Oneshot. Bleh. Sprawled this out in about half-hour, so nothing special.
Disclaimer: I own none of these characters, nor the script (which I admittedly took liberties with) of AA:PW
To say Miles Edgeworth was unnerved by his first defeat would be an understatement. Having his perfect guilty record – the ideal that had been hammered into him since his pre-teen years – shattered before his eyes was nothing less than a metaphorical stab wound to the gut.
Confusion, anger, guilt. He didn't know what to do, who to blame, so he settled for seething on the inside, blaming everyone – the witnesses, the judge, Detective Gumshoe, that goddamned Wright and even himself for his loss.
Most of the blame settled on Wright, of course. If that spikey-haired attorney hadn't somehow turned his perfect case around, hadn't somehow spotted that tiny script on that ridiculous receipt, none of this would have happened and Miles Edgeworth would still be the unbeaten Demon Prosecutor. Much as he hated the media nickname, it was still an image. An image now shattered.
Nonetheless, a tiny part of his brain blamed himself. The pressure had long been on him to be perfect, the heir to the god of prosecution, to win every case, without exception. He had failed. He blamed himself, even though he'd prepared perfectly, responded to each of Wright's foolish objections perfectly, played every card and done everything he could, making no mistake.
Well, except the one.
The tiny, cynical part of his mind kept parroting one utterly degrading phrase.
He had lost the case even before the second day of State vs Fey.
And all because of one fleeting moment of pity.
Thinking back on it, Miles would curse himself for ever letting that one flawed moment occur. Just the tiniest slip, and it had cost him the case and his record. That moment, just after the initial feeling of hope when he heard from Gumshoe that Phoenix Wright had been arrested for the murder of Mia Fey, had been of uncertainty.
It was a startling contrast to his first reaction. That reaction had evoked a small smirk. So, Wright had somehow managed to prove that Maya Fey had not committed the crime. A small blow, because now there was a new suspect, someone else still on the stand, someone that needed convicting if Miles was going to win. And he would. This case was not too unusual.
But then he had paused, the smile dying on his face. Behind his eyes, a sudden image had appeared in his mind. A small boy, eyes bright and blue and smiling, grinning at him, a hand outstretched. A child's voice in his ears, boyish laughter.
It suddenly occurred to him that if he won, he would be condemning that same boy, that same man, to death. And to his shock and dismay, that thought turned his stomach.
He felt unsure. He'd convicted dozens of criminals before, and even attended the executions of some, and not once had his expression wavered from his cool glare, not once had he felt anything other than that justice was being served.
He tried to tell himself that this would be the same. He went ahead, made his preparations for the second day, arrived at the courthouse with his usual cold demeanour.
He still couldn't shake the picture of that nine-year-old being strapped into the electric chair, though.
He wasn't sure what made him step into the defence lobby instead of going straight to his bench, but he followed his footsteps as they led him right up to where the blue-suited defendant was talking with the girl whom he'd been defending just the day before.
The girl was surprised at something, if her stance, expression and the yell of shock were anything to blame. Wright – the picture of the smiling boy wavered; this was just another defendant – shrugged and smiled grimly, before the girl suddenly spotted Edgeworth and jumped back, her hand suddenly pointing at him.
"Ph-Phoenix! Look!"
The attorney spun around, his eyes widening in alarm before forming a cautious expression. He didn't speak, so Miles took the initiative. He kept his voice cool and calm, professional as always.
"I received a call from the public prosecutor's office yesterday. He told me that anything that Mr. White says will be the 'absolute truth'. No matter how you try to attack his testimony…if I raise an objection, I have it on good authority that the judge will listen to me."
He paused in his little speech, seeing something in the attorney's eyes. A flicker of surprise, and something like anger, but astonishingly it was replaced by a grim determination. Odd. His opponents never faced up to him like that, not once they'd faced him in court for a day.
The man's voice was carefully calm, but Miles detected something behind it. What it was, he couldn't tell.
"So…you're saying I'm going to be found guilty. End of story?"
Wright met Miles' eyes, and the prosecutor found himself pausing before he was able to answer. As he formed the words, a sudden, unwanted thought whispered simultaneously in his mind.
"I will do anything to get my verdict, Mr. Wright. Anything."
Forgive me.
With superhuman effort, he managed to hide his surprise from himself. Where had that thought come from?
He shook his head lightly to clear it, able to disguise the movement as condescendence. Wright was looking at him oddly, but it was the girl who spoke up.
"Why…why?"
As he turned to regard her, she exploded into a flurry of angry words.
"How can you torment an innocent person like this!"
He stared at her, mouth repeating that word with disgust, spitting it out as though it tasted foul.
"Innocent?"
He looked away, words forming themselves on their own, spoken in a quiet, dark voice.
"How can we know that? The guilty will always lie, to avoid being found out."
He looked back at them, taking in their surprised faces. He scowled.
"There's no way to tell who is guilty and who is innocent! All I can hope to do is get every defendant declared 'guilty'!"
His voice lowered, almost but not quite a whisper.
"So I make that my policy."
There was silence for a long time. The girl's expression was a mixture of fear and revulsion, but Wright still had that odd look on his face. When he spoke, it was quiet, almost-matter of fact, but his words carried something heavy and unspoken, that pierced Miles like arrows.
"Edgeworth…you've changed."
He almost let down his guard and blinked, but was saved by the sudden yelp of the Fey girl who spun around to stare at the spikey-haired man.
"Phoenix! You know him?"
Miles took that as his cue to leave. He pulled on his trademark smirk, tilting his head just as the picture of the nine-year-old dissolved in his mind, leaving him looking at a bemused-looking young man.
"Don't expect any special treatment, Phoenix Wright."
Somehow, he'd got it. Miles didn't know how, or when, but since that stupid, insignificant moment of pity he'd let doubt seep in, and that was why he found himself in his apartment that evening, staring dully at his white ceiling, with a shattered record, a shattered ego, and a very confused heart.
One moment of pity had cost him his record. He scowled, baring his teeth and hissing like an angry cat, glaring in his mind's eye at the image of the spiky-haired boy who laughed at him, childishly, innocently.
Anger was running through his veins now, like fire, and he directed it all at the person who was somehow both the sheepish defence attorney and that sweet little boy.
Damn you, Phoenix Wright! Damn you to hell!