A/N: Yikes, shortest part yet.


Shadows Passing
Edgeworth, Part 4

Sometimes he pretends that behind the sunglasses are blue eyes and wobbly eyebrows.

He knows it's wrong. He knows he shouldn't imagine these things. But he does anyway.

Let me see your face, he wants to say every time he sees him. Let me see it so I can finally stop deluding myself.

But Edgeworth realizes it's Beckett's choice. When he is ready, he will take the sunglasses off. Until then, though, the delusion remains.

He tries to determine what he feels toward Beckett. Friendship, certainly. Maybe a little more than friendship. But for what reason? Because of Beckett himself, or because of the way Beckett reminds him of Phoenix?

He doesn't even have to ask. Of course it's the latter.

And in that case, he feels like this relationship is something he needs to cut off. Beckett deserves better. And though it's been three long years, he cannot help but feel that this would be betraying Phoenix. Phoenix, the reason anything good has ever come from his life. Phoenix, the man who did all he could to save him. Phoenix, the name he has forbidden himself to say aloud ever since he left him three years ago.

Tell Beckett you can't meet up with him anymore, his mind keeps on repeating. And when he goes through another café meeting without saying anything of the sort, he reassures himself: Next time.

But he never goes through with it.

--o--

There were three words constantly on the tip of his tongue, but he could never bring himself to say them out loud. He was Miles Edgeworth. Affection was not his strong point.

But after the earthquake, he found the perfect opportunity to at least express it in actions, if not in words.

"I replaced the door," he told Phoenix over dinner a few days following the incident.

Phoenix looked embarrassed. "Sorry about that. I just wanted to, um, get to you quickly. I can pay for it if you want."

"That's what I wanted to discuss with you, actually."

The other man was already fumbling with his wallet. "How much? I only have a few twenties on me, but if we can go to the bank later, or maybe a check—"

Edgeworth shook his head. "Not that part, Phoenix." He took in the way the other's eyes lit up at the mention of his name and allowed a small smile to play across his face. God, he loved that look. "I meant what you said about you getting to me quickly. Because, you see, kicking my door down during an earthquake isn't the fastest way. This is." He slid a pair of keys across the table.

Phoenix looked at the keys, then at Edgeworth. "Miles," he said. "T-thank you."

And so he began the process of moving all of his belongings over. One of the boxes he brought to the house, Edgeworth discovered, was filled with loose sheets of paper and pencils. "Just old art junk," Phoenix had answered dismissively when he asked him about it. "I still doodle every now and then."

Edgeworth started to flip through them before suddenly pausing. "Is this me?"

"Oops, busted." The other smiled weakly. "Couldn't help myself, I guess. Sometimes, when you're in your office and you're really busy with paperwork and I'm just lying there on the couch…"

He stared at it, amazed at the way Phoenix had captured his likeness and touched by the effort he had obviously put into it. "May I keep this?"

"What? Oh. Y-yeah. Sure."

They grinned at each other.

By the end of two weeks, Phoenix had moved in completely. All was well.

Then the second letter came.

So you are living with Phoenix Wright.

And as Edgeworth read it with shaking hands, he felt himself falling back into the litany he had recited back when the first letter had come, over two months ago. This means nothing. Someone is playing mind games with me. Nothing will come from it. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

But he would inevitably return to this means something.

The third letter would cement it.