MARIUS
Do I care if I should die
Now she goes across the sea?
Life without Cosette
Means nothing at all.
Would you weep, Cosette,
Should Marius fall?
Will you weep, Cosette,
For me?

--Drink With Me from Les Miserables

Farewell

"Miles, you've changed."

The young boy looked up at his name, not comprehending the words. Phoenix Wright had that guilty look on his face. The kind that soft people like him often had when they had no way to help another.

"Yeah, Nick's right. What's up?" Larry Butz leaned onto his desk so he could get a good, hard look at his face. "You haven't talked at all for two weeks."

Miles looked down, still refusing to speak. How could they understand? How could anybody understand? Nobody ever would, because he would keep this secret festering inside for the rest of his life. How would any of them know what it felt like to murder their own fathers?

"Miles, please say something," Phoenix begged. "We're your best friends! Stop it, please."

He lowered his head even further into his arms, hiding tears. They knew his father was dead. They knew he was shocked and hurt. They even gave him a weeks breathing space without complaint. But they didn't know everything that had happened. And he could just picture their bewilderment and anger once he told them.

"I'm sorry…" he muttered out loud, his face still buried. Around him, Phoenix and Larry looked shocked to hear him speak.

"Uhh… what?" Larry asked, prodding Miles with his fist after a long pause. "Why'd you just stop?"

"I'm transferring… next week…" he mumbled. "I won't be coming back."

"WHAAT?!" shouted Phoenix and Larry in unison. "Why? How? Where?"

"I'm sorry," he repeated simply.

"This is so sudden," Phoenix said sadly. "It's Friday already. Does this mean we won't see you next week? At all?"

The bell rang shrilly, marking the end of the day. Unconsciously, both boys grabbed their friend's arms at the same time.

"You can't leave yet, Miles!" shouted Larry. "We were gonna play street hockey today, remember?"

"Miles… please…"

He shook in his chair. Two tears dripped loudly onto the desk as he trembled with the effort to not cry. "I have to go now," he sobbed quietly, although not moving from his desk.

Everybody else in the class slowly filed out, until it only those three best friends were left. Larry and Phoenix had run out of words to say.

"I'm gonna become… a great prosecutor…" he said at last, wiping his tears and standing up. "So don't forget about me."

Phoenix's eyebrows raised at his mention of prosecution, but he swallowed his words.

"We won't…" said Larry, oblivious to his sudden change of profession.

"And don't forget us, either," added Phoenix.

"I guess this is goodbye, then."

"Goodbye, Miles! We'll see each other again… someday…"

Many Years Later…

"I've been anticipating today for a very long time. But… it hasn't been long enough."

Franziska crossed her arms, looking uncomfortable. He hugged her stiffly, and although her body was tense she pushed her face against his shoulder willingly.

"There are… people in America that I promised to return to," he said after they had broken the awkward embrace. "But I'll come back often, I swear."

A rare smile flickered across her face. "Do you promise, Miles Edgeworth?"

"Of course."

They checked in his suitcases together. A few moments with Franziska's whip helped convince airline officials to allow her to accompany Miles to his plane. Franziska picked up his briefcase and helped him carry it across the airport terminal, while Miles himself shouldered another carry-on. With every step it seemed to grow heavier, until they finally arrived at the designated gate.

"You know, Franziska…" he said, dropping the bag. "It doesn't feel right to leave you. I feel like I miss you already."

"Don't be stupid, Miles," she snapped, shoving the briefcase into his arms. "It's… it's only a few more years before I can join you in America. A few more years to build up experience."

"…I'll miss you." The words felt strange in his mouth.

"…so will I." She averted her eyes.

Miles gave his boarding ticket to the lady at the counter, and as she processed it he planted an innocent kiss on Franziska's forehead. Instantly she reddened.

"Mi-miles! Stop it already. You're such a foolish little brother."

"Don't forget about me," he replied as he took the now-validated ticket, echoing shadowy words from years past.

"Of course I won't," she said, a smirk playing on her mouth. "My memory isn't nearly as bad as yours." She jammed the handle of her whip against his arm playfully.

"Goodbye, Franziska."

"Farewell, Miles!"

Miles Edgeworth half-smiled at the memories.

His office was darkened and cold. Strewn on his usually tidy desk were a collection of seemingly random photographs and items. There were photos of him, Larry, and Phoenix hanging out on weekends, eating candy at festivals, and just plain having fun. A simple picture of him and Franziska grinning together with bar exam results in hand. An envelope with exactly thirty eight dollars and no cents. A photo of his victory after that fateful case. An elegant picture of the medium Misty Fey. The King of Prosecutors trophy. A solemn portrait of his father, Gregory Edgeworth.

And a pistol which lay across all the pictures on the desk, with a single bullet placed beside it. He picked it up, feeling the smooth newness of the metal against his fingers. It was the exact same make as the guns that court bailiffs carried around.

"Father…" he said out loud. The portrait didn't change. It wasn't supposed to. This was what his father had been reduced to; a flat picture encased in a glass frame, only the merest shadow of the great attorney he had once been.

"You're the one I never had a chance to say farewell to," he continued, picking up the bullet. "I broke my promise to become a great defense attorney. I'm sorry."

The words were empty, hollow. Suddenly thoughts began to rage in his head, a slew of other broken promises. He hadn't bothered to contact Phoenix and Larry. He forgot his promise to see them again. He never went back to Germany to see Franziska. He found that after all those farewells, he had never kept a single promise to any of them. They had faded from memory, so now he could only remember them through these silent, unfeeling photographs.

He put the bullet inside his gun, then began to clear his desk of all his memories. They were tossed back into drawers and shelves, until only a simple note remained.

"Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth chooses death," he read to nobody. This was his final broken promise. Phoenix… Larry… Franziska… and his father… he would be betraying them all now.

He pulled the safety slowly and pressed the muzzle of the gun against his chest, so that the metal throbbed from the furious pounding of his heart. His father had died from a shot like this. It was only right that he died the same way. His finger tightened on the trigger.

Suddenly he noticed a picture of Phoenix Wright as a defense attorney, a picture that he had missed while putting the others away. What would Wright say if he were to see him now?

"Edgeworth! What the hell are you doing?! Stop it, Miles, put that gun down! Why would you do this? Don't you know how much all of us care about you?"

Miles Edgeworth closed his eyes. His grip relaxed on the pistol. His fingers began to tremble slightly.

"Farewell," he said simply.