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When Maya finds out a full month later, she's angry—no, scratch that. She's furious.
The rage burns her up for the whole two-hour train ride, and only starts to fizzle when she marches herself, clad in a hoodie dress and foam sandals, all the way to Phoenix Wright’s front door. A month—she's almost hysterical! A full goddamn month since Nick was fucking disbarred, and she's heard nothing! Not a phone call, a text (granted, service in Kurain is spotty), an email, even a damned carrier pigeon… Nothing! She only learned the news when she saw the recap of the trial in a newspaper that made its way up north: Zak Gramarye Still At Large. Kooky looking guy, she had thought, followed by: Holy shit! Followed by: That fucker!
So, that's all to say, she pounds her fists as hard as she can on apartment 2-01, which as far as she’s aware is still the residence of one Phoenix Wright, disgraced attorney, unless there's more things he hasn't told her and she's about to embarrass herself immensely.
Lucky for Maya, there's a muffled, distantly familiar voice through the door; she hears the locks sliding open. Before her stands Phoenix; her best (and allegedly closest) friend in the world, looking more disheveled than she's ever seen him. His hair is mussed, almost like it's deflated, and there's scruff on his face and bags under his eyes. When he opens the door, it's slow and sheepish. She watches his face briefly flicker from feigned surprise (she knows he saw her in the peephole, dammit!), to hesitancy, to shame. Maya was standing here prepared to tear him a new one. Now, it feels like there's a big pane of plexiglass in between where they stand. Phoenix is muffled on the other side.
“...Hey, Maya.” he starts. He sounds like he's trying to be pleasant, but mostly he just sounds tired.
“Phoenix.” Maya replies curtly, arms crossed, and secretly revels in watching him wince.
“Um.” He begins again, and purses his lips. He's searching her face—he’s trying to find the words. She’s seen it a million times. “I, uh, didn't know you were in town.”
“I just got here,” Maya turns up her nose. “I read the news. About Gramarye.”
“I didn't know you read anything other than the funnies,” Phoenix replies dryly, and shifts to the other side of the door frame; Maya takes the invitation, and marches right in, sandals slapping against the yellowing linoleum. She's careful not to walk close enough to brush against Phoenix’s old Ivy University sweatshirt.
The kitchen is a mess. Rather, it's notably messier than it's usually been when Maya has ever been over; for a guy who's so anal about keeping the office clean, he doesn't pay the same attention to his living space. At least now he has something of an excuse. There's dishes piled in the sink, and stacks and stacks of paper and envelopes on the counter. He leans up against it, not minding the trifold brochure that he sends gently fluttering to the floor—oh, he also needs to mop, it looks like. Maya will keep her shoes on, thank you. “So, how's Kurain been—”
“Why didn't you tell me you got disbarred?”
He stiffens, jaw setting. “Well, I was gonna tell you. I, I had to—Maya, listen, I’ve had a lot on my plate the past few weeks, I'm sure you can imagine—”
“But,” Maya interjects again, and resents how she sounds like she’s whining, “you couldn't just tell me? Nick, we tell each other everything, and you didn't tell me about literally the worst thing that could possibly happen?”
She watches as Phoenix's shoulders pull inward, like he's trying to hide. He rubs at the back of his neck. “... I didn't want you to be worried,” he finally says, but the crack in his voice and the way he stares at the floor when he says it suggests what he wanted to say is I was too embarrassed to tell you. It makes it way harder for her to keep roiling with anger.
“Nick,” she fumbles, and the words don’t quite seem to know where they’re headed, but she hides the tears threatening her eyes by finally closing the gap, throwing her arms around Phoenix and burying her face in his shoulder. The embrace is awkward—his hand lands tepidly on the back of her head. He kind of needs to shower. They both pull tighter into the hug, anyway. “You can tell me anything,” Maya says when she finally pulls away. “I thought you knew that.”
Phoenix crossed his arms. “...I know. I’m sorry.”
“Then why didn't you—”
“Daddy, who's here?”
It's at this point that Maya notices an interloper peering at her from the door to the kitchen, framed by the hallway light from behind. The little girl has cinnamon-brown hair in slightly lopsided pigtails, and a face Maya has never seen before.
Phoenix pales when he looks at the girl. He quickly schools himself. “Um. This is Auntie Maya, Truce.”
“Nick,” Maya says, curtly.
The girl observes the two of them briefly before making her astute observation, arms crossed: “Daddy’s in trouble.”
“Who,” Maya continues, stabbing her finger in the girl’s direction without breaking eye contact with Phoenix, “is that.”
There's a terrible beat of silence. “...Surprise?” Phoenix says weakly.
Maya turns again to observe the little third party (she can't possibly be older than ten), who is watching them from around the corner. Oh my god. Oh my god. This is fine. She inhales sharply through her nose. They just hugged it out. She can't get angry with Phoenix again for keeping things from her, like his disbarment, or the fact that he randomly has a child living in his apartment she never knew about. “How long?”
“Two weeks!” the girl, Truce, replies before Phoenix gets the chance, holding up two stubby childish fingers to emphasize her point.
Maya narrows her eyes. “How old are you?” she asks dryly. This time, Phoenix gets the jump: “Eight. Her birthday was April second.” He pushes himself off the counter to stride over and pat her on the head—it’s stilted and awkward, obviously with affection, but a gesture he's not quite used to; it’s not the kind of thing he ever does with Pearl when she's around. This girl is around her height, though, and she comes up to just under his chest when they're standing side by side. “Um. She's also adopted, if you were wondering. I wouldn't keep that from you, Maya.”
But you’ll keep other stuff. Maya doesn't say that, though. She says other things; they politely discuss the details of Phoenix’s spontaneous adoption of his former client’s daughter—they talk around specific names. Trucy (her name, Maya learns) watches them intensely in a way that's mildly unsettling as she plays with her dolls at the coffee table, the TV chattering with the cartoons she isn't paying attention to.
And—they talk about the disbarment. Or, more like Maya talks about it; formulates theories, some crazier than others, which Phoenix responds to mildly and distantly. He doesn't want to talk about it, of course—Phoenix Wright has a way of talking around the subject of himself, akin to how a cat shrinks away when they don’t want to be touched. Maya is nothing if not determined, though. It's close to seven when they finally stop the back-and-forth, because Trucy announces that she's hungry.
Phoenix palms at his forehead in realization, muttering under his breath. “I had all this chicken our downstairs neighbour gave me.” As he gets up, he turns to Maya and asks, “...You want some? She gave me way too much.”
Maya nods immediately, without even thinking, because she will never, ever say no to free food, and Phoenix has this fantastic recipe for chicken paprikash—oh. She's supposed to be mad at him.
But it's hard to when her stomach is growling. And Phoenix always puts her on garlic peeling duty.
“...Is Pearls gonna be alright?” he asks as he stands over the empty saucepan, waiting for it to warm. “With you staying over, I mean.”
“She’s staying with one of her friends in Kurain tonight,” Maya replies as she pries the papery skin off of a clove with her fingernail. The smell always lingers when she does it this way, which is strangely why she enjoys doing it so much. “She asked to have a sleepover before I read the paper this afternoon, which was really great timing on her part.”
Phoenix doesn't reply for a moment. Ostensibly because he's watching a hot pan, but he should count himself lucky he has an excuse not to reply immediately to Maya’s dig. “Can you say hi to her for me?” Maya hears him from over her shoulder.
“Only if you give me leftovers.”
“Maya, I have, like, twelve chicken thighs in my fridge from this old lady who's way too nice for her own good. Please take leftovers.”
It's close to eight when it's done. They load her up a little tupperware container before sitting down (how she’ll transport it without it becoming inedible is a problem for Future Maya). Despite the months of separation, Phoenix’s kitchen is still as familiar as ever. Which is exactly why Maya is blindsided when she pulls open the drawer and sees four sets of cutlery, labelled neatly in the organizer: Phoenix, Maya, Pearls, Trucy. The set on the farthest right is nearly brand new; bright blue handles, with a little white rabbit printed on the end of each utensil. She passes them to Trucy before grabbing her set (plain by comparison, but she’ll never forget that the teaspoon and dessert fork were accidentally-on-purpose brought home from her very brief stint as a waitress).
Phoenix's kitchen table has to be cleared to make enough space for three people to eat at it. There's a stain on the veneered surface which Maya can't remember the origin of but knows she was involved in. Trucy sits with her knees up on the seat, and Phoenix gently corrects her posture, but a minute later she's back in the same knock-kneed position.
It's the best meal Maya has had in recent memory.
It's not surprising, either, that Phoenix pulls out the futon from his couch, and suggests that Maya tries to avoid getting jumped at the train station. She agrees wholeheartedly, being that she's generally opposed to being stabbed.
She wears a pair of Pink Princess themed shorts and a too-big shirt that was stowed away and forgotten in Phoenix’s closet. There’s even a spare toothbrush waiting for her in the bathroom drawer, unopened.
Phoenix leans in the doorway while Maya brushes her teeth.
“I’m gonna have to move soon, you know,” he admits, quietly.
She nods at his reflection in the mirror.
“Lease is running out soon.” He runs his fingers through his hair—it's more mussed and not-spiky than usual. “So’s rent. I can't really afford the neighbourhood anymore. And Trucy’s been sleeping in the spare room.” He means the tiny one that was supposed to become his home office, but he never got around to it, and whenever Maya saw it it was mostly filled with cardboard boxes and his ironing board that never fit in the linen closet. You could come and stay with us in Kurain, Maya thinks sadly, and fully aware that it's a pipe dream. Too many reasons to bother listing why it wouldn’t work. There’s this hole—in Kurain, in Los Angeles, in the space between the two of them in Phoenix’s bathroom. Someone (Maya knows, instinctively, that it’s someone) has taken a box cutter and cut a big, jagged patch out of both of their lives.
“Have you been job-hunting?” she asks.
Phoenix purses his lips again. “Well, I’ve gotten a job. It stinks.”
“How stinky?” Maya wagers, and there’s a little ping of joy when she sees Phoenix’s lips tug into the barest hint of a smile. “Dish-washer,” he tells her.
“Gross.”
“And piano-player. And potato peeler, and truck-unloader...And, occasionally, I also clean toilets.”
“Self-fulfilling prophecy,” Maya says wryly as before she leans over to spit into the sink, and hears Phoenix bark one single, unamused laugh in response. She wipes the toothpaste off her mouth. “...Why did you never tell me?” It’s not like she hasn’t already asked.
“I just didn’t really wanna talk about it,” Phoenix says. “Ow,” he says, when Maya strolls over and whacks him on the arm.
She’s a little mad. She’s still a little mad. She can’t help it, okay? “Nick, if you ever keep crap like this from me again, I will haunt you.”
“Okay,” he nods, with clear recognition of the weight of her words. Good.
“Good,” she affirms. Then, donning an obnoxiously hokey grin, she adds, “sleep tight, old man!”
“Yeah, yeah,” Phoenix waves at her, pushing off the doorframe, “just please don’t smother me in my sleep with a pillow.”
“Hmm. No promises.”
-
In the night, she’s awoken by a sliver of yellow light cutting through the darkness, a thin line trailing from the far end of the hallway and into the living room where Maya is asleep. The footfalls don’t sound like Phoenix’s; no, these ones are soft and slow, like someone is trying their very best to be quiet.
Maya hears a soft rapping on a door, which creaks open after just a moment. She tries to close her eyes, tries not to eavesdrop—but she hears a tired voice down the hall asking “Can’t sleep?” and feels her heart clench, just a bit, when it brings back a memory, a memory of a time when she was asked the same question almost verbatim, and the response was falling asleep on Phoenix Wright’s couch with a late-night movie playing faintly in the background.
-
Inadvertently, one overnight stay in the end turns into multiple: there’s been some sort of maintenance hiccup with the Kurain line, and the route is on hold for repairs. Maya tries not to panic over breakfast (pancakes from a box mix and eggs, over easy, like how they all prefer), dialing and redialing, quietly cursing her stupid dinky old phone and the stupid Kurain cell service and the—
“Hey, kid.” A lopsided pancake lands on Maya’s plate with a soft plap. “It’s gonna be alright.”
Maya pouts at Phoenix as he returns to his post at the stove. “Easy for you to say. I can’t get a hold of Pearl unless I send out smoke signals.”
“Pearls is tough. And the train is down, she’ll understand.” There’s a sizzle as a ladleful of batter hits the pan, and Maya sighs. “Oh, c’mon.” he starts, and shoots her a glance. “It’s not even ten, Maya.”
“Yeah and look at you, early-riser. What time did you get up, nine-thirty?”
Phoenix looks at her across the table, over his cup of coffee, chin resting on his hand; he didn’t used to have such heavy bags under his eyes. “I have work later.”
“How’d you sleep last night?” Maya asks.
He purses his lips. “Uh. Bad.”
“Well, at least you’re being honest now.” She huffs, and he rolls his eyes.
“Trucy had a bad dream.” He looks over at her sympathetically, where she’s blearily eating her breakfast.
“How about you go back to bed?” Maya suggests.
Phoenix goes for a bite of pancake, and a bit lands on his shirt (it’s an old Steel Samurai one, and it looks vaguely familiar, but Maya is certain he didn’t get it from her). He wipes it off and replies, “Somebody’s gotta look after the little monster.”
There’s a squeaky little “Hey!” that interjects, muffled by a mouthful of syrup-drenched pancake, but Maya tells him, “I can keep an eye on her this morning.”
And Phoenix is hesitant, for a moment—Maya watches the thought flicker across his face, but something about him looks relieved. So, after he washes up he takes a long, full-body stretch in front of the sink, tendons popping, and Maya corrals him out of the kitchen and into his room.
Before she tries to slam the door in his face, he manages to get out that Trucy has homework. Like Maya’s her babysitter (she’s definitely not getting paid for this—ahem, no, she definitely wouldn’t expect dear old Nick to pay her for watching his kid for an hour or two).
Trucy’s a sweet kid. She likes Maya—she doesn’t even complain when Maya wipes maple syrup off her cheek. It’s nice, because Maya still has to stop herself from checking to see if her text messages to Pearl are sending.
-
The pencil is threatening to be snapped in half from how much Maya is fidgeting with it. She can’t remember how long division works. “This is such bullshit,” she hisses under her breath, glaring daggers at the little cartoon farm animals on Trucy's worksheet. “Don't tell your dad I said that.”
Trucy offers her a polite little smile, one that says I will not tell my daddy you cussed in front of me, or at least that’s one possible interpretation. Despite Maya’s lack of capability with elementary level mathematics, it isn’t unpleasant; Trucy would rather chatter about the little cows and rabbits on the margins, and shade in the cows’ black spots with her pencil, or distract Maya by making her calculator disappear into thin air before it materializes in the kitchen cupboard after Maya chastises her. Despite all the antics, Maya can’t really blame her. The couple of times they manage to complete a question it’s apparent that neither of them are confident in their answer.
There’s a couple reasons for the struggle that Maya has gleaned—one being that Trucy never really went to school until this past month. Luckily, this isn’t all that shocking to Maya, and they bond over it. Trucy’s habit of blurting things catches her off guard regardless.
Like when Trucy asks her all of a sudden: “Do you have a daddy?”
Maya pauses from grinding the eraser into the paper to look at Trucy. “Yeah.” she says. “Well, I did.”
“What happened to him?”
There's this little lilt of—something, in Trucy’s voice. Her hand comes up to fidget with the little plastic charm bracelet on her wrist—little translucent beads shaped like flowers, alphabet shapes spelling out TW, Phoenix got her the supplies from the dollar store—and Maya feels her mouth go dry. This kid is way too smart for her own good.
“He went away when I was really little,” Maya says gently, with a pleasant little lilt to her voice, as if they’re discussing the weather.
“Okay,” says Trucy. And after that, she asks, “Do you have a favourite ice cream flavour?” And Maya replies Black sesame with strawberry, and wills herself to not think about how it’s a remarkably bare-faced instance of changing the subject for an eight year old.
So, that’s all to say that Trucy and Maya get along. They get along because neither of them want to do math homework or think about missing parents. Because Maya offers to take Trucy to the corner store down the street, because it’s late May and it’s hot and Maya knows how much fun it is to sneak off when Phoenix is dead-asleep, having one of his mid-morning naps that he usually swears up and down don’t ever happen. Trucy counts out pocket change at the counter while the store’s little electric fan sputters ineffectively in the background, and she does a much better job with her math when there’s a bubblegum-flavoured ice cream bar on the line. Her eyes light up when they peel off the wrapper to reveal an ice cream bar that’s vaguely in the shape of a tiger, and she grins when Maya tells her she’s jealous of her choice. She watches Trucy take her first bite with her front teeth and wince from the cold, and thinks about a little girl with pale brown hair who always does the same thing.
Trucy insists that they return inside to get a snack for her dad (and to wheedle her way into a pack of chips, which Maya valiantly refuses). But, when they return to the apartment, they find him putting his shoes on at the front door.
“Work already?” Maya asks. She offers him the bag of pretzels that her and Trucy had bought.
“Yeah,” he replies, a bit flustered, “I think I overslept a bit. Um. I’m really sorry, Maya—”
“It’s okay. I can hang out with Trucy. Besides,” she smiles coyly, “betcha can’t find another great babysitter on such short notice, right?”
He obviously doesn’t want to dignify her cheekiness with a response, but he does hug her one-armed, and dig into his pocket to put some bills in her palm. “Pizza night.” he says simply. Pizza night, is, or was, of course, a cherished tradition in the Wright & Co.
“Extra olives on your half?”
“You’re the best, Maya.”
“I know.”
He leaves in a hurry. Maya orders pizza from this joint down the street: extra-large deluxe, with no mushrooms on her side, like old times. Trucy picks the onions off of her slice.
They watch reruns of old, trashy sci-fi movies until eight, when Trucy’s set to go to bed. Maya’s not one hundred percent certain what the protocol is (does she pack her lunch for school tomorrow?), but after a few minutes of showing off her deck of playing cards and the mildly unsettling wooden marionette that lives on the shelf, Trucy asks politely, “can you read me a story?”
Maya isn’t one to turn down a request like that. The little collection of picture books and chapter books on her shelf are rough around the edges, some with the scruffy remnants of price-tag stickers still clinging to them. Trucy chooses a book about a magic rabbit, dog-eared to the second chapter.
It’s half-past nine when Maya hears the door open, and Phoenix returns. He’s the most tired Maya has maybe ever seen him—more bagged than he’s been after even some of their toughest cases. He trudges into the living room, gives her a halfhearted “Hey,” as he unzips his hoodie and tosses it onto the arm of the couch. The front of his shirt is a little bit damp, and there’s this greasy smell clinging to him.
“Great day at work?” Maya asks. She’s relieved when he shoots her a barely-there smile.
“Living the dream, Maya,” he responds dryly, and goes to slide open the balcony door. Maya follows, and they both slip outside. The summer air is comfortably cool. The sun peeks just over the horizon, seeping dark orange and pink over parking lots and apartment buildings and corner stores.
Maya passes him a can of soda leftover from dinner which he accepts graciously. The crack of the tab opening rings out over the empty street in front of the apartment complex.
For a while they just stand there, forearms propped up on the balcony. In the distance, a train station bell ding echoes against the sounds of seagulls crooning and cars rolling by on graying asphalt.
The plexiglass screen feels like it’s cracked, so Maya even deigns to slide a little bit closer.
“Thanks a lot for today,” Phoenix says while staring out at the shadows on the street below. Maya hums. “And thanks for not kicking my ass into next week. I probably deserve that, too.”
“You probably do,” Maya sniffs—feeling a little vindicated, at that—and adds, “But, Trucy’s gotta have someone semi-competent looking after her.”
A dry little laugh. “Yeah…” Phoenix trails off when there’s a faint vibration; he fishes his phone out.
The phone screen lights up in the evening air—kristoph gavin, reads the name that appears on the screen. “Who’s that?” Maya asks as Phoenix clicks his phone off and stuffs it back into his pocket.
“It's, um,” he looks out across the street at the palms swaying in the evening light, “this guy I know. From the board, actually.” He swallows. “He was the only one who voted in my favour.” He says this, and Maya feels some weird little twitch in the pit of her stomach.
“Why’s that?” she asks.
“Dunno. I mean,” a shy grin down at the pavement, eyebrows raised, “he’s—I mean, he's not wrong—”
“Did you know him before that, Nick?”
He frowns; the gears are turning. “Um, no. I recall seeing him once or twice at the district courthouse, but we’d never spoken to each other.”
A million different thoughts run through Maya’s head: Who does this guy think he is? Why is he the only one who believed you? Why is he texting you at almost ten on a Sunday night?
In the end, she decides Phoenix is too bone-tired to deal with her pestering him tonight. She bites her tongue.
She’ll ask more about it tomorrow.
-
None of them should be surprised when they heard a knock on the door the next morning. But, it happens regardless—while Maya is helping Trucy pick all the marshmallows out of her cereal, Phoenix goes to answer the door, and they hear the exchange that follows:
“Hi, Mister Nick—”
“Pearl?”
At the door, backpack slung over her shoulders, is the 9-year old cousin Maya had been trying to get ahold of all of yesterday. She vaults over the arm of the couch to get to her.
“The train was down all of yesterday!” Pearl cries out, as if nobody here knew. Maya scoops her up in her arms as soon as she crosses the kitchen, spinning her around with abandon as Pearl squeals.
“Did you seriously come here all by yourself?” Maya tries her best to chastise her. “Pearlie, that’s dangerous!”
Pearl cocks her head to the side. “But I’ve done it before,” she answers bluntly. “And you’ve been gone since Saturday…”
“Not on purpose,” Maya pouts. “But, we can head back now…?” she glances over at Phoenix to gauge a reaction. He’s leaned up against the kitchen counter (only a tad cleaner than when Maya first barged in two days ago), and behind him sits Trucy—she’s almost hidden behind the back of the chair, her eyes peering up over the top as she watches them cautiously.
“We can walk you back to the train station before Trucy goes to school,” Phoenix suggests.
After breakfast, though, at his insistence, since Pearls has made her way here all on her own with a bag stuffed with granola bars. Today’s menu is toast with peanut butter and cereal—Pearl doesn't ever get the sugary kind at home, and seems only mildly overwhelmed by the luxury of it all.
Trucy watches Pearl the whole time. It’s odd—she hasn’t been this quiet in the whole two days that Maya has known her. It’s not necessarily something she can just point out, either.
They wash up. Phoenix puts cut-up apple slices into Trucy’s lunch box, and Maya watches this happen in tandem with Trucy walking up to Pearl and, without a word, reaching her hand out, and with a flick of her wrist behind Pearl’s ear there’s a quarter pinched between her thumb and forefinger. Pearl’s face splits wide in delight, and—still without a word—Trucy’s mouth curls up into a satisfied little grin.
They have thirty minutes to both catch the next train and to get Trucy to class. Truly, they’ve accomplished far more difficult tasks in even less time. And they didn’t even forget to pack Maya’s leftovers.
Maya walks down the train platform a few paces ahead, Pearl’s hand in hers. She’s trying to make sure they catch the next arrival so they don’t make anybody late. She’s trying her best not to look back. But she hears Nick’s voice behind her—Oh, kiddo, you never tie these up properly.
And she can’t help but turn around. She sees Phoenix hunched over—when he squats, he’s almost perfectly eye-level with Trucy. They watch as he ties up the laces on her little blue shoes, muttering to himself as he goes, half-instructing her as he makes a loop. “The bunny goes around the tree. Right, Truce?”
“Yeah,” she affirms softly. The knot is pulled tightly, and he stands up, satisfied that she isn’t going to trip over herself while they walk down the platform. When Phoenix looks over at Maya she realizes she was staring—she grins at him, and he suddenly looks bashful, bringing a hand up to rub at the back of his neck.
“Well,” she starts when he and Trucy make their way to the other end of the platform, and she stops, nervously clenching her fist around the little container of leftovers in her hand. This scene is all too familiar; she’s taken back to a December several years prior, when she didn’t see Nick for months on end. There’s too much on the line. “Well,” she starts again, “I guess we’ll be seeing you around.”
“Well, Pearls and Trucy need to have a playdate, right?” Phoenix says. Trucy, standing in front of him, nods—bright-eyed but quiet, evidently still feeling a little shy but eager nonetheless.
“Of course.” Maya steps forward again, learning to give Trucy a hug. “It was nice to meet you, kiddy.”
When she wraps an arm around Phoenix’s shoulder, she whispers to him, “Be careful with that guy, okay?”
“Careful’s my middle name.”
Maya rolls her eyes. She doesn’t even have time to argue with him right now.
The bell chimes as the train rolls in. One last round of hugs. Maya reassures Phoenix that her new phone plan will have better service, and he doesn’t even have to be lightly threatened into promising to write more often.
When the doors close, and the train car starts moving, Maya and Pearl stand by the window. They watch Phoenix and Trucy—both watching each other, growing smaller and smaller by the second, until Maya can hold out her thumb and cover both of them up.
When she moves her hand away, they’re both long gone.