Sneakers squeaked against the tile floor, the sound echoing down the empty hall as Arthur continued to run. He pumped his arms and bit down hard on his lip, the muted colors in the hall blurring with the light streaming in through the windows.

He rounded a corner, nearly falling in the process, and then he was off again. His little heart was beating wildly in his chest, and his lungs were starting to hurt from the lack of air, but he didn't want to stop. He wanted to find a place to be alone, in the quiet, where he could curl up and cover his head and forget about everything. He wanted a place where he could take a few deep breaths and wipe his face and stop the flood of tears rolling down his cheeks.

I lied. I lied, and Mr. Edgeworth knows that now. He's gonna be so mad at me, and I don't want him to be mad at me. I don't want him to hit me, I like him. I don't—I just—I wanna go home. I just wanna go home!

Arthur slowed to a stop in the middle of an intersection and began to look around, trying to reorient himself and figure out where he was. He turned in a slow circle, looking down each hallway and wiping his face on his sleeves.

I wanna go home… I wanna go home… I want Daddy…

Thinking about his father made him cry harder, and after another moment spent rubbing his eyes, he started down the hall to his left.

"Arthur!"

Arthur froze, looking up and realizing with horror that he had made a giant circle and wound up heading back toward the courtroom. Mr. Edgeworth had come after him, and instead of coming up behind Arthur, he had gotten in front of him.

"Arthur, there you are."

Arthur pivoted and ran back to the intersection, turning the corner to go in the opposite direction of what he thought was the courtroom. Not that he had a very clear understanding of the layout, and even if he did, how was he supposed to keep track of where he was when every single hall looked exactly the same?

"Arthur, get back here! Arthur!"

Arthur kept running, ducking his head and going as fast as his feet would take him. He licked the blood from his lips and choked back another sob, egged on by the sound of Mr. Edgeworth running behind him.

"Arthur, why are you running away?"

Arthur only tried to go faster, his legs objecting to the attempt immediately.

"Arthur, answer me!"

Mr. Edgeworth's footsteps got faster and closer, and no matter how hard Arthur tried, he couldn't outrun someone with significantly longer legs.

He had almost made it to another corner when his arm was seized in a vice-like grip, forcing him to screech to a halt in the middle of the hall. His heart stopped, and he whirled around on the spot, looking up at Mr. Edgeworth with pure, unadulterated fear in his eyes.

"Don't you ever run off like that again." Mr. Edgeworth leaned over and rested his free hand on his knee, panting from the run. "I was looking all over for you, and I couldn't find you anywhere. You scared me half to death!"

Arthur trembled and tried to find his voice, tugging his arm in an attempt to get free. "I… I just wanted to be alone. I'm s-sorry…"

Mr. Edgeworth shook his head, but he didn't speak right away. He took a moment to catch his breath, and once he was able to stand up straight again, he continued the scolding. "This is not the place to be alone, Arthur, and you should never wander off without permission no matter where you are."

Arthur gulped and hung his head, still pulling on his arm, fresh tears springing up in his eyes. "I'm sorry…" he whispered.

"What if someone had grabbed you and run off?" It was as if Mr. Edgeworth hadn't even heard him. "They could have done any number of horrible things to you. I might never have seen you again."

Arthur sobbed, rubbing his face with his free hand. "I s-said I was sorry."

Mr. Edgeworth sighed and knelt down in front of him, still holding onto his arm. "I know you're sorry, Arthur, and I accept your apology. I just want you to understand the danger you were in. I'm not angry with you, you just… you scared me, that's all."

Arthur stared at the floor, eyes burning and vision blurring. His shoulders shook, saline splashing onto the marble tiles as the sobs his air-deprived lungs couldn't handle began to form.

"Come now, Arthur. You aren't going to cry because of a scolding, are you?"

"You h-hate me, don't you?" Arthur hiccupped, keeping his head down, shame heating his cheeks. "I l-lied to you, and then I r-ran away, and—and—you must hate me!"

"Arthur…"

Arthur covered his face with his hands and screwed his eyes shot, wailing loudly. He felt a pair of firm hands on his shoulders, but they did little to comfort him. If anything, it sent a twinge of fear down his spine.

"Arthur, I don't hate you. You did lie, yes, and lying is wrong, but… this is a very special situation. I don't condone lying, and I won't tolerate it, but you're a child. You are a child in a very adult situation, and…" Mr. Edgeworth let out a sigh, and when Arthur looked up, he was shaking his head. He looked lost, like he didn't know what to say, which was silly, because grown-ups always knew what to say.

"I-I'm really s-sorry, Mr. Edgeworth…" Arthur sniffled and bit down on his lip, watery, blue eyes peering up at Mr. Edgeworth. "I'm really, really s-sorry."

"I know, Arthur, and I forgive you." Mr. Edgeworth offered a small smile and gently tugged the boy's lip out from between his teeth. "Stop that biting. Look at you. You're all cut open and bleeding."

Arthur did stop biting himself, but he couldn't have cared less that his lips were bleeding. His chest was still aching, and his eyes were still stinging, and he still didn't feel like he was deserving of forgiveness.

"H-hold me?" he asked, holding his arms up hesitantly.

Mr. Edgeworth blinked, a surprised look on his face. "I… well, you see… I've never… I'm not really sure how to…" He scratched the back of his neck, glancing away.

"Please?" Arthur almost bit down on his lip, but then he stopped himself, hoping the obedience would be enough to make Mr. Edgeworth want to pick him up.

Mr. Edgeworth looked at him for a moment, and then he looked down at his own hands. He pondered them for a moment, and then he slipped them underneath Arthur's arms. He lifted Arthur from the ground and fumbled for a moment before situating the boy on his hip.

"How's that?"

Arthur threw his arms around Mr. Edgeworth and held on tight. "Th-thank you…"

"Certainly." Mr. Edgeworth cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly, and then he started back down the hall toward the courtroom. "Certainly…"

Arthur went to rest his head on Mr. Edgeworth's chest and jumped when his nose rubbed against the white, ruffled thing on Mr. Edgeworth's neck. "Oops." He bit his lip. "I… I'm sorry, I accidentally wiped my nose on your… thingy."

To Arthur's surprise, Mr. Edgeworth only chuckled and reached up with his free hand to remove it. "Don't worry. It wouldn't be the first time my cravat has been used as a handkerchief." He handed over the soiled, white cloth. "You hold onto that for now, and for goodness' sake, stop biting!"

Arthur quickly stopped chewing and grabbed the cloth tightly. "S-sorry."

Mr. Edgeworth sighed and shook his head. "What am I going to do with you? Hmm?"

Arthur blinked a few times and then shrugged. "I dunno."

Mr. Edgeworth smiled again. "I'll ask Wright to get you some chapstick. Hopefully, he can run the errand before recess is over."

Arthur leaned against Mr. Edgeworth, tired from all his crying and getting colder with every moment he wasn't moving. "I didn't know there was recess. Do we get to play?"

"Uh, no. Well, I suppose you could, but I can't. Recess is supposed to be for the lawyers to look at their evidence and think about the case they want to make." Mr. Edgeworth wrapped his free arm around Arthur's back, situating it a few different times before he had it the way he wanted.

It made Arthur want to laugh. Mr. Edgeworth didn't know how to carry people!

"Mr. Edgeworth… do you… do you believe that I saw what happened?"

Mr. Edgeworth glanced down at him, a quiet sigh escaping his lips. "I want to believe you, Arthur. However… I think there is something you're not telling me, and until you can be completely honest with me, I have to believe the evidence and nothing else."

Arthur sniffled and leaned in a little closer, wiping his nose with the cravat. "You have to believe the evidence?"

Mr. Edgeworth nodded. "I do. That's my job. I look at pictures and fingerprints and forensics, and from all of that, I figure out what happened." He sighed then, a poignant sadness going into his eyes, and he looked down at Arthur with an almost pleading expression. "You understand, don't you? I have to do my job. I don't want to hurt you or your mother, but I can't lie."

Arthur nodded slightly. "I-I know…"

It didn't look like that answer made Mr. Edgeworth feel any better, but the hallway began to fill with noise, and as they drew closer to the crowd, Arthur was unable to find his voice.

I'm sorry… I'm really, really sorry…

And he really, really was.


It was difficult for Edgeworth to pull his attention away from Arthur long enough to focus on the trial, but his constant self-reminders that Arthur was with Wright managed to curb the separation anxiety.

He's fine. He's safe. He's with a reliable guardian—relatively speaking—getting chapstick and maybe a little something to eat. Everything is fine.

"Has the prosecution made any changes to their opening statement?"

"There is nothing to change, Your Honor." Edgeworth chuckled and shook his head, allowing himself a little bit of mockery at the defense's expense. "Lack of a witness, in this case, means lack of corroboration for the defendant's own claims. The State is still charging Alyssa Coleman with murder in the second degree."

"Very well." The judge nodded thoughtfully. "Has the defense made any changes to their plea?"

"No, Your Honor." Stevenson shook his head, staring Edgeworth down from the other side of the courtroom. "The defense is still pleading not guilty under the pretense of justifiable homicide."

The judge looked back to Edgeworth. "Well, Prosecutor Edgeworth, do you have a witness to call?"

Edgeworth nodded his head. "Seeing as the case has come down to physical evidence for the time being, the prosecution would like to call Detective Dick Gumshoe back to the stand to reiterate the physical findings in the Coleman apartment."

Gumshoe, who apparently hadn't realized that was the next logical move to make, startled rather loudly and clambered his way up to the witness stand.

"Detective," Edgeworth started, inwardly counting backwards from ten to give himself a pinch of patience. "Please testify to the court regarding the physical evidence of this case."

Gumshoe nodded enthusiastically. "Right, pal! I mean, Prosecutor Edgeworth!"

Oh, sweet mercy from heaven above, help me.

"Well, after we detained the defendant and got a medic in with the kid, I started lookin' around at the scene. Mr. Coleman's body was in the bedroom, propped up against the bed like in that picture I showed you."

Edgeworth handed a copy up to the judge to head off any unnecessary questions.

"There was a bookshelf and a mirror and a bunch of jewelry on the floor. Real big mess there in the bedroom. Rest of the house was cluttered, but it didn't look like there were any more signs of a struggle. We got the hunting rifle from the closet, sent the body away with the coroner, and waited for forensics to finish up. There wasn't nothin' special about the forensics of the scene, and the ballistic markings that came back for the bullet showed it came from the hunting rifle we found."

Edgeworth somehow made it through the entire testimony without having a coronary or demanding a recess or both. "Yes… thank you, Detective. Um… if the defense would like to… cross-examine."

Stevenson nodded, his expression torn between annoyance and bewilderment. If nothing else, he at least shared Edgeworth's sentiments on Gumshoe's lack of professionalism or… intelligence in general.

"Uh…" Stevenson shook his head. "Detective, I'd like to press your first statement. You said you detained the defendant at the scene. Why?"

Gumshoe tilted his head to the side and scratched his neck, confused. "Huh?"

Stevenson collected himself and tried again. "You can't detain someone unless you have a reason to believe the homicide wasn't justified. What reason did you have for detaining the defendant, if any?"

"Oh!" Gumshoe smiled widely, apparently understanding what was wanted of him. "Well, to be honest, there wasn't any hard evidence, but I did have reason to believe somethin' wasn't quite right. See, you lawyers deal with murder trials all the time, but there are lotsa cases that don't make it all the way to the courtroom, especially when it comes to battered women. They don't wanna testify against their husbands or boyfriends, and sometimes, that's true even when the abuser is dead. They get so psychologically beaten down, see, so they don't think it's worth defending themselves, or they think nobody'll believe'em."

Gumshoe nodded in the general direction of the defendant's chair. "She didn't look or act like a battered wife. No bruises, no blood, no scars, no bloodshot eyes—heck, she wasn't even crying when I got there." Gumshoe rubbed the back of his neck again and shrugged his shoulders. "I volunteer at a women's shelter on my weekends, and I'm pretty used to interacting with abused women. The defendant just… wasn't acting how a battered woman would have acted. It might just be a fluke, but it was weird enough that I thought somethin' was fishy."

Edgeworth blinked, surprised by the response for multiple reasons. For one, Gumshoe had inferred suspicion from observation rather than plain-as-day, in-your-face, stone-cold, factual evidence. For another, he had no idea Gumshoe spent his free time helping battered women, and despite his disparaging opinion of the detective's lacking IQ, he had to admired the all-consuming desire to help others.

"So, what you're saying is, you arrested the defendant on a gut feeling?"

Edgeworth glared at Stevenson, fully prepared to knock him on his backside, but Gumshoe beat him to it with a round of foot-stomping and a shout.

"Hey, pal! Nothing is more accurate than a detective's gut!"

Edgeworth rolled his eyes. "I believe what the good detective is trying to say is that his experience lead him to believe something was amiss at the scene of the crime."

Stevenson shook his head. "That's not good enough. You need probable cause."

Edgeworth chuckle and shrugged his shoulders. "In a murder trial, the defense attempts to place a reasonable doubt within the mind of the judge. This detective had a reasonable doubt that the client was innocent. I think that is plenty reason to warrant an arrest."

"It's innocent until proven guilty, not the other way around. You're comparing apples and oranges, Mr. Edgeworth, and so is your detective." Stevenson extended a finger to point at Gumshoe, eyes blazing. "Detective, did you or did you not have probable cause to arrest this woman?"

Gumshoe's brow scrunched up, and he looked between Edgeworth and Stevenson as if they were both crazy. "Uh, weren't you listening?"

Stevenson frowned. "What?"

"No bruises, no blood, no scars. You can't shoot someone for yellin' at you, pal, or a lot more people would be dead." He shrugged his shoulders. "I told you about my gut feeling 'cause it plays an big part in makin' sense of what I see, but she was still in perfect condition for a lady who was supposedly fearing for her life."

Edgeworth smirked slightly, whipping up a mental note to raise the detective's pay somewhere in the near future, and looked across the room. "Satisfied?"

Stevenson glared at him, but he turned back to Gumshoe and pursued another statement nonetheless. "Detective, you said you didn't see any signs of a struggle in the rest of the apartment. Did you see anything odd or out of place at all?"

Gusmhoe rubbed his chin and looked up at the ceiling, humming loudly as he thought over the question. "Hmm… hmm… lemme… hmm…"

Edgeworth pinched the bridge of his nose. Perhaps a raise is a little much. I shouldn't get carried away. Still, he made no attempt to cut off the detective's long-winded thinking spell.

"I don't think so, pal. Um, I remember the kitchen was awful messy. I was trying to find something for the kid to snack on to try and calm him down, but the fridge was pretty bare. I did find some candies, but he didn't want those, which I thought was weird, because they tasted great…"

Stevenson sighed and began to massage his temple. "Let me guess. You had a gut feeling about the kitchen, too?"

Gumshoe nodded slowly, almost absently. "Yeah, I kinda did. It didn't fit, just like the defendant. Battered women usually keep a real clean house, always have the dishes and laundry done, because they don't want to tick of their husband or boyfriend. But this kitchen was a downright mess, and the kid didn't want to go anywhere near it. There was a lot of beer in the fridge, too."

Stevenson motioned for more information. "And…?"

"Oh, I guess that's it. Just—yanno, the kid said his mom was yellin' at his dad for drinking. I figured if she didn't want him drinking, she wouldn't have two twelve-packs in the fridge, or she would at least have some juice or tea or something. But nope. Just beer. I just thought it was funny." Gumshoe shrugged his shoulders and laughed in that dopey, nervous way he often did.

Edgeworth frowned, looking down at his notes. That does sound a bit strange. Perhaps I need to go back to the crime scene and do a little investigating of my own.

"Mr. Stevenson, does this line of questioning hold any relevance to the case?" the judge asked.

Stevenson shook his head with an irritated sigh. "No, Your Honor, it would appear not."

"Objection!" Edgeworth threw his pointer finger out and, after a brief smirk, wagged it condescendingly. "Not so. I would say there are some oddities to be seen in the house that weren't investigated thoroughly enough. Why doesn't the house match up with the typical home of an abusive male-on-female dynamic? Why didn't Arthur want to go into his own kitchen, when the only thing on his mind should have been the horror he just witnessed? Furthermore, we need to investigate the scene of the crime, the clutter and fallen furniture, and attempt to figure out whether the signs of a struggle were real. Because they were either faked, or the witness isn't actually a witness, and I think it would be rather foolish to continue the trial before we know for certain whether or not this case even has a witness."

The judge nodded thoughtfully while Stevenson sent a deadly glare across the room. Edgeworth simply smiled and waited, glancing up at the judge's stand when the old man began to speak.

"Yes, yes, I can see the logic in this."

Stevenson rolled his eyes. "He's buying time."

"What's that?" the judge turned to look at the defense, his ear tilted toward the desk.

"Nothing, Your Honor. I think your ears were tricking you." Stevenson smiled sweetly.

The judge nodded. "Oh, yes, yes. Of course." He cleared his throat then and picked up his gavel. "Very well! We will reconvene tomorrow at eight a.m. precisely. You have until then to gather more evidence and speak at length with any potential witnesses. Adjourned!"

The gavel came down, and Edgeworth held Stevenson's stare for a moment longer. Then he grabbed his case files and walked to the exit, snagging Gumshoe's arm as he passed.

"Come with me. I managed to buy some time, but it isn't much, and we have a lot to investigate."

"Yes, sir, Prosecutor Edgeworth, sir!"

He had more than a lot to investigate. He had to get clothing for Arthur, look into the note Wright had given him before the trial, go over the updated case files, talk to people, have potential lab tests run, perhaps make a trip to the coroner, and somewhere in all of that he had to keep Arthur happy, fed, occupied, clean—oh, goodness, clean, Arthur needed a bath, did he even have soap?—and he had less than twenty-four hours to do it all.

That's alright. It's fine. I still have everything under control.

He ran a hand through his hair, bangs falling back into place after his fingers trailed through.

I have everything under control.