AUTHOR NOTES:

Well, here's the start of a new story! It's based off an AU drabble I posted on my tumblr. At one point, the phantom (while attempting to convince others they're Fulbright) mentioned that they were following orders given by the phantom. I wondered how this would work if it was canon, so I made this story. I have NO idea if I'll actually finish it, but I hope you guys like it anyways!

Tell me of any inaccuracies, errors, etc. I'm not the best at character portrayal (poor Edgeworth is butchered), but I think I have everything in Dual Destinies right. I've been through it twice now.

Everyone had believed that if the phantom was caught and dealt with, then life would return to normal. It was the philosophy followed as soon as they were learned of, and it was one of the biggest driving forces during the UR-1 retrial, as well as wrapping up the murder of Clay Terran. The dark age of law would fade away with all that was wrong reversed. And truly, that was what it seemed to be. Trust was slowly coming back to the courtrooms, and things were picking up. The Wright Anything Agency was going to be as busy as ever, and with crime not exactly slowing either, the Prosecutor's Office was also planning for preoccupation as well. There was a new load now as well, that being of dealing with the newly captured phantom.

Interpol had almost immediately became involved. The phantom was a transnational spy, of course, so this was part of their job. This nameless, faceless man had been hunted for quite some time, and with him now in grasp, it was time to get the information they needed and deal with this criminal. They were hospitalised now, dealing with the bullet that barely missed the mark, but they'd pull through fine. Agents of Interpol who dealt more with interrogations were coming over through the night to start a very long process.

With the hours ticking by, Athena gave a light spin on the chair she sat in. A new bowl of noodles was placed in front of her, with Apollo eyeing in some cross of confusion and bewilderment. Eldoon's Noodles were, without a doubt, the hottest and saltiest noodles to ever be eaten. But she downed them with ease, and it shocked him every time. Phoenix just gave a laugh as he watched Trucy and Athena get ready for a race of who could eat their bowl faster. Off to the side, watching and talking idly among each other, were Edgeworth and Simon. They ate slower and were calmer, though it was wrong to claim they weren't enjoying their time. Everyone at the shop did, and the fun only carried on until everyone was full and it was beyond needing to go to bed. Slowly, the group that had gathered fell apart, all going off to their home. It was a happy night, and one to store off for more pleasant things.

Except for a few souls, namely one man who was shoved off into the darkness. He was rather crudely tied up. Hands were bound, and his feet were kept to a chair. Binds were over his mouth like a muzzle on a dog. But he looked calm, staring up at darkness above him as if he expected to notice something. Nothing ever came, of course, but his will wasn't deterred. That, or he was flat-out bored, and was just doing it to pass time. Either way, he was there, and he wasn't moving. It was pointless anyways. The space was too small for movement. So a statue he remained. It was almost rehearsed. Almost. Nothing could stay that way, and indeed he didn't. His eyes started fall, and his head slowly sank, and he slipped into sleep.

It was soon destroyed by the rude opening of a door, light blasting in and the voice of the opener saying, "All right, then. You're done here." Light showed a man walk in who looked much like the one bound. He bent down, eyeing the other who could have murdered with the look he gave. The free one stood up and let out a jolly laugh, fists on his side. He then asked, "What's wrong, Prosecutor Blackquill?" There was a moment of pause, before he then realised, "I suppose these aren't your mannerisms." The happy voice slid away, becoming lower and more rough. Those hands dropped and he then said, "Is this more of your liking? Cykes-dono seemed to be so easily tricked by it, anyhow." Some kind of assholish grin came to his face. "Even your avian friend was. But I have no use for this guise anymore. The phantom has been captured and is in holding of the Prosecutor's Office."

And then, the mouth gag was released. Blackquill only continued his death stare as though it would help. A sharp laugh came from the other, and he asked, "Why are you so quiet?"

"You are not worthy of my voice," he spat back finally.

Once more, that sneer was lit up on his face. "Then I shall have it for you. It will be easier that way, though I can't have you talking. Not yet."

"And that is supposed to mean what, exactly? Do you plan to throw me across the River Styx yourself, phantom?" The name was spoken with poison.

"No." That fake look-alike reached into his pocket, pulling out a case with care. It was clear, and the inside was a needle filled with some kind of substance. "Go back to sleep, Prosecutor Blackquill." The voice had morphed back to what it had been before. "Oh, and, congratulations on your acquittal. I told you I would never give up on you!"

"You demon!" Blackquill roared, pushed past his limit. For the first time, he attempted to move, jerking forth. The other just raised a foot and kicked him back. His head hit the wall behind him before settling to be lowered. He resumed glaring.

"What's your favorite word?" There was a pause, before the growl of, "Silence!" came out of the one standing. The needle was pulled out. "Calm yourself. It will make this a lot less of a strain on you."

Before a reply could be given, the man moved forth, bringing it onto the captured one's arm. It was a rough injection; something that had been hoped to avoid, but was impossible with how riled Blackquill was. Slowly, though, the other relaxed. His breathing calmed. His head slowly began to lower, and his eyes closed. The other moved away, seeming satisfied. Blackquill was put to sleep. As he was slowly unbound, the man muttered, "Injustice we trust."

The first thing Simon did when he came into work the next day, looking awful even for him, was say, "The man we have captured is not the phantom." And everyone proceeded to stare at him like he'd lost his mind. It likely wasn't far from the truth. He'd been present the whole of the phantom's demise, saw him be arrested, the breakdown, and everything. To suddenly say their man was wrong was ridiculous.

And that's exactly what Edgeworth said. "That's ridiculous."

Simon held firm. His fists clenched as if a show of such, and he said, "It is not ridiculous, Chief Prosecutor. The man we captured is not the phantom."

"And what is the basis of your claim?" he asked, taking off his glasses and finally bothering to set down the papers in his hands. "You were there-"

"I was not."

At that point, Edgeworth closed his eyes and took a long, slow breath. His index and thumb ran over his eyes before pinching his nose. He didn't need this right now. His hand then dropped on the desk, and he looked up, asking, "Did you sleep last night?"

A pause, and then, "Pardon?"

"Did you sleep last night?"

"Yes…"

Edgeworth put back on his glasses. "Try to get some more tonight."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

He looked over from the papers he'd picked up. "Get more rest, and try not to think too radically. You must have had a nightmare or something."

"A nightmare, sir?"

"A nightmare."

"Why do you say that?"

"You're saying you weren't at the trial." His voice was flat and blunt, as if he was insulted that this conversation was even happening.

"I was not-"

"Too many people disagree, including myself."

A hand slammed down on Edgeworth's desk, and Simon just said with urgency, "Chief Prosecutor! With all due respect, that was not me."

"Then who was it?"

"That was the phantom!"

Edgeworth didn't look up anymore. "Out of my office."

"Chief Prosecutor?"

"If it makes you feel better, you have my permission to talk to him later. He's at the Hickfield Clinic." He picked up a pen and began writing. "I can't promise Interpol won't be talking to him, as they're certainly eager to start, but you can try. Now, Blackquill, I have work to do." He glanced up. "Cases aren't slowing down. You'll have one assigned to you soon." He looked back down to his work once more. "I'll send an officer your way with one."

"But, sir-"

"Go, Blackquill."

Faced with no other option, he did, though his reluctance was obvious. One of the prosecutors there, Blackquill didn't know much on him but he was a rather older one, attempted some kind of consultation at seeing the overly aggravated man, but was shooed away. Simon just worked on setting up his office for now. He'd take Edgeworth up on that permission, and go see the phony phantom himself.

"This stubborn brat!"

Some kind of furious woman stood outside the phantom's room, a man next to her watching warily. They were both dressed up in suits, miscellaneous items between them and a couple briefcases set to the side. The woman paced back and forth, ranting in frustration while the man just continued to watch. He stayed very quiet, leaned on a wall with arms folded. At hearing someone approach, he gave a look over, shaking his head with eyes wide. He didn't know who the emo-looking rogue that approached was, nor did he care, but it was best he stopped for everyone's sake. But he didnt. He came up, and prompted what had happened.

The man started to reply, but the woman cut in, barking, "Who is this?"

"My name is Simon Blackquill," he answered. "The Chief Prosecutor allowed me to come by to speak with the phantom. Am I to assume you are the Interpol agents who will talk to him?"

The woman snorted and looked away. "Will? We've tried, but that dense, daft, doofish-"

"He's being unusually tight-lipped, and we can't exactly do normal means to get him to talk, as he's hospitalised and under intense watch," the man translated. "It's gotten rather frustrating for us, so we stepped outside for a moment to calm down."

"Allow me an attempt."

They both looked over. The woman then just said, "No."

"You may record our conversation if you wish," Simon offered. "I have dealt with the phantom for a near year. You cannot be sure of what might happen."

"This is Interpol only," she answered, grinding her teeth.

"Interpol is obviously unable to extract any answers," he retorted. "You may calm and you may try again, but do you honestly believe it will work? If the phantom is not speaking now, it is unlikely responses will emerge soon."

The man put a hand on the woman's shoulder. He dragged her away for a brief chat. Simon picked up pieces. He was trying to convince her to let Simon help. He went over the main points. They weren't getting anything, he was offering to help, it was a new chance, they could easily ask for verification of being a prosecutor, and that if anything, they'd be spared more frustration while he had to deal with it. And after some deliberation, they came back. A few procedures were taken. Simon's prosecuting badge was checked, Edgeworth was called to verify he was even allowed to speak with the phantom as claimed, a few checks with higher-ups if it was allowed, and he was set-up to have their conversation recorded.

"I suppose we weren't given an exact definition on how or what to find out," the man thought aloud. "We were told to see how willing he'd be and given some questions we could ask. Actual interrogations won't start until he's released, but she has a different agenda." He glanced to his female partner who hadn't entirely soothed her rage. He then handed Simon a list, saying, "Take this. It was what we were told we could try asking."

Simon took in the list, giving some kind of word of promise to try and get what he could. He glanced over the list. Nothing to what he planned to speak about, but maybe if the time came up, he'd try asking about it. Not that it'd go anywhere. That man in there was not the phantom. That was what he was going to find out through one way or another. It may not be what Interpol wanted, but they ought to know about the phony as well. And the recording would be useful. That way, he could have a confession to shove in Edgeworth's face about it. He was not lying, or dreaming, as much as he would've liked it to be. They did not arrest the phantom.

Simon came into the room in quiet. The phantom was lying on a bed, staring idly at a wall. They didn't look over as he entered, nor as he entered and sat down. They hardly even looked over as Simon gave some kind of stiff greeting, only glancing before focusing forward. And the two sat there in some sort of silent awkwardness, Simon staring at the phantom while the phantom looked at the wall. And they remained there for a while, before Simon spoke again.

"You are not the phantom."

The phantom laid there for a minute they finally looked over. So stubbornly, they wore Fulbright's face. They had none to call their own, after all, so this guise just was the easiest he could sum up. But those eyes were different than before, cold and sterile of anything beside blankness. They quirked up an eyebrow, though, asking, "I'm not, am I?" A smile came on their face. It was likely false, more for intimidation, but Simon didn't care.

"You covered for them." The phantom's blankness was met as best as Simon could manage. "Whoever you are, you are not the phantom."

"Wouldn't you just love that?" They were mocking him now.

Simon's hands fisted. "It's easy to fake fingerprint data. You did so yourself with Cykes-dono's prints. Why is it impossible for Fool Bright?"

Tension started to build in the air. "It's not," the phantom conceded. "But, can you prove that? What do you lawyers like to say? Evidence is everything?"

He hesitated. He couldn't prove that. Not at the moment, anyways. Simon let teeth sink into his cheek before he answered, "Suppose you are the phantom. Would you mind answering me a few questions then, phantom?"

"Hmph." They closed their eyes. "The same as the agents, I suppose?"

"Who do you work for?"

Silence.

"Why is it you won't answer?"

"Don't I have a right to remain silent?" They looked at Blackquill. They were making fun of him again. "I should not be forced to say something if it will incriminate me."

Simon could tell why that woman had been agitated so thoroughly. But he remained composed. He wouldn't let this fake get the better of him. Instead, he pointed out, "It is either that you say so now or deal with whatever Interpol has in mind to drive answers out of you." He then tacked on sarcastically, "Or do you not even know?"

There was a very long quiet.

"You're saying you don't."

The phantom looked away. "I don't have names."

"You're lying."

They glanced back over. "Pardon?"

"You know," he asserted. "That, or you can't answer because you're not the phantom."

A small laughter came out of the phantom. "You sound so pathetic," they mused, eyes slanting. "You're refusing your prize after seven years. Seven long years in prison, waiting, working against all odds and knowing death was right around the corner… Why is that?"

"Because it's insulting we've captured a fake," he retorted. "The phantom during the trial was me. If the phantom we arrested was dressed as Fulbright, then it was not the right person."

"Surely you jest." They almost looked entertained by Simon's floundering. "The phantom was you? Are you hearing what you're saying?"

"I am hearing what I am saying very well." He never moved his eyes. "The only jest here is you," a pause, "Fool Bright."

"I have his face because I can't recall my own, as with my voice." They shook their head, looking away again. "I am not your precious Fulbright."

"You are."

"The good detective is dead," the phantom reminded, looking over. "Surely you were told of that when you gathered what even happened during the trial?"

Simon's will, however, was steeled. "It could be faked," he reminded. "Recall what I said about fingerprints. If that is all we're IDing with, that is very easy to fabricate."

"My blood was on the moon rock." They were sneering now. "Why was my blood on the moon rock if I'm Fulbright? He isn't the one who killed your mentor. That was me. How would the phantom fa-"

"Silence," he snarled, eyes growing harsher than normal. He was boiling on the inside. Anyone could notice that much. He was beyond angry; and the last time he was, he had dragged Fulbright out for a walk. "Enough of your games."

"Games?" They closed their eyes and faced the wall again. A horribly loud silence filled the room as the two sat. Only breathing could be heard, mostly Simon's while he attempted to control his temper. And after a while of that, they asked, "Why do you suspect I am not the phantom?"

"You are well aware of why," he asserted.

"Tell me anyways."

"Because I was captured. I was captured and replaced with that devil- The real phantom." Simon didn't move the gaze he suspected that the phony phantom could feel. "You tell me, Fool Bright," he started, saying the name with hatred. "Who was the man who stood as prosecutor?"

"Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth, of course!"

"I said enough of your games."

"I'm not lying."

Simon gritted his teeth. "That thing in court was not me."

They looked over. "And where's your evidence of that, Blackquill?" They held steady. "If you can't prove that, your claims have no hold."

He wanted to scream. This was surely a tough man to crack for a secret. But if he wanted proof, he might just have something. So he stood up and calmly began to undo the buttons on his overshirt. The phantom let out a revolted grunt and looked away. Simon paid him no need. He just took his arm out of the mess before grabbing his sleeve and pulling it up as high as he could. He then held it out, saying, "Look, Fool Bright."

With reluctance, they rolled over. They stared at his arm. "It has a bandage."

Simon took it and ripped it off, not even flinching. Dried red was around it, and he explained, "I was given an injection to make me sleep. Seeing as I was resisting, it was far from easy. Tell me, Fool Bright, why else I would have this?"

"So the prison gave you a shot and had an error, or maybe Taka accidentally did it." The phantom shrugged. "You can sue the prison if you want. That isn't proof."

Simon began to put his clothes back together. He shouldn't have expected it to be so easy. But the issue was that he didn't really have other proof. So he thought for a minute, trying to sum up some kind of proof of his encounter. He wasn't really injured. That single mess-up the phantom had was the only bodily evidence. But without proof, he couldn't get the phantom to admit that they weren't the phantom. So he thought. He thought long and hard, hoping to come up with something. Anything, really, that would be decisive.

Yet after a while in silence, the phantom concluded, "You have nothing."

"That is-"

"Blackquill."

He looked back. "Chief Prosecutor. What has called you here?"

His arms were folded. "I assumed you would be here still. I needed to speak with the agents, but I also need you to come back to the office as soon as you can."

"I should be finished shortly," he answered, looking back to the phantom. "I have a question, though, if you do not mind."

Edgeworth pushed up his glasses. "Make it brief."

"What was the shop we went to last night? The name has slipped my mind."

"Eldoon's Noodles," he answered with uncertainty. "Are you sure you're quite all right, Blackquill? Or was not that memorable to you?"

"It was lost in the haze of the night. Thank you, Chief Prosecutor."

He looked carefully to the two, and said, "Be sure to stay on track, and wrap up as fast as you can." He then turned to leave.

"Wait. Chief Prosecutor, I need to call Wright-dono."

Edgeworth looked back.

"As I do not own a phone, may I borrow yours?"

There was a long pause. "Is this related to what you're doing?"

Simon nodded. "I am unable to leave right now; you're well aware why. He has something of mine I find myself needed. Taka will be able to fetch it, but I need him to be able to gather it and give it if he is available to."

And there was some kind of grumbled wait, before Edgeworth grudgingly agreed. Simon let himself step out by the doors, eyed by the agents, and called. The phone rang for a little bit before it was picked up.

"Edgeworth?"

"I am Blackquill. I am borrowing his phone."

There was hesitance. "Okay. What do you need?"

"The receipt from last night."

"What, do you plan to pay for it?"

"Do not assume. It has come up as… needed as part of an investigation."

"Uh… I think I have it in my bag…" There was silence, and then some shuffling. A minute later, Phoenix reported, "I have it."

"Good. May I send Taka over to retrieve it?"

Whatever fear Phoenix had about that shone through in his hesitance. "I… guess. I'm at the agency right now."

"Excellent. He will be there soon. I'll have it returned when I am done. Thank you, Wright-dono."

"No problem…"

The phone was hung up and returned. Taka was deployed.

Edgeworth shook his head. "I don't know how this is relevant, but I suppose I also didn't see the before-situation."

"I have one last question about last night," Blackquill announced.

"You really didn't sleep."

"Perhaps not. There was something unusual with what I ordered… a spice, or some sort?"

"Yes, you asked for something to be added. I don't know what, but you had Wright and his friends poking fun at you for it," he recalled. "Not that you really cared, you ate it rather happily anyway… I have to be going now. You should be too."

Simon nodded, watching the sky. "I will soon."

And with that, Edgeworth left. Taka came back a bit later, the receipt in his claws. Simon took it and looked it over. It was a longer list, and he read it as he came back to the room. He sat down, eyes still going over it. He then folded it and handed it to the phantom.

"And this means?" was the obvious-coming question.

"I've taken the liberty of finding my order. I'm sure you heard what the Chief Prosecutor said, Fool Bright?" He refused to look at the other.

"Your point being?"

"There is nothing else like it on there."

"This doesn't tell me you were kidnapped."

"I wonder, Fool Bright. Haven't we been to that shop before?"

The phantom raised an eyebrow. "Yes."

"You dragged me there after a trial, despite a good amount of protest. I humored you and ordered those noodles."

"This is going nowhere."

"Tell me something, Fool Bright." Simon finally looked at him. "Why would I order that again and, to quote the Chief Prosecutor, enjoy those noodles I declared were revolting the first time I had them?"

The list was tossed back. Eyes looked away. "You lied about not liking them."

"Doubtful, Fool Bright," he answered. "Even you showed to not like them when I had you try some. Or did you think your tricking worked?"

No answer was given, except, "So you ordered gross noodles. You have a cut on your arm. This doesn't mean you were kidnapped.

"By itself, no," Simon admitted, "it proves little beyond I acted oddly."

"You were free from prison. You had reason."

"There is one last thing."

The phantom looked over. "What could that be?"

Simon pocketed the bill and looked at the fake phantom. "I was going to give you something before the trial; something Taka was holding. Answer me this, Fool Bright: Why was it presented by me as evidence in court? You abruptly said you had to leave after looking at the clock, and that is when I was switched with the phantom. Those papers never made it to your hands, when I could have passed them off in the lobby?"

Oh, it was a lie. It was an outright lie. Simon would have never trusted anyone but himself and Taka with the phantom's psych profile, but he had meant to give Fulbright something. That was his hawk's bandanna. He'd expected the trial to end with him still as a murderer in the world's eyes, so out of some pity-bout to the detective's boo-hooing, he was going to pass off a keepsake. But this man didn't have to know.

And they didn't. They looked away and grinded their teeth. They stayed looking away as Simon prompted, "So, Fool Bright, are you ready to admit it?"

They still wouldn't look over. But at the very least, they muttered, "So, the phantom decided not to kill you…"

"You're not the phantom," Simon asserted.

Their eyes closed. "Nobody's about to believe that."

His hands fisted. "You admit it."

His eyes opened. "Nobody's about to believe that."

A long silence befell the two. Simon had his answer, and yet…

"Who are you really, then?"

"You seem to know."

Simon looked the other way and let out some kind of bitter laugh. He already knew the secret identity. He held a smile on his face, but it wasn't the good kind. The "phantom" looked the other way, at least seeming ashamed.

"I haven't the foggiest idea how you pulled that off," Simon said after sitting there for a while. His head turned to the other. When he spoke, his voice was pained. Something that had been heard before, but was cringe-inducingly unfitting. "But why did you, Fool Bright?"

Fulbright looked back over. He owed that at least. The prosecutor's hard gaze had returned, but there was still that smile. The most he could really explain himself with was simply, "Because not everyone is safe." He then looked back to the wall. The voice was quiet, as if it might have never really existed at all. But it had, and that somehow made it worse.

Simon had walked into Edgeworth's office in a resolve. He was going to prove the phantom was far from the actual one. The confession was useful evidence. Simon had even tried to pry out some of the other things, like what the agents wanted to know. But it didn't render much useful, just attempts that fell apart. An awkward leave was soon taken, and ended him up where he was now: Talking to Edgeworth as requested.

"Do you believe this is decisive?" he asked, bluntly put humoring Simon anymore.

"He admitted it himself."

"Detective Fulbright is dead, Blackquill," Edgeworth reminded. "I don't like it. You don't like it. No one does, but that fact remains. You're letting yourself be pulled by desires of what you want to be true, and he's taking advantage of that."

"He's not," he tried to argue, but was cut off.

"I'll have no more of this."

There was a very long silence that filled the room. Simon had looked up, taking paused breaths. And then, after a bit, "May I have your permission to look into the matter?"

"You won't let it drop, will you?" Edgeworth opened one of his desk drawers, shuffling for a file. "I suppose there's no harm in it, so long as your real work is prioritised. I highly doubt that the phantom is telling the truth, but if it will sate you, have at it."

"Thank you, Chief Prosecutor," Simon said, giving a straight face. On the inside, though, he's happy. And maybe some relieved. It wouldn't be overly hard to get information, he expected, especially now that he was a full prosecutor again. Maybe socially he was adjusting, but these were things that didn't have to wait. But with that done, he dared remind, "You summoned me here to the first place. What was that about?"

Edgeworth found the file and set it on the desk. "It's an interesting coincidence you want to look into if we even have the phantom. He may be dealt with by Interpol, but he was ultimately arrested here. He has the right to a trial. Blackquill, you and someone else will be serving as the prosecutors for this case. As it's very unique, the decision has been made to put two on the case. It will be done as a bigger project among other, smaller and more normal cases."

Despite it being unexpected, Simon would by lying if he said he was shocked. He just gave a nod, asking, "Who exactly is the other prosecutor?"

"She should be here very soon," Edgeworth promised. "She's no short of being very intelligent, but I should warn you of something."

"That is?"

"Miles!"

"You'll see." Edgeworth looked over. "Hello!"

Simon turned around. Someone new had entered. It was a woman about his age (though much shorter), dressed in tight-fitting clothing. She had silvery-blue hair that went to her shoulders, some kind of heels that probably made her taller than she was, and a whip in her hands.

… A what?

She held an amused grin as she looked at Blackquill. "Who are you?"

"My name is Simon Blackquill," he introduced. That face looked rather familiar, but he was struggling to give it a name. He gave a nod which became a bit of a bow. "You are?"

"I am Franziska von Karma." She gave a bow of her own, but much more dramaticised. She held her hands out and seemed to balance on a single foot, putting more of her body into it. She also titled herself, saying, "The prodigy."

"It is an honor to meet you, von Karma-dono." He eyed her over. She seemed regal. She was certainly proud. That much was obvious from her stance alone. There was some kind of air of calmness yet firm authority or power about her. The most he likely gave off was rudeness.

"As it is lovely to meet you as well," she returned flawlessly before turning to Edgeworth. She addressed, "Miles," securing her whip in both hands. "You wouldn't not explain enough over the phone. I hope what you have is important for me to fly from Germany."

"Did you pack to stay a while?" he asked almost casually.

He was answered by being whipped. Franziska then said simply, "Miles."

"Yes, I have an important assignment." The area was lightly rubbed but soon ignored. "I told you how we were chasing the phantom. We've caught him, and I want you and Blackquill to be the prosecutors for it."

She looked to the man before looking back. He was whipped again. She then turned to Simon and declared, "You too!" before striking him as well. Much less adjusted to it, Simon recoiled, gripping his arm where it had hit.

"Might I ask what that was for?" he said through gritted teeth.

Franziska looked at Edgeworth. "Are you saying I'm incapable of handling this alone?"

"No, Franziska."

"Then why is he helping?"

"Four hands are better than two, and two minds are better than one, regardless of what that mind contains and those hands can do." He spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, expression relatively blank. "This is a large case, and we want things to run as smooth and quick as possible, even if it means having a helper." He moved forth the file on his desk. "You two might get along better than you think. For now, this is what has been gathered. It's not a lot; this man has no name or face, but it's our starting point."

Franziska picked up the file before Simon could hardly even look at it. She began reading, asking, "Where shall I work?"

Edgeworth's arms folded. "We don't have an office for you right now. Blackquill can share his with you."

She looked up. She was insulted.

"It hasn't even been a day since the phantom was arrested," he reminded quickly. "I'll have something arranged soon."

The sun was falling by the time Simon wrapped up for the day. He only had a few hours left, anyways. His signal was one bright, chipper Athena Cykes coming into his office, calling out his name. Lucky her, Franziska was gone for the moment.

"Cykes-dono," he greeted, looking up from the papers.

She grinned and gave a V-sign. "Nice office! Kind of barren, but I'm sure you'll put a bunch of neat stuff in it soon!"

He glanced around. He'd only just gotten it. Simon looked to Athena, asking, "Why have you come here?"

"You act like I'm not allowed! And it took a bit to get in here, too." She almost seemed to pout, but quickly perked up. "Is work not over, or something?"

He looked at a clock and set the pencil in his hand down. "It nearly so is, yes."

"Great!" She grinned. "We can leave soon, then!"

"You have something for the young types?"

The two looked over. Franziska had walked back in. Simon shook his head at her words, standing up. "She is like a little sister to me, von Karma-dono."

"Who are you?" Athena asked.

"I am Franziska von Karma." She looked smug, per usual. "I am a prosecuting prodigy."

Athena nodded and smiled. "My name's Athena Cykes. It's nice to meet you!" She held out a hand. It was taken and shaken. She then turned back to Simon, saying, "What are you doing, anyways? Do you really get cases so fast?"

The file before him was closed. "Yes," he answered plainly. He had no reason to tell her much beyond that. Not with Franziska around, anyways.

"And you're going to leave me here to finish?" Speaking of Franziska.

"There is nothing else to work on, von Karma-dono. Hopefully we will have more information tomorrow, but it is the first day of many." He began to put things away, taking care to have then be neat and tidy.

"Back to the Wright Anything Agency then!" Athena announced when he was done.

Franziska quirked an eyebrow. "Wright… Anything Agency?"

Simon looked over. "Yes. I currently do not have a home, so they have been kind enough to allow me to stay there until I have secured an apartment or some sort. I am in much of their debt." He'd heard Phoenix making a joke or two about Simon having to pay rent. He probably would if it was made official. It was a start to all he owed them.

Athena shrugged it off. "Let's go back for now. We can get something to eat on the way there as well. You don't look like you've had anything yet."

He hadn't even had lunch. The thought of eating didn't exactly occur to him much. A lot had happened for his first day back- perhaps too much. He'd manage. He had to if he wanted to find out the truth behind that poisoned trial.

For now, though, the only truth he wanted was what dinner was. Athena took off racing, only stopping when she wasn't followed. She looked back and made a face before coming back over. The two then made their way back to Simon's temporary home.