Chapter Text
It was a case like any other— which was to say that a certain Phoenix Wright was not present. In recent months, in light of recent events, his absence was a notable thing. It made any case without him… pedestrian.
So it was one such case that Miles Edgeworth found himself pursuing with a sort of listless determination, unsure what drove him to press forward when he was relieved of the thoughts that had plagued him for years. He was not yet naive enough to believe in such things as support and innocence, and yet perhaps some small spark of altruism remained. He’d once wholeheartedly believed in the truth, and after burying it for years, was shocked at the rediscovery of his own morals.
But he wasn’t even certain what to do with them, and so it was with a tentative curiosity that he made the decision to imitate what he’d seen of Wright, to perform his own...investigation. The irony of chasing the man who had based his entire personality on an incident that Miles himself could not remember was not lost on him, however, and his pride soon made its displeasure known.
Miles did what he could to salvage what dignity he had left, but the entire affair left him prickly and on edge, prone to lashing out in verbal savagery and losing himself down spirals of self loathing. His pride, he decided, was a wounded animal, much as the comparison to something so primal disgusted him to think of. He told no one what he was doing, responded harshly when questioned regarding his motive, and maintained an air of competence whenever possible, yet even this could not stop a painful knot clawing its way up his throat.
Perhaps he was mistaken, in responding so harshly. Perhaps his sharp tongue and scathing remarks angered the witness whom he had called to the stand. Perhaps his fierce independence had pushed away those who might help him. Perhaps his aura of professionalism, of superiority, had a way of infuriating those around him, and that was what had incited such violence against his person.
Or perhaps, much as he was to blame for his current situation, there was nothing else he could have done. His frustration, justified as it was, took whatever outlets were available to him, and that would lead to his untimely demise. Perhaps, then, it was fate that led him to wake up in a prison of karmic justice, a too-tight container with nothing but darkness and his own intrusive thoughts pressing in on him from all sides.
Perhaps he’d never left that elevator from fifteen years ago, in more ways than one.
“Hey Nick, guess what! I found a new waterfall to train under yesterday, and it’s been going really well!”
“I’m really glad,” Phoenix said, smiling as he rearranged his desk with one hand and held the phone to his ear with the other. It was good to hear Maya’s voice again, and to listen to her take pride in her accomplishments. As much as he missed having her around, he knew it was for the best. “I’m sure it’s a lot better than you could get in the city.”
“Yeah… I can’t believe you suggested I ask the fire department!”
“Hey, I was trying to help!” Phoenix replied, laughing.
“I’m glad, but now that I’ve actually stood under a waterfall… it’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced, Nick! The noise and the pressure and the smooth rock under your feet and the sun making rainbows from the spray… it’s really humbling, you know? It teaches you to be strong in mind and body, to understand the cycle of life and the responsibility you carry in your blood.”
“It sounds incredible,” Phoenix said. “You’re really passionate about this, aren’t you?”
“Of course I am! I’m going to train and become a full fledged spirit medium so I can help you with cases!”
“All right, I hear you.” His gaze fell to the potted plant, Charley, which was decorated with a small hair ribbon Maya had left in the office. He’d been watering it every day, and imagined the little plant missed Maya too. “Just don’t forget to watch the Steel Samurai sometimes, okay? You’re only young once.”
“Okay, boomer,” she shot back cheekily. “Haven’t you heard? All the kids these days watch Pink Princess.”
“Hey, I’m not that old!” Phoenix protested. “Besides, isn’t that show for girls? I wouldn’t really follow it anyways.”
“Technically, yeah, but there are a lot of male fans who come for the plot and the fight scenes. Honestly, I think it’s nice that they can break down barriers and let girls enjoy some good action too. But speaking of TV...” Her tone grew more serious. “You haven’t been following Edgeworth’s latest case, have you?”
“Ah, which one would that be?”
“You haven’t heard? Really?”
“It’s not like I dedicate my life to following him around,” Phoenix said, deliberately ignoring the fact that he had, in fact, done exactly that. And while that had led him this far, he’d been trying to give his— rival? Friend? Former friend?
...well. Regardless of terminology, Phoenix was trying to give Edgeworth some space. He’d deliberately ignored the news ever since he learned about the latest case, which he knew about because of perfectly normal reasons, mind you.
“Yeah, sure you don’t,” Maya said lightly. “Apparently it’s been blowing up in the media because someone got buried alive! Isn’t that creepy? It’s like those zombie movies. I’ve been texting about it with Penny Nichols, since she’s been watching from the court.”
“Come on, they’re probably just blowing things out of proportion. People don’t get buried alive anymore; medical technology has advanced beyond that. Someone would notice, wouldn’t they?”
“You’d think, but the doctor insists that the victim was dead. She’s currently on trial for murder, and Edgeworth is being surprisingly cordial about the whole thing.”
“Really? How so?” He cleared his throat in embarrassment. “Er, if Penny told you, that is.”
“I don’t know, professional? You could watch the trial yourself, if you wanted. It starts in a few minutes, so you might miss the opening statements, but I’m sure you’d get there in time to see Edgeworth doing his job! And hey, maybe you could give some advice to the defense attorney? She’s clearly new, and acts like she’s afraid Edgeworth’s going to bite her.”
Phoenix gave a small huff of amusement. “Yeah, he can be scary before you get to know him.”
“Oh no, she’s not scared, she’s ready to bite back. She even asked if he was the real Miles Edgeworth because he was acting so different from what she’d heard.”
“I can’t blame her; Edgeworth has made quite a reputation for himself.” Phoenix allowed himself a fond smile; even from the other side of the courtroom, Edgeworth’s passion was truly striking. “Maybe I’ll stop by once the trial is over and see if he’d like to go out for lunch.”
A small beep sounded, then there was a pause from Maya’s end. “Uh, he hasn’t contacted you, has he? Apparently he didn’t show up to court.”
A jolt of fear hit him then, and he did his best to push it down. “That doesn’t sound like him at all. He’s always at least ten minutes early. Do you think his trial impacted him that deeply?”
“He was fifteen minutes early yesterday, so I don’t think so.” There was a rushing of air as Maya moved the phone again. “Why, what are you thinking?”
What was he thinking? A lot of things, really. That this was his fault, that something bad must have happened to Edgeworth, that people changed and it scared him, that people died and it scared him, that it wasn’t unheard of for attorneys to be killed in the same way Mia was, the same way Gregory Edgeworth was. That he felt like he hardly knew the man who’d changed his life, despite believing so firmly in his innocence.
“I’m thinking,” Phoenix said carefully, “I should make sure he’s okay.”
“That’s probably a good idea. Be careful, all right?”
“I will,” he promised. She’d already lost so much of her family to the tribulations of the law; Phoenix wasn’t going to let her lose anyone else. But at the same time, he didn’t want to lose his best friend whom he barely knew: Miles Edgeworth.
Phoenix kept his phone in hand the entire subway ride, heart sinking further and further with each update from Maya. Edgeworth still hadn’t shown up, and the court was growing agitated. What was more, his cell phone had been going straight to voicemail, according to Maya. He wasn’t sure whether to feel grateful or embarrassed that she’d taken the liberty of calling for him.
He’d scarcely entered the court building, still scanning his phone for any updates on Edgeworth, when he slammed into someone. The phone went flying out of his hand as he crashed to the ground.
“Hey, watch it, pal!” Gumshoe scowled, then seemed to recognize him. “Oh, it’s you. Phoenix, right?”
“Yeah, that’s me.” Phoenix grabbed his phone from where it had fallen, quickly flipping it shut to hide the screen, and accepted the offered hand to help himself up. “Listen, you haven’t heard anything from Edgeworth, have you?”
“No, not a word. It’s getting kinda worrying, you know? This isn’t the Edgeworth I know.”
“Do you think something might have happened to him?” Phoenix asked, unsure which answer he’d prefer. On one hand, he wanted to know that his worries were valid and logical and not just overthinking born from his obsession, but on the other hand, he wanted a reassurance that everything was fine.
In the end, Gumshoe gave him neither.
“You mean like him getting attacked?”
“It’s happened to me before. You remember; Dee Vasquez probably would have silenced Maya and I for good if you hadn’t shown up. If he found evidence that he wasn’t supposed to...” Phoenix’s chest was painfully tight at the thought.
“I’ll pay his house a visit to make sure he’s all right, then. Can you stay here in case he’s late?”
“Good idea.” He tried to convince himself that his relief was from Gumshoe being more qualified to handle danger than himself, unsure if he was ready to confront the true source of the emotion. “I’ll keep you posted, then?”
“Same goes for you, pal.”
Perhaps Miles should have felt more, but strangely enough he couldn’t bring himself to fathom a future. Only his past, playing over and over in his head, and the present darkness that was somehow as distant and vast as the sky.
Dissociation. That’s what his therapist had called it; when he was ten and prideful and still flinched too easily, when he gazed blankly into space too long and left himself when the sense of a self was too painful to bear. It was easier to be somewhere else, it was easy not to feel. He’d stare at the mirror for ages, marveling at the body that somehow belonged to him. His own face looked like a stranger, like a murderer he might convict in court tomorrow.
Except—
Except Wright, who’d only known him briefly as a boy, and believed in him when no one else would. After a lifetime of wallowing in grief and death, he couldn’t imagine a future for himself. But maybe it was enough right now to think of seeing Wright once more, of not letting this be a goodbye.
Forcing himself into the present was a difficult endeavor, because to be perfectly blunt (albeit rather crude), his present situation was shit. The darkness pressed in on his eyes, the soft padding around him absorbing even the sound of his breathing. His arms were pressed to his sides by the walls, his shoulders twisted uncomfortably to fit in the tight space.
After Miles’ mother died, he’d been overcome with a morbid fascination, one that had lasted the majority of adolescence. What was death, he wondered? They said the bird leaves the nest untouched when it dies, that everyone should be prepared, but in that moment when her body was lowered into the ground, he had no one at all to care for him. His father had been an only child; his mother had cut ties with her family long ago.
When he died, Miles decided, he wasn’t going to make trouble for anyone. He made arrangements, set aside money, and chose a burial plot. He even volunteered to test a coffin, once. He was fifteen and still growing into his limbs when he slipped off his shoes and climbed into that wooden box, ignoring the offered hand of the demonstrator. The moment the lid shut, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, clawed at his neck until it bled, but didn’t cry out. No, he couldn’t cause trouble for anyone else, couldn’t make himself a burden. Those five minutes felt like forever, and when the blessed light finally returned, he couldn’t climb out fast enough. He pulled his jacket up, hoping the wine colored fabric would hide the blood, and scarcely allowed himself to breathe until he’d left the suffocating feeling behind, the feeling like he was already trapped in death.
This was unmistakably the same feeling he’d had back then.
But he was older, wasn’t he? Older and wiser, and better at shoving his emotions into boxes. (The extent to which he’d learned to compartmentalize likely wasn’t healthy, but frankly he didn’t have time to unpack all that right now. Perhaps a therapist… wouldn’t be unwarranted.)
He was losing focus. Wright. If he could somehow get in contact… his phone, perhaps? The battery had been dying; he distinctly recalled cutting his investigation attempts short in the middle of interviewing the victim’s boyfriend, making some excuse about having all the evidence he needed for tomorrow’s trial, and driving home to search for a new battery. Miles did not consider himself materialistic; hedonistic, perhaps, but he was a creature of habit above all else, not one to waste time in the needless pursuit of material wealth and status symbols. He’d kept the same laptop for years, ordered multiples of all his clothing in case of damage, and stocked up on his preferred lotions and toothpastes in the unlikely event that any of his suppliers should discontinue them.
It wasn’t out of the question, then, that he might have a spare battery somewhere in his closet. He’d taken off his shoes at the entrance, pried the battery out and left it on the front table alongside his keys, then searched through his closet, tossing aside a spare phone in the process. He’d only just retrieved a spare battery and tucked it into his jacket when he… he realized he wasn’t alone, and then—
Damn his faulty memory. Every time he prodded at the vital moment, his mind went blurry, the darkness around him growing deeper and more menacing. Priorities, he reminded himself. He had his phone and a spare battery, and the spare phone nearby had likely convinced his attacker not to search his pockets. He shifted slightly, wincing at the stabbing pins-and-needles sensation of numbness, but was relieved to feel the antenna of his cell phone pressing into his hip.
His hands didn’t feel like his own, every breath made him hyper aware of his cramped surroundings, but slowly he reached for his pocket and moved the phone to sit on his chest, the weight a constant reminder that he had some connection to the outside world. Next was the battery; it was still in its packaging, and removing it from the stiff plastic was an ordeal that required tearing at it with his teeth. The raw edges scraped at his hands as he reached inside, fingers probing until they closed around the slightly warm metal. It took him a few tries to slip it into the casing, but finally, it was done.
Miles held his breath as the screen lit up— raw, blinding, blessed light, searing itself into his vision with an agonizing relief. It finally resolved itself into the homescreen, and his heart plunged when he saw the low battery warning flashing at 4% in the top corner.
Phoenix waited until the courtroom doors opened, but there was no sign of Edgeworth anywhere. The spectators filed out in twos and threes, exchanging worried glances and hushed snippets of conversation. Behind them, the judge appeared to be fending off a migraine, and the occupant of the defense stand was packing up a rather extensive array of papers.
Well, no better place to start than by addressing a fellow defense attorney. If anything, she looked younger than him, hardly older than Maya and several centimeters shorter to boot. Making his way against the flow of people, Phoenix approached her side of the court, deliberately not looking at the empty prosecutor’s stand.
“Hey, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
She turned to face him, and Phoenix was struck by the fierceness of her glare, one dark eyebrow bisected by a silvery scar. “And what exactly is— ” Her eyes widened. “Oh! I— I didn’t recognize you without your usual suit and hairstyle.”
“Ah, that makes sense.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, wishing he’d thought to dress at least a little more formally today. But the truth was, he hadn’t been feeling like himself the past few weeks, and couldn’t bring himself to go through his usual morning routine. “You’re the defense attorney for this case, right?”
“Correct.” She stuck out her hand, revealing close cropped nails painted jet black . “Amanda Flay, pleased to meet you.”
“Phoenix Wright, likewise.”
“I’ve heard about you,” she said, sitting down on the bench and motioning for him to do the same. “You defended Edgeworth even when he was confessing to murder. That takes guts, y’know. No one’s quite sure what to think of you.”
“Thanks?” Phoenix said, unsure what she was trying to imply. “I wasn’t doing it for clout or anything, I just… well, he needed someone to believe in his innocence. That’s all, really.”
“You really are idealistic, aren’t you.” She stared at her hands for a moment, absently picking at her nails, then abruptly turned back to him. “So. What is it you wanted to ask me about?”
“I’m...worried that Edgeworth’s disappearance might be connected to this case somehow. Could you give me any information on it? Suspects, evidence, motive, anyone Edgeworth might have pissed off.” Well, the last category might be a bit broad— Edgeworth didn’t exactly have the best courtside manner, so to speak, but surely he’d improved?
“I’ll make you a deal,” Flay decided.
“What kind of deal?” Phoenix asked warily, already dreading the errands he’d have to run.
“Simple. This is my first trial, and my chance to prove myself. Obviously, if something bad happened to Edgeworth, then his safety comes first. But if I share what I know, then you have to share anything you find that might relate to the trial. Does that sound fair?”
“Definitely,” he said, sighing with relief. He’d expected something much worse; a mutual exchange of information was practically a given in these situations, and no skin off his back. “So. What can you tell me?”
With a small huff, she began to unpack her briefcase, laying out documents in front of Phoenix. “There are four people involved in the case. The victim, Olivia Ingalls; her boyfriend, Thaddeus T. Strange; the doctor who signed her death certificate, Stephanie O’Scope; and her assistant, Peter Faction.”
“And the doctor is the one on trial?”
“Correct.” She tapped a file folder, flipping it open to reveal a messy page of handwritten notes. “So far, the nearest we have to a motive would be jealousy, since the victim was quite well liked in most circles, and the doctor is… well. I haven’t found any evidence yet, but there are rumors that she was a bit too accepting of her clientele.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” Phoenix asked.
“Not when you’ve got yakuza members coming in and out of your clinic on a regular basis. I’m not here to make judgements on large scale morality vs the hippocratic oath, but the point is, if she wanted to get rid of someone, she has the means to get away with it.”
“I’d imagine that makes the trial rather messy,” Phoenix muttered, inspecting the notes on the doctor’s testimony. “If she had those connections, though, why bother killing in a way that would leave a paper trail linking her to the incident? Was it an emotionally driven revenge, then?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. The problem is, people are focusing more on the political implications of the verdict than the truth behind the crime. It’s like they don’t even care whether the police arrested the right person.”
“They make a quest for the truth into some kind of moral failing,” Phoenix agreed.
“See, you get it. I swear, I’ve got to be a lawyer and a detective.” For a moment, it seemed like she might launch into a rant, but then she merely gave him a tight lipped smile. “Anyways, her assistant, Peter, was also there and testified that he saw the victim die— the first time, that is. He’s fresh out of high school, and was known to frequently argue with the doctor. They had a functional relationship, professionally, but I got the impression that was only because he learned to pick his battles. Then put some of them back, because he couldn’t fight them all. He adamantly refused to help treat criminals because he didn’t want to become an accomplice. He as much as admitted he only continued working with her because he needed the money for medical school, but insists she would never kill someone like that.”
“If he plans to attend medical school himself, then why the refusal to treat criminals?” Phoenix asked.
Flay paused, tapping a pen against her cheek. “If I had to guess, I’d say he thinks it’s encouraging crime. If you only focus on saving the lives in front of you, it’s too easy to become a tool for others to use. Still, seeing as you and I chose to defend ‘criminals’ for a living, it doesn’t exactly sit right with me.”
That was true enough; once someone appointed themself judge over the lives of other humans, it was much too easy to find any excuse to dismiss those who were deemed unworthy. Didn’t the hippocratic oath promote healing and betterment over all else, even labels?
“What about the victim’s boyfriend?”
“Strange?” Flay pulled another sheet of paper from the pile, this one written in neat, round letters with segments highlighted in lime green ink. “Well, he’s the only one who hasn’t casually committed perjury over something he conveniently forgot, so I suppose that counts for something. He was… very emotional when he gave his testimony yesterday. Frankly, it’s hard to blame him; he was the one who visited his girlfriend’s grave when it was discovered she wasn’t dead yet.”
Phoenix sucked in a breath. “Oh. Oh. You mean...”
“Yeah. The judge gave him permission to stay home today, since his mental state isn’t great right now. Still, he provided his written testimony as well as copies of his girlfriend’s medical history, which has proven useful so far.”
“Isn’t that a bit… unusual?” Phoenix asked, scanning the testimony. “For him to keep her medical records.”
“The victim’s adoptive parents died a year ago, and the bank repossessed her house, so she moved in. He’d been taking care of things while she grieved. Apparently the reason he uses colorful highlighters is because of her birth parents doing the same before they died.”
“She really had a rough life, didn’t she.”
“Yeah.” Flay pushed a small stack of papers into Phoenix’s arms, then stood up. “That’s why I’m going to make sure she gets the justice she deserves. Those are spare copies I made to submit as evidence today, but since the trial has been suspended, I don’t need them right now. I’ll fax any other relevant information to your office.”
“Thank you. Really, you’ve been more than helpful,” Phoenix said, wishing he’d brought something to carry all these papers in.
“Can I ask a question in return, then?” Without waiting for an answer, she pressed forward. “What exactly is your relationship to Edgeworth, anyways?”
“We… were friends, once,” Phoenix responded vaguely, aware that he hadn’t answered her question. In truth, he didn’t know if he had an answer that could sum up their present relationship, only a few barely realized hopes of becoming something more. Not to mention, despite getting along well in the short time he’d known her, Flay was still a relative stranger.
“Ah.” She smiled knowingly, in a way that made him a bit nervous, to be honest. What had she figured out that he didn’t know? “Well, best of luck, then. A defense attorney and a prosecutor… who would have thought, huh?”
“Yeah, well, you know how it is,” he bluffed, having absolutely no idea what she was talking about or how he should be feeling.
“Not really; my partner runs a flower shop, but to each their own. If you find anything of interest, meet me here before the trial tomorrow. Good luck!”
“You too.” As he walked away, his phone chimed. Dick Gumshoe, read the caller ID. He lifted it to his ear, hope and dread rising in equal parts.
“Hey, pal. I’m at Edgeworth’s apartment right now, and… it looks like there’s been a break in.”
Phoenix’s heart rate spiked. “Did they take anything?”
“Yeah. Edgeworth. There’s a note on the table… I’m sorry.”
By the time he’d adjusted the brightness to a less eye-searing level and navigated to make the call, his phone was hovering ambivalently at 2%. The dial tone rang once, twice, then finally connected.
“Wright? Are you there?” Miles asked urgently.
“Edgeworth!” Wright practically yelled. “Where were you? I thought you’d been— ”
“We don’t have time for that!” Miles snapped. “I’ve only got a few minutes, so listen closely.”
“What do you mean? What’s going to happen to you? Where are you, Edgeworth, we’ve been worried sick!”
A pause. “I’d imagine I have a few hours worth of air. But I refuse to become like the victim, so you’d better find me, got it?”
“You don’t mean— ”
“Don’t make me say it aloud, Wright,” he hissed. He was barely holding it together as it was. “You’re smarter than that.”
“Sorry.” There was a soft rustling sound that Miles imagined to be Wright rubbing the back of his neck, as he was prone to do when embarrassed. “Any leads?”
“Look into the assistant’s testimony. I think he might be— ” His sentence was cut short by a loud beep, then the phone flashed twice and went dark, leaving Miles Edgeworth alone in the suffocating coffin.