...

It was a somber day, despite the weather. Holding a steady seventy degrees outside, with only a few clouds dotting the sky, it almost seemed like the cheery temperature was simply there to taunt him and his inner turmoil.

Stupid clouds.

Rather than ponder the reasons behind why he had assigned the clouds the personalities of PTA moms, Miles Edgeworth knew he had to get back to the problem at hand, a one Simon Blackquill. Next month, December, marked the beginning of the man's final year alive, having been sentenced to death on account of murdering his mentor, Metis Cykes.

The ruling never sat right with him, even if Blackquill declared himself guilty and has stuck by that for the entirety of these last six years. Before now, it wasn't like he could do much about it, while well respected for the most part, even he couldn't get a convicted criminal out of jail. Not that he could do that now, but as the Chief Prosecutor, he did have a bit more power.

His husband always told him to trust his gut, and his gut helpfully informed him that Simon was innocent, or at the very least, didn't deserve the death sentence. Perhaps a part of that was remembering what Simon had been like when he first became a prosecutor, still, there were few prosecutors that found the truth more important than a winning record back then. Alone, that raised some flags in Miles's head.

Simon was always happy back then, he had this cheerfulness to him that back then brought relief to Miles; knowing he was not the only prosecutor that no longer cared about a winning streak. It reminded him in some ways of Wright, who always had, and still does, this sort of childish innocence to him. A sort of faith in the truth making itself known when needed. Miles couldn't imagine the frustration he feels at that truth now, knowing that the truth is still hiding from the eyes of the law, laying in wait for it's victim's eventual demise.

It wasn't just Simon's kindness and faith in the truth that always didn't sit right. Simon adored Metis and her daughter, Athena, if he remembered correctly. He had a picture of them, and one other woman who Edgeworth figured was his sister or cousin, in his wallet and always pulled it out to show off at any chance he got. Much like Wright's fascination with showing his badge to people, or their wedding ring, for that matter.

This was not to say he really knew Simon for the brief time he worked at the office before the incident, most of his time was spent busy with cases and getting prepared to become the Chief Prosecutor since Lana Skye had to step down, what, ten years ago now? It had to be more, but Edgeworth did not find himself wishing to check. The cases were a bad memory he wished to forget. Though given that her younger sister, Ema, was a detective now, he found that a bit more challenging.

Thankfully she didn't seem to hold a grudge against him for prosecuting the case.

Wright will be taking the bar exam in a couple months, which was a pain to arrange. It would be worth it though, he hated having his husband mope around the house not being able to be out and working like he wanted to be. Despite being able to help their daughter and Apollo out on cases every now and then, assisting a case was never the same as actually running one.

But… Perhaps it would do. Until Wright got his badge back, perhaps assisting cases would be a good start.

Miles wanted Simon to get back into the world again, perhaps even prosecuting again. That wouldn't be an easy feat to pull off though, even as the Chief Prosecutor. There would be few other prosecutors that would be willing to work with a convicted criminal. Their job was, after all, to get criminals in jail. Though he was sure he would be able to convince a few to give it a chance, he was sure Simon would be of help. At least, that was the plan.

It wasn't like Miles hadn't tried a criminal rehabilitator before, though that was three years ago, and the assignment had not come from him directly, even if he fully supported it. The man quit after a week, informing them that Simon Blackquill was a twisted man and there would be no hope for his redemption. Apparently Simon had gained a name for himself before being tossed into solitary.

How does someone help one that does not wish to be helped? A part of him just wanted to leave well enough alone, but he knew he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if an innocent man was sent to the gallows. Edgeworth sighed and leaned against the shelf in front of his office window, spinning the golden ring on his finger in thought.

The ring was designed like a golden chain, connecting the two sides of the scales of justice, with a brilliant blue lapis lazuli in it's center. Wright had a matching one with a red garnet in it's place instead. More and more Miles found himself fiddling with it when thinking or stressed, it seemed to calm him, knowing that he had support whenever he needed it, just a phone call away.

Maybe a criminal rehabilitator was the wrong approach. Perhaps the best way to find the truth, would be to have Simon look for it himself… But to do that, he needed his prosecuting badge back, and even if he could skip the classes needed, he would have to retake the exam and get the required hours assisting in.

Perhaps Klavier Gavin would be open to it. He seemed to be the most laid back prosecutor in the office. The man had a band, Miles wasn't sure if someone could be more relaxed. Though he doubted he would agree to just let a convicted murder run around without supervision.

Perhaps a detective could be put in charge of Simon, rather than a criminal rehabilitator. After all, the strongest bonds he saw within this field were between a prosecutor and their detective. Miles didn't know where he would be without Gumshoe's assistance, even if he enjoyed making a show of cutting the man's salary, he rarely ever did. The few times he did were when he was still dealing the conflicting feelings he had for the legal system (much less his childhood crush who decided to show up out of fuck all nowhere). Simon needed a Gumshoe equivalent.

But who? Certainly not Gumshoe himself, he was far too busy these days. Ema Skye would be a poor choice as well, she was smart, but incredibly prickly if she decided for one reason or another she didn't like someone. Plus was pretty prone to brash decisions. Candice Arme was a possible choice, she was far more calm than Detective Skye, and had a good few years under her belt. Though she was a bomb specialist, so he doubted he would be much help in most cases that she would be assigned to with Blackquill. Plus she was rather cold to most people, he would need someone to trust Simon unconditionally, and that just would never be Detective Arme.

There were a few others that came to mind, Detective Doe, who was a kind man but far too weak willed to be able to stand his ground against a man whose specialty in court was using phycology. Detective Tethras, who resembled a dwarf if their beard had migrated from their face to their chest. But he doubted the man would be willing to part with the Prosecutor he has been working with for eleven years. That, and he kept Prosecutor Hawke out of trouble, so who was he to complain?

Many others popped into his mind, they were either too weak mentally, physically or just wouldn't be willing to give Blackquill the benefit of the doubt, especially if the man kicked and screamed the entire time.

That was until a certain man popped into his mind. It was like finding his glasses after they had been curiously hiding in his hair after searching for an hour. A sense of revelation followed his epiphany, of course! No man or woman would be more suited for this task than the champion of justice himself, Bobby Fulbright.

The man was strong willed, nothing and no one could stop his quest for justice. Yet he was kind, almost dog-like in loyalty. Detective Skye has taken to affectionately referring to him as the 'Collie of Justice', which, Miles couldn't really argue with. It was a fitting title for the man. He just cared immensely about everyone and everything, almost too much really.

If Miles were to be honest, even he could really only handle the man in small doses, he was just so much at once. Trucy was about as exciting of a character as Miles could handle or long periods of time. Detective Fulbright was like ten Trucys stuffed in a really passionate firecracker.

He was just what Simon Blackquill needed.

Miles left his place near the window and made his way around to his desk, more specifically, the phone on his desk. He dialed the police department, requesting that Bobby Fulbright be sent to the Chief Prosecutor's office immediately for an important assignment. If there was anyone who would be able to crack Blackquill's hardened shell, it would be Bobby Fulbright. Miles hoped his gut was right.

...

The stale, artificial air was suffocating to most. But for Simon Blackquill, it was almost like a warm embrace. As if his great aunt had come to visit and insisted on smothering him in a tightly wound hug. Perhaps at one time he hated it, but now it simply reeked of home.

Though that was not to say it did not also serve another purpose, to ever remind him just where he was, and how little time he had left. He was due to be hanged December 21st, next year. While the days had blurred into one vague mess of insomnia, Simon was ever aware of his approaching death date.

In a way though, he was glad. It would be the day he could leave his mortal shackles and no longer be forced to live the life of a man already dead. He was, after all, already dead in all means except physical. What good did trying to live get one whose death was constantly strumming along the bars of his cell? Ever taunting him with it's sweet reminder.

He no longer feared death, not that he would admit anyway. Still, he did mourn for leaving his sister and ever faithful Taka behind. They both loved him, and would feel the pain of his loss greatly, he knew. Yet it was something he could do little for, so he simply enjoyed the time fate gave him with them, and dared not ask for more.

Though, as he later learned, fate had other plans for him.

Having been lounging comfortably (or as comfortably as one could be) on his sorry excuse for a bed, the loud clangs against his bars were a greatly unwanted surprise. The warden that worked early mornings was a nasty man. He was old, divorced (likely from not being able to perform in other aspects of his life, but that was just Simon speculating) and had a nasty habit of dragging his police baton along the bars of Simon's cell when he wanted his attention.

Like every time he did this, Simon pointedly ignored him. One wouldn't humor a toddler throwing a temper tantrum by giving in and getting the child what they wanted, he applied the same form of logic to this man. At least children learned eventually, this one seemed to be too old to learn new tricks.

Finally, he spoke with an irritated rasp, "get up will yeh? You have a visitor."

A visitor? Simon glanced up to the single window in his cell, it seemed too early for a visitor. Certainly wouldn't be Aura, she couldn't bother rolling out of bed earlier than eleven on most days. Yet, he could not think of anyone else it could be, he never got any visitors. Athena was off doing her own thing and living her life, hopefully well, but no one else would have much of an interest in seeing him. Certainly not as his final year approached him.

Not feeling up to moving, he simply continued to ignore the warden, hoping he would get the hint and shoo off whoever wanted to see him.

"You can't decline this one, he's some high profile asshole. So get your ass up and lets go." The warden snapped, emphasising his words with a sharp hit against one of the bars.

High profile? This was unexpected. Perhaps it was someone who he would have to write his will with. Despite being on death row for six years, he never actually was told the legalities of his death. Guess better late than never.

With that, Simon swung his legs over and sat up. He was purposely taking his time, getting a rise out of the warden was one of the few things he could do to break up the monotony, though even that was growing tiresome.

As with routine, he stuck one hand through the bars for the familiar clink of the cold metal around his wrists, followed by offering the other to get clasped shut before the door of his cell actually opened. They took needless precautions around him, Twisted Samurai or no, any criminal would know better than to attack a warden in broad daylight, especially when said warden was sent to retrieve him for an appointment.

There were far better ways to escape, many of which had been offered to him in the past, but Simon chose to stay. He deserved his fate for failing Metis and Athena, he would not run from it like a yellow-bellied coward.

So with a jab against his lower back with that blasted baton, Simon found himself urged forward. He held his head high as he passed the other prisoners, some sneering at them, others simply ignoring them. A samurai did not quibble in the face of death, and showed no fear when approaching the unknown; as such, he too would do the same.

As they traversed the bleak halls of the prison, Simon took note of the route they were taking. It was familiar, but the memory was distant enough to be too fuzzy to recall why. As they turned away from the door that would lead them to the path of the visiting room, Simon recalled exactly why this route was so familiar. It was the same route he had taken when he would meet with his criminal rehabilitator.

So they were going to try this again? Simon did not need to be rehabilitated, nor did he want to be. The gallows was the only acceptable option for him now.

What sort of person waited him in the bleak room where he had met his last rehabilitator? The man before was a proper gentleman, he wore a suit and had his brown hair slicked back with enough product in it, he was sure that tapping for oil in it would solve the world's fuel shortage.

He had a nasally voice too, like the unholy love child of Prosecutor Payne and a helium balloon. The man was so sure that he knew everything about Simon, practically memorized his file.

And he had the gall to try and discuss his psychological state, as if he could comprehend emotions the way Athena could. Despicable.

It was too easy to strike fear into the man's heart. He gave up in a mere week, and that was three years ago. This one would be running away in a day, he was sure.

As the warden opened up the door to the room, Simon was immediately thrown off guard. He had fully expected another Alexander, but what he found was rather the exact opposite.

The man sitting at the table looked like he was plucked out of one of those cheesy action movies, obnoxious orange aviators and all. His gloved fingers gently tapped the surface of the aluminum table, though stopped the moment he took notice of the warden and himself.

He grinned and jumped to his feet, allowing Simon to get a better look at the man. He was fairly tall, but Simon had a good few inches on him still, though the man was certainly more broad than he was. He wore a white jacket to match his equally white pants, how did he keep them so pristine?

It was then that Simon took notice of the gun holster.

That was outside of his jacket.

He was wearing a concealed carry gun holster, on the outside of his jacket.

This man was an idiot. A complete buffoon, and they sent him to try and rehabilitate Simon? Frankly, the Twisted Samurai was thoroughly insulted. They could have at least sent someone with more intelligence than the average goldfish. No, that wasn't quite fair. Even goldfish were known to learn and remember tricks, Simon couldn't say he had the same faith in regards to this man.

As it turned out, he had no concept of personal space either. Simon snarled as the man bounded up in front of him, taking a step back, only to be jabbed against by that obnoxious baton that he would rather like to shove down one of their throats.

He tensed as the man reached into his holster, fully expecting a gun or a taser to come out and put him in his place. They were rather fond of tasers in these parts, as he learned over the years.

Yet, instead, he was presented with a badge. It was held up in his face with so much pride and excitement, Simon feared the man would explode on the spot. It was too close to his face to actually read, but he did make out the familiar shape of a detective's badge.

A detective?

"It is a pleasure to meet you Prosecutor Simon Blackquill! I'm Detective Bobby Fulbright, and I have been assigned to work with you on your future cases as a prosecutor again. I'm sure we will be a great team and bring criminals to their rightful places in jail. In justice we trust!"

Oh hell.