He was drunk.
It was stupid, incredibly idiotic to react like this. He had so many friends to help – Edgeworth was a phone call away, Maya only a bus ride. Larry was actually in town, it was so stupid of him to just sulk off alone like this – but he didn't want them to see him defeated so thoroughly.
Disbarred. The word tasted bitter on his tongue, as he mumbled it into his glass, and he drank again, laughed a little. He'd have to get used to it. He'd – whether it was a trick or not, he'd failed, he'd presented false evidence and been caught and now his career was over. If Gramayre hadn't fled, he'd be convicted too, because of Phoenix's stupid mistake –
"Disgusting."
He grunted in agreement, chin resting on his folded arms as he stared into his glass at his reflection. His hair was messy, his eyes a little wild, lips drawn down. There was a speck of blue in the corner, he didn't recognize it right away but then…
"What are you doing, you fool?" Franziska asked, and Phoenix shot upright to stare at her with wide eyes. She stood next to his barstool, nose wrinkled in disgust, suit and hair and makeup perfect as always, lips painted into a perfect sneer: "I never thought you a drunkard, Phoenix Wright."
"Am not," he countered. He reached out for his glass without looking away from her face, groping awkwardly across the bar. "Objection."
He took another sip.
"Hold your foolish tongue, imbecile," Franziska snapped, then crossed her arms and leaned a little closer, peering at his face with something… startlingly close to open concern. "What is wrong with you?"
Phoenix laughed again.
"Hey, you know how I show my badge to people all the time? I promise I'll stop."
"Lying is rude." Spoken matter-of-factly, as though the idea of him ever just keeping his badge in his pocket was impossible – and she was right, it was, he loved his badge and everything it represented, only now… Now…
"Wh-What do you think you're doing?!" Franziska blurted, actually reached out to touch his arm with a hesitant hand before jerking it back a moment later, her whole face flushed. "Stop weeping!"
"It's not fair," he confided, reaching after her hand, catching it in his as he pleaded his case. Her glove was a smooth, buttery leather; her face burned brighter. "I – I only wanted to help him, I didn't know – "
"Silence, alcohol-pickled cretin!" Franziska yanked her hand back again, more successfully this time. "Cease your whining. What does that ever help?! If you have a problem, then solve it!"
"I can't, not this–"
"Horsefeathers!" she said, the dated term so emphatic that Phoenix fell silent in surprise. Franziska spoke quickly, words clipped short and rushing off her tongue with evident emotion: "I don't know what has you in such a state, but you have no right to be so fragile! You've defeated me, you aren't weak. I've never heard you give up before, it's disgusting! You're supposed to be good at turning a situation around, aren't you?!"
Staring up at Franziska, Phoenix felt his mouth slip open a little bit. Spitting out a furious torrent of – encouragements, weren't they? –and her cheeks were flushed, she was gesturing violently at the air, the lights of the bar glinting off her hair like some sort of halo, she looked like an avenging angel. Beautiful, terrifying, he wasn't worth her at all.
"You're so nice," Phoenix sobbed. He lurched up for a hug, tripped and went down – everything went black.
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