Broken Systems, Bending People

by EstelRaca

When Miles finds a therapist that he likes and trusts, he recommends her services to friends and allies over the years. Includes characters from the original trilogy, the Ace Investigations series, and through Dual Destinies.

Author's Note: This was written for 1001paperboxes. It started as a joke, because everyone in this series seems to need therapy, but ended up becoming much more a study of the world our favorite charcters inhabit. 1001paperboxes is also responsible for the amazing Redd White headcanon in this.

Broken Systems, Bending People

"And remember, Miles Edgeworth, any time you need me, I'll still be here."

"I appreciate the sentiment, Hera. And will take you up on it, if I ever need to." Miles smiles, his usual smug, self-satisfied expression, and Hera Pyst can't help but return it.

The smile is real now, after all. Even if it looks relatively unchanged, after working with this man for six months she is certain that the emotion behind the expression is very different. Not that he was too badly off when he first came to her—it was the German therapist he saw after his darkest round of suicidal ideation that likely knew him at his worst. But traumatic experiences as a child, who knew what brain damage from oxygen deprivation, and fifteen years of psychological abuse at the hands of his father's killer had left scars on Miles Edgeworth that will likely be there for the rest of his life.

The synopsis of his case sounds like something out of a bad television show, but she knows that it's true. Most of it she watched play out on the news, Edgeworth's picture appearing alongside his mentor Von Karma's for a week two Decembers ago. Strange, the people you will meet in your life, the places that your job can take you. If she weren't such a firm believer in client confidentiality—and if Edgeworth weren't a prosecutor who would probably see her sent to death row somehow if she betrayed his trust—she could make a small fortune off writing about their sessions together.

She would never do that, though. Betraying a client's trust is an unforgivable act, unless clear and immediate harm to someone is possible.

"I feel like I've acquired a fairly good handle on my own eccentricities and responses, and should be able to fend for myself from this point on." Edgeworth's smile fades slightly. "You have been extremely helpful. But... I may be sending you referrals, if you don't mind. Friends and acquaintances who could use someone discreet and capable."

Hera blinks. "Of course, Miles. I'd be happy to see anyone who wants to come."

"Good." Edgeworth nods, every inch the calm, collected man that he strives to be. "I'll likely be in touch, then. Have a good evening, Hera."

If she knew what she was agreeing to then, Hera Pyst may very well have answered differently... or at least been more worried when she closed the door behind her highest-profile patient.

XXX

"...and then my aunt tried to have my little cousin channel the ghost of my sociopathic serial killer older cousin to kill me, but my mom stepped in and ended up dying in the process." The young woman gives just the faintest sniffle, her hands balled into fists in the fabric of her robe.

"And this was... the third time you were accused of murder?" Hera studies the young woman across from her, at a loss for words.

"Yes. First my sister, then my first client, then my mother. The mother who wouldn't raise me but who still loved me enough to die for me." Maya runs a hand across her face. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to look for sympathy and I don't normally get all teary like this. I've just... never had to summarize things quite like this before."

"It's fine, Maya." Falling back into the very basics of her profession, Hera attempts to reassure the young woman that it's all right to be upset. Hell, if even half of the story the young woman just told is true—and Miles, in his phone call asking if she could see Maya, had told her to believe the young woman about the spirit channeling, even if it was something neither of them would normally accept—then it's astounding that Maya Fey isn't simply curled in a ball on the floor whimpering. "It sounds like you've been through a lot."

"Uh huh." Maya sniffles again before raising her head to fix Hera with a fierce, determined expression. "But so has everyone else. Nick's been through hell and back—heck, he literally fell into raging rapids off a burning bridge trying to save me, when he's scared of heights. And Prosecutor Edgeworth... plus Pearly's been the most hurt by all of this still, I think. Trying to use a little girl to commit murder—it just makes me sick."

"You're angry at your aunt." It's probably not the most astute observation she's ever made, but Hera is still trying to process everything she's heard.

"Well, duh." Maya's hands once again curl into the fabric of her robe.

"But not just angry..." Hera studies Maya's hands carefully, the tight set of the woman's jaw, and changes her tactic. "Or... not just at your aunt?"

And just like that Maya Fey goes from the occasional quiet sniffle into full-fledged gasping sobs, her hands rising to cover her face.

Hera immediately moves around the desk, bringing the tissues with her, reaching out to rest a tentative hand on Maya's shoulder. Some patients resist touch, but she suspects Maya will not be one of those, and her instincts are right. The young woman leans into her touch, words tumbling out between sobs. "She died she's gone she's really gone she died for me why couldn't she live with me she didn't even come to Mia's funeral and I miss my sister so much and I'm not ready to be the Master but I can't let them keep trying to use Pearly and Aunt Morgan was the closest thing I had to a mother aside from Mia and Mia's dead and Aunt Morgan wants to kill me and I'm sorry."

"You've nothing to be sorry for." Hera rubs her hand in a small, soothing circle on the young woman's shoulder. "Cry. Scream. You'll face no judgment from me. I'm here to help you cope in a way that is healthy and sustainable. Part of coping is facing and identifying the problems, and that is always going to be a painful process."

Maya's sobs have trailed off, and she studies Hera with the wary, nervous eyes of someone new to therapy, someone who suspects they have just done something very wrong by showing strong emotion. Never mind that it's common, early in therapy, to experience strong and difficult emotions, that it should be a safe place to explore them; society says one should always be calm and collected and, for women especially, cheerful. If Hera could change one thing in society, it would likely be those expectations, having seen how often they tie people into impossible knots.

Swallowing hard, Maya gives one final sniff. "You... don't think I'm a bad person? For any of what I just said?"

"No." Shaking her head, Hera returns to her seat. "I just think it makes you very human. Now, what I'd like to help you do over our sessions is find ways to deal with these strong emotions you understandably have—ways that are satisfactory to you, not to your village or to someone else's standards. And, if you don't mind my being so bold, help you decide if you want to become Master of Kurain."

Maya's smile is thin and sad. "There's not much choice about that, really."

"There's always a choice." Hera speaks calmly but firmly. "And if you'd let me, I'd like to help you explore your options."

"If you want." Maya runs a finger along her right temple. "It's Mr. Edgeworth's money, after all. He thought it would be helpful, and I guess it won't hurt..."

"It shouldn't. If it makes things harder for you, we're doing something wrong, and I want you to tell me right away." Hera draws a deep breath. "Now, I'd like to start by discussing your history with your mother..."

She only gets to have a few sessions with the young Master of Kurain, but Hera finds herself deeply impressed with the young woman's strength and fortitude, and hopes she was able to help her find some peace and certainty in herself.

It also convinces Hera that if she's ever suspected of murder, which is apparently a common occurrence even if you're a tiny teenager, she should acquire Phoenix Wright as her defence attorney.

XXX

"And you've decided that the best way to live up to your father's legacy is to become the Great Thief Yatagarasu."

"Yes." Kay answers with a cheerful grin. "My dad was a member of the first Yatagarasu, after all. He didn't get to finish everything, but he was working to try to establish justice, and that's what I'm going to do, too."

"You're going to establish justice by stealing things."

"Stealing the truth." Kay's smile doesn't fade, the young woman clearly believing everything she's saying. "Given the corruption inherent in the system, sometimes you've got to go above and beyond it."

"I can see where you would believe that, given your history." Hera looks down at the file currently open on her desk. Miles Edgeworth has apparently decided to start sending in his referral patients with thick files describing their convoluted history. "But surely you can appreciate that vigilante work is inherently more prone to error and flaws?"

"Better an error than a knowing corruption." Kay nods emphatically. "And I won't make many errors. My assistant Mr. Edgeworth will help with his logic skills if I'm ever really confused."

"I see." Hera nods slowly.

Edgeworth had described Kay's problem, after a brief hesitation, as kleptomania.

Hera is going to have to explain to him the actual meaning of that word when next they talk, and also hopefully convince Kay to come to several more sessions, because unravelling a belief as deeply and traumatically ingrained as this is going to take a significant amount of time.

She also makes a note to herself to stay away from international politics, because apparently they're even more deadly and corrupt than local ones.

XXX

"But then the idiots decided to follow me here anyway, because they're kind of clingy like that." Lang's grin is wide and wolfish, his eyes studying hers intently as he lounges in the chair.

"I see." Hera blinks down at her notes, glad that she studied the file Edgeworth sent over on Kay so thoroughly. She's fairly certain she wouldn't be able to keep track of this Shi-Na's true identity if she hadn't, though the few times she has seen darker emotions flicker in Lang's eyes it has been when discussing the woman or when discussing the superiors who stripped him of his men. "It doesn't upset you that they followed you?"

"Upsets me that they didn't follow orders, but what am I going to do? I earned their loyalty. You can't ask for a cub's loyalty and then bite him when he gives it." Lang looks away, and she can read a deep pleasure in the slight curl of his lip, a happiness at the loyalty his men showed.

"And you're hurt that you couldn't earn Shi-Na's loyalty in the same way?" Hera probes gently, trying to identify what has brought this strange foreigner to her.

"Nah." Lang stands in one fluid movement, and Hera has to work to keep her eyes on his face rather than on his gleaming chest or tight black pants. If this is how all Interpol officers dress... but he's not here in an official capacity, and she has to maintain professionalism. "I'm handling everything fine. I should be getting my men back in a few days, once the remaining red tape's fixed up. Mainly I just wanted to see the lady who made such a fine impression on my Mr. Prosecutor, get a chance to get my story all nice and straight before I have to tell it to anyone official."

"I... see." Hera feels like she uses those words a lot around the people she sees related to Miles Edgeworth, but sometimes they're the only appropriate ones. "And... you're satisfied?"

"Yeah. You're a good listener." Lang flashes another smile, though his eyes go dark and brooding afterwards. "I'll have to get better about talking about Shi-Na, assuming I want to keep my men. Which I do. So thanks for your time, Ms. Pyst, and tell Mr. Prosecutor that I had fun next time you see him."

"I'll do that." Hera walks the Interpol agent to the door, then returns to her desk and makes a note to never be involved in international crime.

As pretty as the agents apparently are, it's just not worth it.

XXX

"—and I know I should have done something sooner, but he was my pops, you know?" The young man sniffs, tears trickling down both cheeks. "Though I've got a better pops and mumsy now, in Mr. Edgeworth and Justine. Not that I can tell them that—and you won't, right?"

"No, of course not. I take client confidentiality very seriously." Hera shoves another box of tissues into reach of Sebastian, reeling from his long tale of abuse and corruption.

"Oh, good." Sebastian nods, blowing his nose loudly. "I'll trust you, you see, because Mr. Edgeworth trusts you, but after what happened with Pops... it's kind of hard to trust people. Or myself."

"I can only imagine. And that's certainly one thing we'll have to work on." Hera leans toward the young man. "Your father was not accurate in his assessment of your worth. You have intrinsic value as a person, and I'm certain you can be a wonderful prosecutor."

"Yeah?" Sebastian smiles, a shy, watery expression. "I hope so."

"I've no doubt in your capabilities—if Edgeworth says you have the drive and the intelligence, then I trust that you do. He isn't a man to throw around compliments lightly." Hera pauses, collecting her thoughts and trying to choose her tactics. She needs to give Sebastian enough faith and stability to continue on in the short term; in the long term, though, she needs to help him find that stability inside himself, rather than looking for outside assistance as he so obviously does currently. "I think a more important question for you to ask yourself is what you wish to do with your life."

"I want to make up for what I've done. I'm a dealer, and I want to pay back Mr. Edgeworth and Ms. Courtney for all they've done, as well as all the people my father hurt."

Hera blinks, frowning. "I... suspect the word you were going for is debtor."

"Possibly. Probably." Sebastian gives a long-suffering sigh. "I've been working on my vocabulary, trying to imitate Mr. Edgeworth, but there are so many words that sound alike but aren't right, and Mr. White apparently taught me a lot of words incorrectly."

"Mr. White." Hera resists the urge to frantically flip through the file in front of her.

"Yeah. Redd White. The newspaper man?" Sebastian looks down at his hands. "He and Pops were friends, before Mr. White ended up going to prison. He always used a lot of big words, and I thought it would impress Pops if I learned them too."

Oh, you poor child. Hera keeps the words locked behind her teeth as she remembers vaguely hearing about a Mr. Redd White going to jail for blackmail and corruption a few years ago. Has this boy ever had a decent role model in his life—prior to Edgeworth, at least? It's a miracle he's turned out as sane and decent as he has.

Pity doesn't help her patients, though. Sympathy is fine—empathy and sympathy are the foundations of a successful client-therapist relationship—and there is a great deal about Sebastian to admire, including his resilience and fortitude. "One thing I want you to remember, Sebastian—the only one you have to impress is yourself. The opinions of others don't matter. Their good opinion won't be able to erase negative self talk; and their poor opinion won't be able to convince you that you're worthless once you've realized your own value."

"That's a knife that can cut both ways, Ms. Pyst." Sebastian stares down at his hands, his lips pressed together, tears once more welling in his eyes. "Believe in yourself too much, and you become blind to what you've become. Like my Pops..."

"Your father's inability to empathize with others and recognize the pain he was causing is a problem you clearly don't share. Hearing you talk to me today has been enough to show me that." Hera leans forward, toward the young man still studying his hands as moisture trickles slowly down his cheeks. "You are not responsible for any of your father's crimes—including the ones he committed against you. And they were crimes, even if they aren't something you can prosecute. Lying to you, manipulating you, cutting down your self esteem for his own ends—those were all terrible things that he did."

Sebastian nods slowly, expression miserable, sobs once more starting to wrack his slim frame.

"But you didn't deserve any of it." Hera reaches out to touch the back of Sebastian's hand, waiting for him to lift his head, to meet her gaze. "And everything's going to be okay. You're going to become your own man. You've got a lot of people willing to help with that. And if I may be so bold, I think that man's going to be a good one."

This time when Sebastian nods there is a slight smile on his face. "I'll become someone Mr. Edgeworth can be proud of. No... someone I can be proud of."

"Exactly. That's the spirit I want you to hold on to." Giving his hand a pat, Hera leans back in her chair, glancing down at her notebook and deciding where she wants to go next with this session.

She also makes a note to tell Miles Edgeworth that she's a bit... concerned about the current status of their legal system. Between Von Karma, Gant, and DeBeste, it seems that literally everyone in a position of power was corrupt.

Hopefully, after this latest fiasco, that will be changing.

XXX

"Mister Wright."

The man currently studying the painting on the wall turns to her.

"You've been staring at that for the last five minutes. I don't suppose you'd like to talk to me about it?"

"I can, if you want." Phoenix ambles back to his chair, his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie. "I actually don't know much about art, but I like that picture. It's pretty. Soothing colors. Good choice for a place like this."

"Thank you. I'm glad to hear that it's appreciated." Hera doesn't look down at her still-blank notebook. "But that's not what we're here to discuss."

"I'm here because Miles is deathly afraid I'm going to end up doing something stupid like he did and either try to kill myself or disappear on him." Phoenix leans back in his chair with a sigh, his eyes closing. "Also because he feels guilty about being in Europe when everything went down and not being able to help me. Not that I think there's anything he could have done. Hopefully speaking to me for an hour will be enough for you to tell him that I'm quite sane, not about to abandon my new daughter or my old friends, and not in danger of doing anything stupid."

"Hopefully. I'd very much like to be able to tell Miles that his fears are ungrounded—assuming you give me permission to discuss anything. Our sessions are, of course, completely confidential." Hera draws in a deep breath. "I would also like to help you, if there's any way I can. I respect you deeply, Mr. Wright, and the work you've done."

"Oh?" He smiles, and it looks almost like the one she has seen in the papers—the one she has seen in other pictures, too, pictures that Maya and Edgeworth both had. There is a bitter twist to it now, though, a darker slant to it that makes her want to burn down every damn corrupt courthouse in the city.

Phoenix Wright is a good man. She is certain of that, as certain as she has ever been of anything, because if he isn't, then he's the most dangerous sociopath she's ever known, capable of playing two very intelligent people for a long length of time. And though it's possible for good men to be involved in bad things—so very possible—given what she's heard from Miles and Maya... Hera decides to go out on a limb. She can't make Phoenix much less responsive to her than he's been so far, at least. "I don't believe you were involved in any kind of evidence forging."

His smile disappears, Phoenix pressing back in his chair, head turning away. So open with his emotions, even now, and her heart aches for him and for Miles and for the young woman she has met far too few times but who idealizes this man. When Phoenix speaks, his voice is even, calm, neutral, though he doesn't meet her eyes. "That makes you in the minority, then."

"Perhaps." Hera inclines her head. "I also think I'm right. If I'm wrong, though, feel free to tell me—I won't go to the police or tell anyone. Confidentiality, like I said."

"Even if you did go to the police, what more are they going to do?" Again that bitter smile turns Phoenix's mouth into a parody of his usual self, but he turns his head so that he's facing her evenly. "They've already made it so that I can't work. Well, can't do my job. I've found work, but playing cards and winning because I just don't care and they do is something to pay the bills. Not..."

"Not a career. Not a calling." Hera nods, filling in the silence so that he doesn't stop talking completely on her again. "Which your job as a lawyer was. You did a lot of good in a very short amount of time, Mr. Wright."

"Did I?" Phoenix tilts his head, shoulders rising in a faint shrug. "I thought I did. I thought Miles and I were making a difference. Weeding out the corruption. Now they've managed to implicate me in it, destroying people's faith in the system, and I can't prove them wrong."

There is sheer agony in the last sentence, a dark weight to Phoenix's eyes, and Hera has to look away if she is to keep her professional composure. Look away, but not stop speaking, because perhaps if she keeps gently probing, she will find something that she can do to help this man who has helped so many others. "You feel you should be able to."

"I'm a defense attorney. Was." The emotion drains out of his voice again, the bitter smile returning to his face as he slumps back in the chair. "I was a defense attorney. Proving false accusations wrong is my job. Perhaps, if I can't prove them wrong, it's because I don't deserve to."

"No." Hera tries to keep her voice calm and cool, though she can hear a faint tremor in it that she fights to suppress as she continues. "Mister Wright, there are many reasons for failure. And while some can be controlled—failure is certain if one never tries, failure is certain if one gives up—some cannot. And if one has been targeting corruption and winning for years... well, is it any surprise if those corrupt who remain then turn on you?"

Phoenix's right hand rises, rubs at his chin as he studies her. "You're well appraised of the legal situation, aren't you?"

"I know about Prosecutor Manfred von Karma. About Chief of Police Damon Gant. About Redd White. About Juan Corrida and Kurain Village, though those weren't people in the legal system, I suppose. About Prosecutor Faraday and the Yatagarasu; about Blaise DeBeste and his manipulative PIC board."

Phoenix waves a hand dismissively. "Those last two were all Miles Edgeworth. I had nothing to do with them."

"Not directly, no." Hera taps her pen against her notepad, debating how much she can say without crossing any lines that Edgeworth will resent. Then she hears his voice muttering that man, sees the faint smile that indicates he's thinking of Phoenix Wright, and decides that she could say pretty much anything, provided she can convince him it will help Phoenix. "I don't think it's possible to overestimate the influence you and your ideals have had on Prosecutor Edgeworth, Mister Wright."

Groaning, Phoenix sinks down further in his chair. "I've been telling Miles for years that he's responsible for his own actions and his own moral code, not me."

"And I agree. I would say he has a very finely tuned sense of personal responsibility, and has developed a moral code that I would love to see more people adopt." Hera meets Phoenix's gaze evenly. "I also don't think it's possible to overestimate how much you and your ideals have affected and continue to affect Miles Edgeworth."

Phoenix's face pales, his mouth becoming a thin white line, his arms tensing noticeably.

Hera runs back over her words, realizes her mistake, and tries to backtrack as gently as possible. "Which isn't to say you're responsible for him or his morals—or for anyone other than yourself. But you have been an inspiration, and I was hoping that could give you some comfort during this... difficult... time."

Difficult time? Hera curses herself inwardly. She should never have accepted this man as a patient. She's too close to him, even though they've never met; she's making novice mistakes.

"I am responsible for someone other than myself, though." Phoenix draws a slow, deep breath, body relaxing. "I'm responsible for Trucy now. I have a child who's looking to me for guidance—a child I need to protect from men who may or may not be murderers, whose motives I don't understand. Just like I don't understand the motives of the person who did this to me—I don't think they're involved with all that other corruption you so cheerfully rattled off."

"Becoming a father at this time must be incredibly difficult. Especially with a child who's been through so much."

"It is and it isn't." Phoenix studies the ceiling above him, expression pensive but not stressed. "I... hadn't given much thought to starting my own family, but Trucy's beautiful. Brilliant. Strong. And though it's a different responsibility from others I've had, it's also... not really?"

"Being a father reminds you of other responsibilities you've had?"

"It's not all that different from being a good friend, you know?" Phoenix rubs at the back of his head. "I suppose it might have been if she was younger, but she can hold a conversation, she worries about me just about as much as I worry about her... I think my friendships with Maya and Pearls and Miles didn't do too bad a job preparing me for it, if that makes any sense."

"It does. The basis of pretty much all healthy relationships are the same. Trust. Communication. Affection. And from what little I've heard of her from you and Miles, Trucy seems like a wonderful child."

"She is." Phoenix's smile this time is so open and honest it's almost blinding. "And I'm going to take care of her. I'm not going to abandon her like her father did. So you really can tell Miles that I'm fine, all right? As long as I have people who need me, I'm going to be just fine."

Because I won't let myself be otherwise, his expression says, and Hera is reminded very strongly of Maya Fey. "I believe you, Mister Wright. And I'm glad you've got a support network that provides you with strength. It's an incredibly important thing when you're facing the kind of pressures you're having to face."

"They are pretty amazing." Again Phoenix flashes his honest smile. "My friends are the reason I'm not giving up. The one who did this thinks they've blocked me out of the fight, but that just means I'm going to have to find a way to change the rules."

"A good way of looking at it." Hera returns his smile, impressed, again, by the resilience and determination to be found in the human spirit. "I've no doubt you can do what you've set out to do. And all I want to do is give you a place where you can talk things out, if you need to. A place where you can say anything you need to without fear of repercussions, and where I can hopefully help you find coping mechanisms for the stresses that you're under."

"I appreciate that. It's an important thing for a lot of people." Phoenix looks away. "And maybe I'll need it, sometimes. But overall, as much as this whole situation sucks, I'm... surprisingly okay."

"Good." Hera nods. "So let's talk about something a little lighter for our remaining time. Tell me some more about Trucy..."

They spend the next half hour discussing the young girl Phoenix has adopted, her place in his life and in Edgeworth's. Hera manages to get him to talk a little about the conflicted feelings he still has due to the role Trucy and her father had in his disbarment, and she thinks she gives him a few tips that should hopefully avoid some of the worst pitfalls of single fatherhood.

When she leads Phoenix Wright to the door, she finds that she's adopted a bit of his relaxed posture.

She also vows to do everything she can to try to get the public to work against corruption in the justice system, because it's clearly far too much for just the decent people already invested in the system to handle.

XXX

Klavier Gavin stares at the floor, and Hera stares at the fine silk hair twisted into some kind of complicated braid that hangs down over his left shoulder.

She's used to long, awkward silences, especially during first sessions. Especially with people that Miles Edgeworth sends to her, and she lays a hand on the thick file that contains a brief synopsis of the last few months of Klavier's legal career.

"I... fear I will not be very good at this, Fraulein." Klavier's voice is soft, almost melodic, as he speaks to his hands.

"There's no way to be bad at it, Klavier. I'm here to help you. To be whatever it is that you need—to help you decide what it is that you need."

Klavier raises his head, finally, and his blue eyes are beautiful, though dark circles have been carefully covered with make-up beneath them. It's a good cover-up job, too—if she weren't so close, hadn't seen it so often, she wouldn't be able to tell. "What I need is something that cannot possibly be provided, by you or anyone else."

"I can't change the situation, no. And I can only imagine how much everything must have affected you." Can infer, from the almost desperate note in Edgeworth's voice when he asked her to see the young prosecutor as soon as possible, that Klavier Gavin has been deeply hurt by everything. "But you can't change the situation, either. All you can do is go forward, and I'd like to help you find a way to keep doing that."

Klavier lowers his head again, studying his boots as though they will tell him how to answer her.

He's so young.

It's not what she expected. When she imagined the men who stole Phoenix's badge, who twisted the legal system to their own ends, she pictured old men with shadowy faces. Not a boy young enough to be her son—a boy who, a glance down at his birthday confirms, was only seventeen when he faced off against Phoenix the first time.

When he helped destroy what faith people had left in the legal system, ushered in an era of corruption so thick and impossible to penetrate that even the general populace has begun to call it the Dark Age of the Law.

"I am used to being in the public eye, Fraulein." His accent thickens—a nervous habit? Does he associate German with emotion? It is not his first language, she doesn't think, not from all that she's read about him, but it's clearly one he's fluent and comfortable in, and she wishes briefly that she spoke it, that she could use that as a bridge between them. "As a prosecutor and even more as a musician, I have been interviewed and stalked and badgered by those who would use my words, twist them any way they could to try to sell more of their product. It is, I suppose, a necessary evil. I have certainly profited enough in both careers."

A twisting of Klavier's mouth, a tightening of his long, calloused fingers where they are clasped together, and Hera makes a quick note on her notepad. Admitting to success should not cause pain and distress, though it clearly does for Klavier right now. She doesn't interrupt, though. If he is willing to speak, able to speak, that is what she wants.

"But it means I find it difficult to just... talk about these subjects. To not worry that whatever I say will be misinterpreted." Klavier darts a glance up at her. "It may be... more productive if you ask me what you want to know."

"I actually find it tends to be more productive if you speak about whatever you need to, in whatever order you want." Hera keeps her voice gentle, finds herself trying to match the singer-prosecutor's way of speaking. "And remember, Klavier, whatever you say doesn't leave this room. But if you'd be more comfortable with me directing the conversation for a bit..."

"Bitte." Klavier closes his eyes, mouth drawing down, his whole body tensing as though he's preparing for a blow.

I won't hurt you. She wants to shout the words, wants to find a plate of cookies and a blanket and allow this young man to show his pain and grief.

You haven't done anything wrong. She hadn't been sure she'd be able to say that, when Edgeworth asked her if she'd help the younger Gavin brother. The television coverage of Phoenix Wright's new Jurist System and Kristoph Gavin's spectacular downfall had been sporadic and difficult to follow, and in all the speculation and think pieces she hadn't been able to suss out exactly how much Klavier Gavin knew of his brother's plans.

There's no need to punish yourself. She's not certain, not yet, that this is what he's doing, but the exhaustion he's so carefully trying to mask, the way his mouth twists in self-loathing at any mention he makes of his past victories and successes... she suspects this will be one of their main topics of conversation.

There's a better way to use your grief—a better way to show your grief. Any other way would be better to use his grief and regret, she thinks, but first she has to get him to admit to his grief.

"You'd like me to ask you questions?" She clarifies his response, wanting to make sure he understands that he's still in control.

"Ja, Fraulein." A smile stretches the corner of Klavier's face, a grim parody of the easy, open expression she has seen in pictures of him from before.

"All right. I'm vaguely aware of at least two tragedies that you've faced recently, due to media coverage." Klavier's eyes close, his knuckles turning white, his breathing speeding up. Hera pauses, not certain she wants to continue, watching the signs of anxiety ratchet up and up in her patient. "I could ask you about one of those, if you wanted. About your brother or the Gavinners."

A flinch, a subtle shake of his head, and Klavier's spine is so straight and rigid it must hurt. "Wherever you wish to start, Fraulein. I will answer your questions."

Not with either of those topics, or, she thinks, with anything related to Phoenix Wright. Not when Klavier looks like she's going to start cutting his fingers off one by one, as though each potential topic were a sword stab to a vital organ. She needs to de-escalate this for him, needs him to calm down and trust her enough to talk to her honestly, not tell her what he thinks she wants to hear. "Let's start with something a little bit different. Could you tell me why you came today, Klavier?"

Klavier's eyes open, his expression startled, half-suspicious. "Why I came?"

"Yes." Hera smiles warmly at the young man. "What made you decide that you needed to see someone?"

Klavier looks away, slouching down in his chair for the first time since he was seated. His hands are still clasped together tightly, but it's clear that this is a much less emotionally fraught area for him. Though not entirely comfortable, she realizes, as he mutters out words that are almost too slurred and accent-thick for her to make out. "Prosecutor Edgeworth suggested I come."

"Ah." Hera nods, continuing to smile. She's not surprised to hear that it wasn't Klavier's idea to come, not given how he's acting. "You're friends with Prosecutor Edgeworth?"

Klavier faces her evenly once more, shoulders rising in a faint shrug. "He is the new Chief Prosecutor. He is my boss."

"He ordered you to come?" Hera keeps the question quiet and neutral, though inwardly she sighs, wishing Edgeworth would have told her that Klavier wasn't here entirely voluntarily.

"Not... as such." Klavier raises one hand, wiggling it side to side in a gesture for kind of. "He could have, certainly. But he just... suggested. Said he was worried about the hours I was keeping at work and about the general state of my health."

Hera studies Klavier more closely, looking for any signs of something more severe than exhaustion and disordered sleeping. Klavier is thin, slim and slender and dressed to emphasize such—too thin? He certainly wouldn't be the first musician and performer to develop an eating disorder. Or the first prosecutor, in their world that values flare and style in their legal system as much or more than it does truth and justice. She doesn't see any signs of bruises, any other overt signs of self-harm, but Gavin has to be clever to have done so much so young. She makes a quick note to watch him, and to perhaps ask Miles if he has any more concrete worries next time they talk.

"I told him that the only reason he knew I was keeping long hours was because he was there to see it." Klavier's lips turn up in the ghost of a genuine smile, his fingers relaxing where they are picking at the fabric of his pants. "He acknowledged the validity of my claim, but said that he wanted me to talk to someone, for his sake and mine. So I am here."

"You respect him a great deal."

"He is a great man." Klavier watches her with solemn, steady eyes, glancing down at her notebook where she has just made a few annotations about Miles and his relationship with Klavier. "He has done more both locally and internationally to help weed out corruption than any other living person. He is a smart man, and a good one. I am glad that he was chosen to be Chief Prosecutor."

Hera nods. "Would you mind trying to articulate why you're glad he was chosen?"

Klavier blinks at her. "I... believe I just did, Fraulein."

"I was just wondering if there was more to it. Especially where you said you're glad he was chosen, not just someone like him."

Klavier leans away from her, his hands clasping together once more, back straightening. She can see his respiratory rate pick up again, practically hear him mentally berating himself for poor word choice.

"If there's nothing more you have to say about it, that's fine." Hera keeps her voice calm, draws steady, even, deep breaths, hoping he will mirror her. "I was just wondering if there was a reason, that's all."

"A reason..." Klavier is still watching her warily, though the blush of panic seems to have faded, at least. "Why must there be another reason?"

"There doesn't have to be." She repeats the reassurance, trying to make him believe that she's not out to trick him or catch him in some slip of the tongue. "Tell me to move on, and we will. But I know there was some controversy when he was chosen, given his strong international ties. A feeling from some that it should have been someone more local who was given the position."

"He was born here and has practiced here on and off for over a decade. Those who protest are either fools or afraid that he will expose their corruption." Klavier's voice becomes rougher, darker, and Hera can see shades of Kristoph Gavin's oft-broadcast breakdown in the anger that his younger brother finally lets show. "Phoenix Wright and Miles Edgeworth will both be working again to fix our system. Those who have learned how to manipulate and abuse it are running scared."

"I hope so. It's about time that they did." Hera glances down at the notes she has made so far. "You said Phoenix Wright will be working as a lawyer again? I hadn't heard that."

Klavier looks away, swallowing, the anger dissipating as quickly as it came. "Ja. That is the rumor, at least. I... hope that it is true."

"It's important to you." Hera speaks slowly, ready to jump onto a different tacking if this line of questioning proves too fraught still. "That both Wright and Edgeworth will be fighting for justice again?"

For a moment she doesn't think Klavier will answer. Then he inclines his head. "Yes. It means... perhaps there is still a chance. A hope of... fixing things. Not everything, but if they are both here, both fighting the good fight... then perhaps I will be able to make up for my sins."

"You blame yourself for your role in Kristoph's plan."

"I have been studying up on Phoenix Wright since... since my brother's second conviction." Klavier's face pales, and Hera finds herself making another note. Having a sibling on death row would be enough to give anyone troubles; given the rest of the circumstances surrounding Kristoph Gavin, Hera is certain this is something else they will be discussing again, many times. "I know where my mistake was. I will not be blind again. I will not be led again. I will not be responsible for breaking the system that I have pledged to serve and protect."

There's a pleading note to Klavier's last statement, and his blue eyes shine as they finally shift to meet her gaze. "You aren't and you won't be, Klavier. But breaking yourself trying to fix the system, well, that's not going to help Prosecutor Edgeworth or anyone else, is it?"

"I will not break. Not until we're done. Not until we've made it right." Klavier fixes her with a fierce stare, and she sees again a ghost of the fiery passion that Kristoph showed at the end. So eerily similar and yet so very different, the two brothers, and she hopes that everyone around him is seeing the differences rather than the similarities.

Knows that Miles Edgeworth is, at least, or he wouldn't be asking her to help this man who was instrumental in taking Phoenix Wright out of the legal system for seven years. "I'm glad to hear that. It's important, weeding the corruption out of the system. But it's also important to give yourself time away from the job. To be at your sharpest, to be the most use to yourself and to Prosecutor Edgeworth, you need to be getting a decent amount of sleep. Doing things outside work—it actually helps you to think better, practicing different kinds of activities. If you'd allow it, what I'd like to help you do is find a way to be as focused and determined and dedicated as you need to be without having guilt hanging over your head and stress slowing your hands."

Klavier looks away from her, mouth opening and closing twice before he finally whispers out his question. "And if I believe that I deserve the guilt?"

"You don't." Hera allows the words to hang for a moment, a statement of pure fact. "You're welcome to try to convince me you do, but I'm pretty sure you don't."

"They should hate me. Edgeworth. Skye. Wright. Trucy. Apollo." Klavier's left hand rises, runs along the outer edge of his necklace. "They should blame me."

"But they don't." Hera jots down the other names, knowing from the way Klavier says them that they will be important people. "Do you think you blaming yourself will make up for that?"

"Kristoph feels no shame." Klavier's hand closes on his necklace, pulling the chain taut against his skin. "Perhaps it is only right that I feel it for him."

"No, Klavier." Hera shakes her head. "It's not right, it's not helpful, and it's not healthy. But it is something we can change. If you're willing to work with me, I'd like to help you replace those feelings with more positive drivers. How did you originally decide on your profession?"

"For the music it was easy. I am pretty, I have a good voice, and I see songs in the world." Klavier's hand travels to his braid, toys with the end strands, and a forced smile slowly fades from his face. "For the prosecuting... I wanted to protect people. I was good at it... thought I was good at it. Finding the right logical conclusion. Seeing justice served. Mimicking my brother but not being his shadow."

For one moment Hera allows herself the pleasure of hating Kristoph Gavin, for all that he did to Phoenix Wright and the legal system and for all that he has clearly done to twist his younger brother into knots. Then she forces the emotion away, because it won't help Phoenix or Klavier or anyone else. "You need to get back to the basics of why you went into the profession. Protecting people. Serving justice. Those are useful motivators, ones that can sustain you, while guilt and shame will simply drain you dry."

"I... think I will be seeing a lot of you, if that is what we are going to try." Klavier's smile this time is self-conscious, his arms crossed in front of his chest, hugging himself.

"Is it something you'd be willing to do, Klavier?"

It has to be his choice. She knows that. She cannot force healing on someone if they don't want it. But she wants him to say yes so badly, wants to be able to help undo some of the damage from this latest round of fighting against corruption and greed and selfishness.

"I will try." His voice is tired and uncertain, his blue eyes closed again, but it is the answer that she wants. "If you and Prosecutor Edgeworth think I should... I will try."

They spend the rest of the session talking about Miles Edgeworth, Hera trying to reinforce the positive bonds that the young man has formed with his new mentor. Partly it is because she realizes Klavier Gavin desperately needs someone—gentle probing finds that since his dissolution of his band it is only his relationships with his colleagues and his rival-friends at the Wright Anything Agency that hold emotional weight for him. Partly it is because Miles survived something similar, betrayal by someone who was like family, and hopefully Klavier remembering that will give him hope. And partly it is because she trusts Miles, having seen him dealing with his own problems, having heard in his voice how much he cares about the people he refers to her.

When she bids Klavier good night, she heads to the monthly meeting of their local Anti-Corruption Team, an organization she has now been involved with for years.

Though she still supports their idea of basing Bum-Rap Rhiny's look in part on Phoenix Wright, she is determined to see vetoed the suggestions of basing the Phony Phantom on Kristoph or Klavier Gavin.

There's been enough harm done already to good people, and she sees no need to add more fuel to the fire.

XXX

"Well, this is a lot more awkward than I expected it to be." The young woman sitting across from Hera looks relaxed, though she is fiddling with her single earring in a way that Hera suspects indicates stress.

"You're a bit more used to sitting in this chair, yes?" Hera smiles, trying to put Athena more at ease.

"Yep." Athena sighs, right hand falling to clasp her left one where it sits in her lap. "Psychologist and all."

"Well, if it's difficult for you to get started, why don't we begin with something a little more basic. Why did you decide to come today?"

"Honestly?" Athena looks a little sheepish. "Because I think my friends Apollo and Simon could benefit from a few sessions, and the only way they'd agree to see anyone was if I went first. So here I am."

Hera has heard about Athena Cykes, Apollo Justice, and Simon Blackquill in great detail. Some of her information has come from the news—she had found herself watching avidly as Miles and Phoenix faced off, aching along with them as they struggled to get to the truth. Some has come from previous sessions with Miles and Klavier. Miles is fascinated by Phoenix's proteges; Klavier deeply respects Apollo Justice, though his feelings about Phoenix are still far more complicated.

"Mr. Edgeworth speaks really highly of you." Athena's right hand is back at her earring, though she continues to meet Hera's gaze evenly. "And I am still having problems. Nightmares. Flashbacks. Panic attacks. Intrusive thoughts. Wonderful lovely intrusive thoughts."

The shudder that Athena gives is somewhat staged, but the haunted look that shadows her eyes is not. Hera gives a sympathetic grimace of her own. "Would you like to talk to me about them?"

"The intrusive thoughts? They're not pleasant. Maybe you'll forget the difference between people and robots again. Maybe you never learned. Maybe Apollo will never trust you. Only... not always with the maybe. And not always so reasonable. You'll kill them by accident. You don't love them. You're a robot. You should be in prison." Athena hugs her right arm to her body, a gesture that Hera finds terribly reminiscent of Miles Edgeworth.

Is there any decent person in the justice system who hasn't suffered through some terrible trauma? "You know that none of these thoughts hold any merit."

"Yeah." Athena nods, clearly forcing a smile onto her face. "I do. Any time I have one, I try to take a step back and tell myself no, it's not something I really believe. Not something I need to fear. But it gets... tiring."

For a moment Athena closes her eyes, and Hera is reminded of another blue-eyed fighter for justice. Hera had thought Klavier was young to have been through so much. This girl—barely nineteen, and she's already passed the bar and has a degree in psychology. Given what she's been through, is it any wonder she's tired? Has she ever stopped in the eight years since her mother died, ever given herself time to rest and actually be a child? "There's no shame in getting tired. In needing a break—needing to be away from stressful events for a little bit."

"Yeah?" Athena sighs, opening her bright blue eyes. "I suppose. It's hard to accept that I could actually take a break. That Simon's safe now. That things are better—that we've helped put the system a little bit more in order."

"A little bit—" Hera can't help a startled laugh. "Athena, I don't think you quite realize exactly what you and Apollo and Phoenix and the rest have done. You're an inspiration—the woman who overcame tragedy, worked for years to save her only remaining family, and succeeded, despite all that was in your way. The goddess of wisdom and the god of the sun and the man who rises from his own ashes time and again—you're giving people back their faith and trust and hope."

Athena's hands have both moved to her ponytail, and though there are tears in her eyes the smile on her face is satisfied and honest. "It's... kind of hard to believe people are saying all that."

"Will it be easier to believe when the box set of toys comes out?" Hera grins at the young woman, allowing a bit of her own dry humor out. "Given how well Bum Rap Rhiny and Phony Phanty sold, believe me, there are going to be toys."

"That seems a bit unfair." Athena grins back at her. "Unless we're going to get some prosecutor toys, too. A Blackquill and Gavin box set? I'd say Mr. Edgeworth, but I'm not sure he'd accept them making a toy based on him."

"He's not the most impressed with the toy marketing campaigns, no. Though in our defense, they did get people taking an interest in the legal system again, and they were a wonderful fundraising device."

"You're involved in making the toys?" Athena's eyes shine, and she leans forward, all eagerness and energy again. "How'd that happen?"

"Well... it's not really a very interesting story. I helped to found our local L-ACT—you know, the Legal Anti-Corruption Team. Or task force. Depends on who's doing the logos that week." Hera can feel herself blushing. "I wanted to do something, to make a difference after I saw... well. I wanted to help."

"That's awesome. And it does help, having people interested. Having people watching." Athena's smile fades, though it doesn't disappear completely, becoming more thoughtful. "I really like that imagery, you know—Apollo as a sun god. Maybe you can use that with him. Even if he scoffs, I think he'll like it."

"I'll keep that in mind. But he's not the only light in the darkness. There are an awful lot of them out there right now."

"Which means we can look at each other's glows when we start losing track of our own." Athena sighs, a contented sound, left hand still toying with her hair. "I really like this analogy."

"Good. I'm glad." Also she is getting far too invested in these people Miles Edgeworth has collected around himself and then has a habit of foisting onto her, because she doesn't want to counsel Athena Cykes, she wants to wrap the girl up and give her a bowl of soup and protect her. That's not what Athena needs, though—not what Athena wants, she doesn't think, the girl studying her still with curious blue eyes. "Let's see what else we can come up with to help you, shall we?"

They spend their remaining time discussing coping mechanisms for the flashbacks and panic attacks, what tactics Athena finds helpful and which have been counter-productive. Hera thinks she's able to give at least some useful advice, and as she escorts Athena to the door, she thinks she's maybe finally starting to get a handle on these cases Miles Edgeworth sends her.

XXX

Apollo stares at her through narrowed eyes, and Hera finds herself looking down, trying to avoid confrontational body language.

She hadn't expected the young man to be so angry.

She supposes it makes sense, given what he's gone through in the last few years. He has convicted his first mentor of murder; he has been manipulated by Phoenix multiple times—with the best of intentions, but Hera has no doubt it was still unpleasant for Apollo; he suspected one of his coworkers of murder; and this is all on top of the general stress inherent in being an attorney, dealing with tragedy and death on a regular basis. "Apollo..."

Apollo's eyes narrow even further, his hands clenching into fists.

He's a small man, approximately the same height as her. He shouldn't be intimidating, but he is, somehow, ferocity rolling off him in waves. Hera draws a deep breath and tries again. "Apollo, I'm sorry to see that you're so upset about something. Is it being here that's upsetting?"

For a moment she doesn't think he will answer her. When he does, his voice is a loud growl, filling the confines of the room as it would the courthouse. "I don't need to be here. I'm fine."

"I'm certainly not going to keep you here. You can walk out at any time. I won't tell Athena—it's not any of her business." Hera gestures toward the door.

"I promised her I'd come." The anger seems to cool a bit as Apollo glances toward the door with a wistful expression. "I'm not going to break my promise. I don't lie."

Apollo's fingers move to his bracelet, slide the golden band around in a circle, and she can see thin red lines on his wrist above and below where the bracelet sits that show where he has done this frequently in the recent past. Hera considers pursuing the emphasis he placed on lie, then decides against it for the moment, instead jotting it down for later. Best to get him a bit more relaxed first, if she can. "Why do you think that Athena asked you to come?"

A small snort slips out of Apollo, and he actually leans back in his chair for the first time since he entered the room. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Oh?" Hera allows the noncommittal phrase to hang in the air, and after a moment Apollo bites, as she suspected he would.

"Athena can hear things other people can't. Hear all the different little sounds that go into a voice, and she's trained herself to be really good at picking up on what she calls discord. Distress." Apollo's fingers close tight around his bracelet. "Lies."

"And... she thinks you're lying about something?" Hera's pen circles the word lie, a gentle emphasis.

"No, actually." Apollo looks away, sighing. "She said there's not a lot of discord, but if she has to listen to me... hurting for much longer she's going to start crying for me."

"And you'd prefer that she doesn't have to cry?" Hera jots down the symbol she uses to indicate cry, following it with a list of potential reasons in her own short-hand—grief, frustration, overload, betrayal. It barely scratches the surface of reasons people may have to cry, but given what she's seen of Apollo and Apollo's compatriots, it's a good starting point.

Apollo is going to be one of those clients who worries about what she's writing, she can see that already, his eyes following her hand even more avidly than Klavier's usually do.

"She shouldn't have to cry because of me." Apollo's fingers tighten on the arms of the chair. "She's got plenty of reasons of her own to cry. And I'm fine."

Again an emphasis on the word fine, a repetition of the phrase that sounds almost totemic, and Hera doesn't write it down but she does make a mental note for herself. "Why do you think she believes you need to cry?"

"I don't know." Apollo looks away, muttering out the words, speaking loudly enough that Hera can still hear him clearly, at least.

"I'm at least somewhat aware of the circumstances surrounding Prosecutor Blackquill and Athena Cykes. I try to keep up on the legal news." Hera smiles, hoping that it will cut through some of the suspicion and tension still filling Apollo. "I can only imagine how stressful it must have been for you, thinking that Athena killed that poor astronaut as well as her own mother."

Apollo Justice laughs at her, his hands transforming into white-knuckled fists, his lips pulling back from his teeth as the dark, angry sound lashes out.

"Apollo..." She made a mistake, said something terribly wrong, but Hera can't for the life of her figure out what it was. "I'm sorry. Could you tell me why you're laughing?"

"He wasn't an astronaut." The laughter cuts off abruptly, a fierce, dark shine appearing in Apollo's eyes as he stares unblinkingly at her. "He never got to see space. He wanted it, so badly, he studied for it his whole damn life, and then he died. Right here, right on terra firma, never getting to see what he dreamed about. But all anyone says is 'the astronaut', 'the GYAXA employee', 'the unfortunate victim'. His name was Clay Terran, and—and—"

Apollo's whole body is shaking, his teeth chattering together for a second before he clamps his mouth shut.

"And he was important to you." Hera finishes Apollo's statement, watching his desperately angry, dry eyes, waiting for the grief to replace the anger.

"He was my best friend." Apollo draws a shuddering breath, though it doesn't seem to slow his shivering, and Hera hates the news for a moment, hates how they pick and choose the facts that will be interesting to people. Hates the legal system, that so carefully recorded every step of the trial but somehow left her missing this piece of the puzzle. Clay wasn't a blood relative of Apollo, wasn't a romantic interest, and thus their relationship wasn't worthy of comment, though she can see now where the prematurely truncated wound of their friendship festers anger and bleeds away peace in this young man. "We told each other everything. He helped me so much..."

"And you wanted to return the favor?" Hera makes it a question, invites Apollo to engage in conversation with her.

"No. I couldn't. He was dead, I couldn't ever return even a fraction of what he did for me, but I could protect Mr. Starbuck for him. I could make sure his murderer went to prison." Apollo hunches forward, expression pained, his deep brown eyes still fixed on hers. "And I did. I did everything I could."

"And I'm sure Mr. Terran would have appreciated that." Hera thinks back to the news clips showing the launch of GYAXA's newest rocket. "I know Mr. Starbuck appreciated what you did."

"Yeah. He did." Apollo's hands are still clenched into fists, though the worst of the anger seems to have faded back again.

Not all the way gone, though. Waiting, along with the grief that is causing it, and Hera glances down at her notes. Lie, followed by grief, and she wonders if now is the time to pursue this.

"Mr. Justice..." Hera watches the way Apollo's fingers clench, and decides not yet. Soon, but not yet. "It's a brilliant name for a lawyer. Lucky happenstance?"

Apollo looks away, and the anger fades even further, his hands starting to unclench. He continues to scowl, though, expression unhappy. "I chose it. I was never adopted and the only thing my birth parents left me was a bracelet and a first name. I like it. Clay liked it."

"It's a good name. A very fitting name." Hera does make a note about Apollo's comment on never being adopted. Given the convoluted histories of Miles' friends, she doesn't want to somehow forget which story of being orphaned belongs to this young man. "The justice that will rise like the sun to shine on this dark age of the law."

Apollo raises startled eyes to study her, the ghost of a smile flitting across his face. "That's... a bit much, don't you think?"

"No." Hera shakes her head. "I really don't think it is."

Another dark laugh, but it is more hesitant, less bitter than the first time. "You're clearly not reading the right papers, then. Don't you know I'm not trustworthy? That I'm just like my mentor, ready and willing to stab anyone in the back if I think it will help me win a case?"

Hera blinks, caught off guard. She has seen think pieces comparing Apollo and Athena to Phoenix, comparing and contrasting their styles, but surely that wouldn't... and then she understands who he means by mentor. "They're comparing you to Kristoph Gavin?"

Apollo seems surprised by her outraged dismay, leaning back in his chair and studying her with a tilted head before he answers. "Yeah. Makes sense, doesn't it? He did train me before I started working for Mr. Wright. And what I did to Mr. Wright and Athena..."

"Was nothing like anything that Kristoph Gavin has ever done." Hera speaks firmly, trying to remind herself that hating a man who is on death row is not helpful. Even if his name does come up during Miles' sessions and Klavier's sessions and those rare times she gets to see Phoenix Wright himself. Even if the press—a press she is beginning to suspect is as corrupt as the legal system, though with enough infighting to prevent it from being quite as horrifying—is going to use Kristoph Gavin's lingering ghost to hurt this boy who doesn't even look old enough to drink, let alone face the things he's had to face. "Believe me, I know a great deal about Kristoph."

"Yeah? I do, too. I worked for him." Apollo draws a breath, hands clenching again into fists. "And I still... talk like him, sometimes. It's not completely out of left field, what they're saying."

"Klavier Gavin is the spitting image of Kristoph Gavin. He also often speaks the same language as Adolf Hitler." Hera gambles on Apollo having even a fraction of the attachment to his courtroom rival that Klavier has to Apollo. "What would you say to someone trying to insinuate Klavier's turning into a monster because of these facts?"

"That they're lying bastards, and if they don't back off I'll punch them in the face." Again Apollo bares his teeth. "Klavier's been through hell enough, the press needs to leave him the fuck alone for a little bit."

"It was just a hypothetical situation." Not as hypothetical as she'd like, not for months following Kristoph's arrest, but the press moves on to the next big thing, and the Phantom case has long distracted people from anything related to Klavier and Kristoph. "But perhaps you should read opinion pieces in that vein about yourself with the same critical eye as the ones about your friends. Or do you think Athena and Simon deserve to be facing the criticisms they are?"

"I'll get back to you about Simon Blackquill in a few weeks, once I forget that he kept attacking me with a hawk." Apollo rubs his right hand vigorously over his face. "And I know that most of the press about all of us has been overwhelmingly positive, and that the people who are saying bad things about us are just trying to cash in on our current celebrity by doing something a little different. I just... worry sometimes that they're right."

"Because of the anger you feel."

Apollo doesn't answer, staring sullenly at the floor, even his hair seeming to droop now that the flush of rage has faded away.

Anger that is a cover for grief, in many ways, anger that is being fed by his grief, and Hera glances down at her notepad. Almost time to see if that connection has any merit. "Apollo, have you let yourself cry for your friend?"

Apollo's head rises, and he meets her gaze evenly. His tone is flat. "No. There's no point to it."

"Oh?"

"Crying... it doesn't change anything." Apollo studies his hands, ragged, torn nails and calloused finger pads. "It wastes time and energy and water and when you're done nothing's changed. Whatever broke is still broken. Whatever you failed at you still failed. Whoever died is still dead."

"It can be a way to let your emotions out. A way to communicate your emotions."

"Communicate to who?" Apollo's smile is thin and tired. "I told you I was never adopted. The only person who's ever seen me cry is dead, and my tears aren't going to bring him back any more than my finding his killer or protecting his mentor did."

"They won't bring Clay back, no. Nothing can. And I can't promise it would make you feel better, to allow yourself that outlet." He wasn't raised by abusive or cruel people in foster care, she doesn't think. Not to come out of it with such a fine-tuned sense of justice, such a burning desire to do good in the world. But he is a boy, a physically small boy, and he has had no constant family, and the one thing all small boys are told is that to become a man they must learn not to cry. Must learn to be self-sufficient. How often did foster parents praise him for not being trouble, for not needing assurances, for taking care of himself? "But there are people who would be willing to help you. Who think it would be all right for you to cry."

"Athena doesn't need me being a mess right now." Apollo shakes his head. "Neither do Trucy or Mr. Wright. Trucy was used as a hostage. She probably needs all this counseling business more than me."

"I would be very happy to speak with Trucy Wright, if she ever thought she needed my services." Hera waits for Apollo to look back at her, wanting to see his reaction to her next statement. "Just like Phoenix knows I'm always happy to see him again."

"Wait... you've seen Mr. Wright?" Apollo frowns, expression mingled puzzlement and cautious relief. "Like... professionally?"

"I can't talk about my patients without their permission." She could probably bend this rule, in this circumstance, but watching Apollo she doesn't think she needs to. "I've seen many prosecutors, lawyers, and detectives. Miles Edgeworth has a tendency to give out my name to people who he thinks may benefit from my services."

Apollo still looks baffled.

"You're all in very stressful jobs, Mr. Justice, and there seems to be a tendency for..." Awful things. Tragedies. Horrible series of events that would be laughable in their complexity if they weren't so damn sad in their totality. "Difficult situations to arise, especially for those who would actually see justice served in the justice system. If I can do anything to help, no matter how small, I'm very happy to."

"And that's great. I'm glad you can help people." Apollo's eyes slide away from her, his hands once more clenching into fists. "But I don't need help. I'm fine."

"You will be fine. I'm absolutely certain of that. Whether you talk with me or not, you're an incredibly strong man to have been through what you have, to have done what you have. You will be fine." If he allows her to, if he will start to trust her and speak more openly with her, she will try to help him find a way to say when he is not fine, to admit to weakness without it being an admission of defeat. To start unraveling the need to be entirely self-sufficient, to recognize when it is a good thing and when it just pushes away those who would help him, but not yet. "Do you think Athena's wrong in her assessment of you?"

Apollo continues to stare pointedly at a picture on the wall to her left, ignoring her as thoroughly as a cat.

"You're grieving. You're grieving a very important loss." It is possibly the first time in his life he has lost another human being to death, not having grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins. "And part of that grief for you is anger. And that's all right."

His gaze flicks toward her for a moment, surprise evident on his features.

"It's all right to be angry. Everyone is, at one point or another. The world, fate, God, whatever you want to call it, it's terribly unfair. And unfairness leads to anger." Hera draws a deep breath, pen drawing a line from lie to grief, hoping that she isn't guessing wrong. "Other things can lead to anger, too. Like being lied to by a friend, perhaps."

Apollo's teeth clench, his lips turning white, his finger curled so hard and tight together it looks painful. For the first time Hera has to strain to catch his whisper. "Clay didn't lie to me."

"All ri—"

"He couldn't lie to me." Apollo holds up his left arm, gold bracelet catching the light and shining.

"I'm not trying to accuse him of anything, Apollo. Just trying to put some pieces together and see what pictures can be made. If I'm wrong, you tell me that I'm wrong and that's the end of it."

"I know when people are lying to me." Apollo's right hand closes on his bracelet, his eyes fixed on the golden band. "And he didn't, pretty much ever, especially since I got better at figuring out how I know when people are lying, but he didn't tell me. We went out together, and I was chattering away about how amazing it was that he was finally going to have his dream come true, that he was going to go into space, I told him I'd be watching it all on TV because I didn't have the day off but I'd be thinking about him, and he didn't tell me."

Apollo's voice breaks, a shattered cry that is so loud it is almost physically painful as the echoes die away.

"A lie of omission, about something important, can still feel like a betrayal." Hera tries to keep her voice in its normal register, to give Apollo something to try to match his volume to. "Especially given how important the truth clearly is to you—"

"He's dead and the last time we got to see each other was one giant tangled mess of deception." The right corner of Apollo's mouth twitches up into a dark parody of a smile. "Just like pretty much everything else in my life."

He is more surprised than she is by the tears that start trickling down his face.

It's a relief, in a way. He needs to cry, needs to stop trying to hide the grief behind the anger, to stop using I'm fine as a way to convince himself that he isn't allowed to not be all right.

Apollo doesn't find it a relief, though. He reaches up to touch the tears on his cheeks, expression changing to puzzlement and then rapidly into horror. Stumbling to his feet, Apollo heads for the door, tripping over a rug on the way there.

"Apollo." She won't stop him, not if he really wants to leave. She's not sure she could, and forcing him to do anything won't be useful. "It's all right to cry here. No one will ever know. Cry, yell, scream if you need to—it's all right."

For a few seconds he just stops, standing still and trembling in the middle of her office.

The he howls, a desperate sound of grief and anguish that beats against her ears and the office walls, before dropping to the ground and sobbing into his fists.

She spends five minutes down on the floor by the young man's side, reassuring him over and over again that it's all right for him to cry like this.

When he's finally done she coaxes him back into his seat, though he won't meet her eyes, the anger and overwhelming grief that had been there before replaced by shame and exhaustion. She spends most of the remainder of their time letting him talk about Clay, trying to tease out stories from various points in their life. Reminding Apollo that the shadow of the Phantom only covers a small part of their friendship, that even if Clay couldn't tell him everything—couldn't, possibly, for security reasons—it doesn't negate everything else they had together.

Her hands don't shake when she bids Apollo farewell, but they do when she gets into her car, and she cries, for the first time in a while, for all the pain and misery that haunts their world even when the good guys are supposedly in control.

Then she puts the car in gear and heads to her L-ACT meeting, determined to do something productive with her borrowed sorrow.

XXX

"—and so I think that perhaps this need you have to assist those of us in the legal profession—"

"Prosecutor Blackquill." Hera doesn't usually cut her patients off, but Simon is being intentionally trying, she's pretty sure of that, and letting him attempt to turn the conversation around on her is not going to be useful to either of them. "Simon. We're not here to discuss me."

"But it could be a fascinating conversation." Simon smiles at her, a sly, conspiratorial expression designed to tease her over to his side.

"I'm a little curious what I've done to make you believe I'm that narcissistic. Not curious enough to allow us to continue on in this vein, however."

Simon's mouth closes as she apparently cuts off whatever reply he was going to make, and he leans back in his chair, legs crossed, finger tapping against the chair arm.

"You've studied psychology, I know." Hera tries to keep her own posture relaxed. "So that you could use it in court?"

"It's a useful thing, being able to understand and manipulate not only your witnesses but your opponent and the judge." Again Simon smiles, though the expression doesn't touch his eyes. Doesn't take all of the tension from his posture—tension he is trying to hide. Interesting, the ways in which he is willing to show weakness—no attempt at covering up the signs of exhaustion darkening the skin beneath his eyes—and the ways in which he tries to hide his weakness, the way he jockeys constantly for control of the conversation and the situation.

Because it isn't safe to not be in control? Because controlling the people around him was how he tried to keep himself safe in prison? Because he has spent so long looking for the ghost that destroyed his life that he can't imagine not playing mind games with any new person he meets?

She has to find a way to get him to speak to her. "Athena Cykes would take issue with the phrase manipulating witnesses, I think."

Simon's fingers clench and then are forcefully relaxed, though his eyes narrow. "Athena is still young and woefully naïve of how the world really works."

"I think that's selling her rather woefully short, to borrow your own word." Hera leans forward, pressing her point. If Simon reacts badly, she will choose a different tactic, but she has been trying to be friendly for the last half hour and making very little progress. "Or did you forget who's responsible for bringing an end to the Dark Age of the Law?"

Blackquill's expression darkens, and he straightens in his chair. "That was Phoenix Wright and myself."

"Really?" Hera raises one eyebrow. "Because from all I've seen—and I've seen a lot of different break-downs of the events of that day—it was Athena Cykes and Aura Blackquill who really forced people's hands. Two people who were, I believe, fighting for your life and freedom?"

"I'm not sure what papers you're reading, but everything I've seen has been calling Aura Blackquill a terrorist." Simon's voice is cool, utterly controlled, but his eyes are watching her warily.

"What she did was wrong." Hera inclines her head. "But her reasons for doing what she did are very understandable. Her brother was going to die. She saw no other way to act."

"She took hostages."

"She let them watch a magic show." Only because Trucy Wright is a remarkable young woman who handles trauma with the calm compassion of someone much older than her age—a reaction she has learned, Hera believes, from watching Phoenix, Maya, Miles, and all her other family and role models deal with their demons.

"She will be in jail for years." Simon's fingers twitch, a brief unconscious tightening.

"But she'll eventually be free. You're both alive and you'll both be free. Probably not even after all that long—there's a reason most of the hostages as well as the jury asked for some leniency to be shown to your sister."

There is a bit of honest humor in Simon's smile, though he shakes his head. "If you think Aura will be given time off her sentence for good behavior, you do not know anything about my sister."

"I don't, other than what I've been told." Hera waits for a moment, but Simon just continues to watch her. "If you felt like telling me a bit more about her..."

"Why?" Simon's eyes are narrow again, the full force of his personality bearing down on her.

Hera lets it wash over her, trying not to sigh as they return to a question they've touched on several times today already. "Because I want to get to know her. Because I want to get to know you, to see if I can help you in any way."

For a moment she doesn't think Simon will answer. Then the tall man looks away, giving her a view of his bushy hair. When he speaks his voice is still calm, but there's an edge to it that she hasn't heard before. "I can't help you get to know my sister."

Hera waits. Seconds tick by in silence, and she begins to think that Simon won't speak.

Just when she is preparing to say something else, to try to goad him further, the prosecutor continues. He smiles at her as he does, a knowing, smug expression that says he knows what she was going to do, that demands that he is still in control, is offering her this information because he wants to. "I've been in prison for the better part of a decade. I don't know my sister anymore."

He is offering her a key. She can hear that in the emphasis that he gives, in the way he watches her, clearly waiting to see what she will do. "I know that Aura visited you. Frequently."

Simon inclines his head, not disputing the information. Not that he could—the press had ferreted out that information within hours of the final showdown, possibly before Aura was even arraigned.

"You know your sister. At least as well as anyone else does." Hera watches Simon for any reaction, but he just continues to watch her, smug and certain. "But you don't feel that you do. Don't feel that it's possible?"

A slight faltering of his smug smile, and she is getting closer in her guesses.

She shouldn't be guessing, though. She shouldn't be playing games with Simon Blackquill. They should be having a conversation. They can talk as equals, if he wants, as she does with Athena.

Except he doesn't want that. She realizes it as soon as she thinks back. Simon is not a man who is used to dealing on equal terms. Before his time in prison, he was either the young prosecutor in control of the courtroom or the student looking for guidance from a mentor he deeply respected. He holds to and finds comfort in an old hierarchical structure. And since prison... he came here at Athena Cykes' and Miles Edgeworth's request, bowing to the older man when they left Miles in the waiting room. In court he is the one in control, even when he's losing.

She doesn't know exactly how healthy it is, how much is just his personality and how much is a twisting brought on by his past, but it gives her a better idea how to proceed.

"You're afraid you don't know your sister for the same reason you're afraid you don't know yourself." Hera speaks confidently, forcing herself to sit back in her chair. "You're afraid you don't know a great deal, actually. Like you said, the better part of a decade was stolen from you. And not knowing is something you hate."

"I would say that all men dislike it, Hera-dono."

She's done well, to finally earn that title. He gives it only to opponents that he feels are worthy. Best to continue pressing her luck, then. "You react whenever Athena Cykes is brought up. Partly because of her connection to your old mentor, I'm sure, but I think it's more than that."

Simon tilts his head down, studying her more closely. "Are you certain you wish to pursue this?"

"I think that you want me to pursue it." Hera hesitates, seeing a chance. "Unless... you'd like to take back control of this conversation? Tell me yourself why it is Athena bothers you?"

After a lengthy pause Simon shrugs. "Nothing so novel or new as you might like. I... am not the man that Athena thinks I am. And I do not think I ever can be."

"Because of the time you've lost."

"Because of what you said initially." Simon's smile is small and bitter. "The man that I am now uses his skills to manipulate. They called me the Twisted Samurai before, and the press hasn't stopped, even if Edgeworth quells those in the office who would use the term and Wright's people are too soft to curse me any more."

"Simon—"

"Not that I mind." Simon lifts his head, pride still in the set of his shoulders. "If I am the monster used to frighten people, part of the embodiment of the Dark Age of the Law, so be it. Wright and I helped bring it about; I will gladly sacrifice myself to see it end."

Hera groans before she can stop herself. "You and Phoenix are not responsible for it. Neither is Klavier, or Athena, or Apollo, or Miles, or, just to keep the list complete, Sebastian or Maya or Trucy or Pearl or anyone else who could possibly want to take the blame. Franziska and Kay and Lang never would, so I won't even bother to list them, though for completions' sake I feel I should."

For the first time all session Simon looks vaguely off balance. "I... do not know some of those names."

"Stick with the people you're currently involved with, they'll all become familiar, I promise." Hera leans forward, continuing to study Simon intently. "You weren't responsible for what happened, Simon."

"I didn't trust in the legal system." Simon's eyes dart away. "When I found Athena, my duty as a prosecutor was to call forensics in, to have them begin gathering evidence."

"But you didn't trust them to find what you needed." Hera catches a slight tilt of Simon's head, a gesture that he truncates before it even really begins. "Or... something more. You didn't trust yourself to find the truth?"

"I will always find the truth." Simon's smile is wide and dangerous, the words somehow holding a threat.

An empty threat, because there's absolutely nothing he could do to her, and because he wouldn't want to hurt her, she doesn't think. In his own way, these little games are Simon's way of reaching out to her, his honest answers a sign that perhaps, just perhaps, he has decided to let her try to help. "Always find the truth... if you go looking for it. But you didn't want to go looking for it, did you?"

Simon draws in a slow breath, his smile fading, and says nothing.

"You were afraid Athena really did it."

"I found her covered in her mother's blood, and she smiled at me." Simon's fingers twitch again, before being purposefully straightened and laid flat on the arms of the chair. "Told me everything would be all right. And instead of doing my duty, I... made everything all right."

"You prioritized a different duty. And it wasn't necessarily a bad choice, Simon."

"Wasn't it?" Simon's gaze rises to the ceiling. "I do not think it's the type of choice Athena would make."

"You never stopped hunting for the Phantom. You never really gave up on the possibility of Athena being innocent." Caught for years in a limbo of hope and doubt, looking for a ghost that might or might not exist, never able to fully trust himself or anyone around him... and then finding out that the detective who was most often by his side was the killer and spy he was looking for... it's a wonder that Simon doesn't have more trust and control issues than the ones he's displaying, actually. "And now you've helped put the real Phantom behind bars. Athena is proud of you and all you've done. So are a lot of other people."

Simon's head stays tilted back, his eyes on the ceiling.

"I imagine it's hard for you. Suddenly having to interact with so many more people than you did before." When Simon doesn't answer, Hera continues on. "Having so much more freedom and so many more options than you did before. Having a future to plan for."

Another twitch of Simon's fingers, a curling of his hand as though he's stroking something. "The future can never be planned for, Hera-dono. It can only be met as it comes."

"You can never plan for every eventuality, no. There will always be unexpected emergencies, disasters, tragedies... and joys." Hera adds a quiet emphasis on the last word. "Tell me, what do you think of the people you've been working with? Miles Edgeworth?"

Simon's smile returns. "A brilliant man and a dangerous opponent. I am glad we are on the same side."

"Klavier Gavin?"

"A vain man with a very sharp mind and a good heart."

"Phoenix Wright."

"The trickster god incarnate, and heaven have mercy on his students." Simon's smile widens as Hera blinks at the unexpected response. "But he seems to be on the side of justice and truth at the moment, so I wouldn't worry very much."

Hera shakes her head. They'll come back to discussing Phoenix later. "Apollo Justice?"

"A man worthy of his name and a valiant opponent."

Hera nods. "And Athena Cykes?"

Simon stands, his hand gesturing to the clock on the wall. "Someone we can discuss another time. I do believe my appointment is over now."

"Simon..." Hera stares at the clock in dismay. How did time pass so quickly? "Prosecutor Blackquill, there's a great deal more I'd like to discuss with you. Things I'd like to help you with."

"You want me to find peace with my past, hope in my future, and the ability to be comfortable with a situation even when there isn't a definitive lord and retainer relationship. I have been listening to you as much as you have been listening to me, Ms. Pyst." Simon meets her eyes evenly. "The first will be a very long task. The second even more daunting—I was not familiar with how 401ks worked prior to prison, and they have become no less convoluted now. And the last... there are some things that are just unchangeable."

"But the things we can change... are you willing to work with me to change them?"

A pause stretches, long and uncomfortable, and then Simon inclines his head just slightly. "It will likely be a very frustrating process for you, with many days similar to today."

"Was today actually helpful to you?"

"Yes." Simon's smile is smaller, more genuine as he raises his head. "Prosecutor Edgeworth was right when he said that you have a way of articulating matters and cutting to the heart of an issue that can be... cathartic."

"Miles just likes that he's broken me in to the point where he doesn't have to worry about threatening me with lawsuits if I let slip any hint of what I'm talking about with some of my celebrity patients."

"Certainty of confidentiality is a benefit, too." Simon turns, coat flaring out behind him as he strides to the door. "Come. Let us schedule our next meeting, before Taka grows too restless."

XXX

The hawk preens on Simon's shoulder, watching her with intent, wary eyes that somehow seem to match their master's in expression as Hera schedules their next appointment. When they're done Simon excuses himself, taking Taka with him to the bathroom, leaving her alone with Miles Edgeworth.

"So." Miles presses his glasses up on his nose. "How did things go?"

"Client confidentiality." Hera smiles at the man who has been patient, inspiration, and perhaps friend over the years. "But about as well as things go with any of your lot. Better than some, worse than others. You can let him bring the hawk in with him next time, if you want."

"Hopefully he will be driving himself next time, assuming he doesn't give whatever instructor administers the test a heart attack just because he can." Miles sighs. "And you may not want the hawk in the room. Taka can be rather... forceful in protecting his master."

"I know. I've both heard about it and seen it in clips. I'd still be willing to let him have the bird." Hera crosses her arms in front of her chest. "Though I am curious if you've thought about maybe curtailing the use of physical intimidation in court? Attack by raptor was not, last I checked, a guaranteed path to arriving at the truth."

"He does have a tendency of arriving at the truth, though." Miles shrugs. "Besides, the gallery thoroughly enjoys it."

Hera groans. "Miles, justice is not supposed to be a spectator sport."

One silver eyebrow arches. "Says the woman whose organization has made a fair amount of money selling little stuffed toys based off of horrific events."

"That's not even remotely similar." Hera shakes her head. "The toys were to help draw public attention to abuses in the system, and all the money has gone toward either advocacy work or philanthropic donations to help those who were victims of the Dark Age of the Law. In contrast, tell me exactly what the public gains by seeing Phoenix, Apollo, or Athena assaulted by a hawk."

"A few moments of laughter. Which is good for the mind, soul, and body, to quote your own words." The smug smile on Miles' face doesn't falter.

"And the stress it places on them?" Hera doesn't back down, crossing her arms in front of her chest and glaring up at Miles.

"Believe me, compared to everything else we've been through, being attacked by a hawk or struck with a whip is nothing."

"It's an added stress that isn't needed, just like feeding the bloodlust of the gallery isn't needed." Hera sighs, arms dropping back to her side. "People can be amazing—can do amazing things—but encouraging them to see the justice system as some sort of entertainment business... it's not something you should be doing, Miles."

"I'm not doing it. It's just the way things are." Miles' smile has faded away. "And given everything else we've been dealing with, attempting to change courtroom etiquette, which is at least as much the purview of the judges as it is of the prosecutors, is a very low priority."

"Oh, you mean busy with things like having a convicted murderer serve as a prosecutor in court?" This time it is Hera's turn to raise an eyebrow. "I'm still trying to decide if I'm upset or not that you've been lying to and stonewalling me and the L-ACT for the last year, telling me you're 'looking into' the way Prosecutor Blackquill was able to arrange that."

"Well I couldn't very well tell you it was on my orders in an attempt to flush out an international spy and assassin, now could I?" Miles' tone is still light, his smug smile in place, but there's a tension in the way his fingers rest against the sleeves of his jacket, a hint of exhaustion around his eyes.

"You could have tried. Admitting that there was sabotage at the first GYAXA launch and that there had been threats this time around could have severely limited the Phantom's movements." Hera hugs her arms closer to her body. "If instead of facing one twenty-year-old astronaut trying to carry his mentor he was facing several police officers..."

"We had a police presence there." Miles closes his eyes, looking more tired. "But I also had every reason to believe that the Phantom was either among the GYAXA employees or among my own forces, and no way to determine who he was. If there was anything I could have done to save that young man... to create a different future..."

"You couldn't, I suppose." There's no sense in trying to wrap Miles up in guilt again, not when she can understand why he made the decisions he did, even if she still doesn't entirely approve of them. "Not with the information you had; not with Simon playing things so close to his chest. There won't be many situations like that though, you know. Where security prevents you from explaining your actions. And transparency and accountability are going to be important if you want to prevent corruption sneaking back into the organization."

"So the L-ACT has been saying for several months." Miles' voice is dry, his expression put-upon, but his hands relax and he is watching her again. "I agree that a certain amount of transparency is needed, but so is the ability to control who knows what information. Or would you trust the fate of those looking for justice to the same mob that enjoys seeing people attacked by hawks?"

"That is what Phoenix's Jurist System does, you know." Hera tries to speak gently, teasingly. "And the way that people act in anonymous crowds is very rarely the way they react when given power over someone's future."

"Really?" Miles studies her with weary eyes. "From most of what I've seen, those given power are quite prone to abusing it."

"Not all of them. Not the ones I'm seeing take power right now." Hera nods in the direction of her appointment book. "Though if there's something you'd like to talk about..."

"No. I'm doing... relatively well. Provided Blackquill, Justice, and Cykes come out of this intact, I will be... satisfied with the job we did."

Not happy. Not content, because two men are dead, their lives sacrificed in service to truth and justice, and more people hurt, but satisfied, because they did eventually arrive at the truth. They have at least prevented the Phantom from claiming any more victims, twisting any more lives, and with the information they pry from him they will hopefully be able to save more. Enough to make up for the lives that have been lost and the pain that has been dealt?

"It's not arithmetic." Hera sighs, leaning against the wall, feeling as tired as Miles looks for a moment. "It's messy and complicated and painful, trying to figure out if you've made the right decisions. If the lives lost and the pain that's accumulated is a fair price for what's been won. For the truth that's been found, the peace that's been bought with more nightmares."

"It's what we agreed to, when we chose these paths. When we decide to fight for justice, for truth, we accept that sometimes the truth will be terrible. We accept that sometimes justice will involve a noose, that the price for everyone else sleeping soundly will be that often we don't." Miles' voice is low but strong, sure and certain as he makes his statements. "Duty and nightmares... but we make the world a better, safer place."

"You do. And the more people fighting together, the more shoulders sharing the burdens, the less the pain for each." Hera brushes her hand against his. "They're going to be all right. Blackquill. Justice. Cykes. They're strong and, more than that, they've got a pretty damn solid support network thanks to a certain prosecutor and a certain defense attorney."

"It's good to hear you say that." Miles smiles, and some of the tiredness fades from his face as he does.

"Hey, I'm just giving my professional opinion." Hera returns his smile. "Though that doesn't mean the L-ACT and I are going to stop pressuring you to help us see some more reforms brought about."

"I'm not sure they'll be needed. We've never really gotten to see how the system works without corruption. Now that we have a chance... perhaps things will be better."

"And perhaps the fact that there's been so much corruption is a sign that the system needs to be changed." Hera fixes him with a stern look. "You said it yourself—justice that ends in the noose. There's a growing movement that says death isn't justice."

"I would say that's because they haven't gotten the pleasure of personally meeting such fine specimens of humanity as Damon Gant and Kristoph Gavin." Miles' mouth twists, a grimace of distaste as though he's bitten into something sour.

"You know his brother's impending execution—impending for years—is one of the reasons Klavier's having so much trouble?"

"Client confidentiality, Ms. Pyst." Miles' voice is a sharp warning.

Hera winces. "Sorry. I'll apologize to Mr. Gavin."

"Do that." Miles' eyes fall away from hers. "Though, as it happens, I do know. And... understand. I visited Manfred von Karma several times in prison, before he... accelerated his execution. I was, overall, quite pleased with his sentence, but there were times, particularly when talking with Franziska... ah, it's a complicated topic."

"It is. One that we're going to be talking about quite a bit." Hera sighs. "But not, I think, before we've tackled the question of transparency. And the use of physical force in the courtroom."

Miles gives her a bow and a blinding smile. "I will be happy to grace the L-ACT with my presence and discuss your concerns at the nearest opportunity. You'll find I can be quite persuasive."

"You can be." Hera can't help a snort of laughter. "Though be careful how much you turn up the charm. Not everyone there is as aware of your positioning on the Kinsey scale as I am, and you're still quite the celebrity."

"Perhaps it would be better if I were to delegate that task to Klavier, then. Prosecutor Gavin is rather more adept at dealing with adoring fans."

"Whatever else may be said about prosecutors, they don't lack for self confidence." Hera shakes her head, wondering at how so many of them manage to harbor lakes full of guilt alongside an absolute belief in their own abilities. "Though I would like to lodge a complaint. I was worried enough about the legal system before all this. Now I know that, if I were lucky enough to have a prosecutor and a defense attorney who both cared about getting to the truth, there's a very good likelihood something horrible and scarring either has happened to or will be shortly happening to one or both of them."

Miles shrugs. "But they'll still probably arrive at the truth."

Hera sighs. "Remind me never to do anything illegal. I suspect that somehow a parking ticket could result in hideous disaster. And make sure that the insurance coverage your people get has ample mental health coverage."

"Oh, I will." Miles claps her on the shoulder. "Now that we have a functioning, non-corrupt legal system again, I would rather like to keep it that way."

"Good." Hera nods towards the bathroom. "You might want to go find Simon now, make sure Taka hasn't gotten tangled in toilet paper or something."

"I am right here, Ms. Pyst." As if on cue Simon strides back to Miles' side, stroking Taka's neck as he does. "And ready to leave whenever the Chief Prosecutor is ready."

"Come." Pulling his keys from his pocket, Miles heads toward the door. "Have a good evening, Ms. Pyst. I'm sure we'll be seeing each other again."

"Good evening, Prosecutor Edgeworth. Prosecutor Blackquill." Before she can think of what else to say the two men are striding away, Simon a pace behind Miles, Taka's head turning left and right as he studies their surroundings.

Heading back to her desk, she attempts to put her notes about Simon Blackquill into order, knowing that she will need every edge she can get during their next session.

She smiles as she does, though, hoping that maybe, just maybe, if all these good people keep working together, they will be able to create a world that is worthy of the pain it has caused.