This is far more depressing than anything I've ever wrote ever. It made me cry when I was writing it, but I'm not making any guarantees on it. Implied P/E, though it can also be taken as friendship. Enjoy.
Dead Either Way
Suspect: Carrie Ichtar, 23.
Victim: Blank.
COD: Blank.
MW: Blank.
Witnesses: Blank.
Prosecutor: Blank.
Evidence gathered: Not much.
Permission to examine the crime scene: Not granted.
Permission to talk to client: Not granted (in questioning).
Trial: Two days – this has to be some sort of miracle.
Of course, he thought, putting the pen and paper back in his pocket. The justice system was obviously designed simply to make his job that little bit more difficult. One of these days, he was going to do something about it.
Phoenix laughed to himself, getting a strange look from the taxi driver taking him to the crime scene where, hopefully, Detective Gumshoe would be. If he planned to make any changes to the system, he'd need to stop being a lawyer first. Far too much work to do as it was. And that wasn't going to happen any time soon, so he supposed he was stuck with it.
Really, he should stop complaining. In five trials, he'd never once had two days of consecutive investigation, he was almost certain of it. Besides, if Gumshoe was in charge of the crime scene, there was every chance he was getting in, permission or not.
The taxi pulled up beside the crime scene – Teal Bridge, situated pretty nearby and a well-known spot for family days out. More specifically, the river which flowed under the bridge. Or perhaps the river bank next to it. Phoenix didn't know exactly what had happened, but it was obviously something if his client had managed to get herself arrested. He paid the driver and headed in through the rusty gate, heading towards the river.
"Hold it, pal!"
Phoenix grinned to himself, quickly wiping it off his face before the detective could see. "Detective Gumshoe. What a surprise."
"What are you doing here?" Gumshoe demanded. Phoenix couldn't help but notice that his enthusiasm seemed to be…lacking. How out of character.
"I'm investigating."
"Ah, okay, pal. Go right ahead."
Phoenix blinked. What? 'Go right ahead'? Something was obviously up. Phoenix considered. Did he take this chance to investigate, or did he find out the detective's problem?
Phoenix sighed. "Detective?"
"Yeah?"
"Is something wrong?"
Gumshoe stared at him then, with an expression Phoenix found difficult to read. He was looking at him as though he should know what the problem was. And that was just ridiculous.
"No, nothing's wrong." Gumshoe muttered after what seemed like an eternity.
Silence covered the area and Phoenix began to look around, figuring he'd tried, at least.
"Oh, yeah." He suddenly realised. "Do you have the autopsy report? It's just, I haven't got anything, and-"
"Yeah, pal, sure." Gumshoe replied dully, taking out a file and handing it to him.
Silence once again blanketed the scene. Phoenix was beginning to feel uncomfortable.
"Er…so, Detective. Who's the prosecutor on this case? Is it Edgeworth, or…"
"ARE YOU TRYING TO BE FUNNY, PAL?"
Phoenix took an involuntary step back, alarmed. The detective wasn't looking depressed anymore. He looked positively livid. "N...no, I…"
"'cause you're not!" Gumshoe continued, just as angry but at a slightly lower volume. "I thought you, of all people, would be a bit more understanding, but…!"
"Understanding of what?!" Phoenix demanded, his own voice rising automatically.
"As if you don't know, pal!"
"If I knew, Detective, I would tell you!"
Both men stared at each other for what seemed like hours, each trying to work out what was going on behind the other man's face and both failing miserably. Then Gumshoe sighed, going back to looking defeated.
"You…you really don't know, do you, pal?"
"Know about what, Gumshoe?" Phoenix asked lowering his voice and speaking more gently.
"About Mr Edgeworth."
"About…Edgeworth?" Phoenix repeated, feeling slightly thrown. What…? "No, I…I haven't seen him since Lana's case. Is something wrong with him?"
Gumshoe didn't answer, just looked away into the distance.
"Detective…?"
"Look, pal, I don't think I should tell you." Gumshoe finally said. "Come back to the precinct with me and I'll show you."
"I'm kind of busy, Gumshoe…"
"This is more important."
Something in the detective's tone of voice made Phoenix believe him.
Things were oddly quiet in the station. All talk had died as soon as Gumshoe and Phoenix had entered the room, and everyone was staring – except the Head Detective, who was mid-conversation with his online friends.
Phoenix stood awkwardly, feeling uncomfortable, as Gumshoe ferreted through his desk drawer, obviously looking for something.
Finally, Gumshoe stood up, holding a crumpled piece of paper in his hand as though it burned him. "Here, pal." He said quietly.
Phoenix took the paper, uncrumpling it and smoothing it out. He recognised the handwriting straight away, but the words didn't quite reach him.
Then they did, and Phoenix could only wish it was some sort of sick joke.
"Hey, pal, are you okay?" a voice asked hesitantly from far away.
Phoenix blinked, realising he was gripping the paper in his hands so tightly he'd almost ripped it. "I…" he began, looking at the note again. No, it still said the same thing. "When…?" he asked hoarsely.
"A bellboy found it in…his…office about a week ago." Gumshoe said, his voice choked with emotion.
"A week?" Phoenix asked dully. "Oh."
"The Prosecutor's Office thought it best to keep it out of the media…but we're not going to be able to keep it quiet for much longer." Gumshoe was speaking, and Phoenix was hearing him, but nothing was registering. Nothing mattered.
"Oh." He repeated bleakly. "Okay."
"…you don't look so good, pal…"
"I'm fine." Phoenix replied, his tone still dull. "Don't worry about it."
His lies weren't convincing anyone. Especially not himself.
Phoenix dropped that case. Loathe to leave a client scrambling, he made sure the woman had another lawyer first – some up and coming attorney named 'Gavin'. He sounded like a decent choice, and Phoenix lacked the motivation to search any further afield.
He now sat in his office, mechanically arranging paper into piles and wondering why he'd even bothered coming in. He wasn't going to accept any clients – he wasn't even answering the door.
He sat listlessly on Mia's chair – Mia's, still, not his – and stared at the window. Across the street stood the Gatewater hotel. His first case against him.
He had been so different then from when he'd known him before…so cold…so distant…and yet, after that case, Phoenix thought he'd been getting better.
He'd obviously been wrong.
Suddenly, the room was filled with a small tinkling sound – the Steel Samurai ringtone which indicated his cell phone was going off. It seemed oddly cheery and distorted in this situation. Nevertheless, he jumped to his feet, running to grab the phone from the other side of the room where he'd been clever enough to throw it last time after getting off the phone to Ema Skye – apparently, her sister had told her about him, and she was worried about Phoenix. The conversation had lasted a few minutes before Phoenix couldn't take it anymore.
This had happened every time someone had called since his conversation with Detective Gumshoe three days previously. He'd jump up, hurrying to get to the phone, as though he was hoping for-
No, behave, Wright. That's ridiculous.
He reached the phone, picking it up and staring at the caller ID.
He felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he took in the name. Larry.
Well, of course. What was he expecting? Who else was going to be calling him that hadn't already?
"Phoenix Wright." He answered, hearing the monotony in his voice and finding himself unable to care.
"Nick, dude…what's going on?!" Larry shouted down the phone.
"You're shouting at me. What do you want, Larry?"
"Have you seen the news, dude?!"
"What news?" Phoenix asked listlessly.
"Edgey! Edgey! He's…they're saying…!"
"I know." Phoenix replied, desperately telling himself not to acknowledge the pain abruptly shooting through him as Larry said that name.
"What?"
"I know."
"Then why are you so calm? Dude, they're saying he's…"
"Larry, I know. If that's all…"
"Nick?"
"Yeah?"
"You don't sound so good. Do you want me to come over?"
Phoenix blinked. Did he really sound that bad? So bad that Larry was showing some level of maturity? "I…I'm okay." He said hesitantly.
"Don't lie, Nick, you suck at it." Larry replied.
Phoenix sighed, hearing the rushing sound as it echoed down the phone. "Look, I really don't want to talk about it."
"I think you should, you know. Marianna says keeping your emotions in is a bad thing, and I think she's right. After all, dude, this is Edge-"
"Shut up!" Phoenix yelled.
A shocked silence followed these words, on both sides of the phone.
"I…I'm sorry." Phoenix said after a moment of this. "I just…I don't want to talk about him, okay?"
"Nick…"
"Just don't say his name in front of me, Larry. Ever again."
Phoenix could almost see Larry's frown in front of him. He sat there with the phone to his ear, neither saying anything for the longest time.
"Hey, Nick?"
"Yeah?"
"What if Edg-" A rather forced cough cut Larry off. "I mean, dude, what if he isn't actually…you know…dead?"
Phoenix had considered this. He saw the question coming, and he had his answer. "He is dead, Larry."
"But he might not be…"
"No, he's dead either way." Phoenix interrupted quietly. "Miles is dead."
Nothing on the other end except Larry's breathing, waiting for him to go on.
"If…if he's killed himself…then he's dead. He's dead, and gone."
"But if he's not, Nick…"
"If…Edgeworth…" Once again, he forced himself to ignore the pain. "If he didn't…if he's run away…then it's no concern of mine."
"What…?"
"Because he's not Miles. Miles was my friend, and Miles was brave. This 'Edgeworth'…that isn't the Miles I knew. And he isn't either. He…he's run away because I destroyed his pathetic perfect win record. I thought he'd changed, but I was wrong. His uselesspride has killed Miles Edgeworth either way, and I'm…" Phoenix said, spitting out every poisonous thought that has filled his mind in the last seventy-two hours, stopping only at the last point.
"Nick?"
"What?"
"What are you saying, dude?" Larry sounded confused and overwhelmed. This really wasn't fair on him. But he'd asked, and Phoenix would finish.
"Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth chooses death…" he quoted softly, hearing the bleakness sneaking back into his voice. "And I'm glad that he did."
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