Phoenix cursed creatively in his head as the sound of the door buzzer cut into his brain. Leave me alone. His blue eyes fluttered open and then squeezed tightly shut against the brightness of the early morning sun. I'm not expecting any mail, and it's too early for visitors. Probably a neighbour looking for a lost cat or something.

The buzzing ceased, and he smiled to himself, snuggling back under the quilt away from the frosty late-February sunlight.

It was the Monday after his most recent trial victory and he was trying to catch up on his sleep. Defending the Chief Prosecutor against a murder charge had taken a lot of legwork as well as taking its toll on his wits in court. Typically he'd been unable to sleep properly for the duration of the trial, between constant examination and re-examination of the files and poring over the evidence. Even with Ema's help he'd found the whole case to be totally draining. Lana's silence. Gant, who had scared him enough to make him wish he carried a firearm. Being manipulated into putting Edgeworth on the defensive. It had all been too much.

Phoenix knew that he'd been used to discredit the Prosecutor's Office and Edgeworth in particular. The manufactured evidence scandal that the prosecutor had been involved in during an earlier case had become as big a scandal as the Skye trial itself. It had all come to light in court last week and Edgeworth had suddenly become the subject of a renewed hate campaign. Now the years of rumours about his manipulation of evidence and witnesses had a proven foundation, and while it had been clear that in this case the evidence he had presented was given to him by the police, it was also clear that he had not been rigorous in his checking, either by accident or design. It's his responsibility, and he knows it.

Phoenix wasn't sure how he felt about Edgeworth as a lawyer right now. He'd always heard the whispers of course, and seen the looks that the prosecutor got from members of the police department and other lawyers. For years he had clipped out articles about the "Demon Prosecutor" and his mentor Manfred Von Karma and all that time he had worried about his friend. His final decision to give up the arts and become a defence attorney in order to meet Edgeworth in court had been prompted by one of those very articles.

It troubled him that he found it impossible to match up the Edgeworth that was so often demonised in the press with the Edgeworth he'd known as a child, or indeed the Edgeworth that he had come to know over the last couple of months. In the immediate wake of the prosecutor's own stint as a suspect and Phoenix's defence of him, they had succeeded in making some awkward, halting steps towards renewing their friendship.

And yet … the first time he had faced Edgeworth in court, Phoenix had witnessed the sleight of hand that the prosecutor practiced with evidence and the way that he coached witnesses to produce the most favourable testimony. It had shocked him at the time to see for his own eyes how far Edgeworth had come from the idealistic would-be defender that he remembered from his schooldays. He'd struggled that day to reconcile the Edgeworth who stood opposite him, smirking and tapping his forehead condescendingly, with his memory of the prosecutor as a child. Back then, he remembered Edgeworth struggling to overcome his shyness to stand up and speak out against injustice, trembling both with the effort and his own emotions. How did he become so cold?

But during the Steel Samurai trial he'd seen a trace of the old Edgeworth returning. Phoenix knew that he could easily have lost that case, had Edgeworth not made an about-face in court and effectively helped him corner the real culprit. Again in the past week, he'd seen Edgeworth's childhood desire for justice surface once more, even if it meant sacrificing a guilty verdict and his own reputation.

Phoenix hoped that this would be a turning point. As foolish as it might be, deep down, he even cherished a fantasy of Edgeworth following in his father's footsteps as a defence attorney after all.

It was no secret that Edgeworth had been having a hard time over the past couple of months. At the end of the previous year when the prosecutor had been on trial for murder, the revelations in court had meant that although he had been acquitted of the crime, he'd lost his life all the same. All the things that Edgeworth had taken for granted had been swept away and Phoenix knew that the prosecutor had been having difficulty coming to terms with it.

To the casual observer Edgeworth hadn't changed much – he was still taking on cases in court, still working all hours of the day and night, even winning the King Of Prosecutors award. His quick mind and biting wit had not been diminished. But to anyone who worked with him on a daily basis or had more than passing conversations with him, it was obvious that there was a war going on beneath the apparently calm surface. It was a struggle between the Edgeworth that he had been as a child and the Edgeworth that he had become under Von Karma's tutelage. And if Phoenix was completely honest with himself, he was sometimes afraid which side was going to win.

Still, the prosecutor had become more approachable since his trial, and little by little Phoenix felt that they were regaining some of the ground they had lost during their fifteen-year estrangement. It was a painfully slow process, and Edgeworth was a difficult study, being naturally reserved and unused to having any confidantes other than his mentor. But Phoenix had persisted, albeit subtly, in finding reasons to call the prosecutor, or to bump into him in the District Court building and go for coffee on a couple of occasions. He'd also kept his own name off the court docket since the beginning of the year to avoid any clashes in court. It meant he had a drawer full of unpaid bills and an empty refrigerator, but that was better than risking the fragile beginnings of a renewed friendship.

To start with he'd been concerned for Edgeworth's health. Phoenix found it difficult to even contemplate the enormity of the betrayal that had been revealed at Edgeworth's trial, to have it publicly demonstrated that the man who had taken him in, given him a home, educated him and guided him was not only the murderer of his father but also planned to be his own destroyer. Phoenix knew all about betrayal, and he had worried for weeks afterwards whether the prosecutor would be able to deal with the aftermath. I remember how badly I handled it, back then. He'd found it hard to judge how deeply Edgeworth was affected because asking him outright was out of the question.

He wasn't sure if Edgeworth suspected that Phoenix had been keeping watch over him, because if he did it was not something that they discussed. Their topics of conversation were rarely personal – after New Year's Eve, Phoenix had instinctively stuck to neutral subjects in a bid to avoid the awkwardness and uncomfortable silences that threatened their interactions. Occasionally though, the old Edgeworth of their childhood made an appearance, and those rare, unguarded moments that Phoenix witnessed were treasured by him like precious jewels. He had stored away in his heart every instance of a smile that spread to the eyes, a sidelong glance of a thought that they shared without words, and each hard-fought effort by Edgeworth to speak about something even slightly personal.

Yes, he was afraid which Edgeworth might win the battle, but every time he saw the prosecutor his hope increased that it would be Gregory Edgeworth's son rather than Manfred Von Karma's protégée that would be victorious.

With that hope and his increasing faith in the tenuous relationship growing between them Phoenix had also started to convince himself that Edgeworth would feel able to turn to him if the fight became too hard, and he had gradually let his worries subside.

Sure, Edgeworth's stated intention to leave the Prosecutor's Office had come as a shock to Phoenix. But Edgeworth had seemed determined to take responsibility for his actions in court, and Phoenix was reassured when the prosecutor promised to call him so they could talk it over before he handed in his resignation. Maybe we'll even get along better if we never have to face each other in court.

His drowsy musing was interrupted again – this time by his cell 'phone. For Christ's sake!

He reached out to the bedside table with a sigh and picked up the 'phone without opening his eyes. He wasn't sure who he was expecting to hear calling at this time but Larry seemed the most likely culprit. He kept peculiar hours and company so dramatic calls from him at any time were not unusual. Maybe he's back from Dimension Sex and needs picking up at the airport.

Recognising Detective Gumshoe's voice was a surprise - and the surprise brought with it a sinking feeling. Gumshoe rarely brought good news in his wake.

"Sorry pal, I know it's early but I have to talk to you."

"Uh – what's happened?"

"Not on the 'phone, pal" there was something about Gumshoe's voice that made Phoenix suddenly alert.

"Where are you?"

"Right outside your door, pal. One of your neighbours let me in".

Shit. No longer sleepy, Phoenix sat bolt upright and reached for his shirt and sweatpants from the evening before. Dragging the clothes on as he hurried to the apartment door a million worries niggled at him. Bad news? About Maya? Ema? The case?

The buzzer sounded again just as he reached the door and he yanked it open, not caring if he looked as frazzled as he felt. Gumshoe was standing right on the doorstep and one look at his expression caused Phoenix's chest to contract in sure anticipation of something bad.

"What's happened, Detective?"

Gumshoe didn't answer. He just stood there, and held out a piece of neatly folded paper. Phoenix looked at it blankly as Gumshoe pushed it towards him insistently.

He took it, started to unfold it and as he did he noticed that Gumshoe had averted his eyes. His fears crystallised. I know that paper. Stiff, expensive paper with burgundy edging that he had received notes on in court more than once. He only knew one person who used paper like that and indeed, as he folded back the last crease he saw the neat, controlled handwriting that he was expecting.

But the message was a shock. He stared at the piece of paper for what felt like an age, reading and re-reading, not taking it in. This isn't happening. He stepped backwards into the apartment, reaching behind him for support from the wall table.

Eventually Phoenix found his voice. "Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth chooses death? This is a joke, right?" But one look at Gumshoe's face denied that faint hope. I don't … I can't believe it.

"Steady, pal." Gumshoe put out a hand, but Phoenix brushed it away.

"What the hell happened? This is crazy."

"We found that on his desk this morning at the Prosecutor's Office. No one's seen him there since the trial."

"Since the trial?" But he said he was going to his office right after he told me he'd call me. "Have you checked his apartment?" Phoenix knew as he asked that it was a futile question. Of course Gumshoe would have checked. He idolised Edgeworth.

"His apartment's empty, but his clothes are still there. Uniform found his car at the airport. He took a direct flight to London, but he didn't have a hotel booked there and there haven't been any sightings since." The detective shrugged, looking frustrated and angry at his own lack of information.

"Do you believe this?" Phoenix demanded.

"I don't know, pal. I can't believe Mr Edgeworth would … but he's been different since … that trial. And with all this stuff about the SL-9 evidence coming out as well last week …" Gumshoe hunched his shoulders and looked down at the floor evasively.

It's my fault. That's what he thinks. Maybe he's right. Phoenix felt numb. He pushed the note back into Gumshoe's hand and made to close the door, but the detective jammed his foot against the wood.

"Sorry pal, but I have to ask you to come down to the station. We're taking statements from everyone that spoke to him after the trial." Gumshoe's eyes were apologetic, but determined.

This is a bad dream. It has to be. "…. Right. Just … give me a few minutes."

As Phoenix stood under the warm jet of the shower his mind was still working overtime. All he could see was the image of the note, and everything that it implied suddenly overwhelmed him. He placed his hands on the wall for support and let the water run over his head and down his back. Involuntarily, he sobbed, and salt tears joined the water as it trickled into the drain.

They were the only tears that Phoenix Wright would shed for Miles Edgeworth. By the time he had dressed and made ready to leave the apartment, shock had been replaced by anger.

Fifteen years. I wasted fifteen years trying to see him again, to talk to him. I gave up my old life to help him. I thought he'd started to change, but I was wrong. And now it's over. He's gone.

The enormity of the betrayal settled over him like an icy cloud, and it reminded him of another betrayal, many years ago. He said he'd call. He said that he had to face his responsibilities. He lied, and I was a fool to believe in him.

Phoenix told himself that he didn't care if Edgeworth had run away, or if he did indeed intend to kill himself. He told himself that it would be better if Edgeworth did die. He resolved that after today was over and the statement given, he would never mention the prosecutor's name again. Wherever he is, he's dead to me.

The defence attorney picked his keys up from the table by the door and the keyfob containing a photo of himself, Edgeworth and Larry as children caught his eye. He regarded it for a moment, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger thoughtfully. Then his eyes narrowed. Opening one of the table drawers he unclipped the fob, threw it in, and closed the drawer again with no second thought.

Then he looked up at Gumshoe. "Okay detective, let's go. But I don't think I'll have anything useful to tell you. Outside of court, I didn't know the man at all."

"Time up and time out
For all the liberties you've taken.
Time up and time out
For all the friends that you've forsaken.
If you choose to waste away
Like death is back in fashion
You're an accident waiting to happen."

- BILLY BRAGG