1 prosecutor miles edgeworth chooses death

Miles Edgeworth was dead.

He didn't believe it. He couldn't. He didn't believe it when Gumshoe told him, when Gumshoe cried into his shoulder when he recoiled at Phoenix's disbelief. He didn't believe it when he was shown the note. (This is a joke. This is a prank.) He didn't - he couldn't believed Gumshoe's tears.

"Pal, Mister Edgeworth is gone. He's gone, pal. He's gone."

He didn't. He wouldn't. He couldn't.

It became real when he visited Miles Edgeworth's office. It became real when he saw the note for himself - untouched, undisturbed - Gumshoe didn't have the heart to take it away.

Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth chooses death.

And then there were the thoughts. (Why? When? How? Where?) And then he shook his head and shut his eyes tight. He could hear Maya's voice, 'how could you even think of that, Nick?!' And he wouldn't be able to answer. Was it the Attorney in him? The longing for truth? For justice ? But he wasn't murdered. He had to remind himself. He decided this. He killed himself. He committed suicide.

How would Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth kill himself?

Phoenix couldn't help it. He couldn't help but wonder. (How? How? With a knife? Or perhaps a rope?) The prick was so fucking uptight and snobby that, no doubt, he would have chosen the cleanest option even upon his deathbed. Not a drop of blood spilled.

When he asked Gumshoe, how , the detective blanched. In disgust or surprise? Phoenix didn't care enough to figure it out.

"Wh-why do you want to know?!"

No 'pal'...

"That's- that's just an awful thing to ask! Whaddya mean- how?! "

With enough coercion (alcohol), Gumshoe confessed, "We didn't find a body, pal. There wasn't one. We have no idea where he is. I'm sorry, pal."

With a shoulder wet with tears, he left the detective in the bar.

They didn't find a body.

'Where's your proof, then?' Phoenix thought bitterly. 'What if he's alive? What if it's all a trick? What if he was kidnapped? We have to help him, Suedeshoes. We have to find him.'

It had been a year, when February 2018 rolled around. Full twelve months. He'd be lying if he said he'd moved on. When he's granted temporary amnesia, it's almost bliss. He wished he had realised at the time how much better that was. (Maybe if I give myself a concussion.)

And then he realised that would, by definition, be self-harm.

He gave up in his pursuit for amnesia.

And then he got a case - and had to put his grief aside. For the client, and for Maya.

But then she asked, because she had to ask, didn't she.

"You mean he's…"

"Edgeworth is dead." He didn't want to sound bitter. But the expression on Maya's face said it all.

"Oh…"

He doesn't ask Franziska about it. 'When's the funeral? It's been months.' He didn't want to think about a funeral. His casket would be fuchsia. He almost snorted because- his casket would totally be fuchsia. But then he thought about an empty fuchsia casket - (they never found a body.)

The trial - it goes fine. Facing Franziska? Well, she's not her father at least. Just as brutal, though, as Edgeworth was. Perhaps more. Way more. Edgeworth wouldn't whip people, no matter how annoyed he was.

Edgeworth's disgruntled expression flashed in his mind. He pushed it away. He pushed it all away. He pushed away his smile. His frown. His blush. His eyes. His lips.

And then it's Christmas. He tried not to think about DL-6. He couldn't help it, though. 'Is this what He went through every year?'

Maya doesn't ever ask why he stopped referring to Him by his name.

It's the New Year. He sits by the heater, with an oversized jumper and a cup of tea. 'Tea,' he thinks. 'This is what you've done to me. I'm drinking tea now.'

2019, Juan Corrida is murdered. Matt Engarde is a suspect. Maya is kidnapped. Maya is KIDNAPPED. He wanted to cry. He wanted to fucking scream. (You can't take her away from me. Not her. Please, not her.)

He interrogated Engarde. During his investigation, he ran into Adrian Andrews. And then Franziska. And then-

And then-

And then there he was.

The world slowed down. His hair waved in the nonexistent wind. His eyes widened. And he had the fucking gall to smirk.

"Long time no see, Wright."

Phoenix punched him in the nose.

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"You wouldn't stop, pal, so I had to-"

"It's fine, Gumshoe."

"I didn't mean for you to fall, pal, honest-"

"I know, it's fine."

"It's just that-"

"GUMSHOE. It's fine. I'm fine."

The detective stared down at the ground meekly. "You wouldn't stop."

"I know."

There was silence. Suedeshoes was fiddling with a loose string on his coat. "Why?" the detective finally asked.

"He hurt me," Phoenix said. He lifted the ice pack off his forehead. At least there was no blood.

"But Mr Edgeworth would never attack-"

"No, that's not what I meant." He put the ice pack down beside him. "He hurt me mentally. Psychologically. Whatever you want to call it."

"Right," said Gumshoe. "His death. He hurt us all, didn't he?"

Phoenix nodded.

"But- you didn't have to attack him like that, pal! He's bleedin' now!"

"I know."

"So why?"

Phoenix didn't have a proper answer. "He hurt me," he repeated. He couldn't say anything else.

LINEBREAK

"Miles 'chooses death' Edgeworth. Look who it is."

"Wright…"

His nose was bruised and his cheek had a cut. (Is He wearing makeup?)

"Yes?" Phoenix prompted. He stood at the door of his office, staring at His nose because He didn't deserve to be looked in the eye.

"Wright, I'm… I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't cut it."

He said it immediately. He didn't even think. He didn't want to think. (Thank god Pearl is asleep.)

"I know," Miles said. "But… I am truly sorry."

"You'll have to do better than that."

"Name something. I'll do it. I'll do anything."

"Leave."

There was a moment of silence. Hesitation. He tensed.

"What?"

"Leave. Turn your back and walk away."

"But-"

"You said you'd do anything, correct? So leave. Leave me just like you did when you faked your own goddamn suicide."

He stood there in the hall, trying to make eye contact. Phoenix didn't let him.

"You thought I was dead?"

But Phoenix finally broke and his attention snapped to His eyes. "What?"

"You thought I- faked my death? After all this time? Wright," he laughed. The bastard LAUGHED. "I assure you my intention was never to deceive you."

"What the fuck do you call that note, then?"

"My note? Well, it was… metaphorical, wasn't it? I would've thought you of all people would realise-"

"Metaphorical?" he hissed. If Pearl weren't asleep he'd be raising the roof with his screams.

"Yes, it was-"

"You're a fucking moron."

He clocked him in the nose once more.

LINEBREAK

"Do you always punch people in the nose when they try to apologise to you, Wright?"

"Shut up," he muttered bitterly. "You deserve it."

He was silent, if only for a moment. To Phoenix, it felt like an eternity. He stared at the prosecutor's perfect shoes.

They sat still on the couch, the prosecutor tending to his nose and Phoenix, wringing his fingers together in any way he could think of.

"I'm sorry."

"If you say sorry one more time I'm going to lose it."

"But I am!"

For the first time since the murder of Robert Hammond, the prosecutor seemed genuinely distressed.

Another period of time lapsed where they were both silent.

"It's just," he continued when no response came from the prosecutor, "You hurt me. I loved you. I- I love you."

Miles looked up from his shoes. "I love you too."

"Why did you have to do it?"

"I wanted to discover what it me-"

"No. No, I mean why did you have to make it so… cryptic? Seriously- metaphorical? I thought you were dead. Gumshoe though you were dead. Maya. Everyone-"

"Franziska knew."

"Of course she fucking knew." Phoenix stood suddenly from his seat on the couch. He faced Edgeworth with tears streaming down his face. "Of course SHE fucking knew, right?! SHE wasn't there for you. SHE didn't defend you. Where was she when you were accused of murder? NOT there! Where was SHE when you needed her the most? In fucking GERMANY!"

He collapsed to the ground. Body wracked with sobs.

"Mr Nick?" a small, innocent voice. Pearl. (Look what you've done, Phoenix, you've woken her up.)

"Pearl, go back to bed," he whispered through his crying. "This is a dream. Go back to bed."

He knew she didn't buy it. But she did as she were told anyway.

"Wright…" Miles whispered as soon as Pearl had gone.

Phoenix expected him to say, 'I'm sorry'. Again. If he had? He didn't have enough energy to care. But Miles didn't say that. He didn't say anything at all. He kneeled down on the floor and hugged him.

For that moment, it was just them.

Their heartbeats. Their breathing. The whole world stopped.

"If you," Phoenix sniffed, "if you die again I'll kill you."

Miles chuckled softly.

"I know."