So, since I'm twenty-three and yet I still can come down with a case of chicken pox, there goes chapter two.


Two

Though his profession often demanded unreasonable hours, he could never really get used to how the city looked after twilight.

It felt a bit like the warped negative of a photo, everything you knew transformed and twisted. Bright buildings and pleasant street signs were repainted in duller shades, cut only by the garish shine of the neon lights; the strength of the crowd – that comforting sense of belonging among the masses of businessmen going to work – disappeared in the emptiness of the streets, and the thin figures who walked in that world weren't friends. Weren't safe.

More than usual, going down the street towards the Detention Center felt like diving into the metaphorical rabbit hole, and Miles couldn't help but wonder how Wright moved so easily in there, with only the night as company.

Then again, as a pianist and poker player, Wright was a part of that world now.

The thought made something tighten inside Miles' chest.

He parked the car in the Detention Center's underground garage, exactly forty-three minutes after Detective Skye placed her call. Finding where to park was easy; there were only five or so cars in there, and no guard he could see patrolling the premises. Miles gave the scene a cursory glance – no chiefs of police with bodies to store in his car around – and wasted no more time in getting out, towards the elevator. He paused only to check his cravat in his car's mirror; he needed every bit of the fearsome prosecutor persona if he wanted to see Wright before the dawn.

Fingers snaked around his wrist.

Miles whipped around to see Kristoph Gavin there, a curt fake smile on his lips as he stood by the prosecutor's car – his hand hanging limply in the air as Miles tore his wrist off his clammy grip.

"I did not mean to startle you," were his first words, and they sounded empty when the coldness of his touch was spreading through Miles like a disease. "I apologize, Edgeworth."

The prosecutor did nothing to disguise how much he'd disliked the invasion to his personal space, favoring Gavin with his haughtiest glare.

Gavin was dressed as usual, blue suit impeccable enough to impress – but not enough to stand out like the showy purple things his younger brother wore to court. The arms that had reached for Miles were now crossed; whereas anyone else would have been bothered by Miles' straightforwardness, the defense attorney's smile hadn't moved an inch.

"I thought Detective Skye would call you," Gavin said serene. "Distressed as she was, it must have seemed like a logical course."

The prosecutor had to swallow the anger back, remind himself not to pick up a fight with someone who was, for all effects, on Wright's side. "She informed me of the situation. Are you Wright's defense?"

"Naturally. He called me as soon as he realized he was, so to say, in dire straits." There was no mistaking the smugness in his voice. "I have done the best I could, of course, but there was no evading the arrest."

He couldn't understand why Gavin seemed so pleased – but there were more important things to worry about. "Perhaps you can give me details before I go to see Wright? I want to know what I can do."

The man's hand went up to adjust his glasses; his lenses reflected the fluorescent light and made him look inhumane for a second.

"Edgeworth… before you go see Wright, I need to talk to you."

'I need to talk to you' ranked among the expressions Miles hated the most; not only was it perfectly devoid of useful information, the words always seemed to carry a promised of bad things to come – things like long conversations with Detective Gumshoe about his relationship with Ms. Byrde, listening to Franziska's endless complaining, or the one time Wright called him at night, with a quivering voice—

He did not need any more bad omens that night. "What is it?"

Gavin looked to one side, then the other. The gesture had something of theatrical in it. "I don't think this is the appropriate place."

"What—"

"Do you really want to discuss details of the crime in the Detention Center's underground garage?" The defense attorney raised his eyebrows.

Miles did not find a ready answer for that, other than "No."

"Good. There's a 24 Hour café just around the corner. The tea is acceptable, and our conversation will likely go unheard."

Every instinct in Miles' body screamed there was something suspicious about all that, and the prosecutor's hands curled into fists. "Gavin, I appreciate the offer, but I really need to see Wright – I told Detective Skye I was going to check on him. We'll talk afterwards."

And, resolutely, he turned to leave – but froze in place as Gavin's hand went up in the air, stopping short of touching him.

"Wait – Edgeworth."

There was a tone of urgency in the defense attorney's voice, one Miles had never heard in all the years since he had met the man. A glimpse of Wright – a brief daydream of the Borscht Bowl Club and what Wright might have done – flashed through Miles' mind; unwillingly, unwisely, he stopped to listen.

"This is not – these are not usual circumstances," Gavin said. His expression was deadly serious. "I believe there's a lot more to this case than it seems like at first sight. When it comes to Phoenix Wright – I must say sometimes I don't know what goes through his head, and this time I – I'm afraid. I am afraid."

The fluorescent light drew strange patterns in Gavin's hand.

Those were lies. The Kristoph Gavin Miles knew would never want to look vulnerable in front of a prosecutor – let alone admit weakness or defeat. He did not know exactly where the defense attorney was leading to, but from his point of view it looked like some sort of cover-up for the real reason why he'd waited for Miles in that parking lot –a trap.

But even if it was a trap…

"Please, Edgeworth. I need to talk with you."

…how many opportunities would he get to see more into Gavin?

The defense attorney had always been an elusive figure to him – a man who for no reason at all had destroyed Wright's career, who had suddenly taken over so much of his friend's life, the dangerous opponent in Wright's never-ending last case. Miles had done his part and stayed his hand as he was asked… but there was something poisonous about that mystery, and he would not see Wright destroyed by it.

If a chance to find clues presented itself – how could he not take it?

"…Very well, Gavin. Lead the way."


I was in doubt about when to split the fic into chapters, so every scene is a chapter. That's why it's so short. Chapter three has more content!

Please tell me what you thought!