Shadows Passing, Parts 9-12/20 [Phoenix/Edgeworth]
Title: Shadows Passing
Pairing: Phoenix/Edgeworth
Rating: PG
Summary: Written for the kink meme. The prompt: Post GS3 (like way after), Phoenix and Edgeworth meet up with each other (possibly in a new workplace or something), but neither of them recognize each other, and they don't talk so they never get the other's name. After a short while, the two of them fall for each other but don't want to admit it because each still feels dedicated to his old lover. Eventually one caves and so on...
Author's Notes: This is a bit of a long read, with twenty parts and over 22,000 words, so... yeah, just warning you. Finding a reason as to why they wouldn't recognize each other was extremely difficult and ends up being the crux of the story. Also, I got a lot of inspiration from the movie Memento; if you haven't seen it, basically there's a color sequence and a black-and-white sequence that alternate throughout the movie. One sequence goes forward in time while the other goes backwards. Keep that in mind for the flashbacks. 1-4 spoilers; disregards the events of Apollo Justice.
FF.N Link (if you are so inclined): http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4184728/1/Shadows_Passing
Parts 1-4 | Parts 5-8 | Parts 9-12 | Parts 13-16 | Parts 17-20
Edgeworth, Part 5
“Can I come to your school?” Beckett asks one day.
Edgeworth frowns a little, confused. “Why would you want to do that? My next few lectures are about the judicial branch. I assume you don’t have much of an interest in the subject.”
“Oh, er, not for you,” the other replies, a little awkwardly. “I… just wanted to look at the yearbooks.”
He raises an eyebrow. “The yearbooks?”
Beckett shrugs, looking slightly sheepish. “I came here looking for something. I think the yearbooks might help in finding it.”
“Are you searching for a person?” He leans in closer, genuinely interested. This is the first time Beckett has mentioned his reason for coming to D.C. “If you tell me his name, I can look him up for you.”
“I…” He shakes his head. “I don’t have a name.”
“Ah.” Edgeworth sits back again. “Well… if this is important to you, then certainly. Meet me here tomorrow morning at seven. I’ll drive you there.” He can’t understand why looking in old yearbooks will help, but maybe if he indulges Beckett he’ll learn a little more.
And so the next day finds the two of them standing in front of the café at the planned time. Though the sky is still dark, he notices that the other man is wearing the sunglasses anyway. “There’s barely any light,” he points out, hoping that maybe he’ll take them off.
“Headlights can be bright,” Beckett replies cheerfully.
Edgeworth sighs inwardly, but says nothing. They get into his car, with him warning the other very clearly to not touch anything, and drive to the high school, where he obtains a visitor’s pass for Beckett.
“Try not to look too suspicious,” he tells the other man as he leads him to the library, motioning toward the sunglasses. Beckett grins in return. After promising he’ll pick him up at the end of the day, Edgeworth leaves him to his own devices and heads for his first class.
On the way there he begins to realize that maybe he doesn’t want Beckett to find this other man after all, because he’s selfish and doesn’t want to share. But he’s also aware that anything more than friendship with this man shouldn’t-couldn’t-happen. Not only because of the guilt, but because he’s terrified that even in his new life, someone will come and try to destroy him.
Just like with Phoenix.
-
“Yours, yours, mine, yours,” Phoenix mumbled as he tossed Edgeworth his mail. “Why do you get so many more letters than me?”
“I suspect it has something to do with the fact that I’m paying the bills.”
“Oh. Right.” He gave him a sheepish grin.
Edgeworth looked down at the small pile in front of him. An envelope attached to a box covered in hearts-that would be from Oldbag, of course; electricity bills; something with a return address but no name-
No. It couldn’t be. A third letter.
“I’m going to the study,” he announced, scooping up the mail and walking out as quickly as he could, barely aware of Phoenix’s absent nodding. When he got there, he threw the other envelopes onto the table and tore open the one from the mysterious sender.
Oh, God.
I think it would be very unfortunate if something were to happen to Phoenix Wright in your own home.
He read through it again and again, trying not to believe it. And as he stared at it, he realized there was something there that hadn’t been present in the first two letters: the “I”. It was very ornate, very distinct. And he knew exactly who it belonged to.
It was so obvious, now that he thought about it. Von Karma had killed his father over a penalty. Of course he would do the same, if not worse, to Phoenix-and if he toyed with Edgeworth in the meanwhile, that just made it better.
“Papa,” he murmured, and regretted it instantly. This wasn’t the time to be calling him that. Christ, what had he been thinking? That just because von Karma had raised him, he’d ignore the fact that Edgeworth was now living with the man who had put him in jail?
Think about what he will do, he told himself. Von Karma clearly still had connections to the outside world, even if he was locked up. And he would use them to accomplish… what?
To cause pain to Edgeworth. The man was a perfectionist, after all, and he wouldn’t care for a son who had thrown away that perfection.
And he would also render Phoenix incapable of being a defense lawyer any longer. It wasn’t necessarily his death he was after. He would want to see the man utterly broken and purposeless.
Though killing him wasn’t out of the question. Von Karma would do that, he realized, if he knew Edgeworth would be there to see it happen.
Run away with me, he wanted to tell Phoenix. But he couldn’t ask him to leave everything behind: his home, his job, his friends. And it would be too conspicuous, anyway-two attorneys suddenly disappearing into thin air. It would just make Manfred even more determined.
He could go to the police. He had his own connections, after all. But even though he had grown rather fond of Gumshoe, he knew their competency left a lot to be desired: they’d be brushed away like leaves. No good.
And so he made his choice. If he faked his death, Phoenix would be crushed: certainly that would satisfy von Karma, as much as he hated to think it. But the important part was that his life would no longer be in danger. He would only kill if Edgeworth were alive to see it, just as he had killed his father and allowed him to think that he was the murderer for fifteen years.
It would be leaving Phoenix that would be difficult. But if he stayed with him, the other man would certainly die. And it would be on his hands.
He refolded the letter, then pulled open a drawer and took out a small picture frame, sticking the piece of paper into the back along with the other two. As he made to tuck it into his desk again, he looked at what was framed: it was the sketch of himself that Phoenix had drawn.
He ran one finger over the glass slowly before putting it away, wishing as he did so that he could just hide his emotions in a drawer as well: how much easier life had been, when nothing mattered but getting that guilty verdict.
Easier, but also so much emptier.
Sighing, he returned to the kitchen, where Phoenix was going through a box of candies as if he hadn’t eaten in days. How would he live without him, this man who could have chocolate smeared all over his face and fingers but still somehow be so perfect?
“Seriously, Oldbag’s nuts, but you really need to try these,” Phoenix said, turning to face Edgeworth. “What-what are you looking at?”
“You,” he responded honestly, surprised at the calm in his voice despite the decision he had just made.
The other man cocked one eyebrow. “I bet you’re actually dying to have a chocolate except you’re too stubborn to accept anything from her. But if you’re not going to confess, I’m eating the rest.” And he stuck another piece into his mouth.
Edgeworth knew the answer. He wouldn’t be able to live without him. He’d walk around with a hole in his heart for the rest of his life.
“Miles?”
“Hmm?”
“You all right?”
He didn’t know exactly how to answer. “I… just want to be able to watch you forever,” he said finally.
“Creepy,” Phoenix replied, but he was smiling. “I love you too.”
The things I’m about to do to you, he thought, and in that moment, his heart broke.
---
Phoenix, Part 5
He doesn’t quite divulge everything in his explanation to Evan. Yes, he has gone through yearbooks in the past, but that was because he knew what he was searching for. He doesn’t know anymore, though, so looking at them is essentially a useless task. But he hasn’t let slip his memory issues yet, and he doesn’t plan on doing so anytime soon.
He does, of course, have a reason for wanting to go to his school. Officially, it’s to jog his memory-if he’s been spending a lot of time school-hopping, maybe the familiar setting will make some synapses connect.
Unofficially, it’s to learn more about Evan.
He succeeds in this venture. The high school he teaches at is called Benjamin Banneker. The vehicle he drives is a blue sports car-the same make, he notes with curiosity, as the red one he had before he dumped it on the streets. The attitude he has while driving is one of a man who probably doesn’t usually let people who look like hobos sit in his car.
He smiles a little to himself as he considers what it means for Evan to have let him sit here after all.
And then, of course, he remembers Miles Edgeworth, and the smile is replaced with pursed lips.
After being left in the library, he makes his way to the yearbooks and idly flips through them for the hell of it, wondering if maybe a face will magically jump out at him. No such thing happens.
Meanwhile, though, he discovers that Evan has been teaching here for almost three years. He’s also incredibly popular-“Mr. Morgan’s a hard grader, but he comes up with the most creative ways to make sure we learn the concepts and he’s just so snarky,” one girl gushes in a caption. The most recent yearbook mentions a couple of students submitting his name to some sort of national teaching award. He wonders if anything ever came of that.
Almost immediately after, he gets the feeling that he’s missing something.
But he can’t focus on it because it just has to be right now that he remembers a little more about his past.
-
Awareness returned suddenly.
One second he was mechanically pouring a cup of coffee for himself, uncaring and emotionless. The next, his head was spinning as one thought made itself very clear in his mind.
Edgeworth isn’t dead and so you have to find him.
He spilled the coffee everywhere in shock. It had, he felt, been a very long time since he had really thought anything. Since he had had a purpose.
How long had the back of his mind been working before presenting him with this idea? Why had it taken all this time? As the reasons for this epiphany presented themselves to him, he couldn’t help but feel that this was so obvious. Of course Miles wasn’t dead. Of course he had to find him.
Because after his disappearance following the resolution of DL-6, he would never have considered suicide again.
Because even though they had retrieved his magenta jacket from the river, they never found his body.
And because he himself knew that he would never rest until he found out the truth behind everything.
That was it, then. He was going to have to do this.
He looked around, taking in his surroundings properly for what seemed like the first time in ages. Where was he?
Right. Edgeworth’s house. His house.
There was a huge pile of mail on the table, but it appeared as though aside from the bills, he had opened none of them. Another large stack of assorted items-consolation gifts, he guessed-also remained untouched. His answering machine, which was flashing insistently, told him that there were over a hundred new messages. Christ.
He tried to remember what had happened in the last few days?-weeks?-months? It wasn’t hard, because he hadn’t done anything. He had been awake, but not conscious.
The law office was closed. Maya was gone. His life was a shambles.
Search him out.
He found himself being almost magnetically drawn to the keys to Miles’ red sports car lying on the kitchen counter, untouched since Edgeworth had left. He didn’t have a license, but he knew how to drive, if not well. He could use these. He could take the car and roam the country.
His hand closed over them.
It was the plan of a foolish fool who was so foolish he couldn’t let go of a foolish past, he thought with a tight smile, but it was better than continuing with this broken life.
His decision was made.
First he went to the bank-managing to somehow drive into the sidewalk on his way there-and withdrew as much money as he could, then tossed all his identification into the trash as he left. He didn’t want to be himself anymore. It hurt too much.
And so he drove off with nothing more than the clothes on his back and a wad of cash. Later, in the next city, he would discover Miles’ suicide note neatly folded in one pocket. Apparently he had kept it close to him at all times. It seemed fitting, somehow, that he would bring it with him. This way, he’d never forget what he was out here for.
Sometime after that he would begin a list with leads he gleaned from reading the newspapers and watching TV. None of them ever panned out.
Until, over a year and a half later, he learned that a woman in Seattle had won a teaching award.
---
Edgeworth, Part 6
Beckett seems thoughtful, if a bit out of sorts, when they return to the café. This combination, Edgeworth learns, makes him rather talkative.
“I guess I wasn’t really expecting to find anything,” he mumbles, sipping at his coffee. “He-he made himself difficult to locate. I was hoping to get lucky.”
“By looking through the yearbooks at my school?”
Beckett shakes his head, refusing to give an answer. All right, maybe not that talkative.
Edgeworth tries a different tack, knowing that if he’s going to discover anything about the man, it’s now. “Why are you looking for him?” he prods.
The other idly stirs his drink. “He was… my life,” he replies carefully. “And then he left. I-I became completely lost. I guess I still am.”
With those words, he suddenly feels more connected to Beckett now than he ever has, finding himself torn between comforting him and thinking about his own relationship with Phoenix. He settles for awkwardly placing one hand on the table. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs.
Beckett doesn’t respond, but his gaze lands on one of his fingers. “Nice ring,” he says unexpectedly. “Story behind it?”
Edgeworth realizes that he’s trying to change the topic. But, he supposes, it’s only fair that he share something about himself now.
He looks down at the band of silver. “Yes,” he sighs. “There was someone in my life as well. He gave this to me. When we… separated, it was… well, I assume you can imagine.”
Beckett’s hand jerks almost imperceptibly, as though it’s motioning to take Edgeworth’s own, but in the end, it remains curled around his mug. “Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows,” he says instead.
“Hmm?”
“Sorry. It’s from The Tempest. Th-the quote just seemed appropriate for the two of us.”
Edgeworth smiles thinly. “You and I? Strange bedfellows, indeed.”
An awkward silence follows as he-and Beckett, he’s sure-consider the quote literally. It isn’t as though it’s never crossed his mind. But the loyalty he feels to a man he hasn’t seen in three years keeps on stopping him from turning thoughts into actions.
As well it should. He turns his eyes back to the ring to remind himself just how much that man means to him, remembering when Phoenix had proposed, so close to the end.
He has never quite decided if it was the happiest or the saddest moment of his life.
-
Phoenix froze like a deer caught in headlights when Edgeworth opened the door to find him taking a baking pan out of the oven. “Y-you’re home early,” he gasped.
“Yes, it would appear that way,” he replied wryly. “I can leave if you’d like.”
“No, no, don’t do that! I’m, um, almost done. Hold on, this is hot.” He set the pan onto the stove and took off the oven mitts. “Everything was supposed to be laid out on the table by the time you got back,” he explained with a small smile. “It’s not exactly often that you break away from your schedule.”
And it wasn’t often that Phoenix went domestic. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
“Oh, nothing,” he said, grinning happily, and while he could bluff convincingly at any other time, he seemed too excited now for Edgeworth to believe him. “Give me five more minutes to set up, then we can eat.”
He came through with his promise. Edgeworth actually found himself genuinely impressed by the aesthetic way he laid out everything on the table, but the man was an artist, after all.
Phoenix appeared by his side and gave an exaggerated bow. “Please, sit down,” he said, flashing him a smile before sliding into the seat across from him. “Okay, so I lied. I actually do have something to tell you.” His face was suddenly serious. “I-I realized today that I’m good at criminal law.” He paused and looked at him expectantly.
Edgeworth nearly choked on the wine he was sipping. “That’s what you wanted to say to me?”
“Hold it,” Phoenix interrupted, and he was smirking now. “I know criminal law, but not, for example, social law. So certain things become a little difficult when you’re kind of clueless about it. Take us, for example. Let’s say I wanted to marry you. But can I? What does the law say about two men and a legally binding agreement? I didn’t know.”
He stared at Phoenix, not trusting himself to answer. Was he… was he really…?
“So I did some research. According to the law, we’re not allowed to marry per se. Whatever we do won’t be recognized by the federal government. But then I thought, I don’t really give a damn about the federal government. There’s only one definition of marriage I care about. And that is to vow to spend the rest of my life with you.”
He came to Edgeworth’s side of the table and got down on one knee as he pulled something from his pocket. “So, Miles,” he said. “You-you’re kind of the world to me. Ever since that day you stood up for me in fourth grade. I mean, you’re pretty much the reason I turned out the way I did. And I don’t regret it…”
As Phoenix continued, Edgeworth found himself being pelted with conflicting emotions. He knew what was coming, and yet he didn’t know how to answer. Half of him was screaming accept, accept, but the other half was telling him that no, he couldn’t agree; it would make the blow to Phoenix all the more painful when he finally left. This was what he had always wanted, but… Christ, what was he supposed to say?
“…So will you do this, Miles? Will you spend the rest of your life with me?”
Yes, said his heart.
No, said his brain.
He looked into Phoenix’s eyes, wide and blue, then down at the box he was holding, which had a silver ring nested inside. He couldn’t. He couldn’t.
“Yes,” he breathed.
Oh, God, he was so selfish.
“R-really?” Phoenix was suddenly all over him, slipping the ring onto his finger while trying to kiss him sloppily at the same time. And as he closed his eyes and took it all in, listening to him laughing in between whispers of “I love you, Miles,” he could almost forget the deceit he was planning.
Almost, almost forget.
---
Phoenix, Part 6
There is definitely something palpable between them.
When Evan tells him that he, too, has lost someone he cared about, he can feel his heart reaching out to him. He wants to take his hand-which is just lying there-and tell him something funny but serious at the same time, like so I guess we’re in this together. And then he wants to hold him and comfort him and say something along the lines of how it’ll be okay because well, they have each other now, kind of, and they don’t need the other people anymore.
He is a little shocked at his thoughts.
Even so, though, he keeps his hands firmly wrapped around his cup of coffee, because while he doesn’t know about Evan, he thinks that he still might need Miles Edgeworth after all, if only to find out the truth. And so he ends up quoting The Tempest instead, which ends up makes things strange and awkward because he just has to use the word bedfellows.
After a few seconds of silence, he clears his throat, making Evan’s eyes snap up and look into his own.
Yes, he needs Miles. But it’s becoming increasingly clear that he needs Evan as well, and he is no longer certain that he stop himself from acting on it. And just because he has stalled in his search doesn’t mean he shouldn’t get on with the rest of his life.
The words slip out of his mouth before he can stop them.
“So I haven’t seen much of the city yet. Do-do you want to maybe show me around the National Mall sometime?”
For a second, he’s sure the other man is going to say no. A multitude of expressions he can’t make out flash across his face. But then-
“I’d like that,” Evan replies quietly.
He finds himself completely taken aback. “R-really?” he squawks in return.
A smirk appears on the other’s face, and he finds himself relieved that they seem to have passed the previous awkward moment. “No, I was lying. Honestly, Beckett. You remind me so much of… someone I knew.” Evan takes a breath as if to say more, but he stops himself.
He gives him a small smile, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Evan murmurs, and there is something wistful in his voice.
The wistfulness reminds him of his own situation, and he can’t help but wonder if Edgeworth, wherever in the city he may be, is fine right now.
-
He was curled up in bed, clutching the note to himself, when his phone rang. Edgeworth, he thought desperately, and made a wild fumble for his cell. But the caller ID said otherwise.
“Hello?” he rasped, choking over the word.
“Hey, pal, it’s Gumshoe. Listen, do-do you know where Mr. Edgeworth is?”
A shudder went through him. “Why are you asking me this?” he whispered, surprised at the fury behind his voice.
“Whoa, there! Look, I just wanted to know because-because we found something. You might… want to come over.”
And so as much as he didn’t want to go anywhere or see anyone at the moment, he found himself at the precinct thirty minutes later, facing an extremely worried detective who showed him a very wet and very magenta jacket. Edgeworth’s.
“Someone found this floating down the San Gabriel River today,” Gumshoe told him. “It’s pretty obvious who this belongs to. And… we have a taxi driver who says he drove him there at midnight.” He scratched his head. “So… we’re not quite sure what to make of this.”
At the end of their confrontation, Edgeworth had left in a taxi…
He reached into his pocket and produced the note, trying to fit the pieces together in his head. “A-all I have is this.”
They looked at each other and came to the same realization at the same time.
“He meant it metaphorically,” he nearly shouted, as if that would somehow make it better. “Like last time. He-he didn’t actually…”
“I’m sorry, pal,” Gumshoe said, looking shaken. “But it looks like he’s… killed himself.”
Something inside him snapped.
He rode back home in a daze and spent the next few hours staring blankly at the wall. Miles. Suicide. It couldn’t be.
But they had found his jacket. And he had written that note.
Why had he bothered saying all those things to him, then? Why had he insisted on breaking his heart so thoroughly before jumping into the river?
He’d never know, because Edgeworth was dead.
And as the weeks passed and nothing to the contrary was found, he found himself slipping into a state of apathy. Maya, Pearls, Gumshoe, others-they all tried to offer him consolation. Sometimes they came to his house, knocking for minutes-even hours-before they gave up, defeated. Sometimes they sent him comfort foods and gift baskets. Sometimes they left him voice messages telling him that they missed Edgeworth too, but together they’d get through this. He ignored every single one of them.
He closed up the law offices almost immediately. Miles had given him a reason to be a lawyer. He had also taken it away. Mia would have been so disappointed-but she was dead, too, so why should he give a damn?
He never let go of the note. Horrible though it was, the piece of paper was the only thing Edgeworth had left him. It was under his pillow when he slept and in one pocket when he was awake. The message was burned into his memory.
His life quickly became nothing but habit as he did nothing but the bare minimum to keep himself alive. He woke up, showered, shaved, ate, paid the bills if necessary, and stared at the walls before going to sleep and repeating the process the next day. It didn’t matter what became of him. He was nothing without Edgeworth. He didn’t want to be anything without Edgeworth.
After a while, the knocking stopped. The phone calls came less frequently. Maya, he knew, was training to become Master of Kurain. And the others had moved on, leaving him behind with his memories and his misery. He did nothing to change this.
Almost an entire year would pass before he finally cared again.
---
Parts 1-4 | Parts 5-8 | Parts 9-12 | Parts 13-16 | Parts 17-20