Disclaimer: Capcom doesn't need any help with narumitsu fanfiction they write their own it's called ace attorney.
The first time, it wasn't expected, but it wasn't much of a surprise. They'd just won one of the most important trials of their lives. The relief is palpable in the air, but it is woven with a thread of grief.
So Miles Edgeworth is not so surprised when he turns to congratulate Maya Fey, and all he can hear is the rattling of chains as they snake across her body, halting with a malicious finality as two intricate locks materialise.
His thought processes hyperventilate. His facial expression freezes. Luckily for him, that's a rather normal occurrence.
She's just been declared not guilty of murdering her long-lost mother.
Her dead sister's boyfriend isn't.
Her cousin who formerly dated Wright is in jail for being an accomplice to murder.
Her other cousin, who also dated Wright, was channelled as a netherworld spirit tried to kill everyone and is now gone for good.
His head still hurts. Of course she has some secrets.
Then, followed by Wright must be nearby, which was absurd because he'd been dragged to the restaurant by none other than Wright himself, and said man was thanking Gumshoe across the table.
He tries not to look at her for the rest of the evening.
It's only as he's unlocking the front door of his apartment that he realises he hadn't asked her a question at all.
... ... ... ...
He doesn't want to ask Miss Fey. He knows the Psycholocks only appear when you're interrogating a witness.
He's seeing them everywhere.
As Franziska turns to the departure gates, the chains jangle, he wants to grab her shoulder and shake her and ask her what is it but he knows he has no explanation for himself.
He's given up wondering how he can see them without the magatama in the vicinity. He's given up wondering how to break the locks… and if he wants to.
He's never stopped wondering how many are on himself.
He drowns himself in work, the only distraction he knows of. Europe calls. He finds he doesn't want to leave, so he doesn't. But there is a little voice at the back of his head that tells him maybe if he did, they would go away.
It saps at his life and his enthusiasm and the motivation that brought him to where he is. The day he sees them on Gumshoe he very precisely puts all his case files into his briefcase and makes for the stairs. No one is overly surprised; there are always meetings to attend and investigations to be conducted. Everyone knows he'll be back.
His shoes slap the stone stairwell.
He concentrates on not tripping, and is mildly disappointed when twelve flights of stairs open into the lobby.
The briefcase goes in the car. He just walks out into the sunlight and to the blissful anonymity of unknown people in the street.
He's tried his best not to meet anyone he knows.
He hasn't seen Wright since.
He doesn't want to. Most of him doesn't want to.
There is a small part that tells him maybe Wright could help. He ignores it.
He goes home.
... ... ... ...
It's when he sees them on perfect strangers that he realises he's had enough. The waitress who served him tea. The cashier at the bookstore. The driver of the utility next to his car when the lights are red.
He catches the next train to Kurain.
Miss Fey is understandably surprised to see him, but she isn't the type to dwell. The locks are still on her, but he's learned to not show it on his face.
He would ignore them, but they tug on his mind and spirit with relentless abandon.
It does cause some concentration issues.
"Edgeworth… Edgeworth!" says Miss Fey. The "Mister" prefix had been dropped somewhere after the second sentence. She's probably picked it up from Wright. "Wow, you're spaced out today. Is there something I can help you with?"
He looks her in the eye. "No."
And he sighs in relief as he sees her eyes widen.
"How many?" he asks.
"Three," says Maya Fey.
"Why," he asks, "can I see them on other people?"
She doesn't know. He shouldn't be able to. Maybe he's just more sensitive to their presence. His heart sinks again as he realises she cannot tell him how to make them go away.
He turns to leave, and she grabs his wrist.
"Your psyche-locks," she says, and hesitates. "You'll have to unlock them yourself."
He expected that.
"I'm sorry," she whispers.
He's unsettled her.
He thanks her cordially and sits at the train station for two hours.
He doesn't know what the keys are.
... ... ... ...
The Wright and Co. Law Offices are strangely desolate. Strangely so because Wright is actually standing there, but the look in his eyes is terrifyingly blank.
"Edgeworth," he says. "Why did you choose today?"
He doesn't know how to respond to that. He wants to leave; he wants to leave now, before…
These chains sound particularly sinister as they trace Wright's limbs and crisscross over his torso.
Five.
And they are locked so tight Wright is clearly incapable of moving.
His eyes narrow. Something is wrong. Probably an understatement. But he has nothing, so he says nothing except,
"I'm leaving today."
Wright's eyes widen. The chains tighten. Edgeworth winces.
"…Why?"
He doesn't need to look at Wright to know that his own jailors are encircling him. Wright has lost none of his intuition.
"I…"
Two steps and he's back at the door. Wright doesn't move.
I'm sorry.
He doesn't quite make it.
... ... ... ...
When he watches the news that night he picks up his cell phone but the locks won't leave his mind.
... ... ... ...
He doesn't know what it'll accomplish, but the tickets are booked before he can reconsider.
When his new subordinate walks into his old-new office, he thinks he's seen everything. But his expression control is stretched to the limit when he looks at Klavier Gavin.
Klavier Gavin is scarred.
His arms and his neck – the only visible parts of skin – are marred with an imprint of chains.
His shoulders are newly squared, as if a great weight has been lifted from his shoulders.
There are no locks on him.
Edgeworth has been keeping up to date. He knows what this young man has been through.
He, for the first time in a long time, feels a semblance of hope.
"It's nice to meet you, Prosecutor Edgeworth," says Klavier. An accent. German. "Your reputation precedes you."
He rises and extends a hand. "Likewise."
... ... ... ...
By nightfall he's in Kurain. Maya Fey – the Master, he reminds himself – has a myriad of questions.
But first she slaps him once, very hard, in the face.
He supposes he deserves it.
He can hear one lock shatter as he looks at Gregory Edgeworth's face.
... ... ... ...
He's in the court building the next day. He can't bring himself to leave, but he's not entirely sure what he's doing.
There's a young man standing at the vending machines and it looks as if he's struggling with his trouser pockets.
Out of them come endless streams of colourful handkerchiefs.
Edgeworth can hear several expletives, then a quiet sob of frustration. "Trucy…" the young man moans.
Edgeworth taps him on the shoulder and drops some change into the man's hand. His wide eyes remind him of someone he used to know.
"Are you sure…?" he asks. Edgeworth glares at him. "Ah… thanks." He rests his hand on the back of his head and laughs embarrassedly. "I think… my wallet's been replaced. Apollo Justice, by the way." Edgeworth shakes his hand.
"You're a defence attorney."
Justice gives him an odd look. "Yes."
"Mr Justice," says Edgeworth. He doesn't care that they've just met; he has the same aura, the same vivacity and passion. He's tired of waiting for answers. "Why do you do what you do?" He needs to know.
Justice jumps up with a well-rehearsed line. "Hey! They're not all guilty, you know!" He flushes and collects himself. "Well… you know… it's something you need to find for yourself, I suppose." He laughs again. "I… I search for the truth. And sometimes the journey isn't as straightforward as it seems, but when you get there you realise it was all worth it. The guilty-not guilty thing… that's just incidental."
He pauses. "I don't know why I'm saying this to someone I just met, you probably think I'm weird." He becomes distant. "It's just that you remind me of someone I know."
"Polly!" The call comes from down the hallway.
Back to reality. "I've got to go," he says, checking his watch. "Trial starts in five minutes."
His eyes look at Edgeworth again. Edgeworth has trouble holding the gaze.
"It's been nice talking to you, Mr Prosecutor," says Apollo Justice.
He stands there for another few minutes until he notices the shards of psyche-lock lying around his feet. He moves a foot; steps on them, and they crush into nothing beneath him.
... ... ... ...
He opens the door and walks into the office.
Wright's sitting at his desk… actually doing work. He looks closer. He's studying.
The bar exam.
Edgeworth hesitates.
"You're not Polly," says Wright, head still over his books. "You're definitely not Trucy."
"Cut it out," says Edgeworth. It's been seven years, and his impatience is running out. "You know exactly who I am." It's been seven years, but he has no doubts.
"How many did I have?" asks Wright, and he looks up, leaning back against his ratty office chair and flipping shut his notes.
Edgeworth blinks. This Wright is the same… but different.
He's found himself.
"Maya finally told me," Wright says. "I should never have asked it of you."
"Don't you dare, "says Edgeworth. "Don't you dare…"
He stops, and takes a breath. "Five. But…"
He had read the transcript of the court trial; in his mind, he could see Wright's psyche-locks shattering one by one.
He knows there is one left.
Wright closes his eyes and tilts his head back. His right hand does a flick and suddenly the magatama is on the desk.
Chains rattle as Wright steps round his desk to face Edgeworth.
Wright is covered in scars.
Just as many as Prosecutor Gavin.
Seven years' worth.
He closes his eyes so he doesn't have to look at them. And because he doesn't want to start crying.
One lock.
He was right.
"So, Edgeworth," says Wright, and his voice is quiet without being a whisper. Edgeworth can tell his lock is visible, too. The last one. "Do you want to present evidence, or should I?"
"Shut up," says Edgeworth. "You don't have any evidence."
"This is the part where I bluff." Wright is completely unfazed.
"This," says Edgeworth, "is the part where I call your bluff -" and he grabs Wright's shirt and kisses him once, very hard, on the mouth.
The locks shatter, and he knows in that instant he will never have to hear a psyche-lock break ever again.