertone of bitter contempt. They clung to irrational traditions, she told Lana once, not out of real respect for them—but because they represented the old power that came with old ways. And, of course, it was easier to lead by reading instructions from a collection of dusty scrolls rather than actually regard the acolytes as individual human beings with individual hardships and individual needs.

It was probably those same traditions, revolving around a concept so intangible and easily manipulated as honor, that had driven Misty Fey from the village and from her children in wake of her disgrace.

“It was actually Aunt Morgan who ended up persuading them, you know. For Sis.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Maya glanced up towards the sky. “I'm not sure why, even now. Maybe she was just trying to assert her power over the council... because she wanted to become head of the clan so badly. Maybe it was to keep me off guard?” She rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. “Or maybe she even did care about us, a little, in her own way. I don't know, really.”

“It must be frustrating.”

“No...” Maya said. “Well, yes. I was so upset at first, I... I really lost my head for a while, crying and raging, everything.” She took a deep breath, and rose slowly back onto her feet. “But I need to learn how to deal with these things as an adult—as head of the village. The elders have their reasons, too. And you know, in the end, Mr. Armando isn't even really in Kurain ground. That's the only way I was able to convince them. This is right on the outskirts of the village...”

Lana stayed quiet.

“What am I saying?” Maya laughed weakly. “It's so stupid, isn't it? That it ended up coming down to a loophole like that. It's wrong... I can't even get my own thoughts straight.”

She laid a hand on Maya's shoulder, who continued speaking words she had probably needed to speak for a long time.

“I'm luckier than most people, I know that. I've still gotten to talk to her a few times since then. But you know... lately, her presence... it's hard to explain, but it's fainter now. It's a little lonely, I guess, but I think it's because she's more at peace now, with him. So it's okay... and it's about time I learned how to stand on my own.”

No one is that strong, Lana thought. Even your sister had to reach out to someone. There were times when even she was unsure.

“Can you tell me a little about her?” Maya asked, abruptly. “I didn't get to talk to her very often back then. When she was in college, I mean.”

Lana hesitated.

“She... opened my eyes to a lot of things.”

She was hoping to come up with something more than that—a proper eulogy, something to properly console Maya with, still struggling with the loss.

“I learned so much, being with her. I was very lucky to have known her. She was an extraordinarily good person—not like anybody else.”

“I know that much already,” Maya said, smiling. “I guess she really did make the same impression on just about everyone she met.” Then her expression faltered, giving way to a lonely wistfulness.

“I wish... I wish she was still here.”

At that moment, Lana wondered how she could have seen Maya, not even an hour ago, and carried the impression that she had been a little girl.

“...so do I.”

“She admired you a lot, too,” Maya murmured. “She said you helped her remember what was really important. The importance of tomorrow. I didn't really understand what she meant at the time. I probably still can't really put it into words, but...” She looked contemplative. “I do think I get it a little better now. Especially when I look at Pearly...”

“You've done very well,” Lana said. “She would be proud of you.”

Maya's shoulders jerked briefly, and she looked back at her for the first time they had arrived at the grave site. Her eyes were overbright. Lana knew that she hadn't heard the words coming from the mouth of Lana Skye.

That was fine. It was what she needed.

As for herself, she would keep moving forward and maybe, just maybe, learn to really believe in the promise of the future again. Her hand tightened on Maya's shoulder; a moment later, her arms were around the younger girl in a quiet embrace.

It was the least that she could do, she thought, for Mia's final epitaph.

---

OK picture's done... if I do anything else to it, I'll mess it up moreso, so .. ah well..... I feel bad bumping this up without much else to contribute *frown* I hope you don't mind if I put it up on my y-gallery or da... I'll link to you guys on fanfiction!

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*Crawls out of the woodwork* Howdy, I've been lurking here quite awhile (I'm typically antisocial on forums for some reason,) but I thought I'd swing by and do a quick crit of Struggling, since it's definitely awesome enough to merit a full critique.

I should mention that it's been *cough* quite a few years since I've actually done a crit, and never on a fanfic before. So I apologize ahead of time if this just sounds like incoherent babbling.

It's been a while since I've read the first few chapters, so from what I remember, very nice opening. I really enjoyed the initial trial scene, and I'm looking forward to more (please?) Also, it was a good beginning into framing Phoenix and Edgeworth's relationship throughout. Slow and steady.

Although I liked the gradual dinners -> comfortable routine -> relationship, I feel like restaurant scenes are maybe a bit too common in romance fics (though admittedly I don't read a huge amount of fanfics, so... maybe I somehow only read ones with restaurant scenes in them? *shrug*) Yeah, yeah, I know having dinner is common for first dates/beginning relationships, so it makes sense, but... I felt the park scene later on worked well for the same purpose, without being quite so typical. Another quibble I had with the dinner scene was the length of it... although the dialogue was more than solid, it... didn't seem to add a ton overall, except in that it gives Phoenix and Edgeworth more info about each other, but... does the reader really need all that? It just felt a bit extraneous to me. But this was one of very few parts that did.

The "sourdough" flashback, however, was one of the most adorable things ever and I squee'd like crazy. It provided a good window into how Phoenix has been viewing their relationship not just presently, but throughout his life as well.

...And I'm losing my train of thought because my roommate and her boyfriend are watching youtube videos really loudly, dammit. I apologize for the above incoherency. Moving on.

First kiss scene was well-timed and placed. The ensuing chaos and confusion was spot-on as well, and reminded me very much of, uh, stuff. That happened. In real life. Um, yeah, let's just say I was in a similar situation. So I can vouch for the accuracy of the emotion you were trying to evoke. Thumbs up!

...Though I have trouble seeing Edgeworth as the type of guy who would stoop to cheap beer, even if he were already slightly tipsy.

Hmm, that's all I can think of for the earlier chapters for now (and my head is starting to hurt from heavy metal,) so I'll go on to the present. There seems to be a very good balance of dialogue/action scenes lately. The hospitalization of Edgeworth was dramatic, but, like, good dramatic. The kind that makes people like me who adore conflict get all tingly inside. I'm looking forward very much to seeing how they continue to iron out the kinks in their relationship.

Klavier references were giggle-inducing, though I nearly had a heart attack at one point because


Eh, I'll end this here for now, with one more comment: I absolutely adore the side stories, and your most recent is no exception. I love Lana as a character, and I thought that "Epitaph" was a kick-ass take on the "intellectual attraction" throwaway line. Seriously, that's how I'm going to imagine Lana and Mia's college days from now on. Rock on.

Bleh, I took up a lot of space writing this, but I'm not to happy with this as my "comeback critique." I feel kind of like I came across as more of a rambling nutbag than anything else. Well, you're certainly a good enough writer that you'll know to ignore this if it's unhelpful. I'll keep on reading regardless

(BTW PouchedRat, that drawing make my day and possibly my entire week)

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I know the last story was called Epitaph but I'm rather hoping it should have been called Eulogy and there is more of the main story to come...

Is there? Is there? Enquiring minds need to know?

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.............. new chapter??

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Aki-bara you did it again to me! GAH!! LoL, had my hopes up.... Then again, I've waited a year for an update to a fanfic once (only for the author to get back to it and say sorry, she wasn't completing it.. *frowns*)

We'll still be waiting for more updates, quite patiently! Good writing takes time, and I suck lol

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You guys haven't updated in a while. I hope everything is going okay and you'll let us know what's up with the story eventually.

Obviously, genius takes time to reach its conclusion... blimey, that sounded ominously Godot-ish.

Anyway, this is probably the thing I've enjoyed most since finishing GS3 - and that is no undersatement. It's really interesting to see Lana as a main character, since I've only seen her in a fic twice now. And I'm going to agree with many people on this forum in saying your characterisation is nothing short of perfect.

Can't wait to find out what happens next!

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I read this whole thing, including the side stories, in one day.
My mind just imploded from the pure WIN that is this fic.
Currently is waited till the next installment.

GAAAHHHHHH!!! It's killing me, dudes! 6 months! 6 FREAKIN MONTHS!!! And nothing! No more wonderful, nail-biting, edge-of-your-seat yaoi fanfic to speak of! I'm srsly about to rip my hair out over here, guys!

*breaths heavily after rant* *calms down*

Sorry about that. I don't mean to complain, honestly. I just couldn't stand sitting quietly like a good little girl anymore. It's not really the lack of fanfic that gets to me, anyway. It's just that we haven't even heard anything from you two. If I could at least know that you're still writing it, that you haven't completely abandoned us, it would really help. Well, it'd help me, at any rate. I MISS YOU!!! DON'T LEAVE MEEEEE!!!

P.S. Do ya like my sig?

You people are killing me with pushing this back up to the top... For a split second, I seriously thought that this was still the fifth month of the year, and I somehow missed the update a couple weeks ago.. I even told my man that I'd be late picking him up because there was a new update on a fanfic, lol.

GAHH>...dskafd,;ljk yeah.

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So um... what do you guys think?

I love this fic so much!! I'm sorry to be an annoying nag- I just want to know if this fic is still continuing or not. ;___;

Man, this is easily one of the best fanfics I've ever encountered, the pacing is slow and considerate of the characters' personalities while never getting boring, the characterization is top-notch as are the descriptions of the atmospheres and scenes. I think I saw a mention somewhere that this fic is available at ff.net too, if so I'm so alerting it.

It's a little sad this fic haven't been updated in almost a year, but I'm sure there's a reason for it if only the authors would enlighten us. As an author myself I know how hard the backlashes can hit but it shouldn't go down so quickly when there are two people as opposed to only one. I don't know, I can only guess. And hope. This fic is far too good, and has far too much potential to just stop here. I'd even pray if I wasn't an apatheist

Well, here's to hoping a new chapter will come eventually! (Please?)