"Hello?" Phoenix croaked as he woke, before he remembered that he shouldn't. Thin morning light seeped under the door. He'd passed out sometime in the middle of the night, when he could no longer keep watch against Lucy's surprise return.

He assessed his body's abused state reflexively. That was a mistake. It had to be nearly twenty-four hours that she'd had him, now, and the only water he'd had was what he'd coughed back out when she surprised him with that bottle. But his body had kept functioning like it needed to, and although he was glad to still be breathing and with a heartbeat, he wished he could have told his bladder to take it easy on the water already in his system.

He had to admit, some part of him had expected to be rescued by morning. Memories of de Killer had filled his mind as he struggled to stay awake. They'd taken days to find Maya, then, but de Killer was an expert. It didn't seem possible that some random young criminal from the streets of L.A. could match his kidnapping performance.

And, although Phoenix hardly wanted to praise the guy, de Killer had been possessed of a certain elegance and restraint. Except for being starved, Maya was all right while in his captivity. Phoenix was distinctly not all right, and he'd just known that all of his friends would come to his rescue before it got much worse. He'd known that this scenario couldn't have the worst possible ending. Considering how many murder victims I've seen... maybe that was dumb. Wait. No. Don't think about murders. Don't think about autopsy reports.

Don't think about being cold on a table as someone identifies your body.

...Geez, I suck at this.

Lucy's treatment of him wasn't giving them much margin for error. One hand hurt in sharp prickles, but the other had gone numb and beyond. It was the one that had been pierced by glass, and he wasn't sure whether to be grateful for a respite from the pain or worry about how bad the damage was if he couldn't even feel it. The rest of his body ached like he'd been beaten everywhere with that steel rod he'd taken to his back. Whenever he shifted against the bonds holding his wrists and legs, he could feel his scabbed-over cuts threatening to tear open.

His groin was giving him another reason to stay still. Definitely not de Killer's 'elegance and restraint', Phoenix thought unhappily as he squinted into the dim light in search of relief. Was that a bucket in the corner? His darkness-adjusted eyes said yes, and so he began the slow task of rocking and squirming his chair across the dirty ground. Each jolt hurt, but he tried to ignore them. He could worry about how to unzip once he was there.

He'd barely moved when the door slammed open. Phoenix flinched and turned from the light. Lucy's silhouette was a shapeless blob to him, and it took a few hard blinks before he could make her out after she closed the door. "Trying to run away?" she asked, studying the scrapes in the dirt. "Seems like that'd be easier if you could, you know." She made a show of bending down and inspecting his legs where they were bound to the chair. "Run."

Phoenix eyed her balefully and said nothing.

"You probably want this," Lucy said, and held up a bottle of water.

Swallowing instinctively, Phoenix felt a trickle of saliva form. That tiny bit of moisture was like a waterfall compared to the past night. He needed that water, but he was also ready to burst. "I need..."

"Yes?"

His shoulders sagged. He was kidnapped, bruised, and bloodied, and she knew very well all that she was doing to him. He could claw for respectability all he wanted, but Lucy was unlikely to give it. "I need to go to the bathroom," he mumbled. I need to piss like a racehorse, but I can at least pretty things up that much.

"So, you don't need this water?" Lucy asked, dangling the bottle by its cap. A fat drop slid down the side and glittered in the low light. Its engorged form looked nearly obscene as it trailed in and out over the scalloped grip.

Phoenix's dry throat burned hotter as real pain stabbed through his groin. "I... yes, but please, just let me..."

"Do you really think I'm going to untie you?" Lucy asked, snorting.

"Please," Phoenix whimpered.

"I want to break you before we get started," Lucy said, almost cheerfully. She glanced behind her, saw the bucket Phoenix had been aiming for, and with one deliberate kick, knocked it on its side. Speaking over his agonized protests, she held the bottle in front of him again. This time, her fingernails curled into the thin plastic like it was a water balloon ready to burst. "Do you want this water?"

There was no pity in her eyes, only dark amusement. He knew that if he passed this up, she'd just let his dehydration set in further. And he couldn't hold out much longer, anyway. "Yes," Phoenix mumbled, and gave up. "I want the water."

She held it up at a better angle than the day before, or perhaps it was just that he was ready for it. Phoenix sucked eagerly at the water above him, feeling like some demented hamster. He just managed not to wince at how raw his bone-dry throat felt as he swallowed. As soon as his throat's pain eased, the stabbing pressure at his groin overtook it. Phoenix gave Lucy one last, pleading look, but he didn't stop drinking and she didn't offer the bucket she'd knocked over. It's fine, Phoenix told himself, and tried to believe it. It's dark. Warmth, shame, and a relief from pain overtook him as Phoenix's bladder released. All he could care about was the third.

"Do you think I'm an idiot?" Lucy asked him as the bottled emptied and she flung it to a far corner.

The urine was cooling quickly. That was uncomfortable, but if she wasn't making a big deal about it, Phoenix would try to hide his embarrassment to match. "No. You are definitely not an idiot." She probably wants to hear that, right? She likes thinking that she's smart. Oh, gross. It's on my sock.

"So why would I untie you to let you whip it out for that bucket, when you've probably got fifty pounds on me?"

"No, that wouldn't be a good idea," Phoenix admitted. Granted, he wasn't exactly in fighting condition, but he did outweigh this woman by a considerable margin. That alone could tip the balance in his favor... if he could only get loose.

She bent over, propping her hands on her thighs, and studied him nearly nose-to-nose. Lucy was just far enough back to jerk away if Phoenix tried to snap at her face, he noted. "And then you'd try to run away, and what would happen to my plan?"

"Fair enough," Phoenix said and began wiggling the dampened foot against the chair leg. He could feel the sock becoming more sodden by the second.

"What are you doing?" Lucy asked him, stepping back to inspect where he was working his foot. "I've got you tied really well, you're not going to get loose like that."

"I know." If she didn't have a problem with it, he'd keep wiggling. "It's. Um. Just that." Something about her expression demanded an answer, now. "Pee is running into my shoe and it's really gross."

"Oh." She tilted her head. "I suppose that makes sense." Lucy considered him for another long pause, then knelt and removed his shoe. To Phoenix's considerable surprise, she peeled off his soaked sock with the same efficiency.

I didn't think this girl was squeamish, but she didn't even hesitate.

"Jude drinks a lot," she explained, standing and dusting off her hands. "Sometimes I've had to clean him up on... every end." Lucy tossed her hair. "Since you were probably wondering why it didn't bother me at all to take off your pee sock."

"That makes sense," Phoenix said, "but now I'm wondering why you did. I mean, you beat me up and kidnapped me and locked me in a..." Where was he, anyway? No windows, a floor that was either coated with dirt or made of it, and a deeply musty smell that he couldn't quite place. "In a shack." That seemed to be an appropriately catch-all term.

She shrugged. "Do you really want to know?"

Was he playing a more dangerous game right now than he realized? Something at the back of his mind, down in the caveman portion that cared only about 'eating food' and 'staying alive,' told Phoenix to shut up and stop poking the scary lady with a stick. His damnable lawyer curiosity, though, couldn't help but tease open all potential truth before him. "Yes, I do."

When she vanished through the door and returned with an axe, Phoenix's caveman brain screamed I told you so. "Forget it," he said weakly. "I changed my mind."

"I can't let you leave." Her hand flexed around the axe handle. "So. Option one: I keep you tied to that chair."

Phoenix liked the sound of option one.

"Option two: I bring this axe handle down on that bare foot, break every bone inside it, and keep you from running that way."

Yeah, option one sounded great.

"Option three."

Oh god.

"I cut off your foot."

Options one and two both sounded pretty good, now.

"That's why I took off your pee sock," Lucy finished, and hefted the axe.

"Option one!" Phoenix yelled. "Option one, option one, option one. I'm fine with the chair. Keep me tied to the chair. You want me to wet myself again? I will do it." Well, not right that second, he had to admit after a futile try, but soon enough. He'd be this girl's lawn sprinkler if it kept all his toes in place.

After a second, she lowered the axe. The handle's thick end thumped heavily against the dirt, and Phoenix gave silent thanks that it hadn't landed on him. "Fine. I don't need to do it yet."

"Yet?" Phoenix asked warily. His toes curled. Lucy's bloodlust had eased since she carved him open in his apartment, but she still sounded ready to carry out that threat at some point in the presumably near future. He was like something on a checklist: pick up eggs, take out trash, cut off attorney's foot. Or maybe she'd just crush it into a fine paste. Dare to dream.

"If I break it, you'd just complain. It'd be annoying. And if I cut it off, well... you might die too fast. I'll wait until I call, I guess."

Until you call who? Die too fast for what? Urgh, stop thinking, Phoenix, and just talk to this girl. You're never going to find a key to get out of here until you understand her more. Ask a question. Any question. "So... who do you hate more, me or Edgeworth?" Not that question.

She smirked. "Do you seriously need to ask?"

"Well, yes." He wasn't used to cross-examining people with his lap and one pant leg soaked. It was beyond distracting. "You seemed really mad that I didn't find someone else to 'pin this on.' Which, by the way, is not how I defend people!"

"You're an idiot," Lucy said, "you were clearly unprepared to be in that case, and I think you were making up everything you said as you went along."

Not everything.

"But," she finished, "your opening statement was about proving my brothers' innocence. His was about 'removing a threat to decent society.'" Her hand flexed around the axe handle again. Lucy didn't need to say Edgeworth's name; her hatred blazed like a bonfire. "Any more questions?"

"Are you going to kill me?"

"Probably."

Phoenix swallowed. "And... and what would make you not kill me?"

"You're a tool. I don't mean that in the ancient slang sort of way, although it probably fits, too. No, you're a tool to make Prosecutor Edgeworth feel as awful as I did when I heard my brothers' verdicts. When he sees you, sees what I've done to you, I want him to feel like I've just jammed a knife into his chest. And if he doesn't react like I want, well..." Lucy's finger trailed a slow, threatening line across Phoenix's jugular. "I'll push him a little more."

"You're going to call Edgeworth," Phoenix realized. He'd wondered about calling friends with bigger weapons or a working getaway car; never had he considered that Lucy would phone up Miles Edgeworth himself. "You're going to tell him where I am." His eyes widened. "I'm not just a hostage. I'm bait. This is all so you can kill him."

"Ooh," Lucy said, and snapped her fingers. "So close."

He felt more lost than when he'd woken up in the dark. His adrenaline had fired with the presentation of a new goal to pursue: do whatever was needed to keep Edgeworth away from his shack and safe from Lucy's murder plans. But what could Phoenix do if he couldn't remotely follow her logic? If he didn't even know her ultimate goal? "So you're not going to kill him? You just... want to make him look at me?" This was a really strange plan, and that was saying something for an attorney who'd argued about a flying circus bust.

"Yes," Lucy said, and punched him in the face.

"Fuck!" Phoenix yelped when his vision cleared and he didn't feel the immediate urge to vomit. He breathed quickly through his teeth until the worst of the pain faded. He was glad for Lucy's slight frame and slender arms; any harder, and that punch would have fractured his cheekbone. As was, he wasn't sure that it hadn't.

When she hit him a second time, right on the same spot, Phoenix's coherent thought fled as he felt something crack. His world shrank to a line of red-hot pain. When he became aware of the rest of his body again, Phoenix wasn't surprised that he was crying. He couldn't manage to swear, this time; all he could handle was tears and cringing like a beaten dog. The fragile thread of his dignity wanted to tamp down on the display he was giving Lucy, but that caveman hindbrain told him to keep going. If he looked ready to take another blow, she might give it. This time he listened to the caveman.

"Remember how I hit you yesterday?"

He nodded. The motion made him groan, and he had just enough sense not to flinch when she shone a flashlight against his face. She adjusted it so that it was lighting him from above like a spotlight, rather than drilling into his vision like some interrogation lamp. "Look," she ordered, and Phoenix opened one eye. The other felt sealed shut by tears and pain.

She was holding up a compact mirror. He'd never seen himself looking this bad and his recent crying jag hadn't helped. He was all cuts and deep shadows, with a dark bruise where she'd backhanded him the night before. The broken cheekbone was red and getting redder. That entire side of his face was going to end up swollen in shocking shades of new and dying blood.

"How long do you think it'll take for that bruise look as bad as it can possibly get?"

"I don't..." He tried to breathe. It was hard. "Couple of days?"

"Yeah, that was my guess. I'll give it a couple of days, and then I'll call him." She flashed a boxcutter and Phoenix couldn't help but flinch. "I'll hold off on the really bad stuff until he's on his way, so it's all fresh."

I am well and truly fucked.

"Here," Lucy said, dug into her pocket, and held out her hand. Three small white tablets rested there. "I'll get more water for you to take this."

"What is it?" Phoenix asked warily.

"Aspirin."

"...What?" He didn't trust her kindness. At all.

From her smirk, she knew what he was thinking again. "It's a blood thinner. It'll help the bruise look worse when he sees you. And it'll make the next few hours a lot more pleasant for you, I suppose, so you probably want to take it."

"I can put up with the pain," Phoenix said thickly, with a mouth that didn't want to work right, "if it means you have less leverage to use against him. But," he said as Lucy's eyes flashed with renewed anger, "I'll take as much aspirin as you want if you answer me one question."

"Depends on the question."

Fair enough. "What are you going to do to Edgeworth?"

"What everyone's done to me."

"That's not a real answer."

She held out one tablet, and after a second, Phoenix realized her game and opened his mouth obediently, then swallowed the aspirin she placed on his tongue. "The only people who love me are my brothers. He took them away." She shrugged and hugged herself. "It would have been nice if I could have found two people for balance, but I guess it's more painful in a way if I take away the one person in the entire world who loves him."

"Uh."

"I'm not saying you hike his knees over your shoulders, Wright. But when I came to your office to talk about my brothers, I asked you about having faith in people. You tried to convince me of what a big, gooey heart you have. You mentioned him, how you'd even defended the man prosecuting this case, and I heard it in your voice." Lucy had stopped looking like she was hugging herself; now, her arms were all rigid angles. "You've already said that I'm smart. Are you going to try to convince me that I'm wrong about this?"

Phoenix squinted at her with his one open eye. Memories flooded back: the hero worship of a saved child, the college boy feeling that he was a knight putting on one piece of shining armor with each law class that he took. An adult finding an equal partner among all the pain of the years they'd missed, and the terrible year-long aftershock as those tragedies fell away. It was hard to say you didn't love someone when you'd built your entire life around them. "No." She was right, but the label sounded strange. "But you said that you might not kill me, after all. So there has to be another part to what you want to do to him."

"Open." When he'd dutifully opened his mouth and swallowed the other two aspirin tablets, Lucy smiled. "You're right. That's only one part of the equation." Phoenix waited, but she shook her head. "I'll call him from right here, Mr. Wright, so that you can tell him that you're still alive. And I don't care at all if you tell him that I'm ready to kill you. In fact, I hope that you do. But the other part needs to stay a surprise."

"But I took the aspirin!"

"And in about an hour, I'm sure you'll be glad for that. I'll check back when you're ready for more aspirin and see how your bruise is coming along."

"But. I took it."

She left without answering him, and Phoenix felt a teardrop fall to the dirt floor. It was as fat as that drop that had trailed down the water bottle.

Misery, pain, and fear swept him. The hope of his rescue faded, as much as he tried to cling to it, and a kernel of resentment grew in its place. Lucy hated him, but this wasn't his war. He wasn't the target; he was just in the way.

The fear wasn't only for him, though, and so that resentment toward Edgeworth stayed as just a seed. He'd been broken, beaten, and humiliated, and he might still end up as a corpse. But he wasn't the target.

So whatever she'd planned for Miles, it had to be somehow worse.