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the-bar-sinister · 6 months ago

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Chains of the Dragon (17944 words) by thesavagesabretooth

catch up here

October 2, 2028– 7:05 am Khura'in time

Apollo didn't bother Nahyuta in his office often. They were both busy. If anything, Nahyuta was busier than he was. But this… this seemed important. Besides, it was practically about the job, anyway.

Apollo stood awkwardly outside in the hall while the guard went and told Nahyuta that he had someone to see him.

A moment later the guard opened the palace door to gesture Apollo inside. It seemed, no matter how busy Nahyuta must have been, he’d told the guard to send him in immediately.

Despite the circumstances, Apollo felt a little flush of pleasure finding that Nahyuta would see him so quickly. He gave a little nod to the guard, and hurried into the office that he still wasn't used to seeing.

The office was pleasant, though hardly overcrowded or highly decorated. Large windows lay open to allow the breeze in, as plants– rather similar to Rayfa’s– grew over the windowsill to attract the Khurainese butterflies to the sill while he worked.

A low table of carved wood and stone carried mounds of paperwork and a number of rubber stamps and pads, along with– he noticed what seemed to be a small stitched doll of Los Angeles’ local mascot. Likely bought the last time he’d visited with Ema.

A shrine sat behind Nahyuta, decorated with the statue of the Holy Mother and burning incense and a bundle of flowers, along with some comfortable cushions to sit on.

Currently, the prosecutor was half bent over the table with a note of subtle frustration as he stamped another case file’s surface and tossed it to the pile.

"Sorry to bother you when you're busy, Nahyuta," he said, rubbing his neck as he approached where he was sitting.

Nahyuta pushed the stack away before he sat up. The frustration smoothed away– and once more everything stilled into the placid lake that was Nahyuta’s serene smile.

He took a deep breath, and bowed his head. “It is never a bother when it’s you, Apollo. Please, have a seat. I have some tea left if you’d like.”

Apollo smiled awkwardly, and sat down carefully in front of him. "I wouldn't say no, if it isn't a bother."

It's always so nice to see him. I wish we could make more time for it, but it's been so busy…

Nahyuta reached to his side, where a small heated stand sat to the left of the shrine, taking the pot off the top of it and brushing some papers aside to set out a pair of cups. He’d stopped wearing the glove. The defiant dragon tattoo was clearly visible every time he moved his hand now. After everything, at least he could be unashamed of his past.

“Never a bother.” he said again with a quiet chuckle. “It's been a while since you’ve come to visit me in my office, however.”

"We've all been so busy," he sighed. His gaze lingered on Nahyuta's hands for a moment. "Actually, that's kind of what I came to talk to you about."

Nahyuta poured the tea, sparing a glance up at him with his beautiful, long lashed eyes. “As much as I wish I could say we can cut the caseload, it’s just not possible until the job’s done.”

"I know." He rubbed his jaw. "It's not that, specifically. I mean it ties in but– have you seen Rayfa lately?"

He saw the prosecutor’s shoulders sag just the slightest, as a touch of emotion broke through his usual mask. A furrow of his brow and a frown as he shook his head. “...not outside of her etiquette classes or when she’s holding court or performing the dance of devotion. No.”

"Thought so," Apollo sighed. He leaned forward, resting his chest on the edge of the table. He grimaced as the scene he had walked in on crossed his mind again. "I needed to talk to her about a detail from court yesterday, and I happened to walk in on her and Amara…"

He trailed off, not sure what to say. After all….

“Her and mother?” Nahyuta put his hand to his chin as he pushed the cup Apollo’s way.

Apollo's fingers brushed Nahyuta's, and as he gratefully accepted the tea, and he nodded.

"Yeah. I'd say they were talking but, it wasn't just that. She was kind of really laying into Rayfa. It was… hard to listen to."

Nahyuta’s lips turned downwards and he picked up his own cup to let it warm his hands.

“Ah…I had thought that perhaps she would warm to Her Benevolence by now. Why was she chiding Rayfa, Apollo?”

He didn’t say much, not directly, but Apollo could hear the subtle rise of frustration and anger in his tone. Enough that it was clear…this wasn’t the first time Nahyuta had heard of something like this.

It sucked. It really sucked to know for sure that this was something that had been going on for a while, apparently. But at least Nahyuta knew about it. That made him feel a little better.

"She was— I guess she feels like Rayfa isn't working hard enough," Apollo said, biting his lip. "She said some things that seemed�� really cruel to me, especially since it's clear that Rayfa's working just as hard as we are, and she's only 14…"

Nahyuta brought his tea to his lips, before taking a long sip with a sigh.

“I’m sure she did…Mother, former Queen Amara, has her own views on what the future queen of Khura’in should be I’m certain. Rayfa has been working hard, as hard as you or I, but I fear the concept of ‘the sins of the father’ is more alive than I’d hoped even after Ga’ran was incarcerated.”

Apollo grimaced, feeling almost struck by the phrase and he sipped his tea. The sins of the father. It just didn't sit right with him.

"I know that's the belief around here but… it doesn't sit right with me in this case. Rayfa shouldn't suffer because…"

“Because she was raised by Inga?” Nahyuta finished as he lowered his cup. “I agree…but even as she doesn’t say it, it’s clear mother does not agree with you Apollo. I can imagine she used the word ‘spoiled’ in her chiding?”

"Repeatedly," Apollo said, biting his lip. "And she said something about Rayfa being 'raised to be a house cat'. I mean, that's just uncalled for, right?"

Nahyuta’s fingers tightened around his glass, his lips going a little tight.

“A house cat, she said? I…cannot imagine Rayfa was very happy with that comment.”

"No, she was really upset," he rubbed his jaw, remembering the look on her face. It reminded him of himself, when he was young, in the foster home. "Apparently it all started because Rayfa had asked for some time to take care of her garden."

Nahyuta’s facade broke for a moment, his fingers gripping the prayer beads around his neck as he braced on the table with a sharp grimace.

“because she asked for time to care for her—” He hissed through his teeth. “Mother…what are you thinking.”

Apollo's fingers tensed on his fingers, and he frowned, looking into his tea at his own reflection. "I made an excuse and got her out to the garden– her flowers were already mostly dead."

“Of course…” Nahyuta released the prayer beads and pressed his hand to his face for a moment as he composed. “...and I haven’t had the chance myself to check on them with all the word we’ve been buried under. Rayfa must have been devastated.”

"I think we might have been able to save some of them," Apollo murmured. "I insisted on us staying and taking care of them, even though Rayfa felt bad because of everything Amara said to her. I listened to it a little– Amara makes it sound– makes it sound like being a queen means Rayfa doesn't get to be a person at all, let alone a kid."

Nahyuta brushed his pale hair from his face and picked up his cup again. “Unfortunately she’s not incorrect. The weight of responsibility a queen carries is great…the hopes of the people rest upon your shoulders, after all. I’ve little doubt that mother believes exactly what you think she meant…and sadly, many others in the country do too.”

"If that's what it takes to be a queen, is it even worth–"

Apollo stopped as the sound of a commotion in the hallway carried into the room.

"Stop! You can't go in there!"

Nahyuta sat bolt upright to set his tea down with a subtle frown “prepare yourself, Apollo. I sense trouble of one sort or another.”

Apollo was already on his feet when he heard a familiar voice outside the door.

"Come on, man, he knows me! I'm practically his uncle. Let's not make this get ugly!"

Apollo sputtered. "Oh no."

Nahyuta pressed his hand to his face.

“....Datz Arebal…” he muttered with the sort of longsuffering exhaustion that came from knowing the man most of his life. “I fear he’s going to try fighting the guards if we don’t let him in.”

"You think??" Apollo snorted, knowing that was exactly what would happen. He scrambled over to the door as fast as his legs would carry him, practically tearing it open. "He's expected!!'

The door opened on a scene with Datz– arms raised for hand to hand combat– while the palace guard pointed a gun at him.

“Datz.” Nahyuta called out to him with the barest sharpness to his tone. “...please enter before the guard turns you into an ex-rebel.”

"Nahyuta, Apollo! My guys!" Datz grinned and oozed his way into the room. "Jokes on him, I'm already an ex-rebel, right? Nothing left to rebel against."

Apollo flashed the guard an apologetic smile and shut the door.

“An ex-nuisance then.” Nahyuta drawled.

Apollo smothered a snorting laugh with his hand, but Datz just burst out laughing.

"Ex-nuisance, huh? Nah I'm sure I'd find a way to bug ya from the grave, 'Yuta! Nice to see you. Thanks for the intercept with the guard there, he was getting a little fussy."

Nahyuta leaned on his hand.

“Because usually you still have to make appointments to storm through the temple like a devil escaped from hell– next time please give me the heads up so mother’s twitchy guards don’t make a mistake.”

Datz rubbed the back of his neck and leaned against the wall. "Sorry about that. I didn't exactly mean to make a fuss you know? I'm just not exactly used to bureaucracy."

“It gets in the way of your free spirit and lack of self control.” Nahyuta nodded understandingly. “Unfortunately the guards have itchy trigger fingers.”

"I've kind of been meaning to ask if they really need those," Apollo murmured. "I mean, police pistols are one thing, but automatic rifles…."

Nahyuta closed his eyes “While I agree with you, Apollo, reforming the guard and its armaments is a rather large undertaking. I’ll see what I can do, of course…but it’s been standard issue since before Ga’ran took power.”

He sighed. "Yeah, probably not exactly priority one right now."

Even if the presence of all the guns set his teeth constantly on edge.

“Unfortunately. I know Rayfa detests them.” He leaned on his hand, looking at Datz. “So. Did you just come to say hello, or is there something pressing happening, Datz?”

"I mean, I think it's pretty pressing," Datz said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Nahyuta spread his hands “have a cup of tea and tell me all about it…” he placed his hand on his chin “...you didn’t make a new enemy, did you?”

"Uh, not exactly," Datz murmured, moving in to sit by the table. Apollo didn't like the way that sounded. "It's Defiant Dragons business."

“...Defiant Dragons business…?” Nahyuta poured him a cup of tea. “...I hope the Holy Mother is smiling on us and you’re here to say more defense attorneys have decided to return to work.”

Somehow, Apollo didn''t think it would be that easy. He wasn't surprised that Datz shook his head.

"Sorry, kiddo. No such luck. In fact– it's pretty bad. I found out some of the former Dragons have been meeting up in secret."

“Meeting in secret…?” Nahyuta’s lips turned downwards as he brushed his fingers over the beads around his neck. “why in the name of the Holy Mother would they feel the need to do that? I haven’t heard anything about this.”

"Me either," Apollo shook his head.

I'm getting a bad feeling about this.

You think?"

"Yeah," Datz said thickly, nodding. "It's the first I've heard of it too. Which ain't great. Apparently some of the former Dragons don't think they're done reforming the country."

Nahyuta ran his hand through his hair with a low sigh. “While it’s true the country is hardly perfect…we’re making steps towards healing the wounds the previous regime left. They do know this takes time, yes?”

Datz hissed through his teeth. "Yeah, 'yuta the timeline isn't exactly what they're upset about. One of my guys got beat to hell for objecting to what they were saying. Guess he got invited because they thought he'd be on their side."

Apollo cocked his head, feeling his heart beat faster. "What were they saying, Datz?"

"They were saying the monarchy has to go."

Nahyuta’s hands formed the gentle repose of prayer as he took a soft and steadying breath “...I’m sorry, they’ve said what?”

"What, really?" Apollo stared in disbelief. "I mean, you'd think they would have brought that up before. I thought they were all for the monarchy."

Datz rubbed his neck uncomfortably. "Yeah, I thought so too. When Dhurke was alive, everybody rallied around him. And obviously he wasn't going to bring down the royal family. But…"

“They waited until he was dead and we did …all that work…to raise this objection?” Nahyuta pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “this is bound to be rather troublesome.”

"Yeah I'll say," Datz grumbled. "They're getting all fired up about it. Like I said, they beat my buddy up pretty bad."

"Great," Apollo rubbed his neck. "So they're violent? That was never the Dragon way."

"Never while Dhurke was around," Datz murmured.

Nahyuta shook his head.

“it wasn’t the Defiant Dragons way…we could drive the crowds into protest at the steps of the temple but we weren’t…instigating a mob to beat those who disagreed.” He looked up at Datz. “...is your friend alright?”

"No broken bones, thankfully," Datz said. "well, that's not strictly true, they broke his nose. But that'll be pretty handsome when it heals, right?"

Apollo grimaced. "This is serious…"

Nahyuta pressed his hand to his face.

“It is serious. There’s a serious risk of escalation if they continue down this track. My father would not have approved…” He looked up at Datz. “Do you know any of the instigators? Are they friends from back in the day?”

"I mean, all of them, you know? The Defiant Dragons were a brotherhood," Datz shook his head. "I don't know. I want to try to talk some sense into them."

“For the love of the Holy Mother don’t try and do it alone.” Nahyuta held his hand up , the symbol of the dragon clear. “...if they’ve turned to violence, I don’t want to risk you getting yourself hurt.”

"I mean, you know me, I can handle whatever they throw at me," Datz said, tossing his head. "I love the vote of support, but uh, they probably won't want to hear it from you, 'Yuta."

Apollo felt it like an icy stab. He was sure Nahyuta felt it the same way. Nahyuta was a dragon. It was in his blood. But…

Apollo stepped forward. "I'll go with you."

Nahyuta’s fingers curled over the dragon on his palm. His expression remained neutral as he lowered his hand with a shake of his head.

“But of course…and Apollo. If you do, I want you to come back in one piece.”

Apollo put his hand on Nahyuta's back, leaning closer to him. "Of course, Nahyuta. I promise."

October 1, 2028– 3:15 pm

Trucy spent the day bustling around and getting ready for the big trip. It was completely by accident that she collided with Justine Courtney at the door of the Wright Anything Agency, and nearly dropped her suitcase on her feet.

The judge startled a little as she took a few steps back, though even so her subtle and composed smile never left her face.

“Ah, if it isn’t young Miss Wright. Good afternoon.” She’d dressed down today, for a given value…in a long white cardigan hanging over a black and gold sundress…but she still looked like some sort of saintly judge even in civilian clothes.

Trucy squeaked, her hat falling halfway off into her face, unable to grab it without dropping her luggage.

"Madam Courtney! oops! 'scuse me!!"

Judge Courtney leaned forward and pushed her hat back into place atop her head with a quiet chuckle.

“my…you’re in a hurry. Are the Wright’s taking a trip I didn’t know about?”

"Just me actually, so if you came to see daddy, you're in luck." Trucy chuckled. Honestly, she was still pleased that she'd managed to get him to agree to let her go. "I'm going to Khura'in!"

Justine placed her hand to her mouth in surprise “...The Kingdom of Khura’in? All by yourself?”

"Not by myself exactly. With Klavier and Ema, and the De Fammes." She stepped out of the way of the doorway and let Justine in, giving her a little bow as she entered.

Justine eased into the room with a grateful bow of her head.

“Quite the entourage…I’ve heard quite a bit about Khura’in lately…it recently went through a rather large scale revolution.”

"Yeah we were kind of there for the tail end of that," Trucy acknowledged thinking back on it. It was weird to think that it was an actual revolution. "It was really just some scary court cases like usual. Can I get you some tea?"

“Tea would be absolutely lovely, Trucy.” Justine smiled warmly at her as she paced quietly through the hall. “Scary court cases that change the trajectory of a country’s ruling and legal system…just like usual.” she chuckled “indeed.”

"I mean come on tell me that's NOT the usual, huh, ma'am?" Trucy laughed, heading over to the electric kettle and turning it on as she got some tea bags out of the box where she and Athena kept them.

“Oh, I’ve seen a fair few cases in my time. But the ones you and your friends wind up part and parcel to always do seem to be– exceptionally life changing.” She leaned on her hand. “So I'm afraid I must agree…absolutely the usual. Though it’s amazing to see it happen so far away. One has to wonder how their legal system’s been adapting.”

"I mean, Apollo's there, so I assume it's going great," Trucy said, as she poured hot water into two cups. Though now that Courtney had raised the question she felt a gnawing uncertainty about it.

“Young Mr. Justice certainly is capable and impressive,” Justine smiled. "Though last I’ve heard there wasn’t a single defense attorney still active and practicing in the whole country on account of that heinous law. It’s a topic that got brought up at a few judicial conferences I’d been to the last few years.”

Trucy grimaced as she dropped the teabags into the water. "Yeah… as far as I've heard that hasn't exactly changed except for Polly…."

Justine’s eyes went wide, and her composure broke enough for her to sputter.

“W-w…wait…Hold the ph…” She looked at Trucy like she’d grown another head “He’s the only practicing lawyer in an entire damned country???”

Trucy brushed her hair out of her face and adjusted her hat. "Yeah. I mean, that's what he said in his letters. Who knows if it's true or not. Not like I've seen him."

She didn't like to think about it either. Polly might put on a brave face, but…there was no way even he could be holding up alright under pressure like that.

Even the Chords of Steel would crack if it kept up like that. What was he even thinking, running off to take on a responsibility like that anyway??

“That’s– ” Justine put her hand to her head “that’s utter and complete madness! Even in a country as small as Khura’in– especially since it’s had a damned political upheaval! There’s retrials and human rights violations to address.”

"Yeah." Trucy scuffed her foot on the floor. "I think that's what he was trying to do. Well, the retrials anyway. I don't know about the other stuff."

Human rights violations… what did she mean by that? Was that something she should already know about?

“He’s doing Justitia’s work then…but to think he’s doing it alone..” she sighed gently. “I shudder to think…the poor man must be working to death.”

Trucy bit her lip, and took the tea bags out of the water, handing a cup to Justine. "You think? I mean, that's a good reason to go bring him back, right?"

The idea of Apollo trapped in the middle of endless retrials and dealing with human rights violations, APPARENTLY– it set her on edge. If she hadn’t already resolved to drag him back for personal reasons, she’d be booking the next plane already just at the thought of it.

“I’d say very likely.” Justine took the cup with a thankful smile. “My hope is the situation isn’t nearly as dire as we fear. Perhaps it’s already a bustling legal revolution by the time you arrive, hm? And they’ll have cleared up that…prison issue.”

Prison issue?

Trucy stared into her reflection in her up for a moment and then looked up at Justine.

"Um…..?"

Justine glanced off to the side with a quiet hum.

“I don’t know if I should say— you’re still young, Trucy. Though Justitia wouldn’t want us to turn a blind eye.” She sipped her tea.“There was some discussion in legal circles about whether or not the Defense Culpability Act could be considered a serious violation of human rights. Especially with the reported prison conditions under the Ga’ran Regime.”

"Oh." Trucy let that settle on her for a moment. She thought back to Khura'in, and the contrast to how beautiful it seemed, with the horrifying memory of her daddy having six machine guns pointed in his face in court. "Um. Yeah. Well. I'm bringing him back. So. Not going to be his problem any more."

Justine raised her mug.

“Just be careful young lady. Try not to be drawn into it yourself.” She sighed quietly. “I wish I could help, but with things the way they are…my…”

Trucy cocked her head as Justine trailed off. She watched her closely. "Hmm?"

Justine Courtney brushed her hair from her face, before she took another long sip of her tea. “It’s a complex situation. Rife for an international incident, should things go awry. That’s all.”

For the first time Trucy really wondered what she was getting into– aside from a mission to save her brother.

"Well– do you have any advice?"

Justine tapped her chin. “...convince Apollo to come home rather quickly and hop on the plane back home and let Interpol and the royals work it out.”

"Yeah." Trucy's jaw set, and she felt more determined than ever. And also more nervous than ever. "Good thing my flight's tonight!"

#apollo justice #nahyuta sadmadhi #ace attorney #datz are'bal #justine courtney #trucy wright #nahyupollo #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #poly ship #fic: chains of the dragon

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defectivevillain · 11 months ago

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professional courtesy

pairing: Miles Edgeworth/Reader (can be platonic or romantic)

*reader is racially ambiguous, pronouns are unspecified, and physical descriptors aren't used*

summary:

Miles Edgeworth always has the most recent evidence and an updated autopsy report when he prosecutes a case. His secret? You: a talented LAPD detective with no honest concept of “time off work.”

word count: 3.5k | ao3 version

warnings: mentions of sleep deprivation, fatigue

This snippet is focused on Miles Edgeworth/Reader and the dynamic can be perceived as romantic or platonic. The reader is a detective employed at the LAPD. The reader is also racially ambiguous and gender is unspecified.

Since this fic is, well, fiction, some parts may be unrealistic. Keep that in mind before you read. (For example, this takes place in a rather unrealistic universe in which Miles Edgeworth isn’t in love with Phoenix Wright. lol.)

You’ve been working in the Criminal Affairs Department at the Los Angeles Police Department for a few years now. You started out as a wide-eyed rookie, but within a few weeks, you quickly learned that detective work isn’t the perfect, harmless job you thought it was. You still love your position, of course, but you’ve investigated rather gruesome cases in your time at the LAPD. Now, you find yourself accustomed to the scent of formaldehyde and the sight of blood splattered across skin.

Through your position at the LAPD as an investigator, you’ve met your fair share of interesting characters—namely, defense attorneys and prosecutors. Unfortunately, interaction with legal professionals comes hand-in-hand with your investigations. You can’t remember the last time you had the pleasure of performing an independent investigation. You’re almost always hindered by a prosecutor breathing down your neck or a defense attorney frantically pressing you for evidence you don’t have. The constant presence of overbearing lawyers is just something you’ve grown used to.

They aren’t all so bad, you think to yourself. Miles Edgeworth, Klavier Gavin, Simon Blackquill, and Nahyuta Sadmadhi are all rather unique individuals, but they care about justice and aren’t falling prey to the dark age of the law. You enjoy working with all of them, even when Klavier can’t shut up about his latest concert or Simon’s hawk constantly uses your head as a perch. Truthfully, Miles Edgeworth is the most tolerable of the group—but you’d never admit that aloud.

You’re in your office one night, reviewing some paperwork and thinking about the recent case you were assigned, when you hear a knock on the door. You give the person permission to enter and the door falls open, revealing Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth himself. He’s wearing his typical prosecutor garb—his burgundy-maroon suit and cravat. Glasses are perched on his nose and he pushes them up a little. “Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth,” you remark, blinking at him. “Good to see you.”

“And you.” The prosecutor responds, his arms crossed over his chest as his gaze flits about your office. You suddenly feel strangely self-conscious, despite the knowledge that your office is very sparsely decorated. There’s an award mounted on the wall from last year and a small photo of you and your friends on your desk, but that’s about the extent of your decorations.

“Are you here for the updated autopsy report?” You ask, deciding to cut to the chase. From what you know of the prosecutor, he doesn’t quite enjoy small talk. Indeed, Edgeworth looks relieved at the thought of being spared from casual conversation; he then nods at your question. You sigh and open your desk drawer, procuring the newest autopsy report. You hold it out to him and he takes it with a murmured thanks. The prosecutor’s eyes are locked on the paper as he takes in the new information. You watch him for a few seconds, before taking the opportunity to rub your eyes roughly. You’re rather tired, you have to admit. You should’ve gone home hours ago.

“Detective.” You flinch, opening your eyes to find Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth staring at you with a blank expression. You’re briefly hit with an intense wave of embarrassment at the thought of zoning out in front of the Chief Prosecutor himself. “The commissioner didn’t send you home,” the prosecutor remarks. You think his statement is meant to be a question, despite the fact that his tone doesn’t fluctuate from his typical flat affect.

“Well, he did,” you grimace, remembering his demands for you to return home immediately. He’d be furious with you right now. In fact, the commissioner pulled you aside a few weeks ago to inquire about your “workaholic tendencies.” You meant to take him seriously and even assured him that you’d start to leave work on time instead of staying late. But here you are—sitting in your office late at night with your findings from your after-hours investigation.

“Yet, you’re still here.” Edgeworth remarks with an intent gaze. Somehow, his frown only seems to deepen.

“Yes, well, I… felt like something was missing,” you decide to admit. The prosecutor is trustworthy. Besides, you’re sure he has much better things to do than report you to the commissioner. The notion then reminds you of Dick Gumshoe—particularly, a conversation you had with him the other day about his much-to-be-desired diet of instant noodles. You shake your head in a half-hearted attempt to clear your thoughts. “Here, look at these.” You pull papers from the file on your desk and extend them to him. Edgeworth’s gaze follows your gesture and his eyebrows furrow.

“The suspect’s fingerprints on the corpse,” Edgeworth remarks blankly. “Yes.” His eyebrows furrow. The prosecutor is evidently wondering why you’re pointing that out, considering the evidence is extremely self-explanatory. You take a deep breath.

“Look at the edge here,” you suggest, pointing to the very edge of the photo in question. It’s just barely visible and you watch as Edgeworth squints at the photograph for a long moment. For a second, it looks as if he’s not seeing it. You’re close to pointing the area out again when his eyes widen in realization.

“Powder,” Edgeworth realizes aloud. He crosses his arms over his chest and falls back into his unusually straight posture. His fingers tap against the crook of his arm rhythmically, in what you guess to be a restless gesture. “The prints were transplanted.”

“I believe so.” You nod.

The prosecutor frowns and looks askance. He seems to deliberate for a moment before turning his attention back to you. “Can you do something for me?”

“Sure…?” You respond, thrown off by the ambiguity of the statement. The prosecutor explains the task he’d like you to perform and you begin to understand. Acting on his orders shouldn’t take too long, hopefully. However, you are in a time crunch—what with the trial being scheduled for tomorrow morning. Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth leaves you with a murmured word of gratitude and a quick farewell. You stare at your closed office door for a moment, wondering if you dreamt up that interaction. The handwritten note sitting on your desk—created mere moments ago by Edgeworth—is proof that the prosecutor’s request was all too real. You don’t waste any time after that, immediately walking out of the police department and getting into your car. The Chief Prosecutor’s request isn’t too difficult—you simply need to revisit the crime scene and make sure everything is in order. Then you’ll return home, eat something, take a quick shower, and go to sleep. Everything will be fine. You won’t overwork yourself. You certainly won’t stay at the crime scene late into the night, until the point when you bear witness to the sun rising in the morning sky.

These promises fade into obscurity the moment you reach the crime scene. Your investigative mind turns on and all you can think about are fingerprints, footprints, and murder weapons. You meticulously review each piece of evidence for forensic data, in addition to reviewing the entire scene in your head several times. Your efforts are far from a waste of time, as you manage to tie up some loose ends and even determine that the murder weapon carries multiple sets of prints. Your knees are aching as you bend down towards the ground and survey anything of consequence. Time is entirely inconsequential. All you know is that the flashlight you had needed when you arrived is no longer useful, as hints of the sunrise begin to illuminate the area in a hazy dawn glow.

When your morning alarm goes off as you’re standing at the edge of the crime scene, you’re able to recognize that you may have gotten carried away. Just maybe. You sigh and trudge back to the car, before driving to the courthouse. When you arrive, you’re able to take a quick nap in the car and eat a protein bar you find in the console. Unfortunately, your nap is more than quick—it doesn’t last more than three minutes before you hear a knock on your window. It’s your least favorite defense attorney, Duff Endyu.

“Well, hello, Detective!” Duff remarks as you roll down your window, his cheery smile immediately ruining any of the rest you acquired from your brief rest. “Catching up on some Z’s, are we?” His grin seems to have a mocking edge.

“Yes,” you sigh, unwilling to entertain his attempts at provocation. “Are the doors open?” You look over to the courthouse entrance.

“I believe they are, sport,” he responds, patting a hand on the area where the unopened window rests and pacing towards the building. You take a deep breath and pinch the bride of your nose. It takes you a few moments to cross the parking lot and make it to the doors. Once you do, you find that the waiting room is blissfully empty. You sigh in relief and take a seat on the armchair, crossing a leg at the knee and pinching the bridge of your nose. You want nothing more than to fall asleep, but you know that would be rather unprofessional. Besides, you have a job to do.

You spend your time reviewing the information you gathered throughout your investigation, before preparing your statements and testimony as the detective on the case. You’re typically the first person called to the stand, so that you can explain the case to the judge and shed light on the evidence.

“Detective.” You flinch and look up, only to find Miles Edgeworth staring down at you. You resist the strange urge to get up from your seat and instead greet him. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” you respond, pretending that you don’t need to blink the traces of exhaustion from your eyes.

“Did you have a chance to do what I asked?”

“Yes, I did,” You’re about to explain when the bailiff interrupts and asks you to go into the courtroom. You send an apologetic smile to the prosecutor, before slipping into the empty courtroom. The judge is the only person in the room, and he seems to be frowning at something on the surface of his bench. When he notices your entrance, he motions for you to come closer.

You’re familiar with this judge and have worked with him several times before. The thought reassures you, as you know you won’t have to sugarcoat your words or pretend to be someone you’re not on the stand. The two of you have formed a surface-level understanding of one another, which makes your job that much easier.

The judge asks you a few questions about your investigation and you answer them to the best of your ability. Eventually, he seems satisfied, because he nods and dismisses you. You never get the chance to speak with Edgeworth and brief him on your findings before the trial, but you know he’ll learn more once you take the stand.

The judge begins the trial with the standard procedure, questioning both the defense and the prosecution before Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth makes his case for the conviction of the defendant. Not for the first time, you find yourself impressed by how succinct and persuasive the man’s argument is. Endme, the attorney for the defendant, seems a bit intimidated. You think you would be too, if you were going up against the chief prosecutor himself.

The judge then calls you to the stand. You explain the crime and describe the crime scene in detail, before Endme, the defense attorney, cross examines you. His cross-examination isn’t super thorough, and you suspect it’s because your claims are all backed up with at least one piece—if not multiple pieces—of evidence. Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth seems to have quite the easy time with dismantling the defense’s argument. However, since you never got the chance to brief him before the trial, you’re forced to step in and correct an assumption when you hear it.

“Actually,” you break in, wincing at how everyone’s gazes lock onto you. You take a deep breath. You can do this. “Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth is right, but… an investigation earlier today revealed that the murder weapon actually contained the prints of the witness, in addition to the defendant.”

Edgeworth’s eyebrows steadily climb up his forehead. You want to feel guilty, but you know you didn’t leave him out of the loop on purpose. In fact, you were about to relay your findings to him when you were swiftly interrupted. Instead, you allow yourself a brief moment of pride. You caused that disbelieving expression on the chief prosecutor’s face. You found that evidence…!

The trial, understandably, is suitably affected by that revelation. You’re soon dismissed from the stand, as Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth calls the witness to the stand. You get the feeling he’s going to absolutely grill them—to see if they play a more active role in this case.

Truthfully, you want to leave the courthouse and go to sleep, but you know you should stay to see how the trial plays out. Thankfully, Edgeworth uses the forensic evidence you found to bolster his argument and, after only about an hour, the courtroom doors swing open and the chief prosecutor appears. His eyes narrow in on you immediately and there’s a frown on his face. You feel any good karma you may have accrued earlier completely dissipate.

“Detective,” Edgeworth says with a sigh. This can’t be good, you think to yourself. “I appreciate your efforts, and the fact that you did what I asked you to do.” He pauses. But…? “However, I do not recall telling you to avoid sleep entirely.” His eyes meet yours and you realize he must’ve noticed your fatigue earlier or the dark circles that currently reside under your own eyes.

“I know,” you acquiesce. The prosecutor nods knowingly, and you suddenly feel the need to defend yourself. “Still. I had a gut feeling there was something missing—and I was right.” Edgeworth sighs loudly. You raise your eyebrows at him knowingly, inviting him to argue with you. Fortunately for you, there’s not much of an outlet for him to argue—since your choice to continue investigating procured decisive evidence for the trial. The prosecutor evidently comes to that realization, because he crosses his arms over his chest and levels you with a furious gaze that spells you silent.

“Come on, Detective,” he remarks. “Unless you’d like the budget cut that Detective Gumshoe is so fond of.” You sigh deeply and follow after the prosecutor. This is the first time he’s threatened to reduce your salary. You certainly hope it will be the last—you’d rather not rewrite your budget for the coming month.

You follow after Edgeworth, who has yet to offer an explanation for why you’re supposed to follow him. The prosecutor paces out of the courtroom and walks through the lines of cars in the parking lot until he reaches a red sports car. Your eyebrows climb up your forehead as you see him unlock it.

“This is your car?” You hear yourself ask.

“You seem surprised,” Edgeworth notes with a tinge of amusement. He opens the door for you, allowing you to enter, before closing it behind you. The prosecutor then walks around the car and gets into the driver’s seat. Edgeworth looks at you expectantly, evidently waiting for elaboration.

“Sorry, you just didn’t seem the type,” you say. You quickly regret uttering the statement aloud after seeing the prosecutor raise an eyebrow; thankfully, he lets the comment slide. Instead, you get into the car and awkwardly stare down at your hands. You feel intensely out of place in this car, sitting next to the Chief Prosecutor himself. Edgeworth doesn’t seem to notice your internal panic, instead beginning to pull out of the courthouse parking lot and drive down the street. “Where are we going?” You eventually find the courage to ask.

“My office,” Edgeworth responds. You feel your heart stall in your chest. He isn’t going to fire you, is he? You’re not sure if he has that power… but you wouldn’t be surprised if he did possess that kind of administrative authority. Your fear must show on your face, because the prosecutor huffs in amusement before turning to look at you for a brief moment. “Lighten up, Detective.” Contrary to your expectations, you aren’t given any more explanation than that. Instead, you’re left to sit silently as Edgeworth

He’s taking you to his office. Oh no. You’re really going to get fired, aren’t you? Your heart races in your chest and you feel your hands twitching at your sides. Edgeworth leads the way to the Prosecutor’s Building, walking through the underground garage before reaching the door and opening it for you. You’ve been to the building before, but you’ve never been to the underground garage—which leaves you feeling a little turned around. You suspect there’s an elevator that will lead to Edgeworth’s office. However, the chief prosecutor walks past it and instead ascends the staircase next to it. You shrug and follow after him. One flight of stairs won’t be too bad.

One flight of stairs passes in the blink of an eye. However, Edgeworth doesn’t exit as you expect—instead he continues climbing up the stairs. Are you going to be taking the stairs all the way up to his office? From what you remember, quite a few of the offices are on the higher floors. You decide to keep quiet and follow his lead.

If only you had known that Edgeworth’s office number was on the twelfth floor . By the time you climb up the last set of stairs and reach the twelfth floor, you want to collapse on the ground and never get up. Edgeworth, on the other hand, isn’t even winded. You manage to catch your breath on the short walk from the staircase to his office, but you know your legs will be sore tomorrow.

You’ve never been in the Chief Prosecutor’s office before. It has more life than you thought it might, with a burgundy couch off to the left side, an ornate wooden desk in the center of the room, and rows of files lining the walls on the right. There’s a small figurine of the Steel Samurai and an award that you recognize to be the Prosecutor Trophy. The space looks like a good mix of professionalism and nonchalance that you think you’d like to emulate in your own office.

Despite your expectations, Edgeworth still doesn't give you an explanation for why you’re here. Instead, he settles into the chair at his desk and opens his computer. He’s quiet as he types on his computer. After a few moments of standing awkwardly, you decide to move and sit on the couch.

You don’t know how long you wait there, anticipating a remark from the chief prosecutor. Unfortunately, now that you’re left here with nothing to do, you feel your energy slipping away. Your exhaustion is beginning to catch up to you. You didn’t get much sleep ( read: any sleep) last night, thanks to your impromptu investigation. Despite your fatigue threatening to knock you out, you know can’t fall asleep in front of the Chief Prosecutor. You have to stay awake.

Surely, there’s something you could be doing right now. Your eyes are stinging from exhaustion and your blinks feel twice as long as normal. You rub your eyes roughly and pay a glance at Edgeworth, who is scrawling something down on a piece of paper.. Just what are you supposed to be doing here? The prosecutor hasn’t spoken since you left the car. Edgeworth isn’t shy about assigning you work to do, so why is he suddenly so silent?

Despite all these recognitions, and the intimate knowledge that it will not look good if you fall asleep, your exhaustion wins out. One moment, you’re staring blankly ahead at the wall of files; the next, your eyes are slipping shut and you’re falling asleep.

Your sleep is remarkably undisturbed, despite being in the company of another person. You occasionally hear the scrawling sound of writing or the pattering sounds of typing, but otherwise, the office is blissfully silent. Your head rests on your hand and you exhale slowly, feeling the day’s stressors slowly slip away.

You don’t intend to sleep for long. But, when you wake up, you find that it’s dark outside. There’s an added warmth that you didn’t have before. Upon further investigation, you find that there’s a familiar burgundy jacket draped over you. Is this… Edgeworth’s jacket? Your eyes widen as the characteristic burgundy color.

Your phone pings, drawing you out of your thoughts. You reach towards it and power it on, only to find that it’s nearly 6 p.m. The trial ended hours ago! You look around for Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth, but he’s nowhere in sight. All you see is the familiar wall of files, the chessboard in the corner of the room, and a mug of tea with a note next to it.

Wait. A mug of tea with a note? You frown and look down at the coffee table, finding a mug of warm tea with steam rising out of it and a handwritten note. The note reads:

Visiting the department. Expect a more strictly enforced schedule in the future. -M. PS: Stay as long as you need.

You smile to yourself.

“Duff Endyu” → “defend you.” lol.

hehehehehehheeeee… I just want to fall asleep in Edgeworth's office and for Edgeworth to look down at me and be filled with an inexplicable burst of fondness. is that really too much to ask?>??

Did “a more strictly enforced schedule” make sense? I was trying to find a characteristic way for Miles to say that your overtime would be prevented (aka that you’ll have to “clock out” and actually leave, instead of staying for hours after).

I just realized Miles’s initials are M.E.. Lollll.

anyway, thanks for reading! <333

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