Content warning: Moderate language, self-harm, suicidal thoughts/ideation.
Sorry everyone, but I lost this chapter and had to rewrite the entire thing, which explains the big-ass wait. I'll edit this later when I put up chapter five, because I'm not totally happy with it and I think I can recover the older, better version with the help of my Technical Wizard father. So sorry!
This chapter has another OC in it, who I swear doesn't get murdered three seconds into the introduction. I'm sorry Dakota Hunt, but you were simply a sacrificial lamb. She'll probably pop up in this chapter and the next, and then never again. Actually, there's two OCs. Three OCs. Three relatively unimportant OCs. That's all, I promise.
Also, this chapter is shorter than normal. Sorry! This is more of a filler chapter, as the trial and a bit more of the progression between Edgeworth and Phoenix happen next chapter. It's been kind of slow so far, but things heat up next chapter, I promise.
Another thing: I screwed up the italics in the third chapter. Oops! They'll be fixed by the time you read this chapter, hopefully.
Enjoy!
oOoOoOoOo
The office was quiet as usual, Maya's absence even more obvious now that he'd spent a day with her again. He should be used to being lonely by now, a dark part of his mind whispered, and Phoenix started with a shock.
"Where the heck did that come from?" he laughed to himself nervously, reaching for a stack of paperwork he had yet to fill out. "I'm fine running the law firm by myself! I have...I have lots of unfinished paperwork to prove it." He sighed and clicked his pen twice. "The game is on, important documents I should have filled out a long time ago. The game is on."
Two hours later, he'd filled out approximately half a sheet of paper. The rest of his time had been spent thinking of a way to apologize to Edgeworth. The man was unpredictable - before their argument, he'd been calm, docile, even slightly pleasant to be around. But as soon as Phoenix had brought up his suspicions, he'd completely flipped. The calm, collected and slightly withdrawn man had turned angry and threatening in barely an instant. He still needed to apologise, Phoenix remembered, and so does Edgeworth. Nothing excuses threatening others with a knife. Like Mia said, maybe there was a chance to salvage their friendship. He just had to wait for that chance.
There was a knock on his door, followed by a, "Yo Nick! Can we talk?"
Larry. Oh, god. Why?
"It's open," he called out, swiveling around on his chair to face the door as it opened. Sure enough, the door swung open with an extravagant thud and Larry spread his arms wide to announce his presence, and left one arm hanging around the shoulder of a pretty, short girl, with a head of dyed auburn hair and a pair of haunted eyes. She looked like she'd been crying, trails of mascara running down her cheeks. Her face looked red and blotchy, and she sniffled before she spoke.
"Phoenix Wright?" she asked, pulling in closer to Larry.
Phoenix blinked. "That's me," he nodded, inching forward on his chair. "How do you...how do you know Larry, sorry?"
She sniffled and smiled again, though it didn't reach her eyes. "We, uh...we're friends. Have been for a while now."
"…Right," Phoenix replied. Sure, he was slightly suspicious that they were just 'friends', seeing as Larry was practically clinging to her, but then again, he couldn't remember any of Larry's girlfriends that had stuck around for more than a week, much less managed to meet Phoenix himself. "What brings you here?"
"Me and Brooklyn here have a little dilemma," Larry said, smoothly slipping into a free chair. "Oh, I should introduce you. Nick, this is Brooklyn Hunt, my lady friend. Brooklyn, this is my friend Nick from back in my school days. He's a defense attorney now."
"I gathered," Brooklyn nodded, and met Phoenix's gaze determinedly. "Larry told me about how good you are at your job, and I'd...honestly, I don't know what to do."
"What happened?" Phoenix asked, slightly surprised that he'd gotten a compliment from Larry. The man is smoother than I realised.
"It's….it's my twin sister. She was found…she was found dead a few days ago. Her boyfriend was arrested."
"I'm…I'm sorry." Phoenix placed a hand over hers; dealing with distraught relatives of deceased loved ones had never been one of his strong points, and even with his job he'd tried his best to avoid contact with them at all cost, simply because he never knew what to say. He couldn't understand what they were going through-he'd never lost a close friend or loved one in his life ever. Except for Miles, he reasoned, but back in fourth grade he was a friend and nothing more. Phoenix had accepted that, throughout all of his life, he'd probably always be 'just a friend and nothing more' to Miles. If he wasn't sure that Miles was practically asexual, he probably would have tried for something more a long time ago.
Brooklyn sniffed again and nodded, dabbing her red-rimmed eyes with a tissue. "Thank you," she nodded, attempting a smile. "Before she…before that night we had a huge argument, like, a week before it happened." She hung her head. "That was the last time I ever spoke to her."
"She still loved you," Phoenix assured her quietly, seeing Larry rubbing her back reassuringly. "Her boyfriend, did you say…?"
Brooklyn nodded. "Yeah. Adam Elppa. He went to school with us, dated her back then too…they broke up in senior year, it wasn't an angry break-up or anything, they just sort of drifted apart…but no way Adam would do this. Not ever. He was the quiet, shy kid reading in the library, with huge glasses and a bowtie and nerdy hair…"
"You don't think he did it?"
Brooklyn shook her head fiercely. "No, never! He used to be totally petrified of me…he used to get bullied by the more popular kids. So did Dakota, but she never complained…"
Phoenix sensed something more to her words. "But…?"
"She self-harmed," Brooklyn replied, her voice hoarse. "I helped her through several cravings, and I thought she'd stopped…and then I saw fresh scars on her wrists last week, and I got angry at her for lying to me all that time. That was the argument I mentioned earlier. A week later, and…she's dead."
"And you want me to defend Adam?"
Larry nodded. "We know he didn't do it. I've met Adam, there's no freakin' way he could be this brutal."
"Brutal?" Phoenix asked, casting a glance at Brooklyn.
"Adam's credit card was stuffed down her throat," she supplied, spurring a new round of tears.
Dear God…
"We can go visit him in the detention centre and ask for a letter of request," Phoenix replied, "then I can officially take the case. If he declines, I'm sorry, but we're stuck."
Brooklyn shook her head. "Doesn't matter," she replied. "As long as we try. I just want justice for my sister."
Phoenix nodded. "I'll get him off the hook. I promise."
Funny how the situation almost mirrors Edgeworth's and mine…
"Sweet!" Larry fist-pumped. "I can't thank you enough, man. Really. I'd hate to see Adam go to jail! He wouldn't last a minute."
Brooklyn chuckled in spite of her sadness. "Poor skinny white dude in a cell full of hardened criminals. Sounds like the plot of a half-assed sitcom that I would watch."
"And the goofy, dumb jock prison guard who has it out for our nerdy protagonist," Larry added, grinning.
"And the scary black prisoner who's really a huge softie on the inside," Brooklyn nodded. "Yeah. Just like that."
"I'll ask my assistant to come over," Phoenix said, pulling out a pen and paper from his desk drawer. "She might not be able to make it, though."
"That's fine," Brooklyn assured him, once again dabbing at her eyes lightly with a tissue. "Whatever gives us closure."
Us, Phoenix noticed. Whatever gave both of them closure.
I won't let them down, he swore. This isn't just for Dakota anymore. It's for Edgeworth too.
oOoOoOoOo
In his mind, it's his first day of school in Germany; he is a petrified, confused nine-year-old living in an unfamiliar country with little to no grasp on the language, all the while grieving the loss of his recently deceased father. He hates himself for choosing von Karma over his friends back in America, but the prosecutor was too terrifying, and his offer too tempting to resist. A wealthy family. A fantastic education.
The chance to make his father proud.
Of course, nine-year-old Edgeworth didn't know what was to come next; the slow disintegration of his hopes and dreams, and the abandonment of his one goal in life, all in the name of twisted, skewed, flawed perfection. It should be an oxymoron, but the Edgeworth of today thinks the term is fitting.
To von Karma, Miles was perfect, but flawed.
To Miles, von Karma was perfect, but flawed.
Ultimately, these flaws became balanced and a sense of normality was set. Still, Miles often found himself wishing for a more caring father, and von Karma for a less sentimental son. Franziska seemed to be apathetic, largely ignoring Miles until he was finally deemed a big enough threat to worry about. He considered it a compliment, and to this day he still wonders why.
The first time it happened, it was an accident. Miles was tired and angry; angry at von Karma for pushing him when he simply couldn't do any better; at Franziska for never sticking up for him or even sparing him so much as a glance; and most of all, angry at himself, for letting himself become so weak and pathetic. He'd just stepped out of the shower and caught sight of his red-eyed, tear-streaked face staring back at him in the steamed-up mirror. God, how pathetic was he? Crying when he thought nobody would notice. They always would. von Karma seemed to have a special sixth sense just for finding out when Miles had screwed up. Actually, it was barely a sixth sense; Miles screwed up so often now that it had become a part of his daily routine to get screamed at by his adoptive father. The anger overtook him as he slammed his fist against the mirror, sending droplets of crimson scattering to the floor with the shards of glass embedded in his fist. He stared for a few seconds, unable to believe what he'd just done. The mirror stared back at him, his reflection distorted by the cracks he'd inflicted upon it. Surely everyone would have heard the sound of a mirror breaking, he thought, but even after a good few minutes had passed, nobody had came in to check on him, or even knocked at the door.
Nobody cared.
The broken shards would need to be cleaned up, of course. Miles knelt down slowly and picked up one of the shards, the sharp edge digging into his fingertips slightly. It felt good. He dug them in harder, until there was a sharp pain in his fingers and he gasped, tearing his hand away and lifting them up close to his face-
Blood. Only a slight trickle, but it still hurt like hell. And strangely, it felt better than before; he felt…validated, like he's a real human being, like his feelings were melting away out of his veins and onto the white tiles below. It almost looked…beautiful. He was shocked to realise that's what he thought, but once he thought it, he can't get it out of his mind. In a trance, he reached for the shard and sliced across each of his fingers once more, grimacing as the pain began to override his natural instinct. He stopped, reluctantly at that, and gazed at the damage done. Not much damage, he thought in relief - if he'd done something so drastic as slicing his wrists clean open, there wouldn't be much way around hiding it. No, Miles was careful, and he wonders to this day why he still feels proud.
He wonders about a lot of things these days.
oOoOoOoOo
Edgeworth woke with a start, blinking wearily as he slowly came to. He fell asleep in his office. Again, he thought begrudgingly, glancing at his watch. I really need to try and get some proper sleep.
He knew it was futile. He never slept without having nightmares anymore.
His eyebrows almost hit the roof when he saw the time; it was five minutes past seven o'clock. Had he really been asleep for that long? Christ, I should be getting home by now, he thought, but then again, when was the last time he felt comfortable alone in his house? Hell, when was the last time he felt comfortable?
You know when.
He tried to shake the thoughts out of his head, but to no avail. "Stop," he muttered, a hand resting on his forehead. It doesn't help.
I'm sure there are plenty of objects you could use to do a great deal of bodily harm to yourself right here, right now in your office. Or perhaps you'd prefer just throwing yourself out of the window? End it all now. Go on. It would be easy. No one would miss you anyway.
"That's a lie," Edgeworth hissed, hiding his head in his folded arms and laying on the desk.
Then who? the voice sneered. Who cares enough about you?
"W-Wright," he answered with a slight pause. "Phoenix Wright."
You threatened him with a knife, Miles, the voice taunted in a patronizing tone. I'm pretty sure you're dead to him by now.
"No…"
You ruined your friendship. You had a choice whether to reach out to him, or you could fuck things up again between you two - forever this time. Guess what option you chose? I can't say it's a surprise. You could never be perfect the way von Karma wanted you to be. The way you should be.
"Manfred von Karma had a flawed sense of perfection and was a terrible human being," Miles said, almost robotically. He didn't even believe his own words anymore; he was trapped in his own mind, forced to listen to his own thoughts begin to derail themselves. Soon, his entire being would follow, he thought, but found himself not really minding. Maybe it would be nice to sink into oblivion for a while. Or forever.
You only think that because other people told you to believe that, the voice continues. But look at all he did for you! He raised you. Raised you well, I might add. Or at least he tried to; you were just to idiotic and fuckup to learn, weren't you? Franziska was always better at everything than you. She got all the love, because she deserved it. You had no right to feel jealousy towards her.
"I wasn't jealous," he said through gritted teeth. "I was never jealous of Franziska. She was the one who should have been jealous of me…von Karma barely ever gave her a second glance."
Because he was too busy trying to figure out what the hell to do with you! You screwed up her life, just like you screw up everything in your own life.
"I didn't…"
You have nobody. No one. Not a single soul is willing to help you right now. You'll die alone, so what's the point? Go on. The window is right over there. One step and you can finally fly.
"I don't want…"
This is what you've wanted since you were eleven years old and you grabbed that glass shard and started cutting up your hand with it! Oblivion! Nothingness! No stress, no worries, no more failing. In death, you'll find perfection. That's the only way you'll ever please anybody.
"There are other ways-"
There are no other ways! You've exhausted all your options, Miles. Nobody is coming to bail you out of this one, like Phoenix has had to for God-knows-how many times now. Don't want you jump out of the window? Fine, then take that pair of scissors and…well, you know what to do. Make it messy for them. Leave a bloodstain on the floor. Don't make it easy for them to erase you from existence. They'll all remember you. They won't take you for granted ever again-
"Enough!" Miles nearly shrieked, pulling across the curtains and dissolving into quiet sobs at his desk.
Do it…
"Edgeworth, sir?"
Miles froze at the sound of Gumshoe's voice from the doorway. "What is it, detective?" he asked without lifting his head, trying and failing to keep the waver out of his voice.
"I…I just wanted to know if you'd gone home, sir." Gumshoe scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Hey, are you okay there?"
"Fine," Miles said, lifting his head from his desk. Gumshoe gave a little gasp, hands flying to his mouth for a split second before he regained his composer.
"Mister Edgeworth!" he said, looking slightly shocked. "Your cheek…"
Edgeworth frowned and pressed his fingers to his cheeks, gulping when he felt the impression of sharp fingernails that had been bored into his skin. A few of the scratches were bleeding; not so that they dripped crimson onto the desk, but just enough to make thin red trails like string down his face. He didn't remember digging his nails into his cheeks at any point during his short inner conflict, and honestly, it scared him.
"What the heck happened, sir?" Gumshoe asked, handing the prosecutor a tissue.
"I just…I don't know." It sounded lame even to Edgeworth's ears, but he hoped that the detective would buy it.
"Come on sir, you gotta know!"
"Uh…I was sleeping in my office, and…I got my….face c-caught on the s-scissors." Edgeworth blushed uncharacteristically. "Yes. That's what happened."
Gumshoe arched an eyebrow. "If you say so, sir," he said, dabbing Edgeworth's cheeks with a tissue. "Listen, sir, if you ever need time off, all you need to do is ask. I swear, Lana gives out sick leave like it's-"
"Really, Gumshoe, I'm fine." Edgeworth gave him a weak, tired smile. "I've been….overworked of sorts lately. I think I'll call it a night."
"Good idea," the detective replied, handing Edgeworth his coat. "Now, you be sure to get a real good night's sleep, you hear me Mister Edgeworth? You look like you could use it."
"Thank you, detective." Edgeworth dipped his head, grabbing his briefcase and turning towards the door. "You too."
"Want a lift, sir?" Gumshoe asked, but Edgeworth quickly shook his head,
"Thank you for the offer, but I have some errands to attend to," he lied. Gumshoe looked a little put out, but he nodded and waved goodbye as Miles turned on his heel and walked out the door.
Maybe I really should have taken my own advice and jumped out of that window, Edgeworth thought as he walked down the deserted hallway, but it was too late.
He was always too late.
oOoOoOoOo
Blarg, I'm annoyed at losing the chapter. Oh well. I'll get it back with my wizard-father, like I mentioned before.
Reviews are always appreciated - they make my day! Thank you for reading!