Chapter Text
The room was a mix of cold and clammy, a terrible combination that no one other than Simon Blackquill could stand for more than five minutes at a time. It was comforting in its own way, though it was a subtle reminder of his time in prison, in a cell that confined him for a crime he did not do. But those days were over. He was fine now. Athena Cykes had saved him, and he was free.
Something still tugged at him though. Even now as he poured over the files at his desk, his hands still shaking in memory of the cuffs that once restrained them, something about the case bothered him and sat at the back of his mind, demanding his attention.
What was missing? What was he glossing over? He’d been over this specific case summary over five times, yet the pieces still didn’t add up.
Who was he?
It’d been a few months since Detective Fulbright was announced dead. They were still looking for the body during the time of the trial, but as soon it was over, Simon immediately had an investigation team look for the missing body. Though now that he knew of the cause of death, it suddenly felt more real. Everything that Fulbright was to Simon was fake, an act, a clever ploy to get at his voice analysis that incriminated him, and the real Bobby Fulbright was long dead, found at the edge of a river, stabbed and drowned and missed by no one. Not even Simon knew him, and somehow he was the person Simon trusted the most.
The fact that Simon didn’t even know the real Fulbright hit him hardest. He wasn’t even sure if the persona the Phantom put on was accurate to the real Fulbright. He didn’t know if Fulbright would even like Simon. Every moment was fabricated, so who’s to say that the feelings were inaccurate as well?
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. When Simon looked up, he saw the silhouette of a tall, sturdy man with his crossed. Simon glanced at the clock along the adjacent wall. Shit. It was an hour past closing.
“Mr. Blackquill?” Edgeworth said, stepping into the room and into the shallow light coming from the lone lamp on Simon’s desk. “Is something in particular bothering you?”
Simon nodded at him in acknowledgement as Edgeworth pulled himself a chair over to the front of Simon’s desk. Edgeworth was never a personal man. He instead prefered to put his trust in his associates and leave them to their work, which Simon much appreciated. Which is why the act of getting so close to Simon, especially after hours, was practically unheard of.
“Nothing is the matter, Edgeworth-dono,” Simon replied, closing a case file just as he saw Edgeworth’s eyes fall to it. “Is there something I can help you with?” he asked with a bit of a bite behind his words.
“No, but I was hoping there’s something I could help you with. You’ve never stayed this late before.”
Simon internally cursed himself. He had to come up with some excuse for staying late. He already hated interacting with people when he didn’t have to, but asking about how he was feeling , and with his boss of all people, was the icing on the metaphorical shit cake.
“Only working on an upcoming case,” Simon supplied, patting his file in front of him. “The investigation was just conducted yesterday and I’m staying in the office for a while longer to piece the facts together for a smoother trial. I won’t be any longer than another hour.”
Edgeworth frowned, his eyebrows furrowing to create that familiar crease in his forehead. “Mr. Blackquill, I am sure you know full well how I feel about dishonesty. Now, I would like to know what you were doing for the last hour or so and this time, without the blatant lies. I understand that you have no cases ongoing since your last one a week ago.”
Simon grimaced. Of course he wasn’t going to get away with that, of course his boss would know that he didn’t have any cases open at the moment. He didn’t mean to necessarily deceit Edgeworth, but the truth of the matter felt like a heavier burden to let go of than a lie. It looked like he was backed into a corner.
“I...” Simon started, clearing his throat, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I was looking over the Phantom’s files.”
“Why? That case has been closed for a few months now. Do you have any doubts that we found the correct man?”
“Not that,” Simon nearly snapped, his impatience and irritation rising. “You do recall that the Phantom was let out of our custody by the mistake of a few incompetent officers while we were trying to incarcerate him.” Something twisted in Simon’s gut as he said it aloud. The day that they told him that they had lost the Phantom played on repeat in his mind. The anger, disbelief, and betrayal that Simon felt near contested the day he found that Fulbright was dead.
Edgeworth remained silent for a while, staring at the desk in front of them in what appeared to be thought. “I understand. But why are you working on it now, and so extensively?”
Simon was appalled why it wasn’t apparent. That the very idea of the man who had played him for a fool since “Fulbright” had become his partner escaping from justice at the last minute in a sick sense of twisted irony had him seething in quiet rage. He didn’t understand how that feeling didn’t carry on to Edgeworth, someone who had also dealt with lies obstructing justice.
“There is something about this agent that will remain in my thoughts and will not rest until he is finally behind bars.”
Maybe he wants the Phantom to suffer the same fate he did in jail. The isolation, the fear, the unknown. The years of crying in the same spot in the same cell in the same way that eventually leads to permanent tear tracks and the level of stress being so high that it causes even the darkest strands of hair to grow back in a pure white. Maybe he wants the Phantom to bear the bitter weight of what it’s like.
Or maybe it’s closure. The want of truth, to understand how and why . Why Fulbright, why for so long, why at all. Why was a foreign rock worth more than a human life, more than years of partnership and trust. Maybe the answer is something Simon wants.
He doesn’t know, in all honesty. Simon doesn’t know what he wants from the Phantom or this seemingly useless chase to find him. But for whatever reason it is, he at least wants to find out who the base of this person is. Who put on all those masks and gave up their identity to forge others’. The Phantom has caused him too much pain to let go now.
Miles sat back against his chair, his hands folded neatly in his lap. He wasn’t looking directly at Simon, instead preferring to examine the desk passively. It was a few minutes of absurdly loud silence before Miles cleared his throat and spoke again.
“There is a man I once knew back before I even met you or took your case,” Miles said, his knuckles now turning white from pressure. “A man who was so dedicated to his cause that he would do absolutely anything to figure out the truth. He held contempt in his soul for those who wronged him during this search,” Miles paused briefly, taking in a deep breath, “but ultimately it was due to outside help that he was able to discover the truth of the case.
“His circumstances are strangely similar to your own, now that I think about it. He was betrayed by his assistant, his closest confidante, who just happened to be an agent in disguise. The true identity of which is not known even now, and I’m not sure how he’s dealt with it, but I’m sure talking to him might alleviate some of the hurt you feel. Pain demands to be felt and misery craves company so while it might not get you closer to the truth you seek, it might be good for you to talk to him.” When Miles finished, Simon noticed he was shaking ever so slightly. It was rare for Miles to open up at all to anyone, and rarer still to see him shaking during conversation. Something about it made Simon bite back anything he had thought to say.
“What do think?”
Simon looked off to the side. He wasn’t one to ask for help. If he had anything to do, he would much rather do it himself; it lessened the chance of failure. Besides, cooperation wasn’t exactly his strong suit either. There was a good reason why Simon hadn’t found another partner in his investigations. Comments ranged from “too snappy” to “terrifying”. It didn’t bother Simon any, but it did make trials take a little longer due to the fewer amount of hands.
“Who is this person?” Simon asked, partially skeptical that anyone could truly have a scenario similar to his own and partially curious to know if there was such a person. Was being betrayed by an agent such a common occurrence that Miles would know of someone that fit the bill?
“An interpol agent named Shi Long Lang from Zheng Fa. He’s a man I worked with for a short period of time right around the time I met Kay Faraday. You know of her, correct?”
Kay Faraday was actually a detective’s intern down at the precinct. She often came around to talk to Sebastian during lunch breaks and the like. Simon never really talked to her due to not needing to, but she was tolerable from what he saw when in passing. “I do.”
“Then I suppose you wouldn’t be opposed to talking with him?”
“I said no such thing,” Simon replied, his voice dry. “I don’t need help with the case. I’ve figured out this much on my own.”
Miles smiled, though it didn’t feel condescending. “And how much would that be?”
Simon frowned. He didn’t actually have much of anything to go off of, and his recent searches had come up fruitless.The only thing he “figured” was that the Phantom’s current location was somewhere in the U.S.
“Your silence says a thousand words, Mr. Blackquill.” Miles leaned away from the desk to pull something out of his pocket. He produced a leather wallet, and opening it, pulled out a small business card. “I highly suggest you meet him at least once. He might look like a tool, but I promise he knows what he’s talking about.” Simon scoffed. Looks like Miles does have humor after all.
Simon took the card, even if doing so was admitting his own defeat in a way. It was more to get Miles to leave the room already. If this is what it took, so be it. He would just end up either losing the card in the piles of papers or throw it away on his way out. “Thank you, Edgeworth-dono. I will consider it.”
Something didn’t sit right with Miles apparently, because something in his face shifted when Simon took the card. Maybe he knew that Simon was just trying to blow him off. Either way, Miles stood up and returned his chair to its original position at the other end of the room, going to the door before stopping in the doorway again, his back to Simon.
“Please shut off the lights when you leave, Mr. Blackquill. And don’t stay in too late.”
There was something akin to sympathy--maybe empathy--in Miles’s voice, which was very, very uncommon considering that Miles was not one to be either of those, especially since he was so bad at picking up and reciprocating emotion much like Simon himself. Simon blinked in confusion before grunting his affirmation and going back to his work.
Simon looks at the card in his hand, turning it over to reveal the name printed on bold on the front: Shi Long Lang. Below was a phone number and an email and occupation title. “International Police Agent.” Fancy name for overseas detective.
Simon Blackquill didn’t know a lot about the Phantom. The only solid information he had on him was an alias. He’d been searching for months now, and not even a single scrap of evidence was leading him to anything. It had gotten to the point where he’d been desperately rereading the same court file and transcript over and over, hoping that there was some clue hidden between the careful words the Phantom said right before he was shot and taken into custody. But was he desperate enough for help? Had it gone as far as to need another person alongside him, at least for advice purposes?
He pocketed the card and cleared his desk, locking up his drawers and standing up, his joints cracking in protest after sitting for too long.
Tomorrow he would decide.