Reassigned: Part 1 - Rush

[maskdemasque]

Title: Reassigned: Part 1 - Rush
Rating: PG-13 (next chapter is NC-17)
Characters: Angel and Miles
Time Period: Six months or so after 3-4
Words: ~4000
Warnings: Crack couple ahoy. I play Edgeworth at gyakusai_rp and he's in a relationship with Angel Starr, after like four or five months of RP-canon interactions. I was wondering what it would be like to put the two of them together in actual game canon. So I did, in a flashback back to when Edgeworth was a bratty 20-year-old. He could be more of a jerk, but he's interacting with a co-worker and not a rival, so that's what's up with that. First chapter is mostly gen.



A shuffle of papers and a low grunt of irritation behind the door told her that he was in. She pushed open the door, “Prosecutor Edgeworth?”

He slammed his palms down on the table and growled, “Knock first.”

She blinked in surprise, eyeing the young man keenly. Despite the very adult expression of anger he wore, he was still a boy, his long bangs framing a face still rounded with a bit of baby fat, his eyes focused and large. The excessively fancy suit he was wearing was tailored precisely for him, but that was probably six months ago and it was beginning to tug at the shoulders.

She gave him a pleasant smile. “Sorry, Prosecutor. Didn’t mean to surprise you.”

“And you are…?” He flicked his eyes up from his desk, taking her in with one quick sweeping gaze. A woman far shorter than he, brown hair cascading over her shoulders and obscuring one of her eyes, though the other was fixed keenly on him. She wore a fur-trimmed jacket over a slip of a dress that emphasized her generous curves. He turned back to his work, perhaps a bit too quickly.

She gritted her teeth, though her smile didn’t fade, and sashayed up to the desk, holding out the arm that wasn’t laden down with files. “Angel Starr, Homicide.”

He frowned at her in recognition, though he didn’t take her hand, and he was about to mention her nickname when he stalled himself. Couldn’t let her get too full of herself, after all. He turned back to his paperwork, “Where’s Detective Gumshoe?”

She scowled inwardly at the implication in his words, and withdrew her offering, but kept her expression even. “He’s been reassigned. Since I was able to get the defendant to talk, I’m on the case from here on out.”

“Hmph. Fine then.” He took the paperwork and sorted it into a neat stack, folding his hands on top of it and leaning forward slightly. “What do you have for me, Detective?”

She was a little more satisfied with that attitude, but she still flicked the file down to the desk instead of handing it to him. “He wouldn’t spill it all. Someone scarier than us doesn’t want him to talk.”

He picked up the file, impassive now, in work mode. “The mafia?”

“Possibly.” She took a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk, crossing her legs.

He spared a glance for her knees but then went back to the file. “Hmmm.” He flicked through the files with quick motions of his fingers. He paused and frowned. “This was in his wallet?”

“Hm?” She leaned forward to peer at the small slip of paper he was pressing on. “Oh, yes. That’s a parking stub we couldn’t recognize.”

“It’s for a cluster of warehouses down by the docks.” He said with a disdainful eyebrow raise.

She blinked, bristling inwardly at his expression. “Oh?” her voice as she said it was silky sweet, and then she continued a little more doubtfully, “How could you know that?”

Pridefully, “I keep up with these things. Besides that, these particular warehouses are owned by one Bruto Cadaverini.” He collected the file and closed it, standing. “I’ll be leaving the office now.”

She perked up, uncrossing her legs. “Where are you going?”

He gave her a slightly forbidding, half-lidded look. “I’ll be going to the warehouses to investigate. You’re free to tag along, if you wish. They disapprove when I investigate without detectives present.”

“Investigate? You?” She made no effort to hide her surprise. “Since when?”

He huffed. “Since I began working here. How else do you think I come up with decisive evidence so often?”

She was struck suddenly by how much he sounded like a petulant child and she didn’t respond. She knew the rumors, of course. How he was always pulling the perfect piece of evidence from seemingly nowhere, and the rest of the buzz that was starting to fly around.

He knew it too, a wave of indignant irritation crossed his face. “Thank you for the information, Detective. I’ll be seeing you on the witness stand, I expect.”

Before he turned to leave, she rose and grasped him firmly by the shoulder and despite the fact that she was perhaps a head shorter than him, her grip was deceptively strong. “Not so fast, Prosecutor. I can hardly say I’m working on this case if I don’t go along with you. Besides that, you don’t have a gun, do you?”

He shook his head. “I don’t use guns. I have a taser.”

“Then you’ll need someone to watch your back, skulking around someplace owned by Bruto Cadaverini. You were planning on going alone…?” She tilted her head and gave him a sunny smile.

He flushed slightly, which did not escape her notice. “I would have called for backup if there were any problems. Just… follow me.” He stalked over to the door and threw it open, and to her surprise he crossed the lobby past the elevators and took the stairs down. She followed him anyway, shedding the heels and padding down the stairs barefoot. He raised an eyebrow at that but didn’t comment.

She followed him to his car and then he gave her a hard look. “Would you like a ride…?” he asked, harsh sarcasm thick in his voice.

“I would, thank you!” she said with a smile, walking to the other side of the car and waiting for him to unlock it.

He gave her a long, flat, disbelieving look. If he’d said that to Gumshoe… He’d probably have apologized, actually, and gotten in his own little beat-up car. He scowled and pressed the auto-unlocker, grudgingly impressed. It was nice to order people around, but something about the way she engaged with him was a little refreshing, too.

Moments later, they were driving in the comparatively light early afternoon traffic towards the docks. He would have been happy to drive in silence, but she preferred to make conversation. “How old is this car? Brand new?”

He shook his head, and replied shortly, “No. It’s a couple of years old.”

“It’s nice.” Her smile broadened, it was deceptively kind. “But you don’t really seem like the type to drive a black car.”

“I bought it from my mentor. He is that type.”

She pursed her lips, thinking for a moment about Manfred von Karma. “You’re right, he does seem that way, doesn’t he? I have worked with him before…” She let that trail off, leaning her elbow on the car door.

“He is not a patient man,” Edgeworth said flatly.

“I’m sure. I’ve seen the way he treats the other detectives, though I haven’t ever gotten him angry. You probably have his favor, though.” She gave him a light, knowing smile.

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and scowled. “Let’s not speak about that, if you please.”

Her smile turned a bit cruel at the corners. “Ah, so you’re on the outs with your mentor.”

His shoulders hunched. “I asked you not to speak of it.”

She reached up to play with her earring. Casually, “You said ‘if you please.’ It’s not good to bottle things up, Prosecutor. My job is to get people to spit it out, hm?” She tilted her head and gave him her most charming smile.

He made a small scoffing noise. “You should save that for the interrogation room.”

“Of course, just as you leave your prosecutorial work at the office.” She smirked.

He sighed. “I’m not your concern right now.” He looked up ahead, squinting past the ocean glare to the white warehouse complex listed on the slip. They had just crested a hill, so he could see it but it was still quite far away.

“I have nothing else to be concerned with.” She laced her fingers together. “Strange that he’d be disappointed with you, considering how well you’re doing. The new golden child. Never lost a case.” She laughed.

He sent a nervous glance her way and then looked back at the road, his eyes locked on those still-distant warehouses. “Not all of my cases have been wins.”

She blinked curiously. “You mean your first case? The one that was dismissed after the defendant committed suicide? You could hardly be blamed for that!” She laughed lightly, raising her hand delicately to her mouth.

“Hmph.” He offered no further answer, though the corner of his eye twitched.

Her smile faded, and she again brought her hand to her earring, staring hard at him, thoughtfully. “I see,” she said, and then there was silence for the few minutes until they arrived at the warehouses.

He was the one to finally break the silence. “That’s odd.”

“Hm?” She craned her neck and looked around.

“There’s no one at the parking station…” His voice was low and suspicious.

She frowned as well, and reached into her shoulder holster out of habit, making sure her gun was there and unhooking the clasp. She tossed her head, looking out with her other eye. “Park out of view, Prosecutor,” she said. Her voice had suddenly changed, becoming hard and commanding.

He glanced at her, prickling at what he perceived to be an order from her. But her eyes were serious and he knew that she was right. He tried to ignore the irritation he felt, and drove his car down the road a pace, parking far enough away that bluffs obscured it from view.

They got out of the car quietly, him silent, scanning the area, her stepping out of her heels and into a pair of flats before shrugging off her jacket and throwing it into the car, shutting the door while she adjusted her shoulder holster. His eyes lingered on the figure she cut in the dress, tracing the curve of her collarbone with his eyes, but as she turned her head towards him, he tore them away to scan the lot and the three warehouses that they came to see. The high fence that surrounded the place had barbed wire at the top.

The two of them walked up to the warehouse and Edgeworth drew his eyes across the fence. “It looks impassable. We’ll need to come back with a warrant. Or I could call the judge right now…”

She shook her head. “Look.” She pointed to a gap in the fence, a strangely neat hole at the far end away from the gate.

He frowned. “That’s… I see.”

She crossed her arms with a fierce smile. “It looks as though we may have a break-in, Prosecutor. I think we’re obligated to investigate.”

He pursed his lips, staring at her, and then spoke in a low voice, “The victim had a few regular scratches from something metallic, according to the ME. I think we have probable cause to search this place.”

She waved her hand, beckoning. “Let’s go.” She started to realize that perhaps this young prosecutor didn’t have much of a sense of humor.

The two of them crept up toward the hole in the fence and made their way into the complex. He followed her silently into the warehouse closest to the gap, trying to make sure his shoes didn’t squeak against the pavement. He was so involved in that task that he didn’t see that she’d stopped until he’d almost bumped into her.

She crouched down, inspecting a dark stain on the ground. “This…”

Grimly, “This was the site of the murder, then.”

She turned to look up at him, locking grim but triumphant eyes on his own serious ones.

“Now we must get a warrant…” he started, but then there was a scuffle of sound outside the warehouse; he twisted to stare at the wide open and empty warehouse doorway. A car door slammed.

Immediately her mind was in survival mode. Would they be more or less likely to get shot if they admitted their identities? How could they hide their professions, her with a shoulder holster and police-issue gun prominently displayed now that she’d stowed her jacket; him wearing a very recognizable suit and cravat. Doubtless whoever was coming worked for Bruto Cadaverini and knew about this case. She scanned the area coolly and spotted a utility closet along the wall.

Instantly, she grabbed him, his neck jerking in surprise as she pulled him toward the closet. He said nothing, knowing what a perilous situation this was, but there was a tense resistance in his shoulder.

She drew her holster off her shoulder as they reached the door and she opened it, praying it was well-oiled. There was no noise, she eyed the dark interior of the very cramped closet. It was taken up mostly by drop cloths for covering stored goods, and they were haphazardly folded and stacked high. She tossed her holster into the closet among the drop cloths. Then she gave the prosecutor a significant stare and shoved him into the closet, following him and closing the door speedily but silently.

Voices were already approaching. “…gave him the drop, I think.” What they said indicated exactly how much shit they were in, so she pressed her ear up against the door to hear as well as she could.

“He knows better than ta piss off his wife, right?”

“Eddie’s not a smart guy, ya know?”

“Maaan… Shouldn’ta signed a prenup.” The steps approached closer, she estimated they’d reached the stain.

“I hate these cleanup jobs. Ya feel like shit, doin’ em.”

A low, derisive hiss. “Whatever, man, it’s all money. You keep your mouth shut about how much you feel like shit or this stain’s gonna be you.” There was the sound of a bucket full of water hitting the ground.

“Shit…” she whispered, almost silently. They had to be cleaners, then, which meant that they’d have weapons, even if they were loath to use them. Besides that, they were destroying the evidence. She raised her hand to her mouth and chewed on the inside of her lip. They couldn’t stop them, not now. Hopefully the forensics team would still be able to recover the bloodstain with DNA intact.

Gradually, that thought faded as something came to the forefront. At first it was so subtle that she hardly heard anything, but as she listened for the voices beyond the door, it became louder and resolved into a low panting that she heard only in her left ear, the ear away from the door.

She turned to see the faint outline of Prosecutor Edgeworth in the light coming from beneath the closet door. He was leaning heavily on the stack of drop cloths, clutching them spasmodically as if trying to claw his way out. The brightest part of him were his eyes, widened in a sort of panic as his chest heaved.

The enclosed space was one thing, the dark and enclosed space entirely another. He had no problem on lighted trains and even tiny airplane bathrooms were tolerable, but his mind had abandoned itself to panic as soon as he entered the cramped and dark closet.

Her immediate reaction was disdain; she turned awkwardly to face him. There was no space in this closet, none at all. Her hips brushed against his leg and the wall as she slowly turned, trying not to make an audible sound. She pressed her finger to her lips to silently shush him, though the irritated narrowing of her eyes probably spoke volumes.

He didn’t see her, though, his breathing just got louder, and his eyes were still fixed at some point in the distance. He was overwhelmed with a mind-numbing panic and it was all he could do to keep from flashing back to that day over ten years ago.

His breath started to become more audible, it was regular and quick. She frowned. He was… hyperventilating? Suddenly it came to her that something could genuinely be wrong here.

She leaned forward, bracing her arms in the pile of drop cloths up to the elbow and whispered directly in his ear, “Calm down, we’re fine.”

She winced as voice entered his panicked panting, and he spoke at audible volume. “I- ha-ha-have to get out of here…!” Something inside him winced as well, he knew they were in a dangerous spot but he couldn’t stop himself, he didn’t know how.

She turned her head and glanced desperately at the doorway and, just as she thought, heard a voice: “Di-did you hear that, Carl?”

“Hear what…?” Thank God, there was still time, but Edgeworth’s panting was turning into keening, and suddenly he reached for the doorknob with surprising strength. She jerked her arm out of the drop cloths and caught his hand.

“Oh, I hear it now, what is that?” Shit. She didn’t have her other hand free, and he was still making noise. She shut him up the only way she knew how, leaning her face forward and silencing him with her lips.

The utterly unexpected act did indeed stop his keening, and everything else he was doing as well. It shut down his mind completely for a moment, wiping out the childhood trauma that was making him behave this way. His rational mind came back to the surface just as the hand that had been reaching for the door slid down and landed on her hip. His first thought as the contact brought a measure of heat to his face was, ‘there’s something terribly unhealthy about this way of coping with post-traumatic stress.’

A part of her was almost relieved to feel that hand on her hip, though she didn’t feel any arousal reaction that she was aware of. Her coldly logical side was still well in charge, and she was listening as hard as she could to the goings on outside the door.

A wet brushing, then, “Hey, Bill… I think it came from the closet. Do we got rats again? They’ll chew up the tarps…”

“Dammit. I’ll go over and check. We might have to set out poison. You got some in the truck?” The last part of the sentence was terrifyingly close, and her peripheral vision locked on the cravat on his neck. Her hands drew up and undid it, jamming it into the drop cloths. Then she set to work on his jacket.

He felt her hands go over him and though he knew what she was doing, his face flushed crimson at the businesslike way she stripped his coat off and jammed it into the pile of cloth. He reacted even more strongly as she finished hiding every visible part of the jacket and brought her hand to the side of his face, her other climbing up his back.

She nudged his lips with her tongue, as if to say ‘play the part’ and he opened his mouth against hers and twitched, bringing his dangling right hand to her shoulder and brushing the hair aside nervously.

The footsteps reached the door and she went into high gear, burying her hand in his hair and rocking her hips against him, giving a low humming noise from her throat that she was surprised to admit was a bit louder than she’d expected it to be.

“Holy shit there’s people in there!” She grinded against him, hoping to conjure up a genuine-looking flush before the door opened. To her surprise, she felt him jerk as she grinded, and then a pressure in her crotch that couldn’t be anything but his arousal. She opened her eyes, staring into his shocked and almost fearful ones that were nearly too close for her to see clearly. That was all it took, the blood rushed to her face.

As the door opened, the two ‘cleaners’ were greeted with a slim woman in a black dress and flats, writhing against a man in a white dress shirt, black vest, and red suit pants. His eyes were wide and she broke the kiss to turn and look at them. Her cheeks were ruddy and she gave a winning smile, her finger drawing away from the back of his neck to delicately wipe her mouth. “Oops…” she said in a singsong.

“What the hell are you two doing in there…?” snarled the more distant cleaner, who was clearly trying to obscure their view of the stain on the ground.

Edgeworth glanced down at her, looking a bit dazed.

She looked at the closer cleaner, a fifty-something man with salt and pepper hair. “My boyfriend and I… well, we like it a little dangerous, you know? Just our luck you happened to show, right?” She giggled.

The prosecutor swallowed and gave a very slow nod.

The cleaner narrowed his eyes, “How the fuck did you get in here.” There was no question in the inflection of the phrase, just a low warning. She eyed the gun-shape in his jacket pocket.

“We were gonna do it on the bluff but there was a hole in the fence and it was just so tempting!” Another vapid giggle.

Edgeworth looked down at her, his eyes impressed, and spoke, his voice hoarse. “Right, you guys ought to get that fixed.” His dead serious expression only added to his believability as the stoic boyfriend of the kinky girl. She was amused more than anything, really, despite the danger they were in. She stepped away from him and smoothed down her dress, not really paying attention to how he turned slightly to the side, his eyes rising skyward.

The older man smirked. “Well damn, ain’t you a lucky boy.”

“You have no idea,” he responded calmly.

The further cleaner, a younger man in his late thirties with close cropped brown hair and a push broom mustache, seemed far more nervous. “You two need to get the fuck out of here.”

“Calm down, Bill.” The older man was impassive. “Just gather up yourselves and get out of he-“ he stopped, staring into the closet. He narrowed his eyes, pushing past Angel and hooking a finger into a loop of leather that stuck out of a box.

He drew out Angel’s shoulder holster, his eyes widening… And promptly dropped it - he was no professional. “FUCK. THEY’RE COPS!” he called over his shoulder to his partner, who drew his own weapon, but it flew out of his hands and halfway between him and the two public servants. The older man stared in shock at the gun as it skittered to the floor, and that was just enough time for Angel to hook a cruel rising kick into his guts, something that would put him down for far longer than a groin shot.

He collapsed to the ground, coughing, his back arching in agony. Before he had the chance to slump completely back to the ground, she’d retrieved her gun from the holster and pointed it at him. The other cleaner blinked in panic, but before he could lunge for the gun, someone else already had it - Miles Edgeworth. He pointed the gun at the middle-aged man, his hand shaking.

The man narrowed his eyes. “You’re not a cop.”

Edgeworth said nothing, just swallowed.

“I don’t think you know how to shoot that thing, boy.” The man took a step forward.

He gritted his teeth. “I don’t.”

The man’s eyes took on a bit more daring and he took a few steps forward. Out of his sight, Edgeworth fiddled with something.

The man lunged for the gun and Edgeworth switched his shoulders, thrusting forward with his taser, firing it into the man’s chest with a staccato rattle. He watched the man fall to the ground, twitching and groaning. He stared at the man impassively as he writhed on the ground and then his fingers loosened on the gun and he glanced back at Angel. “C-call for backup, Detective.” He cursed himself inwardly for that stutter.

She nodded, taking out her cell and calling the precinct, still covering the older man with her gun, though he was writhing in pain and not really prepared to provide any resistance. Despite that, she leaned down as she spoke and took his gun out of his pocket. As she reported their location, she felt a prickle at the back of her neck and turned slowly to look.

Edgeworth still had his taser pointed at the other man, but his grey eyes were staring back at her. He twitched away for a moment but then reconsidered and continued staring at her, a faint blush high on his cheeks. She thought back to the moment before in the closet, but that had just been business. Work. She spent a few moments convincing herself while his gaze lingered, and then he broke away, looking down on the man who he’d subdued.

He felt a vague conflict inside, and tried to choke down the heat that burned through his chest and abdomen as he was staring at her. He focused his eyes on the erratic twitch of the back of the man’s neck and strained his ears for the sirens he hoped would approach soon.