Misty loves Maya's laugh.
Loves how it seems to just slip out of her, wild and random and loud. Loves how people turn to stare when they hear it, confused, and Maya just smiles at them before moving on. Loves how it doesn't come often, but when it does her heart swells and it feels so worth it.
She's always trying to get Maya to laugh, racking her brain for clever jokes and witty remarks. It's a special triumph when she manages to tell a good joke enough via sign language--Maya can read lips, but she's more comfortable with sign language sometimes, and Misty is doing her best to learn.
Other times, she tries to make Maya laugh by pulling little antics. Like the time she sprayed their names in a discreet alleyway, Ms looping together gracefully and accompanied by a chipper little smiley face. Or by challenging a group of young players on the court and kicking their asses while Maya cackles like a witch from the sidelines.
And Maya can get Misty to laugh, too. One of her favorite tricks is mimicking the gait and facial expressions of people they pass on the street, cycling from harried businessman to bored teen to anxious courier in the space between heartbeats. It's weird in the best way, and Misty will often find herself giggling, making sure Maya can see her face as she does it.
Sometimes it'll set off a chain reaction of laughter and they'll giggle down the street like girls, because why the fuck not? It's a free country, after all, and even if it doesn't always have a place for people like them doesn't mean anyone can stop them from laughing where they want.
But as impressive Maya's ability is when she's in a playful mood, it's even more impressive when she's serious and locked down. Misty sees it when she fights, when she trains, and most all when she dances.
The first time she gets to see Maya dance, it comes with an exclusive free ticket and reserved seating act one of her shows. It just so happens that the recital takes place own the day she's closing in an important case, and Misty barely gets there in time. She sees the way the well-dressed swells look at her leather jacket and jeans and openly glares back, because fuck that noise. This night is for Maya, not them.
She forgets all that, though, when she sees Maya take the stage for the first time. She pulses with a kind of nameless, limitless grace, every step in perfect time as she whirls across the set. Misty knew Maya was flexible, but she never knew she could do this. She seems to almost fly.
The crowd gives her a standing admiration and Maya accepts the praise with an elegant curtsy. Her eyes flicker to Misty, on her feet like everyone else, and wink--or at least Misty thinks it's a week.
She's almost feeling nervous, a rare feeling for her, when she greets Echo afterwards, holding out the slightly limp bundle of daisies in her human hand. She hadn't had time to get to a florist, so Colleen had just grabbed some from the vase they'd set up in their office and shoved them at her. Just give her something, dammit, she'd said.
She's tempted to explain why the flowers look kind of bedraggled, to apologize, even though that'd be ridiculous, especially from her. But Maya takes the flowers carefully, like Misty's given her in a bundle of jewels, tucking one behind her ear. Then she's pulling Misty into a kiss in front of God and everybody.
When they break apart Misty giggles, unable to help herself, caught up in her relief and the excitement and everything. Maya giggles back, dark eyes winking merrily.
"It's amazing," she admits later on, over Chinese food. "You're amazing, babe."
"It's nothing special," Maya replies. "I mean, I've got the hearing aids and I know the script like the back of my hand. And I watch all the great dancers growing up, over and over and over again." She signs the last part, grinning cheekily.
"Seriously though, my abilities...some things were really hard, but some things came easier for me than they did for most kids with my issues. So when I age out of the dancing world, I think I'll try to find a way to help other kids growing up Deaf, make sure nobody gets midiagnosed like I was." She winces at the memory, and Misty pats her on the shoulder.
"So you'll find a way to teach other kids to do what you can do?" Misty says, suddenly imagining Echo at the head of a small army of badass Deaf toddlers. It's not too bad a picture.
"I'll try," Maya says, shrugging. "Maybe I can teach them how to watch."
Maya, Misty will discover, is good at watching. She spots the way Misty's arm has been bothering her almost as soon as Misty does, tracking the light winces and too-careful movements that Misty had thought she'd hidden so well.
You should go to the doctor, she signs, looking from where she's stretching on the floor to see Misty wiggling the fingers with a pained expression. "One of Rand's technicians?" she adds aloud.
"I'm fine," Misty says. "It just gets like this sometimes." Not that she's not grateful for a bionic arm, especially one as badass as hers, but sometimes she wonders whether things might be easier with a prosthetic that she could take off it got too much to handle. Not to mention that she's constantly worried about electrocuting herself when she works on the damn thing alone.
"Maybe it's something the doctor could fix," Maya presses. "Or something the doctor should fix. And besides..." She shrugs. "I want to know more about it, how it works. I want to see what it looks like when people work on it."
Misty blinks at her. "What? Why?"
In case you need help, Maya signs carefully, as if she feels uncomfortable saying it aloud. Real help. And we don't have time to get the doctor. She looks away, biting her lip. "It's stupid."
"Hey." Misty goes over to Maya and kneels in front of her, carefully tilting up her chin so that their eyes meet. "It's not stupid to worry. But arm or no arm, I can look after myself, you know? I don't need super-ninja mimicry skills to cover my ass."
"But..." She pauses, turning the idea over in her head, and then signs You're right. "We should go," she admits aloud. "Just in case. I could use a refresher course on how the damn thing works, too." Maya lets out a soft sigh of relief
The technician gives them some shit about letting Maya's watch, but caves when Misty casually starts mentioning her access to his boss's phone number. Echo holds Misty's human hand as the doctor works, while keeping her eyes fixed on his movements, the clink and rattle of his tools. She sets up a camera on her phone, too, "just in case it doesn't stick" she explains.
Misty can't help, but squirm under their combined gazes. She doesn't mind the arm itself, but the feeling of people looking at it in such a vulnerable state makes her feel vulnerable, too. Maya squeezes her hand soothingly and she tries to ground herself in that.
Still, she's relieved when the doctor's finished his work. He tells them about a few places where they can get tools and Maya eagerly scribbles them down. "I'll find an old tablet or something to practice on," she says, walking backward. "We can work on it together in our free time, yeah?"
"Yeah," Misty says, still rubbing her arm.
Maya frowns at her as they come out onto the street, pausing to lean against a lamppost. "What's wrong? Does it hurt?"
Misty sighs. "I'm good. I guess..." She wriggles her fingers. I don't like needing people like this, she explains. "I mean, you handled your issues pretty much on your own, didn't you? And you did great--better than great."
"Took a shit ton of work, though," Maya says, as . "It's only been a year, hasn't it? There's not a time limit on thus stuff. And who knows, maybe I can figure out a way to pass what I got from the doctor today on to you."
"You think so?"
"It's just movements, isn't it?" Maya asks. "Just watching." Her eyes flick past Misty at a woman walks by and she smiles. "Like this." She shifts into the woman's elegant strut and Misty can't keep a grin off her face as she watches.
Maya imitates the woman, a pair of chatting drivers chatting outside their cabs, a busboy...then she does something else. It takes a few seconds for Misty to recognize the proud lift of the head, the gentle smile, the strong, proud side. It's when Maya makes a little skipping motion, right after Misty has stepped over a bottle cap on the street, that she understands.
"Why, you...." Misty lunges, but she's laughing.
"Imitation is the greatest form of flattery!" Maya squeals, ducking back against a wall, as if that could save her from Misty's wrath. Her eyes are bright, but she's not laughing, and Misty suddenly wants her to laugh along more than anything else in the world.
So she reaches for her go-to weapon when she's not in the mood for jokes or wit. She tickles, carefully running her metal hand up Maya's arm and along her neck while the flesh brushes across the ribcage. She lets out a peal of laughter, and Misty drinks the sound in.
"Does it feel good to laugh?" she asks, brushing her metal hand--and it is hers, troublesome as it, as much as Maya's ears are hers, and if she can handle them Misty can handle her shit too--along Maya's neck.
Maya nods. "Always."
"Good." She leans close enough that her vision fill up Maya's vision, Maya's world, and there's no chance in hell of her lips being misread. "'Cause I think I want to hear you keep doing it till the day I die."