This is a bit abstract and a little, uh, strange, but I found out recently that I like messing with characters who don't get a lot of/any screen time. I also was trying to figure out exactly how channeling worked.
Also I love mini-Miles.

And this was what was born. I present to you, Ghosts and Logic. It's a oneshot technically, but since it's a bit long (for me) I'm splitting it into two parts.
Takes place during the course of 3-5 with a few DL-6ish flashbacks.
MAJOR GS3 SPOILERS GUYS. SERIOUSLY I'M WARNING YOU.
If anyone here is religious I did not mean to intrude upon any interpretation of heaven, hell, angels, ghosts, or the afterlife. The afterlife in this story isn't religiously affilated (ie there's not really a God or deity mentioned).
Uberthanks to Plode, Sakuro, and Rii for reading my sneak peeks and being fangirls over them.
For those who prefer http://thephantompenguin.deviantart.com/art/Ghosts-and-Logic-72178155

Part One:
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The afterlife wasn’t really so bad.

Misty Fey had spent most of her life – no, all of her life – learning not only how to accept death, but to how to intertwine it with life to the point where there was scarcely a difference; they were only two different stages of the same thing. Death was inevitable and nothing to be feared, she had been raised to learn. The scariest part of the afterworld was how you got there, and Misty had been fortunate enough to close her eyes on a chilly mountain range and open them back up among the stars.

The afterlife…heaven…nirvana, whatever this was, was beautiful, an unending pathway of clouds stretching over an atmosphere strong enough to walk on – or was she merely light enough to walk on it? The earth down below met the horizon, the sea becoming one with the stars as if there wasn’t even a natural boundary. How close everything looked now, in such a different perspective, when down on earth the stars were untouchable.

She’d learn the gory details regarding the fate of her mutilated body later – but she did not sense that her youngest daughter had found herself celestial as well. Maya was safe, at least.
At least it went well enough…

Of course not everything had gone according to plan. Morgan had had Pearl far too tightly in her grasp, even tighter than anyone would have thought. Misty regretted being unable to pull those fingers away from her gentle little niece, regretted thinking that the simple invitation of a storybook would be enough to break her away from nurture.
Or was it not nurture, but simply nature? The branch family would always despise the main family…
Well, when one factor wasn’t accounted for, one only had to make up for it in other areas. It had been her time, anyway. There was little life to be found in hiding all of the time and as much as she hated to leave her daughter to grow up on her own, Maya would do a good job of it. She was sure.

Misty felt someone brush at the hem of her robe, pulling at it. It was another person, a stranger adorned in unfamiliar clothing. She hadn’t been there a moment ago, the medium realized, and she came to the conclusion the old lady in front of her had just passed away as well.
She offered the woman a smile, noticing in detail for the first time all of the ghostly figures around her. Most of them appeared confused and lost, peering over the edge of the clouds in curiosity. A little girl shook nervously, tears pouring down her eyes in silence. Another one, a teenager, only looked tragic.

The elderly woman looked up at the medium and tilted her head, a foreign tongue spilling out of her mouth. “Que…que es…esto no es la tierra…”
Misty shook her head apologetically, trying to guess what the woman was saying. The woman’s face crumpled and she rubbed at her eye with one hand, the other crossing herself feverishly. It occurred to Misty that she was the only one who seemed at peace with her death, the only one taking it in stride or as something entirely natural…

“Abuelita!” The woman turned her head at the sound of a voice and Misty followed her gaze, smiling at a small old man who was pushing through the crowd. The woman beamed, running away from the other ghosts and they left, jabbering in Spanish together. Misty was still sure neither of them had known what had happened yet, but somehow having the other there had assuaged the couple’s misery.

Speaking of others…
Mia was around here somewhere, she knew. Mia, who she had heard passed away three years ago but had never been able to properly summon or even mourn. Mia, who hadn’t known where her mother was and had been murdered trying to help clear her name…
She’s not up here. Her senses detected, already trying to pinpoint the alternate plane for a hint of her oldest daughter. Pearl or Maya might have called her away in the ensuing insanity, she determined, and set about waiting.

The clouds formed pathways in the sky, leading her across the atmosphere and away from the cluster of newcomers. As the clouds panned out, the ghosts among her became fewer and fewer, and a series of streets and avenues began to be clear. As she walked, the sights became more and more like they had been on earth; houses and street signs littered the roads in a translucent, glass-bottomed version of home. Spirits walked together, ran together, chased after pets and chatted all around the roads. Some perched on the edge, staring down over the edge into the earth below, trying to make out a glimpse of what was going on down among the ignorant living...

It was the bustling city of Los Angeles all over again, just brighter. As far as she could tell no one was sleeping in any corners or shaking any coffee cups in desire of coins. No one seemed to be dying – how could they? They’d already managed to once, after all. Why should they again?

She continued walking, perplexed as the cityscape started to evolve into country. Perhaps the further on she went the more the scenery would change? Misty paused for a moment, absorbing the suburb around her.

Then, she gasped. It wasn’t her view that had been changing – it was the clouds. Slowly, subtly, they were shifting into a convincing countryside, the towering skyscrapers dimming down into colonial houses that in turn molded into familiar-looking Asian-styled manors…
The revelation of home struck her just as she realized that even as she moved her feet, she wasn’t actually moving anywhere.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Of course someone would approach her just as she had looked shocked for the first time. She turned around to see a man just as faded as she was walk towards her slowly. Had he been there the whole time?
Misty nodded her head and smiled in an effort to be polite. He grinned back at her carefully, as if he was afraid to do so. “You seem confused.”
She shrugged casually. A spirit medium ought not to be so confused when it came to such things as the afterlife? “A little, but I think I’m getting used to…”

“Let me explain…” He cut her off in a manner she found strangely familiar. It would have been annoying had his voice not been so kind. “You’ve already established that you’re not going anywhere. The atmosphere is just changing around you. It changes into atmospheres you’re familiar with…”
Misty glanced about her briefly, noting that she was now standing in what could have been a slightly foggy mirror of Kurain Village. “Yes?”
“You see the people peering over the sides of the streets?” As the medium looked out at them, a few familiar faces caught her eye, or at least familiar clothing. At least three of the strangers bore magatamas on their robes, most likely old branch family mediums. Others were still complete strangers.

Before Misty could nod, the man finished his thought. “They have someone below us who needs them. That is why they are remaining in this area, so they can see what’s going on down below…”
Ah. So it was just like on television, angels watching over one…
“And that is why we can’t move?” Misty found herself walking towards the edge, squinting over the side. Once she ignored the galaxies, she could make out a large mountain range overshadowing what she assumed to be the city of Los Angeles. If that’s the city, then Hazakura must be in those mountains… But she could hardly make out any people down below, with the stars sparkling in her eyes.

She sighed, trying her best to find her daughter among the tiny ants down below.
“…It’s hard, at first.” The stranger behind her mentioned kindly. “It’s hard to get used to looking through all of this. It took me over a year to find my son…”
A year? Misty winced. She needed to know what was happening now! She wouldn’t be able to wait that long to see how her poor daughter had fared. She was a spirit medium, after all! Wasn’t she any good at it?
She shifted without a word, feeling a bit helpless. Apparently the afterlife didn’t mean eternal bliss forever and ever. There still existed pain…
“One day, you’ll just scan over the area again like usual and suddenly they’ll be there in plain sight.” The stranger nodded. “As if you hadn’t lost them in the first place…”

Misty wasn’t a patient woman – patience didn’t run in the Fey family – but she was a logical one. She stood up, brushing off her robes, and offered a polite smile. “How did you find this out?”
He smirked, slightly – where have I seen that smirk before?! – and shrugged his shoulders. “Deductive reasoning. Logic. A few guesses here and there, that ended up leading to something. It’s what I’m used to.”

He must have been here a long time, to be able to see so much to piece it together on his own. “And your son? He’s in L.A.?”

The smirk grew into a smile. “As of now, anyways. Just yesterday I was looking over Berlin.”

Silence. She could detect the puzzlement on his face and decided it was a high time for introductions.
“Misty Fey.” As she extended her hand, a light of revelation lit up on his face and he hesitated for a second before deciding to respond.
“…Gregory Edgeworth.”

No!
Something in her head connected, the sound of a very heavy puzzle piece being shoved into place. Flashes of the police knocking on her door, them waiting with baited breath as she called on a spirit, the court proceeding, a sobbing defendant…the words fake, phony…that same smirk on the lips of the victim in the paper, in the pictures of him standing next to a little boy that might as well have been his clone...

The letters she had tried so hard to forget. DL-6. This man’s death had started the downward spiral that tore apart the already shaken Fey family. He had caused Misty and her sister to be the laughingstock of the tabloids, caused their husbands to leave them and Morgan to despise her even more strongly…what sort of usurper can’t even prove herself, Misty? Morgan had developed that seed of a plan in her head to demolish the Fey clan, all out of the madness derived from this man!

And he was still trying to smile, although he didn’t seem stupid enough to not realize she was repenting rage.

“I know I caused you quite a bit of trouble in the past…” He even interrupted her thoughts. “I’m truly sorry but-“
She cut him off this time, all formalities dropped.
“Why did you lie, Mr. Edgeworth? Why did you make me a fool?” She didn’t want to scream at him. She had no urge for that. She only wanted to know the truth.

If he had only told the truth about his murderer when she had called him back. His expression dropped slowly, his face identical to the way that boy of his had looked while watching the trial…
“If I had told what I truly thought had happened? That my own son had destroyed me? You wouldn’t want to bring that upon your son, would you?” Gregory remarked quietly. “He spoke so loudly, but he was so fragile…”

Misty frowned and looked away. She wasn’t a violent person, or a malevolent one – she liked to think of herself of being caring. But she lacked sympathy for the purity of his kid, that many years ago, when his feeble lie had churned into so many deaths!
She started to walk away, unable to think of much to say. This wasn’t a good time to run into Gregory Edgeworth, of all people...

He wasn’t following her. Instead, he had sat down carefully on the edge of the cloud, staring intently as he folded his knees up to his chest. She watched as he pushed his glasses up further on his nose, that smirk playing on his face as he followed who needed him most across the earth with a single gaze.
She shook her head, watching the countryside evolve into the city again. The street she seemed to be standing on was one she knew well, and leaving the man alone in the clouds, Misty walked into the building and up into the apartment she had known and loved as Elise Deauxnim.

Spirits, technically, had no body to rest or feed, but either way she woke up in her old manor in Kurain, her old room identical to the one on earth right down to the stream of light casting in from the window onto the bed. The same window revealed that her less-than-welcome companion had spent the night staring wistfully down at earth.
Misty bit her tongue and closed the shade, looking down. Didn’t he have somewhere to go that wasn’t her front step? Los Angeles was a large city, after all. Wasn’t there an office he had to go to, a house or an apartment? She wasn’t about to scream at him, but he wasn’t really living like he was in heaven…

Or maybe it wasn’t heaven for him. His eyes had glimmered with the tiniest bit of interest when he had spoken to her. Was she the first person he had talked to in seventeen years?
Then again, Misty figured, she was desperate to find her daughter. If he ever moved, she planned to try looking out into the abyss again. Perhaps once Mia returned, she’d be able to point her out. Where was Mia, anyway? It only made her more curious as to what was going on down on earth.

She’d have a nice long chat with Mia, once Mia got back. And maybe she might locate some friends – lost mediums, a few old companions who had sadly passed away.
But that required leaving her front door and passing the deceased lawyer again. If he turned and looked at her, she had no idea what she would do.
She sat back down on her bed, fixing her graying hair sullenly. She was acting like a child and she knew it. No one of her age and grace, dead or alive, should act so sullen over something that shouldn’t be bothering her!

The medium stood up again, straightened her collar, and held her head high. Misty Fey couldn’t stand ridiculousness. She was stronger than that, and proudly she walked through her manor and out into the now familiar clouded street again.

A few other people walked by her, far too interested in each other than with her. One pair of girls looked uncannily similar – sisters, she presumed. A group she determined to be a father and two sons passed by, another a young couple. Of course, it was all relative – the young couple could have been a mother that died young and a son that died at the same age, just a handful of years later.

She walked alone, the only one – but that will change once Mia returns. We’ll walk together.
But no, she realized. She wasn’t the only one alone…
No. I can’t go console him. He’s happy enough just sitting there…
Against her will, her feet began to march towards him, her head spinning. Sometimes she hated abiding to the Kurain-bred forgiving nature.


---

“Father? Where’s Mother?”
He was five years old, just old enough to grow out of the Daddy and Mommy phase he had waddled through as a toddler. Recently he had taken to saying Father, a term brimming with just as much as love as it had respect. Respect was something hard to find in such a young child. He’d heard plenty of children with smart mouths and temper tantrums. His son was docile to the point where sometimes Gregory was worried that he was doing something too right.

Miles hadn’t heard the arguing the night before, he had hoped. He hadn’t heard his father coming in late, having been working on a case and forgotten the time again, even after he had promised his wife he would come home and actually spend some time with his son for once. Miles had, with any luck, been fast asleep when Gregory hadn’t noticed his wife dragging a suitcase behind her, had scarcely taken notice that she was even about to leave.
She hadn’t wanted her son. She hadn’t wanted anything to do with him. That didn’t even matter. There had been other issues involved, issues not for young ears to hear or even understand, but Gregory knew his son knew what a divorce was due to his constant peppering of questions about law – a poor excuse for quality time, his wife had called it.

But the boy was curious, and he deserved an answer. For the first time Gregory put down his work while talking to him and looked him in the eye.
“Mother…left for a while.” He said lamely, not wanting to bring up the divorce yet. “She’s not going to live here anymore.” They didn’t teach explaining difficult situations to young, impressionable children in law school.
His son frowned, confused. He pondered for a moment, thinking.

And unexpectedly, his face lit up.
“That means you’ll be able to take me to school!” He clasped his hands together, beaming, and Gregory understood for the first time what his wife had meant about a wasted hero. As absent-minded as he was, Miles adored Father no matter how many times he had been accidentally ignored or forgotten. Everyone who came into the house was treated to a detailed story about the defense attorney’s latest win, written and directed by the little boy. Every time he spoke of the win, he added on a little bit more that would push the embarrassed Edgeworth into an even more heroic light, but he always ended the same way. “Father always protects his client! He always brings the bad guy to justice!”

Ever since pre-school had started Miles had begged Father to take him in, no doubt an underhanded way to show him off to the class. Father had always declined kindly, explaining he had an important case to work on or some sort of emergency meeting. This only made him even more admirable.
But now, he was going to have to do it. If his wife went through with the divorce – and she was the type to go through with something – he would be the one cooking all the time, doing all the driving back and forth to the public school across town. He’d be the subject of all the heart to heart talks.

I’ll have to clear out my schedule.
Gregory sighed and offered him an exhausted smile. “Of course. I’ll take you anywhere you want.”
Miles beamed. “I told my teacher about you. I’ll bet she’ll be excited to meet you! And my whole class will probably want you to sign their desks…”
Father chuckled quietly, patting his head. He stared down at his paper, a sudden epiphany-taking place behind of his eyes, before looking back down at the boy.

My son.
He cleared his throat and picked up the pen. “Would you like to know what I’m working on?”

Miles’s eyes turned into fireworks and he grew too pleased to do anything but nod. At his father’s gesture, he crawled up into his lap and looked over the desk, carefully trying his hardest to read his father’s flawless cursive. Gregory noted his struggle – it was college level reading, after all! What was a five year old to be expected to do?”
“Now see, this case is a tricky one…”

---
He hadn’t said much when Misty had brought up the articles she had read about him, out of desperation for some sort of conversation. For someone who had tried to ignore him, she had brought up an overwhelming amount of subjects – his law schooling, his career. Gregory responded politely and warmly, but he seemed fixated on the ground. Only when the words single parent came out of her mouth did he finally look up at her.

At first, it didn’t seem that he was going to respond, and Misty instead filled the silence with her own harried words. “It’s hard, isn’t it? I know how it feels. Not a lot of the Kurain men stick around for long and-“

“Actually, it’s the best thing that ever happened to me.” He interjected cautiously, for once not looking down at the earth. Misty tilted her head in a puzzled, yet curious manner. He nodded, folding his hands. “I was forced to acknowledge I had a son. We were happier alone.”
Misty smiled faintly as he smirked again. “Best few years of my life.”
She looked away from him briefly. She hadn’t expected that sort of answer.
“…But I understand if it was different for you.” He had turned his head back towards the horizon. “Usually one doesn’t speak highly of a divorce.”

He offered her another smile, one of many she had been given that day. No matter how much he looked like his son, someone Misty had seen on the news terribly often during her days back on earth, he was nowhere near as dour. The medium blushed a bit, flustered at the subject.

“I must ask you.” Gregory said just as she was searching for words to say wisely. “Isn’t there someone up here you know? A friend or a sibling…”

Sibling? Even if Morgan was dead, Misty wanted to enjoy her afterlife… “My daughter passed away a few years ago. I don’t think she’s up here right now.”

The question mark over her companion’s head was visible for a moment, but then glanced down at the Magatama still dangling from the beads around her neck. She touched it in a sort of confirmation and he nodded, his mind in analytical mode. “Spirit mediums. Of course.”

“She’s probably being called down to earth by a medium. She should be back soon enough.” Misty was so used to the concept that she was nearly surprised that Gregory seemed to be having a hard time wrapping his head around the subject. Patiently, she gave him a gentle look.

He leaned back, hiding his genuine puzzlement behind his glasses.
“I’m sorry.” He apologized faintly. “But I’ve always been skeptic of all these stories of ghosts and channeling.” Misty could understand that, somewhat. “I mean now after I’ve been a part of it myself, I’ve been converted. But I didn’t even know what was going on then.”

Misty knew what it was like to channel someone. She didn’t know what it was like to be channeled. “I’m sure it was confusing.”
Gregory Edgeworth, she assumed, wasn’t the sort of person who could stand being confused for long.
“It’s just that I was finally getting used to this place and suddenly I was in what looked like a temple with a parade of police officers gasping out questions. I think anyone would be confused.” He grinned. Was he trying to be comforting? Misty couldn’t tell, but somehow it was working.

Misty nodded as he finished. “…And then, I was back here again.” Alone, she added for him. But it wasn’t what he seemed to be thinking.
“Well, a lot of people don’t believe us.” The mystic said kindly, folding her knees carefully in her typical elegant manner. “Our doubters are all usually logical, sort of studious people who are so used to seeing things that are tangent…”
“Lawyers, you mean.” She laughed, mostly because he had caught on directly to what she was hinting at. He lived right up to his expectations and she was sure Mr. Edgeworth knew it.

She didn’t know what to say. He, as usual, did.
“It must have been hard, using that as evidence in court.” He was looking back down over the edge again. Misty envied him and she peered over herself, trying to catch a glimpse of her youngest daughter’s thick black hair or bright purple robes down among the living. Nothing came of it and dejected, she nodded.

“It was hard.” She agreed solemnly. “We had your testimony recorded, but there was still a lot of suspicion.” It had made it easier for the defense to tear it apart that much sooner.
“Hammond wasn’t much of an attorney, when I knew him.” Gregory frowned. “Was the type you always hear about that convinces himself that his client is guilty from the start. Someone like that is the reason people ran the other way whenever I introduced myself as a lawyer.” Misty nodded her head, having previously thought the very same about most attorneys – save her daughter, and even sometimes Misty worried about the path Mia was taking…

“If someone else had been behind the bench…” In a roundabout way, he was returning to his apology from the day before. It was bothering him still, Misty noted. He was sincere.

“You’re not a believer in destiny, are you, Mr. Edgeworth?” He shook his head.

“There are a lot of coincidences. But things aren’t always doomed to end up a certain way, no…” Gregory shrugged. “My death, for instance. If I hadn’t been in such a hurry to get out of the courtroom I might not have been on that elevator, for example. It’s not that I was fated to die that day. It was simply bad luck.”

“I don’t know about that.” The mystic pulled back her thick, dark hair out of habit, wrapping it carefully into the same bun she had grown accustomed to. “I grew up believing everything happened for a reason.” She cast him a glance. “You know, fates and spirits and our ancestors guiding us and all that…”

He was looking at her again, his dark eyes crinkled kindly. Why am I turning red every time he looks at me? Misty shifted uncomfortably as she felt her heart being violated. As logical as he claimed to be, Gregory Edgeworth would have made a good medium with the way he was able to look right into her. Why did so many of those attorney sorts denounce mystics when so many of the traits required in both professions overlapped? During his career, he would have had to cross-examine witnesses – that wasn’t something that took only careful analyzation of “tangent” facts. That took a bit of soul searching as well…

“Do you really believe what they taught you?” It wasn’t a patronizing question. “Just because someone’s raised to believe something doesn’t mean they end up like that.” His son was living proof of that, she remembered. She’d heard all about those changes from the newspaper, reading about a man drastically different than the boy from those old photographs who had worshiped all things truthful.

“I think what you learn always sticks with you, even just a little bit.” Misty responded. “Nurture isn’t something you can forget very easily.”

That seemed to alleviate him, just a bit. He leaned forward and nodded. “I’d like to think that.”
Me too.

But Gregory reclined quickly, going back into the philosophical. “So then you do honestly believe in destiny?”

Misty gazed downwards, a somber yet peaceful aura about her. “Of course. Without it, I wouldn’t be here.”

---

Last edited by MercuryKitten on Sat Dec 15, 2007 6:16 pm, edited 2 times in total.

Part Two
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---

She hadn’t liked the idea of going to see the trial. Misty didn’t usually go into town, preferring to stay out in the country and away from the entanglements of a government she didn’t really understand. It wasn’t that she was sheltered or ignorant – it was just that she preferred not to get herself entwined within the mess.
But she hadn’t resisted the invitation, knowing that the invite wasn’t actually very optional. After all, technically it was her testimony.

She arrived to an amount of staring, her robes twisting around her ankles when everyone else was in dress pants and leather shoes. Misty would have been even more aware of the stars if she had come dressed more casually – this, she could tolerate. She sat down on a bench with as much grace as she could muster, her head held high and several policemen not too far from her. A spirit medium often called for special circumstances, and she had been smuggled in through the back of the courtroom safely out of the myopic eyes of the press. Hundreds of reporters had congregated in the front, trying to get a scoop on the biggest court case of the year, but none of them had seen the most scandalous person involved.

Since she was officially involved with the case, she had been allowed to understand what exactly her testimony would explain. She’d been given a few articles on Mr. Gregory Edgeworth, watched a few videos of some old court cases – for what he had to do, he was good at it, as far as she could tell. This very case began the same way as nearly all the tapes she had watched. They all rose, all sat back down, all watched as the prosecutor began his opening statement. Some legal jargon was thrown back and forward. Since it didn’t seem like her testimony was going to be played anytime soon Misty hesitantly allowed herself to not focus on the case.

Her eyes scanned the courtroom subtly, taking particular note of the people involved. There was a prosecutor, a plain, convincing-looking man standing across from the defense. The defense was the epitome of everything she had heard about lawyers – thick, oily, and daunted, a sour expression all over his lips. He continuously cast an awful snake-like glare at the mousy defendant, a nervous-looking man wearing a crooked tie.
She found herself with only a little pity to spare for the defendant, however, as her eyes locked onto the pew behind him. In a side row of benches, right in the front, was the smallest child she had ever seen.

Nearly everything about the boy was thin; his arms and legs stuck out of his little body like the limbs of a stick figure, his torso slight inside the itchy-looking old suit he had draped around him – at least too sizes too large, it looked like. But his white shirt was crisp and his small tie perfectly straight, tidy even as it appeared to be slowly choking him. Misty cringed as the child lifted his head a bit, revealing a ghastly paleness marked with hollowed eyes, the sort of expression only found on one who hadn’t slept in a good while.
No child should ever have to go without sleep. Those sorts of troubles were reserved for adults, she thought.

He looked familiar and there was no questioning why. She’d seen a family photo of the victim. The boy hadn’t been outright smiling – both he and his father seemed to come from a serious bloodline – but an internal beam had been visible through his eyes, a mild grin identical to his father’s just beginning to show. Misty had been told the photo was the most recent picture of the victim, snapped only a month or so before the incident.

Which victim? She had asked, and the officer had smiled joylessly.
“They think he might be a witness, his son. He was in the elevator with his Dad, came to watch him that day.” Misty looked back at the picture, the officer sighing besides her.

“It’s a shame. He was a good kid, too. I saw him a few times. Prouder than hell of his old man – used to go around telling anyone who was listening that he wanted to be just like Father and defend truth and justice…”

Misty wasn’t sure if the boy had the same sort of ideals of truth and justice about him now. Her eyes remained rested on the child, her ears almost entirely tuned out of the court proceedings. He reminded her of her own children, the two beautiful daughters she had left behind at home that day. The boy was older than her toddler, but not too much younger than her firstborn. Maybe someday he could play with her children.

He was standing up, and Misty realized the boy had been called to the stand. Her knuckles grew white against the bench as she realized she was muttering to herself.
Don’t make him testify! They can’t do that to him!
He walked to the stand, peering out at the audience, and Misty had to resist the urge to rescue him.
The prosecution hesitated, but leaned in darkly. “Your name? Please?”

The boy nodded, standing on his toes and straightening to see over the stand. “Miles Edgeworth, sir.”

He nodded. “Please. Tell us what occurred yesterday afternoon. You might be the only one who knows.”

The boy tugged at his tie without knowing it, unable to look anywhere else but the ground in front of the prosecution’s bench.

“I…we…we were going in the elevator…” He had rehearsed what he was saying, the prosecutor helping him to boil it down to simple facts, no doubt; but still, he was shaking. “It was right after the trial. He just picked up his things and…we left. We were going to go out afterwards…”

The prosecutor motioned his hand and the boy scurried along with the testimony. “And that man was in the elevator with us too. I didn’t really notice him until the power went out…”

“Objection!” The child winced as the defense called out. “If the lights were out, there’s no way to prove that the third person was my client!”

The judge shook his head. “The doors were closed, with no way in or out for several hours. Yanni Yogi was found unconscious in the elevator once the power came back on…”
“He could have gone in later…”
But nothing came of it. “Sit down, Mr. Hammond. The testimony can resume…”

Misty took a deep breath. One more objection and the witness would probably have a heart attack. He continued, speaking as firmly as he could under the circumstances.

“The lights went out and everything stopped. Father said not to worry and he said he would try pressing the emergency button. Nothing happened.” Miles swallowed. “He said just to wait a little bit, that the ground would stop shaking soon...”
The boy had had a slight phobia of earthquakes before hand. Now, she could only imagine how much that had escalated.
He looked around, waiting. Hammond scowled and gestured. “Come on, out with it.”
Jerk.

“We sat around for an hour, maybe, and everything was alright for a little while…” He was getting to the hardest part. “And then I got really tired. It was getting really hard to breathe, and…”
“And?”

Miles looked up at the prosecution, unhappy with the answer he was about to give. “I closed my eyes. Then I woke up at the hospital.”
An audible sigh was clear throughout the courtroom. They had been hoping that the younger Edgeworth would have provided enough insight to make the testimony on tape irrelevant…

Hammond stood up, slamming his fist against the table. “You’ve got to have heard something. One does not merely sleep through the sound of a gun-“
“Objection! He wasn’t asleep, he was unconscious. The oxygen in the elevator shaft was running out!”

Miles covered his face and Misty felt herself lunge forward even as she was unable to do anything. The defense had approached the bench in an uproar.
“The whole time you were there! I find it hard to believe you don’t know any more than we do…” A dark sneer crossed his face. “Unless of course, you fired the gun.”
The prosecution started to retaliate, but the damage had already been done. The boy had begun to shake again. Even then, he didn’t cry, as he stood as tall as he could.
[/i[Brave little thing…[i[

“Enough!” The judge slammed the gavel as hard as he could, slowly silencing the chaos that had ensued. “This accusation is pointless, Mr. Hammond! Control yourself next time and maybe you won’t earn another penalty!”

Disgusted, Hammond retreated back behind the desk. The boy looked up at him, still shaking his head feverishly, and as he teetered back and forward Misty realized she knew what was about to happen.

She was in the front row, giving her a clear pathway up to the stand, the bailiff at her heels as the little boy began to fall backwards. Before anyone else could react, the medium had caught the fainted witness gently in her arms.
Chaos had resumed in an orderly way as the bailiff took the boy from Misty, picking him up as carefully has he could. As the bailiff began to leave the courtroom, the mystic overheard the judge mutter something about a recess and decided to follow…

“Just one moment, your honor.” It was not the oily voice of Hammond, but the firm one of the prosecution. Slowly, Misty turned around.

“I don’t think we’ll need our witness anymore.” The prosecution said, watching the boy being carried out. “We have something else we would like to show the court.”
He had made eye contact with the medium and nodded. She took one last look at the child before making her way back down the aisle. A television had been brought out, an all too familiar tape in the prosecution’s hand.

“This next bit of evidence…is slightly, ah, unorthodox…”

She found herself understanding why Gregory had lied.
---

Misty knew something was wrong the moment she saw her companion’s face was white. Over the past few days, she had made herself forget his otherworldly testimony as the memories of that little boy had come rushing back to her. She wished things had worked out differently for all of them; had it not been for the leak to the press, the mystic would have inquired into taking the son home herself.

But everything happens for a reason… Hadn’t she just spoken so highly of destiny the other day?

She had planned to go sit with him again, ready for another attempt at looking down at the earth – perhaps if she could find one daughter, she could locate the second, as well. However her plans changed, quickly, when she saw that Gregory was not giving her his usual smile.
He was leaning over the cloud at a dangerous angle, at first too focused on the ground to even notice Misty approaching him. The man barely even responded when she brushed his shoulder; she leaned over trying her hardest to see what he saw. On the ground, the people still all looked like stick figures - but they were nervous stick figures, some of them running about or taking shelter in buildings. The ground down below, in the city she recognized as Los Angeles, was quivering.

Earthquake…

“Is he okay?”
Gregory shook his head just slightly, unable to tear his eyes away from the mountain range just by the city.

“He’s…he’s shaking…” The man whispered. “He’s grabbing on to the side of the cavern…”

“Why is he in a cavern?” Why did I ask that now, of all times? It was a feeble attempt to distract him.

“Just some investigation…he’s there on work…” The attorney swallowed hard. “Oh, he…he fell over! He’s…”

Unable to help himself, Gregory lunged forward, his arm outstretched. Gently Misty grabbed his shoulders, pulling him back as softly as she could. Tears of frustration were filling her companion’s eyes, and she felt her own start to water; although she couldn’t see him, she could just imagine the prosecutor’s son slumped over on the ground, his face just as white as it had been seventeen years ago.

“Please let me be…” He hid his pain from her, looking the other way as he escaped from her grasp. Misty reached out for him again, unable to leave him. The spirit trying his best not to cry seemed much smaller here than the confident attorney in those court videos…

He stopped resisting her and slumped backwards, helpless. Bitterly, he covered his face in a far too familiar manner.
“What is this?” The man whispered, hunched over. “What is the point of watching over someone when you can’t even help?”

His hands had tensed instinctively when she grabbed them in comfort. But slowly, they relaxed into hers, his white fingers merging into her softer tan ones.
It didn’t matter how many badges or degrees someone had. It didn’t matter how much blood or crying someone had witnessed, how much agony they had hardened themselves to – how much stronger they had been in the past.

Everyone needs help sometimes. Misty sat with him for an amount of time that felt unending, draping herself around him like a much-needed security blanket. It occurred to her that this hadn’t been the first earthquake in seventeen years, and especially not the first time his son had suffered greatly…
How many times has he felt this hopeless all alone?

After a while he removed his hand from hers, covering his eyes carefully. He leaned back over, peering tentatively through the slits between his fingers as if he were watching a horror movie.
Gregory’s hand went to his side. “A few police officers found him. He’s getting up…”

The color was returning to the ghost’s face. Misty sighed to herself in relief. Like any parent, Gregory had a tendency to think his child was weaker than he really was.
“He’s leaving the cavern.” The ghost offered the play-by-play only for the benefit of the mystic who couldn’t see. “He doesn’t look happy, but that’s to be expected. He’s never liked looking weak in front of anyone.”

She realized her arm was still draped around him, but she left it there. “Most people don’t.”

The attorney’s eyes lit up and he pointed again. “His friend’s there. He’s making sure he’s alright…”

Misty smiled.
“He’s a good friend, that one. I think Miles used to know him as a kid. It’s lucky they ran back into each other…” He was calming down, although his hand had found itself back on Misty’s own. “And of course, he’s being his usual self. Someone comforts him and he doesn’t want to hear it…”

“He’s independent.”
He smirked. “No, he’s not. He’s always done better with some sort of comfort behind him. Even if he rejects it, it does him good.” The attorney crossed his arms. “But I think he’s starting to accept that.”
I think you’re starting to accept that, too.

Gregory’s breathing had returned to normal, his face as gentle as it normally was. He shoved his glasses up on his face and offered her a sad grin.
“I’m sorry I worried you.” He pulled away from her and sat up again, one eye still down on the ground. Just like his son.

“Don’t be.” She tried one last time to see down below and frowned again. Nothing was coming of it, although the mountain range was a little clearer as she squinted. She could nearly make out Hazakura, and was that Iris she was seeing by the temple? Maya was there, she sensed, and it made her heart beat a little faster.
Soon, she’ll come into focus. I’m sure of it.

“Any luck?” Misty nodded fervently, noticing several policemen around the village. She nearly stood up as she looked beyond Dusky Bridge to recognize Miles Edgeworth standing by the young defense lawyer she had been able to meet briefly…
“I can recognize some of them.” She did stand up in excitement, he standing with her. “The head nun’s there…there’s a detective I’ve seen on T.V. before! And there! Beyond the temple, that’s my niece, and I think that might be Iris…”

He was grinning as she scoped the landscape, the details she had taken for granted on earth swimming delightfully into view. “I can’t see my daughter yet. But if I’m here…”
The recollection of Gregory’s explanation about planes of heaven over different parts of the earth came forth in her mind. “She’s got to be down there somewhere. I can feel it.”

A bit of disappointment slowly ate away at her newfound excitement. Silently she kneeled back down onto the cloud, feeling heavy.
“Soon, I’m sure of it. I’ll bet you by tomorrow you’ll know exactly what she’s been doing all day.”

She felt his hand on her back, the now-familiar redness shooting into her cheeks. I shouldn’t be so harsh on myself. It’s not supposed to be easy…

As she scanned the ground again, she caught sight of her companion’s son once more. Something the friend had said had made Miles look to the side and smile, briefly, and as much as the prosecutor tried to hide it Misty knew Gregory had seen the grin.

“He’s happiest here.” He nodded to the medium. “I hope he doesn’t go back to Germany again. The people who care about him the most are here.”

She didn’t speak, but the subtle lean towards him said all she needed.
It’s the same for you.


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I win the dorkwad of the year award.
Please don't eat me, be nice to this one. It was an experiment in character and also fluffiness.
Comments adored
-MK

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First of all: cuuuttteee. [as pretty much everyone you know has said. But it ISSSS. XD] I think you did a good job writing Misty and Gregory, you captured Misty's thoughts and gentle nature especially well. The court flashbacks were good too. [Hammond's such a jerk...and you've captured that.] In general, I just liked the idea. XP The way their all looking down on the people they knew, and how it takes Misty time to see anything down there is cool. [and the descriptions of Miles after the earthquake with Phoenix and all the rest] Solid story with cuteness. ^^

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I really like it! Gosh it's o'silly o' clock in the morning or I'd say something more sensible. I also think Miles' parents were divorced so SQUEEE on that. I like fluff, and I like the fact that Misty and Gregory can make up and help each other. It's just lovely.

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I hadn't really thought about how strong a reaction Misty and Gregory would have to each other, and it's fascinating to watch the old and new issues play out between them. It's true, characters with little or no screen time need love, too! I really like how you've characterized them, and the spectrum of emotions in Misty.

And Misty considering taking little Miles in, wow, there's an AU I'll be gleefully pondering if anyone needs me.

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XDD Feel free, please! I'd love to read it.
Thank you all, guys :D

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