Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this story, nor do I own the Ace Attorney series.
Warnings / Contains: mild spoilers for case 3-4, small amounts of violence (not described in detail, and not gory)
Notes: Written for the Phoenix Wright Kink Meme. The prompt was simply, "Niagara Falls." I like terrible puns, what can I say?
He was afraid of the river.
The raging scream of the water far below them tore at him, making him tremble and squeeze his beautiful Dahlia a little tighter.
"Sweetheart, you're hurting me," she murmured to him, and he relented. "Does the river bother you?" she asked, glancing up at him, then back down at the water with that innocent curiosity he loved so much.
"Loud… strong… high up," he muttered, trying to control himself. He couldn't follow her gaze, couldn't bear to look anywhere below the bridge. He wished the meeting, the "ransom exchange," didn't have to be here. But Dahlia had insisted, said that Valerie thought it would be best to keep the exchange in a remote place, and nothing was more remote than Eagle Mountain. Dahlia wanted it. If Dahlia had sent him to Hell itself, he'd do it gladly.
"I'm sorry, Terry." She pecked him chastely on the cheek. "I have an idea of how to distract you. Why don't we talk about what will happen once we've gotten the diamond and left?"
"We…" Terry hesitated. "We marry." There, the question that had been on his tongue since he'd first fallen for Dahlia. He'd finally said it.
"Yes, Terry. Yes, we will marry." She beamed up at him, and his beady eyes crinkled with relief. "But I can't keep living as Dahlia Hawthorne, or even Dahlia Fawles. It'll be too suspicious, and I want a new start with you. I should change my name…"
There were no names good enough for Dahlia, thought Terry. No language had a word for this girl with flaming hair and merciful eyes and gentle, kind hands. Nothing could ever describe her properly, least of all one single name. Dahlia was all she was, all she could ever be called, because her grace made the simple word holy.
A creak on the far side of the bridge dragged his mind back into reality. Dahlia's sister Valerie had arrived exactly when they'd planned. She took a brisk step over the rickety planks, raising her chin defiantly as if daring the bridge to break and the river to swallow her.
"Do you have diamond?" he asked her roughly, trying to sound as vicious as he could. Valerie, being a police officer who had to at least appear to be doing her job, was wearing a wire; they'd planned on it. Terry would do the talking, so Dahlia (and, indirectly, her sister) couldn't be implicated in the theft. For it to be believable, he had to be a villain. It was hard for him to act this way around his sweet Dahlia, but it was necessary. Dahlia had requested it.
"Yes, I have it," she replied coldly, reaching one hand into her pocket and withdrawing the spectacular jewel. "You'll get your stone, just don't hurt my sister."
"Give me stone first," he demanded, probably too loudly, to cover the soft sound of Dahlia's footsteps moving toward her sister. They'd discussed how to make their escape, and it was determined that Dahlia's backpack would be the safest and subtlest way to carry the diamond to safety. So now Dahlia was going to retrieve it from Valerie, and Terry would remain behind, playing the part of heartless kidnapper as a cover.
"Fine, take your gem," Valerie replied, voice full of hate. She was a good actress; she sounded like a woman doing everything she could to protect her loved ones (which, as far as her police colleagues and the public at large were concerned, was true), instead of a woman casually passing a two million dollar jewel to her criminally-minded sister. As the diamond left her hands, she reached slowly and carefully into her breast pocket, pulling out the police wire. She crushed the minute device swiftly between her thumb and forefinger. This was in their plan, too; leave enough evidence to explain the disappearance of the diamond, and allow the wire to "break unexpectedly" so their escape wouldn't be recorded.
Seeing the diamond in Dahlia's hands, watching it gleam in the light and spread starry reflections over her face, Terry knew without a doubt that she was an angel. No human could be that serene, that innocent, that ethereally lovely. He couldn't tear his eyes from her, and even the river below didn't faze him…
A blast ripped through the air, and a white-hot agony pierced his arm. Gasping, his eyes slid off of Dahlia's face and onto Valerie. Onto Valerie's outstretched arm, and her smoking pistol.
"You…" he growled, rage burbling out of his throat like rushing water over stones. "You betrayed me…!" He started toward her, stumbled, fell to his knees. His arm hurt, oh God, it hurt so much…
"Terry, darling?" He raised his eyes, forcing his gaze to remain steady on Dahlia. There she stood, near her sister but apart from her, not surprised, not upset, not sympathetic or angry. An objective observer, calm at every turn. Angelic.
"Dahlia, come on, let's go," Valerie said, for the first time sounding agitated. "We need to get out of here, get you back to the station…"
Dahlia ignored her sister's urgent beckoning. "I want you to listen to me, Terry," she continued. He nodded mutely, unable to speak through the pain. "Trust me. Everything that happens here is exactly what I want."
"What…" He coughed thickly, shoving the words past his uncooperative tongue. "What you wanted?"
"Trust me," she repeated. And he did.
Valerie motioned toward the path down the mountain, more frantic now, but Dahlia still ignored her. Instead she took a step toward Terry; one step, then another, until she stood before him. His eyes watering, he stared up at her. She smiled benevolently, laid one delicate hand on his face, and leaned down.
"I've chosen a name I'd want to take, if I stayed with you," she said softly in his ear. And she whispered a word to him, a single word he recognized but didn't understand.
Then she turned, not back toward her sister but instead toward the river. With one foot after the other she climbed the suspension ropes, Valerie's protests rising shrilly into panic, and raised her young face to the sky.
She jumped.
To anyone else it would appear that she'd plummeted down like a bullet into the river, only to be washed out of existence. In Terry's eyes, she dropped slowly, a dancer surrendering to gravity after a graceful leap. She chose the river to be her new road, her new air and sky and ground, her new world. And suddenly her Terry understood her word, the name she'd whispered.
He felt someone wrangle him to his feet, felt something cold clasp his wrists. He was dimly aware of being pulled down the bridge toward the mountain path, of his captor coughing in what sounded like sobs buried in breaths. But he could not look away from Dahlia's river; he'd never been able to look away.
The river was a force to be reckoned with; powerful, unswayed, terrifying in its constancy, but lovely in its ferocity. Dahlia was part of it now. She had a new name and a new identity in his head, chosen and christened and quietly worshipped.
He was afraid of the river, and more so now because he loved her.