Chapter Text
It was all over. The Phantom was caught, the UR-1 incident had been laid to rest, and all was well. Except for one last hanging thread that was starting to tighten around Simon, more suffocating than the noose he had just barely escaped.
“Where…where is he?” Simon said. “You have found him, Edgeworth-dono? You said—“
“Simon, sit,” Miles said, his voice calm and almost gentle. Simon wanted to protest being coddled, but he could feel his knees turning to liquid under the heat of his panic. Still, he shook his head.
“The news, first—I can handle the news, sir, truly. I have to know. Where is he?”
“Simon—“
“I am not in a gaming mood,” Simon said. “Where is Fool Bright?”
Simon’s voice broke when he said his name, which dulled the blade of his anger somewhat. Part of him protested shouting at the man who had just saved his life, but the other part was much more concerned with the man who had just spent a solid year attempting to do the same.
“He was in an absolute panic. The police who discovered him in the Phantom’s lair had to sedate him before he could be moved. He should be waking up in…about an hour. The dosage wasn’t high—“
“But he’s alive,” Simon said. “Alive and well.”
“Alive, yes. But…he was held hostage for two months. I can’t imagine this was easy on him,” Miles said, a frown on his face.
“Mm. Certainly. Well, then. He’s alive regardless, so my course of action has been decided for me,” Simon said.
“Which is, Prosecutor Blackquill?” Miles asked.
Simon finally sat down with a decisive little thump. “I shall wait for him right here.”
There were a few token protests, but only to save face. Everyone present knew full well Prosecutor Blackquill wasn’t going to move. Once he started a task, he finished it; he’d made that much clear.
Simon waited, and waited, and waited. The only sound was Taka occasionally rustling his feathers. Everyone else had left the ruined lobby to converse outside. Simon listened to the occasional vague bursts of noise before raising an eyebrow. They had gone still. Then:
“He’s in there.”
Another pause.
“Yes, he’s been waiting since I told him. Go on, he’ll be glad to see you.”
His heart told him the truth before his eyes got the memo. Bobby Fulbright flung the doors open to the ruined courtroom, standing in front of Simon, the light from behind him illuminating his tear-bright eyes and heaving chest.
Simon stood on shaky legs and reached a hand out. He couldn’t trust himself to speak, but to have the other man come close—
And so it was that the first thing the real Bobby Fulbright did upon being reunited with his prosecutor was fly across the room, past the police guard, and hug him so tight Simon’s ribs creaked. For a second, Simon stiffened, afraid without his hands he would topple over under the detective’s enthusiasm, but—
My hands—
He reached up, his hands free, and returned the embrace.
There was a long silence between the two of them—not long at all in the time of the normal world, where seconds and minutes ticked on as they always had, but in the time of an embrace, where seconds could last eternities, or vice-versa. Long enough, at least, to make Simon lift his head, expecting a booming quip from Fool Bright at some point or another. Instead, he turned his gaze upward to find Bobby smiling down at him, his eyes’ gleaming delight barely dimmed by his mirrored shades.
“You’re alive,” he said, tears running down his face. Simon wasn’t sure why—there was no reason to weep for a man like him. He took in the thin red wounds he could see on Bobby’s throat, the way his hands shook, the stubble that had managed to accrue on his cheeks after two months of being held hostage, and tried to find the perfect thing to say.
“So are you,” he said.
It sounded foolish, but instead of laughing, Bobby just nodded and laid his head on Simon’s shoulder without another word.
Where is everyone else? Simon wondered, before he considered a worrying option—they were giving the two of them space. Space to work out what?
He reached up and stroked Bobby’s hair without thinking. Even once his mind realized what he was doing and panicked, his fingers refused to stop. Bobby tilted his head into the touch, making it all the more difficult.
Something occurred to him, in the middle of Simon’s warm fingers winding through his tangled hair, and it made Bobby jerk his head up so fast Simon had to pull his hand back and almost smacked himself in the face. He wanted to complain, but Bobby had that look on his face again, like the best thing he’d ever seen was standing in front of him, which was ridiculous, because he was right here—
“P-Prosecutor Blackquill!” Bobby said, beaming so wide Simon worried for the state of his jaw. “Your—your—you know, your manacles! Sir!”
“Ah,” Simon said, his voice soft. “Well. I forgot you weren’t…here for it…”
“You can’t mean—oh my gosh—“
There was something wrong with a grown man saying gosh, but Simon figured what with his own personal hodgepodge of Edwardian slang and samurai metaphors, he was in no position to say anything. Stones in glass houses and so on.
“Simon!” Bobby said, jolting the man out of his musings. “You didn’t!”
“The fact that I am still standing here alive ought to be testament enough,” Simon said stiffly. “But…yes, if you must know, Wright-dono and Edgeworth-dono proved my innocence in court.”
“Of course I have to know! I’m in charge of your rehabilitation—oh, not anymore though, because you’re safe! You did it!” Bobby said, looking positively giddy. Simon opened his mouth to ask why this was all so important, but was stopped by Bobby grabbing his wrists and gently turning them over. Simon stiffened in panic, reminding himself his wrists were still covered by his suit—he was safe.
“There you are,” he said, speaking with soft fondness to the bare wrists before him. “I can’t believe it. You’re safe. You’re alive and you’re safe, and…and…you’re with me. For real?”
Simon wanted to say something—remembered before he spoke, the man before him had just spent two months with the Phantom. Of course…
“Of course I’m real,” Simon said. “Of course you’re real, Fool Bright. No other man could shout half so loud.”
Bobby smiled, but this one was as tight and thin as the edge of a cliff. “Oh, Prosecutor Blackquill. I wish.”
There was a silence again, slower this time. Simon sighed. “I…I think it might really be over, you know.”
“Really? Then I think we need to rest,” Bobby said. “It’s been a long fight.”
He sank onto a bench in the defendant’s lobby with the weary gait of someone who is going to have to be dragged from their spot with ropes and pulleys. Simon sank down next to him without a moment’s thought. He twisted his wrists, alternating them in his grip every so often, reassuring himself the manacles were completely gone. Bobby didn’t say a word, staring at the ceiling and occasionally going up to rub his jaw.
“You look strange with stubble,” Simon remarked, because he wasn’t really sure what else to say. Bobby gave him a weak little grin.
“Yeah, I know, but he didn’t ever…really untie me, so…” he trailed off, looking down at Simon’s wrists. “I’m sorry, Prosecutor Blackquill. I was only in handcuffs for two months. I can’t imagine what it was like…”
He shook his head. “I have to make it up to you!”
“You really don’t,” Simon said as Bobby stood up, beaming. “Fool Bright—“
“No, I’ve got a great idea,” Bobby said. “I didn’t…I didn’t get to help get you rehabilitated like I should have. I owe you that, Simon.”
“Fool Bright—“
“No,” Bobby said, his voice firm. “I wanted to be there. I wanted to help! I wanted—I wanted to hear the judge say he was declaring you not guilty. I wanted…I wanted to be the one to take the shackles off.”
Oh, Fool Bright. It would be of no consolation, but I wanted it to be you as well.
Simon pursed his lips. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I know. But it is my biggest regret right now, and I want to make up for it. I have to,” Bobby insisted.
Simon sighed and shook his head. “You really don’t.”
“Yes I do, and I have just the idea to help,” Bobby said. “Come stay with me!”
There was a pause. Simon looked him up and down, brows raised. Bobby shrugged. “What? Do you have a place to stay?”
“Well, I—“
“And no offense, but Mr. Wright can’t have anyone else crashing on his couch, there’s no more room. So don’t tell me you’re staying with the Wrights.”
Simon sighed and rubbed his temples. “No, Fool Bright. I suppose I do not have lodgings for the moment. Temporary housing will be easy enough to find, and until then—“
“You’re staying with me!” Bobby said, beaming. Simon frowned.
“I was going to say, ‘sleep on a park bench,’ all things considered,” he replied. Bobby frowned.
“I won’t let you sleep out in the cold. Absolutely not, no sir!”
“Fool Bright, this is San Francisco.”
“It’s still not safe!” Bobby said, bristling. “And I’d be a rotten friend if I let you go out onto the streets, besides!”
“Are we friends?” Simon said, brows raised. Something fluttered in his chest hopefully—a sensation he was in no way used to. To his surprise, Bobby shrugged.
“I’d like to be,” he said. “If it really bothers you, then I can call Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth…”
“There’s no need to have him involved in this,” Simon said stiffly. “If you insist on escorting me home, Fool Bright, I don’t have the energy to debate this further. Come along, then.”
Bobby just gave him a broad, knowing smile. “Yeah, okay.”
The matter of Simon leaving with Bobby was discussed before Simon could even quite process he was being gently but firmly urged out of the ruined courtroom, past the double doors of the courthouse, and in front of Bobby’s car.
“Well, Prosecutor Blackquill,” Bobby said, “shall we go?”
Simon looked him up and down and opened his mouth to speak, only to find all his snappy retorts had fled him in the face of the other man’s smile. He sighed. “I suppose we shall.”
The two of them sat in Bobby’s Crown Vic and Simon looked out the window as Bobby drove away, down the road and through traffic towards the interstate, Taka wheeling above them in the sky. Simon closed his eyes intermittently, an ache building to a crescendo behind his eyes.
“Tired,” he said, all his formal cadence gone, replaced by exhaustion. “How much longer?”
“Do you want to eat first? Or order something?” Bobby said. Simon made a confused little noise in the back of his throat, leaning on the headrest. His eyes were wide and shining as his mind whirred and took it all in.
“Eat?” he said, mouthing the word once over in his mouth, like he was trying to devour the syllables. “We're really going to eat?"
“What? Yeah! Do you want to pull over and get something from a diner, or, um…” Bobby trailed off. “Tell you the truth, I’m pretty hungry myself.”
“We can eat,” Simon said. “I’d like to order. I don’t want to go out.”
“That’s fine, I get it,” Bobby promised. “Me either, actually, uh…”
He didn’t say anything. Simon curled up in his seat, unbuckling to pull himself into a ball. Bobby frowned.
“Buckle up, it’s the only way to be safe,” he admonished. Simon growled at him, but halfheartedly.
“This is safe,” he said, gesturing to his position on the seat. Bobby grumbled, but didn’t argue.
“We’re almost there, but from now on, you have to stay buckled the whole time,” Bobby admonished him, pulling onto a narrow twisting road and down the drive towards a row of houses. Simon grumbled, but Bobby didn’t push him for an affirmation. The two of them drove quietly until Bobby pulled up in front of a house.
“We’re here!” he said. “Uh, come on in!”
“This is your house? It’s so…quaint,” Simon said, looking out the window as he opened the door. Taka cawed, stretching his wings and lifting off the top of the car, sitting on the lip of the gutters and hollering at them both in welcome.
“Well, actually, it was my mother’s,” Bobby said. “She was, uh, very ill! And as her only son it fell to me to take care of her! So I sold my apartment and I moved out here!”
Simon closed his eyes. “I’m sorry. She passed?”
“It was a few years ago,” Bobby said, his tone quieter and calmer than Simon had ever heard it. “It’s okay. She’s not in pain anymore. That’s what matters, right?”
Simon paused, listening. He was actually asking the question, like he thought Simon might have the answer. Did he? He was much too tired to tell. It was a force of willpower to stand upright after today’s events.
“It does,” he agreed with a nod. “You took care of her until the end and then when she passed, she was at ease. It was the most you could have done. I’m sure she was glad you were beside her.”
“Aw, Prosecutor Blackquill,” Bobby said, but he was smiling. “Thanks for the kind words. You’re the psychologist, I guess I should’ve expected you knew what you were talking about—“
“Mmn. Right now, I don’t want to talk. I want to eat and sleep,” Simon said.
There was a pause as they both walked up the path towards the house. Simon sighed. “Forgive me. I am not…trying to be impolite. I am simply tired.”
“I know. It’s okay. It’s been a rough few months, hey?” Bobby said, giving him a hopeful little smile. Simon nodded.
“Mm. It has. For the both of us, it seems,” he replied. Bobby paused mid-unlocking of the house and turned around to stare. Simon shrugged, caught under his gaze. “Well, it’s true, is it not? You have endured a heavy burden, same as I.”
“Oh, uh—thank you, Prosecutor Blackquill,” he said before twisting the key and pushing the door open. “Hey, uh…why don’t you go take a nap on the couch? I’d really like to shower and shave and just—just be back home again, you know? I’ll order us something and you can sleep.”
“Thank you, Fool Bright,” Simon said, inclining his head and taking his shoes off at the door. He had just barely reached the couch before hitting it with a decisive thud and closing his eyes. He was, much to Bobby's shock—and his own, had he been awake to note it—snoring by the time Bobby came down from the shower and took out the takeout menus.
“Huh,” Bobby said, mostly to himself, “I didn’t think Prosecutor Blackquill snored.”
He leafed through takeout menus and frowned, finally settling on ordering from both a Mexican and a takeout sushi joint, ordering whatever caught his eye before sitting at the kitchen table and sighing, leaning back to look out over the room and taking in the sight. His eyes ached with the urge to commit every part of the room to memory and remember it as it was before he was taken.
Bobby rubbed his temples, the space behind his eyes constricting, tensing, exhaustion clawing at his shoulders and leaving an ache building at the nape of his neck. Maybe he should nap. Even if he saw the pit again, maybe he wouldn’t wake up screaming. Maybe he could sleep, maybe…
Before he could consider the thought, the phone rang. He sighed and picked it up, swiping to accept the call before he even checked the caller ID. He pressed the phone to his ear, rubbing at his eyes. “Hello? This is Detective Fulbright speaking. In justice we trust!”
“Good to see you’re adjusting to freedom, Bobby.”
“Oh, uh, Chief Prosecutor,” Bobby said. “Um, hello sir! I’m trying my best. I’d like to get back on track as fast as possible for the benefit of those who need me.”
“Don’t push yourself. You need to do this at your own pace. However, and forgive me for my hypocrisy…I have a favor to ask. There’s someone I need you to look after.”
“What? That’s just fine, sir! I need the company anyway, if we’re being honest,” Bobby said. “Who do you want me to look after?”
“Well…”