PUNCHFACE

Because I couldn't think of anything better.

Takes place half an hour after AJ case 1

"Trucy, can you excuse us for a moment?"

There must have been murder in his eyes, judging by the way Trucy glanced up at him so warily. Though he was somewhat used to her uncanny ability to sense tension from others by now, he still found it impressive that she could see past his mask of ease. On the other hand, maybe he was simply not as good at keeping his emotions from his face as he had once been. It would not be the only thing that had changed these past several years.

Despite her misgivings, Trucy did as she had been asked. With an uneasy nod to the pair of men she tugged her hat back on and moved to the door without a sound. Her exit was silent but the wake of it rippled against Edgeworth's ears. Now that she was gone he could do what he had come for.

Wright had to know it was coming. He certainly looked like he did. When Edgeworth's knuckles landed against his jaw and sent him sprawling onto the office sofa - a painful, satisfying impact - he made no move to defend himself or retaliate. He took only a moment to catch his breath and open and close his mouth a few times. "You hit a lot harder than him," he said cryptically.

"It's only what you deserve," Edgeworth replied, not with malice, but cold, bitter self-assuredness. He gave his hand a discreet rub. "You know that."

"Yeah…" Wright pushed himself into a proper sitting position, holding his jaw with one hand. He offered Edgeworth a lazy smile. "You're probably right."

Edgeworth hated that face so much he was tempted to strike again, but he could see the bruises already blossoming beneath Wright's fingers - whoever had gotten there before him had done a pretty good job himself. In order to work out the frustrated energy threatening to flow into his fists he instead began to pace. "Of all the stupid things I thought you were capable of," he said, his anger restrained for now, his eyes trained on Wright. "I know I told you last year you couldn't sink any lower, but oh, how you love to prove me wrong."

The humor left Wright's eyes if not his lips. "This was never about you."

"Isn't that the problem?" Edgeworth stopped pacing so he could glare at his old friend properly. "I told you over the phone I would handle it," he reminded icily. "But you just had to have it your way. Always your way."

"I tried it your way," Wright replied, his gaze sliding to the side. Edgeworth hated that face, too. "It wasn't working. This was the only way to be sure."

Edgeworth rolled his eyes and began to pace again. It was a mistake to have come here but he had done it and now there was no way for him not to speak his mind. "If you had called me from the very start I could have taken the case myself. Then there'd be no need for this charade, this--"

"If you had taken the case, he never would have let the kid face you," Wright interrupted, at last beginning to sound at least passably serious. "It wouldn't have worked."

"You don't think I could have gotten him?" Edgeworth scoffed at the insult. "Of course not. I'm not Phoenix Wright, am I? Of course the great disbarred attorney would know better than me."

An unnecessarily low blow. They both knew it, and a moment of uncomfortable silence passed between them. Edgeworth refused to apologize, and when Wright spoke again was glad for it.

"No," Wright told him plainly. "You couldn't."

Edgeworth glared back, and though his immediate response was to tense in anger, Wright's straight, even stare worked as well as ever: guilt seared the insides of his ribs. He knew what that look really meant.

Seven years, and you couldn't get him. Would that have changed today, if it had been you?

Edgeworth shuddered, his frustration at war with his rationalizations, and Wright still staring at him. At last he sighed, stopped pacing, and sank into a chair. "God damn it."

Wright rested his elbows on his knees. He suddenly looked very tired, in a way Edgeworth had not seen in years. It threatened to lessen his self-righteousness; not an option. With a deep breath Edgeworth started anew. "Still. To resort to…" He shook his head. "You know what could have happened."

"It was a risk," Wright agreed, and Edgeworth wasn't sure if his stone-faced acceptance was any easier to swallow than a careless grin might have been. "But I had to do it, Edgeworth. It was my first chance - maybe the last one he would give me. I had to take it."

"No matter the cost?" Edgeworth watched him closely, as much as it grated his every nerve to do so. "What about the boy?"

"He's…fine." Wright smirked, but it made him wince, and he rubbed his red jaw again. "He'll be fine. I wouldn't have let anything happen to him."

Edgeworth was too annoyed to even lift his eyebrow in derision. "Without an office and his credibility ruined, he is fine."

"He'll be fine," Wright repeated. "He's better off knowing the truth anyway. It had to come out."

"The truth." Edgeworth exhaled sharply through his nose. "I'm not sure you even know what that means anymore."

Wright's eyes snapped to him, and for a moment Edgeworth saw in them every hurt and bitter emotion they had been trying to hide from him for so long. He saw the protest rising against the tensing muscle of Wright's throat, saw the anger curling his hands into fists. It killed him to see it.

"Well." Edgeworth sat up straighter and tried to rally himself. "At least it's over now."

Wright did not reply immediately or even soon after the declaration; it made him nervous. "It…is over now," Edgeworth tried again, "isn't it?"

Wright stared fixedly at his folded hands. "No."

Another weary sigh. "Wright, he's going to jail. What more do you want from him?"

This time his answer was swift. "The truth," he told Edgeworth firmly. "I still know what that means."

Though his response threatened Edgeworth's temper again, he managed to stifle it. "Wright…" He stood, and crossed the short space between them to sit at Wright's side on the couch. "What did I tell you when you started this?"

"It's not about--"

"I know vengeance," Edgeworth talked over him. "I've seen what it does to people - I've lived it. I never wanted to see it in you." Knowing that his seriousness would be better conveyed with a gesture, he took Wright firmly by the wrist. "You have to stop. Now."

Wright shook his head. "I can't," he insisted. "I'll stop when I have the truth from him." A tremor spread through his hands that Edgeworth felt. "Not before."

Edgeworth's brow furrowed. He wanted to shake Wright until something came loose from his stubbornness and allowed some sense beneath the old blue knitting around his head. Again he was stopped not by his own patience but by the appearance of Wright's face, which was just as drawn, confused, but determined as his own. He recognized that look, and for those few seconds when the realization first hit him he hated Kristoph Gavin with greater ferocity than he ever had. "You care about him, don't you?"

Wright started, and his face betrayed him with a flash of guilt. It was so absurd and yet so predictable that Edgeworth's better sense finally left him, and the only way he could respond was to laugh.

The sound of it was cold and hollow in the empty room. As Edgeworth pushed to his feet, still chuckling with a kind of dry, bitter resignation, Wright at least attempted to defend himself. "You don't understand," he said, proving that there was at least some of the old Phoenix Wright left in him after all. "There's something more going on. I have to know what he's really thinking, what he--"

Edgeworth held up a hand to silence him. "That's enough," he assured. "I understand. That's…" He let out a short, humorous sigh. "That's just like you." He started to leave.

He could feel Wright watching him, but it wasn't until he had almost reached the door that the voice followed. "I have to know the truth, Edgeworth."

Though he had really intended to leave without saying anything more on the subject, Edgeworth couldn't help himself. "What truth could you possibly hope to find from him?" he asked in exasperation as he turned back, his hands raised in a gesture of hopelessness. "If you're looking for a reason that would help you forgive him, you're not going to find it. We both know that."

Wright licked his lips. "I still have to know."

Edgeworth let his hands fall, but again he could not bring himself to walk out the door. He had come here in anger and was going to leave the same way, though his wrath was tainted now with an ill ease he had not anticipated. It was the way Wright stared down at his hands that nauseated him so much.

"Wright." Edgeworth took in a deep breath. "I may not know what his motive was," he said slowly, "but I'm pretty sure I can guess what his aim was. Have you figured it out?"

Wright glanced up to him with slight hesitation. "I think so."

"He wanted you ruined." The words came surprisingly easy once he started them, shamefully so. "He saw something in you he wanted to destroy in a way worse than killing you. Wanted to prove you wrong, to strip you of what you believed in, to…" Edgeworth's shoulders slumped minutely. "…To make you into what you're becoming now. I know, because a long time ago…it was what I wanted."

Wright tried to respond, but Edgeworth was determined not to let him. "If you can't let it go you're only going to finish what he started," he continued sternly. "Please, Wright. You have to stop."

Edgeworth knew it wouldn't work; as Wright stared back at him, understanding everything he had said perfectly and at the same time rejecting it, he felt something lock into place. As much as it frightened him, at that moment he resolved himself to the fact that he was going to have to watch his best friend walk down the path he already knew so well.

"I can't," Wright said quietly, sealing it. "You know that."

Edgeworth closed his eyes. He knew. "Then I'm done," he declared, and his hand went to the door knob even knowing he wasn't going to turn it just yet.

"Edgeworth…!"

When he looked back, Wright was on his feet. His eyes were plaintive and he hadn't changed at all. "I'll need your help."

"…I know." Edgeworth shook his head. "That's why I came here. Goodbye, Wright."

He let himself out. The closing of the door to him was crisp but not sharp, with the perfect degree of finality; much more elegant and effective than his entrance had been. His footsteps, too, resounded perfectly as he left with unhurried confidence.

Tomorrow, he would give in and do anything Wright asked of him.