#gregworth

Hands were gripping his throat, nails digging into his skin. Pain bloomed beneath them. A poor, strangled noise escaped his lips and Gregory Edgeworth was shocked that he could make such an awful sound. Dark spots blinked in and out at the edge of his vision. He could tell that he was on the verge of passing out. His sharp gasps and wheezes did nothing to fill his lungs. The dull pain penetratred his chest and throat, offset by the way Yogi's hands found sharp purchase around his neck. He clawed at his assailant, desperate to loosen his grip. He flailed and kicked legs, trying to get away, put space between himself and the panick-stricken bailiff. This only served to tire him. He couldn't give in, though. If he stayed conscious, that meant his son was going to stay unharmed. He had to stay awake, had to.

The boy was huddled in the corner. His usual collected attitude had been cast aside. He was only a child, after all. It was natural for him to be this terrified.

Something fell to the floor. He heard it hit the ground with a clatter as it skittered across the floor. Miles dove for it, whatever it was.

A shot rang through the air, and Yogi's head flew back. The hands left him. The bailiff had fallen to the ground, hit with some object or other. A bone-chilling scream met his ears. He looked around to see Miles curled in on himself. Yogi lay passed out on the floor, his chest rising and falling. Gregory was relieved the man was off of him and alive. He was a good man, he just couldn't handle the situation. He saw a gun on the floor next to Yogi.

Miles must have thrown that at him. At least no one was hurt, he thought. But what about that scream? Perhaps it wasn't real; a hallucination. It could've been sound of blood rushing through his ears, even.

He made his way over to the boy and picked him up. He wrapped his arms tightly around him, pulling him to his chest.

Gregory started to speak, to say something to reassure Miles, but all he managed was a short rasp that raked down his bruised windpipe.

He couldn't say a word, but he could stroke Miles's head, rub calming circles on his back. They would be alright. Everything would work out. He walked around the small space, rocking his boy to sleep. Tears threatened to spill over from both of their eyes. Finally Miles dozed off, and Gregory laid him down, setting his coat over the boy's lap. He sat down across from him, content to wait out the rest of their time in the elevator. Every breath made him wince, pain returning anew with each inhale.

He settled into a light sleep, unawakened by the elevator doors opening. It wasnt until someone had stepped into the lift that he opened his eyes. He found a towering figure staring down at him, the discarded gun in hand. He picked himself up, supported by the wall. He raised his hand and tried to speak.He wanted to ask why he was holding the firearm or if other people in the building were okay.

Japanifornia's summers were nearly unbearable. The dry heat swept through the area. Rolling blackouts left much of the state without power in the awful, sweat-inducing temperatures. The many fans strategically placed throughout the house no longer worked, and the air conditioner was practically worthless.

Gregory fanned himself with his hat. He was sitting in the living room with Miles and Phoenix. The boys were playing with action figures by the light streaming in through the window. He looked outside. The idea of going out only to swelter made him grimace.

The boys knocked their figures together. "Take that!" Phoenix exclaimed.

"Ow!" Miles yelped.

"What happened?" Gregory asked.

"He hit my finger," Miles responded, sucking on said finger trying to abate the sting.

"I didn't mean to!"

"I know. It's okay."

Greg smiled at the boys. A beat of sweat rolled down his temple, settling at the bottom of his jaw. He leaned his head onto the back of the couch. He had nearly sweat through his shirt. Again.

"Dad!" Miles prodded his rib.

He jerked forward. "Hm?"

"It's really hot. Can we play in the sprinkler?"

That sounded heavenly. "Sure. Do you have extra clothes, Phoenix?"

He shook his head.

"Alright. Miles, you'll give him something to wear when we come back in."

"Thanks, Mr. Greg!"

Gregory ruffled his hair and smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

Greg wrangled the hose into the sprinkler. He turned the spigot and water arced into the air and onto the driveway. The asphalt was hot enough to burn the bottoms of the kids' feet, but the water would cool it off to just warm.

"C'mon, kiddos!" He yelled into the open door. He noticed a few other families outside too. The Mackintyres three doors down were splashing in their pool, their voices drifting through the air. The couple that had just moved in across the street were sitting on their porch with popsicles. He waved at them.

Miles and Phoenix bounded over. He reached into the water. It was heated up from the warm hose, but still felt wonderful given the weather.

He playfully flicked the water at Miles. The boy squealed with delight. He grabbed Phoenix's hand and dragged him through the curved fountain. Their laughter, like little bells, pealed through the air.