When Gumshoe called, Phoenix was in the process of trying to clear up some of the paperwork that had piled up on Mia's… my, he mentally corrected himself, desk since Christmas and Edgeworth's trial. It was a half-hearted effort – he disliked being in the Wright and Co. Office at the best of times, and now that Maya was back in Kurain he tried to avoid it as much as possible.

The silence of the place just served to make him feel even lonelier than normal, and matters weren't helped by the fact that, as usual, money was tight and he couldn't afford much in the way of heating either here or at his apartment. On an exceptionally cold, late January afternoon that made for a miserable prospect, and he was huddled, still in his coat, with the constant drone of the news channel on the TV for company.

What a thrilling life I lead. At least I have my health, I suppose. Although possibly not my fingers - I haven't been able to feel them for over an hour.

He took a sip of the still hot coffee on the desk beside him, more as an excuse to warm his hands on the mug than because he was particularly thirsty.

The muffled ringing should have been a welcome distraction, but he really wasn't in the mood to talk to potential clients and besides, the telephone itself was buried somewhere underneath the haphazard pile of stuff he'd put aside for filing. He was too lazy or too lethargic to dig for it. But when the answer phone clicked in and he heard Gumshoe's voice mumble a word he thought he recognised, curiosity got the better of him.

Did he say 'Edgeworth'?

Unceremoniously, Phoenix shoved the heap of papers off the desk in his sudden eagerness to get to the 'phone. Documents slid everywhere, freeing themselves from the confines of files and envelopes and covering the floor in a jumble of case notes and housekeeping bills.

He snatched at the receiver and flipped the record button off before the detective finished speaking.

"Gumshoe? Are you still there? This is Phoenix Wright."

The detective sounded a little startled. "Hey, pal. I was just leaving you a message."

"Really? I didn't hear." Wow, so not convincing. "I was… uh, cleaning the toilet. Has something happened, detective?"

He could hear the eagerness in his own voice and had it been anyone else except Gumshoe he would have expected to be called on the lie immediately.

"It's Mr Edgeworth, pal. He didn't come in to work today and no-one can get a hold of him on his cell phone or at home. You're his lawyer, so I thought you might know where he is. We're getting a bit worried down at the Precinct as he's missed a couple of case briefings and, uh, well, he never does this kind of thing usually. But since, well, you know…"

"…Yeah." Edgeworth… Gumshoe's right. That's not like him at all. "Well, he doesn't exactly confide in me detective. I've barely spoken to him outside of court since he was acquitted last month." Not that I'm bitter. "I suppose you've checked all the obvious places?"

"The hospitals haven't reported anyone admitted that answers his description, pal."

"Uh… I wasn't exactly thinking of that, but I guess that's good news, detective."

Christ, what an optimist. Still, he could understand Gumshoe's train of thought. From what he knew of Edgeworth's habits this was completely unlike the man, and actually, he felt a deep sense of unease himself the more he considered that.

Phoenix's memory replayed the day of the prosecutor's release from the Detention Centre, what his first thought had been after he'd walked free.

"Well… there is one place I can think of that he might be, I guess," he said slowly, I'll call you if I have any luck."

"Thanks, pal. If there's any news I'll leave a message on your cell."

Gumshoe had barely hung up before Phoenix was out of the office, leaving the TV on in his haste and pulling on his gloves as he hurried down the hall. The uneasy feeling was beginning to develop an edge of panic, as irrational as that seemed to him when he tried to think logically. The last time Phoenix had felt like this was at Edgeworth's trial, when he'd watched with his heart in his mouth as the gavel began to fall for a guilty verdict on the first day. Even thinking about that moment now made his heart skip a beat and he grimaced. He took the stairs two at a time and almost fell out of the front door in his haste, colliding with a businessman who was waiting for his companion to pay for the cab they had just exited.

Perfect. With a hurried apology in response to an angry epithet, Phoenix jumped into the back of the vehicle before it could pull away from the kerb. "Memorial Cemetery, please." As the driver nodded and pulled out into traffic, Phoenix flipped his wallet open surreptitiously. He counted $50, which at the moment amounted to everything he had in the world.

I hope I have enough money to pay for this. It's a long way out of town, but it'll take me forever on the bus.

Phoenix fidgeted and drummed his fingers on the seat for the duration of the journey. The ball of unease in the pit of his stomach was tightening by the minute and his mind was in a constant swirl of impatience, worry and trepidation.

What am I going to say to him anyway… if I find him there? What's he going to think if I turn up uninvited at his father's grave? Why didn't I just tell Gumshoe to send a patrol car? What the hell am I so worried about anyway? He's an adult, for Christ's sake.

--

The cab had barely come to a halt at the gates of the cemetery before Phoenix wrenched the door open. "Can you wait for me, please?" he asked the driver, wincing at the sight of $22.50 already blinking in ominous red numbers on the meter. The driver nodded and applied the handbrake, pulling out a newspaper from under his seat.

Phoenix could feel the January air biting into his skin even through the warmth of his duffle coat as he hurried through the wrought iron gates. The gravel path crunched underfoot, stones mingled with still-frozen chunks of hail from a recent flurry.

He had only been here once, but fortunately he had a good memory, so finding Gregory Edgeworth's grave again was easy enough. He glanced around as he approached the plain, granite headstone, but saw no one in the vicinity - just rows of memorials and leafless trees that swayed in the icy wind. His heart thudded in painful disappointment.

Damn. I was sure he'd be here.

If the prosecutor wasn't at the cemetery, and it certainly appeared that way, then Phoenix was out of ideas and money. He hesitated for a moment in front of the grave; reading and re-reading the inscription in the hope that inspiration would strike.

'Gregory Edgeworth. Loving Father of Miles.'

His mind was a blank, and he could almost hear the meter in the cab ticking over. Frustration boiled over into a sudden flash of irritation.

Where the hell are you, Edgeworth?

As he started to turn away, something caught his eye, something coloured silver that gleamed near his feet, even under a light dusting of snow. When he crouched down and brushed at it gently with a gloved finger he saw the unmistakeable shape of a prosecutor's badge.

So he has been here. A rush of relief mixed too quickly with the tight knot of worry in his stomach, and it made him feel slightly nauseous.

Why would he throw this away? I know he never wears it, but all the same…

Phoenix glanced up at the granite headstone as his hand closed around the badge and he rose to his feet. He almost felt like a grave robber, but he was sure that under the circumstances, Gregory Edgeworth would look the other way. Miles was his son, after all.

"Don't worry sir, I'll find him." Phoenix felt a bit foolish addressing a lump of grey stone, but somehow it just seemed like the right thing to do. Turning, he hurried back to the cab.

"Where to now, buddy?" the cab driver asked, regarding Phoenix in the rear view mirror. Phoenix swallowed as he looked at the meter, already reading $29.25. He was lost for what to do next, but he had to think of something. After a concerned look at the sky, heavy with unfallen snow, a sudden instinct seized him.

"How much to get to Gourd Lake from here?"

"That'll take you up to about $45."

Phoenix considered for a moment. He had no idea why Gourd Lake had popped into his mind but now that it had, he couldn't shake the conviction that Edgeworth might be there. There was nowhere else. Even under the most stressful of circumstances, Phoenix knew that Edgeworth's mind worked in a logical sequence. It was unlikely that he would go from this place back to his childhood home, and in fact Phoenix suspected that if Edgeworth had been missing since the morning, the cemetery had not been his first destination. After here, Gourd Lake was the only possible choice.

"Okay then. Gourd Lake, please." As the cab pulled away, Phoenix hoped that he knew Miles Edgeworth as well as he thought he did.

--

The evening was starting to draw in as Phoenix approached the main gate of Gourd Lake Park. He hadn't been here since Edgeworth's trial – it just brought back bad memories of the proud, but broken man that he'd faced through the glass in the Detention Centre, and the evil that had been perpetrated here among the grey fog of the lake.

Today the fog was back, hanging low to the ground as the surface of the water chilled, releasing its vapour to creep ominously along the paths that fanned out from the lake like spokes in a wheel.

As Phoenix stepped through the gates, the lamps along the paths clicked on automatically to compensate for the failing daylight, and the coincidence startled him. The faint amber glow reflected off the mist and made the place seem even more eerie, if that were even possible. He shivered, and this time it wasn't solely due to the cold. He checked his cell. No messages.

Hurrying down the main path he strained his ears to listen for any noise that sounded out of place, and looked around constantly in hope of catching sight of movement; a glimpse of crimson or a head of grey hair. But the park seemed deserted. There was no one down by the concession stands, and when he took the branching path that led to the old boat house, he could see nothing to indicate that anyone had preceded him.

This was a dumb idea. Now I only have five dollars to my name and no way to get home. Gumshoe probably mixed up Edgeworth's vacation days or something.

When Phoenix reached the end of the gravelled area, he peered into the twilight without any real expectation of seeing anyone or anything, and after a cursory glance around he was about to leave when the faint sound of glass chinking against stone halted him. He held his breath and waited, but the sound wasn't repeated. Still, he felt the urge to investigate further and walked out into the open towards the boat house. To the right of the moorings he remembered a set of stone steps that led down to a small beach. More out of intuition than deduction, he headed in that direction, and heard the sound again.

"Edgeworth?" his voice sounded quieter than normal to his ears, absorbed by the mist and the water in front of him.

For a moment there was no response, and he hesitated, wondering if he had imagined the noise of glass on stone. Then he heard it once more, followed by an answering voice that he recognised immediately, and that sent a surge of relief flooding through his veins.

"What are you doing here, Wright?" The voice was muffled, weary.

"I could ask you the same, Edgeworth. Gumshoe has the entire police department out looking for you."

Phoenix could see him now, sitting on one of the lower steps. He wasn't wearing a coat, just his crimson work suit. Christ, he must be freezing. Edgeworth's pose looked unnatural, and as Phoenix drew closer he could see that the prosecutor was slumped slightly against the wall to his left, resting the side of his head against the cold concrete. In his right hand he was holding a half-empty and uncapped bottle of Scotch, its base resting on the step. Even from this distance Phoenix could see that Edgeworth was shivering violently, and it was that which had caused the movement of the bottle and the sound that he had heard through the fog a few minutes ago.

"Go away, Wright." Edgeworth made no effort to look around at Phoenix.

"What's going on? Why didn't you go into work today? They're all freaking out at the Precinct by the sounds of it, and I can't say I blame them. I was… well, I was getting a bit worried myself."

"How did you find me?"

Phoenix walked down the steps until he was standing at the prosecutor's side, feet next to the bottle of Scotch, and this time Edgeworth looked round, although he didn't raise his head. In answer, Phoenix stooped slightly and held out the prosecutor's badge on his gloved palm.

There was silence. Edgeworth swigged a mouthful of whisky, then in a low voice, "I fucked it up, Wright. All of it. My life, my career." He gestured vaguely, then took another drink and swallowed hard. "I don't know how to do it any more. Or why I'm even trying."

Phoenix just stood there, at a loss. He slipped the badge back into his pants pocket. This wasn't the Edgeworth that he knew. Even at his lowest point, confessing to his fear of having murdered his father, the man had never said anything like this. This was just… wrong. His heart lurched, and his mind went blank even as he desperately tried to think of something to say. He opened his mouth to speak anyway, but what came out sounded trite and stupid, even to him.

"You're a good lawyer, Edgeworth."

"Hah." The other man just sneered. "A good lawyer who coaches witnesses, hides evidence, tricks the defence… I'm not a lawyer, Wright. I'm a criminal.

"It would have been better if I had died here, that night. Or even back then, when …" The prosecutor's jaw tightened and his eyes darkened for a moment as he remembered his father, "Then none of the rest would have happened." He turned his face back to the wall, pressing his temple up against it and closing his eyes. "If you've come here to laugh, get it over with and leave."

Edgeworth...

Impulsively, Phoenix sat down next to the prosecutor on the step. He didn't know what else to do. He could feel the iciness of the stone even through his coat and he wondered how long Edgeworth had been sitting there and how cold he really was. Phoenix remembered hearing horror stories about people succumbing to hypothermia when drunk, and going by the state of the bottle of Scotch it seemed unlikely that the prosecutor was still sober.

"I told you to go away, Wright." The man hadn't even looked up. He doesn't sound drunk, but a sober Miles Edgeworth wouldn't be doing this, wouldn't be talking like this.

"You're always telling me to go away, Edgeworth. It's what you do." Phoenix tried to keep his tone light, a half-smile on his face.

"And you never listen," Edgeworth returned. There wasn't even a trace of sarcasm in his voice, and somehow that lack bit into Phoenix deeper than the words ever could, prompting him to speak before he really considered his words.

"Look… it's alright now, Edgeworth. You know it was all a nightmare. Von Karma is in jail, you still have your job, and you can…"

Edgeworth turned his head towards Phoenix, slowly and deliberately, and the look in the prosecutor's eyes made the words dry up in his throat. Even though they were outdoors, Phoenix could almost smell the acrid scent of disinfectant in his nostrils as he recalled the last time he'd seen that look, a few weeks ago in the Detention Centre.

"You really believe that, don't you Wright? A happy ending. Villain caught, tragic… hero, " and his voice was harshest on that word "…freed from his past." He laughed, and if Phoenix didn't know better he would have sworn there was an edge of hysteria to it. "You sentimental idiot. You have no idea."

Phoenix could feel his face burn, and his temper flared. "Well why don't you tell me, Edgeworth? Why don't you tell me instead of sitting here in the freezing cold on these fucking steps like a sulky kid?"

He started to scramble to his feet, but Edgeworth's response was unexpected. He whipped round and grabbed Phoenix by the coat, fisting his hands in the thick wool and pulling him back down with a thud. "Because you wouldn't understand! You couldn't! He was my LIFE, Phoenix. For FIFTEEN YEARS." Despite himself, Phoenix winced. He could feel Edgeworth's hands shaking from the cold, and he could smell the whisky on the prosecutor's breath. His hands hovered over Edgeworth's, unsure of what to do, what to say.

Phoenix couldn't decide what shocked him the most. The anger, the usage of his given name, the realisation that Edgeworth was talking about Von Karma, or the fact that up close he could clearly see tears lurking in the grey eyes. Together, it all scared him. This isn't right - it isn't normal. It isn't EDGEWORTH.

Phoenix realised that confusion must have been written all over his face, because Edgeworth's fists loosened, slipped away from his coat and dropped uselessly, all anger drained out of him as suddenly as it had appeared. The prosecutor put his head in his hands.

"Don't look at me like that. I know it makes you feel better to think he locked me in a room, tortured me, forced me to listen and beat me into submission. But it's not true. None of it. I went with him because I wanted to, and I stayed with him because I respected him. I could have walked away. I had the opportunity. When I was at university. At law school. At the Prosecutor's Office. I had plenty of time to listen to other people and find my own way. But I didn't want to."

"You didn't know any better, Edgeworth. He controlled you…"

"But I DID, Wright. I did know better. My father…" his voice faltered "…taught me better. I just… I turned my back on it all, on everyone. I wanted to believe in him. I did believe in him." He shuddered, but Phoenix couldn't tell if it was from the cold or from the memory.

Edgeworth rested his head against the wall again, and even from this angle and in the weak light from the nearby lamp, Phoenix could see that his face was drained, haunted. He wanted to put his arm around the man, would have done if it had been anyone else, or if it had been fifteen years earlier, but he couldn't. Instead he drew up his knees and hugged them, at a loss what to say, what to do. Phoenix always felt awkward in emotional situations and with Edgeworth, that feeling was only magnified.

"I thought Manfred could… save me," his voice was little more than a whisper, now. "from the dreams. I admired him, and I threw aside everything I knew for him. And now? How do I stand up in court without him to show me how?" The prosecutor shook his head. "I can't. I never have."

To Phoenix's horror he could see tears sliding down Edgeworth's face. This time his emotion overcame his reticence, and clumsily, he removed his gloves and placed a hand on Edgeworth's shoulder. He felt the man flinch and try to pull away from his touch, even through the tremors, but Phoenix left his hand where it was. I have to get him away from here.

"Edgeworth, you're shivering. You can't stay out here – you'll freeze to death. If you really want to get smashed and talk about this, there are better places to do it. Like a bar. Or your apartment. Hell, my apartment, even." Although granted that's not a great deal warmer.

"I thought I made it clear. I don't want to talk to you. I don't care. Just leave me alone."

"I can't do that, Edgeworth. I didn't spend fifteen years trying to find you just to leave you out here to drink yourself to death." With a sigh, Phoenix rose to his feet and removed his coat, feeling the cold fog from the lake settle around them both. He threw the coat and gloves down on the ground and resumed his position seated on the step next to Edgeworth, replacing his hand on the man's shoulder. This time Edgeworth didn't flinch, although he was still shivering.

Phoenix could feel his backside going numb within seconds as the cold stone pressed through his thin suit trousers, and the icy wind cut through his polyester jacket like a knife. He extracted the Scotch from Edgeworth's trembling fingers, taking a swig and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Right. Let's see who ends up with hypothermia first" As if on cue, he felt the first flakes of snow being whipped around his head, settling in his hair and on his eyelashes

"Don't be so ridiculous, Wright."

"Don't be so melodramatic, Edgeworth."

There was silence for a time, and then Edgeworth reclaimed the Scotch, taking a long drink himself.

"Why did you save me, Wright? I didn't deserve to be saved. I wish I had just died that day, after the trial. It would have been easier."

"Easier for who, Edgeworth? For you, maybe. Or for Von Karma. Not for me, or for Maya, or Larry, or Gumshoe, or all the other people who worked their butts off to get you acquitted. You're an innocent man, like it or not, and you have friends, like it or not."

Edgeworth just looked down, wearily. "You're living in the past, Wright."

"And you're not? What the fuck is all this about otherwise? And if I didn't still think of you as a friend, why the hell do you think I'd be out here sitting on a lump of fucking stone in the middle of a snowstorm?"

Phoenix was beginning to shiver himself, now. He couldn't quite believe he was having this conversation. He couldn't quite believe he was talking to Edgeworth so directly. His sense of awkwardness returned, so he took the Scotch, knocked back a large mouthful, and the fiery liquid warmed him for a few seconds, gave him the courage to continue.

"Wright, the things I've done… it's like a darkness in my soul. I can't see my way any more."

"And it's in the past." Phoenix interrupted. "You can't go back and do it over differently. But you can face up to the truth; you can find a way to forgive yourself. And you can move on." He swallowed a lump in his throat at the memory of his own dark secret. "It's hard. But believe me, you can do it. I've done it myself."

"I don't know how." It was a simple statement, but coming from Edgeworth, the epitome of confidence and self-assurance, it was almost world stopping. Phoenix just stared. "When I was a child, I always had my father to guide me. After he was… after he died, there was Manfred… or at least that's what I thought. Now, I have to unlearn it all and start again… and I don't think I have the will. I'll never be free of my past." Edgeworth's voice faded.

Phoenix gazed down at the ground, lost for words again. He gritted his teeth to prevent them from chattering; the cold was making it hard to think. When he spoke again he was hesitant, choosing his words as carefully as he ever remembered seeing Edgeworth do. "I didn't have to do it alone and neither do you, Edgeworth. There are two sides to every court case. You've forgotten more about the law than I'll ever know and in court you're… relentless. You bring out the best in me - I would never have won the Powers case with anyone else on the prosecution bench. We both know that. Maybe… maybe we can figure it out together."

Phoenix scrambled to his feet, feeling that if he didn't get up now, he never would - that instead he might remain frozen to the stone forever. He stood in front of the prosecutor, shuffling his feet, not daring to meet his eyes. Phoenix reached into his pants pocket, extracted the prosecutor's badge, held it out. Edgeworth remained silent, but he let go of the bottle and reached out shaky fingers to take the silver badge, a slight smile ghosting over his lips.

They remained like that for a while, both looking down at the ground, snow beginning to settle on their clothes and in their hair. Finally, Phoenix reached out a hand, and Edgeworth looked up at him. "If you like, we can start by reviewing some of your old cases. Not officially – just, you know, between us."

"And look for the truth?" Edgeworth asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Why not? Didn't a wise man say that it's the truth that will set us free?"

Edgeworth hesitated, then reached up his own hand, and Phoenix grasped it. It felt like a lump of ice. The prosecutor pulled himself to his feet, stiffly and unsteadily, swaying slightly from the effects of the Scotch.

"'To the wise the light of truth is light itself.'" Edgeworth said, softly.

He looked Phoenix directly in the eyes for the first time that night, their hands still clasped together, and it was if he was searching for something. Phoenix didn't know what – he seldom understood Edgeworth's meaningful looks. All he could do was something that he hadn't done for fifteen years, that he'd longed to do all that time. He closed the distance between them and put his free arm around Edgeworth's shoulders, pulling him into an embrace, resting his chin on the man's shoulder. He felt Edgeworth stiffen slightly but Phoenix ignored it and closed his eyes, just for a moment, as he recalled another time, another place, a lifetime away, when Miles Edgeworth had been the only person who had believed in him.

It was only a matter of seconds before he stepped back, avoiding Edgeworth's gaze, but as he retrieved his coat Phoenix let out a long, shaky breath. He felt dizzy, suddenly. He didn't know whether to blame it on the Scotch, the cold, or the situation, but somehow it was as if the world had changed around them while they'd sat here, in the snow. Or, perhaps, they had changed the world.

He smiled before he turned to face the prosecutor again. "I hope you have some money on you Edgeworth, because I spent all mine getting here, and I think you owe me a lift home."

"Wright, you're a disgrace," was Edgeworth's only comment, but this time his smile reached his eyes.

"Well I've been sliding down on rainbows
Well I've been swinging from the stars
Now this wretch in beggars clothing
Bangs his cup across the bars
Look, this cup of mine is empty!
Seems I've misplaced my desires
Seems I'm sweeping up the ashes
Of all my former fires
So brother, be a brother
And fill this tiny cup of mine
And please, sir, make it whiskey
For I have no head for wine"
- NICK CAVE