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When he woke up, he didn't know where he was.
He decided that was more or less fine, because he also didn't know who he was.
A quick survey of the room in which he awoke (it was quite nice, tastefully arranged in shades of light red) produced a whole closet full of clothes his size, along with a wallet containing no less than three pieces of identification with his picture on them. If he was going to wake up with amnesia, which he had apparently done, he seemed to have picked the best possible place to do it.
So. He was Miles Gregory Edgeworth, then. It was quite a strong name, he thought. There were definitely worse things to be called.
Miles Gregory Edgeworth went downstairs. After a few false starts, he found himself in the kitchen. He felt a peculiar swelling of feeling, something like pride and love, when he looked at the teapot on the counter. He took it as a sign, brewing himself a large pot of tea. These emotions were quite handy; they steered him to a breakfast of oatmeal with strawberries, which was apparently his favorite, since he felt a sense of complete peace and satisfaction upon eating it.
Quite suddenly, there was a knock at the kitchen door. He had a moment's blind panic- who was it? Were they expecting to see him when the door was opened? What if they wanted something from him? The unseen visitor knocked again, this time a little louder. Miles Gregory Edgeworth shook his head. What if it was one of his friends? He'd only known who he was for half an hour. It was a terrible time to start making enemies.
Leaving his oatmeal, he walked to the door.
When he opened the door, he very nearly fell over from the force of the emotions that overcame him. The man was a bit shorter than him, dressed in a cheap suit that was going shiny from too much ironing (he was surprised to learn that he had a strong opinion about the care and maintenance of fine menswear). Miles Gregory Edgeworth found him very handsome, in an off-beat sort of way. Nothing about him, however, explained all the overwhelming feelings he suddenly found himself saddled with- profound annoyance, deepest gratitude, a sense of camaraderie, and an intense, specific, graphic desire to do very inappropriate things to him. There was something very strong running underneath all of it that he couldn't quite place- was it love?
"You're not dressed yet?" the man asked, seeming confused. He looked down; apparently it surprised the man to find him standing around the kitchen wearing only boxers and a very suspicious blush.
"I got a late start?" Miles Gregory Edgeworth tried.
"You said you'd drive me to work today," the man prompted. So, he had a car and a job- things were looking up.
"I just need to change," he replied, motioning for him to come in. "Would you like some oatmeal?"
The man got a very concerned look on his face, and Miles Gregory Edgeworth was worried for a moment. Did the man not like oatmeal? Had he never been in this kitchen before? The man stepped in, at any rate, so Miles Gregory Edgeworth left him to his own devices, going back upstairs to change.
He looked in his closet. The tuxedo, he decided, was too formal, the sweaters, too casual. He settled on a sort of mid-range outfit, a suit much the same color as his bedroom with a black waistcoat. There was some sort of frilly collar that seemed to go with the ensemble, but he decided against it. It was probably too fancy for what seemed like a normal day at the office.
There was a matching briefcase and a set of keys by the dresser; Miles Gregory Edgeworth was very pleased at his apparent sense of efficiency.
"Are you ready?" he asked the man in his kitchen, who was devouring the last of the oatmeal. He nodded, wiping his mouth on a paper towel. It was then that Miles Gregory Edgeworth realized that he had absolutely no idea where he worked or how to get there. "Would you mind driving today?" he asked, holding out his keys and trying to think of an excuse. "I have a headache."
This was apparently more shocking than anything that had come before. "Really?" the man asked, in a scandalized voice.
"Why not?" he replied, trying to keep his voice light. The man eagerly snatched the keys from his outstretched hand.
Fifteen hair-raising minutes later, the man cornered hard into a parking space in front of an unimpressive office building, the tires squealing in protest. Unclenching his hand from the door frame, Miles Gregory Edgeworth vowed that no one else would touch his car ever again.
He climbed shakily out of the passenger's seat, taking his keys back from the man. He grabbed his briefcase and locked the doors, intending to follow the man into the office. Unfortunately, the man stopped short in front of the door, rounding on him.
"Edgeworth, where are you going?" he asked.
"To work?" he replied, hoping it didn’t sound too much like a question.
"I think maybe you better come inside," he told him, sounding concerned.
"That's what I was trying to do," Miles Gregory Edgeworth snapped.
He followed the man up the stairs (he was about to ask why they didn't just take the elevator, but something about that thought turned his stomach). They stopped in front of an unassuming glass door; it announced that these were the law offices of Fey and Co. It looked as if someone had started trying to scrape off the first word, but had given it up as a bad job.
"Maya, are you here?" the man called as he opened the door, and he could faintly hear a woman answer. The man led him in, sitting him down on the couch.
"Really, it's just a headache," he protested, but the man was insistent.
They were joined by a woman wearing what Miles Gregory Edgeworth recognized as terribly odd clothing. The man didn't seem to see anything strange about it, though. "Call the doctor," he told her. "I think something's wrong with Edgeworth."
"He looks fine," the girl, apparently Maya, said, looking him over critically.
"I think he's got amnesia," the man said, gravely.
"This is ridiculous," Miles Gregory Edgeworth protested. "My name is Miles Gregory Edgeworth. This young lady," he indicated the girl in the weird clothes, "is Maya Fey." She smiled; he was apparently right on the money.
"Edgeworth, what's my name?" the man asked.
Miles Gregory Edgeworth (maybe it was just Edgeworth, that seemed to be what everyone called him) looked around for some kind of clue. "Mister Fey?" he tried, which sent Maya into convulsive giggles.
"We're taking you to the doctor," he insisted.
In the waiting room, the man who called himself Phoenix (it was an awfully silly name, but Edgeworth had decided that he liked the sound of it) insisted on putting his fingers all through Edgeworth's hair, intent on finding any bump or swelling to explain his sudden lack of memory. It felt so very nice, but he kept swatting his hands away, feeling embarrassed.
"I'll be fine, Phoenix," he said, catching his hands again. "Let the doctor sort it out."
Phoenix gave him a funny sort of smile. "You never call me that."
Edgeworth didn't know if he'd made some grave error. "Should I call you something else?"
There was that smile again (it did unpleasant things to his insides). "No," Phoenix told him. "It's nice."
"Edgeworth?" the nurse called, and they stood up.
Phoenix insisted on accompanying him in to see the doctor. There wasn't much to be done or said- the doctor ordered tests for toxins and trauma, and he was advised to stay in familiar surroundings and avoid hitting his head on anything (as if he hadn't planned on that already).
"Do you want me to call your office?" Phoenix asked. "Hannah sounded like she was going to fall over when I told them you were sick this morning-"
"No!" he shouted, a gut reaction, startling Phoenix. "No, no, that's okay. I really don't think anyone should know, not at least until there's some explanation."
The other man shrugged. "It's your call. You can always just tell them you have the flu."
He paused as he walked out of the doctor's office, temporarily blinded by the sun. "Are you okay?" Phoenix was quick to ask, putting out a hand to steady him.
Edgeworth felt a smile come over his face. The pieces were all starting to fall into place- the way Phoenix looked at him, how solicitous and concerned he was, the deep emotions that Edgeworth felt every time he looked at him. It was all so simple that he was surprised he didn't realize it sooner.
Edgeworth slipped his hand into Phoenix's. "Thank you for taking care of me," he told him, brushing his lips against the other man's cheek. "You're the best boyfriend anyone could hope for."
The expression on Phoenix's face wasn't quite the one he'd been hoping for.
"I'm not your boyfriend," Phoenix told him, after a series of false starts.
Edgeworth surreptitiously checked his hands. "Are we married?" A horrible thought crossed his mind. "Oh god, we're not related, are we?" Phoenix was still incoherent, so Edgeworth went on. "It's just that you've been so nice to me, and, well, I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you, so I just put two and two together-"
"What was that last thing?" the other man said, cutting him off.
"I love you," Edgeworth replied, as if it was a matter of course. "I'm certain I must have mentioned it before." This was getting awfully embarrassing.
"We're not dating," Phoenix told him. "Things are," he fumbled for a word, "kinda complicated between us."
Edgeworth sighed. "Seems simple enough to me," he said, voice heavy with sarcasm. "We are related, aren't we? This is going to make family reunions very-"
Phoenix cut him off, kissing him. This was a bit more like it, Edgeworth thought to himself, wrapping his arms around him.
"Let's go home," Phoenix said, breathless.
"I'm driving," Edgeworth told him, taking him by the hand.
If Phoenix had known it was going to be like this, he'd have started doing it long, long ago. Edgeworth knelt over him, sucking him like he meant it, his hair falling down around his face. When he'd imagined this (and he had, with regularity that had been starting to alarm him), he'd always pictured Edgeworth as reluctant and cold, just like he always was, but he was rapidly proving to be nothing of the kind.
He sat back on his haunches, and Phoenix practically whimpered in frustration. "We need-" Edgeworth stammered, flustered, making vague sorts of hand motions. "Unless you-"
Phoenix groped wildly for his nightstand, opening the drawer and pulling out a tube of lubricant. "Be my guest," he said, for lack of anything more appropriate, passing it to Edgeworth.
He groaned in pleasure as Edgeworth slid two slippery fingers into him, widening him slowly. For a man with no memories, he had some pretty clear recollections of what to do in this situation, and Phoenix thanked god for that.
He covered Phoenix's body with his own, kissing his neck as he pushed in, and Phoenix couldn't hold back a loud moan. The sound seemed to drive Edgeworth on; he slipped in deeper, rocking slowly above him.
Painfully quickly, Phoenix could feel himself getting close to losing control. Edgeworth seemed to know his thoughts, thrusting harder and faster, until Phoenix gave in completely, spending himself. Edgeworth wasn't far behind him, resting bonelessly against him for a moment before settling in beside him.
With great reluctance, Phoenix dragged himself to the bathroom. By the time he returned, Edgeworth had dropped into a light sleep, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. He wasn't surprised; it had been a very long, very eventful day.
If you'd asked him if he'd been expecting it when he woke up, he probably would have laughed until he hurt himself. He'd seen sides of Edgeworth (and parts of Edgeworth, if you wanted to get technical) that he never knew existed before. His heart felt like it was full to bursting.
It was all marred by the fact that he couldn't help feeling that it wasn't really Edgeworth. If he had to be Phineas Gaged into submission before he could ever admit his real feelings, did he really feel that way at all? And he couldn't shake the thought that he was somehow taking advantage of Edgeworth's state. He didn't want to even imagine what he was going to say when he got his memories back.
Phoenix kissed the sleeping man's brow, cuddling in close to him. There was no point in worrying about it now, he supposed, drifting off to sleep.
Edgeworth awoke rather abruptly to the sound of frantic knocking on his front door. He managed to pull on a robe and stumble blearily down the stairs.
There was a very large man at the door, who looked quite unhappy to see him. "Good evening," he said muzzily, "Officer," he added, noticing the man's badge.
The man's shoulders slumped. "That's just cold, pal, especially when I came by just to help you out."
Edgeworth waved a dismissive hand. "I didn't mean anything by it. Do you want to come in?"
He shook his head. "I can't stay. I just came by to show you this." He thrust a newspaper into Edgeworth's hands.
"I didn't know newspapers still had evening editions," he said, looking it over.
He made a noise of impatience, flipping it over for him. In the middle of the page was a picture, seemingly from that morning, of himself and Phoenix holding hands. There was a smaller, blurry inset picture that looked like it might be the two of them embracing.
"You didn't have to lie and say you were sick, pal," the man said, sounding disappointed in him.
"I was sick," he told him. "Look, it says 'Hotti Clinic' right there on the building."
There was a noise behind him; Edgeworth turned to see Phoenix coming down the stairs. "We're in the paper," he called to him.
Phoenix turned a very interesting shade of pink and rushed over to take the tabloid from his hands. "It can't be-" he skimmed the paper. "I can't believe Lotta-" He made various noises of incoherent rage. "Has anyone else seen this?" he asked the man, in hushed tones.
He looked down, seeming embarrassed. "It's bad, pal."
Edgeworth sighed. "I'm missing something here." The big man and Phoenix both looked at him like he'd grown three heads. "What?"
The man gave Phoenix a concerned look. "He's not well right now," Phoenix told him.
He shook his head. "I've got to run, pal. I just wanted to warn you."
Phoenix thanked the man profusely, shutting the door when he had gone. "That was Detective Gumshoe," he explained. "You're his boss."
"Phoenix, why are we in the paper?" he asked with a sigh. "Why is what lawyers do suddenly interesting to the tabloid press?"
"You're not just a lawyer," Phoenix told him. "You're a prosecutor. A famous prosecutor. They used to call you the Demon."
Edgeworth crossed his arms, feeling annoyed. "I still don't see why I made the front page."
"You used to have a perfect win record," Phoenix continued, blushing, "until you met me. I'm your biggest rival. It's a big deal. I've heard people even write about it on the internet."
He pursed his lips. "You should have told me sooner. I do have a professional reputation to uphold, even if I can't remember what it is." Phoenix had the oddest expression on his face. "What's that look for?" he asked with a sigh.
He smiled sadly. "For a second there, you sounded like your old self again."
Edgeworth didn't know how to respond.
"I'll just go," Phoenix said, turning back for the stairs.
Sighing, Edgeworth caught him by the hand, pulling him back. "Don’t be ridiculous," he told him. He tried and failed to say something reassuring before giving it up and pulling Phoenix into a hug.
"I have a trial," Phoenix said, reluctantly, checking the knot of his tie in the mirror. "Prosecutor Von Kar- your sister's going to be here soon to take you to the hospital."
"I have a sister?" Edgeworth asked, looking through the morning paper for the crossword puzzle.
Phoenix scratched the back of his head. "She's not your biological sister." He trailed off, looking somewhat embarrassed. "It's a long story."
Edgeworth didn't particularly like the sound of that, but he let it go for the moment. "What time will Franziska be here?"
Phoenix stared at him, looking much like a deer in headlights. "How did you know her name?"
"It was in my address book," he replied. "What, afraid I'm getting my memory back?"
"No," Phoenix responded, far too quickly.
Edgeworth caught him by the hand, pulling him down for a kiss. "Good luck," he told him.
Phoenix left for the courthouse, feeling like the luckiest and most cursed person in the world.
A young woman with shockingly blue hair turned up precisely at nine AM to collect Edgeworth. They were precisely thirty minutes early for the first of Edgeworth's appointments. After approximately an hour and a half of waiting, Franziska threw down her magazine in disgust.
"Faule Amerikaner," she muttered under her breath.
"I'm sorry?" Miles said automatically, before he realized he understood her. "Mein Gott, ich spreche Deutsch!"
"Don't show off, little brother," Franziska chided him.
Edgeworth decided that it was tactless to comment that she must be much older than she looked.
Fifteen more minutes slowly ticked by before Franziska's patience finally ran out. "I'm going to have a word with the staff," she told Edgeworth, standing up and stalking off to the nurses' station.
It was unclear to Edgeworth how what she was doing could be considered "having a word", as all he could hear from his seat was the sounds of a whip cracking.
Franziska returned to her seat, bowing with a little flourish before sitting down.
He eyed her suspiciously. "Did- did you just do what I think you did?"
She shrugged, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Speak softly and carry a long whip."
He was saved from having to respond from that by the shell-shocked nurse who came to escort him to his doctor.
Over the course of a very long morning, Edgeworth was thoroughly prodded, pricked, and poked by a stream of nurses, doctors, and technicians. Very senior looking men in very clean white coats came in to look at him very thoughtfully, before scratching their chins and going off for coffee. He was finally released into his sister's care, slightly sore but having been promised that they were working on it.
Franziska wasted no time in whisking him off for a late lunch. The place was terrifically fancy, and Edgeworth couldn't decide whether he was highly relieved or a little worried about the fact that the staff seemed to know an awful lot about him.
"Is that foolish fool Wright intent on staying with you?" she asked, over the salad.
"He's been very helpful," Edgeworth half-mumbled, not sure why he was suddenly feeling so defensive.
"You should send him away," she said nonchalantly, taking a bite of a tomato.
"No, thank you," he replied firmly, pushing his plate away.
"Listen to me, Miles Edgeworth," she told him, slapping her hand down on the table so hard that the dishes rattled. "Don't you see that this is your perfect chance? You can start a new life! You can erase the shame that you have brought to the von Karma name through your association with his foolish actions! But you have to get rid of that foolishly foolish fool and his foolish dream of a fool first!" As if to punctuate her statement, she cracked her whip over her head, holding it with both hands.
Edgeworth pursed his lips, looking down at the table, painfully aware that the other patrons were looking at them. "At least he knows how to use synonyms."
Franziska lowered her whip, giving him an unexpected smile. "You never change, Miles Edgeworth."
He shrugged, shaking his head. "I'm trying not to."
Phoenix was starting to worry about Edgeworth. He'd done pretty much nothing for the past three days except watch his Steel Samurai videos (with an alarming amount of glee).
"Shouldn't you be at work?" Phoenix asked as he started on a new season.
"Why should I be?" Edgeworth answered. "I’m in Germany for the foreseeable future."
Phoenix's eyes went wide. "You're what?"
"What good am I in court if I can't even identify my own staff?" he explained. "The only logical choice is to take a leave of absence. Then I'll have a perfectly good reason for not recognizing people or remembering procedure." He returned to his tapes, satisfied with his explanation.
Phoenix didn't really know how to combat it; it made a startling amount of sense, but it was so unlike him. "Yeah, but-"
Whatever Phoenix had been going to say was lost when Edgeworth's cell phone rang. He paused the VCR. "Miles Edgeworth," he answered.
Phoenix watched as Edgeworth's expression grew very serious. After a short, tense conversation, he hung up, standing and walking out of the room.
"What's wrong?" Phoenix asked.
"I have to go to the hospital," Edgeworth said, reaching for his jacket. "They've identified the cause of my problem. Some kind of drug," he explained, pulling it on and grabbing his car keys. "The doctors think they've found an antidote."
Phoenix tried not to feel like he'd just been stabbed in the stomach. He just seemed so intent, so ready to be himself again, and something about his eagerness made Phoenix feel sick. He tried not to think that not wanting the old Edgeworth back made him the lowest person on earth, but it didn't really work.
After Edgeworth had gone, Phoenix packed up his scattered possessions, just in case.
There was a knock on Prosecutor Edgeworth's door. "Enter," he said, looking up from his paperwork.
The door opened, and Phoenix slunk in, looking for all the world as if somebody had just shot his dog.
"I'm busy, Wright," Edgeworth snapped, going back to his work.
"I- I just came to see if you were okay," Phoenix stammered.
"I'm fine," he said, a little too quickly. "The treatment was a success."
"Do you know who-" Phoenix started.
"I'm investigating it," Edgeworth told him, taking a particularly vicious swipe of the pen at his file. "Personally."
"We should talk-" Phoenix tried, only to be cut short again.
"Just go," Edgeworth replied. He didn't look up until the door had shut, out of fear of seeing Phoenix's face.
Edgeworth stared at the clock on his nightstand, willing it to move faster.
He repeated the litany of his failures again. Let unknown assailant administer poison. Accidentally came out of closet. Declared undying love for the closest that he had to a best friend. Slept with best friend. Repeatedly. Regained memories. Lost best friend.
It was all like waking up from the very worst kind of dream. Not a nightmare- a boundlessly happy dream where everything is perfect, and waking up feels like dying. Nightmares Edgeworth could get the hang of, but happy dreams he never could. The past few days now grated in his memory, the taste of what he could have been like in another life.
And the real bitch of it all was that he couldn't even sleep, missing the weight of Phoenix's body beside him.
Phoenix pushed his noodles around his plate; his appetite had been AWOL for some time now. It didn’t help that Maya had ordered enough food to feed at least five people, all of which he was more than likely going to end up paying for.
"You said this was supposed to cheer me up," Phoenix grumbled, pushing his plate away.
"It better," Maya replied, popping a dumpling into her mouth.
Phoenix opened his mouth to respond, but at just that moment, the familiar retort of a whip being cracked sounded from the lobby.
"I want a full perimeter," an all too familiar, rapidly approaching voice said. "Search the kitchens tho-" was as far as Miles Edgeworth got before he realized what he had just walked into.
"Detective," Edgeworth said, icicles hanging off the word.
"Yeah, pal?" Gumshoe responded timidly.
He crossed his arms, tapping his foot impatiently. "Does this look like a murder scene to you?"
"I'm afraid it might in a minute, pal." Gumshoe looked sadly at the floor. "It's not my fault. All she said was there was free food."
"Maya," Phoenix practically growled at his friend, who went on eating her gyoza as if nothing was wrong.
"You," Franziska said, indicating Phoenix, "and you," to Edgeworth. "In there," she directed, pointing at a small private dining room nearby. "This instant."
"Take some crab rangoon," Maya added, offering them a plate.
"This is ridiculous," Edgeworth protested.
"You can't just-" Phoenix tried to say, but he was cut short by a whip to the face.
"You fools will stop being miserable at once!" Franziska snapped.
"You really missed your calling as a therapist," Edgeworth told her, earning Phoenix another lash.
It was with no small amount of struggle that Phoenix and Edgeworth were finally barricaded into the tiny room. Gumshoe and Maya sat just outside the entrance, blocking them in (and eating themselves sick).
After a few minutes of protesting and attempts to call for help (which only got their cell phones confiscated), they lapsed into silence. Phoenix stared morosely at the table, tracing abstract patterns on it with his fingers.
"You weren't there when I came home," Edgeworth said suddenly, startling him.
"I was," Phoenix paused, looking for the right word, "afraid."
The other man snorted. "You were afraid?"
They were silent again for a long while.
Phoenix sighed, still looking at the table. "Just because you've got your memories back, doesn't mean we can't-"
"Wright," Edgeworth said, in a warning tone. "You know it's not that simple."
"Why can't it be?" Phoenix countered.
"Don't be ridiculous-"
"You don't have to be miserable just because you're you," Phoenix half-shouted at him. "If your life is so damn unhappy, then change it!"
Edgeworth slapped his hand against the table, rising from his seat. "How can you even ask me to change my life for you when you run off as soon as there's a problem?"
"Is that what you think?" Phoenix asked sadly. "That I'm doing this for me?" Edgeworth sat down heavily, his silence saying everything.
"This sucks," Phoenix said, exhaling, after a long pause.
"Yeah," he agreed. Edgeworth sighed. "My life isn't unhappy. There are just some things that I," he looked as if the words were hurting him, "have realized I would rather not do without."
"Things will have to change," he warned.
"Thank you for that update, Phoenix," Edgeworth deadpanned.
He smiled wanly. "You never call me that."
"Maybe I should start," he replied, the merest hint of a grin appearing on his face.
The moment was ruined when Maya cheered.
Edgeworth awoke to the extremely pleasant sensation of a warm mouth closing over him. His hands drifted downwards, his fingers lacing into the soft spikes of Phoenix's hair. He remained convinced, still in a sleepy daze, that this was some very, very nice dream.
He protested a little when Phoenix pulled back, but he didn't stray far, leaning up to whisper into Edgeworth's ear, pressing their bodies together. "Can I?" he asked, his breath warm on his lover's earlobe.
"God, please," Edgeworth half-moaned. There was the sound of foil ripping, and Edgeworth's legs were pushed apart. Phoenix paused briefly for lubricant before pushing himself in. Edgeworth bit his lip; it hurt, naturally, but it was already starting to feel good, and it was a whole lot better when Phoenix rocked his hips just so.
Phoenix wrapped a hand around him, stroking him lazily in time with his thrusts. Somewhere in the back of Edgeworth's brain, it occurred to him that this was what people were talking about when they talked about making love- no worries, no rush, just the moment.
It was only ever meant to be a finite moment, though, and Phoenix had to up his tempo eventually. It was quickly too much for Edgeworth, and he came, back arching, clenching hard around Phoenix. He held out for a few more agonizing looking seconds, but soon followed, his whole body seeming to relax as he stretched out next to Edgeworth.
"What time is it?" Edgeworth asked suddenly, raising up to look for the clock.
"Early," Phoenix answered. "And Sunday."
"Good," Edgeworth responded, pulling him close. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.