[Fic] Ace Attorney: Afterburn
Jul. 23rd, 2014 03:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mllelaurelFandom: Ace Attorney
Title: Afterburn
Characters: Apollo Justice, Miles Edgeworth, Phoenix Wright
Pairings: Background Apollo/Klavier and Edgeworth/Phoenix
Rating: T/PG-13
Warnings: Some mentions of past abuse, but nothing graphic
Summary: Apollo and Edgeworth find some common ground.
Apollo would never get used to the sight of Miles Edgeworth, Chief Prosecutor, sitting on the Wrights’ ratty couch, eating lo mein, no matter how many times he came across it. One of his hands delicately held the chopsticks, while the other folded around a fragrant mug of tea. His posture was straight, instead of sagging into the couch’s back, like his companion. Apollo’s eyes fixed on those hands of his, fingernails perfectly clean.
“Earth to Polly?” Phoenix raised his hand in greeting. “Did you finish your investigation for the day?”
Apollo nodded. “Yeah. Sorry, I’m really out of it. Just a heads-up, Mr. Wright, our witnesses are extra annoying, this time around.”
Phoenix grinned. “I’m caught between saying ‘aren’t they always?’ and ‘come on, just give them a chance.’”
“Go with the first one,” Apollo advised. “Is Athena back yet?”
Phoenix shrugged. “She came and she went. Apparently she’s got a date, tonight, but she won’t tell me who with.” Apollo’s five bucks said it was Blackquill, but he wasn’t going to risk said five bucks on the gangly prosecutor.
“Any news on who’ll be prosecuting our case?” He didn’t ask Mr. Edgeworth directly, but the man was probably better equipped to answer his question.
“You’re looking at him,” Phoenix said, and Apollo blanched. Not that facing off against the former Demon Prosecutor wasn’t a badge of honor. It was! He just wasn’t sure he was ready. The last time…
Well, that was after Clay’s death, when Apollo couldn’t feel anything but the nothingness which reached beyond grief and into determination. He still had the coat, hanging in the back of his closet, though he hadn’t worn it since. The rest of Clay’s stuff was in storage. He didn’t have the heart to get rid of it, but he didn’t know what to do with it either, except hang on.
“Do you think you’re up to it, Justice?” Edgeworth appraised him, coolly. “I would hardly go easy on you, simply because you are Wright’s colleague.”
“Quite the opposite, I should expect!” Phoenix piped up. “You never go easy on me, hell. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you had it in for me.”
The Chief Prosecutor took a sip of his tea. “Well, someone has to keep you fit to serve. You’ve gotten rusty in your old age, Wright, and we can’t have that.”
“Hey, if I’m old, then you are-!”
“Exactly the same age as you, yes, I’m aware.”
“I’ll do my best,” Apollo said, not feeling confident at all. “That is- I look forward to defeating you. Sir.”
Edgeworth nodded, and Apollo couldn’t tell whether that was a good or a bad thing.
***
He’d seen the two of them kissing, once, as he left the office, Edgeworth’s coat lying abandoned over the arm of the couch, as his fingers ghosted over Phoenix’s cheek, his temples, the back of his neck. There was something… not furtive, but intensely private about it, as though Apollo had walked in on a sacred rite. He’d colored and gulped, and stayed right where he was, because any movement would have given him away, his very presence an unwanted interruption.
***
The next time he saw the man, it was way too early in the morning, on a weekend. Apollo’s eyes were still closed, but Vongole needed walking, and better sleep deprivation than piss everywhere, or a mournful dog holding it in. He should make Klavier walk her, next time.
Apollo stopped mid-yawn, as he spotted Edgeworth, leash in his own in hand, attached to a white Russian wolfhound. Edgeworth’s face was buried in what looked like a newspaper, as he walked along. Seeing Apollo approach, the dog lifted its muzzle. Vongole gave a sharp bark, greeting the strangers, and Edgeworth looked up.
“Justice. Ah, hello.” His expression didn’t give much away. Apollo nodded, and let Vongole come closer, to sniff the new dog.
“She’s kind of loud, but she won’t start a fight, I promise. Especially with a dog as well behaved as, uh…”
“His name is Pess,” Edgeworth volunteered. “It’s Ukrainian or Slovak for ‘dog,’ rooted in the Macedonian, and don’t you dare comment on my naming a borzoi that.”
Apollo hid a startled chuckle with a cough. “Fine, I won’t comment.”
Edgeworth gave a cough of his own. “Good man. I’d forgotten you had a dog.”
...There was just no good way to say ‘yeah, Kristoph had signed her over to me,’ was there? “I think she’s finally getting used to me,” he said instead.
“So she still carries some attachment to her original owner, then?” Edgeworth inquired.
Apollo rubbed his left wrist, self-conscious. “I hope not,” he said.
Edgeworth nodded. “That’s for the best, if it’s true.”
Apollo’s eyes settled on the newspaper. That was neutral enough. “Anything major happen last night, that we should all know about?”
Edgeworth’s lips curled up slightly at the corners. “Not unless you’re an ardent fan of the Dodgers. And if you are, I’d suggest deep mourning.”
Right. Sports existed. Apollo would have to actually remember that, sometime this century.
Edgeworth’s gaze fixed on him, as he spoke. “I’ve a question of my own for you, Justice. You’ve been awkward around me since we met. I would like to know why. I thought at first that the circumstances of Blackquill and Cykes’ trial were a contributing factor, but it’s been long enough now, I don’t believe that’s the case.”
An errant ray of sunlight refracted in the Chief Prosecutor’s glasses, and Apollo found himself freezing. It should have been a simple enough question to answer, and doing his best goldfish impression in front of Edgeworth wasn’t going to make facing him in court any easier, but there he was, like it or not.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Edgeworth said. “If it turns out to be some sort of infatuation, I-”
“No!” At least that was easy enough to respond to. “Uh, no offense, I mean. But I’m already with someone else, and besides, you and Mr. Wright-”
It was Edgeworth’s turn to freeze, right hand curled around his left bicep.
“Sorry I, uh, may have walked in on you guys, that one time. It’s cool, though. He’s happier, when he’s around you.”
Apollo watched Edgeworth go through the motions of forcing himself to relax. “Well, I can hardly hold you to blame for an accident.”
“And it’s not like I’d care, either way. I mean, look at Klavier and me, right?”
The older man gave him a faint smile. “He is rather showy about it. I never can get used to such things. I’d like to call it a generational difference, but the truth is, it’s more a matter of whether you were raised by someone virulently homophobic or not. And I know from Phoenix’s parents, if nothing else, that is not necessarily a generational divide.”
“So, they’ve been okay about it?”
“More like they’ve been exuberantly and overwhelmingly welcoming. It would be a little off-putting, if it weren’t so genuine.”
“Sounds like… A whole lot of people I know, actually. They must love Trucy to bits.”
“Yes, Justice. They have souls. Ergo, it is implied.”
Apollo let Vongole off her leash, tossed a ratty tennis ball and watched her chase after it. “I know… Um, I know I still haven’t really answered your question. I just… I have to put it into words, first. I’m not stalling, I swear.”
“What, you mean you’re not hoping to come up with a reasonable objection, while banging on your desk loudly and protractedly? But it’s a time-honored tradition.”
...Edgeworth probably didn’t want to hear Klavier’s update to the ‘banging on your desk’ joke. Nor would Apollo ever recover, were he to resort to sexual innuendo in front of the man.
“You kind of scare me,” he blurted out, instead, wincing inwardly. Better than a dirty joke, but not by much.
Edgeworth raised a single eyebrow. Apparently he had the genes for it. “Elaborate, please, Justice. Otherwise, my response might have to be ‘why, thank you,’ and I’m fairly certain that’s not what you’re looking for.”
“It’s stupid,” Apollo said.
“That’s a given,” Edgeworth retorted. “Irrational reactions often are.” He pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. “But they are often instinctive as well. Often right, and thus not to be dismissed. If it is simply my career history which frightens you, then I shall not disabuse you of the notion. If it’s something else…”
“You remind me of my old boss.”
Apollo had the feeling he wouldn’t be getting a ‘why, thank you’ out of Edgeworth for that observation. The look Edgeworth gave him was one of extreme distaste. “I beg your pardon? It is Gavin you’re speaking of, is it not?”
Apollo nodded. Edgeworth eyed him silently. “It’s not anything you’ve done, or…”
“I should hope not. I’ve no plans to commit one murder, let alone two, I’ll have you know.”
“It’s just… It’s the little things. The way you dress. The way you both have, um, really good manners. Your glasses.”
Edgeworth frowned, thoughtful. “You know, most people tell me I look like my father in these. Then again, he would have been dead several years before you were even born.” He closed his eyes, removed the spectacles, wrapping them in a handkerchief and placing them carefully in the breast pocket of his suit.
“I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories,” Apollo said, guilty. “And you shouldn’t have to change anything about yourself, just because I’m being weird.”
“I did ask,” Edgeworth said. “And I prefer to take action, when presented with a dilemma, rather than gaping at it, open-mouthed. My eyesight isn’t so bad as all that.”
“So, now you know, I guess,” Apollo looked down, hands in his pockets.
“You’re not the first to make such a connection,” Edgeworth admitted. He wasn’t? Wait, what? “That was half the reason Phoenix carried on that charade of a friendship half as long as he did.”
“I thought- I’d assumed he knew all along.”
“Perhaps. It can be frustrating, getting a straight answer out of the blasted man, even now. But the fact remains, he gave Kristoph Gavin several more chances than he deserved, and I’m to blame for that, in part, at least.”
“Can we just blame it on the asshole and leave it at that?” Apollo muttered, earning a dry quirk of a smile from Edgeworth.
“A solution I’m comfortable with.”
“At least the whole thing’s over, now.” Kristoph was dead. Executed more than a year ago. Apollo tried not to think too hard about that. Too many dead people in his life. For all that the man had richly deserved it, it was still strange and a little sad.
“Is it?” Edgeworth asked mildly.
“What do you mean?”
“Some might say the legacy of the dead lives on in those they’ve inspired.”
And just like that, Edgeworth had turned the tables on him. Apollo’s voice went flat. “Message received, Sir. Loud and clear.”
“Your behavior during the Blackquill and Cykes trials didn’t exactly fill me with confidence, Justice.” He sounded like Kristoph, again. The same derisive edge in the way he said Apollo’s name.
“Yeah, and what was I supposed to do, instead?”
“Accept your friend’s death lying down.” Edgeworth shook his head. “No, I think not.” He slipped on his glasses, once again. “Your demeanor was unwelcome, but your actions…”
Inside Apollo’s pockets, his hands clenched into fists.
“Your actions were neither unwarranted, nor particularly foolish.”
...And unclenched, confused at the whiplash.
“You did what you thought you had to do, to get to the bottom of a particularly personal case. Your only real misstep was in cutting off much-needed support. But then, it’s not as though I can talk.”
“So, do you approve, disapprove, what?”
Edgeworth stroked his dog’s head thoughtfully. “I’m not your mentor, Justice. It’s not my approval or disapproval you should be watching for.”
“Hey, I answered your invasive questions!” There was something honestly liberating, talking back to a man like Edgeworth, this way. Edgeworth was right. He wasn’t Apollo’s mentor. If he chose to lash out, in retaliation, his barbs would carry some weight, sure, but not that much.
“I stand by my words,” Edgeworth said. “To be honest, I haven’t given your actions much thought at all. You accomplished what you set out to do, and in the process helped Wright acquit an innocent man. That’s all that matters, as far as I’m concerned.
“Besides… Mannerisms, catchphrases - they have a way of burrowing themselves into one’s psyche, don’t they? Especially if they’re on loan from someone you once admired.” Edgeworth’s arm stretched out, as though he were objecting to the glint of the sun in his eyes, pointer finger wagging, almost mischievously. The gesture seemed familiar, somehow.
“Where else have I seen that, before?” Apollo wondered.
“You’ve watched recordings of Phoenix’s trials, have you not?”
“Every one of them!” Apollo remembered begging and bribing his way into the legal archives. He’d been barely more than a kid, when he stood there, smearing away the dust coating the old VHS tapes, leaving his own fingerprints in its wake. The tapes had seemed so gloriously ancient, to him, papyrus scroll and Rosetta Stone, all in one. Dead technology, along with the VRC that brought them to life.
“Recall State vs. Edgeworth,” the man in question said, and Apollo’s mind flashed back to the case’s prosecutor. The man had intimidated him, even years-dead, his last memories captured on scratchy film. Apollo had leaned back in his chair every time he shouted at Phoenix Wright, till he nearly fell over backwards.
“Von Karma,” Apollo said.
“There’ve been worse mentors,” Edgeworth said, wry. “There have also been better ones.” Understatement of the century, referring to the man who had killed his father. “I’m afraid I inherited my fashion sense from him as well, and I’ve grown too used to it to change now.”
Apollo snorted. “Ssshyeah, that’d be like dragging Klavier in for a haircut. Not gonna happen. But it’s your clothes, and it’s his hair. Those bastards don’t own ‘em, right?”
“Precisely. No more than Kristoph Gavin holds a patent on the value of evidence. Or a pair of glasses.”
“I’m really sorry about that,” Apollo said.
Edgeworth waved his apologies away. “You can’t fight instinct. What you must do, instead, is apply logic to it, in the light of day, and see whether it still holds up. If it does, then you’ve a right to worry. If not, then it’s merely the past superimposing itself over the present, and it’s time to move on.”
Apollo shrugged. “Not like there’s a lot to move on from, anyway. He never laid a hand on me.” Why was he always making that excuse, every time time Kristoph came up? It was true enough, technically, but the repetition of it made him want to vomit, every time the words came out of his mouth.
“He wouldn’t have had to, would he?” Edgeworth eyed him appraisingly. “Sometimes, there’s no need for physical violence, when a look will do. When you can plainly state that a Von Karma doesn’t run away from his petty fears, or waste everyone’s time taking the stairs.”
With all they knew now, Apollo wondered how much of that must have been deliberate. ‘Retriggering,’ Athena would have called it. Keeping the man’s trauma at the forefront of his mind, instead of letting it fade with time.
It was probably just as well Apollo had no such fears or traumatic events to exploit. Just a little loneliness. A sense of never having really belonged anywhere. If anything, Kristoph had been the first to give him what felt like a real place and purpose. Even so, Apollo recalled, there had always been that implication… Do well, or you’re out on your ass. Kristoph had never so much as raised his voice at Apollo, but Apollo had learned to anticipate his every need, anyway. Copies, coffee, a review of an old case. Someone to talk at, who could supply new ideas. Kristoph was brilliant, but his mind didn’t work very laterally, without a sounding board.
He must have seemed like an eager dog, newspaper in his mouth for his master’s approval. It made him sick, in retrospect.
“Pretty sure I did it to myself, half the time,” he muttered, under his breath. Vongole bumped his knee, waiting for him to throw the tennis ball again. He scratched behind her ears.
Edgeworth didn’t seem to have an easy response to any of that. Perhaps there wasn’t one. “At least it’s over and done now,” Apollo repeated.
“So long as you don’t expect me to start wearing powder blue and plotting Wright’s demise, I suppose you could say that.”
Apollo had to smile, despite himself. “I doubt Mr. Wright would let you get away with it.”
“No,” Edgeworth said. “He never does. Not with anything.”
“Tell me about it.” Apollo rubbed the back of his head. “He doesn’t even let me get away with drinking the last of the coffee. I needed that coffee!”
“He better be giving you full access to the caffeine, if you’re to stand a chance against me, tomorrow.”
“My client is innocent,” Apollo said. “I’ll prove it to you.”
“So long as you have the facts, Justice,” and yeah, he sounded like Kristoph, when he said that, but more and more, Apollo could see a very different man, underneath. Someone worth getting to know, as difficult as it might be, sometimes.
“I’ve got the facts, Mr. Edgeworth,” he said. “About time we handed you another defeat.”
The Chief Prosecutor smirked, looking almost a decade younger than his years, and said, “You’re on.”
This is technically a loose sequel to Halfway to Sunlight, but it stands well enough on its own.
I also realize that this fic deals with some similar themes as Complicated, but the idea for it came first, I swear, and Complicated follows a specific kink meme prompt. Hopefully I've managed to make them different enough.
Title: Afterburn
Characters: Apollo Justice, Miles Edgeworth, Phoenix Wright
Pairings: Background Apollo/Klavier and Edgeworth/Phoenix
Rating: T/PG-13
Warnings: Some mentions of past abuse, but nothing graphic
Summary: Apollo and Edgeworth find some common ground.
Apollo would never get used to the sight of Miles Edgeworth, Chief Prosecutor, sitting on the Wrights’ ratty couch, eating lo mein, no matter how many times he came across it. One of his hands delicately held the chopsticks, while the other folded around a fragrant mug of tea. His posture was straight, instead of sagging into the couch’s back, like his companion. Apollo’s eyes fixed on those hands of his, fingernails perfectly clean.
“Earth to Polly?” Phoenix raised his hand in greeting. “Did you finish your investigation for the day?”
Apollo nodded. “Yeah. Sorry, I’m really out of it. Just a heads-up, Mr. Wright, our witnesses are extra annoying, this time around.”
Phoenix grinned. “I’m caught between saying ‘aren’t they always?’ and ‘come on, just give them a chance.’”
“Go with the first one,” Apollo advised. “Is Athena back yet?”
Phoenix shrugged. “She came and she went. Apparently she’s got a date, tonight, but she won’t tell me who with.” Apollo’s five bucks said it was Blackquill, but he wasn’t going to risk said five bucks on the gangly prosecutor.
“Any news on who’ll be prosecuting our case?” He didn’t ask Mr. Edgeworth directly, but the man was probably better equipped to answer his question.
“You’re looking at him,” Phoenix said, and Apollo blanched. Not that facing off against the former Demon Prosecutor wasn’t a badge of honor. It was! He just wasn’t sure he was ready. The last time…
Well, that was after Clay’s death, when Apollo couldn’t feel anything but the nothingness which reached beyond grief and into determination. He still had the coat, hanging in the back of his closet, though he hadn’t worn it since. The rest of Clay’s stuff was in storage. He didn’t have the heart to get rid of it, but he didn’t know what to do with it either, except hang on.
“Do you think you’re up to it, Justice?” Edgeworth appraised him, coolly. “I would hardly go easy on you, simply because you are Wright’s colleague.”
“Quite the opposite, I should expect!” Phoenix piped up. “You never go easy on me, hell. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you had it in for me.”
The Chief Prosecutor took a sip of his tea. “Well, someone has to keep you fit to serve. You’ve gotten rusty in your old age, Wright, and we can’t have that.”
“Hey, if I’m old, then you are-!”
“Exactly the same age as you, yes, I’m aware.”
“I’ll do my best,” Apollo said, not feeling confident at all. “That is- I look forward to defeating you. Sir.”
Edgeworth nodded, and Apollo couldn’t tell whether that was a good or a bad thing.
***
He’d seen the two of them kissing, once, as he left the office, Edgeworth’s coat lying abandoned over the arm of the couch, as his fingers ghosted over Phoenix’s cheek, his temples, the back of his neck. There was something… not furtive, but intensely private about it, as though Apollo had walked in on a sacred rite. He’d colored and gulped, and stayed right where he was, because any movement would have given him away, his very presence an unwanted interruption.
***
The next time he saw the man, it was way too early in the morning, on a weekend. Apollo’s eyes were still closed, but Vongole needed walking, and better sleep deprivation than piss everywhere, or a mournful dog holding it in. He should make Klavier walk her, next time.
Apollo stopped mid-yawn, as he spotted Edgeworth, leash in his own in hand, attached to a white Russian wolfhound. Edgeworth’s face was buried in what looked like a newspaper, as he walked along. Seeing Apollo approach, the dog lifted its muzzle. Vongole gave a sharp bark, greeting the strangers, and Edgeworth looked up.
“Justice. Ah, hello.” His expression didn’t give much away. Apollo nodded, and let Vongole come closer, to sniff the new dog.
“She’s kind of loud, but she won’t start a fight, I promise. Especially with a dog as well behaved as, uh…”
“His name is Pess,” Edgeworth volunteered. “It’s Ukrainian or Slovak for ‘dog,’ rooted in the Macedonian, and don’t you dare comment on my naming a borzoi that.”
Apollo hid a startled chuckle with a cough. “Fine, I won’t comment.”
Edgeworth gave a cough of his own. “Good man. I’d forgotten you had a dog.”
...There was just no good way to say ‘yeah, Kristoph had signed her over to me,’ was there? “I think she’s finally getting used to me,” he said instead.
“So she still carries some attachment to her original owner, then?” Edgeworth inquired.
Apollo rubbed his left wrist, self-conscious. “I hope not,” he said.
Edgeworth nodded. “That’s for the best, if it’s true.”
Apollo’s eyes settled on the newspaper. That was neutral enough. “Anything major happen last night, that we should all know about?”
Edgeworth’s lips curled up slightly at the corners. “Not unless you’re an ardent fan of the Dodgers. And if you are, I’d suggest deep mourning.”
Right. Sports existed. Apollo would have to actually remember that, sometime this century.
Edgeworth’s gaze fixed on him, as he spoke. “I’ve a question of my own for you, Justice. You’ve been awkward around me since we met. I would like to know why. I thought at first that the circumstances of Blackquill and Cykes’ trial were a contributing factor, but it’s been long enough now, I don’t believe that’s the case.”
An errant ray of sunlight refracted in the Chief Prosecutor’s glasses, and Apollo found himself freezing. It should have been a simple enough question to answer, and doing his best goldfish impression in front of Edgeworth wasn’t going to make facing him in court any easier, but there he was, like it or not.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Edgeworth said. “If it turns out to be some sort of infatuation, I-”
“No!” At least that was easy enough to respond to. “Uh, no offense, I mean. But I’m already with someone else, and besides, you and Mr. Wright-”
It was Edgeworth’s turn to freeze, right hand curled around his left bicep.
“Sorry I, uh, may have walked in on you guys, that one time. It’s cool, though. He’s happier, when he’s around you.”
Apollo watched Edgeworth go through the motions of forcing himself to relax. “Well, I can hardly hold you to blame for an accident.”
“And it’s not like I’d care, either way. I mean, look at Klavier and me, right?”
The older man gave him a faint smile. “He is rather showy about it. I never can get used to such things. I’d like to call it a generational difference, but the truth is, it’s more a matter of whether you were raised by someone virulently homophobic or not. And I know from Phoenix’s parents, if nothing else, that is not necessarily a generational divide.”
“So, they’ve been okay about it?”
“More like they’ve been exuberantly and overwhelmingly welcoming. It would be a little off-putting, if it weren’t so genuine.”
“Sounds like… A whole lot of people I know, actually. They must love Trucy to bits.”
“Yes, Justice. They have souls. Ergo, it is implied.”
Apollo let Vongole off her leash, tossed a ratty tennis ball and watched her chase after it. “I know… Um, I know I still haven’t really answered your question. I just… I have to put it into words, first. I’m not stalling, I swear.”
“What, you mean you’re not hoping to come up with a reasonable objection, while banging on your desk loudly and protractedly? But it’s a time-honored tradition.”
...Edgeworth probably didn’t want to hear Klavier’s update to the ‘banging on your desk’ joke. Nor would Apollo ever recover, were he to resort to sexual innuendo in front of the man.
“You kind of scare me,” he blurted out, instead, wincing inwardly. Better than a dirty joke, but not by much.
Edgeworth raised a single eyebrow. Apparently he had the genes for it. “Elaborate, please, Justice. Otherwise, my response might have to be ‘why, thank you,’ and I’m fairly certain that’s not what you’re looking for.”
“It’s stupid,” Apollo said.
“That’s a given,” Edgeworth retorted. “Irrational reactions often are.” He pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. “But they are often instinctive as well. Often right, and thus not to be dismissed. If it is simply my career history which frightens you, then I shall not disabuse you of the notion. If it’s something else…”
“You remind me of my old boss.”
Apollo had the feeling he wouldn’t be getting a ‘why, thank you’ out of Edgeworth for that observation. The look Edgeworth gave him was one of extreme distaste. “I beg your pardon? It is Gavin you’re speaking of, is it not?”
Apollo nodded. Edgeworth eyed him silently. “It’s not anything you’ve done, or…”
“I should hope not. I’ve no plans to commit one murder, let alone two, I’ll have you know.”
“It’s just… It’s the little things. The way you dress. The way you both have, um, really good manners. Your glasses.”
Edgeworth frowned, thoughtful. “You know, most people tell me I look like my father in these. Then again, he would have been dead several years before you were even born.” He closed his eyes, removed the spectacles, wrapping them in a handkerchief and placing them carefully in the breast pocket of his suit.
“I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories,” Apollo said, guilty. “And you shouldn’t have to change anything about yourself, just because I’m being weird.”
“I did ask,” Edgeworth said. “And I prefer to take action, when presented with a dilemma, rather than gaping at it, open-mouthed. My eyesight isn’t so bad as all that.”
“So, now you know, I guess,” Apollo looked down, hands in his pockets.
“You’re not the first to make such a connection,” Edgeworth admitted. He wasn’t? Wait, what? “That was half the reason Phoenix carried on that charade of a friendship half as long as he did.”
“I thought- I’d assumed he knew all along.”
“Perhaps. It can be frustrating, getting a straight answer out of the blasted man, even now. But the fact remains, he gave Kristoph Gavin several more chances than he deserved, and I’m to blame for that, in part, at least.”
“Can we just blame it on the asshole and leave it at that?” Apollo muttered, earning a dry quirk of a smile from Edgeworth.
“A solution I’m comfortable with.”
“At least the whole thing’s over, now.” Kristoph was dead. Executed more than a year ago. Apollo tried not to think too hard about that. Too many dead people in his life. For all that the man had richly deserved it, it was still strange and a little sad.
“Is it?” Edgeworth asked mildly.
“What do you mean?”
“Some might say the legacy of the dead lives on in those they’ve inspired.”
And just like that, Edgeworth had turned the tables on him. Apollo’s voice went flat. “Message received, Sir. Loud and clear.”
“Your behavior during the Blackquill and Cykes trials didn’t exactly fill me with confidence, Justice.” He sounded like Kristoph, again. The same derisive edge in the way he said Apollo’s name.
“Yeah, and what was I supposed to do, instead?”
“Accept your friend’s death lying down.” Edgeworth shook his head. “No, I think not.” He slipped on his glasses, once again. “Your demeanor was unwelcome, but your actions…”
Inside Apollo’s pockets, his hands clenched into fists.
“Your actions were neither unwarranted, nor particularly foolish.”
...And unclenched, confused at the whiplash.
“You did what you thought you had to do, to get to the bottom of a particularly personal case. Your only real misstep was in cutting off much-needed support. But then, it’s not as though I can talk.”
“So, do you approve, disapprove, what?”
Edgeworth stroked his dog’s head thoughtfully. “I’m not your mentor, Justice. It’s not my approval or disapproval you should be watching for.”
“Hey, I answered your invasive questions!” There was something honestly liberating, talking back to a man like Edgeworth, this way. Edgeworth was right. He wasn’t Apollo’s mentor. If he chose to lash out, in retaliation, his barbs would carry some weight, sure, but not that much.
“I stand by my words,” Edgeworth said. “To be honest, I haven’t given your actions much thought at all. You accomplished what you set out to do, and in the process helped Wright acquit an innocent man. That’s all that matters, as far as I’m concerned.
“Besides… Mannerisms, catchphrases - they have a way of burrowing themselves into one’s psyche, don’t they? Especially if they’re on loan from someone you once admired.” Edgeworth’s arm stretched out, as though he were objecting to the glint of the sun in his eyes, pointer finger wagging, almost mischievously. The gesture seemed familiar, somehow.
“Where else have I seen that, before?” Apollo wondered.
“You’ve watched recordings of Phoenix’s trials, have you not?”
“Every one of them!” Apollo remembered begging and bribing his way into the legal archives. He’d been barely more than a kid, when he stood there, smearing away the dust coating the old VHS tapes, leaving his own fingerprints in its wake. The tapes had seemed so gloriously ancient, to him, papyrus scroll and Rosetta Stone, all in one. Dead technology, along with the VRC that brought them to life.
“Recall State vs. Edgeworth,” the man in question said, and Apollo’s mind flashed back to the case’s prosecutor. The man had intimidated him, even years-dead, his last memories captured on scratchy film. Apollo had leaned back in his chair every time he shouted at Phoenix Wright, till he nearly fell over backwards.
“Von Karma,” Apollo said.
“There’ve been worse mentors,” Edgeworth said, wry. “There have also been better ones.” Understatement of the century, referring to the man who had killed his father. “I’m afraid I inherited my fashion sense from him as well, and I’ve grown too used to it to change now.”
Apollo snorted. “Ssshyeah, that’d be like dragging Klavier in for a haircut. Not gonna happen. But it’s your clothes, and it’s his hair. Those bastards don’t own ‘em, right?”
“Precisely. No more than Kristoph Gavin holds a patent on the value of evidence. Or a pair of glasses.”
“I’m really sorry about that,” Apollo said.
Edgeworth waved his apologies away. “You can’t fight instinct. What you must do, instead, is apply logic to it, in the light of day, and see whether it still holds up. If it does, then you’ve a right to worry. If not, then it’s merely the past superimposing itself over the present, and it’s time to move on.”
Apollo shrugged. “Not like there’s a lot to move on from, anyway. He never laid a hand on me.” Why was he always making that excuse, every time time Kristoph came up? It was true enough, technically, but the repetition of it made him want to vomit, every time the words came out of his mouth.
“He wouldn’t have had to, would he?” Edgeworth eyed him appraisingly. “Sometimes, there’s no need for physical violence, when a look will do. When you can plainly state that a Von Karma doesn’t run away from his petty fears, or waste everyone’s time taking the stairs.”
With all they knew now, Apollo wondered how much of that must have been deliberate. ‘Retriggering,’ Athena would have called it. Keeping the man’s trauma at the forefront of his mind, instead of letting it fade with time.
It was probably just as well Apollo had no such fears or traumatic events to exploit. Just a little loneliness. A sense of never having really belonged anywhere. If anything, Kristoph had been the first to give him what felt like a real place and purpose. Even so, Apollo recalled, there had always been that implication… Do well, or you’re out on your ass. Kristoph had never so much as raised his voice at Apollo, but Apollo had learned to anticipate his every need, anyway. Copies, coffee, a review of an old case. Someone to talk at, who could supply new ideas. Kristoph was brilliant, but his mind didn’t work very laterally, without a sounding board.
He must have seemed like an eager dog, newspaper in his mouth for his master’s approval. It made him sick, in retrospect.
“Pretty sure I did it to myself, half the time,” he muttered, under his breath. Vongole bumped his knee, waiting for him to throw the tennis ball again. He scratched behind her ears.
Edgeworth didn’t seem to have an easy response to any of that. Perhaps there wasn’t one. “At least it’s over and done now,” Apollo repeated.
“So long as you don’t expect me to start wearing powder blue and plotting Wright’s demise, I suppose you could say that.”
Apollo had to smile, despite himself. “I doubt Mr. Wright would let you get away with it.”
“No,” Edgeworth said. “He never does. Not with anything.”
“Tell me about it.” Apollo rubbed the back of his head. “He doesn’t even let me get away with drinking the last of the coffee. I needed that coffee!”
“He better be giving you full access to the caffeine, if you’re to stand a chance against me, tomorrow.”
“My client is innocent,” Apollo said. “I’ll prove it to you.”
“So long as you have the facts, Justice,” and yeah, he sounded like Kristoph, when he said that, but more and more, Apollo could see a very different man, underneath. Someone worth getting to know, as difficult as it might be, sometimes.
“I’ve got the facts, Mr. Edgeworth,” he said. “About time we handed you another defeat.”
The Chief Prosecutor smirked, looking almost a decade younger than his years, and said, “You’re on.”
This is technically a loose sequel to Halfway to Sunlight, but it stands well enough on its own.
I also realize that this fic deals with some similar themes as Complicated, but the idea for it came first, I swear, and Complicated follows a specific kink meme prompt. Hopefully I've managed to make them different enough.
