**Note**- I will be using the fan translation names for characters from AAI2 so that there isn't such a glaring difference between character names.

Rating: T
Warning(s): Threat of death, violence, adult fear, amnesia.
Character(s): Miles Edgeworth, Gregory Edgeworth, Detective Badd, Ray Shields, Bonnie Young.
Summary: The gun never fell from Yogi's holster. Manfred von Karma was never shot. No one died as a result of that earthquake- DL-6 didn't happen. How would the earthquake have affected the three occupants of the elevator?

DL-6 AU: Restart

Bluish fingers curled around his throat, and he struggled to gasp. 'W-what are you doing!'

The man leaning over him was feral, desperate. Though the grip he held wasn't too strong, both men were weak enough that the pressure applied was just enough to keep him pinned. 'S-stop! Stop breathing my air!' Yogi's hands shook, but his hands did not squeeze tighter around Gregory's throat.

Gregory tried to push the man away. He tried to kick out at Yogi's body, but instead his legs seemed to spasm. The hands felt heavier on his throat, and in his already oxygen-deprived state, he found it difficult to concentrate on keeping his eyes open. He had to be strong for his son.

His son...

Miles!

Yogi was suddenly pushed forwards, and Gregory fell down in a slump. The last thing he saw was Miles collapsing on the floor, hitting his head as he did so.

He awoke groggily, head lolling to a side. It took effort, but his eyes opened for a few fleeting seconds before snapping shut again.

Voices.

'He opened his eyes!'

He recognised that voice.

'He's been doing that... since I got here... kid. The doctors said he's not... conscious when it happens.'

Those pauses... that gruff tone.

'Oh,' dejected.

Where had he heard those voices from?

'Detective? Mr. Shields? Visiting hours is almost over.'

Detective? Why would I know a detective?

The scraping of chair legs, and the first voice saying softly, 'We'll be back tomorrow, Mr. Edgeworth.'

He was alone.

Silence.

Doctors... visiting hours... detectives... and why did Shields ring a bell?

Shields...

Why did I suddenly get an image of a castle?

He tried to open his eyes again, but they must have been weighed down by something because they refused to move. He sighed. At least now he had an idea of who he was... Mr. Edgeworth sounded awfully formal, though. He almost laughed. Miles would find that so funny.

Miles...

His eyes flew open and he was bombarded with memories of courts, trials, birthdays, and an elevator.

Elevator. Earthquake.

The ground was shaking. Why was the ground shaking?! He couldn't breathe... fingers wrapped around his throat, squeezing hard... shouts... flashing lights...

The ground was shaking. They were losing air. His son was in a corner crying. Fingerswrappedaroundhisthroathecouldn'tbreathestopyou'regoingtokillme!

Miles!

People dressed in lab coats and scrubs rushed over to his bed. Handsholdingmedownletmegoican'tbreatheletmeseemyson!

He tried to sit up, but they kept pushing his back down. Shouting orders. Incessant beeping. ...rate increasing. Please sit down, sir! You're upsetting the other patients!

Letmeseemyson! He wanted to shout. WhereisMiles?

Darkness.

When he next awoke, his mind was clearer.

On his right, sat on a blue plastic chair, was a young man of around nineteen. He watched as the boy's face would occasionally crease. He wanted to comfort the boy, ask why he was crying.

Wait. He remembered seeing a boy crying in the elevator... was this the same one? Was this Miles?

He couldn't be... Miles was paler, and he was younger than this boy. He didn't know how he knew, but he just did.

He felt his lips part, and he almost hated asking but it had to be said.

'Who are you?'

The poor boy, he thought, watching the young man's face crease again as he tried to stop himself from crying.

'R-Ray... Raymond Shields. I-I'm your apprentice, Mr. Edgeworth, remember?'

He didn't. 'Apprentice? What for?'

Ray bit his lip. 'You're a defence attorney, Mr. Edgeworth. We investigated a case together.'

Ah. Defence attorney. That would explain his memories of court.

'I apologise for not remembering you, Ray. I seem to have lost my memory.'

Ray sniffed and hid his face behind a notepad. 'That's okay, Mr. Edgeworth. The doctors said that you suffered... um... oxygen deprivation.'

'Ah.' That must have been due to the hands. 'Who was with me? I remember a boy.'

Now Ray's face betrayed any sense of confidence. He choked out a sob, and Mr. Edgeworth knew that something bad must have happened. 'Mr. Edgeworth... the boy is your son- Miles.'

That name! He remembered it so well! He could see the greyish-black hair poking over the top of a law book, numerous attempts at perfecting a paper crane, intelligent grey eyes much like his mother's...

'I need to see him. Where is he?'

Ray was chewing his lip like he hadn't eaten in days. 'He's in the paediatric ward... the doctors say that he's 'stable'.'

Mr. Edgeworth sat up. The phrase sounded like it was supposed to be reassuring, but instead something inside of him reacted. Stable... that's not good. That means he's not safe.

He voiced this to Ray, who looked mildly confused. 'Safe? He's alive, so that should mean...'

Mr. Edgeworth tried to answer him, but as he looked around the ward, he noticed an imposing man standing beside one of the beds, talking to a patient. He looked familiar.

Ray seemed to notice the direction Mr. Edgeworth was looking, as he carefully informed the man, 'That's Detective Badd. We met last year on a case. He's talking to Mr. Yogi; he was in the elevator with you and Miles.'

Something stirred in the pit of his stomach. Was it fear? Anger? Both? He didn't know- couldn't place it. Somehow he knew that the hands that had tried to kill him belonged to Mr. Yogi.

He looked to his lap where his own hands lay. They couldn't have been mine... my hands aren't blue... A hand reached out and settled on his shoulder. Ray was trying to give him a reassuring smile, but Mr. Edgeworth could feel his hand shaking.

Mr. Edgeworth licked his lips. 'Ray...?'

'Y-yes, Mr. Edgeworth?'

'Do you know why Detective Badd is here? Was someone hurt?'

Ray let out a breath. He must have thought I'd ask him something difficult... 'The doctors found bruises on your neck... they were the size of Mr. Yogi's fingers. Detective Badd is questioning him now.'

Mr. Edgeworth touched his throat, wincing slightly as a dull pain throbbed underneath his fingertips. 'He... attacked me...'

Ray bowed his head. 'Yeah... that's what the detective thought. What are you going to do about it?'

'Do?'

'Like... are you going to press charges?'

Mr. Edgeworth thought about the idea. Mr. Yogi had tried to kill him but...

He shook his head. 'I don't know. I can't remember much about what happened. They might not believe me.'

'Of course they would! They have the evidence to prove it!'

Mr. Edgeworth didn't say anything. He looked at the door leading out of the ward. 'I want to see Miles.'

'I'm afraid that's not possible at this moment in time, Mr. Edgeworth,' said a new voice. Surprised, Mr. Edgeworth's head turned to see a middle-aged woman with purple hair tied up into a high bun. She had the beginnings of crows-feet around her eyes from what Mr. Edgeworth could see at least; she wore a pair of glasses with thick, round lenses that largely covered her eyes. Her face was squared, and her cheeks looked heavy, reminding him of a bulldog he saw once. 'Excuse me; I am Bonnie Young, the director of the Dye-Young Hospital.'

'Dye-Young?' he repeated, bemused.

'Yes. As I was saying, you are not in fit enough state to leave your bed. I cannot allow you to see your son.'

'Ridiculous!' he exclaimed, his back straightening. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. 'I will see him!'

Young scowled at him. 'That's enough! Return to your bed at once!' she added as he pushed himself to his feet. 'Mr. Edgeworth!'

Ray ran over from the other side of the bed and hooked his arm around Mr. Edgeworth's waist, supporting him as he stumbled. 'I'm fine, let me see my boy!'

'Get back into your bed this instant! You are not fit enough to-.' Mr. Edgeworth ignored her and stepped forwards two steps before swaying in his place. She gritted her teeth and moved to stand in front of him. 'If you can answer my questions, I may allow you to see your son.'

He levelled his gaze at her, noting how much shorter than him she was. Her hands were resting on her hips, and the scowl on her face had deepened. Her impatience and demeanour aggravated him, and it was all he could do to stop himself from striding past her and out of the ward. Indeed, the only reason why he didn't was because he knew he was too weak to leave on his own, and he had a feeling that Ray- though he seemed to be physically weaker than the man- wouldn't help him. Taking a deep breath to compose himself, he agreed to Young's words.

'First, what is your name?'

Starting off easy, are we? He clenched his jaw and opened his mouth to speak before he realised that he couldn't remember his first name. 'Edgeworth,' he said simply, hoping that she would take this ambiguity as irritation.

She raised one of her eyebrows. Clearly she caught on to his word choice. 'Is that so? Your full name please, Edgeworth.' He shook his head, and she changed her question. 'What is your age?'

He knew this one! He could remember his birth date clearly! 'I'm thirty... um...' he rested his chin on his right hand in thought. 'What is today's date?'

'January the second, 2002.'

Ah, now all he had to do was subtract 1966 from 2002! How was he supposed to do that? He didn't answer her, working out the equation. Eventually, he looked up at her triumphantly. 'Thirty-five. I'll be thirty-six in... Well, in a few months.'

Young didn't look impressed. 'And your son's birthday? When is that?'

As if I could forget that! 'January the seventeenth.'

She pursed her lips. Mr. Edgeworth hoped this meant that she was considering letting him see Miles. He decided to speak up. 'Please, let me see him. He means the world to me.' At least that much I can remember.

She must have taken pity on him, because her shoulders sagged a little and her expression softened. 'Alright, I'll let you see the boy. However,' she added as his face lit up. 'He is stable, but that doesn't mean that he is well enough to receive visitors for long, even if you are his father. I will accompany you; if he starts to get too stressed out, I am afraid that you will have to leave.'

Mr. Edgeworth nodded. 'That's fine by me; as long as I can see him. I need to let him know that he'll be okay. He must be beside himself.'

She nodded and turned to face the door. He followed her as she left the ward, only stopping momentarily when she spoke to him. 'Oh, and Mr. Edgeworth?'

'Yes?'

'Your first name is Gregory.'

Miles had a room all to himself. Young told Gregory that this was because the events in the elevator distressed him. She said that what happened had likely been traumatic for the boy, as the three of them had almost died that day.

Gregory didn't understand this; wasn't he the one that was being strangled? Did Yogi also try to kill Miles? But how would that explain the fact that Yogi almost died? He didn't voice this, worried that Young might change her mind.

She showed him through the door, and he immediately caught sight of the IV drip reaching towards the young boy's right hand where a tube seemed to be plastered down. He stopped short, taking in Miles's pallid features. 'Is he...?'

'He has to be fed through a tube,' Young answered. 'He woke up two days ago, but he was having trouble eating.'

Gregory swallowed, and beside him, Ray hid his face behind his notepad. 'What happened?'

Young motioned for him to sit on a chair by Miles's bed. He did so, and she answered his question. 'The boy suffered from what is known as hypoxic hypoxia, as have you and Mr. Yogi, due to the low concentration of oxygen in the elevator. This has led to you and Miles suffering from amnesia, though you both have different forms.'

'They do?' Ray asked from where he stood behind Gregory's chair.

Young nodded. She explained to the two of them about declarative and non-declarative memory, and the specific types of those memories- that Gregory had trouble recalling autobiographic events and how that indicated loss of episodic memory. 'You seem to be able to form new memories, so I must conclude that you suffer from retrograde amnesia. Miles also suffers from this, though he has trouble remembering events that have happened since he woke up, so he also has elements of anterograde amnesia. However, he is struggling with his procedural memory.' She explained what this meant, possibly seeing how lost Gregory seemed to be. 'In particular, he is struggling to form complex sentences, though this is a vast improvement from when he first awoke, and he has forgotten how to do other simple tasks- such as eating.'

Gregory listened with increasing worry and shock. To hear that his son could speak or eat made him go cold, and all he wanted to do was hold Miles close and reassure himself that the boy would get better. 'Would seeing me help to jog his memory?'

'Perhaps. As he gets the proper nutrients that he needs, he will also need to be fed by someone; he needs to have food in his stomach, after all. I assume you would be okay with that?'

I raised him from the day he was born. Gregory remembered spooning liquidised food into a toddler's mouth. He might not be a baby anymore, but I'll do anything for him if it means that he'll get better. He reached out and took Miles's left hand in his own, squeezing it slightly to remind himself that the boy was 'stable'.

'He may not recognise you if he wakes up,' Young warned. 'If he gets distressed, you will have to leave.'

Gregory nodded. 'That's fine by me.'

'In that case, I am sure that you will be able to stay here. I will still supervise you, however.'

It took longer than he expected for Miles to wake up; the three sat in the room for over an hour, observing the minute changes in the boy's condition- his brow furrowed, and he grimaced and shook as though in the throes of a nightmare. Finally, when his eyes opened and settled on Gregory, the attorney could have sworn that his heart had stopped beating at that exact moment. Seconds felt like an eternity, and he was praying that his son would not have forgotten his face. He traced the lines in Miles's hand made by veins that were more prominent than they should have been (was that his imagination, or was Miles paler than usual?)

When Miles finally spoke, it was to simply ask, 'Papa?'

Something inside Gregory's chest clenched, and he attributed it to his relief. Even though vague memories of that day still played in his mind ('Stop breathing my air!' 'Get away from my father!'), he ignored the initial knowledge telling him that something wasn't right. 'Miles... I'm so glad to see you awake.'

Miles groaned. His head lolled to his right where Ray and Young were sitting. From where Gregory sat, he couldn't see much, but he could judge by the tension in his son's hand that the boy was worried- or at the very least, confused. 'Where'm I? Who she? Why Ray here?'

'I want to be a defence attorney, just like you, Father! I want to protect the weak and help them when they've got no one else on their side!'

'Look, Father! Watch this! OBJECTION!'

'Father! I made a friend today at school!'

Gregory swallowed. He couldn't ignore it, not after those significantly more pleasant memories... Something about Miles wasn't right; he was supposed to be more articulate than this! He wished he could pass it off as grogginess, but Young had said that Miles was having trouble with speech. He tried to speak up, but his voice came out as a rasp.

'Papa?' Miles was looking back at him, eyes conveying a weak sadness that broke Gregory's heart.

Thankfully, Ray spoke for him. 'You're in hospital; this is Ms. Young, the director. Your Uncle Ray is here to see you.' His smile was bright and unforced. 'Ms. Young says that you've been sleeping well for the past two days since you woke up.'

At least someone can hide their fears better than I can, Gregory thought, watching as Ray placed a hand on the top of Miles's head. He noticed that Miles didn't look reassured; quite the opposite.

'I... no rem'ber. You sure?'

Something's died in me, Gregory figured by the twisting pain in his chest. My poor boy... 'What do you remember, Miles? You can tell us.'

Miles wet his lips, his brow creasing in concentration as he fought to recall his memories (he's not struggling to say anything, Gregory denied to himself, he just can't remember!) '...Nick... Butz... home.'

'Butts?' Young looked scandalised. 'Why would he remember those?'

Gregory's expression bordered on the lines of confusion and shock, and he privately agreed with Young's question. Is he...? He was saved when Ray chuckled and ruffled Miles's hair.

'Ah, you mean Larry Butz and Phoenix Wright, your friends, don't you?'

The boy nodded weakly. 'Friends,' he slurred.

Gregory laughed lowly. 'That answers that question then. What do you remember about home, Miles?'

Miles shook his head and clenched the hand held by Gregory. He groaned again and closed his eyes. ''m scared.'

'Why?' Gregory asked, stroking the back of the boy's hand to comfort him. The action was second-nature to him, and he only spent a minute dwelling on why this must be. 'What are you scared of?'

Miles sniffed, and only then did Gregory spot the tears that were welling up behind his son's eyelashes. 'It's so dark... I don't know where I am...'

That's the most coherent sentence he's said since he first woke up, I'm sure, Gregory judged by the surprised expression on Ray's face. 'You're in the hospital, Miles. Ray told you that just a few minutes ago.'

Miles shook his head, this time stronger than the last. 'No he didn't. Why am I here? Who are you? What's that in my hand?' his voice was rising with each question.

'Perhaps we should leave him alone to rest,' Young said pointedly. 'The boy is getting distressed.'

'No!' Gregory cried. He knelt on the floor before his son, squeezing his hand ever-so slightly to reassure him. 'Miles, I'm your father! You're in hospital; that tube is giving you nutrients. There was an accident not long ago-.'

Miles pulled his hand away. 'Go away! Shut up! Be quiet!' he clamped his hands over his ears. 'I want to go home! I can't breathe! Get away!'

'Miles...'

'He's hurting my father! You- you have to stop him! H-help me!'

'Mr. Edgeworth, Mr. Shields. We should leave now,' Young was pressing a button near Miles's bed. 'I will ask the nurse to calm him down,' she was speaking louder now to be heard over Miles's panicked cries. 'You should return to your bed.'

'I-.'

'GET AWAY! GET AWAY FROM MY FATHER!' Miles was curled on his side, thrashing around. His hands were still covering his ears, and his cheeks were soaked with his tears. The boy screamed when the IV in his hand was caught under his own weight and torn out. Nurses and doctors rushed into the room as Young led Gregory and Ray outside, shielding the two's view of the bed. Even with her deliberately blocking their way however, Gregory still caught a glimpse of Miles's accusing, crying eyes, and the blood staining the side of his face.

A nurse helped Gregory to settle back into his bed, but even though Young recommended that he get some rest, he didn't feel tired at all. His mind couldn't stop playing back what had just happened. His own son didn't recognise him... all he wanted to do was hold the boy tight and tell him that everything would be just fine.

Of course everything won't be fine, Gregory chastised himself, watching as a nurse brought food to some of the other patients in the ward. All of that blood... that... that... He swore under his breath, unable to recall what word he was looking for. That reaction. He wanted nothing more than to go back to the boy, but logic told him that it would be unwise to do so at this moment.

His heart ached for the boy- for his son. What could he do now that Miles didn't want to see him? He thought he was- no. Gregory couldn't think about that. Not now.

Miles would get better, Young had told him. He couldn't think any differently. If he did...

What kind of father am I? How could I let him end up in a place like this? He turned on his side, curling up and staring at the curtain drawn around his bed. My own son doesn't recognise me... how could I let this happen? Tears formed in his eyes, and he was furious with himself. This is my fault. He was with me that day.

The next time he was allowed to see Miles, it was on the boy's terms. A doctor informed him that Miles wanted to see him. Gregory was thankful. It had been a little over a week, and soon he would be discharged from the hospital. Even if the visit had to be supervised, at least Miles was the one to initiate it.

The week, Gregory noted when he entered Miles's ward, had been good to the boy. Colour was returning to his cheeks, and though there was an IV drip attached to the back of his hand, there was at least a glass on the table next to the bed. Sure, it had barely been touched- a few gulps of a dark purple smoothie had been drunk- but at least he had something in his stomach. In fact, when Miles looked up as the door opened, he did not look scared or angry at the sight of his father, but instead relieved.

'Papa...' was again the first word he said.

'Miles,' Gregory answered, sitting down on a plastic chair next to the bed. He didn't hold the boy's hand, not thinking it wise. He just hoped that Miles would understand that he didn't want to scare him. 'How are you feeling?'

Miles shook his head slowly. 'Not good. Nurse says I need to drink more.' He nodded towards the glass. 'I feel sick...'

Gregory could understand that. 'You never did like smoothies,' he told his son. At Miles's quirk of the head, he continued. 'I made you one a few years ago, and you hated it.' He wasn't sure where that memory came from, but as he said it, it sounded so natural.

Miles smiled timidly, but it was a smile nonetheless. Gregory felt his spirits rise. Miles had such a sweet smile, so much like his mother's. 'Nurse tried feeding me mush. It tasted bad.'

The nurse present, presumably the one Miles was talking about, made a noise of indignation. Gregory chuckled. 'I'm sure she meant well, Miles.'

'Papa?'

Gregory hummed. 'Yes?'

'I want to apologise for my actions last week.'

Gregory was stunned. He's apologising? 'Oh, Miles. You don't have to-.'

Miles shook his head. Something in his face reminded Gregory of before the incident in the elevator. 'I was being silly... I was scared...'

Gregory took his son's hand. Stroking the back of Miles's palm, he said, 'Don't apologise. I'm sorry that you were scared. Just know that you don't have to be- not now.'

Miles looked up at him. Gregory was sure that he could see the beginnings of tears. He took a tissue from the table and used it to wipe his son's eyes. 'I love you, Miles. I'm proud of you.'

There was a sniff, and Gregory froze as Miles threw his arms around his shoulders, before leaning into the hug and holding his son tightly. 'Papa...'

They sat like that for a few minutes, with Gregory rubbing Miles's back, and the boy crying into his father's shoulder. The boy was so small, so different to proud young lad Gregory remembered. Of course, after the incident, it was doubtful that any of them would ever be the same...

Gregory sniffed and buried his head into his son's neck. No need to think like that. They were alive, that was all that mattered.