Disclaimer: I do not own any recognized characters within, and they are copyright of the respective owners. No copyright infringement is meant.

Notes: This will eventually be Phoenix/Edgeworth, and I don't plan on a happy ending. Just so you know. This has spoilers for the three Phoenix Wright games, and references to the Miles Edgeworth game.

To Where It All Falls Down
By Lili Mundi

It was still dark outside when Miles Edgeworth woke up.

That sort of thing shouldn't- didn't usually bother him. But now, with all that had happened- his heart started to beat out a rapid tattoo against his chest, the thundering blood rushing through his head adding to the already painful throb there. It was dark. It shouldn't be dark. He had made sure he'd wake up when there was plenty of light, plenty of-

The phone trilled in what appeared to be right next to his ear. His hand swung out automatically, thinking to shut up the infernal machine when his memory caught up to him. It had done this before, calling and begging to be let in with that pitiful- no, he couldn't pick up. No matter how badly it hurt his head, he couldn't get up and listen to that voice again.

It rang too many times before the answering machine clicked on, his own measured recorded voice making a mockery of his current state. As soon as the shrill beep filled the air, it was replaced with a familiar female voice.

"Hi, Mr. Edgeworth? I just wanted to remind you that we need you in the office today, and that you can't work from home for this case."

Of course. Relief flooded through him, leaving a tingling wake in his veins. The secretary. He attempted to find the receiver before she hung up, but it was for naught. Somehow, the phone had changed locations during the night.

That might have been from attempting to silence that- voice, he rationalized, lifting his head and looking around, blearily. The room was different, but that was to be expected. Rooms look different when trashed. But what caused his heart to pick up its pace again was the lack of light. It was too dark outside. It might still be out there, waiting to catch him, to finish the job. But, if it was - eleven o'clock! - then why wasn't there more light? There was a scratch at the window, making him shudder. It must still be out there. Edgeworth buried himself deeper into the covers, shaking slightly. Any moment now, like the previous nights, like the previous weeks, it would-

Boom

The resulting shake caused him to choke slightly on his breath before the realization of what it was penetrated his sudden fear. Thunder. And the lightning hadn't struck before he had ducked his head under the covers, so it must have happened in short succession. He slowly sat up, eyes trying to focus on the window and the sudden gust of rain hitting it. With how loud and sudden it was, there was even the possibility that the lightning had even hit something nearby. Edgeworth's shoulders loosened slightly as he watched a figure leap away, the bound it made higher than the size should have allowed. But it was leaving, possibly half-deaf from the sudden crack of thunder. Edgeworth stood, carefully keeping his balance despite how he felt. If it was running away, then he could leave. He could go to work without worrying about it attacking him again, trying to finish the job.

It wasn't nearly as big a relief as he had hoped.

As he carefully tied his cravat about his neck (that mark, that scar, it has to be hidden at all times), he looked at his normal breakfast: fruit, delicious and sweet, laying innocently in the wicker basket on the counter. It looked... like dust. Disgusting, disintegrating, and completely not worth it. His stomach curdled at that thought, the idea it might be from his attempt to drown out cries with wine far from his head. It was what happened before he died, how he had lost all interest in-

Edgeworth picked up an orange, peeling it before starting to bustle out the door. The results wouldn't be the same. It wouldn't happen.

Driving was incredibly difficult. The rain not only cut visibility by too much, but given how often he had driven since the accident and how the glaring headlights hurt his oversensitive eyes, there were nearly several times he pulled over and swore he would attempt to work from home yet again. But each time his pride rallied, and he kept going, knowing something like this wouldn't beat him. Not Miles Edgeworth.

When he finally parked in the garage, he rested his head against the steering wheel for a moment. Too much light. And the orange wasn't sitting well on his stomach. And his teeth felt like something was growing on them, as well as the overwhelming scent of red wine (Cabernet sauvignon, from Chile. Surprisingly good for such a cheap price) still clinging to his skin. Despite his suit being pressed to perfection and not a hair out of place, he felt slovenly and disheveled. Slowly, he straightened from his resting position, looking at the lot filled with metal boxes with wheels, devoid of any shapes even vaguely human shaped. They were all inside the building, typing and talking and writing away like nothing was different. Like all they had to worry about today was proving guilt and not getting wet on the way home.

Edgeworth shuddered. They all should have worried more. He finally gathered up his briefcase and exited the car, his fingers trembling as he pressed the button to lock the doors. He had to get inside, before it realized where he had gone, before it got there and ambushed-

His keys to his office rang through the suddenly quiet building, the prosecutors turning to watch the normally collected man fumble frantically with unlocking his door. As the sound went on, it was backed gradually by a soft roaring murmur, the other lawyers talking among themselves about the sight before them. It was uncommon, but not for the reasons Edgeworth wanted them to be. Uncommon that he was flustered, uncommon because he's usually the model of control, those were the reasons he wanted. Not because the others hadn't seen his face in... it must have been weeks by now.

His office was covered in a fine layer of dust. His eyes narrowed at that, about ready to call for the idiot detective that normally kept it pristine before memory hit him. No, it wasn't the detective's fault, Edgeworth thought, his stomach almost ready to forcibly eject the orange back the way it came.

This shouldn't have happened. This shouldn't be. Edgeworth put his briefcase down, hands shaking. That one case... how did it turn out with that many bodies? How were they supposed to know that it would turn out with that much dead?

There were papers on his desk. That must be-

"-the papers I've been waiting on. Thank you," Edgeworth said smoothly, taking the papers from his secretary. This case was rather open and shut. The gun recovered at the scene had the defendant's fingerprints all over it, the bullet had the same rifling pattern as the barrel of the gun, and the defendant had been arrested with gunpowder on his hands. While there were some prints from the victim on there, no witnesses, and no confession from the defendant, the truth was obvious. The defense attorney that took this case must have been an idiot. No one intelligent would take such an obvious losing case like this. Not even Wri-

Wait, who was the defense attorney again? Edgeworth felt dread start to choke him as he flipped back through the pages. He must have seen who he was going up against in court. It had to be a rookie. It couldn't be that-

It was. Phoenix Wright. The man groaned, putting the papers down. Of course. It only seemed like a perfect case. Wasn't that how it always was? The simple, obvious cases weren't actually so, and the first indicator was that spiky-haired lawyer on the defense bench? Edgeworth found himself mentally preparing to double check the facts, to make sure there were no contradictions anywhere in the facts and testimonies.

Stop that! He shook his head, reaching for his cooling cup of tea. Just because Wright is on the case doesn't mean this person is innocent. There's no need to start doubting my own skills just because of who is on the opposite bench. The truth will always come out.

... but just in case, just this once.

So far, the testimony of those who called the police seemed to be consistent. Around 8:30 PM, right after sunset, there was a gunshot. Many people didn't remember the time exactly, but they did remember it had become dark outside. No one claimed to have seen the shooting, but the police did catch one Dolph Wulf stumbling out of the alleyway that the victim, Sangre de la Cruz, had been found in. While with no blood splatter on the defendant, there had been the unmistakable scent of cordite, and after testing for gunpowder, the results came back positive. The bullet had entered right above the heart, right through the aortic arch, which granted de la Cruz a fairly quick death. The shot would have been made a few yards away, and the arc was consistent with how the gunpowder spray declared how the arms were held. Everything was perfect. So why was Wright taking this case?

The only way to tell was to actually enter the courtroom and face his rival friend across the floor.

"Hold it!" How many times was Wright going to call that out in a day? Edgeworth found himself gritting his teeth, wondering what it could be this time. As usual, Wright was pressing every line of testimony the waitress at a nearby cafe was giving. "You say you didn't wait on their table, right? Then how did you know they were having an argument?"

"I told you!" the waitress whined, chomping on her gum furiously. "Another table complained about it! A-NY-WAY, after I came up to ask them to leave, I saw that man pull out a gun!"

"Objection!"

Here we go. Edgeworth noticed the sudden change in Wright's stance, and started to prepare himself. Usually it was something stupid, but there had been times he had put together points of evidence that somehow had even escaped Edgeworth's line of logic. Something about what the waitress said had triggered the unique Phoenix Wright Logic Leap.

"You say you saw the defendant pull out a gun? Was this at the table or as he was leaving?"

"As he was leaving, duuuuuuuuuh." She blew a bored bubble. "A-NY-"

"Hold it! Perhaps you weren't aware, Ms. Prep, but this gun isn't registered to the defendant."

It isn't? Edgeworth frowned. Why hadn't that been in the case files? Why hadn't he requested the information as to who the gun belonged to? And how was this important?

"As you can see here," Wright kept going, waving a paper, "the gun isn't registered to one Dolph Wulf." He handed the paper to the bailiff, which Edgeworth snatched out, irritated.

"...! Ghhk!" It couldn't be. Edgeworth read the paper again, willing the words to make sense.

"Then who does the gun belong to, Mr. Wright?" The judge, clueless as ever, just fixed his eyes on the defense attorney, standing tall from a new boost of confidence. "Should we also charge Mr. Wulf with theft as well?"

"Maybe theft for self defense. As you can see, the gun is clearly registered to Sangre de la Cruz!"

"Whaaaaaaaaaaa?" Somehow, Vivian Prep was able to hold her gum in her wide open mouth as she gaped at this revelation. "But I really saw the guy with a gun!"

That should have been the final nail, the obvious truth of the matter. Not only the facts that the evidence showed him as guilty as he could be, but that a waitress in the restaurant they had patronized right before the incident saw them arguing and saw the defendant with a gun. Facts, motive, and a witness at least to the motive and weapon. How could he had missed who the gun was registered to?

"Objection!" Edgeworth uncrossed his arms, pointing at Phoenix. "Why does this matter? He shot the victim with his own gun. All that means is he stole it first."

"Hold it!" Wright slammed his hands on the table, then pointed back, overly dramatic. "Then why weren't there any signs of a struggle in the alley?"

"The defendant caught Mr. de la Cruz unaware-"

"Objection! The gun shot came from the front. The victim had to be aware of what happened." Wright's face turned stern. "That was because the gunshot was in self defense!"

"Ghhk!" Edgeworth knew what that meant. If he had killed him in self defense, then he couldn't be tried for murder. But- Ah. He shrugged, shaking his head. "But by your own words, there were no signs of a struggle." He slammed his own hand down, stern. Where was the truth here? "He couldn't have shot him in self defense, because there was no defense going on!"

Several beads of sweat started rolling down Wright's face. Good. That line of thought was nothing more than a red herring. But... if the gun belonged to the victim, and there wasn't a sign of a struggle... not to mention the amount of distance between the two and the entry point of the bullet... Suddenly, Edgeworth found himself flinching back, connecting the dots. It couldn't be.

The gavel suddenly came down, breaking his line of thought. "Order! Order!" The judge looked between the two attorneys, serious. "I don't understand what is going on, but it seems pretty clear what's going on. The defendant is g-"

"Hold it!" Edgeworth slammed his hand down, lending that weight to his outburst. "I have one more person I'd like to call to the stand. You see, we haven't heard the defendant's testimony yet." He smirked. "I call Dolph Wulf to the stand."

Both the judge and Wright looked at him, a very peculiar expression on their faces, then Wright nodded. He got it. This wasn't about guilt or innocence. It was about truth. Something wasn't adding up. The victim's gun in the defendant's hand without a struggle... they had to find the truth here.

"A-bout time," Vivian Prep drawled, bouncing off the stage. "You're going to come visit, right?" She turned big, wet blue eyes on Wright as the bailiff comes to lead her away. Before he could answer, she was lead off the stand, and not a moment too soon. Her flirting was not only making Wright uncomfortable, but Edgeworth as well. A well groomed thirty-three man took her spot, in a sleek suit. The only jarring note in the man's appearance was his hair, the tufts of hair pointing out in black ears and a thick black beard.

"Will you state your name to the court?"

The man nodded, opening his mouth to speak in a low, rich growl. "My name is Dolph Wulf."

Is there anyone in this town whose name isn't a pun with their visual appearance? The irony of the thought almost slipped Edgeworth's mind completely. Wulf smoothed his vest with his large hands, looking out at the court with steady eyes.

"Thank you, Mr. Wulf. Now, if you could tell the court what happened?"

"Certainly." He lifted his chin, nodding. "Sangre called me to our favorite cafe that morning."

"Hold it!"

And it begins, Edgeworth thought with a sigh, watching Wright start to wade through the testimony by asking questions about every. Single. Thing. If he didn't have a perfect track record for finding out what really happened, the judge wouldn't have any of this.

"... and then we left the cafe."

"Hold it! In what order did you two leave?"

Does it matter?

Wulf thought about it for a moment. "I left first. Sangre must have left after me, as I only heard the gunshot later."

That caused another handslam. But even the judge had to know where this was going, as- "This clearly contradicts Ms. Prep's testimony!" As well as the testimony of everyone else that had sat in the cafe and testified to hearing the gunshot.

The tufts whisping upward suddenly grew more pointed, hackles up. "T-then I must have gotten confused. After all, I saw my best friend die that day, and-" Wulf attempted to smooth his hair out, failing to do so completely. "I was confused. I don't remember the order we left. However, once we left, I headed to my car."

"Objection!"

Wright looked over at Edgeworth, shock written plainly on his face, but he was tired of this. "It's well known, Mr. Wulf, that you have the same driving capabilities as your attorney. That is, none at all!"

The tufts sprang back up.

"Furthermore, there is overwhelming evidence that you were at the scene of the crime, and not only held the weapon, but fired it. And when your own attorney gives you a reason you would be innocent, that is, having fired at him in self defense, you refuse to take it."

The man shrunk down on himself, cringing away.

"It's almost as if, despite your claims that you didn't kill the man, you want to be caught!"

"I didn't murder him!"

Wulf suddenly sprang up, panting. "No matter what anyone says, after fifteen years of being together, I didn't murder him!"

Wait... The language there was interesting. The entire time, Wulf had not denied kill him, but rather kept using the word "murder." And fifteen years... "According to your own testimony at the police station, you were friends with him for twenty years."

"...!" He started panting harder.

"You've been using an interesting choice of words, Mr. Wulf. But no matter what, even if you say you didn't murder him, the evidence says his death was by your hands!"

Wulf lowered his head. "... understand... you don't understand!" His head whipped up, his mouth open enough to show his teeth. "Five years getting to know him, fifteen together, living with him, watching him get hurt and slowly get sick... but I couldn't ever murder him!"

Is he...?

It looked like Wright had started to get the same idea, the horrified realization dawning on his face. "Mr. Wulf, five months ago, Mr. de la Cruz had been attacked by an animal and hospitalized. Is that the incident that you're referring to?"

"He was dying," the man whispered. "He couldn't stand it. And how he- we thought the transfusion was- before it could turn full blown, he wanted to die. Sangre-" Dolph Wulf suddenly threw his head back, letting out a mournful wailing howl. It rang through the courtroom, filling the ears of everyone watching with his grief. Even when he fell quiet, the howl rang in the air, hanging over everyone's head.

In the quiet, Wright's voice hesitantly spoke up. "What happened to Sangre de la Cruz?"

Wulf's voice rich voice came out soft, broken. "Back in high school, we had- we found out we both liked men. We've been together that long, and when he got- hurt, he had to have a transfusion. He started getting sick, and... it seemed like it was AIDS. He didn't want to live like that, so he took his gun and asked me-" He stopped talking, snapping his teeth shut.

Suicide. Assisted suicide. Edgeworth felt dizzy at the realization. In the eyes of the law, it was still murder. But the fact the man had been pushed that far...

"I didn't murder him," Wulf said brokenly. "I killed him, but I didn't murder him. I didn't-"

The sound of the judge stirring broke the spell over the crowd, and murmurs spilled out from the viewers. It took several moments of gavel slamming down against the desk, but eventually the crowd stopped talking. "After that confession, I don't think anything else needs to be said." Wright had his head bowed across the way, his face showing his own shock and feelings of betrayal about the events. But it was a learning experience, Edgeworth surmised as the guilty verdict came down. Not every client would tell the truth, after all.

He was packing up his notes when he realized the defense hadn't done the same, and was in fact still standing there with shock on his face. A client so far in his own grief that he denied even the results of his own actions... Wright had probably never seen that before. Edgeworth snapped his briefcase shut, looking over at his opposition, feeling a spin of sympathy and a nagging feeling of incompletion. The time he had sat in the defendant seat jumped up and down inside of him, trying to pull his attention to the guilt and feeling he had that he had to properly make it up to Wright for finding the truth of that matter. It was rather late, as the trial had been one of the last scheduled. The time of the year it was, the sun was probably down. He could... perhaps buy the man a drink.

No sooner had the thought occurred, it was interrupted. A scream override all the murmuring from the galley, and two brief, impossibly loud gunshots. Then nothing, everything still and eerie as the noises were processed.

Then a stampede towards the cacophony, curiosity ringing louder than self preservation.

The scene made little sense. All that blood, everywhere. Up the walls, across the floor, smeared against the bent bars of the window... everywhere. Almost tucked out of the way was the officer escorting Wulf back to his cell, the wall behind him cracked and dented with blood and something white and hard splattering the wall. Edgeworth's mind tried to shy away from what the hard substance might be, tried to ignore the clumps of skin and flesh attached to it.

In the middle of the scene, simple suit garish against the messy scene, was the now proven guilty defendant. The first thing one's eye focused on was the mess at his neck. It was... red. And pulpy. And showing bits of pink and white.

Edgeworth heard people behind him rush off to be noisily sick, and suddenly felt the urge to join them. He turned away from the scene to see a disturbed and sheet white Phoenix Wright, his hand suddenly slapping over his mouth to keep from ejecting the contents of his stomach onto the floor. His eyes caught Edgeworth's as he turned, the look in them slightly lost, blank, and upset.

In the middle of a courthouse, something had gotten in and savagely mauled the defendant and had managed to slam the guard's head against the wall hard enough for his skull to crack and fly. Something fast enough to do both. Something strong enough to bend the bars on the courthouse windows.

Something.