Act Four

The angel stared at Diego in shock. Then he leaped to his feet, his face a mask of rage. "Don't you talk about Miles–"

Diego calmly stepped back, out of punching range. "Now look who's ready to throw hands." He had another sip of coffee. "Is punching me going to solve anything, Mr. Attorney?"

Gregory Edgeworth huffed, but then relaxed, letting his fists uncurl and his arms hang limply by his sides.

"You don't want me to talk about your son," Diego remarked. "But you talk about Mia as if she had no free will of her own. What should I do about that, amigo?"

Gregory looked up at him.

"You don't understand," he said, an edge creeping into his voice. "I lied. I never saw who killed me. If I'd told the truth, Misty Fey wouldn't have been disgraced. She wouldn't have had to leave her village. Mia Fey would never have become a lawyer–"

Diego regarded his half-full coffee mug for a moment, then threw it at him.

"Objection!"

Gregory ducked just in time, the mug sailing within inches of his head to shatter on the pavement behind him.

"What – are you insane?" Gregory spluttered.

"Are you God?" Diego countered. "You're so sure everything would be sunshine and rainbows if you'd fessed up and admitted you were unconscious when you died. Well, Mr. Attorney, where's your evidence?"

"If I'd told the truth, Yogi wouldn't have been charged with murder," Gregory replied simply.

Diego snorted. "Who else were they going to indict? Your nine-year-old son?"

Gregory paled visibly, but quickly recovered.

"The truth would have helped his attorney craft a better defence than a plea of insanity," he answered. "If I didn't know who killed me, there's no proof that Yogi was guilty."

Diego shook his head.

"Objection!" He lifted his hand and smirked to find another mug of coffee had materialised while they were talking. Diego took a swig before continuing.

"You're forgetting, amigo. I may have been in high school when you were murdered, but I did work with Robert Hammond for five years. Old Bob plea-bargained pretty much all of his cases when I knew him."

Gregory looked at him sharply, but said nothing.

"I knew Marvin Grossberg for five years, too." Diego gestured to Gregory with his mug. "Are you responsible for fat drunks who can't keep their mouths shut?"

"Objection!" Gregory countered. "If I'd told the truth, Misty Fey wouldn't have named Yogi as the killer. There wouldn't have been a discrepancy with this supposedly crucial testimony and the outcome of the trial for the press to exploit. She wouldn't have had to leave her village."

"Ha…!" Diego had another mouthful of coffee. "You really think the tabloids wouldn't have had a field day with 'Cops Consult a Medium' regardless of the outcome? Turn it around and look at it from the public's point of view. How credible is a spirit medium who says, 'Oh, I totally channelled the dead guy, but he doesn't know what happened'?"

"I…" Gregory broke off and thought better of it. "…You have a point."

Diego's smirk faded, replaced by a grim frown.

"Speaking of Misty Fey," he murmured, "I always did wonder what kind of mother abandons two little children to the tender mercies of her jealous older sister."

Gregory swallowed.

"Do you understand, Gabriel?" Diego asked. "You threw a pebble, so you blame yourself for the boats that capsized. What about all the people who were throwing rocks?"

Gregory wet his lips. "My actions still had consequences." He looked at Diego. "Just like yours."

Diego smirked wryly and gazed into his coffee mug.

"Sure," he admitted. "But they're not as wide-ranging as you think. People aren't dominoes, Gabriel. They don't fall in a straight line."

Gregory folded his arms and tapped a finger on his bicep.

"You're mixing your metaphors, Mr. Prosecutor."

"Attack the style when you can't attack the substance," Diego countered smoothly. He punctuated the observation with another sip of coffee. "That's one of my rules."

Gregory blew out an exasperated breath and began to polish his glasses with a handkerchief, the colour rising in his cheeks. Diego's satisfaction at rattling him began to fade.

"Look, Gabriel," he said, softening a little. "I know what's it's like to have the past eating at you. But what's done is done, and you have to let it go." He had another mouthful of coffee. "Hell, if I'd done that four years ago, we wouldn't be here."

Gregory slid his glasses back on, and looked up. Diego cursed silently at the triumphant look on his face.

"So," Gregory declared, pointing his finger at Diego, "you admit that if you'd known then what you know now, you'd have done things differently!"

Diego snorted. "Even a blind man has twenty-twenty hindsight."

"Then how do you know your death won't have any negative effects?" Gregory shot back.

Well. Gregory did have a point there. Diego sipped his coffee while he considered his answer.

"It's true, I don't know that for sure," he conceded. "But you do, right? I mean, why drag me all the way out here if you didn't?"

Gregory looked at him warily, and Diego smirked. Trying to figure out where I'm going with this, amigo?

"That's right."

"So help me out here, Gabriel," Diego continued. "I need a little more proof that all this is on the level."

Gregory frowned. "What sort of proof?"

Diego gazed into his coffee mug and idly swished the liquid around.

"Well, preventing Blackquill's death I can see," he replied. "And maybe I could help that kid, Tobaye. But Pearl…" He looked up at Gregory. "She runs away because she's afraid of turning into her mother. Now I didn't make the kid's life any easier, but I'm not the one who tried to use her as a murder weapon."

Gregory shifted his weight nervously.

"Connect the dots for me, Gabriel," Diego pressed. "How do I stop Pearl making that choice? How can I help find her from a prison cell?"

He sipped his coffee and watched Gregory squirm.

"I… well…"

Diego waited while Gregory continued to struggle for an answer. As he swallowed his last mouthful of coffee, he decided that Gregory had had long enough.

"Ha…! That's what I thought. This was never about me, was it?" A note of bitterness crept into his voice. "It was always all about you."

Gregory glared at him, his face going red.

"Fine," he snapped, his voice cracking. "Go ahead. Kill yourself." He turned away from Diego, scrubbing at his glasses again. "But don't come crying to me when the people you could have helped start crossing over."

Diego stared at Gregory's back. He felt sorry for Gregory, suddenly. Twenty-odd years later and he was still haunted by his own murder, even in paradise. Diego set his coffee mug down and approached him.

"Gabriel."

Gregory half-turned to look at him, sliding his glasses back onto his face. Diego stepped a little closer.

"Just because you and I can play Six Degrees of Separation from each other doesn't make you responsible for me," he said gently. "I chose to be on that mountain. Nobody put me there. Not Hawthorne, not Morgan Fey, and especially not some lie you told a hundred years ago."

Gregory heaved a sigh and looked away.

"That's… that's very kind of you to say. But it's not that simple."

Diego felt a flash of irritation. He strode in front of Gregory and turned to look him in the face.

"Don't you get it, Gabriel?" he snapped. "You came here tonight looking for absolution. I'm giving it to you. You aren't responsible for my choices – any of them. Misty Fey's blood is on my hands, and so is my own."

Gregory stared back at him. For a few seconds, Diego thought he was going to say something. Instead, he sank down onto the curb, crossing his arms on his knees.

"I always thought…" Gregory paused and took a deep breath. He let it out and shot Diego a wan smile. "Maybe you're right about me. Arrogant. God complex." He shrugged and stared at the asphalt in front of him. "If, if my lie had an impact on all these people – even a negative one – then maybe my death had…meaning, instead of..."

"Instead of some psychopath killing you for no reason," Diego murmured.

Gregory took his glasses off and rubbed a hand over his face. Diego gazed at him for a few moments, then sat next to him. He picked up his coffee mug and was mildly amused to find it full again. He took a scalding sip, gazing at the darkened buildings across the street from them.

"You want to know the worst thing about my crime?" he asked. Gregory looked at him, and Diego looked away. "I had to admit that… I have no character." He stared down into the coffee mug and its endless black depths. "See, a man with character would've taken that damn letter straight to Trite and Maya. A man with character would've made sure they understood that Morgan Fey was still manipulating Pearl." He leaned back on his elbows, trying to mask his discomfort with a more relaxed posture. "Not me, though. I had to play the big hero. Ruined my life and three other people's lives in the process."

"You…" Gregory laid a hand on his shoulder. "You weren't thinking straight. You'd been through so much…"

Diego snorted and jerked away. "You sound just like Trite." He shook his head and had a sip of coffee. "Yeah, it'd be real easy to blame the grief, the poison…" He barked out a bitter laugh. "…The brain damage. But I knew what I was doing. I didn't want to just quietly destroy a letter. I wanted to swoop in and save someone."

He heard Gregory shifting his weight.

"I… I see."

Diego looked at him. Gregory was frowning intently at the asphalt between his shoes. Diego smirked.

"Spit it out, Gabriel."

Gregory looked at him with a slightly guilty expression. "I beg your pardon?"

Diego had a mouthful of coffee. "I know that look," he explained. "You've got one last argument, haven't you? So spit it out, amigo. It's getting chilly out here."

Gregory looked away and pushed his glasses up his nose, a faint smile on his face.

"Not an argument, exactly," he admitted. "I simply can't believe that you don't care about the future."

"Ha." Diego gazed into the coffee mug. "I just told you, I killed a woman, put two girls in danger, and hung a third out to dry just to make myself feel better. Are you really surprised that I'm selfish?"

Gregory shot him a wry smile. "Surely you remember what it's like to believe in someone to the very end."

Diego closed his eyes briefly, then smiled back ruefully. "Sorry to disappoint you."

Gregory leaned forward slightly to look at Diego. "But… what if there's even the slightest chance that you can still do some good? Isn't that worth living for?"

Diego took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"The 'slightest chance.'" He gazed into his coffee mug for a few moments. "It's not enough, Gabriel. You see, a man in a long coat already told me my future. It's a long, rough road in a worn-out piece of junk that's shaking itself apart. And the journey ends in a hospital bed, with…" He paused, struggling to keep his composure. "…with no-one to hold my hand." He had a mouthful of coffee to steady himself, then shot Gregory a bitter smirk. "And since I don't trust the spirit world, I'm inclined to believe a flesh-and-blood fortune-teller over a supernatural one."

Gregory blew out a breath and looked away.

"There's really nothing I can say to change your mind?" he asked.

Diego heaved a weary sigh, suddenly too exhausted to continue the conversation. He drained his coffee and stood up.

"End this, Gabriel," he pleaded quietly. "I don't want to spend my last days tied to machines, pissing in a bag. I spent five years that way, and I won't do it again. I want to die with some dignity."

Gregory rose, stretching as he did so. He gazed at Diego for a few seconds, then sighed.

"All right."

Diego eyed him warily. "Really? The defense rests?"

Gregory shrugged, the corner of his mouth briefly twitching into a smile. "No further questions."

The dark streets around them began to shimmer and fade, blurring and then sharpening into the brick walls and bars of Diego's cell.

Diego looked around. The big summer moon was still streaming through the window. Blackquill and his feathered companion were both sleeping peacefully. Diego's pants were still tied to the bunk frame, and the scent of burning paper still lingered in the air.

Cautiously, Diego approached the bunks and reached out for the frame. The metal was cool and solid under his fingertips. He swung himself into the top bunk and slipped the noose around his neck, then paused.

"You, uh…" He glanced at Gregory. "You might wanna fly home before I do this, Gabriel."

Gregory nodded. He looked up at Diego with a sad smile. "Sorry for dragging you all over."

Diego flashed a brief smile in return. "I guess it was nice to have…someone care about me," he admitted.

Gregory heaved a sigh, and began to turn around.

"Oh…" He stopped, and turned back, scratching his forehead. "…There's just… one more thing." He looked up at Diego. "Why did you burn Pearl's letter?"

Diego shrugged. "I didn't want anyone to find it," he explained. "Last thing the kid needs is to feel like I killed myself because of her."

Gregory shrugged in return. "Who would tell her?" he asked. "She and Maya don't have any contact with you. I doubt they'd be informed of your death, let alone any details. There's only the slightest chance that anyone would tell her that you killed yourself because she wrote you a nasty letter."

"Well maybe I didn't want to take that chance," Diego shot back impatiently.

Gregory slipped his hands into his pockets and gazed at him with a smug, serene expression. Diego frowned at him. Then his own words sank in, and he closed his eyes in defeat.

"God damn you, Gabriel," he murmured.

Gregory adjusted his glasses, a faint smile on his face. "Well, I was the best."

Diego sighed and sagged back against the wall.

"Tell me something," he murmured. "I know why you came here tonight. But why not Mia?"

Gregory was silent for a few moments. Diego got the sinking feeling that he wouldn't like Gregory's answer.

"Mia…" Gregory looked up at him. "…Mia didn't come because she knows that you're suffering." He grimaced, as if it physically pained him to say the words. "And she doesn't want you to suffer any more. She wants you with her."

Diego swallowed, his eyes stinging. Even after every stupid, selfish, criminal thing he'd done, Mia was still waiting for him. He could shed this mortal skin and spend eternity in her arms.

Blackquill stirred in the bunk below him, the movement jolting Diego out of his thoughts. He leaned over and gazed at the younger man's face, perpetually streaked with tears. Diego straightened back up and sighed. He didn't believe a lot of what Gregory had shown him that night, but Blackquill's death at the hands of other prisoners was more probable than Diego was comfortable with. And maybe it didn't matter whether Blackquill died tomorrow or four years from now. But anything could happen in four years, and an innocent man deserved that chance.

He knew what Mia would do, if she were in his place.

"All right, Gabriel," Diego murmured. "I'll see Blackquill keeps his date with the hangman, for all the good it'll do." He looked away, annoyed by the victorious expression on Gregory's face. "After that, I can't make any promises."

"Thank you," Gregory said quietly. Diego looked back at him, shielding his face as bright light began to stream from behind Gregory, enveloping him. Diego closed his eyes against the blinding view, and suddenly the world fell away beneath him.