Work Text:
to know gifts given
“Oooh! What about this, Uncle Edjiworth?”
Miles presses his lips together in a conservative line, eyeing the massive, stuffed purple bear with trepidation.
“Mm,” he says neutrally. “Perhaps a little too large for her quarters at the manor, yes?”
Pearls absorbs this with equal stoicism. “It is a little big,” she hums, chewing on her thumb. “And Mystic Maya has a lot of stuff in her room already.”
This is unsurprising, and Miles nods sagely at her wisdom. “Then we will keep looking,” he says, and when she bobs her head in agreement, allows himself to be led by the hand once again along the never-ending line of shop windows.
They’ve been searching fruitlessly for the better part of an hour, and yet Pearl shows no sign of flagging in her mission. Miles has failed to find anything suitable as a gift himself, and the longer it takes, the more anxious he feels. He despises gift-shopping, truthfully. Not because he dislikes shopping on the whole—in fact, he can find it quite enjoyable when browsing for himself—but because locating the right present for a specific person can often be a Herculean trial. Gift-giving, he’s been informed, is an art, and it’s a practice that requires a combination of creativity, sentiment, and social awareness—traits the lot of which he knows he can struggle with, at the best of times.
Selecting a present requires knowing someone, and knowing them well. For many years, Miles was objectively terrible at knowing other people. Now, however, it is Maya Fey’s birthday. Even if he did not, in part, owe her his life for her actions years ago, he at least owes her a meaningful gift. Something to express his appreciation for all the years of friendship she’s provided him—for her kindness and trust, given freely, even when he was too crude to accept it.
Therefore, it’s a worthy hardship to continue to drift along the aisles of the mall, eyes scanning storefronts for inspiration. He wants very much to get it right. Glancing down at the child guiding him by the hand, he knows he’s not alone in this desire.
As a shopping companion, Pearl Fey is a refreshingly competent choice. She is focused and determined, as well as endearingly sweet in her process of shop-elimination. Shopping with Phoenix and Trucy, conversely, is like shopping with two highly-distractible dogs; often he has no choice but to rein them in before they completely lose sight of what they set out to purchase, and even more often, he finds himself opening his wallet for items they’re too modest to ask for and too guileless not to ogle with wanting eyes. Trucy’s dazzled blue gaze, in particular, is incredibly difficult to deny. More irresistible still is the look on her face when he indulges her—gratitude and delight and always, always surprise, like she cannot truly believe what she wanted became hers so easily—and the warm glimmer in Phoenix’s eyes when he caves.
('You’ll spoil her,” he says, every time, and every time, Miles responds, “She deserves to be spoiled.” And then Phoenix’s eyes soften, and Miles thinks, so do you.)
Tearing him from fond distraction, his phone buzzes in his jacket pocket. He scoops it out with a free hand to scowl at the message that greets his eyes.
“Any luck in your foolish quest, kleine Bruder?”
He should never have told Franziska what he was doing today, he thinks bitterly. It’s given her an opening, and Franziska never failed to exploit such things.
“Miss Fey and I are still out shopping, yes. Have you landed already?”
“You waited too long to purchase a present, this is your own fault.” He grimaces at the inevitable dig, only to wince at the next message. “My flight has been delayed.”
That is...not good. “I have aired my grievances.” He feels a streak of pity for the poor souls of O’Hare International Airport. “I shall never fly with this insipid airline again.”
“That is unfortunate,” he responds, diplomatic. “Let me know when you board. Maya will understand.”
“Fool. You underestimate me. There is no chance on Earth I will miss my fiancee’s birthday party. I will arrive fashionably late, and with a superb gift in hand.”
“Naturally,” he replies, and pockets the phone with a mixture of fondness and exasperation.
“Was that Uncle Nick?” Pearl asks from his hip.
He shakes his head. “It was your aunt. Her flight is delayed, but she will still be arriving today, if a little later than planned.”
Pearl worries her lip. “Oh. ...Is she mad?”
Miles hmphs. Pearl is only eleven, but like her guardian, she’s an excellent judge of character. “No more than usual,” he reassures, and Pearl nods soberly. He feels something in his chest twist as she takes his hand once more, automatic, and tugs him forward.
They stroll past a shoe store and a bakery, and the latter makes Pearl hesitate in her march. Miles lifts an eyebrow at the finely decorated cakes and treats lining the front display, deliberating. That is not a poor idea, he thinks, feeling a flicker of possibility for the first time since their shopping trip began. If there's one thing he knows reliably about Maya Fey—other than the fact that her analysis of the Evil Magistrate’s character arc in season three is critically misguided—it’s that she's a bottomless pit of perpetual, ravenous hunger.
“Shall we go inside?” he prompts. Pearl wavers, her brow knitted with thought. A beat, and with a small frown, she shakes her head.
“Not what you have in mind?” Perhaps they can loop back on the way out, he reasons, so he can purchase his own gift for Maya here. Or place an order...perhaps a custom design... Cookies, or cupcakes with...a Steel Samurai design, that would be appropriate. Knowing Phoenix, the man has likely entirely forgotten the most basic step of purchasing a birthday cake in his planning...He nods to himself, satisfied. That will do. Pragmatic and thoughtful, with a tipped hat to their shared interest. To think Franziska mocked him for his gift-giving skills.
Pearls is still staring at the sweets shop, and the tug of her mouth has a distinct thread of unhappiness to it that stifles his triumph.
“Pearls?” he says quietly. Though she looks obediently up at him at her name, her doe brown eyes are clearly distracted, her brow wrinkled with a concentration bordering on frustration.
“...Is something—” As he speaks, the unhappiness in her eyes takes shine, color rising in her cheeks as the emotion on her face peaks. She removes her hand from his, her expression fitful, and concern wells in his gut as she anxiously scans the line of windows with something approaching desperation.
“Pearls,” he says again, gentle.
“None of it is right,” she says, almost too quiet to hear. Her voice is raw with distress. “Nothing is good enough.”
Worry drives him a hesitant step closer. “We have not searched all the stores yet,” he attempts. She shakes her head fiercely, her hair loops swaying. To his alarm, her tiny chin wrinkles with repressed tears.
“It has to be right,” she says, eyes glittering. “Mystic Maya deserves something really special. But I can’t—” She sniffs, crystal teardrops beading at the corners of her eyes. “I can’t think of anything.”
Miles’s heart lurches with empathy. To be overwhelmed by the prospect of failure...as a child, he’d flee to his room beneath such feelings. Crying in a public mall would have mortified him, and judging from the way Pearl is swiping at her flushed cheeks, she is struggling not to dissolve. Do something, fool, Franziska chides in his ear, and he awkwardly clears his throat.
“Then I think we should take a break,” he says lowly. A beat, and he offers an outstretched hand. Pearl sniffs once more, valiantly, and small fingers entwine with his. He leads them down a few more storefronts and guides them smoothly into the interior of a quiet, dimly lit shop, with soothing pine walls and empty chairs. Jade Pearl Boba adorns their menu, in crisp, simple lettering with their flavors, and he bends his head to meet her eyes.
“What is your favorite flavor?” he asks.
Her eyes widen, and a bit of life breathes back into her face. “Strawberry,” she whispers.
Pink and sweet. Not exactly surprising, but very fitting. He nods, ordering a matcha green tea for himself, and once their drinks are finished, they drift to a seat sequestered in the shop window corner, away from other patrons. She sidles into her seat, minuscule in the adult-sized chair, and her eyes go dreamy as she primly wraps her mouth around the large straw and takes a silent sip.
He casually takes a taste of his matcha tea. It’s not the best he’s ever had, but it’s passable, considering their location. An L.A. mall can hardly compare when he’s had the real thing in Osaka. “How is the taste?”
“Good,” she says softly. “Thank you, Uncle Edjiworth.” She shyly tilts her pink cup. “Do you want to try it?”
He shakes his head, mouth twitching with fondness. “No, thank you.” She nods, sipping it again in dutiful silence, and he feels himself soften at the sight. Despite years of exposure to her rambunctious guardian and Phoenix Wright, Pearl remains the most well-mannered child he’s ever encountered. Though he knows Pearls can certainly be passionate, he’s learned over time that she’s also prone to a certain form of brooding, a storminess that neither Trucy or Maya possess. It’s a trait he can’t help but recognize like a reflection in the mirror, and the concept makes him set his tea aside in a wave of odd, unsettled feeling.
“Pearls,” he says, as she carefully sets napkins before the both of them, tucking one onto her lap. “May I ask you something?”
Fey brown eyes light upwards to hold his, and she nods gravely.
“You don’t have to explain if you don’t wish to,” he begins, because suddenly, her obedience disturbs him. Her manners, her distress, her seriousness—it sends old alarm bells ringing, however rusted and buried in the halls of his mind, and it becomes critical that she know that she doesn’t owe him anything close to deference. “You aren’t obligated to speak on it, if you would prefer otherwise.”
Pearl frowns at him, and he falters. He’s only confusing her. Hands fisting once in the fabric of his slacks and releasing beneath the table, he sighs and returns her gaze.
“May I ask what upset you, earlier?”
Pearl drops his gaze, idly stirring her straw in her boba. “Um...I just want to find something good for Mystic Maya.” Her little mouth purses. “I- I didn’t mean to- to make a scene—”
Miles lifts a quelling hand, feeling something cold in his stomach. Make a scene. It's not a phrase an eleven-year-old would use if they hadn’t heard it multiple times before, and the realization makes his skin crawl.
Don’t make a scene, boy. There are consequences to shaming the von Karma name.
“You didn’t." It is only years of therapy, time free and spent with a family he’s chosen on his own, that keeps his voice steady. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Should you ever feel...upset that way, know you can always...” He swallows. “You can always tell me, and we can go somewhere more private. I was only concerned for why you might be unhappy.”
Pearls traces her fingers through the misting condensation on her cup. “Okay,” she says, timid. “Mystic Maya says there’s nothing wrong with crying, because Uncle Nick does it all the time.”
Miles releases a small huff of amusement. “True,” he allows. “Maya is an intelligent woman. Emotions are never something to be embarrassed about, even when they are intense.” A lesson he’s learned through hardship, and a great deal of un-learning with a partner that wore his heart on his sleeve whenever he wanted.
Pearls sighs, a child’s willowy exhale. “Is there a reason you are so worried about finding a present for Maya?” he ventures, tentative.
Her small brow pinches, eyes flickering with stress. “I...I don’t know." Her gaze drops to the Formica table, drawing his frown. Much like Phoenix, Pearl doesn’t have much skill at deception.
“Pearls,” he says, voice low and knowing.
This time, he doesn’t panic when her eyes fill with tears, but the sight tugs at his heartstrings nonetheless.
“Mystic Maya,” Pearls tries, water pooling at the bottom of her eyes, “I...She...I just—” She abandons her cup, moving to hide her face in her hands. “I just want to be with her.”
Miles stares, uncomprehending. Pearl bends, crying softly into her hands, and he cannot fathom the reason why. What could have provoked this?
“Pearls—”
“I don’t wanna be with anybody else,” she sobs. “Mystic Maya is my—she’s my—” Pearls shakes her head, hiccuping. “If I can’t be with her and Uncle Nick, I don’t want anybody!”
“Pearls,” he says, louder and more concerned. As she continues to cry, high-pitched and heartbroken, he struggles to recall Phoenix’s skill with her and Trucy, the way his voice could gentle and warm like nothing you could say would ever make him turn away. He makes it seem so easy. Just a touch and a sentimental word—Miles or Trucy, sweetheart, a simple Pearl-baby, and his love is made palpable, undeniable. Miles knows he could never be so comforting, even if he tried.
But he can’t sit useless and watch his niece cry, either. Heart skipping with nerves, Miles steels himself and reaches across the table. Gently, he pries her tiny hands free, so she can see his face and he can see hers, watery and swollen with tears.
“Pearls,” he says. His voice is a wall of certainty. “You will always have Maya and Phoenix with you. There is no power on this Earth that could remove you from their family. Tell me you understand this.”
Pearl hiccups, eyes shining. “I...yes,” she says, tears streaming down her face like little rivers.
“And you know why, don’t you?”
Pearl’s shoulders hunch with a sob that scrapes sore out of her mouth. “B-Because- because they l-love me.”
Miles nods seriously, relief blooming in his chest. This is a reassurance he couldn’t abide Pearl not having for herself. “We all do,” he says, and when her eyes fly to him, startled, he feels a moment of paralyzing embarrassment. He has not said such a thing to her before, he realizes. Since Trucy was adopted, they’ve spent every holiday together, nearly every family evening when the Feys visited from Kurain and he was in the country, but...he has never addressed it in words, what Pearl has come to mean to him personally.
In point of fact, he hasn’t said as much to Maya, either. Shame flickers in his stomach. He’d hoped—he wanted it be to clear with his actions, because so often Phoenix, Trucy, his sister—they knew him so well that he never had to voice his feelings to have them heard. And words were often...so difficult, even now.
This, he thinks, is an oversight that can no longer stand.
“You are...an important part of our family,” he says softly. “My sister and I...we love you and Maya both. Very much.”
“I know,” she whispers, to his relief. “I love you, too.” Immediate. Genuine. Sweet. His heart climbs his throat, clogging the back of his mouth like a stone.
Fey brown eyes shine. “I don’t wanna go anywhere else,” she repeats, lip quivering. “I want Mystic Maya. I want—” She hiccups once more, awful and short like she’s been hurt. Miles feels an impulse to rise from his chair, take the seat by her side, but fails to move, frozen by her anguish. “I want Trucy and Auntie Fran—”
“You have them,” Miles says, desperate to soothe even if he cannot comprehend the source of her sorrow. “Pearls. What’s happened?” What’s frightened you like this?
She sniffles, smearing tears across her face with palms half-swallowed by pink hoodie sleeves. “I...Do you promise you won’t tell?”
Miles straightens, frowning. That's not a good sign. “I am glad you want to confide in me. But if something’s happened that has made you this upset, don’t you think Maya and Phoenix should know?”
Pearl looks doubtful, fear edging in the corner of her face. “...Last time, Uncle Nick got mad,” she says, and he blinks at her, surprised. “He said it wasn’t my fault but I know he was mad, he—”
“Pearls,” he says, firm but not unkind. “Your uncle could not be angry with you even if you burnt down his kitchen. And you know this, because you nearly have.”
Pearl’s cheeks bloom pink. “I—I didn’t mean to, but souffles are so hard to make and—”
“What’s happened?” he interrupts, gentle but intent. “I will not tell Maya or Phoenix unless I believe it is serious, alright?”
Pearl plants her thumb in her mouth, chewing anxiously on the skin. “O-Okay,” she says, voice uncertain but relenting. She inhales a breath that quivers like a leaf in a breeze, and her eyes drop to the table.
“...Mommy sent me a letter.”
He sucks in a breath, careful to guard any emotion from his face. Ice spreads into his blood, a winter river of dread, and he thinks, ah. Phoenix was angry.
“I see,” he says, clipped, and prays his voice is not as brittle as it sounds to his own ears. He never met Morgan Fey, and is grateful he did not. Like Phoenix, he had hoped she would spend the rest of her days in high-security prison quietly. Perhaps that was a fool’s hope, but it was a hope for Pearl’s sake all the same.
And now it's a problem, one that requires swift resolution. He ponders for a brief moment what kind of horrible notions could live in a letter from a woman who tried to trick a child to murder her own family, and feels so briefly, intensely angry he finds himself breathless, silently digging nails into his thighs beneath the table. Phoenix had told him that Morgan was obsessed with her lineage. With elevating Pearl as her daughter to the highest status in Kurain for nothing more than prestige. The first time he'd heard the story from Phoenix on a long-distance phone call, he'd ended up steamrolling through a bottle of wine with an ache in his chest he didn't have the will to name. But now, he thinks he understands it better. Understands himself better, years later. He would always feel this, it seemed, when guardians forged tools of children, rather than providing them the love they deserved. He and his sister both were living proof of the consequences, with the scar tissue to prove it.
It makes him ill, to think Pearl might bear the same burden, and that she had tried to bear it alone.
Pearls sits pale-faced and expectant, waiting silently for his response. He exhales a sharp breath, logic spinning diligent wheels in his head at her revelation. His hand grips his arm in an old, embedded motion, before he consciously releases it, deliberately lifting his gaze from the table to meet her eyes.
“Pearls," he says. "Did something in that letter make you...fear for your placement with Maya?”
He watches her nod, and his stomach twists in horrid knots. This is so much worse than he could have anticipated. No wonder she's so upset.
“Listen to me,” he says, voice steady, and waits for Pearls to meet his eyes. “No matter what happens, you will not be separated from Maya. She is your legal guardian, and because she is your cousin and Master of Kurain—” And because your mother is a convicted felon who is never getting out of prison, not if it is within my own power and the power of every lawyer in our family, “ --no one else will have a stronger claim. And even if something happened, and Maya was temporarily unable to look after you...you would stay with the Wrights until she could take you back. Do you understand?” He watches her nod, and slowly squeezes her hands. “And no matter what that letter said...Maya will always fight for you. You know this, don’t you?”
“I know my mommy is bad,” Pearl says, and its simplicity is a knife in his chest. It is a hideous thing for a child to know, to understand about her own parent. But perhaps it is better to understand than to be disappointed, again and again. “And I know she doesn’t like anybody...that she doesn’t like Mystic Maya most.” Pearl’s face storms. “She’s wrong. Mystic Maya is...she's the Master because she's the best, and because she is the nicest, and she doesn’t even say anything bad about Mommy because she doesn’t want me to be sad!”
“Maya is strong, and she is kind,” he agrees. “And you are the most important person in her life.”
Pearl’s eyes glisten. “M-More important than Auntie Fran?” she asks, as if afraid of the answer, and Miles’s heart clenches.
“Maya and your aunt...they love each other very much. The way that adults love one another. They chose to be partners, like...like how I choose your uncle. You know that the love Phoenix has for Trucy is just as important as the love he has for me, yes?” Pearl nods. “It is...different, but not more or less important. Nevertheless, you will always be Maya’s priority. Do you realize what that means?” When Pearl hesitates, he dips his head. “It means you mean more to her than anything. Than her work as a—as Master, or her responsibilities in Kurain. If pressed, there is nothing she would not do to ensure your happiness.”
“Like...” Pearls swallows, and her voice lowers to a whisper, like she can’t dare to speak louder. “Like how my Mommy was supposed to?”
His heart aches in his chest. “Yes,” he says softly. “Maya is not your mother. But in every way that matters...she is your guardian. And I know that, if you asked, Phoenix would do anything for you, too. Just like he would for Trucy.” Like we both would.
Pearls sniffs. “Nobody in the village had daddies,” she whispers. “But...I don’t think I want one, if I have Mystic Maya.” A shy glance upwards. “And-- and uncles, too.”
It costs nothing to offer a small, sincere smile, his heart burning bright in his ribcage. “You are a very sweet girl, Pearls,” he says quietly. The words are made all that much easier to say for how she blushes, peony-pink. “And that is why I know no matter what you give Maya for her birthday, she will appreciate it.”
“I just want it to be special." Pearl's tears have dried, but her voice is still croaky with emotion. “So she knows I love her a lot. So she- so she knows I want her to be my—my guardian more than anybody else, no matter what. Forever.”
“Saying that to her in person, I think, would make her very happy.” As Pearl pauses to digest this, he tilts his head. “What gift did you get her last year?”
“I painted her something, with Uncle Nick’s watercolors,” she says, playing nervously with her hands. “But because I did that last year, I didn’t think it would be as special.”
“I have seen your paintings, and I believe they are in fact very special. I’m certain Maya would love another. Perhaps...an image that could mean something to you both.”
Pearl’s diminutive brow crunches in thought. “Last year I painted the garden in Kurain, because that’s her favorite place.” She lifts her thumb, gnawing. “Maybe...maybe I can do her favorite place here? So we can bring it with us to Kurain to keep?”
“That sounds like a lovely idea, Pearls.”
Her brow smooths with relief, and she curls her fingers around her bubble tea once again. “Thank you, Uncle Edjiworth. I didn’t know what to do.”
“You can always confide in me, if you wish,” he says. “But...Pearls. This letter from your mother. I'm afraid I do think it’s serious, and I believe you should tell Maya and Phoenix both.”
Pearl deflates. “Mystic Maya will be so sad,” she mumbles, chewing on her straw. “My Mommy always makes her sad.”
Miles presses his lips together, considering, and inclines his chin in compromise. “Then perhaps this can wait, until after her birthday party ends? I will join you, and we will all discuss it, alright?”
Her eyes brighten, and she nods. “Okay,” she says. “That way I won’t ruin the party.”
“You couldn’t ruin it if you tried,” he replies simply. “Your Aunt Fran is quite intent on making this party a success.” He lifts an eyebrow, overtly conspiring. “I have an idea for what I would like to purchase Maya for her birthday, but it would rely on your uncle. How likely do you think it is that he forgot to purchase a cake?”
Pearl’s eyes widen to the size of quarters, and she lifts her hands to cup her cheeks. “Ohhhh no." He's pleased to hear a watery giggle work through her mouth and smiles, bending his head.
“Mmm. Let’s just confirm that, shall we?” He takes out his phone, tapping quickly.
“Did you remember to purchase a cake?”
A few minutes pass, as Pearl sips her tea with starry eyes, and he receives a swift response.
“OMGHJG I’M THE WORST BROTHER EVER!!!! FRAN WILL SKIN ME ALIVE HELP ME IF YOU LOVE ME!!”
He chuckles, responding, “Already taken care of,” and gets to his feet. Pearls rises, painstakingly pushing in their chairs as he receives a final reply: “Ty, I love you sm, light of my life, fire of my loins...”
“Never say that phrase again or I will leave you to my sister.”
“as you wish ;)”
Incorrigible. Heart lifting in his chest, he turns to look down at Pearl and extends his free hand. “What say you and I arrange for a Pink Princess cake?”
Pearl’s gasp of delight fills his heart with warmth. “That’s perfect, Uncle Edjiworth!”
“Thank you, Pearls. Let’s show Maya how appreciated she is, hmm?”
Her tiny hand squeezes his, tight, tight. Unabashed and trusting, like she wouldn’t mind to hold it forever.
And Miles thinks he would be content to let her.