This is a direct sequel to the fic "Justice Never Sleeps" by Evil Icing. Although you don't have to read it to understand everything here, I would recommend it just to get an idea of Simon's side of things, and just how far it went physically between them. Cover photo is by my wonderful Blackbright buddy, tumblr user Morpheusdreamt.
Even if they hadn't kissed, Bobby decided, he still would have pursued this case as unrelentingly as he had been for close to a month.
That was the conclusion he reached as he pulled into the parking lot of the prison, summoned away from what would have been another day of attempting to interview Ms. Blackquill.
(Maybe this time she wouldn't have told him to take his justice and do something very lewd and quite frankly, impossible, with it!)
The moment Bobby entered the prison, the warden stormed up to him and launched into a disgusted tirade about how Prosecutor Blackquill had acted out for the third time this week. Bobby caught a few key phrases –
More serious. Medical treatment. For absolutely no reason.
– but the rest was a colorfully obscene blur that he mostly tuned out.
Because there was a reason, not just Prosecutor Blackquill's blackened soul thirsting for whatever chaos it could find or create, as the warden relayed the words Prosecutor Blackquill had provided for his motivation.
But Bobby couldn't just tell the warden that he knew it was all a scripted fabrication, how someone so destitute of morality could not have kissed Bobby the way Prosecutor Blackquill had kissed him that fateful day over three weeks ago.
While detouring by his apartment, Bobby and Prosecutor Blackquill had ended up investigating more than the whereabouts of Bobby's misplaced badge.
Prosecutor Blackquill's breath mixing with his own through kisses desperate and curious; the briefest contact against his thigh where Bobby knew Prosecutor Blackquill would not stop this until it went as far as it possibly could go, and therefore he'd better be the one to end it (and then, sadly, did)...
Bobby hadn't been quite the same since, and neither, apparently, had Prosecutor Blackquill.
For all Bobby strove to be a positive influence on however much remained of Prosecutor Blackquill's life, he hadn't expected the most encouraging development of all to have the complete opposite effect, shooting all the progress they'd made down in flames.
As he approached the medical wing, Bobby still clung to the hope Prosecutor Blackquill always sneered at him for holding so firmly to. This time, the hope told him to keep on believing not just in that kiss, but in what he'd learned in his time researching UR-1, about who Simon Blackquill really was.
Because perhaps Simon Blackquill was remembering it as well – who he was six years ago, and still was now, in this very moment.
But if only Bobby could stop Prosecutor Blackquill from allowing himself to be punished for it!
No, no. That wasn't right. There was no "if", not when it came to justice! Bobby would ensure Prosecutor Blackquill understood by the end of their time together today, that justice was in his corner and that meant – could only mean – revealing to Prosecutor Blackquill how he'd utilized the bulk of his hours away from the prison over the past three weeks.
He inhaled a deep, steadying breath, inching open the medical wing door and taking his first steps towards the kind of justice that mattered most to him.
Justice no one else cared enough to fight for.
Prosecutor Blackquill lay in his cot, staring blankly at the ceiling as if in a trance. He paid no mind to Bobby, who sank into a chair in the corner of the room, a few steps from the cot.
A white butterfly bandage covered the edge of Prosecutor Blackquill's brow, stitches peeking out beneath it. But other than the dark circles rimming his eyes, he appeared... alright? Or at least, the damage wasn't nearly as severe as Bobby had feared based on all the heated profanity the warden had used.
Prosecutor Blackquill's interlaced hands rested upon his torso, knuckles scratched up a fresh angry scarlet. He obviously hadn't much experience with hand-to-hand combat, not the warrior he so proudly bragged he was.
He was someone else; perhaps, the studious and introverted young lawyer whom Director Cosmos described as always wearing a faint smile, especially when talking with Dr. Cykes. Or maybe the young man Mr. Terran had only met once or twice, but easily recollected how well he seemed to get along with Dr. Cykes's daughter, who shied away from everyone else.
Whoever he was, Bobby wanted to grab him by the arms, hold him steady and close and keep any more of him from falling apart.
Finally, Prosecutor Blackquill spoke, tired and disinterested as if waking from a deep sleep. "Did they provide you with reason behind why I, as they've worded it, 'lashed out'?"
"I'd like to hear it from you, Sir."
"Hmph. It was nothing more than an old-fashioned scuffle between criminals. What else would you expect from degenerates such as ourselves?"
Bobby had caught that much during the warden's spittle-filled rant. How, (allegedly, of course) another inmate had questioned Prosecutor Blackquill about when his sister would be visiting him again, because she was so pretty, and would look even prettier when -
Well, that was never iterated, because Prosecutor Blackquill had already lunged at him and sent the both of them crashing to the floor.
And while Bobby could fully comprehend a man wanting to protect his sister's name – even a sister that he was on highly unstable terms with – he couldn't believe in this version of Prosecutor Blackquill, so readily engaging in an endless string of skirmishes. If attacked, certainly he would defend himself, but Prosecutor Blackquill was never the one who struck the first blow. His most dangerous weapons were his mind and words, not his fists or any instruments he could wield; rare for a convicted murderer, except...
...Bobby was having trouble believing that now, too.
"Sir, the problem is that it's become... frequent. It's not like you. You've been much more volatile in recent weeks, and... it's just raised concern, is all."
"Not enough concern to warrant you saying anything until today."
So he'd taken note – not that Bobby expected anything less from Prosecutor Blackquill. Bobby had so thoroughly dedicated himself to UR-1 that he'd kept a safe distance from Prosecutor Blackquill, outside of transporting him to various appointments and meetings, lest he be tempted to blurt out all the information he'd gathered.
But that didn't place the blame on him; ultimately, it was Prosecutor Blackquill who was intent on behaving so childishly.
"Alright, so I'm asking you, today, if you could tell me why this has been happening lately. If there's some cause for... all this. I know what you told the warden but..." He thought better of moving closer, of doing anything to disturb the calmness that had settled upon the room. "But you can tell me if... if there's something bothering you. You know that."
Silence. Bobby knew how this worked; he couldn't argue with a statement never given. Prosecutor Blackquill didn't want to talk about it, so he wouldn't, and he'd keep not talking about it until the other person decided not to, either.
It was manipulative, and in Bobby's opinion, nothing short of disrespectful.
Bobby dropped the empathetic, friendly approach, addressing Prosecutor Blackquill like he would a misbehaving schoolkid. "Okay, well, then you can tell the therapist, because starting next Tuesday you'll be going to two counselling sessions a week."
Prosecutor Blackquill opened his eyes and scoffed, amused. "Tch. No. I will not."
"Yes, you will."
"I said, no, Fool Bright, and -"
"And not 'no', Prosecutor Blackquill! That's not for you to decide at this point. You already made your decision by getting into these fights. Like I said, your next appointment is this coming Tuesday, at four."
"I'll be sure to hang myself around three, then."
Bobby was obligated to report these threats, even though he knew this was just Prosecutor Blackquill's dark sense of humor. Then, of course, Prosecutor Blackquill would (as he always did) twist and mold Bobby's adherence to policy as a betrayal of trust.
And Prosecutor Blackquill knew there were very few things that irritated Bobby like being accused of something so awful and unjust as betrayal. So this one time, Bobby decided he'd overlook it. After all that he meant to tell Prosecutor Blackquill later on, he'd be accused of betrayal to a much higher and unforgivable extent.
"Sir, just... forget about your appointments, let's focus on right now. How about we go for a walk? I haven't taken you anywhere this week, so... maybe, Lakefront Park would be a good place to go."
"For what purpose?" Before Bobby could answer, Prosecutor Blackquill all but spat at him, "I do not want your pity, Fool Bright, if this is your attempt to make me 'feel better', or what-have-you. Leave, be gone from my sight – much as you have been over the past fortnight."
This was the second time Prosecutor Blackquill had acknowledged Bobby's recent absence, and it closed a fist around Bobby's heart to think of Prosecutor Blackquill having expected him all those days, and being disappointed when he didn't arrive.
As much as he always demanded otherwise, Bobby had come to understand that Prosecutor Blackquill didn't really want to be left alone - he only believed the false truth that he deserved to be.
"This isn't anything to do with... all that's happened. This is just me thinking you need to get out, and not lie around here or in your cell for the rest of the evening. The weather's fantastic today, and I remember you said Taka likes to fly around at the park a lot, so maybe we'll see him."
"Taka does not want to see me in this condition."
Neither do I, thought Bobby, though what he said was, "He won't care, you know that. I'm going to go with or without you, and I'd... much rather it be with you."
Prosecutor Blackquill's eyes narrowed with suspicion, clearly debating if he should take Bobby's words for a meaning deeper than face value.
"Please, Prosecutor Blackquill. This isn't meant to be part of your rehabilitation, or even an order; this is me honestly requesting you come along, because I'd like it very much if you did."
Prosecutor Blackquill didn't accept Bobby's invitation.
But he didn't reject it either. Merely, he didn't protest as Bobby helped him out of the cot to his feet, and lifted the iron manacles he was always escorted out in.
Prosecutor Blackquill's hands, normally clenched so tightly into fists while in shackles, relaxed as Bobby chained him gently but securely. His fingers flexed out, stretched, ended up brushing against Bobby's own hands as he finished locking the cuffs.
That one shadow of a touch caused Prosecutor Blackquill to tense. The same depthless gaze that haunted Bobby every night as he slipped into sleep was now inches away, drilling into him and, in a quite criminal fashion, stealing away his breath and focus.
Prosecutor Blackquill had to clear his throat, to urge Bobby to lead him out of the medical wing. And Bobby did so – without any sort of apology.
He wasn't sorry. He hadn't been three weeks ago, and he wasn't now.
And today he was going to tell Prosecutor Blackquill he never would be.