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To Each A Tempo -- Chapter 19 (PG-13)
Title: To Each A Tempo -- Chapter 19
Fandom: Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney/Elite Beat Agents crossover
Completion date: March 31st, 2008
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 2647
Characters: Phoenix, Maya, Agent Foxx, Agent J, Edgeworth, the Judge, Pathos.
Summary: The third day of court begins: all Phoenix and his team need is one shot.



     He didn't remember the dream until he stared at his bedroom ceiling, pulse in his ears. Walking into Fey and Co., copper scent and familiar dread; something glinting in the moonlight and he didn't recognize it until he touched plastic, and gripped the handle, and lifted it to begin the show. But his feet moved heavy. Trees loomed black, his hands clenched on nothing -- where had the mike gone? His briefcase? -- and Maya sobbed just like before--

     Phoenix dropped his feet over the bedside, and buried his face in scubbing hands. He'd just have to prove the nightmare wrong.


     The morning bus was claustrophobic, the defendant's lobby thrummed with anticipation, and Stewart hardly waited for the baliffs to retreat.
     "Foxx said you found Pathos?" He looked quick between Phoenix and Maya, raking at his hair -- which fell back, sulking, into his face. "How's-- Uh, how'd that go?"
      Finding him was putting it mildly. Phoenix glanced to Maya; her slender fingers still worked at Pathos's briefcase, clever on the tumbles but apparently not clever enough.
     "We found him, all right, and nearly lost all our evidence. He's good, Stewart, I don't know yet how we're going to pin him. We'll find a way."
     Determination settled across Stewart's face, and he nodded.

     "Good morning, team," came Foxx's voice.
     Only effort stopped Phoenix from touching the communicator, and his hand twitched anyway; best not to have a repeat performance like the one with Pathos. Throngs moved and regrouped around the lobby's edges, crisp-dressed people who looked unseeing enough.
     "No update on Pathos's location." Foxx's voice usually settled surer in his ear. "Say hello to J for me."
     "Here," Maya offered, cupping a hand over her ear, "Tell him yourself!"
     And with a scooping, prying motion -- if she broke Agency equipment, Phoenix sure wasn't paying for it -- she removed her com link and held it out to Stewart in a fist.
     "Came outta nowhere," he grinned, "Like magic.
     Well, it sure beat finding a quarter in her ear.
     And, pressing the link to his ear with a flat palm, Stewart said, "Hey, Foxxie, talk to me."
     "We're still sweeping, Pathos has gone off the map even with police assistance. Derek and Morris are patrolling the business district, Pathos tried to broadcast from Nexus's equipment and he might well try it again."
     Stewart chewed his lip. "Com lines?"
     "I've added another Sigma level of encyphering, it won't stop interruption but at least we can be sure he's not listening in. We can't afford another breach."
     "How're you doin'?"
     A pause.
     "I'll be fine, J," she murmured, "We're running out of time."
     "I've almost got the briefcase open," Maya said brightly, "There aren't many combinations left to--"

     With a click and a flurry of paper, the briefcase fell open.

     "Ninety-one forty-five!" Maya cried, as the three of them knelt for the scattered pages and clippings, "I wonder why he picked that one?"
     "It's his favourite number?" Phoenix tried, eyeing papers -- every clipped article blazed with the word Agent, every picture had a glimpse of a dark suit. "Who knows?"
     "Lots of articles an' pics here, but they're not all his work." Leaning on his knee, frowning at a sheet full of neat-blocky handwriting, Stewart said, "He's documentin' Agent sightings, all the tabloids an' everything, lookin' for patterns."
     "He's going to all that trouble to plan?" Maya said, and her voice dropped suddenly, and quavered, "H-he really hates Agents that much?"
     "S'not hate," Stewart muttered, "That's just strategy. Knowin' what you're walkin' into. But I think we can use this, too, guys."

     For a crawlingly familiar moment, Phoenix looked in newsprint margins -- not a pencilled White to be found. And then Maya gathered a final trio of papers, a silver flash underneath snatching Phoenix's attention--
     "What's that?" he asked, and dropped papers to wave his hands, "No, wait, Maya, don't touch it!"
     She obediently yanked her hand back, and peered at the pen over her knees. "What a fancy pen! Maybe it's ... oh! I get it!"
     And Phoenix fished an evidence bag from his own disaster zone of a briefcase, gathered the pen into it and held it up to gleam silver in the light -- the vine-coiled Nexus logo shone proud. Without a word, Stewart turned his sheet between his fingers: Pathos's writing stood in dark green rows.
     "An official Nexus pen, and an expensive-looking one, too," Phoenix mused, and then, looking at the delicate nib, "With green ink!"
     "Any info on it, Foxx?" Stewart asked.
     "One moment."

     Her keys clicked, quick like rain battering a rooftop.

     "Nexus gives a sterling silver fountain pen to valued employees at their ten-year employment mark?"
     "Looks like silver to me," Stewart replied.
     "And the ink for those pens is green to represent the company and its growth commitment-- Soy-based ink! The cartridges are custom-ordered, Phoenix, this is ...!"
     "Just the kind of evidence we need against Pathos," Phoenix muttered -- now they had to find him.


     Final court days always hung ominous; the gallery hummed louder; the Judge rapped his gavel sharply, with purpose.
     "The court is now in session for the trial of Mr. Stewart Lowe," the Judge said, and started. "Mr. Edgeworth?"
     "The prosecution is ready, Your Honour," Edgeworth grated.
     "I'm sure you are ..."
     If a death glare at everything and everyone meant readiness, Edgeworth certainly looked prepared. The Judge turned to Phoenix.
     "And the defense?"
     "Ready, Your Honour."
     Nodding, the Judge said, "Then let us resume. Has the prosecution found Mr. Sior Pathos?"
     Edgeworth laid a hand on his stand -- too calmly.
     "Mr. Pathos," he said, "Is the neighbour and long-time customer of Chef Cherry LaFlamme, which connects him to the victim. Since Mr. Pathos has valuable information on this case, police are currently searching for him."

     "We're searching, too," Foxx said, "Just buy time, Phoenix."
     "He can't run forever," Maya said, shoulders hunched in close.
     Phoenix braced, and he saw nothing but Edgeworth's determination: if both of them wanted the truth, Edgeworth would cooperate.

     So, Phoenix pointed, and called, "Objection!"
     The Judge blinked. "My, that was fast."
     "Mr. Wright," and Edgeworth shook his head, smirking, "Impatience is such an ugly quality. What problem could you possibly have with the opening statement?"
     Here was their stalling: Phoenix would start a duel with Edgeworth, one of their knock-down, drag-out debates over tiny details, and this time he wouldn't mind if they ended up back where they started.
     "Well," Phoenix said, and rubbed his chin, "I'd like to know how being neighbour and customer to Chef LaFlamme connects Mr. Pathos to the murder. Could you elaborate on your theory, Mr. Edgeworth?"
     "With pleasure." And, producing a sheaf of papers, Edgeworth went on, "After the proceedings yesterday, Chef LaFlamme agreed to cooperate fully with police investigation. She also gave a written account of her testimony regarding Mr. Pathos."
     Murmuring agreement, the Judge said, "The court accepts this into evidence."
     "Here, Chef LaFlamme states that the layout of the building often forces Mr. Pathos to use her business as a thoroughfare. She also states that Mr. Pathos is her most loyal customer, and perhaps single-handedly responsible for the survival of the Orchard during difficult times."
     Phoenix knew the answer and asked anyway: "And can we be sure this is the truth?"
     With a gentler shake of his head, Edgeworth replied, "It was made clear to Chef LaFlamme that lying about Mr. Pathos's involvement would only implicate herself. Or have you forgotten yesterday's proceedings, Mr. Wright?"
     "Uhh ... A little?" Phoenix grinned. "Could I get a recap?"
     "I don't think that's necessary, Mr. Wright," the Judge said, his look darkening to suspicion.
      "It was worth a try," Maya offered.

     All right, no recap. Phoenix nodded to the baliff and accepted a smudged photocopy of Cherry's testimony -- which contained remarkably few colourful food terms.
     "It's, uhh, coming back to me now," he said, and looked up at Edgeworth, "Just because Chef LaFlamme was lying doesn't mean she's protecting Pathos. If Pathos is ruled out, Chef LaFlamme becomes more suspicious. That's exactly why we can't be sure she's telling the truth!"

     "Phoenix," Foxx murmured, "Chef LaFlamme is a fine decoy, but make sure you can get out of anything you get into."
     What choice did he have? Lead the court on a wild goose chase, or let the trial stall out with no Pathos and no damning reaction to the key evidence? Cherry could buy them time that--
     And Phoenix suddenly remembered Adrian, and the sickening sureness that she was doomed -- could he do that again? Would Edgeworth recognize that desperation? No -- and Phoenix tightened fists against the stand -- this wasn't the same. He had evidence, he knew the real story; he had a team like shadows around him. This was a gambit.

     "Oh?" Edgeworth folded his arms.
     Phoenix swallowed.
     "Yesterday's court proceedings implicated Chef LaFlamme, so she has every reason to lie. She has nothing to lose! She accused the defendant even though she's not sure she's ever seen him before! Why wouldn't she try to pin the crime on Pathos, too?"
     "Very well. For the sake of argument, let us assume," and Edgeworth laid down the sheet, staring, "That Chef LaFlamme's word is worth nothing."
     Thanking every deity he had ever heard of that Cherry wasn't present to hear this, Phoenix nodded. And Edgeworth went on.
     "Let us use only hard evidence. In which case, Chef LaFlamme's testimony about the running suspect is not valid, and neither is her testimony about how busy the Tuesday morning lunch rush was. Her assistant claims the same Tuesday morning scenario as Chef LaFlamme does. He is Chef LaFlamme's subordinate and his testimony therefore can't be trusted, either."
     Throwing mud at Cherry was bad enough, but shiveringly honest Barley? After all the times he offered help, and struggled his way through confessions? A knot tightened in Phoenix's chest.
     "We are left with the damaged security camera and its photo -- and the leg seen in the photo doesn't match the Orchard staff's chef's whites."
     "But," Phoenix sputtered, "If there's no proof Chef LaFlamme was busy, she could have changed clothes!"
     "Her assistant could have changed as well." Edgeworth shrugged, and gave a lazy smile. "But we're discussing concrete evidence, Mr. Wright. Do you have any?"

     "I have report that the detective is on his way here as quickly as he can, he's found something at the Orchard," Foxx hissed, "Don't dig this any deeper, Phoenix."
     Hope shot through him, dread burning after it; Gumshoe rushing to bring them a crucial piece of the puzzle? This path wound familiar. Phoenix glanced to Maya -- scouring the evidence reports with a tenacious pout, safe at his side.
     Cherry LaFlamme changed her towels that day; Barley was sure of it. Who was to say she didn't change clothes as well?

     "No," Phoenix decided, "There's no proof that Chef LaFlamme or her assistant were the ones in that photo. And we've been assuming that the person in the photo is Mr. Pathos because this fence serves as his front door."
     "Which is a reasonable assumption," Edgeworth added, "When that door was found locked, and Chef LaFlamme and Mr. Pathos were the only ones known to have keys."
     But if Pathos was often forced through the Orchard's basement-- Realization stung Phoenix, and he slammed palms on the stand.
     "That lock is a padlock, and it hangs on the outside of the door. It's impossible for someone to close the door and lock it behind them, and the inside of the Orchard isn't designed for quick access anywhere! The police arrived less than five minutes after this photo was taken, so if the door was found locked and Mr. Pathos wasn't found on the scene ... then Mr. Pathos couldn't have locked it himself!"

     For a moment, Edgeworth stood pensive, arms folded.
     "The prosecution proposes that Chef LaFlamme be summoned again to the stand," he finally said, "Further testimony might clarify what happened in that alley moments before the defendant's arrest."
     The Judge hummed. "If her previous testimony is so questionable, I agree that we should hear from Chef LaFlamme again. Does the defense have any objections?"

     Facing Cherry again, and prying at every snarled word -- he'd have to, even now when Cherry told the truth.
     Maya glanced up from the Agency notes.
     "Don't worry, Nick. We'll see a sign!"
     Hopefully it would open up their eyes -- anything but this blind, desperate stalling. The com link was silent in Phoenix's ear.

     "No objections."
     "Then," the Judge said, and lifted his gavel, "This court will take a thirty-minute recess while Chef LaFlamme is--"

     And then Foxx's voice:
     "Pathos is in the courtroom!"
     "What?!" Phoenix hissed.
     "Missy has a visual, he's in the gallery! Stop the trial!"

     "Hold it!"
     "Mr. Wright?" Pausing mid-hammer -- and looking put out about it -- the Judge blinked. "I thought you didn't have any objections."
     "I've changed my mind, Your Honour!" And Phoenix pointed to the ceiling, into the murmuring crowd of spectators, "Because Sior Pathos is in this very courtroom!"
     One shadowed figure bolted to its feet and struggled through the crowd; the murmur rose to a roar, and the gavel cracked.
     "Baliffs! Check the gallery, both sides! No one leaves!"

     "Agents are on the way," Foxx breathed, like relief.
     "Missy's up there?" Phoenix watched the stirring gallery crowd, imagined stern guards and noticed his nails biting his palms.
     "In plainclothes, she'll be fine. But ... be careful, Phoenix, Maya. Pathos has been caught but he might still be full of tricks."
     Holding the court's attention, needled for the truth, with the Agent who ruined him in plain sight? Pathos was cornered -- he had nothing left but a fight.
     "And we can't give away the Agency while we're proving that he's guilty..." Maya murmured, dropping one sheet in front of Phoenix and snapping up another, "We'll just have to be careful, Nick."

     Phoenix glanced to Stewart -- staring at the defendant's box floor, face unreadable past his fall of blond -- and hoped there was enough care in the world.



     The baliffs retreated, and the preparation room door clicked behind them. Even without Wright's earnest claims, Sior Pathos was not to be taken lightly; not when he dripped boardroom pleasantness, not with that careful openness as he sat, and not in the face of his perfectly calm arguments:
     "I do apologize, Mr. Edgeworth, but I didn't know the police were looking for me."
     Edgeworth folded his arms.
     "Not even when your name was mentioned in the trial? Multiple times, and as a suspect?"
     An raise of brows, a wider smile. "I had a moment of inspiration for my next article, as court was coming to order. I'm afraid I was too busy writing it down to pay attention to the trial. I have the article's thesis outlined here, if you'd like to see it?"
     This was too polished and intentional, this was an act. Edgeworth paused -- he stared a challenge across the polished field of table, and Pathos smiled benignly back, drawing a notepad from his inner suit pocket. The polish and charm tingled, familiar. Edgeworth didn't pretend to be numb, not anymore.
     "It's not your notes that concern me, Mr. Pathos. It's the fact that when we last met, you were attempting to broadcast sensitive information, and you fled when confronted."
     "Sensitive information?" A fractional lean backward -- confidence. "And what might this information be? Do you have evidence that I was doing something malicious?"
     Edgeworth didn't. No one but Wright had evidence, blast their trust.
     "I used a legitimate Nexus keycard to gain access. I did no property damage. Unless visiting a former place of employment is illegal, I fail to see the problem, Mr. Edgeworth."

     His weapons were limited: the implied guilt of flight, and whatever Wright was about to pull from the aether. Nothing for Edgeworth to produce and slap onto his stand, nothing sure except irritation raking down his nerves.
     Pathos had the notepad spread on the table, and he leafed leisurely through -- starting to raise his right hand, and abruptly switching to his left. Edgeworth tucked it into his memory -- ambidextrous? A nervous tic? Remnants of injury? -- and forced his face smooth, cool.
     "Very well. Then I'll need your statement -- what were you doing on the morning of the murder?"
     Another flash of smile from Pathos.
     "I'll be glad to tell you."



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Pathos's briefcase? I nearly died with the strain of not making an OVER NINE THOUSAAAAAND joke.

Anyway. Spot the lyric, name the song and band, win yourself a Pyra drabble! You know what you doing!