[RL 54: Want a dream lover so I don't have to dream alone; Edgeworth, Corinthian]

And still nothing.

At least, at first. But the unspoken call attracted the response Edgeworth's earlier attempt hadn't; a soft, nervous whine could be heard from the living room, and the uncertain shuffle of paws with it. However, it wasn't following the man's call, coming any closer.

If anything, the noise seemed to be moving further away.

And the pained and strangled yelp that followed shattered the silence like a gunshot.

At first, the sounds sent his nerves singing, from the initial shock of fear to soothing relief. It was the dog. Of course it was. Sighing, he opened his mouth, the familiar name once again on his lips, tainted with equal parts irritation and adoration.

That last yelp, loud and horrible, stilled his tongue. He choked on the name, felt for a moment as tough he was suffocating on his own breath. Finally it came out, high and stuttering, then his feet began to move and he was following the name toward the pitch blackness of the hallway.

"Sigi? Sigi!"

The yelping only became louder, harsher, rising in urgency until--

Until it stopped. Just like that, the smallest echo swallowed right back down into the darkness. The living room was just as quiet and still as the rest of the apartment. No signs of struggle, or indeed any signs of life at all.

This time, the footsteps--not paws, human footsteps--came from the opposite end of the hall, heavier now, until a figure came to pause behind him.

"Edgeworth? What's wrong?"

For a moment he thought that silence may be the most frightening sound he'd ever heard, but the sound that followed it proved him wrong. Edgeworth whirled around to find...

The cry that had bubbled up in his throat came out as a stuttering sigh. "Corinthian," he muttered, inexplicably unaware that the man's presence in his apartment in the middle of the night was anything but normal. Turning his back on his companion, he squinted into the living room, struggling to make out details among the vague, black shapes.

"Sigi. I need to find him, now."

"He's not here." It was a simple statement of fact and nothing more, the nightmare's tone vaguely....tired? He leaned idly against the wall and watched Edgeworth as the man continued to look, cleaning his glasses with the hem of his shirt in the meantime.

When his friend didn't seem to give up his search after another few moments, he sighed, and stepped closer. "You should go back to sleep. It's too early to go around trying to wake the dead."

Dead. The word rang hollowly in his ears, and in that moment he felt acutely the cold air of the apartment on his bare skin.

"No," he snapped, giving the nightmare a petulant glare that would undoubtedly be visible to him, even in the darkness. "If he's not here I need to know where he is."

It was definitely visible, if the small snort it earned was anything to go by. But the sunglasses were slip back on before much more of his thoughts on the matter could be given away.

"Not here," he repeated, and this time his voice was just a little harder. He placed a hand very lightly on the man's shoulder, to get his full attention, though his fingers were oddly sticky. "Edgeworth....please. Go to sleep."

As usual he shied away from the touch, tried to shrug off his friend's warm (sticky?) hand. The power of suggestion must be great, for sleep suddenly sounded so...necessary. Having it interrupted always frustrated him to no end. It was difficult for him to achieve in the best of circumstances, difficult to return to, but now he felt moments away from retreating into it once again.

Not yet, though. Not with this vague feeling of wrongness lying heavily on him.

He squinted at his friend's sunglasses, looking for hints of emotion beyond the glass. "Tell me where he is, and I'll go," he said. It was the bargain of a child not ready for bed, where the end is already inevitable and the only real hope is to get something out of it before it comes.

The Corinthian frowned, but he did let his hand drop back to his side, and for a moment it almost looked as if he might have been....disappointed, with the reply.

But it was only the dark playing tricks on the eyes. If the nightmare's continued detachment had indeed changed to anything else, it was something very, very cold.

Without warning he reached out and grabbed Edgeworth's hand, pushing two small objects, slick and warm, into the man's palm before closing his fingers over them. Even in the dark and the sunglasses, the Corinthian's gaze never left his. You asked.

It was too dark to see what those objects were, but even if it had been light Edgeworth wouldn't have looked at them. He'd never felt anything like this before, but he knew what it was and he knew what it meant. It was legible in the nightmare's mien.

For what seemed like an eternity, he gaped at the Corinthian and felt his flesh grow cold. His mouth worked; eventually something cracked and feeble came out. "No..." He shook his head but couldn't shake the Corinthian's gaze. "No, you--"

Cutting himself off, he gave a sudden, violent tug, trying to wrench himself free from the nightmare's grip, desperate to lose the horrid, wet weights in his palm.

There was no flinch, no sharp remarks, and not even a sign of being thrown remotely off balance as the Corinthian's grip held painfully fast, his hands locking onto Edgeworth's like a vice. Only for a moment longer, letting the feel of the objects settle fully into the other man's mind.

But before he let go he yanked back just as violently, pulled him close and whispered in his ear. "I said I was coming back for you when I was finished."

Edgeworth continued to tug until his exertions and the Corinthian's grip threatened to squeeze those tiny balls to bursting and smear his palm and his mind with something he could never clean off. His wide eyes rolled, pale in the darkness, then squeezed shut.

"Oh God--" The whisper was choked off with a jolt. For a moment they were close, and the heat of the other man's body made him shudder. Then Edgeworth was stumbling back and the ominous words were chasing him to the apartment door.

Fortunately, the nightmare appeared to be in no hurry to rush after him. Not yet. After all, on nights like this the lock on the other man's front door had a curious habit of breaking, jamming, refusing to open at all. Edgeworth didn't have many more options on where to go.

His booted footsteps echoed too loudly in the silence. "Edgeworth?"

The convenient jamming of the lock was almost unnecessary. Edgeworth's frantic scrabbling at the door left the knob covered in something viscous and dark that thwarted his attempts to turn it. He bit down on a moan and turned to run, stumbled and nearly fell into the sofa table as something small, soft, and round burst beneath his foot.

The squishing sound echoed more loudly than those dreaded footsteps. Bile rose in his throat. His legs felt weak. Panting harshly, he dashed to his right and into the kitchen, intending to lead his pursuer away from the hall so he could circle through the dining room and escape to the bedroom. What he would do when he got there, he didn't know. There was no room in his thoughts for planning yet, only a panic-driven flight response telling him he had to get away.

"Do you know how many people tried to find me after you went and called for help?" That plan appeared to be working. The nightmare's voice didn't seem to be coming from the hall any longer. But it was behind him. Very close.

"They actually thought they could try to stop me. Funny, don't you think?" Too close.

The orb had left its mark on his skin as well as his mind. When he reached the kitchen his slick foot slipped, sending him halfway to his knees on the linoleum. He managed to catch himself on the island and the voice hovering close behind him drove him to his feet, though he didn't run just yet. He wanted to know who had tried to neutralize this threat and, more importantly, how badly they failed. The thought of the nightmare claiming any other victims on his behalf made his stomach roil.

"Not particularly," he panted, struggling to maintain some semblance of control. "But you have chided me on my poor sense of humor before."

He should have kept moving.

The Corinthian was at his back instantly, bare skin meeting old leather, and his arms wrapped carefully but firmly around Edgeworth, trapping the man's own to his sides. Possessive. "Maybe someday you'll even take it to heart and lighten up."

The warm limbs that enveloped him did nothing to ease the chill that was overtaking him. The sweet musk of leather (the scent of his office, his car, his own sanctuaries) did nothing to comfort him. He struggled a little in the Corinthian's grip, though the effort was halfhearted, the goal more a matter of confirmation than results. Confirmation achieved (his grip was sure, mercilessly so) he shifted his attention to the only other potential method of escape open to him.

"Perhaps...someday." He lingered over the word. "If one of you can provide a more convincing argument that frivolity would be beneficial to me. Until then, I'm quite content as I am."

"We have all the time in the world to now," the nightmare murmured, just by his ear. He didn't move an inch while Edgeworth tested his grip, holding fast to the man, but once he had given in the Corinthian loosened his grip just enough to run a hand up his arm, to his face. He brushed his knuckles across his face, under his eyes.

"Dont't you trust me?"

Edgeworth's breath hitched in his throat at the too gentle touch. His muscles tensed and sang, his eyes slipping shut, but otherwise he managed to remain still.

"The ones who came after you... You managed to elude them all?" he asked with deceptive calm, avoiding the Corinthian's question.

Fingers slipped down to stroke lazily at the hallow of the man's throat, a vague attempt at something that may have been like comfort at any other time. But with that next question....

"I warned you about getting anyone else involved," he replied plainly, soft touches finally stopping. "They were awful persistent people."

Edgeworth's heart sank. He was gripped with the impulse to ask whose suffering he was responsible for now, but he wasn't sure he could survive the answer.

"They had good reason to be." A touch of anger slipped into his voice, unbidden and unavoidable. "They were trying to help you. To help both of us."

His skin still crawled where the nightmare's adept fingers had played at his throat with such gentle familiarity. He turned his head to the side and glowered into the darkness.

"When did I ever say that I wanted their help?" There was an odd echo to his voice that time, rough and sharp edged. Without warning he turned Edgeworth around, only to shove him up against the island with considerably more force than before.

Something else clicked in the dark, metal sliding on metal. "And what do you plan on doing about it now?"

Pain shot up his spine, serving to sharpen his thoughts and, more importantly, his ire. With the terrible hiss and click ringing in his ears he turned the full, unflinching force of his glare on the Corinthian.

"Whether you asked for the help has no bearing on whether it's needed. You know that as well as I, Corinthian. As for what I'll do..." He hesitated, noticeably unsure, though he continued to hold the nightmare's gaze. "What can I do but try to prevent you from doing anything you'll regret when this is all over?"

It was an easy look to match, and this close it was easy to see twin stains trailing down like tears from beneath his glasses. But something in his expression seemed to falter.

"This is how he made me, Edgeworth. And I'm not the only one who's told you this before." Finally, he stepped back. Just one step. His head tilted almost curiously. "Why concern yourself over what I'll regret? After all this?"

He didn't miss that change. He marked it, pounced on it, even, taking the opportunity he seemed to have been given to go on the offensive.

"This is not how he made you," he snapped, defiantly ignoring the grisly lines crawling down his friend's face as if they didn't send dread skittering through his mind. "This is what the community's made of you. This is why he unmade your predecessor."

With that, some of the fire left him, and his tone softened into something genuine laced with irony. "I'm concerned because...I'm extremely fond of the man you're supposed to be."

The response Edgeworth's tone earned was almost comical, the Corinthian taking another step back from the man before he could stop himself. His expression remained unchanged, whatever slip up his otherwise impassive mask revealed covered again as quickly as it had shown. But his hand lowered, whatever he'd been clutching now hanging loosely at his side.

"You're not supposed to be," he said, voice quiet, the confidence appearing to all but vanish. "You have no idea how he made me, or what he kept from the last one. No one does."

Buoyed by the apparent turnabout, Edgeworth was quick to press his advantage. He leaned forward from the counter, standing up straight.

"I highly doubt he would have kept...whatever it was that lead to the first becoming what he did," he pointed out with calm, unfailing logic. "He wanted a Corinthian who could understand where the other went wrong, one who knew his purpose. He wanted a man with the fortitude to do what's right, regardless of how difficult others may make it. ...And he got you."

He almost stepped forward. He stopped short. The nightmare only stared for a moment, and the frown soon smoothed out into a look of confusion instead.

"....you really have that much faith in me."

Edgeworth remained still and willed his pounding heart to slow its pace. He knew all too well that this chance could be the only one he got, and he couldn't afford to waste it.

Fortunately, all that this gamble required of him was the truth.

"If I didn't, I would never have called you a friend."

Friend. If there was any answer the Corinthian had been expecting, that....didn't appear to be it. He looked away then, before his companion could see the flinch that briefly crossed his face. But it seemed like that response alone had gotten through to the nightmare over all the rest.

For the first time that night, when he looked up, his smile looked genuine.

"I never thought you'd actually be naive on top of being an idiot."

And the knife was in Edgeworth's stomach before either party could blink.

Hope and relief, coming so close on the heels of terror, made him flush with giddy energy. He began to smile in return, his strained muscles relaxing.

Then his face fell in an almost comedic procession: confusion to dismay and back to wide-eyed terror once again.

His brain barely registered the stabbing. At first there was only pressure, a dull punch that pushed him back against the island and made his breath catch in his throat. The pain came after, hot and throbbing, and pounded the Corinthian's words into him with every merciless beat. He shook his head as if to deny them and reached for the nightmare's hand.

Whatever hold Edgeworth tried to get on him was easily brushed aside with only a simple twist of the wrist, the nightmare driving the blade in and dragging down. But with an entirely out of place touch of generosity the Corinthian caught the man as he started to sag, helped him down to the floor that was quickly staining dark, sat him gently against the island.

The knife, eventually, was pulled out with a sickening wet noise, and sunglasses were moved to the top of the nightmare's head with a hand.

"Look at me." He didn't wait for a reply before he grabbed the others chin, pulled his face up to meet him. "Edgeworth."

Edgeworth wasn't the type to give in quietly or without fuss. He wanted to yell, to curse, to fight and protest, but his body didn't want to cooperate. The most he could muster was a strangled, gasping scream as the pain bit deeper and his legs gave out. He hardly noticed the Corinthian's inexplicably gentle touch. He didn't notice the stain at all (dark on dark, and with something darker still creeping in at the edges of his vision).

He did notice when the knife was extracted. It was a strange sensation, oddly akin to a member being drawn out post-coitus, when tired muscles tighten in anticipation of discomfort and relax only when the too sweet feeling of being filled is stolen away. He jerked reflexively at it, his back arching in a ribald display and his head lolling to one side.

Eventually it came to him that he was being addressed. He struggled to focus until the sight that he was focusing on came into view, at which point he wished that he could unsee it.

"No," he rasped, his brows knitting with pain. "Corinthian..."

Edited 2011-02-02 08:29 (UTC)

The only reply he got a soft shushing noise, very much like a mother attempting to calm a crying child. The nightmare watched. For a few long moments, it seemed like all he was content to do. Taking in each noise, every movement....

"It's alright."

It didn't look like the Corinthian had moved an inch from where he had been sitting. But he had to have gotten up, because suddenly h was right there, leaning over Edgeworth as he brushed back the strands of gray that had fallen into the older man's eyes. His bright, bright eyes, wide in fear and pain.

"It's alright," he murmured, moving over him, straddling him. With another soft hushing sound he cupped the side of Edgeworth's face, hand slick with a sticky wet warmth that smeared across his skin with each light caress. "You're okay, just relax. Look at me. I promise, I'm always careful with my friends...."

No no no. It ran through him like a mantra, driven by indignation. If it all must end, he didn't intend to let it happen this way, with this litany of condescension ringing in his ears. Clinging to his stinging pride, he let it carry him over the paralyzing dread and pain. He treated the nightmare to one last, bitter glare then squeezed his eyes shut, gave his head a few violent shakes, and moved with a sudden jolt, trying to lean away and push the Corinthian back enough that he could wriggle out from under him.

It almost worked. But what the nightmare grabbed hold of to steady himself, intentional or no, ended up being Edgeworth's throat.

The back of his head was slammed violently against the side of the island when the Corinthian pushed back, forced him to look up. "Eyes open."

Reeling, throat burning, every inch of him screaming in pain, and with strength ebbing out of him into a warm, sticky pool on the linoleum, Edgeworth had no avenues left. He groaned, weak and rasping, as his eyes rolled in their sockets and finally came to rest on the nightmare's face. It had taken him so long to accustom himself to those handsome, unnerving features...

His eyes, now watering with pain, narrowed, and his brows drew together in supplication.

"Corinthian, please... Don't do this," he croaked, weak and wet. Shame stung him; he would never have gone so low as to beg if it had been anyone else, but the nightmare had already seen him in every state of vulnerability. His vaunted pride meant very little between them.

Two sets of teeth gleamed despite the dark, knife sharp grins that mocked the man beneath him. The Corinthian cocked his head at the reply, and for a moment it almost seemed that he was even considering his companion's plea.

Cold metal bit into's Edgeworth skin, drawing a thin line of red just below his eye.

"You always were too stubborn to admit when you were wrong," he sighed, the sound rather disappointed.

The knife pressed in.

That moment seemed an eternity. Paralyzed, Edgeworth could no more escape the nightmare's cruel visage than he could escape the blade that was inexorably approaching that most vulnerable of organs. His nerves sang with horrible anticipation, and he held his breath, waiting for a recantation he knew would never come.

When the knife finally broke the skin, his eyes widened to an almost painful degree. Reflexively he reached out; his groping hand found purchase on the nightmare's chest and he moved to tangle his fingers in his shirt. All the while his gaze was mercilessly trapped by those 'eyes'.

"Cori," he gasped. Then the blade began to bite in earnest, and there were no more words left.

The nightmare allowed those fingers to tug him down, shortening what little distance was left between them. Close enough to kiss, if this had been the time for that sort of thought. He was holding back. The pressure of the blade eased, if only a fraction, hardly noticeable, at his name. His hand was shaking, though whether in excitement or something else entirely couldn't really be said.

The knife pressed deeper. Finally, he grinned. "You're always mine."

And with one fluid movement the blade sliced down, in, lifted beneath its prize.

"Remember that."

In the final moments there was surprisingly little room left in his mind for the pain. Instead, he thought of the reality his friend would be facing once the virus ended. He thought of the people he'd be leaving behind, and he thought of the justice he was facing now that he could no longer run from it, justice which already started in this dark kitchen. Tears began to mingle with blood, leaving watery pink trails down his cheeks.

With the Corinthian's parting words, Edgeworth's breathing quickened, became shallow, hoarse, desperate. One last thread of pride led to a defiant attempt to endure his punishment silently. Ultimately, it was futile. It was always futile.

Edgeworth woke screaming. This wasn't by any means an unusual occurrence--his bedroom was soundproofed for a reason--but it had been a long time since it had been anything like this.

His usual night terrors had become so commonplace, so ingrained into his psyche, that waking, though violent, was now relatively quiet. He'd shoot up in bed, hot and wet, panting and wide-eyed. Sigi would be at his side in an instant, licking his hand or laying his long head across Edgeworth's lap. And after a while Edgeworth would climb out of bed and wander his apartment with his dog at his heels, finding things to occupy the pair of them until daybreak.

These new nightmares, however...

He woke screaming so loudly that Sigi, for whom these nightly interruptions were routine, leaped into the bed with him. Edgeworth clutched at him, dragged him close by the scruff of his shaggy neck. A few pitiful whimpers escaped on harsh breaths before he silenced himself by burying his face in the dog's fur.

Sigi whined with him and let himself be pulled, dragged, crushed against Edgeworth's sweat-soaked chest without protest. He'd never be able to understand what could reduce his master to this state. All he understood was what it required of him, and that he understood perfectly. He would let himself be held until the man's shaking subsided and his breathing evened out. And when Edgeworth needed something else, be it company or a distraction, that's what Sigi would provide. He never minded. Why would he? It was only more time spent with his beloved master.

And unlike Edgeworth, Sigi would be able to catch up on his sleep in the morning.

[RL 54: Want a dream lover so I don't have to dream alone; Edgeworth, Corinthian]

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So as soon as you get the chance, can I talk to you on AIM later? :3

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1/2

This is so much longer than I expected it to be. ._.