I swear—Requiem will get done soon, for those of you who read my Gravitation fanfiction. But Phoenix Wright + Miles Edgeworth are absolute love. And Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney: Justice For All just came out two weeks ago.
Hence, storytime!
This is set in Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney. There are spoiliers in this story, because it takes place the day after case 4 and before bonus case 5, also known as the DL-6 and SL-9 incident. If you have not played either, I would suggest not reading this story if you haven't played either case, because the bonus characters are in the case later.
Comments and critiques are appreciated. Flames are not.
Yes, I also write some words like the British. No, I will not correct them.
908 Foysintha Street
Miles Edgeworth's bedroom
5:45 AM
December 29th, 2016
It's always the same. That nightmare of his---he still has it, despite all this time.
That was the first thought Phoenix Wright clearly remembered as he awoke, covering his eyes from the first rays of the sun's light that had came from his bedroom window. The darkness and the light clearly conflicted with each other, and Phoenix could see the start of orange and red beginning to show themselves through the clouds, with just a tiny bit of the sun showing through. As he glanced at it, he started thinking again.
I realise that he's afraid, but--pushing people away isn't going to do him any good. Doesn't he realise that? Just because Miles acts all tough doesn't mean he doesn't--
Phoenix's thoughts were interrupted by a beeping sound that repeated itself. Looking around the room a moment, he realised it was the alarm clock beeping next to him and sighed in exasperation. "Alright, alright!" he said, hitting the snooze button on the clock. "I was up five minute early. You think that they'd have an automatic timer to let you know these things." Seeing that the time was 5:45 am, he knew he had about two hours to get down to the office.
As he was about to get out of bed, the bedroom door opened and Phoenix gasped, trying to remember how his door would open on his own. The figure then stepped into the room and he just stared at Miles Edgeworth, who was dressed in full attire for his day's work, minus the frilly neckcollar that he wore in court. It seemed rather strange to Phoenix that he would be without it, but then saw Miles' scowl. "You don't look so---stuffy, Miles," Phoenix said, in a lame attempt to start conversation.
"I believe I left it in this room somewhere. Let's hope you haven't slept on it, Wright," Miles replied curtly, clearly not pleased that something that small was out of place. He then closed the bedroom door and Phoenix noticed that Miles' eyes softened as he held his arm and looked away, as if in thought about something.
"Left it in here? If I recall, you had said you needed to take your suit to the dry cleaners," Phoenix reminded him, trying to understand what was going on here. Why is Miles in my house? Wait--Miles in my house? Phoenix scratched his head as he tried to remember what was going on. This--
"Is something wrong, Wright?" Miles glanced over to the man that was still in his bed. "Don't you remember anything about yesterday?" The man took a step closer to him. "You were acting rather strange after dinner last night, and had one too many drinks."
"Huh?" Phoenix's bushy eyebrow rose; clearly the man was confused as to what Edgeworth was saying.
"You were drunk last night. You were so drunk that you were regurgating everything that went into your stomach." Miles looked disgusted just stating this important piece of information. "Since Miss. Fey and Gumshoe took off before this event, Butz and I helped you over here."
"Here?" Phoenix scratched his head. He then noticed that his hair was everywhere and blushed, horrified that he had incredible bed head. He was even more embarrassed that he could not hold liquior, and that the prosecutor learned this information via his own eyes. "Miles, where is here?"
"My house. Unlike yours, which was so cluttered I felt claustrophobic." Miles shivered just at the memory of walking into Wright's house. "I had the liberty of actually having another option, and, since I thought that staying in your home would make me quite ill, I decided to transport you to a place I could--let you recover at."
Phoenix noticed how Miles stopped before finding new words to finish his sentence and stared at him in disbelief for a moment.
Nice to know that he hates clutter, Phoenix said in his head. Maybe it was a good thing he didn't stay there. My house would have been destroyed with Pledge, Windex, Fantastic cleaner and mopping the floor. Perhaps Miles would have been so neurotic to wax all the floors, buy new suits because mine are too cheap, and even pluck my eyebrows. Would I have anything left in my house when Miles Edgeworth was done? The defense attorney shivered at the thoughts, and at the mental image of Miles cleaning his house with gloves on his hands and a rubber suit similar to the color of his suit. That's even worse. A magenta body suit---all because---
"You could use the blanket next to you, if you're cold, Wright," Miles smirked, interrupting his thoughts.
He then regained his composure and asked, "So if your frilly stuffy neckcollar is out there, then why are you here, Miles? I imagine someone as famous as you has a case to get a guilt verdict on."
"What good would it do me to face a half wit in court as a defense attorney, Wright?"
Translation: I wanted to make sure you were alright before I left so you don't do anything stupid in court, Wright, Phoenix thought to himself. Why can't you say this stuff to me, Miles? I wouldn't have had to study law if you could be just forward about everything.
"Objection," Phoenix whispered. "The defense attorney is too tired to deal with these accusations from the prosecution." He shivered and saw Miles frown.
"Overruled," Miles said. "The prosecution has no cases today, and doesn't want to even think of the word 'objection' coming from the rookie defense attorney who is still sick in bed with bedhead."
"But there's an contradiction, Mr. Edgeworth," Phoenix smirked, crossing his arms. "If the prosecution is off duty today, why did the alarm clock go off at 5:45 am?"
Miles gaped a minute and took a step back. "It did?"
"Clearly. It woke me up, Miles." Phoenix yawned as he curled back up in the blanket, closing his eyes. "So why?"
"...I wanted to make sure I was up in case you needed something."
One eye opened and Phoenix looked to see Miles' head hanging on the floor. "Miles?" Phoenix now sat up, staring at him. When Miles still hung his head, Phoenix pushed his blanket off him and stood up, noticing now that he was only wearing his boxers. "What the hell happened to my clothes?!"
Miles looked up and laughed, holding out his arms. "I took them to get dry cleaned, Wright. You looked downright atrocious." He then turned away again as Phoenix took another step closer to him. "Besides, Wright--your suit looks cheap."
"What if I have to go to work--which I do--and I have no clothes?"
"Then call Miss. Fey and say something came up," Miles muttered before looking over to Phoenix. "And then, turn off the mobile and come have breakfast. The robe is over next to the bathroom door, along with a towel. And don't throw up on them this time, alright?" Miles grabbed the door and opened it, then closed it behind him as his footsteps suggested that he was walking away.
What the hell? Phoenix thought to himself. Miles? ---something clearly is not right. He's acting way too strange.
Phoenix was not going to dispute it now as he headed over to the bathroom, holding his head since he felt lightheaded. He stopped and stood there a moment, his stomach in knots as he tried to think. The defense attorney shivered more, his ribs starting to hurt from shivering so hard. I don't know what's going on, but I really feel confused--and cold. His vision blurred as he veered directions and tried to steer himself to the bed. Was he telling me everything? People who are drunk usually have this go away after they awaken, unless this is a hell of a hangover.
The defense attorney felt colder and shivered as he took a small step towards the bed, clearly dizzy. Eyes unfocused, he glanced over to the door, holding his arms to stop himself from shivering. When did it get so cold in here? It was--warm---no, cold---but---so cold---
The door opened again and Phoenix tried to turn his body to see what it was, but his reflexes were rather slow and he felt himself falling to the ground before he could stop himself. He heard some faint buzzing near his ears as he felt softness and warmth embracing him and picking his body up, now that it no longer wanted to move.
"Wright!"
He heard his name clear enough, but his eyes were tired and a soft sigh escaped his lips, blinking sleepily a few times. Everything seemed so complicated for Phoenix at this point--he knew his own name, but he felt terribly cold. It was like he couldn't stop shivering. Yet--he was in Miles' house, or was he? "...so confused..."
"Wright, you clearly were sick before even thinking about having all that liquior last night," Miles said softly. "I think you're coming down with a slight--" He stopped as he saw Phoenix's unfocused and glassy gaze. "Alright, definitely coming down with something. Just don't look at me like some love starked--"
"Miles?" Phoenix asked. "Miles--why?" His head flopped back against the prosecutor who was still holding his shivering body in his arms. "Why is it is damnably cold in here?"
" . . . " Miles was silent as he watched Phoenix's face try to think of what was going on, carrying him to the bed. He saw the emotions play out through his eyes, which were starting to look very unfocused. "It's warm in the house, Wright. Try not to think too much. You'll strain your already addled head." What the hell is going on? He was sick last night, but more of a hangover. This--this isn't a hangover. This is clearly something else.
"Mil--es," Phoenix whispered, strength seeming to leave him as he was laid and tucked into the bed. His head flopped to one side and his blank stare hit Miles, scaring him. His eyes would not close, and his mouth was wide open.
Is Wright dead? That was the first thought that hit Miles Edgeworth. Oh god--if he is, then how will court cases be like? I'd have to have another stuffy thumb up his ass rookie who clearly doesn't know what he's doing--wait, no--that's Wright! No one can be like Wright! God--
Miles panicked. His brain was trying to pluck all logical conclusions of what was going on. Alcohol poisoning? No, he could breathe, but it doesn't look like it now. We had to take a train back, with Gumshoe and Larry and--I can't remember who else. We did eat on the train, and we did get back a few hours ago. But the only person who attended to him here was the bellboy and the maid, who said she gave him some medicine.
Miles, he scolded himself. Stop thinking. If you think too much, you'll let Phoenix die. You can't have that, can you?
"Phoenix!" Miles whispered as he saw that the defense attorney had something very wrong with him. "Phoenix, damn it! This isn't---" He checked for a pulse on Phoenix's wrist and did feel a very faint one. "Incorrigible."
Trying to keep himself calm, the prosecutor went over to the desk that had Phoenix's cell phone and cursed that it was locked. Who locks their cell phone in French?() Miles thought, reaching in his pocket for his cell phone which was not there. "Damn it," he cursed. "Andrea, can you get the phone off the charger and bring it here, please?"
He heard familiar barking and cursed. "Pesu, be quiet! It's almost 6 in the morning!" Yet the dog would not calm down, and that was unusual because Andrea would immediately give Pesu something to try to make him be quiet.
He was expecting an answer from the maid of the household, but was surprised that there was not an answer. "Andrea!" he yelled again, accented by a loud series of barking from Pesu. Then a growl, and then it was silent.
"Pesu? Andrea?" he called out shakily as he was now alert and ran out into the kitchen. When he did, he saw two things. He saw that his young housemaid was laying on the kitchen floor, where he stepped out of a few moments prior to meeting with his now comatose counterpart. However, she was laid in a odd position and blood was oozing on the floor, adding to the blood puddle that had drenched the young girls blond hair. "Andrea!" he yelled, trying to find out where the blood had been coming from.
As he went to reach over for the phone, his foot came into contact with something soft and sticky and realised that it was Pesu, crumpled up in a heap with a knife in his shoulder. The dog was still alive, but whimpering as Edgeworth moved his foot away from the dog. The first thing he thought of was to stroke the dog's head, reassuring him it would be fine, but then he reached for the phone that was in the charger beside the toaster and with shaky fingers, had called 911.
He was tempted to take the knife out of the dog's shoulder, but didn't want his fingerprints on the evidence.
"I need an ambulance!" Miles yelled as he panicked, faced with the possiblity of two dead people in his house.
"Calm down sir. We'll do all we can to help the situation. Now, what address should they come down to?" The woman on the phone was very calm, and was being rather friendly to someone who was in shock.
Miles stared at Andrea's form, which was still unmoving. Then he stared into the bedroom, where Phoenix was still completely out of it. Miles . . . you have to remain calm. Trying to clear his head, he said, "908 Foysintha Street."
"And what is the reason for your call, sir?"
"Sir?" the woman pressed again.
"I have a defense attorney who is very sick and won't respond to anything and has hardly a pulse. He's been unresponsive, cold, and can't move."
"Alright, we'll be out right away." With that she hung up the phone.
Miles sighed in relief. Phoenix, I'll save you yet. Even if I can't save Andrea. Miles then remembered that he had to call the police and report the murder, and he dialed the only number he needed to, lucky that he had their personal cell phone number. Shaky fingers dialed the 10 digit number and he let it ring four times. As he was about to hang up, a voice answered.
"Mr. Edgeworth?"
"Gumshoe, I need you to come by my house," Miles said softly. "Now."
"I knew it! You got a--"
"One more word, Mr. Gumshoe, and I'll make your salary so low you'll be living off of noodles the rest of your life; and you'll have to come over the house to make them. This is not a social call!" Edgeworth roared into the phone. "My maid is dead and Wright is---almost dead. The ambulance are on their way for him, but--"
"I get it, Boss. We'll be over shortly. You know they'll have to take you in for questioning because you're the only one there."
Miles nodded. "I know. Just get over here now. Preferably in the next 10 minutes. And take Pesu with you so I know that my dog is fed--once she's out of the hospital I'm about to put him in. Someone stabbed my fucking dog." Miles hung up the phone abruptly and he walked back into the room Phoenix was in, shaking himself at the events that had transpired. He huddled against the wall, arms around his knees as he sat down and rocked back and forth, (a state which he allowed no one to let them see him in) and let silent tears run down his face as he gazed at Phoenix, who's face was ghostly white.
Clearly someone was trying to come after one of us---but was it me, or Phoenix? Edgeworth thought silently. No matter. They made it my personal matter and I will get to the bottom of this---no matter what it takes.
() my fiancée has his phone locked in French, and has it programmed to the language.