A short sketch of Phoenix and Edgeworth's last meeting, a few days after the events of Zak Gramarye's trial. The format's a bit weird (all the description dumped at the beginning, and mostly just dialogue after) so please review-I'd like to know what you think.

Disclaimer: As much as I wish it were otherwise, none of the following characters belong to me.

A clean, white-walled room, faded brown couch nestled in one corner, nondescript rug on a tiled floor, withering plants looking as if they needed some sunlight, bland painting on the wall over the couch. Wooden double doors, brass knobs well-worn with frequent use, stand firmly closed. Clearly a waiting room or lobby.

Two occupants, both standing. One: a rather scruffy individual, in need of a shave, dressed in a grey jacket and teal-blue ski hat. Hands in pockets, gazing around the room with a nonchalant expression. The other: well turned out in a wine-red suit, black vest, and ruffly white cravat. Brown hair cropped short except for spiky bangs that frame a tired face.

"Wright. I… I though I might find you here."

"Hello, Edgeworth."

Pause. The woolen hat hides the man in gray's eyes; the man in red's stare is intent, almost a glare.

"I have to say, Wright, if I had been told three years ago that one of us would be disbarred for forging evidence, I wouldn't have even considered that it would be you."

"So you think I did it?" The words snap like a certain prosecutor's whip.

A half-smile curves the corner of a mouth still unused to showing amusement. "Don't be ridiculous."

A modicum of tension leaves the shoulders of the man in gray, only to return at the next words.

"Do you know who…?"

"I have my suspicions." Eyes shadowed by the hat again, but the grim set of his jaw reveals his resolve.

"Well, if you need any assistance—"

"No!" The man in red levels his glare once again, but this time brown eyes meet and hold the grey eyes without wavering. "I need to do this on my own, Edgeworth."

"Very well." A hint of bitterness in that half-smile, now. "You always were single-minded. Stubborn, most would call it."

Silence.

"What will you do, Wright?" Grey eyes focus on the other's lapel, where a cherished badge had once been pinned.

"Believe it or not, I've actually found a new job." A small smile, brittle. "Got to pay the bills, after all. It's at that new Russian place—Borscht Bowl Club. You should stop by sometime."

"That wasn't what I meant." The man in red folds his arms, tapping his fingers irritably as if faced with a recalcitrant witness.

Brown eyes quickly harden to an obdurate stare. "I said I have to do this alone, and I mean it. I know you want to help, Edgeworth, and so does she—" A breath drawn in quickly, at a sudden pain— "but this is my fight. No one else's."

"Very well." Wearily. "I will take my leave, then."

"You're leaving?" Surprised, for the first time.

"Yes. I'm returning to Europe… I'll stay with Franziska for a few weeks, and then continue on to Borginia. The legal system there is absolutely fascinating."

"Ah."

Two steps towards the door, then a pause. "Wright, I—" The sentence is choked off abruptly. One hand rises to clench the opposite elbow as his head turns away.

"Yes?"

"Nothing." Composure returns, and with it a sadness that fits the pale face. "Good-bye, Phoenix."

The name, not spoken for almost eighteen years, is said deliberately, a mark of ending. The other looks away, hat once again slipping forwards to hide the expression in his honest eyes. "Good-bye… Miles."