"The course of justice often prevents it." - Edward Counsel, Maxims
"You wish to contribute, Herr Blackquill?"
Simon hesitated, although he certainly had plenty to contribute. He was still getting used to the notion of being asked to do so.
The police station had become his dojo of sorts, and Klavier Gavin his sensei. Not on the same level of Cykes-sama, no, but it was a camraderie all its own that had been missing from Simon's life for too long.
"Go ahead, Sir, I'm sure you've an amazing deduction to share!" Fool Bright was in the interrogation room alongside Simon, as he was nearly everywhere. Cheering him on, as he also did nearly everywhere.
"I still..." Simon began, his eyes remaining focused on the knife – the murder weapon for the case – laying on the table between him and Gavin-dono. Allowing his thoughts to take an acceptable verbal form was a habit with which he was sorely out of practice. Hence the whole point of him assisting Klavier Gavin behind the scenes over the course of several cases.
He made to strike again, and this time his aim was true. "I still find it most peculiar that the victim was felled by several deliberate, piercing, stab wounds to her person – as though she did not have any way to protect herself, and was for, whatever reason, immobile. Yet, she suffered a number of haphazard lacerations to her arms and hands, commonly found if she were to protect herself from being slashed, and while in motion. Do you not conceive that these injuries occurred at different times?"
"Which does not absolve Mr. McCoy of Ms. Hatfield's murder."
"No, certainly not. I have very little doubt the accused is guilty, in the sense that they had premeditated this murder, be it by their own hands or an accomplice's. I just have to wonder which one it is, as we've discussed already how uncooperative some of the witnesses have been. I have fullest confidence you will draw out testimony tomorrow to further piece this puzzle together, Gavin-dono."
"I'm relieved to hear you state that, Herr Blackquill. Both parts, that is." Gavin-dono's smile was, as he'd stated, the very portrait of relief. "I too, am leaning towards the idea that the defendant, while responsible, may be playing more the role of accomplice or accessory than actually be our murderer. But ah, that's not something the police department cares to hear – that they've got the wrong man, even if that man still very rightly committed a wrong." He paused, thoughtful. "Hm, that turn of phrase just now...that was a bit lyrical, ja?"
"You are the slayer of songs, Gavin-dono; I can not give an educated opinion. The only tune that is truly music to my ears is the eternal silence of those I vanquish for being naught but buzzing, soul-sucking pests." The mosquitoes in the festering dampness of his portion of the penitentiary were exceptionally ravenous this time of year.
Gavin-dono's brows rose in alarm, but he didn't react otherwise. He simply ran a hand through his well-coiffed hair, and glanced at Fool Bright. "And you, Herr Detektiv – I know you aren't assigned to this case, but does this all seem plausible to you?"
"I think that's a remarkable theory, Sirs! An assault followed by a murder, and two different culprits that need to be brought to justice? Why, there could very well be two separate weapons." He handled the knife gingerly in his gloved hands. "You've said how all the wounds inflicted were with this, a common Bowie knife, and it wouldn't be out of the ordinary for someone – anyone! - else to own one."
"Hm, worth looking into as well," said Gavin-dono. "What say you, Herr Blackquill?"
"I...I suppose." Simon agreed reluctantly. "Fool Bright does live up to the latter part of his name from time to time. But even a broken pocketwatch is correct twice a day."
"Sir..." Fool Bright groaned.
"Oh, Fool Bright, my apologies." He smirked sidelong at his detective. "For you it's typically only once a day, is it not?"
"Sir!"
"Haha, oh Herr Blackquill, you're spitting more acid than normal today," Klavier chuckled and brushed a lock of hair back. "Let the good detective express his thoughts. As you said so...roundaboutly, he does have his brilliant ideas every now and then, ja?"
He despised hearing it phrased that way, especially with the knowing twinkle in Gavin-dono's eye as he said it. This hadn't been Fool Bright's idea, per se – Simon had always been eager to jump on the opportunity should it present itself, for him to continue to study law during his sentence.
But Fool Bright had been the one to incessantly harrass those higher up at the Prosecutor's Office, blithering on about how much Simon needed to prosecute again. How he was more than adept enough and doing so would only bring them closer to uncovering the Phantom's whereabouts and identity – and it would make Simon so happy!
(Simon had sicced Taka on Fool Bright for admitting he'd actually tried to reinforce his argument with that final tidbit.)
It was eventually decided by Miles Edgeworth to allow Simon to work with one of the prosecutors in a behind-the-scenes capacity. Edgeworth-dono would be promoted to Chief Prosecutor some day soon, but even without that title, he had the most influence and power than anyone in the Prosecutor's Office had carried in near a decade, especially with his dedication to see the Dark Age of the Law brought to an end. Once his promotion was official, Simon too would have his right to prosecute returned to him.
In the meantime, having a successful prosecutor like Klavier Gavin re-teach him and vouch for his competency and sanity was a very wise move on Edgeworth-dono's part to quell some of the skepticism from the majority. However, Gavin-dono had not chosen, exactly, to work with Simon – more, he was the only one somewhat willing, therefore the position fell to him.
So their dynamic was tedious at first, but over the past several weeks, Simon had come to have his hardened memories cracked very finely, that he recalled the young prosecutor who had begun his career at the same time as himself. Who had always been, albeit a bit prideful, fair and generally approachable.
It seemed Gavin-dono was travelling down the same path, as he too had become more personable, deferring more often to Simon while discussing their cases than he had at the onset of their work together.
Simon wouldn't go as far as to say he considered Gavin-dono a friend, but he had yet to encounter anyone other than Fool Bright whom he could label an ally and not an opponent on the harsh battlefield that was the primary setting of his road to redemption.
One teeming with the fiercest of foes.
The door flew open, and Detective Daryan Crescend came storming in, a predator seeking its next kill.
"Kristoph's been here for fifteen minutes up my ass, blaming me for not getting you to wrap this up already. Let's get a fucking move on, Gavin."
"Already?" Gavin-dono checked his watch, non-commital to Crescend's order. "Hm, it appears so..."
Simon recognized the name; Kristoph was Gavin-dono's older brother. From what he remembered Gavin-dono telling him, the two Gavins were around the same difference in age as Simon was with Aura. If the relationship itself had even a modicum of similarity, Simon knew that keeping Kristoph waiting too long would result in grave consequences for Gavin-dono such as, but not limited to, verbal beratement or (it haunted him to this day) one of Aura's personal favorites, the dreaded "wet Willy".
"He's right outside." Crescend jabbed a thumb behind him, the door leading out to the camera room and, subsequently, the hallway. "Let's move it."
Fool Bright piped up, because that is what Fool Bright always did. "Just a minute! Prosecutor Blackquill might have more to add. You can all wait until he's had his say!"
"I do not -" Simon started. "Prosecutor Blackquill
"He's just as much a prosecutor as Mr. Gavin is, and you disrespecting him like this is not only grounds for being written up for insubordination, but-"
"Can it, Fulbright." Crescend snarled, his words tumbling out fast, as though he'd pent them up for some time and was finally knocking the dam down. He pointed sharply at Simon. "If he's a prosecutor, then I'm a monkey's fucking uncle. Just because you live to be justice's bitch doesn't automatically make you any fucking good at your job, either. You know he's all a way to get your ass out of here, don't you? Once he goes -" he cupped his hand around his own throat; a noose. "-you can say g'bye too."
Simon had seen Detective Crescend in passing a few times at the station, but never had direct interaction with him the way Gavin-dono and Fool Bright must until today, when Crescend was tasked with monitoring the cameras for their session. Now, after having been exposed to his belligerence and vulgar (though admittedly creatively so) vocabulary, Simon counted it a small blessing in a life that had given him very few.
He hadn't broken his gaze from Crescend, and he refused to now as he swooped in on the argument. "Detective Crescend, you should be aware that my katana's edge is far sharper than any words you wield."
"You threatening me, Prosecutor Blackquill?"
"I suppose that all hinges on if you feel threatened or not, Detective."
Danger flared in Crescend's eyes, and he took an aggressive step towards Simon. Beside him, Fool Bright's chair shifted that he were more between the two of them, a shield.
"Ach, Daryan. Enough." Gavin-dono's voice was even, but lacked the friendliness that had relaxed Simon, made him able to speak freely with the young prosecutor under the mindset they were – or would be – equals. This was a tone that would brook no dissent from the other party. Simon hadn't any idea how long the two of them had been partners, but there was an exchange of glances, words unspoken, that came only from building a solid accord.
Speaking of glances, he could feel Fool Bright's stare boring into him. It'd become more commonplace in the past months, Fool Bright watching him less out of duty and more out of a reverence, or dare Simon believe, an affection. He wished Fool Bright wouldn't be so conspicuous in doing so, but whenever Simon brought it up, the detective would merely counter with, "But that's what I'm here for, Prosecutor Blackquill! To always have an eye on you."
Yes, except his assignment certainly did not authorize him to have his hands and mouth on Simon as well. Yet he did as he pleased, with no discouragement from Simon.
However, that was when no others could bear witness.
Simon's foot inched towards Fool Bright's under the desk, and he swung his heel to strike Fool Bright on the lower shin. Fool Bright recoiled with a yelp, chair scraping back. Gavin-dono's brows furrowed in a curious expression, but he said nothing, only carefully returned the knife to the evidence bag and sealed it tight.
"I apologize, but I did plan lunch with my brother today. But I consider that a good thing, ja, that we lost track of time in the name of progress?" Gavin-dono smiled, and Simon was thankful that at least one person besides himself at least appeared to be at ease. "Now, would you mind taking this back to the evidence room, then, Herr Detektiv?"
"Yes sir!" Fool Bright took the bagged knife, and tucked it safely into his into his jacket's inner pocket.
"Excellent. And you, Daryan, can you ask Kristoph to wait a few minutes more? I promised the Chief some autographed Gavinners merch for his daughter's birthday. And who am I to disappoint? She is our biggest fan, so he claims."
"Yeah, aren't they fuckin' all," Crescend snorted. "But sure, I'd just love to tell Krissy he has to wait even longer. He'll be stoked to hear that."
"He can wait as long as need be when I am the one paying."
"Heh heh, I'll make sure to point that out. Later." Detective Crescend directed one last ugly sneer at Simon and Fool Bright before exiting the interrogation room.
Gavin-dono motioned to the iron chains that Simon had been granted freedom from during their session. "Our time today is officially over, so...you'll have to forgive me, Herr Blackquill. Regulation, you understand, ja?"
Simon gave a short nod. He'd grown far more familiar with regulations over the past five years than Gavin-dono would in his entire lifetime.
"I will see you soon, I hope, Herr Blackquill. At the very least, I will keep you updated on the outcome of this trial. Thank you again for your assistance." With that, Prosecutor Gavin rose from his seat, flashed one more flawless smile their way, and departed.
Fool Bright let out a sigh, he too standing from his chair.
Simon, however, remained sitting. "Fool Bright, let us just sit here a few more minutes, you and I."
This wasn't wholly different than being in his cell. In fact, it was more confining – at least his cell had a (barred) window. However, it was not the location that gave Simon a sense of freedom, but the company he was sharing it with. He would milk these minutes for all they were worth.
"Is there something troubling you?" He asked as Fool Bright all but dropped back into his chair, which by alone was enough to convince Simon the answer was a resounding 'Yes'.
"Whatever troubles I have are nothing compared to what you're going through, Sir."
"Ah, but you confirm they still exist."
Fool Bright's silence spoke loudly – from him, its volume was comparable to shouting through a megaphone.
Simon addressed him with equally strong certitude. "I hope that Detective Crescend's outburst has not sullied your outlook on...anything."
Fool Bright had never confessed as much, but Simon had gathered and pieced together enough to know the reason Fool Bright had been assigned to him in the first place had, in fact, been the beginning of what the department meant to be a very slow and circuitous route to his termination. That the department no longer knew what to do exactly, with Bobby Fulbright, and therefore making him someone else's problem – Simon's – was a long-term, though still temporary, final assignment.
"No, Sir! He's only sharing the opinions of most of the other officers, so I'm kind of used to it. It doesn't really...bother me anymore." Which means at one point it did, but Simon kept quiet as Fool Bright's mood seemed to be improving. "I don't care what they have to say. I have justice...and you!...on my side. And I'll believe in both until the very end!"
"Very well. Now that we've resolved that issue, perhaps you could also resolve this one." Simon lifted his chained arms. "It was so pleasant not being bound in these godforsaken shackles today. Taka's talons have grown too long and left some irksome scratches behind when I visited him the other day."
"Sir, you know I have to keep them on you. I couldn't remove them."
"You 'couldn't? Ah, but you are the one with the key. So I very well believe that you could. The question is, 'will you'?"
"Sir..."
"Will you, Fool Bright?" He lowered his voice, which was pointless as it was only the two of them in the room. But doing so made Fool Bright scoot his chair a little closer.
"You're really pushing your luck, Sir." Fool Bright crossed his arms, making it evident he was not about to pull the key out no matter how Simon intended to bribe him.
"Well, dash it all, can't you do anything?" Simon's normal volume – and curtness – returned. "I'm highly serious when I say these shackles are more of a nuisance than usual. Isn't there any way for you to at least...say, loosen them, that they aren't chafing so terribly?"
"I can't remove them," Fool Bright restated – while he slowly, but surely, reached into his pocket and extracted the key. "But I can make them looser."
Fool Bright's hand lingered on Simon's a fraction longer than necessary as he worked to ensure the manacles were sufficiently slack. Much like Fool Bright himself had lingered in Simon's life longer than was necessary.
"Thank you, Fool Bright. Why have you never done that for me before?"
"You never asked, Sir."
"Hm, perhaps then I should be more vocal, and not refrain from asking you the many...things I've considered you doing for me. "
"Perhaps you should."
No "sir". Just Fool Bright's hand coming to rest at the edge of Simon's knee under the desk, stirring a ripple of warmth somewhere in Simon's middle.
Simon's mouth parted slightly, his head dipping in until the common sense that had briefly flown the coop alighted. "Fool Bright, might I advise you of the possibility that our actions are being monitored." His eyes momentarily flicked towards the small camera tucked in the upper corner of the room, just as much to remind himself as Fool Bright.
Fool Bright stared at him for a few seconds, before dropping his own head. "Yes, Sir..."
There was a beat of awkward tension between them. It was something Simon had thought would have passed by now, but there were still occasions when it reared its ugly head. For which, Simon always blamed himself.
"I guess..." Fool Bright removed his hand, leaving a patch of heat behind that Simon lent all his awareness to as Fool Bright continued. "We should get going. We can listen to Prosecutor Gavin's new single on the way back!"
"I'm not yet ready to depart, I told you that! I'm in no hurry to return to my cell." To have you take me there. The officer escorting the criminal.
"Hm...Oh, I know! I could grab us some lunch, bring it back here! That would give us at least an extra half hour. You know, there's all sorts of places near here. I'll let you take your pick, since I chose last time!"
Oh yes, Simon distinctly recollected having a "Happy Meal" foisted upon him because he refused to cooperate and select an item off the menu.
Funnily enough, the meal ended with him being something closer to happy than he was most days.
"I am not hungry. You may decide, and keep me company while you eat. "
"Sir, I can't...no, you have to eat something. I know you haven't had a thing all day!"
"And so I shall tonight. Would you believe they've improved the gruel recipe?" Simon smirked, as Fool Bright's expression changed to one of utmost concern. "It's now no longer the consistency of paste, but of muddied soil. And it gives the moldy bread it's paired with a flavor all its own."
"Sir...That's...you need to have a better diet, now that you're doing all this work with Prosecutor Gavin! You need to keep your strength and -"
"Oh, Fool Bright," Simon sighed, resigned. "Fine, if you wish to go purchase one of those damned Twixt bars you enjoy so much, I will partake in one with you."
Fool Bright laughed as though Simon had imparted to him the most hilarious tale. "They're not even my favorite, Sir, haha! I just like sharing them with you."
"Hmph." Simon turned his head, stiff posture at odds with the amused hint of a smile he hid from Fool Bright. "Off you go then. I'll wait for you."
"Of course you will, Sir."
He didn't have to look at Fool Bright to know he was smiling enough for the both of them.
Where was that blasted Fool Bright? Simon had the fleeting thought perhaps Fool Bright had gotten tangled up in conversation with a fellow officer – not entirely atypical given his tendency to greet everyone he passed. However, when it came to tasks Simon entrusted him with, Fool Bright did not stray from his given path for even a millisecond, for anything.
And it'd been nigh ten minutes, when the snack machine was but down the hallway.
It was a risk, but Simon had nothing to lose. What would they do if they caught him wandering about unsupervised? Reduce his rations to just halfa slice of stale bread?
Perhaps they'd just execute him sooner. He was morbidly curious to know, and only slightly less hopeful.
Only a couple rooms down in the secluded hall, he found the snack machine. He paused to examine it, and it wasn't any of the little bags that caught his attention, but that so many of them were crooked in their rows, as if the machine had been jostled rather roughly. Through the window he spotted quite the irregularity, and crouched down to investigate.
Opening the slot, he found the bay containing both a bag of animal crackers and one of pretzels. Most strange, for them to be unclaimed, judging by the addiction most of the officers (Fool Bright included) had for their precious processed snacks.
There was a glinting by his foot, and he looked to see two shiny dimes resting by his shoe – the amount of change one would receive if they put in a dollar for the Twixt bars on the lowest row. He retrieved them, then glimpsed another object on the floor ahead of him.
Just between the emergency stairwell and a different interrogation room lay an unwrapped Twixt bar.
Simon moved and snatched it up, perplexed, his line of sight panning up to the door nearby.
To any casual passersby , the interrogation room appeared closed, but Simon observed the slightest sliver indicating it wasn't shut entirely. He eased the door open just enough to slip inside, shutting it behind him only to be enveloped in total darkness.
Which shouldn't be so – the light from the screens should have provided some luminescence – it had been reflexive to not even check. But they were shut off. Off, when they were always on during standard business hours, regardless of if they were recording. He knew that much from his many visits with Gavin-dono.
He pawed about the wall trying to find the lightswitch, when his foot skidded and he stumbled to his knees. They were immediately saturated with what he'd trod upon. Something slick, viscid. Fresh. He didn't have to see it to know what it was; he could smell it.
Blood.
He swore and got to his feet, smacking errantly about the wall until he found the small panel halfway down. He threw on the lights to see the blood he'd fallen in was a distinct trail, from the camera desk to the questioning room proper.
And the middle of that trail was dotted with amber shards, from what had been a pair of sunglass lenses.
Stomach plummeting, he all but threw himself at the interrogation room's door to open it. He was barely able to stifle the scream crawling up his throat at what was before him, burning a permanent, indelible image in his already scarred mind.
He'd seen samurai movies less blood-spattered than the current state of the interrogation room and his...oh God, his poor Fool Bright.
There was a vicious gash running diagonally across his face, from his left temple down to the right of his lip. His jacket, torn open and his upper body just torn, from an undeterminable amount of slashes. The knife itself was jammed firmly in Fool Bright's chest, just below his heart. The very same knife Prosecutor Gavin had entrusted him with but twenty minutes ago.
"Sir...S-Sir, I'm so...! Help...pl-please, I'm s-sorry, please..."
He wanted to tell Fool Bright to shut up, that he couldn't think through all his whimpering. But Simon couldn't think at all anyway. Couldn't think, couldn't stop the sharp inhales of breath as his heartrate accelerated to an unhealthy level. He sank to his knees not just to inspect Fool Bright but because he couldn't operate his legs, and his hands stayed glued into tight, quaking fists.
A thought. Just one, he had to find. Alright...
First, he needed to - to...to breathe out. Breathe. Out.
Which he did by swearing loudly, followed by digging into Fool Bright's pocket and filching out the key for his manacles. Thanks to the increased flexibility of his wrists he was able to unlock them in but a few seconds and tossed them aside, trying to determine what to do next. What couldeven be done.
But everything blurred violently with the nightmare of five years ago.
Images, ones always prevalent flashes in his mind, were now vivid, moving, a grand and macabre cinema. Cykes-sama, her blood streaking the tools, the floor, the table. Athena.
Him. Red, soaked in more red.
Like Fool Bright's once pristine jacket, like his own sleeves as he kept Fool Bright from slumping over by grasping his lapels and pinning him back upright.
His arm accidentally knocked the knife, and Fool Bright moaned weakly. Simon moaned too, out of despair, and cursed himself. Cursed the whole world.
People died every day. Death was a natural occurrence.
But this he could not accept, just as how he still could not fully accept Cykes-sama's gruesome death. There was nothing natural about what was unraveling in front of him. Nothing but a horrific manipulation of fate. A fate which, for Simon, had already been bastardized beyond all recognition.
And had only begun to resemble something worthwhile again during the past several months since Fool Bright had come along and set into motion so much that Simon could never have accomplished on his own.
Simon was no stranger to suffering, but he had never for a moment presumed he would see it on the face of Detective Fulbright. Fool Bright was the one bleeding out, but Simon too had to fight the deep, twisting pain in his chest as he quickly wiped away the blood coursing from Fool Bright's forehead and into his eyes.
"Who did...look at me, Fool Bright!" Simon tried to force him to do so, clutching at his jacket again and giving him a gentle shake. "Who did this to you?!"
"I-It...I didn't..." Fool Bright's thick swallow shifted abruptly to a pitiful gasp for air. "...See them. But n-not you, Pro-Prosecutor Blackquill..."
"Of course not, you-!"
Suddenly it dawned on Simon what Fool Bright was doing. In his bloody haze, he was under the impression the cameras were still running, like they had been earlier with Gavin-dono – and that they were capturing, recording, his final words. He was maintaining Simon's innocence, his goodness, as he had promised but a short while ago.
Until the very end!And here it was before them."What happened?!" Simon demanded again, not caring about the panic cresting through his words. He was terrified, panicked. And even more so was Fool Bright.
"I...I-I'm not...I'm s-sorry...!"
Simon gripped Fulbright's jacket tighter, the blood oozing from between his fingers. "You will answer me, Fool Bright! None of this inane jabbering of yours."
"D-Don't...don't know. B-But I be- believe...believe in... you, Pr-Pros-s-"
"Silence!" He could not listen to Fool Bright's ragged, empty gasps, the way they pronounced nothing but pain. "If you will not answer me, then don't...don't waste your breath."
All Fool Bright did was laugh. Except it was not a Fool Bright sort of laugh, the rich, clear, and foolishly bright one that Simon had grown so accustomed to, a light in the dark. It was defeated and dull and clogged with hopelessness and blood, and frightened Simon enough to make him release his hold on Fool Bright's jacket.
His Fool Bright was scaring him, sending chills through a man who had become desensitized to the horror some called life. Simon could endure this no longer.
"I shall - " he began, then too fell quiet.
No, he shouldn't go for help. In the time it would take him to seek aid, Fool Bright would be no longer of this world. Even if he could find someone, who would believe him – a death row convict? The only one who did believe was paying for such an error with his very life.
Fool Bright's arm lay limp at his side, and Simon lifted it by taking hold of his gloved hand. It was tacky and wet with blood – but so was every other part of him. Simon's fingers clasped around Fool Bright's, drew them up secure against his own barren heart. He was not one for such demonstrative gestures - that was more Fool Bright's expertise - but it felt the only appropriate thing to do in the moment.
Simon could not allow his partner to shuffle from this mortal coil trapped in the same solitary darkness he himself spent so many of these years in. From their first meeting, Fool Bright had vowed to do anything and everything within his (and Justice's!) power to shepherd Simon through this shadowed valley until they reached their Elysian destination of Simon's freedom. He'd clung to that loyalty in their precious time together, and now, though utterly inadequate, this was his only way to reciprocate.
Oh, but he could be so contrary, Fool Bright could. Of course he would be in these last seconds too. "Pros-... sec...nnngh. I-I'm sorry...!"
Simon leaned closer, the tang of copper settling in his nose and mouth as he squeezed his detective's hand tighter. "No. Do not be. For anything. There is absolutely nothing for you to be sorry for."
Fool Bright squeezed his hand in return, a feeble action that Simon knew he was putting every last ounce of strength into. "S-Simon..."
"I told you, Bobby Fulbright. Silence."
Simon could hear it in the way Detective Fulbright's fading gaze wouldn't leave his own, even through all the blood streaming over his eyes, nose, off his face and onto their locked hands. Anything for you, Prosecutor Blackquill.
And then he obeyed Simon's final command, his head falling forward, Fool Bright no longer.
"No...N-Ngh! No..." Simon didn't recognize his own cracking voice, and found himself unable to release his hand from Fool Bright's, desperate that there was even the faintest trace of warmth left. "No! Damn you, Fool Bright. Don't you... Damn you! Please...not..."
Not again. Not again. No no no no no not again. He couldn't again, not this, not his HIS Fool Bright.
Inestimable time passed, Simon rooted to his spot, to his hold on Fool Bright. He couldn't quit muttering his denial, his confusion, his sheer terror, but just enough of his panic had dislodged for rational thought to reintroduce itself.
The information he'd been given – that Fool Bright hadn't seen who did this – was more than enough proof for Simon to be unwaveringly certain of who was responsible. Of who was still haunting him and his every step, every breath, every thought. Of who would go to whatever lengths necessary to steal breath, thought, life away from those too close to discovering the truth.
Those too close to him.
Suddenly there was a vice-grip in his matted hair. A strangled cry escaped him as he was yanked away and forced onto his stomach. He looked over and watched Detective Fulbright's body collapse sideways to the floor, a puppet with its strings cut, golden hair sponging up his own blooming blood.
"NO!" Every last sentiment he'd never be able to tell Fool Bright came tearing out in that one echoing burst, and then his face slammed down, mouth crashing against the dirty linoleum.
"Simon Blackquill, you're under arrest for the murder of Detective Bobby Fulbright."
He twisted his neck to try and see Fool Bright but a solid black column of leather boots obstructed his view. "Please. It wasn't -" Smashing pain at the top of his head quickly cut him off. A warm trickle of blood ran down his scalp, mixing with the cold sweat needling his face.
There was the familiar shink!, the cool bite of metal on his wrists, and he was hauled up into a kneeling position. One of the hands that had cuffed him reprised the excruciating hold on his hair to lift his head, that Simon was faced with the hateful glare of one Detective Daryan Crescend.
"You have the right to shut the fuck up. Everything you say or do will be used against you, you cop-killing shitbag. If your ass can't afford an attorney, some schmuck will be appointed to you by the state."
So that is why Simon was shocked – or, would have been, had he the capacity to feel anything other a general malaise – when he was dragged from his holding cell to the detention center two mornings after Fool Bright's death, and came face-to-glass-to-face with an older, more tailored version of Gavin-dono.
"Simon Blackquill. I hear you're in need of a defense attorney. My name is Kristoph Gavin, and I will be representing you tomorrow. That is, if you wish for me to."
Everyone had heard Simon was in need of a lawyer. It was inescapable news that the Twisted Samurai had used his equally depraved mind games to coax his handler, Detective Bobby Fulbright into removing his cuffs while in an isolated corridor of the police station. While Detective Fulbright was in the midst of purchasing a snack for the two of them, Simon had slammed him against the machine, wrestling away the knife Fulbright was transporting before overpowering him into the neighboring interrogation room and savagely stabbing him to death.
No novice when it came to homicide, Simon had switched off the security cameras in the room hoping to erase the evidence. He hadn't the opportunity to escape down the emergency exit nearby before Detective Crescend happened along, back from a brief lunch and about to prepare for the next interrogation in the room Simon and Detective Fulbright's body were discovered in.
And why did he kill Detective Fulbright? Ah, but why had he killed Doctor Metis Cykes? Because he was naught but a heartless, cold-blooded murderer. A monster, unable to be reformed and let back into society.
Yes, everyone had heard, and not a one didn't think that Simon Blackquill wasn't guilty, and that he shouldn't hang immediately for killing an officer of the law. Justice would be enacted as Fulbright would have wished for it to be: swiftly.
He wasn't the former, but he was more than prepared to do the latter– it was the only honorable thing he could do at this point.
"Simon, are you listening to me?" Gavin-dono's brother regarded him with the most perfectly placid expression set upon his face.
"I wasn't. I...I apologize, it's only...I was expecting someone else. Certainly not a lawyer to take up my case."
He supposed he should have been relieved too, but Simon was – if he could choose any singular emotion to possibly feel – disappointed that it wasn't his sister visiting. Daft as it was to expect as much, he'd been wanting it to be Aura. She was the final loose end that needed tying up.
He could give her closure, or some pathetic form there-of, and relay her all the proper information to look after Taka.
And he could say goodbye. They didn't have him on suicide watch, not yet, and he knew if he wasn't careful and didn't get it over with sooner than later, his plan would be thwarted.
She believed in his innocence though, didn't she? Not that it mattered any. The only other person still alive whose belief might matter was...
He interrupted the explanation he'd been paying no mind to. "How is Gavin-dono?"
Kristoph replied fluidly, almost as if he'd been prepared for Simon's intrusion. "My brother will be a witness, as will Detective Crescend."
He foresaw nothing less than the most damning testimony from Detective Crescend, who would feast at the chance to be the one proverbially slipping the noose around Simon's neck.
But Gavin-dono...Simon hadn't given any thought to Klavier Gavin's role in all this. He hadn't give much thought to anything at all, his mind nothing but endless static. He was like one of Aura's experimental robots, all his wiring spliced and severed, leaving him but a shell, too damaged to go anywhere but the scrap heap.
By all accounts, unfixable.
"What I meant was...might I...might I inquire about how he is..." He felt so shameful asking such invasive personal questions; as if he were even aperson enough, to be allowed to do so. "How he has been faring over...the past two days?"
"My brother is very distraught over all this, to say the least."
"He...believes me to be innocent?" A tiny speck of hope pricked itself into Simon's question.
"As I said," Gavin's tone firmed, frown setting into a line more resolute. "He is quite upset about this situation."
Simon pressed his lips together, hard. He so desperately wanted to know more of Gavin-dono's perception of all this. But he supposed Kristoph's presence was proof enough that someone still had faith in him.
"And I do have his best interest at heart," Kristoph continued. "This could be a huge blemish on his career – working so tightknit with a convicted criminal who's only proven himself...well, just that. And the victim an officer, no less. There will be no rebuilding his reputation if you're found guilty as charged."
He knew, for all the respect Gavin-dono had paid him, he should want to put up a noble fight, and be found innocent. But even if his name was cleared, where would that get him? Certainly not the opportunity to resume hunting the Phantom. If anything, him being given the chance to prosecute again, or even work alongside Gavin-dono, would do nothing but endanger him and others the way it had his Fool Bright.
The image of Gavin-dono in the same shredded, crimson state as Fool Bright erupted in his mind. Simon couldn't stop his hands from clasping to his bowed head, a cry of anguish following.
Kristoph waited for Simon's trembling to subside, then asked, as pleasantly as if they were conversing over lunch: "Can you answer me one thing, Simon Blackquill?"
Simon nodded, supposing he could do that, at least.
"Did you kill Detective Fulbright?"
His heart sped up, the knowledge of what everyone thought tainting his reply with undignified ferocity. "I would not...I did not kill nor would I ever even think to harm Fool...Detective Fulbright."
If his passion had any effect on Kristoph, it didn't show. "Quite a different tale from the one you love to tell about Dr. Metis Cykes."
So he'd done his research. It would have been pitifully easy though, the access his brother's repuation granted -at least for now. "Quite a different murder too, Gavin-dono."
"Is it? The evidence seems to say otherwise, Simon. That there are similarities to that incident. The cause of death for one. The isolated area. And the relationship you had with the victims. You were very close to Dr. Cykes, and perhaps she discovered some...traits -" Kristoph paused meaningfully, referring to the popular opinion that Simon was the phantom that he himself had spent so much time chasing. "- about you that Detective Fulbright did as well, the closer you two became."
Close indeed. Although both of them were people he had cared for immensely and unconditionally, that was where the similarities ended. He couldn't – would never – divulge that to Kristoph or anyone. What he'd had with Fool Bright was his and his alone, the only thing remaining in his life that he could call his own and treasure, and he would carry it with him to his grave.
Along with the steadfast claim of his innocence. "I did not kill Detective Fulbright, Gavin-dono."
"You may call me Kristoph. None of this honorific nonsense you use on my brother."
"It is meant merely as a sign of respect and-"
"I do not need your respect, Simon Blackquill. I need your cooperation." His gaze changed from cool to cold. "Let me tell you something, Simon: I'm not here because I believe or trust you. What I trust in is that evidence will shed light on the truth, whatever that may be. Concrete, indisputable evidence. Not you, Simon Blackquill."
If anyone else had uttered those words, Simon would have thought them sinister, but with Kristoph he felt more...impressed, if anything. Where Gavin-dono was shiny and glimmering like the star he had fashioned himself into, Kristoph was, in stark contrast, unflappably composed, almost deceptively so.
If he hadn't planned on being dead in no more than a couple days, that candor alone would have prompted him to request Kristoph's services. As it was, he did not see the point in prolonging this already stretched-out conversation.
"Then I accept your offer. You may represent me."
"Excellent. Not that Klavier would have permitted me to leave here without you putting your trust in me."
"I did not say I trust you, either. I said I accept your offer to defend me."
"No? Do tell, Simon, what do you trust in?" He could hear the goading in Kristoph's voice, which he suspected had been used many times on Gavin-dono, as older siblings were wont to do.
"I trust in..."
The final word weighed heavy on his tongue, immovable, much like Fool Bright's absence chained around his heart.
But he didn't trust in it, not anymore. Not since it bled over his hands in snaking red branches, dirtying him too much to ever truly be cleansed.
He trusted in no one. In nothing.
So he said nothing.
"I see." Kristoph crossed his arms, a pale raised stripe on his right hand catching Simon's eye. "Well then, while apparently my word doesn't mean much to you, I can promise you that you are in good hands."
Simon remained silent, and Kristoph rose from his seat. Opening the door, he paused to give Simon one last reassuring glance. "I will see you in court tomorrow, Simon Blackquill."
He didn't care about tomorrow, or whatever came after. The only tomorrow he was looking forward to was the one where there wasn't another after.
What was the future, when there was no justice for today?
Yes hello I'm coming to you LIVE FROM BLACKBRIGHT HELL. No um so I suddenly got super duper into this pairing over the past week and that meant I had to write about it, by typing the most god-awful tragic "what-if?" AU I could think of. No regrets. Thank you for reading!