I woke up late. The clock read noon. My hands rubbed my eyes and I sat up. I re-checked the clock to make sure I wasn't mistaken. I hadn't slept in this long for a while—not since I had decided 'killing myself' was a good idea. I stretched, cracked my neck, cracked my knuckles and stood. I lazily ran a hand through my hair and crossed to the window. Pulling aside the curtains, I noted it was most likely going to rain, which made it good weather for tea.

I shuffled to my kitchen and stared at my coffee maker. I detested coffee, but it woke me up. I moved to start the satanic machine, then noted I had nothing to do today and needed no reason to be awake. I smiled; a free day was a rare thing. I decided on a nice herbal tea I had purchased about a week ago. It was bitter, but didn't have too much of a kick to it: a good morning blend. I put a kettle of water on to boil and took a seat at the breakfast nook. Having a breakfast nook also made me smile. I don't know why; it's just a nice little niche to enjoy a cup of tea and contemplate life. I also think it might be the word "nook." I liked the simple but elegant feel of the word. Not that I would tell anyone such a useless fact about myself.

I stared at the small table. Yesterday's newspaper, an ash tray, half of a pack of menthol cigarettes, and a Zippo. I contemplated lighting a cigarette but decided against it. I may like the taste, but did not want anything to taint the bliss that is tea.

The kettle whistled and I prepared a cup of tea. I chose a cup from my set of off-white china with a gold etching and small mauve flowers. I had three sets of china for my home and one for the office. I sipped the tea and took in its aroma. I took another sip and let out a sigh. Halfway through my second cup, the doorbell rang.

"Damn it to hell." I set down the cup and went toward the door. I would have assumed it would be Derek, but considering he had been living here for the last month and had a key, it didn't make sense. I reached to open the door, not bothering to check whom it was first. I regretted that right away. I pulled the door in and stepped back.

My eyes widened, I was suddenly aware I was just wearing a pair of pink… I mean RED, wine RED pajama pants. I felt my mouth contort into a grimace and I greeted my guest.

"Hello, Wright. May I ask why you are on my doorstep?" I slathered my voice in hatred, trying to disguise my utter surprise. He looked flustered, and I automatically knew why.

I never told him I was back in town; actually, the only people who knew I was back where the Prosecutors' Office and the Police Department. Derek never knew I was gone. He just knew I spent some time in Europe, but knew nothing of why I left and that I've left before.

I purposely hid my return for a few reasons, but mostly because I didn't want to deal with all the crazy happenings that tend to take place when Wright was around. I also didn't want to deal with the feelings of when Wright was around, but that was something I don't want to think about. Deep down, I wanted to let him know of my return, but I wish our reunion was in court. I was so much better dealing with things in court.

The incident with Iris and the murder of Misty Fey had ended about four months ago. After my brief return, I told everyone I was returning to Europe again. That was not a lie, but I never mentioned how long I would be gone. I had finished up my research at an office in France and did not have another prospect lined up yet. I decided (I admit rather ignorantly) to come back to America. I have been back for two months. I met Derek about a week after returning. I settled into my old routine rather quickly; cases helped to keep my mind off of things. I, however, avoided high-profile cases to try and stay out of the media's grasp. I apparently didn't do a good enough job…

"What the hell?" It wasn't much of a question, but it was enough to let me know he was upset. My eyes widened; I knew he would be upset. I hadn't even let him know I was in the area. "You leave again, I can't blame you. I mean, why would you want to stay where your FRIENDS are? Because you know, nobody gives a shit about the poor little demon prosecutor, and his quest for the TRUTH." His voice was riddled with sarcasm, something I was not expecting. "But for someone who wanted the truth so goddamned badly, you sure don't share it all that well." He held out a newspaper and looked me square in the eye. I took it, dumbfounded. My mind raced; I had no clue he would be so affected by me. I mentally kicked myself.

He continued, but he seemed like he was reasoning with himself. "You rushed here for one trial, to help me. Then you ran away again. I figured you were gone for good. But no, I put that behind me. I buried Miles Edgeworth again, then yet again." He briefly met my eyes for the end of the sentence, took in a breath, and turned away. I didn't know if I should say something or not. Genius prosecutor: yes. Social expert: no. Not like I had time to make a decision. He started walking away. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding and watched him go. He stopped, turned, his face clearly showed his sorrow, but his eyes did not. His gaze was strong and angry. "I shouldn't have to find out you're back from a fucking newspaper." He kept walking and I just watched him leave.

I leaned against the doorframe and slumped into a sitting position. I held up the newspaper and looked at the front page. In a section dedicated to a preview of the issue, there was a headline detailing my recent loss in court. I turned to that page and previewed the article. It was very brief, but enough to fuel the slur of words Phoenix hurled at me. In brief, it stated that this was my first loss in court after my return 2 months ago.

I heard the sound of someone approaching. I opened my eyes and dared myself to look up, but I couldn't. I just looked at the floor, then my feet. The person knelt beside me and I finally looked him in the face. It wasn't who I wanted it to be. It wasn't who I thought it could be. Why couldn't it be?

Derek looked me in the eye and tilted his head to the side. "Does this have to do with the angry guy on the bike?" I became aware that my face was red and I was trembling. I shook of my troubled look and brought my expression into a scowl then stood. I was about to make a comment in my defense but couldn't find any believable words. I walked back into the house. Derek waited a moment, closed the door, and followed. I moved to the breakfast nook and sat. I looked at the cup of tea on the table. It was room temperature now. I pushed it aside and reached for the pack of cigarettes and lighter. I lit one up and inhaled deeply. The smoke slithered into my lungs and crawled into my mind. I held the breath, and then released. A thin waft of smoke curled into the air. I watched it for a second; the tendrils performed flips and turns, then faded into the air. Derek had taken a seat across from me.

He rested his head on his hands and slouched in his seat. Horrible posture—something I would usually call him on. He was testing how out of it I was. I met his eyes and took another drag. We sat in silence. His horrible posture irked me, but I refused to say anything. Finally he broke the silence.

"So, yeah. We need to talk" I smiled a bit; already saw this coming from a mile away. "You know as well as I know that this isn't going to wor-" I already knew what he was about to say, and I could tell he was having second thoughts after seeing the normally cool, calm, and collected Miles Edgeworth reduced to a blurry-eyed weakling. I saved him the trouble and cut him off.

"It's not working." I paused a second and let it sink it. "We both know it." Another pause. "So, want help packing your stuff, or do you still need to search for a new residence?" I was much more composed now; I have gotten over myself. He asked me to help him pack a few things.