Title: Unfriendly Fire
Request: What if Edgeworth was roughed up in the detention center?
Original Link: http://teagueful.livejournal.com/38756.html?thread=12600164#t12600164
When he didn’t remove his jacket as fast as they liked, they finished the job for him, and he heard the sleeve rip.
“Whoops,” he heard one of them comment, “guess that one’s coming out of our paychecks, eh, Prosecutor?”
When he didn’t dignify them with a response, his face was pushed against the wall hard enough to hurt, but not enough to leave a bruise—they were experts in not leaving behind evidence of this sort, after all. A baton tapped the back of his leg, close—but again, not too close—to his buttocks. “All right, pretty boy, spread’em.”
They took their time patting him down despite knowing his distaste for guns. He was even infamous for showing up at not-yet-cleared crime scenes empty handed, taking a dismissive once-over, and docking the lead detective’s paycheck for neglecting some piddling detail or another—Gumshoe suffered the worst, but just about every cop had crossed Edgeworth one way or another.
Now it was their turn.
They shoved him into the chair and angled the light so it shone straight into his eyes.
“You know how this works by now, don’t you?” The officer closest to him cracked his knuckles. “Unfortunately for you, our ‘Good Cop’ had to go on vacation, so all you get is ‘Bad Cop’ and ‘Worse Cop’.”
He remained silent. He knew his rights, even if he wasn’t interested in invoking them for the moment.
The door opened behind him, and all he needed was the collective reaction of the room to know who had just entered.
“Do you jokers really think you’ll get Worthy-boy to talk this way, or are you just getting back at him for expecting you to do your jobs?” He could almost hear Gant smile as the room emptied. “Thank you. Now go get yourselves some coffee or something.”
Gant wondered how long it would take before Worthy-boy’s calm outer facade cracked; despite the so-called “Demon Prosecutor’s” reputation for having ice water in his veins, the boy’s gruff exterior was a paper-thin mask for emotions so tumultuous Gant often found himself wondering why the lad hadn’t yet gone postal—or maybe he did, and this was the aftermath.
He sat down across from Worthy-boy, threading his fingers in front of his face and tilting his head just far enough forward so that his eyes peeredÂ straight at the other man. “Do I even want to know how you ended up in this situation?”
“I—” Worthy-boy managed to hold the gaze, but he did blink a fraction faster than he did before. Then he set his jaw, resolute. “It no longer matters.”
Gant clicked his tongue. “What is it that my boys like to say? Oh, yes, ‘throw me a bone here, pal’. How am I supposed to know how much I need to clean up after you if you just sit there?”
The tiniest flush of red colored Worthy-boy’s cheeks, and Gant could almost see him force down the words perched at the edge of his lips. “If I’m going to be discussing anything, it certainly won’t be with you.”
“Who else are you going to talk to, then? I haven’t heard you ask for a lawyer yet.” Gant pushed the glasses to the top of his nose now. “You’re far too calm, Worthy-boy, and I don’t like it one bit.”
Worthy-boy did not waver. “I am prepared to accept my fate, regardless of what happens.”
“Really, Worthy-boy?” Gant moved his hands so Worthy-boy could see the predatory grin. “Tell me, have you gotten over your debilitating fear of small, dark spaces yet?” Then he rose to his feet, towering over him. “And you wouldn’t even be able to claim ‘duress’, either, because I wouldn’t leave a mark on you and you know all of those boys out there are going to back me up.”
The flinch is visible, but Worthy-boy redeemed himself by not looking away. “Do your worst.”
Unnecessarily Long and Tiresome Authoress’ Notes:
Stopping here a cliffhanger because I couldn’t decide what to do. I also kept what Gant thought of Edgeworth ambiguous—this scene could be read either way, IMHO. Maybe I’ll leave it as a Lady-or-Tiger style ending.