I think it's high time for an OBJECTION!
[SPOILERS for the first three Phoenix Wright games are imminent!]
Miles Edgeworth was not a man very familiar with the concept of fear, although he knew anguish and bitterness rather intimately. Oh, earthquakes made him shiver and shake, but that was the only sure method of familiarizing him with fright; otherwise, he was fairly untouchable. When he received the call from Larry concerning Wright's dive from a bridge that was currently burnt to a crisp, it took him some time to realize he was afraid for the other man's safety. Worry, a more recognizable concept, furrowed his brow as he folded the fax he'd requested and picked up his phone to dial the local airport's terminal. Voice calm even as the rest of him twisted, he went through the motions of chartering (and then threatening until he received) a private flight. All the while, his free hand was shaking until he eventually used it to clench the very edge of his desk, knuckles turning white at the strain. Bile rose in his throat, but he swallowed it back down along with any nausea. Hanging up the phone's receiver, he pulled on his blazer, fixing his cravat above it before pulling on his trench coat.
"At least it wasn't Franziska," he murmured, sure that she was not as likely to live through just about anything. Phoenix, he reasoned, would doubtlessly be fine; the man was unbeatable in or out of the courtroom. Yet, even as he confirmed such details, the back of his mind was spinning darker webs. What if… ? Miles hurried out as soon as he was in full attire, barely remembering to lock the front door behind him as he nearly jogged to the garage. One hand skimmed the sports car's hood as he rushed to the driver side door, jamming the proper key into the slot sharply. "At least it wasn't…"
Settling onto the leather-clad seat offered him a little comfort, but it was minuscule in the face of his apprehension. "At least it wasn't…"
And he adjusted his rearview mirror as he waited the painstaking seconds it took for the garage door to open. The car started with a whimsical purr and moved backwards in a jolt of pure power. Paying for the vehicle with his inheritance and profession hadn't been difficult, but it would have been a mere dream for lesser men. For once, though, Miles didn't have time to be pleasantly smug or appreciative of his mode of transportation of choice's willfulness to break the speed limit at the drop of a dime. All he could think as he sped down road after road was that if Phoenix Wright was paralyzed or dead, what was the point in being a prosecutor at all? What was the point of being Miles Edgeworth without his-his… would it be all right to consider the man a friend? Was it time for that sort of commitment already?
"At least…" He arrived at the airport in due time, hair and clothing impeccable as though he wasn't taking such long strides simply to hide the fact he wanted to run. At that time of night, the terminal was nearly deserted but for the most dedicated of businessmen, and thus it was not difficult to offer up his passport and accept his receipt (the line was moving quickly and there were only so many people in it). Moving through metal detectors, telling the policemen that he really didn't have any baggage, waiting for his flight to be fully prepared-it was all painful in a way he didn't really want to examine. If a trial were to take place in his head on whether or not he cared about his maybe-friend's condition-well. Miles had hoped never to be the one receiving a guilty verdict. Eventually (which felt like finally), he was given leave to walk out onto the flight grounds and up to a ramp that led straight into the jet he'd requested.
"At least…" As he settled into his seat, snapping on his seatbelt before the little light could even be illuminated, he continually wondered how to finish that sentence. If not his sister, who else was worse than Phoenix being hurt? And did he even care about Franziska's physical safety more than his rival's (considering how often she wielded that whip)? Perhaps it would be wise to begin dating again or even leaving his office for events other than sleeping if the consequence was being scared of Phoenix being put in harm's way. "At least…"
The plane seemed to take forever to lift off, and by then Edgeworth was more than ready to spend the entire flight lamenting the fact he'd decided to continue his studies in Europe. He idly waved at the flight attendant, "A scotch, please."
And as she prepared the drink, he shut his eyes and let out a stiff sigh. "At least I'm not..."
The sound of an ocean's steady lap against a sandy shore woke him from his moment of almost found serenity. When he opened his eyes, Miles Edgeworth was still in his plane seat, but he was no longer on a jet. With an almost inhuman amount of composure, he released the belt and picked up the shot glass, eying it suspicious. He did not remember even wetting his lips as of yet. "What in the world is going on?"
[ And so enters Miles Edgeworth. Spoilers for the first three games are going to come up around Miles as a general warning for his character. Would prefer to keep him away from canon puncture, but otherwise Miles' EP is completely open.]