Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

        Miles Edgeworth has been through enough. Phoenix Wright is not going to be a burden. Not when Edgeworth is struggling through an existential crisis and the aftermath of a mental health crisis, too. Phoenix might be weak and occasionally a coward, but he can muddle through somehow.

        Admittedly, Phoenix has been thinking about all the romantic implications of finally getting through to his Linked and making the first steps on this new exciting development and…

        He can’t bring himself to share any of this. It’s become like a mantra. Miles Edgeworth has been through enough. Phoenix Wright is not going to be a burden. Phoenix has to get through this on his own because Miles, for his part, isn’t holding much of anything back, for once, allowing emotions and surface impressions to diffuse through the Link, and he’s definitely struggling, but he’s also trying. He is doing better, even if some days he doesn’t feel as if any of it is worth it.

        Phoenix doesn’t want to quench any of that, and while he should know better than to listen to Dahlia’s words, he can’t entirely help it. Miles is sharp, though, and he’d catch on if Phoenix pulled away entirely, so he’s sharing small details, griping about the Paynes or sharing his enjoyment of the pastries Maya brought because she’d walked past a bakery that one time. And then his frustration when he realized that she used his money. Again. (He does share the entire amnesia thing, mostly because he doesn’t have a clue of what he should or should not be doing when it comes to his Link, and at least then he didn’t have anything too difficult for Miles to work through. It’s fascinating, looking back on it, Miles having walked him through the basics as he goes and even giving him small praise, because it’s maybe a glimpse into what Miles Edgeworth, Defense Attorney would have looked like, and Edgeworth had done a magnificent job compartmentalizing and not having a complete mental breakdown until after it was all over. Miles is...uncharacteristically kind, when he says that Phoenix could absolutely have done all of it on his own, but he appreciates it anyway.)

        He also files the paperwork about Linked Status to the court. He doesn’t really feel like taking that step; it’s weird and private, but it’s maybe a good sign that Edgeworth might actually be coming back eventually after all, that Miles pushes for that, so he listens.

        He’d done such a good job, which is why he’s caught by surprise by Maya’s kidnapping and all his mental walls just crumble.

        “Wright. Phoenix. Breathe with me,” he finally hears through the Link.

        Miles is still being way too nice, and he’s doing a decent job projecting an air of confidence and control, but Phoenix can feel the trace of uncertainty and worry. It’d been impressive enough when it seemed like he knew what he was doing, but actually getting to see behind the scenes just makes it that much more humbling.

        “Is there something I can do to help?” That’s...also wild. He offers that like he’s done it before, like it’s casual and not some big thing.

        “Oh, uh.” He...wants to tell Miles, but no, he can’t, the guy isn’t even in the country. Fortunately, there’s an easy explanation right there. “We were just minding our business at the Gatewater and there’s been another murder. Why does this keep happening?”

        Edgeworth’s instant response is another thought very much like an exclamation point, but he collects himself almost immediately after. It’s a useful trick. It’d be nice if Phoenix knew how to do that. He’s trying, but it’s not really clear how much is leaking through. “You shouldn’t be there,” is his next thought. It’s unclear if he meant to send that, or just didn’t bother hiding it.

        Phoenix very much wants to ask why, but he doesn’t. “Will Powers invited us. You saying you wouldn’t have gone?”

        It is kind of adorable that Miles gets a little envious, and he doesn’t bother hiding that, either. “...I probably would have begged for a rain check. There’s an investigation going on in the Gatewater at this point in time.” So he has actually been involved, still, through Gumshoe. Phoenix had wondered that.

        “What kind of investigation? Is it related to the murder?” Maybe he can get some useful information without bugging the prosecution, since Miles is still in Germany...

        “I’m afraid I can’t divulge that information at the moment.” It’s a little amused, but still firm. So much for collaborating with the defense. “I have changed, Wright, and I hope to show you the results of my year abroad soon.”

        That’s not exactly what he’d been implying. “I’ve gotten a few glimpses of that, here and there. And it’s not—I am proud of you.”

        Apparently that’s enough to make Miles flustered, and maybe that’s just what he needs to keep him from noticing anything. Gumshoe is on it, and directing him is the only thing Miles would be doing if he knew, so…

        And then his attention wanders off. A subordinate, someone with information about an investigation he’s running. “I’m sorry, Wright—”

        “No, don’t apologize! It’s fine. I know you’re busy and I appreciate that you took time out of your day to help me, so...go get ‘em.” And maybe, after this is all over, they can trade storied about the respective cases they won, and Maya will be fine. It’ll all be fine. He’s just got to keep it together until then. That’s all.

Chapter Text

        Phoenix had been feeling nervous enough, and that was before Franziska didn’t show up. And then, as if to top it all off, while they’re standing there waiting a bailiff comes to fetch him, handing a paper to the judge. He doesn’t recognize her. He’s not...getting arrested or anything, right? “The trial’s still today, right?” If not—surely the killer would still give him a day to win, because even for such a weird ransom request he has to be aware that there’s no way to get a verdict when he hasn’t even had a chance to defend his client, right?

        “There’s been a...complication, but yes,” she informs him, just as nervous, which is really intimidating and doesn’t tell him anything.

        And Miles is still panicking, too, about Phoenix’s nerves or whatever that highly tense top secret case he’d been working on was, but he’s blocking it out, probably—well, Phoenix would have said previously it’s because he doesn’t want to show weakness in front of him, but his friend’s been getting better and has been oddly nice, lately, so maybe it’s more that he’s trying not to distract Phoenix, even if he doesn’t fully understand where all the courtroom nerves are coming from. It’s not like Phoenix actually mentioned taking the case or anything.

        That’s up until he actually sees Edgeworth standing in one of the rarely used meeting rooms, arms crossed and fingers tapping. He’s probably angry or nervous. Just in case, Phoenix blinks. Nope, still there. Not in Europe. Like he should be. He even sounds remarkably present and here and ready for this meeting that Phoenix is totally not ready for. “Good to see you, Wright, though I wish the circumstances were better.”

        This is all...honestly kind of intimidating, being escorted to a room that looks vaguely haunted without an explanation, but also, this is the first time he’s seeing his old friend in person after learning about the whole, you know, Linked thing, and it partly doesn’t even feel real. Not when Edgeworth is looking at him with nothing in his expression acknowledging that this hasn’t been some sort of...extended hallucination. “Edgeworth, it, uh—what’s going on?”

        Edgeworth takes a deep breath, as if trying to calm himself down. Wait, did Gumshoe tell Edgeworth about Maya? No, don’t tell him— “I’ll need you to calm down and breathe, Phoenix. We don’t have time for this.” Easy for you to say, Phoenix thinks, not bothering to put any effort into hiding it, and Edgeworth doesn’t even have the courtesy to react, so, fine, whatever, Phoenix puts his energy into doing just that until Edgeworth marginally relaxes and continues. “Franziska was shot.”

        God, what? He reaches out to put a hand on Edgeworth’s arm, and apart from a few muscles tensing his friend doesn’t actually react, which is wild. “Shot?! Is she okay?”

        Edgeworth swallows. It looks like he’s actually wrinkling the suit at this point. Phoenix hasn’t seen him be this careless with his suit in years—no, wait, he shouldn’t think about that in case it makes Miles think about it, if he hasn’t been already. Damn, this can’t have been good for him, what with everything else going on. He nearly manages to sound his calm, cool, and collected self as he continues. Nearly. “I’m sure she would begrudgingly accept your concern, but I...appreciate it. Just her shoulder, fortunately, though I have the feeling that had I not dragged her to the nearest clinic she would have attempted to run this trial anyway.”

        He means that literally, Phoenix realizes, because while Edgeworth probably changed out his jacket for an identical one, it looks like he missed a little blood drying on his waistcoat. Nobody would notice if they weren’t this close up, though. Not against that dark fabric. He shivers. “Geeze, she is too much like her dad.”

        “Given that she had been taught her worthiness was dependent on an unbeaten prosecution record, I suspect that’s more a case of nurture rather than nature.” Speaking from experience, huh? “I’ve been trying to demonstrate otherwise, but I fear she still doesn’t entirely understand.”

        God, this is all too depressing. He’s got to say something to cheer him up, right? As if this case doesn’t already suck enough. “I bet she’s still happy about it, though. In her own way.”

        It apparently doesn’t help, because all Edgeworth offers in return is a simple noncommittal, “Perhaps.”

        Wait—does that mean the suicide reports had actually been from Edgeworth? Probably, although it’d gotten Gumshoe fired and that probably wasn’t the point; if Edgeworth had been trying he could’ve had the detective fired years ago, and he probably wouldn’t choose such a convoluted way to do it, either. And, ugh, sending those along was probably a bit too close to home, but Phoenix doesn’t have time for that right now when a life hangs in the balance and he doesn’t have a clue what to say, anyway.

        “So, uh. What’s going to happen to the trial?” He tries not to sound too nervous. Or eager. And wait, is Edgeworth nervous, too? He’d been making out like Franziska was going to be fine, right? Why can’t he feel that across the Link? At this point Edgeworth has got to be blocking it out, but he’d been doing so much better showing vulnerability.

        Edgeworth doesn’t answer immediately. “We finished processing the change of prosecutor paperwork. Since I’m the only prosecutor available and familiar with this case…”

        ...Oh. Oh no.

        He, uh, he can do this, right? He’s done this before. And at least Miles is at the point where he cares if the defendant is guilty or not, and Engarde’s not, the Magatama said so, so...Edgeworth isn’t going to send an innocent man to jail and he can totally do this. Breathe, Phoenix. “You’re my opponent now?”

        “I’m afraid so—though I admit, I’ve been looking forward to this, Wright.” He looks adorably embarrassed, like he’d just admitted to liking kid’s shows or something.

        Wait that makes so much sense. It’s got to be the blockers, right? He hadn’t paid too much attention to the paperwork because he’d assumed Edgeworth would announce he was back in the country with, like, fancy stationary and a summons or something and discuss all of this before their first case back, but—then again, this is all a whirlwind given the circumstances and he hadn’t planned on this to be so haphazard. “The blockers aren’t messing with you, are they?”

        He’s almost certain the answer is yes, because that question isn’t quite worthy of the victorious, slightly vicious smile Phoenix remembers all too well, although there’s a pinch around the eyes that says the answer is yes. “Sharp as ever, Wright. When you put your mind to it, that is. Yes, we’re both required to take blockers via injection or by mouth. They don’t interfere with any of your medications, do they? I checked the last ones I knew, but I don’t know if you’ve had any adjustments since.” And, of course, he sidesteps the question—but apparently his sense of justice or competitiveness or whatever the hell’s going on inside his head at the moment that Phoenix has absolutely no access to means that he’d willingly taken them despite the bad memories so they can face each other in court. And also, it’s just like Miles to be thorough enough to check for Phoenix ahead of time.

        “I, um. I haven’t had any changes.” He’s sometimes forgotten to take a few, but...Edgeworth doesn’t even call him out on it, so obviously, it’s working perfectly well. “I’m surprised they make both of us do it. I don’t hear a thing.”

        “Precautionary, mostly. The public is, in general, against letting Linked pairs serve on opposite sides of the courtroom, after all. Maintaining a professional air of impartiality is vital to ensure belief in the courts, and after...recent events, that’s even more critical than ever.” Probably also why they’ve got the bailiff still standing here to verify they both took them, watching awkwardly like she’s intimidated by Edgeworth. “Do you have a preference?”

        “I’m fine with needles, I guess.” Miles grimaces, like he’s not fond of the option, but nods and starts walking him through it anyway.

        “How long does this take?” He’s aware that it’s not a ‘right away’ thing, but he really doesn’t want to explain to a kidnapper that the trial got postponed until after lunch because the prosecutor happened to be his Linked.

        “Unlike many types of injections, blocker injections work fairly quickly—no more than ten minutes. I suppose it’s most similar to a steroid shot, though I regret to inform you I cannot explain the medical mechanisms.” Show-off, Phoenix thinks fondly. “Furthermore the duration of their effect is roughly eight hours—generally long enough for even a long day at court. Other than the blocker, we are both also required to offer our Linked status as part of our confirming our readiness for this trial, and should any party involved in the trial offer a formal complaint due to our status, we may be replaced.”

        Apparently he freaks out just enough in Edgeworth’s field of vision that he doesn’t have to be looking at Phoenix directly to notice. He’s obviously trying to keep an eye out without outright staring. “Of course, I don’t anticipate any such problems. Your own client seemed rather amused by the declaration and said he’s putting his full faith in you, and, well.” Does he actually look a little intimidated? Gotta be due to Oldbag, right? “None of the witnesses expressed an inclination to voice objections of—of that sort.” She...probably wasn’t happy about the whole Linked thing, was she? She’s probably going to have an entire ‘back in my day’ speech ready, that she’s probably been rehearsing even. Phoenix isn’t looking forward to that, but between the two of them they can probably keep that from going on all day. Though that still sounds...like a scary amount of work.

        Phoenix yawns, and Edgeworth leans forward a little, hovering, piercing grey eyes observing everything. “I’m okay, just didn’t get a lot of sleep. Nothing about side effects, promise.” He’s pretty sure. Miles doesn’t call him on that, either, just looks vaguely less tense. Trying to think through that request when there’s something nagging at him, an empty void of something that should be there and is now out of reach if it was even there at all, is difficult, like wading through molasses. No wonder Miles—

        “How are you doing, Wright?” ...Oh. He’s being strangely formal, for Miles, trying to make sure no one has any reason to look too closely, probably having been all too familiar with the phenomenon earlier, even if he claimed it didn’t bother him, but it’s not because he doesn’t care. He might sound a little condescending, but he might be talking so much just to fill the void.

        “You felt like this all the time?” Phoenix can barely stand this, and that’s on top of Maya.

        The smile is small and a little smug. Edgeworth shrugs. “My therapist was telling me about a psychological theory about how taking blockers nearly constantly was detrimental to an already fragile mental health. Something about a high percentage of Linked being neurodivergent in some way.”

        “So, uh, wait, that might’ve been behind the. You know.” He doesn’t want to talk about the attempt. Edgeworth himself skirted around, talking about the before and after but nothing about the time itself.

        “That’s probably my abysmal sense of self-esteem, but I’m sure the blockers didn’t help.” The bailiff starts, but Edgeworth doesn’t even glance in her direction, as if her presence doesn’t bother him in the slightest. Without being able to glimpse into Edgeworth’s mind, it’s impossible to tell if that’s a joke or not. He’s been doing that a little more, and given his deadpan, blunt delivery it’s really hard to tell without further clues. He’s been doing a little better—at least, he’s seemed that way—but some self-loathing remains. And then he smirks, and at least it seems genuine from the outside. “And, now that it appears to be working—ready to lose, Wright?”

        More than one life rests on the outcome of this case, and given that it really seems like Engarde’s being framed while he’s totally innocent… “You’re on, Edgeworth.”

Chapter Text

        Phoenix doesn’t remember too much of the trial itself. He’s too busy being worried about Maya and the fact that Edgeworth’s acting strange to be able to remember and get upset at himself about the blow-by-blow. The thing is...Edgeworth is both more and less ruthless. He’s focused on bringing an airtight case, but this time it’s not an airtight case that he and the police force have constructed. No, he actually welcomes Phoenix’s objections, or he wouldn’t allow them, would have cut off the case when the judge was satisfied. It’s like he’s trying to determine for himself that they’d found the whole truth and nothing but. Several times during the case he makes remarks that indicate he’s actually counting on Phoenix to catch flaws in his argument and help find the truth (and is, at times, a little disappointed that it took so long for Phoenix to catch up). On the other hand, he throws out his usual barbs freer and harsher than before, and Phoenix has never seen him so callous as when he declares he doesn’t care if Ms. Andrews kills herself, and when he spots the man anxiously waiting for news of his sister at the clinic, he tells Edgeworth so. (He’d do it in the privacy of their Link, to spare him the possibility of eavesdroppers, but the only thing he can guess is that now that Edgeworth is officially on the case, he has decided to take blockers for the duration to lessen accusations of impropriety, a guess that is later confirmed by a notarized record of doctor-administered injections added without comment into the Court Record.)

        “And what would you have me do?” Edgeworth responds acidly, the strength of the response taking Phoenix aback. “Stand aside as you frame an innocent woman for murder? You read the report, as did I. Being convicted and having my sister’s irresponsible words be proven wrong would likely kill her as much as having her situation known.”

        “I’m not…” Phoenix stammers, before remembering that he has to be strong for Pearly, currently clutching his hand. “I wasn’t framing her on purpose, and it’s not like she’s innocent. You can’t tell me you didn’t find her suspicious.”

        That is enough to calm him down a bit, though he’s still eyeing Phoenix thoughtfully, mostly with his usual sideways glances. “I’m aware, but it would not be true justice to have her be convicted of the crime she did not commit, rather than the crime she did.”

        All of that is true and reasonable and still possibly just a very logical excuse. “I still think you’re rationalizing it, Edgeworth.”

        Edgeworth doesn’t respond immediately. “Perhaps.” Just like he had the day before. But then, given how he’s trying to voice his thoughts out loud more often, maybe it’s actually a sign he’s going to think about it, and not just dismissing it. He did that when they were kids, didn’t he? Maybe these days, if he didn’t think it was worth thinking about, he’d just say so.

        And then they’re interrupted by one of Phoenix’s least favorite people on the planet (there are...an unfortunate number of people vying for the top place) still acting like he’s somehow a medical professional, and Edgeworth with the same naïveté that comes out at the weirdest moments (like Phoenix is one to talk, he thinks sourly) just believes it, just like that. The man’s followed shortly by Franziska with her whip, which is the first time Phoenix has ever been happy that a member of the prosecution is armed. Even if the conversation afterwards is nothing short of awkward and painful despite the fact that she’s not nonsensically accusing him of stealing her little brother away or ruining him this time. And she’s half focused on her ‘little brother’ and accusing him of all sorts of things, so it’s not all focused directly on Phoenix. For goodness’ sake, Miles is happier to see the get-better-soon flowers than she is, and he’s still working on expressing emotions.

        He isn’t completely incapable of taking a hint, though, so when Franziska suggests that visiting hours are over, Edgeworth suggests, “Perhaps we should take this outside?”

        Phoenix is only briefly surprised when it turns out Edgeworth knows of a small nearby park, one that he would have taken as private if not for the little rusty sign on the gate. It’s equally likely that Edgeworth had investigated here—because kind of out of the way location is exactly the kind of place that someone could stash a body and no one would find it for weeks—or had used it as a brief escape from interacting with people before returning to work. And being here seems to be doing Pearly some good, so...that’s something, at least. They all need a break—and they can’t have too much of one, but even a little might be enough to get their energy back.

        Honestly, he probably should know about the ‘director’, and yeah, okay, so Phoenix is half sharing the information hoping that someone can finally deal with the creep, but still. As expected, Edgeworth’s prosecutor brain instantly jumps to prosecution. It’s actually kind of funny, but Phoenix even catches his ‘perhaps this will be good for Franziska; she’s getting a little restless and impersonating a doctor is similar enough that differences in case law won’t serve as a stumbling block’ under his breath. It’s a lot like one of those thoughts he’d just let slip. Edgeworth really has been working on expressing himself more. Miles then files that away for later in favor of a different line of thought. “Did Franziska happen to mention that I suggested she call for a pre-trial meeting?”

        Phoenix might make fun of how old Edgeworth’s clothing and speech and everything is, but that’s a little ancient even for him. “No, she absolutely didn’t mention that. Why would you do that? Nobody’s used them in years.”

        “Because they offer the defense a better chance, as there are less chances for surprises. The judge was feeling nostalgic and thus was inclined to agree, but Franziska refused, which is why I had Gumshoe offer you that evidence instead. Inform me of his salary at your office.” Maybe he’s feeling guilty? “And…” It seems like he’s finally made up his mind about something, though he’s still hesitant when he offers. “...You were behaving...strangely in there, Wright. More than could be expected given my change in strategy. If there’s anything I can do to help—anything not illegal or that would cast doubt over the outcome of this case, that is—I...I would like to offer my services.”

        That’s a very Edgeworth way to put it, but—well. Phoenix swallows his first instinct when the realization hits him that even with the Link temporarily deactivated, this shows that Edgeworth still cares enough to prioritize paying attention to Phoenix and trying to find out what’s wrong and help. It’s not forced on him. He chose this. Chose to actually pay attention and to care, even when he didn’t have to. (And, now that he’s starting to sniffle, drawing out a handkerchief as discreetly as he can, is handing Phoenix evidence that he’s even braving spring allergies for this, and he hates those.) Phoenix swallows. It’s not over, so he can’t cry. Not yet, anyway. He glances over at Pearly, who’s examining all the cherry blossoms with her usual childlike wonder.

        He probably should’ve mentioned this earlier. It’s not like he doesn’t trust Edgeworth, and he’s pretty sure his old friend would have dropped everything to be here and help out, but he had wanted to let Edgeworth come back on his own terms. To prove that Phoenix could do some things on his own and wasn’t just a burden that needed help all the time. Worrying about things he couldn’t control was a big part of how Edgeworth got into such a bad headspace in the first place. “Maya was kidnapped. She got a phone call in the Gatewater and then—that’s actually when I freaked out.”

        To his credit, Edgeworth only stammers a little bit before he gets down to the actual facts that matter. “As I assume you were contacted, there was a demand?”

        Phoenix swallows. The facts of the case rattle around his head. The psyche-locks said so. The psyche-locks don’t lie; they indicate falsehood, which is different. But there’s no reason, no reason that if he’s perfectly innocent some weirdo would kidnap Maya for ransom, and there’s weird moments, like when Engarde finally agreed to let them represent him, and Miss Inpax’s death, Miss Andrew’s coldly trying to frame Engarde… “He wants me to get an acquittal for Engarde.”

        Edgeworth nods as if he’d half been expecting it. To be fair, it is the thing that fits everything the best, even if it’s so out there. And then, anticipating Phoenix (because they have learned how each other thinks even when the Link isn’t active they still can read each other better than most), he responds, “It seems a strange ransom but...I believe I may know why. It has to do with the card Ms. Andrews had in court.”

        “Oh, yeah. You really got angry about that. It’s not like I haven’t seen you angry in court, but…” Right, he might not want to talk about that. Fortunately, it doesn’t seem, visibly at least, to bother him.

        “It has to do with the investigation occurring at the Gatewater. I didn’t mention it before, because I was not then aware that you were involved. As it is, I trust that you will keep this a secret, under penalty of law.” He’s probably only half-joking.

        “I know the law, Edgeworth,” Phoenix agrees instantly, because if there’s a lead here…

        “Sometimes, I wonder,” the prosecutor murmurs to himself, which might be a little more evidence of it actually being a joke. Maybe. “A top-secret taskforce has been operating for some time trying to catch an assassin known as Shelley de Killer, an inherited title for assassins operating for over a hundred years. That card is his mark indicating his culpability, an act likely to try to ensure no one else is blamed for the death, particularly his clients. He prizes the trust between himself and his clients among other relatively honorable gestures and will not act outside that code, so we can at least be fairly certain he will keep his word with regards to Miss Fey’s safety.”

        “...Wait, so Corrida was killed by an assassin?” That’s...not where Phoenix was expecting this to go. At all. Wait— “So that’s why he’s kidnapped Maya. Somebody’s being charged for his work. And no one else would probably go that far, so it’s probably not a copycat.”

        Edgeworth nods approvingly, still gripping his elbow tightly. “True, but sadly a little incomplete. His client...was yours as well. Matt Engarde.”

        A shiver runs up Phoenix’s spine. “I can’t believe that.”

        The usual smug smirk is a little broken, a little softer. “In that case, I shall simply have to prove it to you. I may have some skill in that regard.” He stands and actually holds out a hand to help Phoenix up, relaxing slightly when Phoenix actually accepts. “It is some good luck that we encountered this situation now, when I am inclined to be thorough. I believe we can keep the trial going for long enough to find something useful. I will do everything in my power to ensure the safe return of Miss Fey, Wright, including the formation of a rescue team, and giving you a letter to allow you to continue to investigate at the hotel. Do try not to rile up Oldbag further.”

        Phoenix winces. “Thanks, Edgeworth, but, uh...that last one would be easier if I wasn’t fairly sure my existence offends her.”

        “I would say part of that is my fault, but in point of fact, one cannot control the formation of a Link, so it is neither of ours.” Edgeworth’s voice is brisk again as he pulls out a notebook from his jacket, bothering even in his haste to take the time to carefully rip out the page so it’s nice and even. The nerd. “Your letter, and cab fare—don’t bother to argue. Good day and good luck, Wright, young Miss Fey.” He bows extravagantly as usual and then strides off.

        “So, he’s not...a bad man?” Pearly asks disbelievingly, kind of confirming Phoenix’s hunch that she’d been ignoring him on purpose. It’s still not entirely clear whether she’s picked up on the fact that they have a Link and he and Maya don’t, but Phoenix is leaning towards the fact that she hasn’t simply because he hasn’t been slapped yet.

        “Edgeworth is...complicated, but he means well. Let’s go investigate.” That cheers her up a bit even as she yawns.

Chapter Text

        The greeting which meets him at the Detention Center is nothing short of expected. “As I told Mr. Wright, I have no care to see either of you—but then, neither of you are going to honor anything I say or do, are you?”

        And yes, he is going to continue to disregard her wishes, but can only hope doing so might ease her suffering, if only by a fraction. “I am sorry. Not for my own actions, for I believe they were required, but for the pain I have caused you.”

        She peers at him, shaken in her beliefs for the first time since he sat down, and then returns to her aloof façade, as if she has no cares whatsoever. “You’re a pretty liar, Mr. Edgeworth.”

        It is, undoubtedly, true. He has ruined so many lives with pretty words and a smile, vicious in his efforts. Sins he cannot undo or erase. But he is trying at least to make this so-called fresh start a better one, at least.

        Words will do nothing here. Evidence is what’s required, as he has been taught. So he reaches up and begins to undo the jabot, an action which is highly vulnerable and hardly for the public—but, he supposes, this isn’t the public.

        In a refreshing turn of events, Miss Andrews had not been one of his many witnesses to fawn over him uncomfortably. He suspects they are far more alike than he first believed, though he is not about to pry, not when she owes him nothing and he has already caused her so much difficulty and pain. Despite the utter lack of attraction, he feels her gaze on him.

        He swallows, crossing his arms and trying his best to meet her eyes, though it is an effort. When he finally manages to do so, he finds that she isn’t even looking at him, but staring at his neck. “I suppose, after this, words are unnecessary.”

        “So, what is this? Pity?” She’s sneering, but it’s merely a mechanism to protect her. He knows this as he knows himself.

        “Understanding, I believe, is the term you are searching for. Not pity.” He wants to snatch it back up, to hide away his vulnerability once more, but—no. For this conversation, he needs to be open. “I have read your psychologist is a good one. I would recommend speaking with her once more, and can as recompense cover expenses, should you so desire.”

        Andrews takes a deep, shuddering breath, longing to take the lifeline and, understandably, wary of doing so.

        “If not for myself, then for my sister,” he adds, and her eyes begin to tear up, but there’s something else—the expression is not entirely negative and he does not know how to read it.

        “Where is your strength?” she asks quietly, and he knows then that she will be accepting his offer.

        He takes in a deep breath, and yet she doesn’t rush him, allowing him to formulate his thoughts into words suited for herself and her situation. “Not myself, for certain. Though I believe you’re a better person than I, despite the similar appearance we present to the world.” She appears skeptical. A fair reaction; he would respond the same, in her place. “Cliché as it is, I have found a purpose. I may not believe in my own intrinsic value, but as a non-corrupt prosecutor who cares about the truth and not merely a verdict, I occupy an important position. And…” he hesitates, but no, he has come this far. It is a fact he is not keen to broadcast, but he trusts Andrews knows the value of discretion. “I have begun to reforge the connection between myself and my Linked.”

        “I wondered about that declaration.” She sounds like a woman who is having a puzzle piece slot into her understanding of the situation, and feels some satisfaction in that, at least, that the world makes just that little more sense. He nods, throat still uncomfortably bare. “Though I suppose I don’t see what point you’d have to lie about it.”

        He stands, picking up the jabot from where it lies on the visitor’s counter between them, suddenly aware of the police officer standing by the door trying very hard not to stare. Time to put it back on before he steps foot outside once more.

        “Mr. Edgeworth,” Andrews calls, voice louder than the entire time they have spoken, and he turns, curious. “Was that difficult?” she asks, pointing at the jabot, and he understands her effortlessly.

        “Very—until I thought about another who needed a helping hand, and then it was no obstacle at all.” Despite the fear and anxiety he feels, he can’t bring himself to regret it, which is the standard by which he has decided to judge his actions (after discussion with his therapist). The tears in his eyes mirror the tears in her own, and yet it is not a somber moment for either of them. He has no need to conceal them, but busies himself with replacing the cloth around his throat anyway.

        “I will stay in touch,” she promises, and he smiles and bows with an extra flourish, making his leave.