Chapter Text
‘ Miles Edgeworth chooses death ’ the words are swimming in front of his eyes as Phoenix tries to force them to rearrange themselves into something that makes some goddamn sense . This is ridiculous.
Edgeworth can’t be dead, and he can’t be gone.
Edgeworth can’t be gone because Phoenix only just got him back.
So Phoenix waits.
Well, first he tears frantically through the phone book trying to find Edgeworth’s address so he can go and scream at the man about how not funny this is. That if he wants to develop a sense of humour he better improve.
He doesn’t have any luck with that though. He has to give in and settle for Edgeworth’s office.
So Phoenix goes to Edgeworth’s office (he even takes a taxi), and he sits there.
And Phoenix waits.
And waits.
And waits.
Edgeworth is going to show up eventually, he’s dedicated to his job, even over a fucking around with Phoenix. And there’s too much stuff here.
Phoenix is here .
So Phoenix waits.
A few people walk past, but he’s mostly ignored.
Phoenix waits to no avail, until-
“If you’re looking for Mr Edgeworth then you’re in the wrong place,” the weaselly little prosecutor- Payne? The one who tried to convict Larry- tells him with a slight snort. “If you get my drift.”
Phoenix does get his drift, he gets it very much and he does not like it . Payne? moves back so fast that he has to wonder what the man saw on his face.
“Christ,” the man says nasally, his voice drops a little, “You know this building shuts in half an hour anyway, Wright?” (or was it right?) Payne’s hand is hovering a little above Phoenix’s shoulder like he thinks he needs to be comforted or something. But there isn’t anything Phoenix needs to be comforted about, he just needs to find Edgeworth.
“Christ,” the prosecutor says again, and then it’s just Phoenix again, waiting outside Edgeworth’s office because the man has to enter or exit eventually.
Phoenix waits.
“What’s a lawyer like you doing outside an office like this?” an incredibly familiar voice calls out, shocking Phoenix damn near off his chair and causing him to spring to his feet.
“Something I should know about?” his old friend asks him, “Nick?”
“What are you doing here?” Phoenix asks Larry Butz, too confused to think about his more pressing concerns. Also why did they let him in?
Larry’s grinning, but there’s a slight hint of wariness in his eyes that could be from all manner of causes.
Phoenix feels something deep inside him sigh.
“What’s happened now?” he asks, resigned, “Edgeworth’s off playing silly buggers, so if you were going to ask him-”
“Is this Edgy’s office?” Larry asks, eyes brightening- and did Larry not know? Then why is he here ?
“Let’s check it out!”
And good ol’ Larry, he’s bursting through the doors before Phoenix can think to do anything, like stop him. Or think that maybe stopping him would actually be a good idea.
Edgeworth isn’t in his office, which is fine, because it just means that Edgeworth is at home… doing something, whatever Edgeworth does. Ironing his suit maybe, it seems like the kind of thing Edgeworth would do. Phoenix takes the middle ground and air dries his suit in the hope it won’t crumple so bad.
There’s a lot of lace on some of Edgeworth’s suits, he could totally be ironing it for days.
He could .
While Phoenix has been rationalising, Larry’s been poking around Edgeworth’s desk, because-
“Hey! There’s a note here,” Larry calls, “I wonder what it says…” something tight squeezes Phoenix’s gut as he tries to round the desk to Larry, avoiding the couch and the ladder.
“Miles Edgeworth,” Larry says in a snooty voice, a terrible impersonation of Edgeworth if that’s what it’s supposed to be, “Chooses Death. Huh?” Larry’s face crinkles, and if Larry loses it here and starts crying Phoenix might too. If Larry thinks that it means- if Larry thinks Edgeworth is gone too-
“I wonder what that’s supposed to mean,” Larry’s voice sounds a little wondrous, but he puts the note back down. Phoenix can feel Larry’s eyes boring into him, begging for- help? Confirmation? Denial?
“He’s not dead,” Phoenix gets out eventually, “He can’t be, he’s not allowed to be.” His voice is sounding a little wet to his own ears, the words feeling thick.
“I just got him back! He can’t leave me again!” His voice is shrill and it hurts, but not as much as that goddamn note.
“Let’s not be hasty, Nick,” he hears Larry tell him, an arm wrapping around his shoulders, “We can go back to mi- yours and talk about it, right Wright?”
The old joke doesn’t even get an exasperated eye roll out of him.
“He’s just being dramatic,” Phoenix says again, it sounds like a weak argument to his own ears. Larry’s arm on his back moves up and down a little.
“The drama king himself, Edgy,” Larry snorts, “So let’s get out of his hoity-toity office and bitch about how shitty this is somewhere else, eh?” Phoenix can feel himself being steered out and he lets it happen.
They pause when they’re outside on the street, it’s dark.
“Uh, you can pay for the cab right, Nick?” Larry asks, Phoenix feels the awkward laugh huffing out of Larry’s mouth.
“Samurai dogs gone bust already?” Phoenix asks rolling his eyes to be met with Larry’s energetic explanations of ‘no’! And a long tale about a new girlfriend, an airline stewardess with expensive taste in apricots of all things. Phoenix doesn’t really want to know. He pays for the cab, if only to shut Larry up.
“So,” Larry asks when they’re sitting at Phoenix’s table, glasses of whatever Larry had thought appropriate resting in front of them, “What do you think Edgy meant by ‘death’ here?” Larry’s tone is one of the deadly serious, like this is some kind of complex riddle or puzzle. A mission to decode.
It makes Phoenix want to scream at him.
“Has he realised he’s really cringe or is this some kind of attempt at rebirth after everything? Though I’d say that’s more you, Phoenix Or- is Edgy warning us he’s becoming a serial killer, and this is some kind of cat and mouse game where he…” Larry’s voice peters out, hands coming up to his cheeks when Phoenix fixes him with his most unimpressed glare. He’s not doing this with Larry now, he can’t do this with Larry now. He can’t play games and pretend when Larry has to know what the note is supposed to mean.
He can’t have Larry joking when-
“It’s a fucking suicide note Larry, that’s what it’s supposed to fucking be!” He’s screaming, and Phoenix hates screaming. He hates being angry. He’s so tired of it, that’s what he’d told Maya when she’d asked why he’d forgiven Edgeworth in the detention centre. Being angry never changes anything
Larry is blinking like he’s about to cry, but Phoenix is too busy being rocked by what he’s just said.
Because he’s admitted that maybe, just maybe , Miles Edgeworth is dead, and now he wants to cry more than ever.
He tries to focus on the even matte surface of his table as tears well up in his eyes, he focuses on his hands too, splayed evenly. It’s fine.
A sudden pressure from behind takes him by surprise, Larry’s arms wrapping around him, hands interlocked on Phoenix’s chest over his sternum.
“Nick,” Larry’s voice is heavy too, “Jeez Nick.” Phoenix feels like he’s swaying a little, but Larry’s rocking too.
“I don’t want him to be dead,” Phoenix sobs, he keeps swaying with Larry’s motion.
“We don’t know that for certain …” Larry mumbles, like he’s not even convinced himself.
Phoenix cries instead.
“You’ll get through this, Nick,” Larry says suddenly, pausing halfway through his front door, there’s a pause where Phoenix is sure Larry is looking at him, but Phoenix is determinedly staring at the smooth surface of his kitchen table. Only table really.
“Your spiky hair doesn’t need to stay droopy forever” Larry calls, obnoxiously loud, grin in his voice as Phoenix’s hand goes to rub over the back of his head on instinct.
It may be a little less perky and spiky than he usually likes, but it’s fine. He lets out a huff, and Larry lets himself out of Phoenix’s apartment.
Larry, surprisingly, is right. Phoenix can, and will, get through this.