Chapter Text
It feels somehow odd, sitting at the Wright Anything Agency and eating pizza with Wright, his daughter and his two subordinates. He can't quite place why it feels odd, it simply does. Maybe it's because Miss Cykes and Mr. Justice are discussing a case. He doesn't know why they choose to do so in front of the Chief Prosecutor. But then again, he's here off duty and furthermore, he's got nothing to do with said case.
Maybe it's because of the newly defined term for Wright's and his … connection. A relationship. Of course this is the sole reason.
He had actually planned to ignore Wright for a while – a few days, maybe a week (or two, three. Maybe a few months. A year, tops) – to grant himself some time to get used to the idea of being part of a relationship. But Wright, of course, wouldn't let him. For all he knows, this stupid defense attorney had feared that he would vanish to Europe. (Miles chooses to ignore the fact that he had searched for direct flights to Berlin …) Anyway, Wright had tormented his poor secretary with calls until Miles had finally had enough and let her put one through. They had talked for almost an hour and it is … okay, now. (“Nothing changes, Miles. It's just a label.”) It still feels strange, but it's okay.
Miles' train of thought is interrupted by the sound of his phone. The ringing breaks through the silence-filled room – Cykes and Justice seemed to have decided that their pizza is more interesting than their case.
He excuses himself and stands, walking a few steps away before taking the call. He's standing next to the classic ‘floating spaghetti’ trick now. “Edgeworth speaking.”
“Good evening, Chief Prosecutor. This is Officer Cohen, prison guard. I'm sorry for bothering you, but one of your prosecutors is causing a bit of a … mess down here.”
He sighs. Of course. “Tell Mr. Blackquill that I'll be seeing him in my office tomo-”
“I'm sorry. It's not Mr. Blackquill, Sir. It's Prosecutor Gavin.”
Miles stays silent first, hesitant, thinking. That's a new one. Gavin never had been one to cause a ‘mess’, other than getting on officer Skye's nerves. “What happened?”
“Uh, he came down here to visit his brother, and … I'm not quite sure what happened, exactly, but he cuffed himself to the bars of his brother's cell. He's unwilling to leave, and he even threatened to kill one of the officers. I don't think he was being serious, but-”
“He did what?!” Miles, trying to make sense of everything he hears, finds himself taken completely off guard at the last statement.
“Um, well, yes.” The officer sounds uncomfortable now. “He argues that if he kills someone, we must keep him here in his brother's company. Mr. Gavin – the prisoner, I mean, not the prosecutor – tried to talk some sense into him by pointing out that he'd be brought to the detention center first, but-”
“Oh, God.” Miles sounds annoyed, he can hear it himself, but he doesn't care. He's pretty sure he can feel a migraine coming. This can't be happening.
“... Anyway, we hoped that you could maybe handle this situation, seeing as you're his direct superior and all.”
“I'll drive over. Give me twenty minutes.”
“Oh, good! Thank you, Chief Prose-”
Miles ends the call.
Wright looks at him from over the table. “Trouble?”
“You can say that again. Prosecutor Gavin has lost his mind. He's cuffed himself to solitary confinement cell 13 and threatens to... Let's just stick with ‘he lost his mind’, alright?”
“Oh.”
“I'll go get him. I'll come back afterwards.”
“I'll come with you!” Chords of Steel. Justice jumps to his feet, looking very determined. Some of the emotion vanishes from his face though after only a few seconds. “I mean... If you're okay with that, Mr. Edgeworth.”
Miles sighs. “Get ready, Mr. Justice.”
“All right!”
Wright still looks at him, slowly coming over now. He pulls him into a hug. “Take care, yeah?”
Miles is painfully aware that both Trucy and Miss Cykes can see this display of emotions, but before he can object, Wright adds: “It's Kristoph. If he says something to you... Just... Don't let him fuck with you, okay?” Concern is thick in his voice.
Miles takes a step back and smiles a little, shaking his head. “Don't worry, Wright. By now, I'm immune to mind games.” He means it. Kristoph Gavin might be a cold-blooded murderer, manipulative and dangerously calm, a psychopath, surely, but he spent fifteen years of his life with Manfred von Karma.
Wright still has this worried look on his face. He couldn't hide it even if he wanted. But he simply nods, and so Miles leaves, together with Mr. Justice.
~
The hallway leading to the solitary cells, usually unearthly quiet, is now filled with the echoing sound of choked sobbing.
He fastens his steps a little, outpacing the guard who's supposed to lead him, making sure that his face is bare of every emotion. He's here as Chief Prosecutor now. There's no room for feelings. Not now. (It feels oddly comforting, almost like returning home, and Miles isn't sure whether he likes that. Old patterns, indeed.)
Prosecutor Gavin is sitting on the floor in front of the cell labeled with the number 13. His wrist, just like the guard had stated on the phone, is cuffed to one of the bars. He doesn't look up; he just stares down at the floor.
Miles slowly walks right up to him. “Prosecutor Gavin, I don't know what to think of your behavior. I sure hope you can provide a good reason for it. I thought better of you than to go and threaten officers. Please stand up now and leave with me.”
Gavin shakes his head almost violently. The sobbing had ceased as soon as Miles had spoken his first words. Instead, quiet tears stream down his face now.
Miles turns his head slightly to take a look into cell 13. The older of the two Gavin brothers sits in his chair, reading. He doesn't look up, he just sits quietly, as if none of these happenings were any of his concern. Miles has no idea how he managed to keep all his privilege even after his second conviction – the comfy chair, the books, the pictures, it's all still there.
He averts his gaze from Kristoph and directs it back to his subordinate instead, realizing how alike the look. It's eerie.
“Prosecutor Gavin, please.” He's met with nothing but silence and sighs, crouching down. “Klavier.” He never does that. He never addresses one of his prosecutors by their first name. But he can't think of anything else to say, and it works – Gavin lifts his head and looks at him, surprised, confused.
“What happened?” Miles looks him directly into the eyes.
Gavin manages to look right back for two or three seconds, but then he lowers his head and starts crying again. It's strange, seeing the usually so cheery man like that.
“Chief Prosecutor, I miss Kris.” The words are muffled through the tears.
Miles takes in a deep breath. That is all. Of course. That's why you cuffed yourself to his cell. He sighs again. Being Chief Prosecutor obviously won't suffice here – he wanted to act professionally, use his position to convince his subordinate to do what he is told, but Gavin seems to be so beside himself that he doesn't even care – or even realize – that this is his boss, telling him to get up and leave. He just keeps sitting on the floor.
“Prosecutor Gavin, you'll leave with me. Now. You're lucky if you don't get a complaint by the poor officer you threatened. Please try not to make this any worse.”
“It's … it's almost Christmas ...”
Miles blinks. What has this got to do with anything? “It's almost a month until Christmas. Could you plea-”
“You don't understand. Everyone...” He's crying again. “Everyone is talking about Christmas already and how they look forward to spending time with their family and... I … I really miss Kris. Do you know how it is to miss your family around Christmas time?” The last sentence sounds almost reproachful.
“I … don't even know what to say to that”, he answers, voice dry. “I think I would know, yes. Now come with me.”
“But, Kris...”
“Listen to your boss, Klavier. It doesn't become you, sitting on the floor like that, crying like a sulky child.” A smooth voice, calm, level, a little cold. Kristoph has decided to speak up.
Klavier's head jolts up, he's staring at his brother. “You- You're talking to me, Kris...”
But the moment has passed, and the older of the Gavins is reading again as if nothing had happened.
Great. He's gonna cry again. Miles is just not good with this. “Prosecutor Gavin, let's think straight here, please. Mr. Justice is waiting in my car. He's worried sick about you.” He doesn't even think he's overstating the case here.
Something in Gavin's face changes as soon as this name is mentioned. He looks up, blinking the tears away. “... Forhead? Herr Forhead is here, too?”
“Yes. He couldn't be stopped once he'd heard that you caused such trouble here.”
He looks at him for another long second, then takes the key for the handcuffs out of his pocket and opens them. He slowly stands up. “Okay. Let's go.” He nods a little.
A low chuckle from inside the cell. “Ah. Justice, hm? I can see why he would appear fascinating to you, little brother. I'm sure he likes your haircut.”
Prosecutor Gavin wants to turn around, but Miles pushes him forward. Something in Kristoph's voice unsettles him. It's still calm, still level, but the coldness has increased, and another emotion has joined in, too, one Miles can't quite place. But he doesn't like it. One of the guards comes over and briefly talks to Klavier. Before Miles can join them both towards the exit, Kristoph's voice echoes through the silent hallway again.
“Ah, Mr. Edgeworth … May I have a word with you?”
Miles pauses. Wright's warning comes into his mind, almost forceful, but he simply beckons the guard to leave the building with Prosecutor Gavin before he turns around to step in front of cell number 13 once again.
“What is it, Mr. Gavin?”
“I just wished to congratulate you on becoming Chief Prosecutor of our twisted legal world.” He smiles, and the most unsettling part is that the gesture seems to be rather genuine, despite his words.
“Thank you, Mr. Gavin.” He chooses to ignore the undertone. He’s grown good at ignoring them. “I will leave now. I wish you a nice evening.”
He takes a few steps, walking away from the cell, but then there’s his voice again: “Oh, and … congratulations on your romantic involvement with Wright too, of course.” He practically spits the name of the man who brought him into jail, like it hurts his mouth.
He stops dead. He turns around to face the other man again. Just say thank you and leave.
But he can’t. He finds himself standing in front of the cell again. “How do you know about that? Has Prosecutor Gavin-“
“No. We rarely talk. Why would Caesar talk to Brutus, tell me?” He lays his book aside on the table, watching him, sitting and managing to look taller anyway. This creepy smile is still plastered on his face.
Miles compresses his lips. “Then how do you know about Wright and me?” The Chief Prosecutor’s voice. Demanding. It’s not a question, it’s a masked command.
But Kristoph stays painfully unimpressed. He looks at his nails, still perfectly manicured. “Is it important? I just wanted to voice my utmost delight over your relationship. You two are … a good match, without doubt. The Chief Prosecutor and the fallen-and-risen forging defense attorney.”
Don’t walk into his trap. He is a psychopath. Walk away. Go. Leave.
He keeps standing there. “Forging? I believe it was him who proved that you were the one who-“
“Proved.” He chuckles. “Whatever counts as prove nowadays. But I’m not talking about the diary page. I’m talking about the bloody ace. I trust you have seen the video footage of this particular trial.”
“I have.”
“Then you know what I’m talking about. But like I said … you seem fit for each other.”
Miles shakes his head and forces a smile on his face. “Your mind games won’t work with me, Mr. Gavin. I’ve had that for long enough.”
Why do you even say that?
“Ah. Your traumatic past, of course.” The gentle smile is back on his face. He looks like an angel. Innocent and kind. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Edgeworth, but spending fifteen years in a noxious family doesn’t make a man immune to manipulation.” He pushes his glasses up. The light reflects on them, and for a moment, his eyes are hidden. “Staying inside said family for such a long time, however, might make a man a masochist. Maybe this is the reason you so eagerly returned to Phoenix Wright, no? This man is … really something else.”
“I am not having this discussion with you, Mr. Gavin. I’m leaving now.” Only that he isn’t. He’s not going anywhere. “Wright is-”
“A kind and caring man, undoubtedly. If it’s of use to him, that is. You’re an intelligent man, Mr. Edgeworth. You can’t tell me that you haven’t seen how Wright manipulated poor Justice. I dare say that I did not do that. I taught him everything he knows. I took him in. I took care of him. Better than Wright did of his foster child. She was … eight years old, right? Working at bars to help her adoptive father to make ends meet. It’s a shame. One should never adopt a child if they don’t qualify as a good father. Don’t you think?”
I know what you are trying to do, Gavin. It’s not working. Wright loved her. That’s the difference between Trucy and I.
He doesn’t say it. He’s silent. Just staring at the other man. He’s still smiling, gentle and almost warm. He radiates an aura of professionalism, he seems out of place in this dark, bleak cell. He belongs into the courtroom, not behind bars.
“Whatever the case may be…” Kristoph stands and walks over, standing right in front of him now. Only the iron bars separate the two men. “I’m most happy for you and him. I’m sure he’s proud of you for being Chief Prosecutor. It must be nice to have support. Especially while knowing that your own father would most certainly be rather disappointed in you. Gregory was an amazing defense attorney. I bet he’d wish for his son to be just the same. Not the puppet of the man who killed him.”
Don’t you fucking dare saying my father’s name in front of me. He wants to say it, but no word comes over his lips. He still just stares at him. Breathing a little too fast, maybe.
your own father would most certainly be rather disappointed in you
He’s clutching the bars with both hands now, letting go quickly as soon as he realizes he’s doing it. The expression in Gavin’s face shift, ever so slightly. He’s still smiling, but Miles knows this smile. He’s worn it many times in court, right before saying ‘The prosecution rests its case’ or ‘Your Honor, I request a verdict now’ or ‘The defense seems to have realized how poorly they performed’. It’s the smile of someone priding themselves on having brought destruction over another human being.
He knows this smile. He’s worn it himself.
He turns around and leaves, steps too fast, too determined, not casual enough, showing weakness, he thinks.
Prosecutor Gavin and Justice sit in his car, waiting for him. Both are on the backseat, Justice is gently stroking Gavin’s back, and Miles can’t look at them because his prosecutor looks so much like his damned brother.