Work Text:
(January 2, 8:42 AM)
(Jenkins' Parts and Auto Repair)
Sometimes, Phoenix just needed some fresh air. It was to be expected after such a long night, and especially after such a long week.
Honestly, he hadn't been sleeping well. With Maya's departure, sleep had become an affair in and of itself. Before, disruptions of sleep consisted of a 17 year old bursting into the office after an escapade involving his wallet and burgers. Now, it was nightmares of lost trials and lost friends. It was starting to get a little ironic, considering the prominence of a nightmare repeated in his last trial. Particularly of ones full of lies. He knew these nightmares didn't hold water, but that didn't stop them from shaking him up, a little.
At least, though, fresh air wasn't exactly uncommon. It was a step out the door, and most often, a few more steps right to his bicycle. What better way to avoid thinking about something than a bike ride?
Winter in Japanifornia wasn't what he would call a kind time of year. The snow got just harsh enough that everyone felt the need to turn on their heaters, which then made Phoenix feel the need to get out of buildings as fast as he could. He was already a heat lamp enough, thank you.
If there was one thing he could appreciate, though, it was the scenery it built. Snow on trees and buildings, there were still Christmas decorations hung up in some places, leftover confetti from New Years he was sure people were dreading cleaning up, it was all a cliché winter wonderland.
Which, for whatever reason, is how he ended up here, right outside of an auto repair shop, skidding to a stop way too loudly. Okay. You might be thinking, why the hell would someone on a bicycle need to stop at a place for something with an actual engine? What's scenic about an auto repair shop?
Thankfully, the answer's simple enough.
"Wright?" A voice of frankly indeterminate accent, wholly confused, from a man he had last seen five days ago. He'd shucked the burgundy suit jacket, and even the waistcoat, and now sat up on one of those rolling flat things you go under cars with, some sort of tool in hand.
Speaking of cars, he was working on one currently. Obscenely red and incredibly flashy, Phoenix found himself having to banish the insult that promptly came to mind regarding it.
"..Hello? Phoenix Wright? Are you going to say something, or are you too busy staring?" Part of him was more than okay with just staring. He'd never seen Edgeworth anything less than perfect, save for the mess Gourd Lake had made of his suit and his unfortunately fruitless attempts at preening himself over the next few days of investigation and trial.
That wasn't to say Edgeworth looked bad right now. In fact, quite the opposite. His hair was a little askew, and his sleeves rolled up revealed an array of faint scarring along his forearms, which he had to admit had more visible muscle to them than expected, and for once he had abandoned the stupid frills. It made him look.. human. He chose not to share that. Something told him the other wouldn't take kindly to that sort of comment.
It was new though, and a little exciting. Honestly, he kind of forgot Edgeworth could exist outside of the courtroom. It felt almost like seeing your teacher at the store.
An exhausted sigh. "Can you not tell I'm busy here? What is it that you require?"
(Yeesh. Is 'what do you want' too simple for you?)
Something about the wording threw him off though. It was said in a way it made Phoenix feel like he'd only ever shown up to get things out of Edgeworth. As far as he was concerned, he'd never done that, unless information for a trial counted.
He was probably just reading too far into it. In fact, he probably didn't even mean to say it like that. Times had been rough lately. He could attest to that wholeheartedly. A little harsh wording wasn't going to get him down. Besides, harsh wording seemed like most of this guy's capabilities in the first place. Perhaps a rude observation in theory, but it was true!
Finally tracing back up to Edgeworth's face revealed a thinly veiled anger he was pretty sure he was about to feel. Yikes.
"Nothin' to get so worked up about. I was just passing by. Is this yours?"
"And what if it is?"
(Does this guy ever give a straight answer?!)
Deep breaths. Sure, talking to Edgeworth was about as easy to navigate as a bunch of sleeping cows you're thinking of tipping over without disturbing ahead of time, but that was fine. He'd done that before. So what if those cows wanted him dead now? He could probably pull this off without landing on a hitlist. Probably. (Did Edgeworth have a hitlist?)
"I'm just curious. You're acting like I asked for your banking information."
"You wouldn't. Yes, it is." With this, he slid back under the vehicle. Phoenix was halfway sure it was an attempt to cut off the conversation before it continued. Unfortunately for Edgeworth, he wasn't exactly known for giving up that easily.
"It's uh.. cool?"
A scoff. However, it was still acknowledgement. He could save this.
"But.. you do realize you're in an auto repair shop, right? Why are you doing the work instead of the mechanics? Don't tell me you work here."
"Do you think before you speak?" A wheel bumps into his shoe and he realizes he's in the way. Shuffling a little to the right, Edgeworth fully emerges again, and he gets a better look at what he's holding. From what he can tell it's.. some sort of wrench, but if it was weird.
"Sometimes. What's that?"
"You ask a lot of questions."
"It's my job. God forbid a guy get a little curious."
A sigh this time. Less harsh than a scoff. He's getting somewhere. "It's a torque wrench. Why?"
"Just 'cause. I've never seen it before."
"Right. You don't drive. You should move your bicycle closer if you're that determined to bother me." Phoenix was loath to admit, but he was right. He'd left it on the sidewalk with the kickstand holding it up haphazardly, and way too available to any passerby that had an interest in blue bikes, or really just bikes in general. A quick scurry over and back with the bike more carefully leaned on the garage frame, and he was back to asking questions.
"You didn't answer my question from before."
"I suppose I didn't."
"..Are you going to?"
Nothing but a huff. Short and.. well, not that sweet. Maybe he was overstepping.
"You don't have to."
"I know. That's why I'm not."
"Oh."
Silence. Very, very awkward silence.
"You aren't very talkative, y'know." It felt a little obvious to state, but he didn't have much else to work with. It wasn't like Edgeworth was being very helpful with that fact.. And, actually he still wasn't being very helpful. The silence stretched on.
Wheels against his foot again. Oops. Again moving to the right, Edgeworth gestured for him to step a little further as he gathered himself up, taking an array of tools that had apparently been under the car and the rolly thingy with him. He listened easily, clearing out from the area behind the car. Besides, it was a better viewpoint to watch things start to be put away into a small toolbox, the very same burgundy as Edgeworth's suit. Or, well, actually just a very similar one. Part of him wondered why the car wasn't a matching shade.
Knowing himself, the tools would've been thrown back in and the box would be clicked shut and that would be that. Edgeworth on the other hand took on a genuine amount of care with them, all of them finding what he assumed to be very practiced positions. The trunk was shut with a precise carefulness, like he was terrified of bringing harm to this inanimate object. It almost reminded him of shining his badge.
Moments later, an engine hit his ears.
…Wait, what?
Before he could even fully process, the car was backing up, leaving the shop, entering the road, and… taking right off down the street. "Hey- Edgeworth!" Phoenix shouted, even if it was useless, considering he was both completely out of earshot, and he was pretty sure cars were relatively soundproof. Suddenly, the shooing him away past the back of the car made a lot more sense.
(Why can't he just say goodbye like a normal person!?)
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(January 4, 12:02 PM)
(Jenkins' Parts and Auto Repair)
Edgeworth hears wheels skid to a stop a little away, the same way he did just two days prior. The very same wheels as last time, he's pretty sure. Albeit, he hasn't exactly memorized the sounds of different bicycle wheels. He simply doesn't see why it'd be anyone else. He slides himself out from under his car, a red Mazda RX-8 he's cherished for a good few years now, and props himself up enough to shoot the best deadpan he can muster toward one Phoenix Wright.
In honesty, this isn't even Edgeworth's only car. He also calls himself the proud owner of a 1998 Alfa Romeo GTV, and while he'd love to discuss this fact, he's all too aware of the fact the man on the sidewalk isn't looking at his car. He doesn't understand his fascination in bearing witness to his work. It isn't hard to tell that's what he's here for, especially considering his hopeless lack of knowledge regarding vehicles.
"..Phoenix Wright." It is a reluctant greeting, and one met by a sheepish grin he's lucky is too far away for him to truly see.
"Hey, Edgeworth." The response is quick, this time. At least there is that.
"What are you doing here? Again?"
"Another bike ride. Thinkin' about spending some time in the office. Gotta up my, productivity, or, something." It's an excuse, and a poor one.
"Is this just your route, or were you hoping to see me?" Based on the noise of surprise, he lands on the latter being the answer to his question. Wright doesn't supply anything else verbally, however, just latches onto the idea of moving on.
"Say, you never acknowledged me when I asked if you knew you were in an auto repair shop."
"Obviously I know that."
"Do you work here then?"
"Why would I?"
"So why do they let you use it?"
Edgeworth has to consider the question for a moment. He knows why. He pays them more money to use their shop than he would probably be paying for them to fix his car. He's here because he benefits them. So the usual case.
"Money makes the world go 'round, Wright." This grants him a look and a burst of laughter. "What? I'm not wrong."
"You're not. That's what's funny. Lighten up a little. Is the uh, repair going alright, at least?"
"It'd be going better if you weren't interrupting me."
"Ah, that is an issue, isn't it.." Despite the show, Wright doesn't seem all that guilty about being a disruption. He wheels his bike over to where he had propped it up last time and Edgeworth raises a hand. He stops.
"Stay there and don't talk."
"Huh?"
Edgeworth wheels himself right back under. He hates doing this hastily. It leaves too much room for imperfection. But he has a meeting soon, and he refuses to let Phoenix Wright of all people make him late.
For what it's worth, he does listen to the instructions. He stays out of the way and stays quiet. Edgeworth can't shake the feeling of eyes on him, though. He's never been a fan of the spotlight, as often as he is placed directly under it.
When he's finished, the very same routine as always is put into play. It's practiced the very same as every move he makes in a game of chess is. Every action beholds a reaction, a perfected one.
Wright is still watching him. He doesn't dare to glance over. This is all a trap, besides, played off of the other's need to please. A way to keep him occupied just as he makes his getaway.
He considers the courtesy of a goodbye, this time. When he finally allows himself to look over though, the man seems in a world he's almost glad he's not privy to. God knows it would fuel more nights of overthinking than he already finds himself loath to deal with.
This time, he does hear a distant shout as he peels off down the road.
Something deep in him stirs at the idea of being chased. At the idea of being wanted.
------------------------------
(January 5, 9:53 AM)
(Jenkins' Parts and Auto Repair)
He's pretty sure cars don't break down this often. It's not like he'd actually know, he doesn't keep up with the damn things, but it's only been a day, and Edgeworth is right back in the auto repair shop under his car again.
Phoenix opts not to say anything immediately. Maybe if he's quiet enough, Edgeworth won't know he's here, and he can just observe without him running off. It's not like he can see a lot in the first place, what with him being almost fully under the car, but he gets enough of a gist for his imagination to fill in the gaps.
He guesses he never thought of it before, but with Edgeworth's aversion to elevators, the flights and flights of stairs are probably a pretty solid form of exercise for him. Who wears dress pants while fixing a car anyways? Well, actually, it makes complete sense that Edgeworth would. He honestly thinks the man would die without at least part of his suit on.
It's still weird seeing most of the outfit abandoned. He forgot it wasn't all just glued to him.
Maybe this is weird, sitting here thinking of his outfit and potentially finely toned muscles he can't even see. He extends a question, without prior announcing his presence. Something tells him he was found out the moment he stopped here.
"What's wrong with it this time?"
This was apparently the incorrect question, as it suddenly gave Edgeworth just enough fuel to start spouting more car talk than he'd ever heard. Worse yet, more car talk than he'd ever wanted to hear. It is way too early in the morning for this.
Much to Phoenix's chagrin, he had absolutely no idea what Edgeworth was on about. The only thing he could pick up was that there wasn't actually something wrong with the vehicle, but Edgeworth was fixing it anyway. As such, it led to about 20 minutes of slowly nodding his head in agreement during what he was really hoping were the correct times. Edgeworth couldn't even see him. Probably. Stopping him felt rude, though, and it felt ruder not to nod. He wasn't sure Edgeworth had talked to him this much outside of court, like, ever. It is this that keeps him listening, even if he really, really doesn't get it.
By the time Edgeworth was done talking, the car was apparently fixed, or, maybe just adjusted, and Phoenix was half sure his head was about to pop off and spin away from how dizzy he was. Something to note. Nodding is clearly not for the weak.
As expected, he's abruptly left in the dust again by the time his head stops spinning. He shoves the disappointment down, but the frustration is channeled into pedaling his bike fast enough the cold wind completely numbs his face.
------------------------------
(January 12, 10:12 AM)
(Jenkins' Parts and Auto Repair)
About a week later, when Edgeworth slides the creeper from under his car next, Phoenix Wright is once again standing a little off to his right, examining him curiously.
"Are cars seriously this much work? Gonna be honest, you're putting me even further off trying to get my license." Edgeworth bites his tongue on the fact he knows Wright wasn't considering the idea in the first place.
"They are if you care enough." This earned him a raised eyebrow. It was the truth, however. To a lot of people, cars were just a way of getting around. Unfortunately a quite vital one in today's age. Los Angeles was nearly unnavigable without a personal vehicle, and public transportation felt more and more forgotten every day.
In his opinion, however, they were a lot more than that. She was his very signifier of freedom, of responsibility, of ownership. Caring for her was care for himself, in its own very roundabout way. It wasn't work, but it was productivity. It was energy placed into something that would benefit him, rather than just take from him. But it was also something to have his own say over. He decided, every time that he did this, that he wanted to better something in his life.
"Why don't you just let the mechanics do it? You're already using their shop." Oh. Yes. Wright was still here, and potentially a little closer, depending on if it wasn't simply a trick of his poor depth perception.
"I don't trust them."
"Do you trust anyone?"
He didn't flinch, but Wright reacted like he did.
"Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I'm.. just a little confused. Isn't it their whole job to fix cars? Why don't you trust them?"
Edgeworth sighs. To him, it was a foolish question. What reason did they give for him to trust them in the first place? What reason did anyone give for him to trust them in the first place? Frankly, Phoenix Wright was the closest person to such a sentiment, and even then, there were dozens upon dozens of things he'd never share with him. He owed him his life, not knowledge of his favourite food.
"They overcharge, first off,"
"Oh, like money's a problem for you…" It was mumbled, clearly meant to be left unheard, but he hadn't learned careful listening in his youth for nothing.
"I'm not paying someone extra to tamper with my car so I come back later." Wright grimaced at that, face tinged with embarrassment. Clearly, he didn't think Edgeworth had heard the remark.
"Wait, seriously? They do that?"
"People will do anything for money, Wright. Though I'm not surprised you don't understand that, Mr. 'Pro Bono'."
"Hey, I didn't start defending for a paycheck!"
"Obviously. You still haven't let me pay you for December." This elicited another grimace. He was getting quite skillful at earning them, apparently.
"Because I don't want your money, Edgeworth. I didn't defend you because I wanted anything from you."
The reality was that Edgeworth had figured out a way. Currently, it was set up on a monthly basis. Just enough money pushed in to make sure he was supporting the attorney he had hired with the intention of paying him, but not enough he'd really notice if he checked his account. Which, based on the fact Wright hadn't mentioned anything after the first payment, he figured he wasn't checking it often enough to notice a little boost.
Despite that, however, the statement had forced something deep to unlatch and open a little, allowing a lot more emotion than he wanted to upwell into his throat and render him mute.
Absolutely not. Tears were the last thing that were necessary to such a flippant comment. It took a little effort, and a very noticeably concerned look from Wright, but with a beat of silence, he won out. He could reserve them for a far more private space, if that.
"You okay?" The last question he wanted to receive, honestly. Was one supposed to be okay after the past few weeks?
A deep breath. Just a nod. Silence left for a little longer. He considered fleeing, again, like the first time. He had ran away for less before. But, speaking of the first time..
"You asked this question before, didn't you? The first time you interrupted my maintenance."
"Oh, did I?" Wright rubbed the back of his neck, a motion he'd learned well as a sign of his nervousness. As expected, the cheesy grin followed, and as routine now, Edgeworth averted his gaze. He couldn't let such a foolish thing distract him. He busied himself with selecting a separate tool than the one he was holding, even if he already had the correct one in hand. "Wait- that's the part you didn't answer, isn't it?"
This brought his attention back. There was confusion in his voice, yes, but there was something deeper, and it was noticeable in his eyes too. It wasn't quite pride but it was.. close. Edgeworth had no idea what Phoenix Wright would have to be proud about, though. He didn't really want to know either.
"Yes, it is."
"Why'd you answer it this time?"
A good question, unfortunately. He hadn't before on account of the fact he didn't like the idea of Wright being more aware of his issues with distrust than before. Furthermore, on account of the fact he didn't want him reading into it. He'd been getting better with figuring himself out lately, even if reluctantly and very unwillingly, but the fact this was a fight for control was something he was all too aware of. Honestly, he'd acknowledged it far before all of this.
No one got to touch his car because it was his car. Thus, he'd vowed never to allow a mechanic near her, ever. Of course, this got more lenient. Now, mechanics just couldn't touch her. He thought it quite fair, actually.
On top of control, it was perfection. This one was a little more intentional than the other. Even if von Karma had proven to be equivalent to a false idol in the end, his teachings simply wouldn't fade. Edgeworth wanted nothing more than to forget. To forget everything that he had taught him, to forget everything that he had made him, to forget him. With every attempt, however, he recognized a profound emptiness. It was something that was slowly making him quite certain that everything he had was von Karma's.
So he'd pursue this to the end, this mad chase to perfection, to oblivion. It was the only path he'd known since youth, and if Miles Edgeworth was anything, it was terrified of the unknown. It didn't matter that Wright had forked the road. He didn't know what was at the end of it.
At least here, he could hold onto the relief that he'd eventually run himself into the ground. That he'd go out, hopefully, without any more casualties but himself. He knew now that Wright could stop his hand when necessary.
But none of that answered the question. What had changed between then and now?
"I just felt like answering it." Code for, 'I have no idea'.
It was the same reason for why he had spoken to Wright before Redd White had gone on the stand. He'd been told never to enter the defendant's lobby, never to interact with the defense outside of court- so why had he? Why was he trusting him?
..Trust? Was that what this was? What on Earth had Wright done to garner any of his trust?
Well, that question elicited a few more answers than expected. Namely, the fact he was pretty sure Wright trusted him, a truly foolish little thing, but one he felt wrong not reciprocating. Yet, there was also something about it that simply felt.. natural. Like he was supposed to trust him. Like trusting him would be exactly the key to every unanswered mystery that haunted him at night.
That was completely, wholly, and utterly stupid. Not to mention cliché.
"Huh. Okay." Based on the all too smug look on Wright's face, he had caught Edgeworth's own failure to come up with an actual reason. He looked away again, forcing himself to slide back under the car. He really needed to finish this adjustment.
There's quiet for a few minutes, until Wright's realization is almost audible, like a tassel on a lamp being tugged on. "Oh, yeah, I can't actually stay long enough for you to drive off on me this time, sorry." He laughs, all too amused by his own words. Edgeworth kicks away the growing disappointment.
"A shame."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm sure you think so.." The laughter devolves into grumbling. He's partially certain Wright would be kicking a rock if he had one. "I'll uh, see you around? Since you hate just saying goodbye so much."
"If you keep managing to time your bike rides with my repairs, then yes."
"Cool. Cya, Edgeworth."
He doesn't reply. An exaggerated sigh is offered in the silence, followed by the dinging of a bicycle bell, and the skidding of wheels down a ramp. He wheels himself back out briefly to watch him disappear down the road. A different emptiness hits him than the one he's familiarized with von Karma. He elects to ignore it, as he does most things.
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(January 14, 2:04 PM)
(Courthouse Parking Lot)
"Y'know, I heard from Gumshoe that your car isn't actually that impressive, in like a.." He paused, scouring for the words, "sportsy, car way, or.. whatever."
He wasn't completely sure how they ended up here. Well, he sort of was. The courthouse was sort of an instinctual place to head to, an easy destination to reach and bike back from. In Edgeworth's case, he was mostly sure his natural habitat was the courthouse. Thus, they were both here. Which made it a pretty good time for Phoenix to pedal his bike over to that blindingly red sports car. Not because he recognized it, to be honest, but because the man in question was exiting it. It made it an even better time to depart some wisdom that had been so graciously handed to him.
Edgeworth hummed in a way that could be described as fascinated, if a little condescending on the edges. "Shockingly, he'd be correct. For once."
"Wait really? You're telling me that Miles Edgeworth, legendary prosecutor with a six figure salary, drives a shitty sports car?" To this, he scoffed. A little worse to receive than a condescending hum, admittedly.
"No one ever said my car was shitty, as you've so crudely deemed her. She's just not ranked as 'luxurious' as they can get. And why do you know my salary?"
Phoenix snorted. "It's public knowledge, Edgeworth."
"Ah, right." A simple nod. The way it sounded, Phoenix would almost bet he hadn't been aware before he'd mentioned it. It didn't feel worth pursuing though. Last time they'd talked, he'd definitely been getting somewhere. Maybe all Edgeworth did was answer a question he hadn't the first time it'd been asked, but surely that meant something. Surely that meant he was starting to garner some sort of trust. Surely..
"What are you doing here, anyway?" A stupid question. He knew that the moment it left his mouth. It was like asking a lion what it was doing in a grassland.
"That's like asking why there's a body at a crime scene."
(Way more morbid, but that was, like, mostly my line!)
"I'm here to retrieve something from the reading room. Why are you here?"
"Just biking around. You know me."
"..What?" Edgeworth sounded.. really confused.
"What?"
"Nevermind."
Phoenix groaned. Seriously, would it kill the man to be a little more honest?
"What do you mean I 'know you'?" The words were put in air quotes, emphasized to the fullest effect. Despite this, he still didn't get it.
"I mean, I figure you generally know I sorta, float around by now, yeah?"
"I.. suppose I have noticed such a thing, yes. But is that 'knowing you'?" Air quotes again. Why was he being so specific about this?
"It's just a phrase, Edgeworth. You don't have to take it so seriously."
"Right, of course. My.. apologies." The words faltered at the end, hesitant. Although, it didn't come off as him not wanting to apologize. It felt much deeper. Like something had upset him.
"Did you want it to be serious? Do you.. want to know me, or something?" A guess. Random words, thrown out, hoping something would stick. His signature.
And wouldn't you know it, he stuck the landing.
"I never said anything like that." It was dismissive and short-spoken, but it was obvious.
Miles Edgeworth wanted to know him. Like, really know him. He was pretty sure at least.
A door clicked shut right after. Not again.
Phoenix promptly knocked against the window, and before he could try yelling, it rolled down to a very, very angry expression. "Do not touch my car." And with that, he was gone again.
"You didn't even get your, whatever it was!"
He wasn't sure why he still tried. Edgeworth was long gone without a goodbye, yet again.
But still.. maybe there was hope yet.
------------------------------
(January 15, 1:00 AM)
(???)
Realistically, Edgeworth knew he wasn't supposed to be driving at night. His eyes were far from good enough to identify nearly anything in the dark.
But driving cleared his head. It was a simple solace to a racing mind. Sometimes he could get the adrenaline that came with the sheer speed to distract him enough that there was silence.
As such, he found himself on the backroads tonight. In technicality, it was very early morning, but considering the lack of sleep, it was easier and made more sense to refer to it as nighttime. Was there a protocol regarding what 1 AM could be referred to depending on the circumstance?
Sighing, Edgeworth pulled to the shoulder of the road and set his forehead against the wheel. This sort of overthinking was exactly why he was out here in the first place. Well, that and his finely crafted habit of avoiding going to sleep.
Sleeping itself still wasn't.. easy, to say the least. As much as he wanted to act like they were gone, the nightmares never ended. Honestly, they just felt worse now, knowing that bullet never hit his father.
It was a horrible chain of events to visualize. If he had never thrown that gun, if von Karma had never been shot, would he still have killed his father? Would von Karma have stuck around long enough for the deed to be done? Would Edgeworth still be with his father, in a home he was too much of a coward to visit again? That small, wooden home surrounded with wildflowers he couldn't name back then and filled with the citrus scent of Ceylon, left blurry and far in distant memory? One he was only partially sure he'd recognize if he returned?
It took far too long for him to realize he had rested his head directly against the horn. Carefully pulling himself off, he glanced around warily, double checking he wasn't disturbing any neighbourhood nearby with the incessant blare.
Instead, he became quite suddenly aware of a persistent knocking on his window. Jolting harder than his bones were frankly okay with, he pressed himself as far into the center console as possible and went as still as he could. Everything went quiet. The room felt like it was closing in, a gentle rumbling underneath he couldn't quite discern as the engine of a car. All too suddenly, the air felt unbreathable, like the oxygen was steadily depleting.
"Edgeworth?" It was just loud enough to break through the haze. Just loud enough to come through the windowpane. Just loud enough for him to recognize exactly who was saying his name, actually.
It took a good few seconds and another call of his name for him to kick his body back into motion. This was pathetic. He felt like prey cowering in a corner, scared of its own damn shadow.
Forcing the door open, the man outside yelped. "Hey- warn me next time maybe!?"
"Sorry," the words sounded too punched out as he all but collapsed out of the car, "sorry." Another, for good measure. In case the first one was too quiet. Or maybe just because he was quite sure he could never say it enough for it to make up for everything he'd done wrong. For the dozens of innocent people dead, for Phoenix Wright on trial at his own mercy, for making this last trial that much harder for him-
"Are you okay??" There were hands on him, a touch that wasn't his own, trying to hold him up, and to his surprise, it didn't feel exactly unwelcome. Maybe he was coming down with something.
"I'm fine, Wright. Unhand me." The words came out on instinct, even if his body rejected the idea wholeheartedly. At the least, the man lowered him gently to the ground before letting go.
"I heard a horn, and I came over here and- I'll be honest, Edgeworth, it really looked like you were dead for a moment there." There was a nervous laugh- no, a scared laugh, and a nauseating wave of guilt overcame him in an instant.
"I didn't intend to concern you," he's still too breathless, and somewhere in the background he partially manages to acknowledge he may be having a panic attack, "um, but I assure you, I am quite alright." He manages now to look up at Wright, who's doing a very, very poor job of hiding his worry. "Completely uninjured. Perfectly fine." He has to keep himself from wincing at the insincerity that the 'perfectly' lands with. It's become harder and harder to use the term after all that's happened.
"Yeah, uh, yeah, can you- can I touch you?" Edgeworth squints at him now, trying to understand.
"Why?"
"You're not breathing right. I want to help. It's fine if not, though."
Is.. Is he being given a choice in the matter..?
"Um.. sure." The words come out thick on his tongue. His whole body is buzzing, and he's halfway sure he's about to die in Phoenix Wright's arms. In complete honesty, it isn't the worst way to go.
Something distant flickers in the back of his head. A girl, younger than him (even if she was obsessed with the idea of superiority over him), taking his hand in times like this and pressing it carefully to herself where he could feel her breathing. The allowance to copy her, and the time given to regain control over himself.
Wright doesn't do the same. He gently takes his hand and traces shapes along the back of it, counting in some pattern Edgeworth is halfway sure he recognizes as a basic breathing pattern. It takes too long, honestly, but eventually, he can breathe again. Wright looks at him with a different type of pride than he had just the other day. He fights not to wilt at the look, aware of how undeserving he is of such a thing as pride.
Something tells him he is being too seen. That he is being too vulnerable. That he is being too weak. Yet, this feels like.. care. Or what he remembers of being cared for, back during a simpler time, when he was young and his father was still alive. And, has Wright not already seen him at his lowest? For whatever reason, this doesn't justify it. He tugs his hand back unceremoniously, taking a deep breath much too sharp this time.
"You need to go." It's sudden. Too sudden. He sounds terrified.
"What?"
"I said, you need to go." Better. Angrier.
"Edgeworth- I'm not just going to leave you on your own like this, I'm sorry."
"Then I'll do it myself." He forces himself to his legs. They wobble beneath him like those of a fawn. Rage pumps itself through his veins, unwelcome but necessary. It doesn't matter if he's prey. He doesn't have to be. He's been taught to bark despite it all.
"Wh- No?! You're not driving like this! You'll, you'll get into an accident, or something, come on Edgeworth, be fucking reasonable!" Wright sounds scared, past the anger, or maybe just frustration. Yet, the guilt from before finds itself overridden by a forced satisfaction, as is practiced. This is precisely what he wants. (It has never been further from.)
"Leave me alone. Don't follow me- I don't want you around me, do you understand?"
"What the hell did I do?"
The question makes him falter. Realistically? Nothing.
This is about Edgeworth.
This is about hurting those he trusts.
He'd almost forgotten that was why he'd stopped trusting anyone.
How could he have been so foolish?
"Nothing." The truth slips out haphazardly. Weakly.
"Then why are you running? Why are you always running?"
"Please leave me alone."
"Edgeworth-"
Something snaps. The ringing in his ears gets too loud to bear, and something ugly rears its head deep in his chest, and it feels like death. The next words come out flat. Numb. Void of the previous anger, of the previous anything, really.
"I need time."
Finally, the other man seems to understand. Still, Edgeworth can see him hesitate before speaking again, carefully forcing his tone into something gentler than before, even if the panic seemingly still calls for impulsive anger. "Okay. Take your time, then. I'll be here, yeah?"
"Understood."
"..Stay safe, please."
"I'll be fine. Just, leave me alone for a while, please."
"Got it." He's given a weary smile. He shuts the car door in reply.
A distant part of him is almost disappointed when he doesn't catch Phoenix's bicycle light in his side view mirror following him.
That part, the one that knows that he doesn't want to be alone, is dismissed as foolish and, furthermore, completely selfish.
------------------------------
(January 25, 12:28 PM)
(???)
Damn it.
Damn it all.
All he did was go down on the pedal. Y'know, the thing you do when you ride a bike. So why is it sprawled on the side of the road in parts now??
He doesn't know how to fix this. And even if he did, he doesn't have the tools to fix it.
He knows someone who does. He wanted space though, didn't he? But it'd been a while now, and..
Well, he didn't really have a choice.
"Heyy, Edgeworth.."
"What have I told you about contacting me through my work number, Wright?"
In all honesty, Phoenix recalls absolutely zero talks about this. The tone isn't hard to grasp, though (and sounds all too normal, honestly, especially after the last time they had talked), and it leads to a pretty easy conclusion.
"To never do it? But what if this is a really important work matter?"
"I doubt it." It takes everything in him not to roll his eyes, even if Edgeworth isn't here to see it.
"It could be."
"Then what is it?"
"My bike broke down and I can't go anywhere. You're all nerdy about that sort of thing, so I figured you'd know how to fix it."
"Wright, is a bike a car? And what does this have to do with work?"
"I can't get to my office!"
"Then I have an advantage in our next case. Find someone else to deal with you."
Something about the confirmation they'll face each other in the courtroom again feels electrifying. Furthermore, it feels like relief. Edgeworth is still alive and free and capable of prosecuting. All of those were beyond threatened less than a month ago.
It feels good knowing things are a little more stable now. All there is now is to hope it stays that way. Even if the other day had been a good fucking scare, Edgeworth seemed okay now. He's been looping it, over and over, since it happened. The switch-ups, the desperation, the fear, the trained in anger that wasn't really Edgeworth's, but a response to particular stimuli. Like a dog that had only known hurt being shown love for the first time, but not knowing the difference.
So he gave him the space he asked for. A little more room to breathe. It was the least he could do, especially considering it had been a specific request from the man himself. And from what he could tell, it had helped. Edgeworth, for all intents and purposes, was talking to him like normal. There was no leftover animosity. Everything was fine.
The line of emotions is all but fleeting, though.
"Hey- come on, you can't leave me stranded here!"
"I can, and I am."
Phoenix groaned right into the receiver, dragging it on as long as possible. Honestly, he was pretty sure this was just going to get Edgeworth to hang right up. Shockingly, he hears Edgeworth groan instead, most certainly pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Stay put. Any landmarks?"
"Huh? Uhh. Same sorta backroads you go frequent, apparently."
"..Understood." A click. The line going dead. He glances back at his bike, missing a few screws held very tightly in his hand, and in more parts than he thought it even had.
(He's sending Gumshoe to pick me up, isn't he.)
A red sports car pulls up on the shoulder somewhat close to him after about 10 minutes of sitting on asphalt. Miles Edgeworth, in all his wonderful, hero-like glory exits the car.
"You're really saving my ass here, Edgeworth."
"Give me those." He gestures to Phoenix's hand, and the screws are promptly emptied into his.
"Not even a 'hello'? A 'how do you do'? A 'how did this happen', perhaps?"
"It is not worth questioning you about things even you do not know."
"Harsh."
"You know it to be true." Phoenix rolls his eyes. Edgeworth scoffs in return. Seems like he's doing fine after their last little meetup.
Without another word, Phoenix watches him get right to work, and doesn't exactly find the care in himself to pry his eyes away at any point. There's a strange, deep-seated joy found in watching him work on things like this. Not, in a creepy way, obviously, but there's something to be found in the methodicism, in the way he carries himself and his tools, in the control he exerts over himself and the perfection he pushes into his work. He knows Edgeworth can get a little, or, well, very unhealthy with it, if their courtroom battles are any example to go by, or the dozens of newspapers touting his chase for perfection, but in a more isolated form like this, he doesn't feel that bad appreciating it. There's something to appreciate in watching someone be skilled at what they do, especially when you don't know the first thing about it.
It takes a little longer than expected, considering Phoenix has watched Edgeworth repair his own car in about three quarters of the time it takes him to work out the structure of his bike and repair it, but impressively enough, he figures it out. He's sure it's easier with the fact he already has a wildly unnecessary amount of mechanical knowledge (even if Phoenix finds it charming), but it's still pretty cool watching him apply it to a new vehicle he's never worked on.
"There." He rolls his sleeves down with the words, a little too quick for Phoenix's liking. Maybe he can convince him someday there's nothing to be insecure about. That he thinks his scars are beautiful. That he thinks he's beautiful.
"Thanks, Edgeworth. Really. Don't know what I'd do without you." He honestly isn't sure.
"Don't mention it. Seriously." And he does seem serious. A nervous laugh is Phoenix's own reply before he cuts himself off, distracted by.. whatever he's being handed. It looks like a folded piece of paper. Upon closer inspection, it's more than just folded, it's a little paper crane. He didn't even realize they could be made this small. He looks up at Edgeworth again, raising an eyebrow.
"How is this related, at all? Are you trying to prove a point right now?"
"You can unfold it. Use that, if you ever find yourself in any more unprofessional emergencies."
This is, strangely, probably the most confusing thing Edgeworth has ever said to him. And he had already mentally deemed him a master of convolution.
(Should I add master of riddles to the title?)
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
As unsurprisingly as ever, no reply came but the rev of an engine and red blurring down the road. He supposed this was a better goodbye than usual, though. He'd left him with something.
Phoenix took the care for once to unfold it gently, ensuring the paper didn't rip anywhere. Honestly, he wanted to make sure he could fold it back up after and keep it somewhere in his office. His inner child was swelling with pride at the fact Miles Edgeworth had successfully folded a paper crane, assuming it was actually him that had done it.
When he got it open, a string of numbers faced him. It took a moment for the way they were grouped to sink in.
Did he just get Miles Edgeworth's personal phone number?
Rather than his inner child, his inner college self swelled instead. Not with pride but pure, unfiltered joy. He wasn't sure he'd felt his heart beat this fast in a while, at least not in a positive way. It was taking a hell of a lot to not start cheering right here on the spot.
About 5 minutes of excited shaking later, Edgeworth's personal contact sat in his phone. Just, there. Available to be called. He was within reach, whenever he wanted him to be. He'd been dreaming of this since he saw him in those newspapers, closer and yet more distant than ever.
(How many people can seriously say they've scored this thing?!)
Maybe things really were looking up after all.
Maybe it was all going to be okay.