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damned_lounge2007-11-01 04:48 pm
onsoullessfeet.livejournal.com) wrote in damned_lounge2007-11-01 04:48 pm
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Oktoberfest '07 Entry, "Hold It Right There!" by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
onsoullessfeet
Title: Hold It Right There!
Author: Grace
Rating: R to be safe.
Word Count: 3530
Character(s): Miles Edgeworth, Dick Gumshoe, Steve Burnside, mentions of Phoenix Wright.
Summary: The good detective is under Special Counseling.
Notes: Jen and Tony are amazing. Sorry if I've butchered your characters, guys. Gumshoe won't ever receive SC in Landel's canon. Also, mild spoiler and a huge but not obvious spoiler for case four of PW1.
--
“Mr. Edgeworth, sir!” A voice rang from afar, accompanied by the sound of heavy footsteps rushing to his side.
“Detective...?”
Said detective grinned boyishly, shoulders back and chest out as was always the case when in his co-worker’s presence.
“Please, sir! Lemme help with whatever you got planned for tonight. Even without a weapon, I’d be a pretty good meat shield.” He chuckled for a few seconds, falling silent to frown when he noticed Edgeworth’s blank slate. “H- Hey, c’mon! It was just a joke...”
“... Yes, Detective. You may accompany me if you wish.”
“Thank you, sir!” There was that grin again, followed by a smirk of determination as his right hand rose to salute his comrade. “You can count on me!”
--
He hadn’t informed Gumshoe of Wright’s apparent disappearance. His stomach fluttered at the thought of the defense attorney going AWOL, as such thoughts would lead to the foreseeable tangent of why. Had they disposed of him? Had the pressure been too much? There was also the notion that maybe Wright had located an exit, and was on the outer perimeter watching for a time when his most trusted associate would happen upon his sights.
Miles Edgeworth was not one for fantastical daydreaming, however, thus this ineffective line of thinking was often short-lived. He knew Wright. The man saw things to the end. That he may have escaped by himself was out of the question; born a goody-two-shoes, the lawyer would have approached him before moving forward with a plan of that magnitude. He would have sought counsel prior to feeling one hundred per cent confident in a potential escape route.
Wedged in personal reflection, it was something of a revelation to learn of Detective Gumshoe’s arrival. He had started thinking that perhaps each of Landel’s candidates possessed the quality of experience, or in part were once contributors to a field of intelligence. This argument did not shed light on why a man like Gumshoe was now in the Head Doctor’s menagerie. Quite peculiar, Edgeworth thought, that the staff had established an interest in the detective’s profile.
To divulge the man in details as to Wright’s absence, or lack of former presence, was not a duty asked of him. A new patient did not wish to hear of old contacts when trying to adjust to the latest set of standards. He was positive in his ability to hide emotion. The voice in his head was a similar matter. His current ‘work partner’ was not yet versed in the Institute’s power; a power that Edgeworth, to some degree, had to admire.
On the contrary, Gumshoe’s frankness was venturing well past his role as professional affiliation, more so than he remembered. It was disconcerting. Something he could not place a finger on for the time being, but something about the man’s openness with him was definitely altered. It was subtle, and the issue would nag at him whilst he neglected to address it.
The problem distinguished itself whenever they were in the other’s company. Gumshoe was the same sympathetic man, though the question ‘how are you, sir?’ asked at breakfast had been said with less anxiety, displaying a composure that seemed far too relaxed to be sustained by the detective in his memories. Yes, he recalled the man as having a practical tendency to fire up and prevail despite nerves when reminded of his commitment to justice... but this one could almost see on level with him, better educated in the prosecutor’s conduct and ordinary gestures, no longer settled in his shadow (as it were). Edgeworth experienced the distinct feeling he had missed something each time Gumshoe threw him that goofy grin. Why did his colleague have greater confidence in his ability to identify with him?
Perhaps he was overanalysing. Perhaps the man was just relieved to see a familiar face in a crowd of unknowns. Perhaps he felt at ease because... their clothes matched. A ridiculous view; on the other hand, it also was not one he could dismiss as the improbable answer where the officer was concerned.
Detective Gumshoe’s unwavering support? He had to say, he had... sort of missed it.
And this is what he came to realise as he stood alone by the entrance to the Cafeteria, awaiting his ally’s appearance. This meeting point was decided for the reason of there being a swarm of patients in the M Block at the start of Nightshift. Assigning this area as square one would possibly accelerate their plans.
“Mr. Edgeworth.”
‘Sir’, the prosecutor mouthed. His head canted quizzically, remaining stationery as he found himself unconsciously awaiting his accustomed title.
“... Detective.” He nodded slowly, looking his escort’s outline up and down as it loomed closer. It was definitely him... never mind. He would label that attitude as ill-tempered; completely uncalled for, he thought with a disapproving grimace. He was no more his superior than he was the King of England, though, so he let it slide. Still, the greeting was below par, a glaring contrast to what he had expected. None of the usual gusto radiated from the man...
How strange it was - to acknowledge something so plain was - in effect - so imperative from the instant it was gone.
Eyebrow aloft, he hesitantly shone his flashlight in the direction of his colleague, the subject’s elusiveness quickly dissipating once his gaze took in a tattered old trench coat. The unhidden edges of a dark stain on the shirt beneath it had his lips nervously parted while he tentatively stared, seeking clarification in some form or another. Eyes elevating to meet Gumshoe’s, he released an audible gasp at the sight of smeared blood spatter dotting one side of the man’s stern face. He gulped discreetly, squinting again at that mark next to the tie. The intolerant scowl above it indicated this was not the amiable officer who had saluted him earlier.
Damned if he would stand here and shrink under that unwelcome glare. He shifted his weight, assuming an air of impatience and lowering his torch.
Silence.
He had predicted that by revealing his evident dissatisfaction of that look he was receiving, the detective’s ego would have shrivelled and quit with a genuine apology, or at least an explanation pertaining to how he had stumbled on normal clothes.
No. Tonight, he was acting like he had never held an inkling of respect towards him... and that in turn had the prosecutor’s blood running cold.
Something was wrong about this picture.
“... What is that?” Edgeworth finally asked, convinced that his co-worker was not injured.
“Blood.”
The tallest of the pair abruptly wrenched the slighter man around by his unsuspecting elbow, jerking both arms behind his back in an almost... perfunctory manner. “Miles Edgeworth, you’re under arrest for the murder of Phoenix Wright.”
Too stunned by the swift advance to focus on a response, he blinked at the flashlight that had clattered on the floor, the beam of it creating a series of odd shadows as it rolled a distance away.
“I’m what?”
“You have the right to remain–”
“What is the meaning of-?!” Silenced by a nudge to the small of his back, Edgeworth bit his lower lip to impede a growl’s escape. The faint hint of pink in his cheeks drained as the chink of handcuffs sharpened his concentration, opening his mouth to protest and unable to find the words as the cold metal dug into his wrists. Gumshoe rolled off the suspect’s rights in a professional tone, a strong shoulder flattening Edgeworth’s against the wall beside them when the ‘criminal’ began to thrash frantically.
“H- Help!” The younger man yelled, twisting in Gumshoe’s grip. He had been hoodwinked, as had his friend, and he had to escape this situation somehow, sole motive being the man at his back had a gun - an assessment of customary attire and silver bracelets serving to prove this theory as anything but baseless conjecture. “Someone help!” He hoped his voice and each irritated syllable would carry, yet he refused to resign to the weight applied to his shoulder, rather annoyed by the pain it was causing him. He snorted drily, an eye narrowed over his shoulder at the detective’s silhouette. “This isn’t going to look good on your evaluation next month,” he said, uneasy face glowing instead with a bold sneer.
“Shaddup!” And that he did, a large hand gruffly seizing the back of his neck; functioning to subdue the suspect. “Ya heard your rights! Your own mistake to disregard them!”
The brainwashing was... inconceivably brilliant. The staff had possessed the knowledge to give Gumshoe a task for the night that would embrace his aggressive side. They had unleashed a patient on the population to do his job. Such a simple, straightforward design was the only way in which to manipulate Detective Dick Gumshoe – a simple, straightforward man - to work for them, and they had the idea pinned in a single strike.
Edgeworth quietly snickered, his daring smirk starting to return.
“What would you have me do, Detective?” He grunted when he again tried for an escape and failed, Gumshoe fortifying his maddening lock on the prosecutor. He was learning quite swiftly that suggestions this man was useless at his job were quite inaccurate. “Your actions contradict fact. We are all prisoners here, including me. Why arrest a prisoner?”
There was a pause. He couldn’t rotate to observe the detective’s reaction, settling against the wall on one cheek as an alternative.
Thank goodness. The experiment hadn’t improved his colleague’s brainpower, and he couldn’t help smiling at his accomplishment; a gaping inconsistency was left in the staff’s equations, a wild card he could submit to needling until the subject snapped out of his trance.
Of course, the successive trend in Landel’s was that those patients who caught glimpses of hope were rapidly pulled from the sunshine. He really should’ve seen it coming.
“Takin’ you back to your cell,” Gumshoe snarled, heaving the suspect around and continuing to shove from behind. “C’mon.”
Edgeworth gradually slipped into walking the corridor as prompted by Gumshoe... and his departed mentor. To preserve the upper hand in any situation, one had to be perfect. Von Karma had vigorously embedded this tactic into the hub of his teachings, to the point they now resided as part of his pupil’s subconscious processes. If Edgeworth played along, became the cooperative prisoner the other man wanted him to be...
He hung his head, unremitting as he listened for a patient’s approach. A patient he was sure would have crashed in on their meeting. A patient Gumshoe had developed an apparent alliance with...
Ahead of them, a limping shape stopped in its tracks as the cop and his suspect made their way toward it.
“You again?!” Gumshoe barked, maintaining grasp of Edgeworth’s arm with one hand and propelling him to the side, the shadow close by ducking behind a corner as it detected it had been discovered. “You’re gonna come out with your hands up, see?” He demanded rigidly, his free hand mechanically unsheathing the weapon on his hip. The detective licked his lips, a vigilant gaze fixed on the stranger’s hiding spot. “Right this mi- hold it right there, Mr. Burnside!”
“Yeah, yeah...” A peeved voice sounded. The outline reluctantly revealed itself, stepping into the open with both hands glued to its head. The boy’s flashlight was awkwardly directed at the ceiling, illuminating his disgruntled expression. Beads of sweat drenched his face, and Edgeworth couldn't understand the reason for such a dreadful limp until another sweep had him recognise a great patch of red blooming fast above Steve's right hip.
“You,” the taller man addressed his first prisoner, glowering suspiciously. “Don’t go runnin’ on me, pal.”
The prisoner smiled a practiced, cordial smile, exchanging a brief look with the teenager.
“... Of course not.”
Gumshoe narrowed his eyes at Edgeworth before loosening his hold, reaching into his pocket to brandish a second pair of handcuffs.
The attorney was suddenly doubtful in how to handle this. Should he make a break for it? Even if the idea crossed his mind, knocking the detective over while he was busy arresting Steve seemed deplorable, if not impossible. He was sure, upon catching the teenager’s eye again, that pretending to flee would grant them a chance at snatching the gun. It was when Gumshoe clicked the handcuffs open that Edgeworth quickly advanced along the corridor.
“H- Hey, come ba- Aah, what’re ya-?!”
The ‘runaway’ returned on swift steps, hearing the boy’s flashlight rattle as it struck the floor. Clearly, the younger patient had combat experience, having just yanked the threatening object from Gumshoe’s unguarded fist.
“Not quick enough, huh pal?” Steve smirked tiredly from ear to ear, flipping the pistol in a nonchalant fashion. One could suspect the severe loss of blood was affecting his intelligence. “Some cop you are! Oh well.” He stopped twirling the thing, interested only in the detective now. “At least you can’t shoot for shit. Maybe if you’d hit the other side...” He gestured coolly (what was wrong with this boy?) at his stomach. He was pale as death, dreary eyes hinting he was about to lose consciousness.
Edgeworth was overwhelmed by a sickening sense of panic when the wounded patient raised the gun and cocked the hammer, aiming the barrel straight at Gumshoe.
“No!” He mustered a calm tone, voice shaking ever-so-slightly. His fists clenched behind his back where they remained handcuffed. “You fool, what do you think you’re doing?!”
“He fucking shot me!!” Steve replied, resonating as more of a whine than a yell. “He tricked me this whole time! He’s working for the enemy!” He was obviously in terrible agony, shrill tenor and choice words indicating so.
“Look, pal, hand it to me before-”
“SHUT UP!”
And in that moment, Edgeworth was certain the lummox would obstinately remain in the line of fire, utterly convinced he had the heated situation under control. So his body moved of its own accord. He darted across the corridor and rammed the detective’s side (which, in essence, was like ramming a brick wall), shoving the tallest of the group out of the bullet’s path. What next struck him was the most horrible searing sensation he had ever suffered.
His features contorted, head thrown to the right and teeth compulsively grinding. He barely managed to stifle a howl, instead emitting a muffled cry. The handcuffs chafed against his skin as he inelegantly lost balance and bumped into the wall, sliding down it seconds later with his attention divided from footing.
The lawyer could easily calculate the point of impact. His right shoulder was on fire, the burning hardly doused by the blood pumping forth from it.
Oh, this was irony at its best.
“Y-y-you...” The redhead gawked, aghast, his face twitching with a nasty combination of regret and vehemence. “You idiot! What’d you do that for?! I- I could’ve killed you!”
Edgeworth glared daggers, panting softly and shifting to free the fingers crushed between his back and the wall. Urgh, just one free hand to clutch his shoulder, that’s all he asked... these handcuffs were such a nuisance.
“You could have killed him,” he murmured, jerking his head toward the figure that towered near them, who had seemingly been dumbstruck into silence. He found it surprisingly simple to ignore his current condition when Steve pointed the pistol at Gumshoe a second time.
“No, don’t...!”
The boy defiantly paid no heed, blinded by pain and frustration and staggering a little closer to the detective.
“Please, this- he isn’t the man you...”
There was a pause of suspense as Steve shuffled to a halt, continuing to wheeze and wince. Edgeworth subsequently breathed a sigh of gratitude as he watched the teenager pull a deep frown, an effort involved in lowering the gun at last.
“Whatever...” The redhead rasped, lolling his head back and swaying to gently hit the opposite wall. “I’m not a m- murderer. I won’t be...” He tightened grip on his own bullet wound, letting the pistol slip from his hand.
“I warned you, pal.”
Alarm returned to the prosecutor’s demeanor in full swing, cringing faintly when Gumshoe’s heavy footfalls reminded him of the threat imposed by the larger man’s build. He flinched when the boy opposite him gave an awful scream. He cast his steadily blurring vision upward to see the detective had Steve by the scruff of his neck, and then glanced downward to notice that-
The gun on the floor had vanished.
“Hold it!”
Tonight’s predator visibly started.
The brainwashing hadn’t just reversed Gumshoe’s perspective – it had indoctrinated a malevolent streak in him, a substitute for that heartfelt apology Edgeworth knew his colleague would be spluttering if a criminal in his supervision was shot by his own pistol. He couldn’t help gaping at the revelation.
“Give me your weapon,” he ordered by means of the exacting pitch he saved for court. “... Now.”
The younger patient was freed without delay, dropping to the ground with a thud. The officer turned on his heel, the shabby coat swinging about his figure.
This is it, thought Edgeworth, gaze ascending to meet his friend’s livid expression. The barrel, still hot from the last bullet it fired, was pressed unfalteringly to his forehead.
But then... then there was a hiatus. Gumshoe’s finger caressed the trigger, but he was motionless. Everything in his features said he wanted to shoot, but... it was like he was hesitating. As though someone had pushed pause on a remote. Edgeworth stared, eyes wide with audacity, victim to a disturbing fascination with the power of Special Counseling. Could it truly be enough to drive a man to murder his closest friend...?
Something the prosecutor would never know; for it was that hesitation, that costly gap of inertness, which allowed Mr. Burnside to pry the gun from the detective’s hand.
Perhaps the grip on it wasn’t as firm as they had first assumed.
--
The prosecutor was aware that any amount of effort placed in attempts to avoid the detective today would be futile. He awoke the moment the intercom clicked on, his shoulder neatly bound by layers of clean, white bandages. Comfortable as they were, to simply poke the injured area caused a throbbing ache that travelled down the nerves to his right hand. He grimaced once he had stood up, feeling slightly faint and just about conquered by fatigue. He had to go to breakfast, though. He had to restore his colleague’s confidence. If he didn’t show his face to the cafeteria, the man might start believing he had killed his friend.
His boring eyes did not brush over the cafeteria’s early-morning occupants, positive that Gumshoe would drop everything (hopefully not in the literal sense, though it would not be the worst of shocks) to proceed once he’d spotted him.
Edgeworth seated himself at a table in the corner. His nurse was immediately on to him, insisting he go and choose from the ‘delicious’ menu. In turn, he thanked the woman for her concern, informing her that one of his friends was fetching food for him. She looked a little skeptical, but decided to leave him in peace.
He gazed at the wall, appearing glum as he gingerly touched his shoulder. With luck, Gumshoe would materialise by the table soon. The lawyer needed his rest for tonight.
Chnk.
... Yes, that had been punctual. He didn’t budge, sights moving to the tray of food in front of him. Pancakes, probably ten stacked on top of each other with a mountain of syrup seeping in a puddle all over the plate. He blinked, deadpan as he watched the taller man sit heavily on the opposite bench. He glanced down at the meal, and then back at Gumshoe.
“Detec-”
“Won’t happen again, sir.”
Edgeworth blinked, uninterested.
“... Detec-”
“I-I’m really sorry, sir! So really very sorry. I didn’t- I mean- I couldn’t- I had no-!”
“Detective.”
Gumshoe fell silent. That frown of his... it was enough to make the prosecutor scowl.
“Don’t apologise,” he said in a composed tone, crossing his arms and tapping a finger out of habit. “Please. I don’t recall it being your fault.”
“But...” The officer sunk even lower.
“You can direct that pout of yours elsewhere,” he snapped, resting his forearms on the table top. “I don’t blame you for what happened. You weren’t yourself. And that, Detective -” He glared, as though to emphasise his argument - “Was not your fault.”
“... Y- Yes, sir.” The other man cocked a brow, straightening in his chair. “But Mr. Edgeworth, you...” He linked his fingers together, rocking restlessly.
“... What is it?”
The detective struggled to smile, though his eyes were in plain contrast. It was going to take a considerable amount of time for him to recover from this.
“You should... really... try those pancakes...?”
“...”
Edgeworth could tell his ally was grasping, trying for something that wasn’t an admission of guilt, so he believed condemning the endeavour would be the bitter, unreasonable thing to do. His lips twitched with a vaguely interested smile.
“... Nice, are they?”
--
Author: Grace
Rating: R to be safe.
Word Count: 3530
Character(s): Miles Edgeworth, Dick Gumshoe, Steve Burnside, mentions of Phoenix Wright.
Summary: The good detective is under Special Counseling.
Notes: Jen and Tony are amazing. Sorry if I've butchered your characters, guys. Gumshoe won't ever receive SC in Landel's canon. Also, mild spoiler and a huge but not obvious spoiler for case four of PW1.
“Mr. Edgeworth, sir!” A voice rang from afar, accompanied by the sound of heavy footsteps rushing to his side.
“Detective...?”
Said detective grinned boyishly, shoulders back and chest out as was always the case when in his co-worker’s presence.
“Please, sir! Lemme help with whatever you got planned for tonight. Even without a weapon, I’d be a pretty good meat shield.” He chuckled for a few seconds, falling silent to frown when he noticed Edgeworth’s blank slate. “H- Hey, c’mon! It was just a joke...”
“... Yes, Detective. You may accompany me if you wish.”
“Thank you, sir!” There was that grin again, followed by a smirk of determination as his right hand rose to salute his comrade. “You can count on me!”
He hadn’t informed Gumshoe of Wright’s apparent disappearance. His stomach fluttered at the thought of the defense attorney going AWOL, as such thoughts would lead to the foreseeable tangent of why. Had they disposed of him? Had the pressure been too much? There was also the notion that maybe Wright had located an exit, and was on the outer perimeter watching for a time when his most trusted associate would happen upon his sights.
Miles Edgeworth was not one for fantastical daydreaming, however, thus this ineffective line of thinking was often short-lived. He knew Wright. The man saw things to the end. That he may have escaped by himself was out of the question; born a goody-two-shoes, the lawyer would have approached him before moving forward with a plan of that magnitude. He would have sought counsel prior to feeling one hundred per cent confident in a potential escape route.
Wedged in personal reflection, it was something of a revelation to learn of Detective Gumshoe’s arrival. He had started thinking that perhaps each of Landel’s candidates possessed the quality of experience, or in part were once contributors to a field of intelligence. This argument did not shed light on why a man like Gumshoe was now in the Head Doctor’s menagerie. Quite peculiar, Edgeworth thought, that the staff had established an interest in the detective’s profile.
To divulge the man in details as to Wright’s absence, or lack of former presence, was not a duty asked of him. A new patient did not wish to hear of old contacts when trying to adjust to the latest set of standards. He was positive in his ability to hide emotion. The voice in his head was a similar matter. His current ‘work partner’ was not yet versed in the Institute’s power; a power that Edgeworth, to some degree, had to admire.
On the contrary, Gumshoe’s frankness was venturing well past his role as professional affiliation, more so than he remembered. It was disconcerting. Something he could not place a finger on for the time being, but something about the man’s openness with him was definitely altered. It was subtle, and the issue would nag at him whilst he neglected to address it.
The problem distinguished itself whenever they were in the other’s company. Gumshoe was the same sympathetic man, though the question ‘how are you, sir?’ asked at breakfast had been said with less anxiety, displaying a composure that seemed far too relaxed to be sustained by the detective in his memories. Yes, he recalled the man as having a practical tendency to fire up and prevail despite nerves when reminded of his commitment to justice... but this one could almost see on level with him, better educated in the prosecutor’s conduct and ordinary gestures, no longer settled in his shadow (as it were). Edgeworth experienced the distinct feeling he had missed something each time Gumshoe threw him that goofy grin. Why did his colleague have greater confidence in his ability to identify with him?
Perhaps he was overanalysing. Perhaps the man was just relieved to see a familiar face in a crowd of unknowns. Perhaps he felt at ease because... their clothes matched. A ridiculous view; on the other hand, it also was not one he could dismiss as the improbable answer where the officer was concerned.
Detective Gumshoe’s unwavering support? He had to say, he had... sort of missed it.
And this is what he came to realise as he stood alone by the entrance to the Cafeteria, awaiting his ally’s appearance. This meeting point was decided for the reason of there being a swarm of patients in the M Block at the start of Nightshift. Assigning this area as square one would possibly accelerate their plans.
“Mr. Edgeworth.”
‘Sir’, the prosecutor mouthed. His head canted quizzically, remaining stationery as he found himself unconsciously awaiting his accustomed title.
“... Detective.” He nodded slowly, looking his escort’s outline up and down as it loomed closer. It was definitely him... never mind. He would label that attitude as ill-tempered; completely uncalled for, he thought with a disapproving grimace. He was no more his superior than he was the King of England, though, so he let it slide. Still, the greeting was below par, a glaring contrast to what he had expected. None of the usual gusto radiated from the man...
How strange it was - to acknowledge something so plain was - in effect - so imperative from the instant it was gone.
Eyebrow aloft, he hesitantly shone his flashlight in the direction of his colleague, the subject’s elusiveness quickly dissipating once his gaze took in a tattered old trench coat. The unhidden edges of a dark stain on the shirt beneath it had his lips nervously parted while he tentatively stared, seeking clarification in some form or another. Eyes elevating to meet Gumshoe’s, he released an audible gasp at the sight of smeared blood spatter dotting one side of the man’s stern face. He gulped discreetly, squinting again at that mark next to the tie. The intolerant scowl above it indicated this was not the amiable officer who had saluted him earlier.
Damned if he would stand here and shrink under that unwelcome glare. He shifted his weight, assuming an air of impatience and lowering his torch.
Silence.
He had predicted that by revealing his evident dissatisfaction of that look he was receiving, the detective’s ego would have shrivelled and quit with a genuine apology, or at least an explanation pertaining to how he had stumbled on normal clothes.
No. Tonight, he was acting like he had never held an inkling of respect towards him... and that in turn had the prosecutor’s blood running cold.
Something was wrong about this picture.
“... What is that?” Edgeworth finally asked, convinced that his co-worker was not injured.
“Blood.”
The tallest of the pair abruptly wrenched the slighter man around by his unsuspecting elbow, jerking both arms behind his back in an almost... perfunctory manner. “Miles Edgeworth, you’re under arrest for the murder of Phoenix Wright.”
Too stunned by the swift advance to focus on a response, he blinked at the flashlight that had clattered on the floor, the beam of it creating a series of odd shadows as it rolled a distance away.
“I’m what?”
“You have the right to remain–”
“What is the meaning of-?!” Silenced by a nudge to the small of his back, Edgeworth bit his lower lip to impede a growl’s escape. The faint hint of pink in his cheeks drained as the chink of handcuffs sharpened his concentration, opening his mouth to protest and unable to find the words as the cold metal dug into his wrists. Gumshoe rolled off the suspect’s rights in a professional tone, a strong shoulder flattening Edgeworth’s against the wall beside them when the ‘criminal’ began to thrash frantically.
“H- Help!” The younger man yelled, twisting in Gumshoe’s grip. He had been hoodwinked, as had his friend, and he had to escape this situation somehow, sole motive being the man at his back had a gun - an assessment of customary attire and silver bracelets serving to prove this theory as anything but baseless conjecture. “Someone help!” He hoped his voice and each irritated syllable would carry, yet he refused to resign to the weight applied to his shoulder, rather annoyed by the pain it was causing him. He snorted drily, an eye narrowed over his shoulder at the detective’s silhouette. “This isn’t going to look good on your evaluation next month,” he said, uneasy face glowing instead with a bold sneer.
“Shaddup!” And that he did, a large hand gruffly seizing the back of his neck; functioning to subdue the suspect. “Ya heard your rights! Your own mistake to disregard them!”
The brainwashing was... inconceivably brilliant. The staff had possessed the knowledge to give Gumshoe a task for the night that would embrace his aggressive side. They had unleashed a patient on the population to do his job. Such a simple, straightforward design was the only way in which to manipulate Detective Dick Gumshoe – a simple, straightforward man - to work for them, and they had the idea pinned in a single strike.
Edgeworth quietly snickered, his daring smirk starting to return.
“What would you have me do, Detective?” He grunted when he again tried for an escape and failed, Gumshoe fortifying his maddening lock on the prosecutor. He was learning quite swiftly that suggestions this man was useless at his job were quite inaccurate. “Your actions contradict fact. We are all prisoners here, including me. Why arrest a prisoner?”
There was a pause. He couldn’t rotate to observe the detective’s reaction, settling against the wall on one cheek as an alternative.
Thank goodness. The experiment hadn’t improved his colleague’s brainpower, and he couldn’t help smiling at his accomplishment; a gaping inconsistency was left in the staff’s equations, a wild card he could submit to needling until the subject snapped out of his trance.
Of course, the successive trend in Landel’s was that those patients who caught glimpses of hope were rapidly pulled from the sunshine. He really should’ve seen it coming.
“Takin’ you back to your cell,” Gumshoe snarled, heaving the suspect around and continuing to shove from behind. “C’mon.”
Edgeworth gradually slipped into walking the corridor as prompted by Gumshoe... and his departed mentor. To preserve the upper hand in any situation, one had to be perfect. Von Karma had vigorously embedded this tactic into the hub of his teachings, to the point they now resided as part of his pupil’s subconscious processes. If Edgeworth played along, became the cooperative prisoner the other man wanted him to be...
He hung his head, unremitting as he listened for a patient’s approach. A patient he was sure would have crashed in on their meeting. A patient Gumshoe had developed an apparent alliance with...
Ahead of them, a limping shape stopped in its tracks as the cop and his suspect made their way toward it.
“You again?!” Gumshoe barked, maintaining grasp of Edgeworth’s arm with one hand and propelling him to the side, the shadow close by ducking behind a corner as it detected it had been discovered. “You’re gonna come out with your hands up, see?” He demanded rigidly, his free hand mechanically unsheathing the weapon on his hip. The detective licked his lips, a vigilant gaze fixed on the stranger’s hiding spot. “Right this mi- hold it right there, Mr. Burnside!”
“Yeah, yeah...” A peeved voice sounded. The outline reluctantly revealed itself, stepping into the open with both hands glued to its head. The boy’s flashlight was awkwardly directed at the ceiling, illuminating his disgruntled expression. Beads of sweat drenched his face, and Edgeworth couldn't understand the reason for such a dreadful limp until another sweep had him recognise a great patch of red blooming fast above Steve's right hip.
“You,” the taller man addressed his first prisoner, glowering suspiciously. “Don’t go runnin’ on me, pal.”
The prisoner smiled a practiced, cordial smile, exchanging a brief look with the teenager.
“... Of course not.”
Gumshoe narrowed his eyes at Edgeworth before loosening his hold, reaching into his pocket to brandish a second pair of handcuffs.
The attorney was suddenly doubtful in how to handle this. Should he make a break for it? Even if the idea crossed his mind, knocking the detective over while he was busy arresting Steve seemed deplorable, if not impossible. He was sure, upon catching the teenager’s eye again, that pretending to flee would grant them a chance at snatching the gun. It was when Gumshoe clicked the handcuffs open that Edgeworth quickly advanced along the corridor.
“H- Hey, come ba- Aah, what’re ya-?!”
The ‘runaway’ returned on swift steps, hearing the boy’s flashlight rattle as it struck the floor. Clearly, the younger patient had combat experience, having just yanked the threatening object from Gumshoe’s unguarded fist.
“Not quick enough, huh pal?” Steve smirked tiredly from ear to ear, flipping the pistol in a nonchalant fashion. One could suspect the severe loss of blood was affecting his intelligence. “Some cop you are! Oh well.” He stopped twirling the thing, interested only in the detective now. “At least you can’t shoot for shit. Maybe if you’d hit the other side...” He gestured coolly (what was wrong with this boy?) at his stomach. He was pale as death, dreary eyes hinting he was about to lose consciousness.
Edgeworth was overwhelmed by a sickening sense of panic when the wounded patient raised the gun and cocked the hammer, aiming the barrel straight at Gumshoe.
“No!” He mustered a calm tone, voice shaking ever-so-slightly. His fists clenched behind his back where they remained handcuffed. “You fool, what do you think you’re doing?!”
“He fucking shot me!!” Steve replied, resonating as more of a whine than a yell. “He tricked me this whole time! He’s working for the enemy!” He was obviously in terrible agony, shrill tenor and choice words indicating so.
“Look, pal, hand it to me before-”
“SHUT UP!”
And in that moment, Edgeworth was certain the lummox would obstinately remain in the line of fire, utterly convinced he had the heated situation under control. So his body moved of its own accord. He darted across the corridor and rammed the detective’s side (which, in essence, was like ramming a brick wall), shoving the tallest of the group out of the bullet’s path. What next struck him was the most horrible searing sensation he had ever suffered.
His features contorted, head thrown to the right and teeth compulsively grinding. He barely managed to stifle a howl, instead emitting a muffled cry. The handcuffs chafed against his skin as he inelegantly lost balance and bumped into the wall, sliding down it seconds later with his attention divided from footing.
The lawyer could easily calculate the point of impact. His right shoulder was on fire, the burning hardly doused by the blood pumping forth from it.
Oh, this was irony at its best.
“Y-y-you...” The redhead gawked, aghast, his face twitching with a nasty combination of regret and vehemence. “You idiot! What’d you do that for?! I- I could’ve killed you!”
Edgeworth glared daggers, panting softly and shifting to free the fingers crushed between his back and the wall. Urgh, just one free hand to clutch his shoulder, that’s all he asked... these handcuffs were such a nuisance.
“You could have killed him,” he murmured, jerking his head toward the figure that towered near them, who had seemingly been dumbstruck into silence. He found it surprisingly simple to ignore his current condition when Steve pointed the pistol at Gumshoe a second time.
“No, don’t...!”
The boy defiantly paid no heed, blinded by pain and frustration and staggering a little closer to the detective.
“Please, this- he isn’t the man you...”
There was a pause of suspense as Steve shuffled to a halt, continuing to wheeze and wince. Edgeworth subsequently breathed a sigh of gratitude as he watched the teenager pull a deep frown, an effort involved in lowering the gun at last.
“Whatever...” The redhead rasped, lolling his head back and swaying to gently hit the opposite wall. “I’m not a m- murderer. I won’t be...” He tightened grip on his own bullet wound, letting the pistol slip from his hand.
“I warned you, pal.”
Alarm returned to the prosecutor’s demeanor in full swing, cringing faintly when Gumshoe’s heavy footfalls reminded him of the threat imposed by the larger man’s build. He flinched when the boy opposite him gave an awful scream. He cast his steadily blurring vision upward to see the detective had Steve by the scruff of his neck, and then glanced downward to notice that-
The gun on the floor had vanished.
“Hold it!”
Tonight’s predator visibly started.
The brainwashing hadn’t just reversed Gumshoe’s perspective – it had indoctrinated a malevolent streak in him, a substitute for that heartfelt apology Edgeworth knew his colleague would be spluttering if a criminal in his supervision was shot by his own pistol. He couldn’t help gaping at the revelation.
“Give me your weapon,” he ordered by means of the exacting pitch he saved for court. “... Now.”
The younger patient was freed without delay, dropping to the ground with a thud. The officer turned on his heel, the shabby coat swinging about his figure.
This is it, thought Edgeworth, gaze ascending to meet his friend’s livid expression. The barrel, still hot from the last bullet it fired, was pressed unfalteringly to his forehead.
But then... then there was a hiatus. Gumshoe’s finger caressed the trigger, but he was motionless. Everything in his features said he wanted to shoot, but... it was like he was hesitating. As though someone had pushed pause on a remote. Edgeworth stared, eyes wide with audacity, victim to a disturbing fascination with the power of Special Counseling. Could it truly be enough to drive a man to murder his closest friend...?
Something the prosecutor would never know; for it was that hesitation, that costly gap of inertness, which allowed Mr. Burnside to pry the gun from the detective’s hand.
Perhaps the grip on it wasn’t as firm as they had first assumed.
The prosecutor was aware that any amount of effort placed in attempts to avoid the detective today would be futile. He awoke the moment the intercom clicked on, his shoulder neatly bound by layers of clean, white bandages. Comfortable as they were, to simply poke the injured area caused a throbbing ache that travelled down the nerves to his right hand. He grimaced once he had stood up, feeling slightly faint and just about conquered by fatigue. He had to go to breakfast, though. He had to restore his colleague’s confidence. If he didn’t show his face to the cafeteria, the man might start believing he had killed his friend.
His boring eyes did not brush over the cafeteria’s early-morning occupants, positive that Gumshoe would drop everything (hopefully not in the literal sense, though it would not be the worst of shocks) to proceed once he’d spotted him.
Edgeworth seated himself at a table in the corner. His nurse was immediately on to him, insisting he go and choose from the ‘delicious’ menu. In turn, he thanked the woman for her concern, informing her that one of his friends was fetching food for him. She looked a little skeptical, but decided to leave him in peace.
He gazed at the wall, appearing glum as he gingerly touched his shoulder. With luck, Gumshoe would materialise by the table soon. The lawyer needed his rest for tonight.
Chnk.
... Yes, that had been punctual. He didn’t budge, sights moving to the tray of food in front of him. Pancakes, probably ten stacked on top of each other with a mountain of syrup seeping in a puddle all over the plate. He blinked, deadpan as he watched the taller man sit heavily on the opposite bench. He glanced down at the meal, and then back at Gumshoe.
“Detec-”
“Won’t happen again, sir.”
Edgeworth blinked, uninterested.
“... Detec-”
“I-I’m really sorry, sir! So really very sorry. I didn’t- I mean- I couldn’t- I had no-!”
“Detective.”
Gumshoe fell silent. That frown of his... it was enough to make the prosecutor scowl.
“Don’t apologise,” he said in a composed tone, crossing his arms and tapping a finger out of habit. “Please. I don’t recall it being your fault.”
“But...” The officer sunk even lower.
“You can direct that pout of yours elsewhere,” he snapped, resting his forearms on the table top. “I don’t blame you for what happened. You weren’t yourself. And that, Detective -” He glared, as though to emphasise his argument - “Was not your fault.”
“... Y- Yes, sir.” The other man cocked a brow, straightening in his chair. “But Mr. Edgeworth, you...” He linked his fingers together, rocking restlessly.
“... What is it?”
The detective struggled to smile, though his eyes were in plain contrast. It was going to take a considerable amount of time for him to recover from this.
“You should... really... try those pancakes...?”
“...”
Edgeworth could tell his ally was grasping, trying for something that wasn’t an admission of guilt, so he believed condemning the endeavour would be the bitter, unreasonable thing to do. His lips twitched with a vaguely interested smile.
“... Nice, are they?”
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Are you still active with Edgeworth? Not to hassle or anything, I just haven't seen a post from him in a while. D:
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