Chapter Text
Time: ???
Location: ???
The space was poorly lit, but one could tell it was cramped and could see the glimmering of metal bars at the edge of the darkness. There were two shadowy figures in that darkness, one on either side of a central partition, caught in the midst of conversation.
One of the figures was sitting down at the edge of a bed and held a hand to its mouth. “At least I can say my actions were done for someone else, rather than out selfishness and greed. Purely out of motherly love and a deep affection for my daughter.”
“True, but they say too much of a mother's love can become a vice.” The other figure's hand was brought to mouth as well, almost in a mimicking posture. “Pfft... Like I would say something so outdated and sexist though.”
“Hmmph. My plans are only extreme because of that dastardly black rose of the family and the thorn that refuses to vacate from her side.”
“Tell me about it. Pfft, fwaha, pfft... I've had a few thorns in my side for a long time now.”
“I don't see how you can find your situation so hilarious.”
“Oh, but it is.” The hand dropped. “You should learn to laugh at a few things, too, Ma'am. You have a long and dreary few years ahead of you.”
The start of footsteps resounded down the long corridor, and the conversation instantly ceased.
The footsteps approached, and a lone man appeared outside one of the figures' cell. He hadn't bothered to bring a light, it appeared, and the man's face, too, was hidden in shadow. “Are you the one called Shih-na?”
“Who's askin'?” the addressed figure responded.
“...Koen.”
“Koen who?”
“The name's Koen, Ms. Alias... I am a man who has a proposition that would be against your best interests to refuse, and that's all you need to know... It's involves revenge.”
“Revenge?”
“Against Miles Edgeworth.”
***
April 22, 2019, 5:24 PM
Edgeworth Law Offices
Reception Area
“Well, Mr. Shields, is this everything now?”
A certain Raymond Shields, seemingly smugger than usual today, dropped whatever he had been messing with in the corner of the office and shook his head, faking a pained expression. “Come on, Miles. How long have I been trying to get you to call me 'Uncle Ray' or even 'Raymond'? We've known each other for decades now. Is it really that hard?”
Miles Edgeworth, trying to hold in a sigh, more gently placed the two ill-fitting cardboard boxes on the backrest of the sleek, black office sofa. “Perhaps if I hadn't been stuck here for the past two hours, watching you dig through random paraphernalia and occasionally having unknown objects shoved at me, I would be more prone to remembering.”
Shields sobered a little at this, but not as much as Edgeworth would have liked. “Sorry, sorry, but I keep thinking of things and of places to look. Don't want you missing out on anything from your old man.”
“Couldn't you have thought to do all this searching before you called me and demanded I come down to the office 'immediately'?”
“Sheesh, Miles, how many times are you going to make me apologize? I'm sorry, okay? I only reunited with you two weeks ago, discovered you weren't the jerk of a prick I'd mistaken you for all this time, and unearthed some old photographs of you and your father just this morning that I thought you deserved to have. I got a little eager, okay?”
(You could have left out that tidbit about your former misconceptions of me, thank you very much.) “I thank you for the photographs, Mist– ah, R-Raymond. Truly. But perhaps you can hold onto everything else you think of until we next meet? This week I've been–”
“Busy,” Shields finished, crossing his arms, “I got it, Miles, you're always busy. But be honest, when would we ever meet up without me pleading to you on the phone or dragging you somewhere myself?”
“I-I meant this week I've been especially...” He trailed off. (Somehow “busy” just seems like the wrong word to use in this case.)
Suddenly, Shields' grin returned. “...It's that new promotion of yours, right? Come on, just say it. I've been waiting for you to bring it up these past two hours.”
(Then why didn't you just bring it up yourself instead of wasting my precious time?!) “How did you come to hear about it?”
The grin somehow morphed into something even more mischievous. “Oh, just from a certain birdie I called up. That man, to be more precise.”
(Ah, yes. As if I couldn't understand who you were referring to from the first ridiculous reference... Curse that Wright.)
“So... Chief Prosecutor, right?” Shields continued, “The new Big Honcho. That's kind of a big deal.”
“Not necessarily, no. I'm just another warm body filling a needed executive position that's given a lot of unneeded, pompous press.” Surprisingly, Shields snorted. “What?”
“Oh, it's just, only you would brush off something as big as Head of the Prosecutor's Office as something small.”
(...It scares me that Wright told me almost exactly the same thing when he first heard.) “I'm not brushing it off as something small. I said it was a needed position. I am aware of how important it is to the Prosecutor's Office and the city as a whole. Not to mention all of the political and financial circles I now unfortunately have to be a part of.”
“Do you know why you were chosen? Asides from being one of the most brainy lawyers in the country, of course.”
Edgeworth crossed his arms and began tapping a finger to his forearm with temporarily closed eyes. “I was told it was because of my 'history in fighting corruption, regardless of position or clout'. They cited the recent arrests of Blaise Debeste and Quercus Albus specifically, but I'm sure they were referring to Damon Gant as well. I largely suspect Judge Courtney played a role in my nomination.”
“Well would you look at that. One week the P.I.C. threatens to revoke your badge, and the next, they hand you the Chief of Prosecutors position on a silver platter.”
“They didn't hand me anything. The P.I.C. is an independent body to the Prosecutor's Office.”
“Yeah, but you were the one who brought up the influence Justine has. Especially now that she is the new head of the group.”
(Why don't you mean a little more of what you are saying for once if you don't want people to misunderstand you?)
“So this means you're postponing the wedding?”
(Ack! That was an abrupt change in the conversation.) “T-That's more or less the case. Wright and I hadn't settled on a date yet, but this is certainly pushing back our plans a bit.”
“Nicky sure sounded disappointed on the phone. Oh, but he assured me that he was 'way more happier' about your promotion.”
(You don't have to tell me...) Edgeworth didn't attempt to hide a sigh this time. (But I am taking a permanent job in the city like he wanted. He has no right to be upset with me.)
A ringtone went off.
The defense attorney of the office chuckled. “Speaking of the devil...”
Edgeworth drew out his phone. “It's not him,” he blurted out without thinking.
“Oh?” A pause. “Are you going to answer it?”
“I don't want to,” the prosecutor replied before swiping a finger across the screen and bringing it to his ear anyway. He stepped away, turning slightly.
Shields absently began sorting through the loose junk and materials on the desk again so as not to listen in.
Soon, Edgeworth was turning back. “Sorry,” he apologized.
“That was short,” the defense attorney remarked for probably no reason at all.
“It was a coworker,” Edgeworth explained, not sure why he felt inclined to give a response.
“A disliked one, it seems.”
The prosecutor suddenly felt irritation bubbling to the surface. “Not on my part, I assure you. At least, not initially. He's the one who repeatedly evidences a lack of tact for masking an open hostility towards me.”
Shields help up his hands. “Whoa, fancy talk. He must really hate you. Do you know why?”
“Envy. He's been jealous of me for various petty reasons ever since I first stood in an office. If it wasn't for my connection to von Karma, then it was for my track record or my youth or my association with high-profile cases. I'm sure he's always been the first to secretly spread rumors about me whenever a chance has arisen. My last few runs into news headlines in the recent months and especially this promotion is sure to sour his mood even further.”
“Then why the call?”
Edgeworth frowned in thought. “I was asked to help in an investigation involving the Amano Group and its ties to the Cohdopian smuggling ring.”
“Oh? Maybe it's his way of making a truce to you now that he knows you are going to become his boss.”
“Somehow I doubt that's the reason. I was a forerunning participant in the arrest of several members of the ring, most notably Mr. Ernest Amano himself, so it's only the logical course of action to ask me to help out in the investigation. Still, it leaves me questioning Gavin's ulterior motives.”
“Is that his name?”
“Diederich Koen Gavin.”
“Hey, he's got a bit of German to him, just like you.”
Edgeworth's only answer was a no-nonsense glare.
“Heh heh. Sorry.”
“Thank you for the photos, as well as the other... reminiscent belongings. But I must be on my way.” Quicker than a flash, Edgeworth picked up the mismatched boxes and turned away.
“Wait.”
And he turned back with a questioning look.
“Are you...?” Shields sighed. “Are you heading to the investigation now?”
“Unfortunately.” (Why do I get the feeling that wasn't what he was going to ask me?)
“Well. Break a leg.”
* * *
April 17, 3:40 PM (5 days ago)
Wright & Co. Law Offices
“Kristoph... I... I don't know what to say... I'm really flattered, but...”
“You don't have to say anything but a simple 'No'...” the blonde in glasses replied softly, voice growing more hopeful, “or 'Yes'.” Abruptly, he stepped forward to grasp the other's hand, staring imploring into confused blue eyes until they looked back.
“But I'm already... I didn't even know...” Wright swallowed, tongue suddenly feeling very thick. “Why now?”
“Because this is my last chance. I loved you since the very beginning, but only now can I tell you my true feelings before I lose you forever.”
“Kristoph... you were a good friend of mine during our Ivy law school days, and I'm really... really glad we got to reconnect now, but...” He trailed off again. Ah, that's what he was afraid of. The hurt was already beginning to register in his friend's eyes.
Gavin dropped his hand and stood straight, frowning. “But you are in love with Miles Edgeworth,” the blonde finished for him.
“Yes,” Wright replied, almost breathing the word out in relief. Why couldn't he just say it himself?
“He doesn't deserve you.”
“Huh?” That remark really surprised him.
“You've made plenty of big sacrifices to help him out, and he's repayed you by running away and leaving you in the dark each and every time. He still has a lot of emotional baggage to overcome and social readjustment to undergo. His personality and habits don't even mesh with yours; he's very standoffish, and it's obvious from looking at the two of you that your interests and the ways that you conduct yourselves and what's yours don't overlap at all. Trying to get affection from him during your marriage will be like pulling teeth from a–”
“Stop. Kristoph, please... just stop. None of that is even a fair assessment of him, and you know it.”
“I beg to differ.” But then Gavin sighed, managing to look somewhat contrite. “I'm only saying this because I'm worried about your happiness.”
“...Thanks for the concern, but what you're saying is wrong,” Wright replied quietly, “I couldn't imagine anything that would make me happier.”
Gavin drew away, bowing his head slightly and lifting a hand to adjust his glasses. “I see.” His expression was all but hidden by the hand and the resulting glint in the lens. But then the hand was down again, and Gavin was giving one of his signature, reassuring smiles. “My apologies. I should know better than to question your ability to judge character and make your own life-changing decisions. I was just reminded of the Dahlia Hawthorne incident. But you've matured quite a bit since then, haven't you?”
Wright inwardly cringed at the name. It had been two months since the unwanted blast to the past, but that madwoman takes a while to get over... and it's anything but because of heartsickness this time. “I sure hope so. I've come a long way since then.”
“That you have. And I'm glad for it.”
There was the Kristoph he knew talking. He couldn't help but smile as well. “Thanks.” But it was brief for his tone became more morose. “Kristoph, I really am sorry–”
Gavin lifted his hand to cut him off, slowing tapping his forehead and shaking his head from side to side in that familiar gesture of his. When he looked at him again, he was still smiling. “Don't be. You've done nothing wrong in finding happiness. I confess it hurts, but I'm glad for you. Really. You should be rejoicing.”
Wright smiled sheepishly. “Yeah... I just hope it happens soon rather than later with Miles accepting a promotion and all.”
“Oh, I wouldn't worry. With your single-mindedness in following through with whatever matters the most to you, I doubt it will take that long at all.”
The spiky-haired defense attorney began rubbing the back of his head, embarrassed. “You think so?”
“Of course. That's one of the attributes I like about you the most. That and your unshakable loyalty towards those you care about. With you possessing both qualities, I don't see how any marriage of yours could fail.”
Wright could feel the blush rising to his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “C-Could we talk about something else now?”
Gavin gave another reassuring smile, and Wright felt all of his tension begin to ebb away. “Of course.”
* * *
April 22, 6:38 PM
Jittery Shores Pier
Dock No. 6
Edgeworth walked down the length of the dock, giving the ship another once-over. (Still as vacant as ever, it seems.) He stopped and crossed his arms. (I know the man hates me, but calling me out of the blue, asking for my help, and pulling a stunt like this is rather pathetic.) He watched the edge of the boat wobble in the gentling swaying water. (If anything, this place is giving me a strange case of déjà vu ... and a bad one at that.)
“Are you Mr. Edgeworth, sir?”
(Gah!) The man in question swung around. (I didn't even hear any footsteps!)
“Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you, sir,” replied the person now facing him. She wore a full police uniform and had her black hair tucked into a blue cap.
The prosecutor crossed his arms again to regain his composure. “Well, it's about time somebody got here, Officer. I was beginning to fear I had the wrong place.”
“You're just a little early, sir. Mr. Gavin is transporting a high-profile criminal after all.”
(It's not my fault someone didn't give me a specified time!) He stuck out arm and outstretched finger, not accusingly, but as though he was pointing out a fact. “That would be the criminal known as Shih-na, correct?”
“That is correct,” the officer answered curtly.
(That's what I was afraid you'd say... Shih-na... A mole, a murderer, a member of a notorious international smuggling ring... I can't say I'm too thrilled to meet her again so soon. Gavin better have good reason for giving her leave from prison and bringing her all the way out to the Amano Group's private island. As far as I know, Shih-na was never even in direct contact with Ernest Amano.)
“Should we board, sir?” asked the officer, breaking both the outer silence and the inner ramblings of his thoughts.
“Wouldn't it be better form to wait for the man in charge to arrive first?”
“But I was told explicitly to prepare the boat for departure before the others arrive, and I hate to leave you here by yourself, sir.”
“I see... How thoughtful of you.” (I suppose I can't put off boarding the ominous-looking boat forever... I've got to stop letting little reminders of my past plant these irrational fears in me and interfere with my work.)
“After you, sir.”
Edgeworth frowned. (How courteous of you... Well, if she truly is more familiar with nautical crafts, then I guess it is for the best.)
The prosecutor turned towards the offending ship, let out an imperceptible exhale of breath from his nostrils, and grabbed the gunwale. Feeling a sudden urge to prove something to himself and the officer standing besides him, he lifted a leg to board quickly.
There was a strange but strong pressure in his abdomen, like the woman behind him had punched him. He looked down and blinked. (That is most certainly not a punch wound.) The pain didn't come until he realized that what he was staring at was the tip of a bloody knife: a surge of pain like a thousand jolts cascading through his veins and an acute throbbing that made him feel like he was losing his insides.
He gasped as the knife left his body, this time feeling it entirely, and collapsed against the side of the boat.
Something jabbed into his side and grabbed at him, and the next thing he knew, he was lying face-up on the wet, wooden surface, breathing hard and grabbing at his middle. The laughter registered in his mind before the face.
“Wahahahaa!” The fake policewoman was bending over and clutching her stomach. “You should see your expression! I should have done this ages ago!” Suddenly, she straightened, as though completely serious, with an arm on her hip. “Too bad I can't leave you like this.”
The helpless prosecutor was thrown back on his side, a cry escaping his lips, and his wound began to throb anew as he felt gloved hands and sharp metal pull and thrust at it. He was sure his blood was spilling everywhere over the wooden planks.
“Shhhh.” The unexpected warm breath came as a hiss in his ears before white cloth was forced into his mouth. Then, his body was being shoved into a new position again, and his arm was thrown painfully behind him in an attempt to remove his suit jacket. The jacket extracted, he was left to collapse on his back.
Although it was hard to concentrate on anything but the agonizing pain, he could tell she was wiping up the blood (or spreading it further?) with his jacket by the time she was halfway done. Perhaps he could figure out what she was doing when his mind had returned to a more rightful state, but now he could feel his survival instincts kicking in.
He rolled onto his side, letting adrenaline subdue the pain and listlessness considerably and commandeer the muscles in his extremities entirely.
Somehow he wobbled onto his feet, just in time for a warm body to shove into him before he could even repress the dizziness in his head. He barely had time to realize he was falling before the back of his head hit something hard and consciousness fled from his mind.
* * *
The woman sighed, peering down at the unconscious prosecutor over the edge of the boat. “I guess even Mr. Ace Lawyer can't do anything against being stabbed from behind,” she mumbled to herself. She turned towards the pier again. The aftercare was an easy enough job. Plant the blood, wipe it up half-haphazardly, and stuff the poor drenched jacket in an easily found cove under the planks.
The job was done in a matter of minutes. But there was one task left to do...
The false policewoman returned to the boat and deftly hopped in. She stepped over the fallen prosecutor and entered the wheelhouse. The operational controls alone were blinding. She was sure she could figure them out, but it would make noise and she didn't have the time.
Decision made, she walked out again and heaved a large breath before latching onto the prosecutor's legs. She began to drag him. The bloody man sure moaned and groaned a lot for being out cold. At least it left a nice trail.
It was a long walk for being burdened like this. The ship was rather large. But that made it all the easier to get to the other side and drop him where the waters were sure to run deep.
The problem was getting him over the side. It took her longer than she had wished to simply drag him up the railing and push him bit by bit until the body at last slurped into the murky water.
She smirked to herself as she watched the remaining ripples. Goodbye, Mr. von Surly. She turned around and hurried off, eager to reach the one awaiting her.
Surprisingly, the expected federal-blue Porsche drove up to the pier to meet her, right besides the wooden planks. The driver stepped out, (an apparent twin despite the deep blue suit, long hair, and glasses) but she hopped in the other side before he could say anything. The driver stood there, momentarily thrown, before at last retreating into the car and driving them off.
* * *
He had tossed his hat and shoes aside and slipped into the water before the car had even left. The Pacific Ocean was so cold it burned, but a little cold shock wasn't going to stop him from going after a drowning friend, especially not his son.
All he had was a little premonition because the Gavin guy and his unconditional hatred towards the kid reminded him of Von Karma. He had never expected that things would get this dour, and that he would be treading water, desperately clawing through walls of murky blackness and looking for any signs of pink or red. Thank God he had found where Miles had gone after he had lost sight of him. Thank God he had followed that whim to trail the kid just for a little piece of mind.
Fingertips touched something familiar. Fabric.
He lurched forward and seized whatever body part he could get a hold of, using all his strength to push it to the surface.
His own head breached the water, and he could see what he was doing. He held Miles' head more steadily above the waves now, even if it was by the hair.
Stymied breaths caught in the back of the throat. It sounded horrible, but that meant he was still alive, right? A little water trickled out of the side of the mouth, but not much.
He dragged them both to the dock and used the wooden stakes to maneuver them quickly out of water and up the shore. The damn car was gone. Good.
He laid Miles on his back, only then catching sight of the blood and the obvious wound. Well hell. They gave the kid a bloody hole in his stomach. To cause him to sink faster.
He pushed the sickening thought away as he began the preparations and then the procedures for CPR. Get him to breathe first, then fix wound. He hadn't seen much of what actually transpired several minutes ago. Use the old-fashioned rescue breaths to get oxygen into his lungs. He had arrived, sure that all the boats along the docks were empty, but caught sight of movement on one of the ships just in time to see a recognizable silhouette get dumped into the ocean.
Miles began vomiting without warning, and he hastily pushed the kid on his side to let it all come out.
Now that he had returned Miles to his back, there were coughs and spluttering. Music to his ears. He didn't stop pushing until the breathing became steady. Only then did he lean back onto knees and the balls of his shoes to take a breather. He caught sight of the beloved, cast-off hat and faintly smiled. He is going to live.
All he had was a large ripped chuck off of his own dress shirt to wrap the wound. He had left his suit jacket at home at the office, and Miles' own clothes were far too wet. He stripped off the kid's vest, shirt, and shoes, wishing dearly he had something in the car to keep the kid warm beside just the heater.
But carry the kid to the car and blast on the heat he did, bringing all evidence of their departure with them. It would have to do for at least a couple of hours. There was no way he could bring Miles to an L.A. hospital, not if that Dee-something Gavin was truly as vengeful as von Karma. Let him think Miles is dead. Let him think he's won. At least until Miles fully recovers. That was the way to keep him safe.
Raymond Shields placed his hat on his head and gripped the steering wheel. And he was going to keep Miles safe. He was not going to let another Edgeworth's life be claimed by someone else. He was not going to let another vindictive bastard win. Not while he was still breathing and kicking.
He turned the key in the ignition, and the car rumbled alive, as eager to get going as he was. It was a long road before them, but they would make it. He was sure of it.