Archive of Our Own

Birds do not belong in cages. They shouldn't be locked behind bars, hidden from the world. They should be free to fly. It is their birthright.

Simon didn't quite know how to feel when the barred door to his cell was slammed shut and he was finally, nearly ten hours after his guilty verdict had been handed down, alone. He could still hear screaming in his head; the voice sounded vaguely like Athena, but he wasn't sure anymore. He could feel his hands shaking and did his best to try and hide it. He leaned back against the cold wall in an attempt to steady himself. Slowly, he sunk down until his knees hit the floor. It was okay. He had done what he wanted to achieve. Athena was safe. That was all he had wanted, in the end. To keep her safe. And now he found himself here, in a prison cell.

If his parents had known this was what would happen when they'd seen him off at the airport six years ago, he had no doubt they would have banned him from ever leaving their sides. He had been so excited back then; finally, a chance to leave the dreary country lanes of his childhood home and embark on an adventure of his own. An adventure that led him all over the world, from Japan- his mother's birthplace and the destination of his dreams ever since he'd been just six years old- all the way to L.A, to the Prosecutor's Office, to Cosmos Space Centre... and to this very prison cell. Now all he wanted was to go home. To be held in his mother's arms, her kimono soft against his fingers as she pulled him through the faded yellow doorway of their stone cottage in the mountains. She'd lead him through the hallway with its creaky floorboards and faded family photos hanging on the walls into the country kitchen at the back of the house, where his father would be baking snow cakes and his mother would prepare matcha tea for them all. Aura would be there too, on one of her extended vacations from work. His father's tartan would hang proudly around his mother's authentic Japanese embroidery collection that decorated the walls. And the katana mount by the window would still be empty, the blade itself hanging from Simon's hip; the very place it had never left since his mother had gifted the family heirloom to him on his sixteenth birthday. He wondered if he'd ever see his childhood home again.

Simon's first night in his new cage, a cage he had willfully allowed himself to be placed in, and he hardly slept at all. He tossed and turned, cold and terrified. He wanted his sister. He wanted his parents. He wanted his mentor, but she was dead. And he was her killer, according to the law. When he finally managed to drift off into fitful sleep, Simon dreamed. He dreamt of open fields and stone cottages in the mountains. He dreamt of salted sea air and cold morning mist. He dreamt of the sound of distant bagpipes and the smell of freshly cooked ramen. He dreamt of freedom... he dreamt of home. And when he awoke the following morning, he had tears in his eyes.

What had he done?

Birds do not belong in cages. It is dangerous for them to be surrounded by hungry predators searching for their next meal, with no means of escape. The ones that survive are the ones that become predators themselves.

Simon was not a violent person by nature. Anyone who had known him before the UR-1 trial would attest to that. And maybe his current status as convicted killer had changed a lot of people's opinions about him, but the fundamental fact still remained- Simon was not a violent person. But, he was a survivor. And for the past two years, seven months, three weeks, and five days, he had done nothing but try to survive. It had been hard, at first. Understandably, prison was not a kind place. It was dirty, loud, brutal, and so full of fear and hatred that Simon could barely think straight most of the time. It was the exact opposite of everything he had ever tried to be as a person. So, he knew that inside these walls, within this cage, he had to become someone else. He had to become something to be feared and respected in equal measure. Simon was forced to become everything he had ever stood against. And he hated it.

He had learnt very quickly how to adapt to the ever shifting dynamics of prison life; how to act in front of the guards, which ones could be bribed, what to say to certain inmates, where and when he could get away with psychological suggestion and when it would do nothing but land him in solitary for a few days. He perfected his craft, just like... just like she had taught him to. After roughly a year- or maybe longer, truthfully Simon couldn't remember- other inmates started to act differently around him. He was no longer viewed as this quiet, pale, meek boy too scared to even lift his head to face the judge who had handed down his sentence. Instead, he became shrouded in the dark clouds of the exaggeration of his own deeds. Suddenly, he hadn't bribed a single guard for a slightly less disgusting pillow one time, but now he supposedly had the prison warden herself under his thumb. He hadn't once sweet talked his way out of a punch up after making a comment about another inmate's personal hygiene, now he had powers of manipulation so strong that his victims supposedly became hypnotized and fell completely under his control. He hadn't just killed a woman in cold blood, he had now supposedly slashed Metis Cykes into tiny pieces right in front of her young daughter and taken sadistic joy in every single slice. Some said he could even materialize a katana into his hand at will.

He was no longer Simon Blackquill. Now, he was known only as the Twisted Samurai.

As much as he despised it, Simon couldn't argue with the modicum of control and freedom that came with having such a reputation. It was both his armor and his weapon, physically and metaphorically. If life were a dual, Simon was determined to always be the one with the sharpest blade.

But, underneath it all, his heart was still his own. When night came and the need for his armor and blade fell away, he found himself sinking back into the man- the boy, really- he had been before all of this. He missed Taka. He wondered how he was doing. Last he'd heard, the hawk had apparently taken up residence in the eaves of the district court house and was attacking anyone who tried to approach him. The thought made him smile, even if only a little. He hoped they would be reunited again one day, although he had no idea how.

Would he even make it out of here alive?

Birds do not belong in cages. For even if the bars are replaced with glass, a prison is still a prison.

Simon stared at the glass panel in front of him, not quite looking through it to the silhouette on the other side. Even now, he couldn't face his sister head on. He wondered if he'd ever be able to look her in the eyes again. He had started to forget what colour they were... blue, grey, something somewhere in between?

"Are you even listening to me, Simon?!" Aura suddenly snapped and Simon had to resist rolling his eyes. He hadn't, in fact, been listening to her. But he still knew exactly what she had been saying. It was the only thing she ever talked about these days.

"I cannot change my plea, Aura. I killed Dr. Cykes. That is the end of it," he replied steadily; the same response he had given her every time they had this argument for the past four years.

"But you didn't, I know you didn't!" Aura was practically pleading now. Somewhere, buried deep within the fortress he had built around his heart, Simon heard himself start to scream.

"I did. I am a murderer and I must pay for the sins I have committed," he said numbly, still not quite looking at her, careful to keep his face its usual mask of stony indifference.

"For fuck's sake Simon, look at me!" Aura suddenly yelled, slamming her hands loudly against the desk in front of her.

Simon almost smiled; she would make a great lawyer, minus the swearing of course. Instead, he twisted the beginnings of his smile into a haughty smirk as he focused his gaze just two inches away from her left eye.

"I am looking at you, dear sister," Simon's shackles rattled as he half crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"Look me in the eyes, Simon," Aura's voice lowered, the words catching in her throat as she spoke, "look me in the eyes and tell me that you killed her. If you do that, I'll believe you. I promise,"

But Simon couldn't do it. Well, he supposed he technically could. But she would know. If she saw into his eyes, she would know the truth before he'd even opened his mouth. And he couldn't risk that. So instead, he turned his head to the side and stayed silent.

"What would mom say?" Aura asked so quietly that Simon barely heard her. Instantly, he felt his blood start to boil in his veins. How dare she bring their parents into this? She hadn't seen their childhood home in years. Well, neither had he by this point. But she had stayed away by choice.

"Why don't you go and ask her yourself? Oh, but you have not spoken with her in, how long has it been now, eight years? You left us, Aura," Simon snapped then blinked, taken aback by his own outburst.

He heard Aura's gasp even through the thick, bulletproof glass that separated them. There was a beat of awful silence, before the jarring sound of metal chair legs scraping against the floor filled the room. As Simon watched his sister storm out of the room and slam the door behind her, he felt a pang of guilt in his stomach. It must be hard for her, having to think that her own brother was the one who had killed her closest friend. But he knew he had no choice. It was the story she would have to believe, for her own sake.

What else was he supposed to tell her?

Birds do not belong in cages. But maybe Simon did. He certainly didn't belong here, in this office full of power and opulence.

He stood awkwardly in front of the huge mahogany desk at the far end of the room. There were two guards stood either side of him, with another two posted just outside the door. Simon almost felt flattered that they thought he still needed to be kept under such strict guard, despite the fact that not once in the past six years of his incarceration had he been involved in any form of physical violence.

"Is this all truly necessary?" the annoyed sigh of the whole reason he was in this room in the first place caused Simon to raise his head. He looked up just in time to see the newly appointed Chief Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth waving his hand towards the guard on Simon's right shoulder.

"It is, sir," the guard saluted him and Simon watched with piqued curiosity as Edgeworth seemed to resist rolling his eyes, "he is still a convicted killer, regardless of your so-called plan,"

Ah, yes. 'The Plan'. That was all Simon had been told this morning before being dragged to the Prosecutor's Building and shipped all the way up to the Chief Prosecutor's office. It seemed that even the guards knew what this was all about. The only person still in the dark was Simon himself. As usual.

"I suppose you are wondering why you are here, Mr. Blackquill?" Edgeworth threaded his fingers together as he leaned his elbows against the desk and regarded him with undisguised interest.

Simon returned his gaze steadily. He had always been curious about Miles Edgeworth; he was a man of two very clear, opposite halves. He reminded Simon of himself, in a way.

"That I am," Simon nodded once.

"Tell me, how long were you a prosecutor prior to your conviction?" Edgeworth asked and Simon blinked, surprised by the question. He wasn't sure anyone had ever asked him that before.

"I began studying law and psychology side-by-side in Japan before moving to the States. After passing the bar exam, I was officially employed by this office for two and a half years. Before, of course, committing murder," Simon replied and watched as Edgeworth's eyebrows raised ever so slightly on his final sentence.

"Your win record?" Edgeworth pressed on, leaning back in his chair.

"I do not know," Simon answered truthfully, "I did not care for such things as wins and losses, so a record of them was meaningless to me,"

"And what did you care for?" Edgeworth's gaze grew piercing, as if he were trying to look straight into Simon's heart.

"The truth," Simon stated simply, "the courtroom is a battlefield, the evidence the weapon, the defense the opponent... but the final, absolute truth is the goal of any such dual,"

"Good," Edgeworth nodded sharply before leaning down and opening one of his desk drawers. Simon watched in confused silence as he pulled out a single sheet of paper and placed it on the desk between them.

"This is the paperwork to return your law license to you. Sign it and you will once again be a prosecutor with this office," Edgeworth pushed the paper towards him. Simon stared back at him, dumbfounded. Surely he couldn't be serious?

"I am a convicted killer," Simon said slowly, wondering if somehow Edgeworth had managed to forget that.

"I am aware of your current legal status, Blackquill," Edgeworth crossed his arms in front of his chest, "I am also aware that less than a year stands between you and your decided execution date. So, I ask you this: will you rejoin the Prosecutor's Office during this final year of your life? Will you fight for the truth in this dark age of the law?"

"Do I have any choice in the matter?" Simon scoffed, jerking his head back towards the guards still lurking at his shoulders.

"Of course you do," Edgeworth said with such honesty that Simon was momentarily speechless.

"If I choose to decline?" Simon asked warily. He was not used to being given the freedom to decide his own path anymore.

"Then you will return to your cell and this paperwork will land itself in the shredder. I do not offer this opportunity out of the kindness of my heart, you understand?"

"If the past six years have taught me one thing, Chief Prosecutor, it's that no one does anything out of the kindness of their hearts," Simon chuckled darkly, shaking his head.

"However, I do believe we will be able to work together towards a joint goal," Edgeworth glanced quickly at the guards before returning his gaze to Simon.

"What goal could you and I possibly have in common?" Simon leaned forwards and placed his hands on the edge of the desk, intrigued.

"To capture The Phantom,"

The words echoed in Simon's skull, igniting a fire in his soul that he had not felt in a long time. It had become easy to forget that, despite his incarceration, he was not the one who truly murdered Metis Cykes. And Athena certainly hadn't killed her own mother. She hadn't. She hadn't. Which only left one more option; the presence of a phantom.

"How do you know of this wretched ghost who has haunted me all these years?" Simon asked, his voice low and dangerous. To his credit, Edgeworth seemed utterly unfazed. Although Simon heard the guards shift nervously behind him.

"It is my job to know," Edgeworth replied curtly as he stared up at Simon looming over his desk, "and it is your job as a prosecutor to find the truth, no matter what. Or have you forgotten that?"

"No, I have not," Simon bowed his head and stared down at the shackles binding his wrists. He had spent over twice as long as a convict than he'd ever been a prosecutor. But he was still a lawyer at heart.

"Then I repeat my earlier question; will you rejoin the Prosecutor's Office during this final year of your life?" Edgeworth asked again.

The reply came so easily to his lips that Simon suspected it to be molten lava, bubbling up from his heart and pouring out of him like wildfire.

"Yes,"

"Good," Edgeworth smiled slightly, signing the papers in front of him with a flourish before pushing them across the desk towards Simon.

The shackles rattled loudly against the otherwise silent backdrop of the office as Simon reached out and took the pen from Edgeworth's outstretched hand. He signed his simple signature and watched as Edgeworth's smile widened a little. The man was impossible to read, but Simon detected an undercurrent of hope in his heart as he filed the paperwork away.

Was this truly the blessing it appeared to be, or would it turn out to be a curse in disguise?

Birds do not belong in cages. They do not belong in darkness and shadow. But if you spend long enough in darkened places, facing direct light can be so difficult that it becomes painful.

Detective Bobby Fulbright grinned at him with the power of at least ten suns. Simon squinted angrily back at him in response. They were standing in the middle of a diner. Or, more accurately, they were standing in the middle of a very bloody crime scene of a triple homicide that just so happened to take place in a diner. Fulbright had just finished declaring his outlandish theories to Simon based on the evidence they had collected so far.

"That is an utterly ludicrous suggestion, Fool Bright," Simon sighed, turning to scratch Taka's chin as he sat on his shoulder. He had missed being able to have the hawk so close.

"But, sir!" Fulbright protested, standing up to his full height, "It's the only thing that makes sense,"

Simon wanted to put his head in his hands. Instead, he scanned the crime scene again. Three victims, three murder weapons. First was Ms. Wei Tress, twenty-one, died from blood loss from a stab wound, likely a kitchen knife, in the side but also had a bullet lodged in her shoulder; second, Mr. Victor Timothy thirty-seven, shot point blank in the chest; and lastly a currently unidentified male, twenty-four, blunt force trauma to the back of the head with a candlestick, of all things, before being shot in the back. The scene itself was chaos, weapons and blood sprayed across the room and the bodies all practically piled on top of each other in the center. No suspicious prints were recovered and, ridiculously, the diner had no CCTV coverage whatsoever. It seemed the owner was something of a cheap skate and hadn't wanted to fork out the extra cash to pay for a security system beyond steel bolts on the doors.

Edgeworth had called in Simon- and by proxy, Detective Fulbright- to investigate. Simon wasn't particularly overjoyed, but he'd still happily take any excuse to get out of the clink and have a small taste of freedom, even if it was tinged with the smell of stale blood. He'd gotten used to being around dead bodies again pretty quickly since returning to prosecuting almost three months ago now. They had been surveying the crime scene for the third time- and Simon had been trying to disguise the fact that he still had zero leads to go on- when Fulbright had blurted out his insane theory.

"What if they all killed each other?"

Simon stared at him, waiting for him to start laughing or something. But worryingly, he looked to be deadly serious.

"And how, exactly, do you propose they did that?" Simon drawled, a smirk playing on his lips.

Fulbright then launched into what could only be described as ten different theories, all bundled together in the back of a minivan and driven off the edge of a very tall cliff, screaming as they went. Simon hardly listened to him as he paced the crime scene again, the detective's voice fading into white noise at the back of his skull. He was absentmindedly scratching Taka's head when he spotted it; a gun tossed into the guttering next to the kitchen window. He huffed a self-satisfied laugh under his breath as he turned around and leaned back against a table.

"As I said before, Fool Bright, utterly ridiculous,"

"Do you have a counterargument then, sir?" Fulbright asked innocently enough, but Simon's heightened hearing caught the notes of playful teasing in his voice.

"Not quite yet, but your theory misses out one crucial detail," Simon's voice lilted back; he did enjoy playing with his food before forcing them to admit defeat.

"Which is?" Fulbright crossed his arms, clearly not ready to back down yet.

"There's a pistol hidden under the drain guard behind you," Simon replied, his smirk turning to a wolfish grin as Fulbright's eyes widened in surprise.

"W-What?" Fulbright spluttered, whipping around and almost diving to the floor. And sure enough, as he reached into the gutter, his fingers wrapped around something cold and metallic. He pulled it out and held it up for Simon to see from across the room.

"I think you will find that is our real murder weapon," Simon nodded for the forensic team to take it away for fingerprint analysis. Finally, an actual concrete lead to go on.

"That was a good spot, sir," Fulbright grinned as he pulled himself off the floor.

"Yes well, given the fact that this is your crime scene, Detective, I rather think you should have been the one to see it earlier in the investigation," Simon glared at him.

"I was too busy dreaming up my 'utterly ludicrous' theories to notice it," Fulbright shrugged, brushing himself down.

"So, you admit that your theories were outlandish?" Simon's shackles rattled as he shifted his weight. Neither he nor Fulbright heard them anymore. Taka tilted his head slightly.

"So outlandish, in fact, that they irritated you to the point of discovering the truth," Fulbright looked over at him, amusement dancing in his eyes behind the aviators.

"That was your plan all along?" Simon growled, his hands balling into fists at his side. Fulbright had deliberately made a fool out of him.

"Not at all, sir," Fulbright smiled, completely unfazed as Simon glowered at him, "I noticed that it was too quiet in here, and I know you work best with a little background noise,"

Simon blinked, taken aback by Fulbright's words. It was true, of course. Simon had indeed been struggling to concentrate in their unexpectedly peaceful surroundings and Fulbright's endless witterings had helped, to an extent. But the fact that Fulbright had done it deliberately, that he knew him so well...

"Sir!" the voice of a forensic technician sounded from the doorway, causing them to both turn their heads, "We've got a match on the prints, sir. And I think you're gonna want to see this,"

As Fulbright turned and grinned over at him, Simon found himself wanting to smile back.

Was this what trust felt like?

Birds do not belong in cages. But Simon wished he were locked up tight right now. Anything to avoid the situation he was now forced to face.

How could it be her? She was only a child. But she wasn't anymore, was she? Athena Cykes had grown into a determined, brave, passionate young woman. She had grown up, without him. He was supposed to be there for her, to protect her, to look out for her. And he had, as best as he could. He had assumed he would never see her again. But now, after six and a half years, he found himself stood face to face with her. In a courtroom. Him behind the prosecutor's bench, and her at the side of the defense. What was she even doing here?

He tried to proceed with the trial as planned, enjoying making the Judge dance in the palm of one hand and Fulbright shower praise on the other. He knew this ridiculous farce of a case, demon yokai and all, would last barely an hour at best. Until...

"Hold it!"

Simon started slightly as he looked over to see Athena slamming her hands against the defense's bench.

"The prosecution will refrain from dragging our client's reputation through the mud!" she glared at him and for the first time since he had walked into the room, their eyes finally met. He wondered if she was like Aura; if she could see through his carefully crafted lies to the truth that was hidden far beneath, even from where she stood on the other side of the room.

"Oh, what a dreadfully fearsome lass we have here," he grinned at her as he leaned forwards, canines flashing. He had to pretend that he did not know her at all. Because he didn't, not anymore. And she didn't know him either. The man she had known when she was a girl was dead. The Twisted Samurai now stood in his place.

As the trial progressed, he felt his control of the situation slipping away. It had been a long time since someone had managed to challenge him so thoroughly in court. But between the two of them, the defense was putting up a decently good fight. He was almost proud of her, in a way. She was becoming everything that he could not be. Clearly she was more than capable of handling herself. But even so, as court was adjourned and he was escorted back to his cell, he couldn't help the old fears that started to creep up on him.

How was he supposed to protect her now?

Birds do not belong in cages. If they spend too long trapped where they shouldn't be, they die. Some of starvation. Some panic and end up breaking their wings so badly they can no longer move. Some, supposedly, simply die of a broken heart after being separated from their loved ones with no way back to them.

Simon knew he was going to die next week. The date had been set for some time now. He was due to be executed for a crime he did not actually commit. Although, he was the only one who knew that. The rest of the world saw him as a killer and his death would bring justice, one way or the other. His time had finally run out. He hadn't managed to find The Phantom. But, The Phantom had seemingly not found him either. Otherwise he would already be dead, Simon was certain of it. So, there was that small consolation he could take comfort in. It hadn't all been for nothing; he still had the psychological profile of The Phantom in his possession, everything he and Metis had worked so hard for. And now, they would both die for it. Were their sacrifices truly worth it? Honestly, Simon wasn't sure anymore.

As he sat alone in his cold, dark cell, he found himself thinking of home. He missed the mountain air and sea breeze. He thought of his mother and father, and their stone cottage by the mountain spring. He struggled to remember their faces. He wished he could have seen them again, one last time. He hoped they would forgive him, one day. He prayed Taka would be okay too. Hopefully Aura would take him in after he was gone. Or if she refused, maybe Athena would keep him. The hawk liked her almost as much as he liked Simon himself. Yes, Simon thought to himself as he laid down and closed his eyes, they would be okay. They would all survive without him. They would have to. But as he drifted off to sleep, one final thought rang in his ears. It was the only question he had never been able to find a good answer to, no matter how hard he tried.

Would dying hurt?

Birds do not belong in cages. And neither did Simon, apparently.

Seven years he'd been locked up. It had been seven years... he was supposed to die tomorrow. And yet, here he stood in the defense's lobby as a free man. An innocent man. He was not a killer, but neither was wee Athena. Everything he had sacrificed, all he had done to protect her, and here she was at the very end of it all, saving him in return. Her and Phoenix Wright, their trust and powers combined, had just saved his life. If he were a different man, he might have hugged them. But now, he found himself faced with a different problem altogether. The Phantom, Detective Bobby Fulbright. It was difficult to believe, even now. He had worked so closely with him. He had trusted him. And yet, all this time he was really...

"Chief Prosecutor," Simon turned towards his superior, jaw set.

"Yes?" Edgeworth raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

"I would ask a favor. Would you allow me to stand at the prosecutor's bench for this trial? I wish to claim The Phantom's head by my own hand," Simon said steadily. He had worked too hard and for too long to give up such an honor.

"Hmph," Edgeworth smirked, "that was my plan all along. After all, it's highly unconventional for a man of my position to stand in court,"

"Sir..." Simon's voice wobbled slightly as gratitude flooded his heart.

"The formal paperwork has yet to be filed, but you are hereby conditionally released. Please take the prosecutor's bench in your official capacity and uncover the truth by your own hand," Edgeworth smiled genuinely.

"I'm much obliged," Simon bowed his head before slowly holding out his hands, "the day to part with these has come at last. Chief Prosecutor... could you?"

As the weight of the shackles fell from his wrists and tumbled loudly to the floor, Simon felt his lungs breathe easy for the first time in seven years. He was finally free... But, as he entered the courtroom once more and saw Fulbright waiting at the witness stand, he felt his heart constrict in his chest again.

Was this truly justice?

Birds do not belong in cages. But what are they supposed to do when the cage is all they can remember knowing?

The trial had come to an end. The Phantom was in custody, himself and Athena were cleared of all charges, and for the first time in a very long time, Simon found himself surrounded by people who truly, honestly cared for him. Even if the majority of them barely even knew him. Laughter had echoed through the corridors of the courthouse, floated down the street to Eldoon's Noodles, filled the street corner, and filtered all the way up into the sky. Simon didn't laugh much, he wasn't sure he remembered how to anymore. But he did find himself smiling; at Athena, at Wright-dono and Justice-dono, at Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth, even at wee Trucy Wright, who seemed to delight in showing her entire repertoire of magic tricks to someone new. He smiled at them all, because he knew that if he stopped smiling then he would surely start to cry.

The group stayed at the food stand for hours and finally, long after the sun had already set, Simon started to feel a little more at peace. Eventually, everyone bid their goodbyes to each other and, without saying a word to him, Athena linked her arm with his and began leading him down the street. He didn't resist and allowed her to half pull him all the way to the front door of her apartment, only pausing to whistle once to summon Taka to his shoulder.

"Tea?" Athena asked over her shoulder as she unlocked the door.

"Yes, please," Simon sighed, the words sounding a little more desperate than he had intended.

He followed her into the apartment, trailing her a little like a lost puppy towards the kitchen. The place itself was probably considered small for a lawyer's apartment, but to Simon it felt like the rooms sprawled acres. He absentmindedly rubbed at his wrists as he watched Athena fuss about the kitchen, still not used to the lightness of his arms. Taka studied Athena with curiosity; the look in his golden eyes almost made Simon smile.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Athena asked tentatively as she pulled two mugs from the cupboard. Mugs that were far too large for tea, in Simon's opinion. But he was hardly going to voice that particular protest right now.

"Maybe, in time," Simon told her honestly and Athena nodded her head in understanding.

As soon as the tea was done, she led them back through to her tiny living room. Athena flopped down on the end of the old black leather couch, nearly spilling her tea in the process. Simon gently encouraged Taka to sit by the window before he himself sat down on the couch next to Athena, not quite able to fully relax back into the cushions. They sat in a companionable silence for a while, slowly drinking their teas. Eventually, Athena put her mug down and shifted her weight, pulling a mustard yellow blanket from the back of the couch as she curled up against Simon's side, draping the blanket over them both. He instinctively held up one arm, allowing her to adjust herself until she was fully comfortable, before gently lowering it to wrap around her slender shoulders.

"If you release an animal that has only known captivity its entire life into the wild without preparing it for what it will face, do you know what happens to it?" Simon asked, staring down into the mug in his free hand. He felt Athena shake her head against his chest, her moon rock earring jingling slightly as she moved.

"It dies. From starvation because it does not know how to hunt or find its own food. From predation from creatures it never knew to fear. From being unable to find shelter during freezing winter nights or sweltering summer days. Captivity may be considered cruel, but it is never truly unsafe. Freedom is nothing if not treacherous. It comes with a cost, and sometimes that cost can be your life," Simon's hand wrapped a little tighter around the mug before he took a sip, sighing as the still-hot liquid rushed down the back of his throat. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd drunk tea that didn't taste like dishwater.

"But isn't that the price of everything?" Athena tilted her head back and to the side so that she could look up at him, "Nothing in life is truly risk-free, even just walking out onto the street. Every day is full of small dangers, but that's what makes life worth living,"

Simon stared down at her, surprised by her sudden onset of wisdom. Maybe she would grow into her namesake after all.

"You're starting to sound just like her," Simon chuckled into his mug and Athena flushed.

"Could you... tell me about her, Simon? Could you tell me who my mother truly was?" Athena asked cautiously, biting nervously at her bottom lip.

"Only if you truly wish it," Simon scanned her face, searching for her true feelings. Her eyes met his, sky blue on steel grey, and she nodded slowly at him.

And so, Simon told her everything he could remember about his old mentor. How her smile always reached her eyes and the way her silvery laughter echoed around the room. The way her voice rose in pitch when she made an interesting discovery, or lowered into a smooth and gentle lilt when she was explaining a particularly difficult concept to him. The fact that she deliberately drank her green tea cold, since she'd forgotten about her freshly brewed cups so many times that she just got used to drinking them at room temperature. The way she had startled when Simon had first brought Taka into work with him, but had quickly warmed to the bird once she got to know him better. The way she always sided against him when it came to how to program the robots, but always sided with him against Aura whenever his sister tried to poke fun at their love of Japanese culture. The way she smelled of jasmine and plum leaves.

The way she would talk to Simon about her beloved daughter for hours on end, her voice always so full of warmth and love.

"It's like she was a completely different person with you..." Athena sighed, sinking down so her back half pressed into the back of the couch and half pressed against Simon's chest.

"She was the same person, Athena. We just knew different sides of her. As did Aura. As did Yuri Cosmos. That is what people are, fundamentally; we are all made up of the facets of ourselves that we share with other people, and those memories are what lives on when we are gone from this world," Simon placed his now empty mug down on the coffee table next to him before pulling Athena just that little bit closer towards him.

"Now whose starting to sound like her?" Athena teased and Simon rolled his eyes, nudging her shoulder gently.

"Very funny, piuthrag," the old nickname slipped out before he'd even had the chance to think. He felt Athena tense and waited for her to pull away from him.

"You... you haven't called me that since I was a kid," Athena whispered, her voice wavering as Widget flashed a dark blue, illuminating her face in the dimly lit room.

"I'm sorry, Athena. I did not mean to-" he scrambled for damage control.

"No, don't apologise," Athena quickly cut him off, finally relaxing back against him, "it was nice to hear you say it again,"

Simon smiled, despite the fact that he knew Athena couldn't see his face. They sat there in silence again until Athena's breathing deepened and slowed. Simon looked down when he realised she had fallen asleep against him. He considered moving, but one look at the peaceful serenity on her face convinced him not to. For one brief moment, he was suddenly twenty-one years old again, an eleven year old Athena curled up against him as he typed away on his laptop while her mother worked far later into the night than she should have. The first time she had fallen asleep against him, Simon had barely dared to breathe in fear of waking her; like a young canary, one slight movement would send her flying away in panic. She had been like the younger sister he'd never gotten. He stared down at her now and felt a familiar ache in his chest. Everything had changed and yet, somehow, some things had stayed exactly the same. She was still that young canary, finally having grown into her beautiful song. He was still a cautious raven, wary of those around him until he knew he could trust them, then he would be loyal to them wholeheartedly and forever. And she was still, seemingly, happy to be his piuthrag. His little sister. Just as he was happy to still be her protector.

Could life outside of prison really be this simple?

Birds do not belong in cages. But the thing is, a cage doesn't need to have bars in order to be a cage. It can be made of anything; glass, stone, marble, even air. A cage is still a cage even if you cannot see it, only feel it. And Simon felt his in his very bones. It followed him everywhere he went.

It had been two months since his release from prison and Simon couldn't help but feel like he wasn't adjusting quickly enough. He was grateful to the people in his life and how understanding they all were. He had a stable job that he enjoyed, with a kind boss who always stood up for him. He had fallen- a little haphazardly- into the family unit Athena had made for herself at the Wright Anything Agency; they always invited him to their outings and get togethers and were delighted when he said yes, but also didn't hold it against him if he didn't want to join them. He had even started forming some tentative friendships with a few of his co-workers, and had received more haircare products than he knew what to do with by this point. He was happy. He was. And yet...

Something pulled at the back of his skull, like a constant dull headache. He felt stifled by Los Angeles with it's loud noises, crowded streets, and the constant hum of city life beneath his feet. It had invigorated him once, and he was certain it could do so again, but right now it just felt oppressive. He was free, but he still felt trapped, held down by the constant hustle and bustle around him. He had finally moved out of Athena's apartment into a place of his own. It wasn't much, but it was more than he'd had in a very long time. It had taken a while to feel comfortable, old instincts from the clink still haunting him even now. But he was getting there, slowly but surely.

He was often busy with work these days, but he was grateful for it. The busier he was, the less time he had to think. His current case was, as so often seemed to happen, truly bizarre. Not overly surprising really, given the fact that Justice-dono was the lead defense. Simon had been sat in his office, staring at the autopsy report for probably the tenth time in the hopes that it would suddenly give him the answers he would need in court tomorrow, when he'd heard a polite knock at his door.

"Come in," Simon called out, lifting his head to see Klavier Gavin peering around the door.

"You thinking of heading home anytime soon, Herr Samurai?" Klavier smiled at him, still standing half way out into the hallway.

"I did not realise it had gotten to that time already," Simon sighed, glancing over to the dark-wood grandfather clock that stood in the corner of his office.

Whenever it was due to rain, Klavier always brought his car with him to work instead of his motorcycle. A few weeks ago, he had spotted Simon staring rather despondently out of the doors to the Prosecutor's Building at the heavy rain that had been pouring down outside. Simon had, rather predictably, not checked the weather that morning and hadn't brought any kind of additional coat or umbrella with him. It wasn't an overly long walk from the Prosecutor's Building to the bus stop, but the rain had been heavy enough that he would have been soaked to the bone within seconds of stepping outside. Klavier had offered him a ride home and, after an awful lot of back and forth about whether Simon would be intruding or not, he eventually relented and agreed to one, single lift home. Even now, Simon wasn't quite sure how it had happened, but somewhere during the drive between their offices and Simon's apartment, Klavier had convinced him that any time it rained, he would always offer Simon a lift home from work. He had assured him that he could say no at any point and Klavier promised he would not be offended, but the offer was always there if he wanted it. Simon had smiled and thanked him for his generosity, and that was how this whole agreement had started.

"I'm afraid I may be here for some time, Goldilocks. No need for you to wait for me," Simon vaguely gestured towards the evidence scattered across his desk, and across half the room really. Klavier grinned at the nickname.

"Anything I can help with? My case load is surprisingly light at the moment. Plus, I know you're up against Herr Forehead tomorrow, so that's surely gotta be one insane case you've got on your hands," Klavier chuckled and Simon rolled his eyes. He certainly wasn't wrong there.

"I admit that I can barely make heads nor tails of it.." Simon sighed, looking down at the autopsy report still in his hands. He hadn't been able to concentrate for hours now, but he'd hoped that if he just pushed through then he'd get himself back on track. Clearly, that hadn't worked.

"Hand it over," Klavier said, his hand outstretched as he stepped fully into the room and nudged the door shut with his foot before walking over to stand in front of Simon's desk.

"I assure you that you do not need to-"

"Autopsy report, now," Klavier insisted, making a beckoning motion with his hand.

Reluctantly, Simon handed over the file. But instead of reading it like Simon had been expecting, Klavier simply closed it and placed it back down. He spread his palms on top of the dark mahogany desk, leaning forwards until he was almost eye level with Simon sitting on the other side.

"Tell me what's wrong," Klavier smiled gently, his eyes searching Simon's in an insistent but not unkind way.

"It is not a simple enough issue to make a quick discussion of," Simon warned him, looking over to where Taka was sleeping on his perch by the window.

In response, Klavier pushed himself back off the desk and flopped down into one of the black and white armchairs by the righthand wall of the room. He crossed one leg over the other and laced his fingers together over his knee, looking over at Simon expectantly. Simon rolled his eyes again, but couldn't quite hide the smile on his lips as he stood up and walked over to join Klavier on the other chair.

"It is... complicated," he said slowly as he sat down.

"Life usually is," Klavier shrugged.

"Very true," Simon chuckled ruefully, "I simply feel that I may not be... acclimatizing to civilian life quickly enough,"

"Go on," Klavier encouraged softly.

So, Simon did. He told Klavier of his fears that he would never fully adjust to life outside of prison again. He told him of the shadows that haunted his every step and how he felt almost like a ghost at times, floating through the day without any feeling or purpose. How he felt that he would never be truly saved and how he longed for a freedom he didn't know how to obtain. It all came pouring out of him and, for once, he didn't try to stop it. Simon laid his heart bare. And when he was finally done, he was surprised to see Klavier smiling softly at him, his eyes gentle and understanding. He was not judging him at all.

"I'm sorry," Simon ducked his head, "I have been going on for hours now and I doubt you've even understood a word I have said,"

"No, I do understand. More than you know," Klavier sighed, sympathy weaving its way through his words.

"You do?" Simon couldn't disguise the surprise in his voice.

"Of course I do. You're not the only one who left their home country to come here. I know what it feels like to long for a place on the other side of the world. To miss a country you haven't seen in years," Klavier looked down, his fingers absentmindedly playing with the chain hanging around his neck.

Simon blinked, staring at Klavier like he had just grown a second head... because he was right. It was a truth that even Simon himself hadn't been able to see, yet Klavier had picked it out like it was the clearest thing in the world: Simon was homesick.

"How did you know?" Simon asked before he could stop himself. He couldn't remember the last time he had allowed himself to feel this... vulnerable in front of another person.

"Because I still feel it too, sometimes. I miss the old forests and the truly gorgeous architecture... and the tea, mein gott I miss German tea," Klavier clutched at his chest dramatically, but Simon could feel the underlying honesty in his words.

"Any thoughts on what you think I should do about it all?" Simon asked, not really expecting a practical answer.

"I think you should follow your heart," Klavier grinned at him, swinging his legs up over the arm of the chair and tilting his head back until he was almost upside-down. Would it really kill him to sit like a normal human being for once?

"Oh sod off, you camp git," Simon barked out a laugh, unable to help himself. As he breathed, he felt a weight being lifted off his chest.

"Okay, so I understood about half of those words," Klavier frowned slightly, his braid slipping from his shoulder and swinging underneath him.

"A tad hypocritical coming from you, do you not think?" Simon raised an eyebrow and Klavier tilted his head as if to say 'fair point'.

"My point still stands, Herr Blackquill. You had your freedom stolen from you for seven whole years. You have it back now, so what are you going to do with it?"

Those words echoed in Simon's head long after their conversation had ended. They followed him out of his office and all the way home, his mind able to think of little else. He had his freedom, a freedom he had yearned for for seven long years and never truly thought he'd get. This was his second chance at life... was he really going to waste it?

That night, for the first time in over seven years, Simon dreamed again. He dreamt of baked pastries and herbal tea. He dreamt of mountains and ancient woodlands, gentle rivers and the raging sea. He heard his mother's kind laughter and his father's quick wit. For the first time in seven years, Simon dreamt of home. But this time, when he jolted awake he did not have tears in his eyes. Instead, a smile spread across his lips even as he glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand and saw that it was still the middle of the night. He smiled because, at last, he knew what he had to do. He opened his phone and drafted a quick email to the Chief Prosecutor and scheduled for it to send at a more reasonable hour in the morning, before switching tabs and booking the first flight to Inverness he could reasonably afford- eight in the morning, four days time. Still smiling to himself, he put his phone back down and lay back in bed, sighing contentedly. As he drifted back to sleep, an unexpected question formed in his mind, beautiful in its simplicity.

What would his father be baking when he walked through the front door?

Birds do not belong in cages. They belong in the air, soaring so high you'd think they would land amongst the stars if given the chance.

However, Simon was quickly realising that he very much did not belong in the air. What was a plane but another metal cage, really? His short nails dug into the armrests as his grip tightened until it almost hurt. The Chief Prosecutor was right... turbulence was awful. He was certain he hadn't been this terrible with flying when he'd traveled as a teenager, but he supposed a lot had happened to him since then. He hadn't been on a plane in nearly a decade and boy did it show. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe, slow and steady like his therapist had taught him.

"You alright there, hon?"

Simon almost jumped out of his skin and his head snapped up to stare at a woman smiling gently down at him from the plane aisle. He quickly realised she was a flight attendant, if her attire was anything to go by.

"Nervous flyer?" she asked kindly when Simon didn't respond, her eyes shining with understanding, "No worries, hon. You're quite safe here with me,"

Simon stared at her in bewildered silence. Safe... he was safe, with her? Simon had had an awful lot of unexpected things said to him over the course of his life, but he could not remember the last time someone had told him that he was safe. Not many people felt that way when standing next to a convicted killer in chains, after all. But, maybe that wasn't how strangers saw him anymore. He wasn't some captive predator deserving of their fear, nor some meek prey deserving of their pity. He was just a lone nervous flyer on his first flight in over ten years.

"T-Thank you," Simon eventually managed to stammer out, not quite sure what else he could say.

"It's no trouble, pet. Long haul flights can be tough, even for the best of us. Can I get you anything? Water, tea, coffee?"

"No, thank you," Simon shook his head, still a little taken aback by the woman's unexpected kindness.

"Well, the name's Amelia. So just give us a shout if you need anything, Mister...?" she trailed off, clearly expecting Simon to fill in the blanks for her.

"Blackquill. Simon Blackquill," he replied before he could stop himself.

"Oooh, what a fancy soundin' name. Suits ya'," the accent in Amelia's voice thickened as her professional tone slipped away a little. The familiar sound made Simon smile.

"It's... Scottish, actually. A bit of a twist on an old clan name, I believe. At least, that's the story my father always used to tell," Simon found himself telling her, although he scarcely knew why.

"I thought I detected an accent in there somewhere. So, is this you heading home then?" Amelia beamed at him.

"Something like that, yes," Simon felt a pull in his chest at her words. Coming home, leaving home... both at once.

"Wait a second, Blackquill... I feel like I've heard that name somewhere before," Amelia mused and Simon instantly tensed.

"It may be-" Simon hesitantly began to explain, his old walls rapidly re-building themselves around his heart.

"Oh yes, now I remember! You're the passenger with the hawk," Amelia's eyes brightened and it took Simon a moment to process what she had said.

"I... yes, I am," Simon eventually managed to recover enough to respond.

"I saw him being loaded onto the plane earlier! He's the cutest wee thing. What's his name?" Amelia spoke excitedly as she slipped into the empty seat next to Simon. Simon was surprised to find that he didn't mind in the slightest.

"His name is Taka," he told her freely, enjoying the way her smile widened at this new information. And before he knew it, he was smiling too.

Amelia stayed sat next to him for what felt like hours, their conversation drifting from birds to the Scottish mountains to their respective jobs. Amelia seemed genuinely interested in Simon and, while he did sugar coat a lot of the events of the past few years of his life, he found that he rather enjoyed speaking with her. She was quick-witted and interesting in her own right, having being raised in the center of Edinburgh before travelling the world as a young adult then settling down in New York with her daughter. Amelia beamed as she spoke about her young child and Simon was reminded of the way Metis used to talk about Athena- as though she were the stars themselves.

"Oops, look at the time! I should be getting back to work, we'll be heading in to land soon," Amelia suddenly gasped, looking down at her watch.

"Already?" Simon asked, surprised. They surely couldn't be that close to landing so soon?

"Take a look out the window," she smiled.

Simon did as instructed and at once, his heartbeat quickened. There it was- the familiar landscape, slowly coming into view in between the clouds. He couldn't believe it; he was really home. Over his shoulder, he heard the kind voice of Amelia speak gently one last time.

"Travel safe, okay?"

Birds do not belong in cages. Neither do people. Simon knew that very well by now.

He stared up at the patches of pale blue sky in amongst the clouds that dotted the never-ending expanse above him. He breathed deeply, the scent of damp moss filling his lungs as he inhaled the crisp, cold air around him. The last vestiges of winter still clung on, yet he could feel the beginnings of spring creeping through. Snow still covered the horizon and the sun had already begun to set, despite it still being mid-afternoon, but the first snowdrops had started to peek through the ground and a chorus of birds called to each other from the near-by treetops. Everything else was quiet and still, the world still slumbering up here in the mountains. But soon, the place would be awash with colour and wildlife as spring finally sprung. Simon couldn't remember the last time he had seen the daffodils flower in the meadows of his childhood.

He heard a distant but deeply familiar cry and looked over his shoulder to see Taka circling high above him. He smiled, his heart filled with warmth as his dearest friend soared high in the place his ancestor's had once ruled. He knew he would have to call him back to his side soon, but for now he allowed Taka to enjoy his freedom in these new skies. Vaguely, Simon considered the fact that he probably should have informed his parents that he was bringing a hawk with him. But he knew they would love him as soon as they got to know him. Everyone always did.

Suddenly, he felt himself shiver and realised that it had begun to rain. Not heavily- it was closer to mist than anything else, coming down in a gentle fog to settle against his skin. Slowly, he closed his eyes and tipped his head back, letting the rain gently caress his face on its way towards the grass underneath his feet. A sense of deep calm flooded through him. He knew that, in time, his duty as a prosecutor would draw him back to L.A. As would the people there who he knew and, in some circumstances, even loved. And he was grateful for it; thankful for the life he had built and the people who filled it with such care and understanding. But for now, he could simply stand here and feel the rain on his face, the wind in his hair, and the peace in his heart, as finally the cage he had been living in for seven and a half years opened its doors, and released him once and for all.