Dementia, Parts 1-2/5 [Phoenix/Edgeworth]
I am kind of sad because I'm never going to write a fic like this again. Hummm. Another kink meme reveal.
Title: Dementia
Pairing: Phoenix/Edgeworth
Rating: PG-13 (...this is kind of an unhappy story)
Summary: Written for the kink meme. The prompt: Phoenix and Miles have had a long, happy life together. Maybe a scattering more of adopted kids after Trucy, maybe a few years of Miles writing educational books on international law, definitely shacking up in later years for lots of snarking at one another and being in love.
Then, gradually, Miles starts forgetting little things. At first, they laugh/snark it off: Miles is getting old, is too distracted by Phoenix's sexy old butt, etc. But as the months go on, Miles is horrified to realize words that came so easily once are escaping him, and he keeps misplacing things. And worse, he starts having trouble recognizing old friends.
What happens, anon? Of course, Phoenix would care for him, but there's a lot of AGONIZING ANGST POTENTIAL there: Miles maybe starts to forget Phoenix's name, or even denies that Phoenix is Phoenix (ie: "No, Wright had black hair, not grey, get away from me!"), and Miles himself would just be constantly terrified as his mind fades. Does he hold out, both of them just thankful for the moments where he's himself? Does he, in a moment of clarity, eventually beg Phoenix to understand that he wants to Choose Death?
DO YOU SMASH MY HEART OUT ON THE ROCKY SHORES OF A STORY ABOUT DEMENTIA CARE?!
Too long? GIVE MILES ALZHEIMER'S, MAKE ME SOB.
Author's Notes: Over 12,000 words of dying Edgeworth, so just know you'll be sitting here for a bit. There are elements of GS4 canon in here (Trucy, grape juice, etc.) but no spoilers. Also, don't read this if you want to feel happy.
FF.N Link (if you are so inclined): http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4282230/1/Dementia
Parts 1-2 | Parts 3-5
---
“We’re getting on in years,” Phoenix says one day.
Edgeworth looks at him. “Yes, that’s what happens when you live for a while.”
“Hmm.”
“What is it?”
Those eyes he loves-still brilliant and blue as always, even after all this time-crinkle as he smiles. “It’s funny. I never thought my life would happen like this. If someone told me that I would grow old with you when I was younger… I’d have laughed at them. But here we are.”
“Here we are,” Edgeworth agrees. He pauses. “Having regrets, Wright?”
“Ouch, last name,” he jokes, pretending to flinch. “But no. No regrets, Miles. You?”
Edgeworth smiles. “None at all.”
And when they kiss, it doesn’t matter how old they are-it still feels exactly the same as the first time their lips met, twenty years ago.
-
Flash forward.
-
“I can’t find my glasses.”
“Where’d you put them?”
“I don’t remember.”
Phoenix places his newspaper back on the table. “All right, I’ll help you look. I guess you’ll need them if you want to look at my beautiful self.”
Edgeworth smirks. “Yes, that’s exactly it.”
Moments later, Phoenix calls him into the bedroom. “You left them on the nightstand,” he says. “Did you really not check here first?”
“I suppose I’m going senile,” he murmurs with a small smile as he slides the frames on.
The other man raises a crooked eyebrow. “Just don’t go apeshit crazy on me. I’ll need you to take care of me when I start forgetting things.”
They laugh.
-
Flash forward.
-
He misses Phoenix’s cup completely as he tries to pour boiling water into his mug. “Dammit,” he hisses as steam rises from the table.
Phoenix puts down the packet of sugar he’s holding and gets a towel. “Miles,” he says as he begins to gingerly mop up the mess, “keep this up and you’ll be as clumsy as I am.”
“I think I have a ways to go before that’s the case,” Edgeworth retorts, though he still feels bad as he places the kettle into the sink, wondering how his aim could have been so poor.
The other chuckles. “Yeah, I guess I’m in an advanced stage of clumsiness. Do you remember that one time, two weeks ago, when we were in bed and I accidentally-”
“God, don’t remind me,” he moans. “That was painful as hell.”
“Well, anyway,” Phoenix continues cheerfully, “please don’t become as inept with your body parts as I am.”
Edgeworth coughs lightly. “I’d have to shoot myself if that were to happen.”
“Yeah, we only need one clumsy person around here. And I’ve already claimed that spot.”
He sighs and shakes his head. “Why do I love you?”
“Because you find my creaking joints incredibly hot.”
A pause. “I suppose I can’t argue with that.”
“Exactly.” Phoenix tosses the towel onto the counter. “So, want to hear more of those joints? In a closed setting?”
“Aren’t we a little too old for innuendo?”
“Oh, come on, our entire relationship is based on innuendo, Miles. Now are you with me or not?”
He purses his lips. “I’m with you.”
Phoenix smiles as he grabs his hand. “Just don’t spill any hot water on me,” he chortles, and drags him to the bedroom.
And then Edgeworth discovers that Phoenix’s idea of hearing more of those joints is him waving his arms wildly to Steel Samurai reruns and dancing around to the theme song.
He finds that he doesn’t mind at all.
-
Flash forward.
-
“Are you planning on sleeping anytime soon?” Phoenix mumbles from next to him, eyes half-closed.
“I just want to finish outlining the main ideas of this next chapter first,” he answers, drumming his pencil against his notepad.
“God, Miles, you’re such a nerd.”
Edgeworth snorts. “A nerd? I would classify myself as merely being knowledgeable.”
“But writing books on international law…”
“Is something I enjoy doing,” he finishes. “I’m not letting all that time I spent in Europe go to waste.”
Phoenix flips over in bed and faces him. “Good,” he says, grinning. “Because whenever you were in Europe, you weren’t with me, so something had better damn well come out of it.”
“I called you every day.”
“It’s not quite the same as actually being next to me, if you know what I mean,” the other says with a knowing smile as one hand grazes over Edgeworth’s thigh.
“Phoenix!” he gasps.
“Oops, sorry, better let the master work. Meanwhile, I’ll just be lying here. Alone.”
Edgeworth glares at him, though there’s no force behind it, and returns to his notes. To his surprise, he realizes that he can’t read a word of what he’s written-it looks like chicken scratch.
Well, how the hell am I supposed to concentrate, with Phoenix right here next to me, he thinks, glancing down at the other man, who’s still grinning like an idiot. “All right, you win,” he mutters, placing the pencil and notepad down on the table next to the bed.
“Excellent,” Phoenix says emphatically.
His notes are quickly forgotten.
-
Flash forward.
-
There’s an empty carton of orange juice in the refrigerator.
“Phoenix,” he says, “when you’re finished, you should really throw the box away.”
“Finished with what?”
“The apple.” He pauses. That doesn’t sound quite right.
“We have a box of apples?”
“I… apple,” he says again, brow furrowing.
“Miles, are you okay?”
“Fine,” he snaps. Ridiculous. Why isn’t the word coming to him?
“I’ll go buy some apples, if that’s what you really want,” Phoenix says, looking concerned.
Edgeworth doesn’t reply; he’s still staring into the fridge. He can see it right there. Why can’t he name it?
But he knows Phoenix is not to blame for his own memory failures. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, shutting the door. “I shouldn’t have lashed out at you.”
“It’s alright,” the other replies, his eyes wide and alert. “I-I’m the one who should’ve… thrown the box away.” He gives him a weak smile.
He tries to smile in return. I’ll remember what it’s called later, he tells himself.
Except he doesn’t.
-
Flash forward.
-
“I’m a little worried about Trucy.”
Phoenix looks at him in alarm. “What makes you say that?”
“I think… someone’s following her.”
“What?” he squawks, his eyes widening. “Did you see something? Tell me. If something happens to her…”
Edgeworth closes his eyes and frowns. “It was strange, actually. He… was in the house, the last time she visited. But she didn’t notice.”
“I… don’t understand.”
“There was a man right behind her. But she kept on walking like no one was there. Even though he was so close she should have felt him. Their… capes were touching.”
“Capes?” Phoenix replies, biting his lip. “Miles… that-that was Mr. Hat.”
“Mr. Hat…?”
“Yeah, he’s gotten pretty realistic, hasn’t he?” He laughs nervously. “Trucy’s something else. That trick is perfect.”
He doesn’t quite get it, but if Phoenix isn’t concerned for her safety, then he won’t be, either.
Nevertheless, he feels that something is wrong.
-
Flash forward.
-
“I haven’t seen you working on that book in a while,” Phoenix says as he walks into the bedroom.
“What book?” Edgeworth replies, his eyes glued to the TV. All these years, and the Steel Samurai is still as glorious as ever.
“You know, the one on international law. The third in the series, was it?”
“I didn’t feel like working on it anymore.”
Phoenix stares at him. “You’re not one to give up so easily.”
He shrugs. “I didn’t give up. It just stopped being of interest of me.”
“Didn’t you say something a while ago about not wanting to have wasted your time in Europe? I mean, you learned the language of half the countries there. It’s hard to believe that dedication suddenly vanished.”
“Well, it did, Wright,” he snaps, and he feels a bit of pleasure at seeing the other man wince. “I’m old, you’re old, things change, alright? Stop badgering me.”
“God, Miles, I didn’t mean-”
“The torch relay will be perfectly peaceful,” he interrupts, thoroughly annoyed now.
Phoenix’s eyes widen. “W-what? Say that again?”
He doesn’t see anything wrong with his words. “The torch relay will be perfectly peaceful.”
“Miles,” the other says softly after a long pause, and there is the barest hint of fear in his voice. “I-I think you need to get some sleep. Please. You’ve just been sitting here watching TV all day. I’m beginning to worry.”
Edgeworth rolls his eyes and hits the off button on the remote. “Fine, if it bothers you that much.”
“T-thank you.”
He doesn’t reply.
-
Flash forward.
-
“Do you want to play chess?”
Edgeworth shrugs. “If you want to.”
He hasn’t been feeling well lately. Nothing interests him. Phoenix keeps on trying to make him do things, but his heart just isn’t into it. All he wants is to watch the Steel Samurai, except Phoenix’s hid all the DVDs and he can’t find them.
“Great,” the other man says brightly, disappearing and returning with a chessboard. “So. White or black?”
“What’s the difference?”
“Er. Well, white gets to go first, right? That’s what you said.”
“Oh. I don’t care.”
“You… can be white then, I guess,” Phoenix answers, endeavoring valiantly to smile. He arranges the pieces on the board. “Go ahead.”
He stares at it, trying to figure out what to do-somehow it feels like it should be coming to him naturally, but right now, his mind is blank. Eventually he decides to move one of the little pieces in the front row forward one step. It seems like a safe choice.
Phoenix follows suit, and for a while they sit in silence, nudging a piece here and there when it’s their turn.
And then the other man stands up. “That’s it,” he says. “Something’s wrong.”
“What?”
“I’m kicking your ass. That never happens. Well, I mean, it does sometimes, but then you pull off some sort of miracle and win. But look at your pieces. They’re all over the place.” He walks over to Edgeworth and grabs him by the shoulders. “Tell me what’s happening.”
“Nothing’s happening.”
“You’ve been acting weird for weeks. Months, really. I thought you were just, you know, getting old.”
“Oh, thanks,” he says sarcastically.
Phoenix shakes his head. “But it’s more than that. You haven’t been in the mood for anything. You’ve been saying the bizarrest things and watching TV all the time and acting snappy and now you can’t even play chess. It’s scaring me.”
And when he puts it that way, it scares him, too. “I-I don’t know what’s going on,” he whispers.
The other man holds him close. “Well, Miles, I love you, and I don’t want anything to happen to you. So… I think it’s time we go to the hospital.”
Edgeworth closes his eyes and nods.
-
Flash forward.
-
He finds himself in a whirlwind of activity.
Sometimes people ask him questions about himself. It’s painful because a few of those questions are about his parents. And he can’t answer those.
Sometimes different people ask him questions about random things he doesn’t really care about. Once they ask him to draw a clock. He doesn’t see the point in it, but he does it anyway because he’s scared they might plot to hurt him otherwise.
Sometimes he is stuck into a long cylinder, where he can see nothing but white and hear nothing but some sort of terrible pounding sound. He hates this part the most-the cramped space is almost more than he can bear. But Phoenix is there for him when he comes out.
When everything is done, they give him some pills. Phoenix reassures him that they won’t kill him, and so he swallows.
Then he sleeps.
-
Flash forward.
-
His eyes open, and he realizes he’s in a hospital room.
He glances around. Phoenix is to his left, looking anxious. “How are you feeling?” he asks, standing up as soon as he realizes the other is awake.
“I’m fine,” he murmurs, moving himself into a sitting position. He can almost hear his bones creaking in protest. “Though… I don’t have a very clear memory of what happened in the past few days.”
The other man swallows heavily. “D-do you know why you came here in the first place?”
He frowns. The chess game comes to mind. “Yes.”
“Well… you were tested. To see if anything was wrong with you. You remember, right? You had trouble speaking sometimes, your writing was getting really bad, you didn’t feel like doing anything anymore, and I think there was some paranoia-”
“I remember, Phoenix. So tell me. What did they find?”
“You…” The blue eyes dart away; the rise and fall of his chest becomes more pronounced.
Edgeworth is suddenly terrified of his answer-but he has to know. “What did they find?” he repeats.
Phoenix looks back at him, and there is anguish clearly written on his face. “You have Alzheimer’s, Miles.”
His breath catches in his throat. Alzheimer’s. “There’s no cure for that,” he says.
“No,” the other whispers, and Edgeworth is struck by just how old he looks-Phoenix isn’t young anymore, certainly, but now his face seems to have aged ten years. Determination, however, lights his features as he continues. “It’ll be okay, though. You’re on medication right now. That-that’ll slow it down. And I’ll take care of you. I won’t leave. We’ll get through this together, just like the way it’s always been.” He takes his hand. “I’ll still love you. Forever.” He purses his lips. “Cheesy, huh? But it’s the truth.”
“You were always a hopeless romantic.”
Phoenix smiles, visibly relieved. “That’s the Edgeworth I know,” he says.
He can’t help but wonder how long that will last.
-
Flash forward.
-
They play chess. Edgeworth wins. The pills are working.
Maybe a miracle will happen.
-
Flash forward.
-
“We’re going on a walk,” Phoenix announces.
“Why, are you looking to build up those impressive leg muscles of yours?”
“Yeah, that’s right. It’s my secret plan. In a few weeks I’m going to show you my hairy old-man calves and blow you away.”
Edgeworth snorts into his drink, then hurriedly regains his composure. “As appealing as that sounds, I know that can’t be it. What’s the real reason?”
The other man looks affronted. “Wanting to impress you with my body isn’t good enough?” After receiving a glare in return, he continues, looking considerably more serious. “I did some research. Walks are apparently helpful because they, um, ‘improve communication and prevent wandering’. It doesn’t hurt to try, does it?”
It all comes back to that. Though he does his best to deny it, his disease has become an integral part of his life-even when he tries to forget, it’s always sitting there in the back of his mind. He fears that it’ll drive him insane.
Well, of course it will, he thinks bitterly. That’s one of the symptoms.
But Phoenix is only trying to help.
“No, it doesn’t hurt,” Edgeworth replies. “Let’s do it.”
Hand in hand, they step outside.
-
Flash forward.
-
When it happens again, he knows the reason behind it, and the terror sets in.
Phoenix is playing the Moonlight Sonata on the piano, and though it’s supposed to be a slow song, he is taking far too much time to hit each note.
“Christ, Phoenix,” he says, smiling. “People had to listen to this for seven years?”
“Hush, you,” the other replies, grinning in return. “My fingers aren’t what they used to be. I was all over this piece when I was younger. You should have seen them crying as I played.”
“I think they were crying for a different reason.”
“You wound me, good sir.” He scoots over on the bench. “But come here. We can make beautiful music together.”
“Ah, yes, I expect my zero years of experience will make for a lovely contribution to your stellar skills.” Nevertheless, he sits down next to him.
“Oh, I’ll help you,” Phoenix says with a smirk, taking hold of his hands.
“If that’s the case, I suppose I’ll become a key in no time.”
The hands freeze. “W-what was that?”
“Key?” His breathing quickens. Oh, God, it’s not the right word, is it.
It’s a symptom, he knows, and it’s presenting despite the pills. Which means the disease is progressing.
“S-someone who is very good at s-something,” he stammers. “Key.”
“Do you mean master?” Phoenix supplies helpfully, his hands beginning to gently massage Edgeworth’s own. “Pro?”
He nods nervously. “Yes.”
And he knows the miracle isn’t going to happen.
-
Flash forward.
-
As soon as Phoenix walks into the room, he gets up and kisses him hard on the mouth. “I love you,” he breathes.
The other’s face dissolves into a sloppy smile. “I love you too, Miles, but where on earth did that come from?”
Edgeworth pulls him into an embrace. “I realized I’ve barely said those words at all in the last twenty years.”
“You didn’t have to,” Phoenix murmurs. “I knew already.”
His hands tighten around the other’s waist. “Still. You deserve to hear it more. And… and I want to say it. While I still can.” To his surprise, he can feel tears welling up in his eyes. “I love you, Phoenix. So much. You’ve always been by my side. Even now, when-when the end is coming.”
“Don’t say that-”
“But it’s the truth. We both know it. S-so until that end comes, I’m going to say it as much as possible. B-before I forget how.” He presses his face into his shoulder. “I love you. I love you. I love you. No matter what happens later, just… just know. I’ll love you.”
“Me too,” Phoenix whispers, and he thinks he can hear the other’s voice catch.
They hold each other like they’re never going to let go.
-
Flash forward.
-
“Trucy’s going to come by soon,” Phoenix tells him during one of their daily walks.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, she’s going to do some redecorating.” He chuckles. “Can’t say she’s much good at it, but it’ll be nice to have some color in the house, since… you know.”
Edgeworth glances at him. “You told her?”
“Miles, she’s your daughter as much as she is mine. Of course I told her.”
He looks down at the ground. “Does anyone else know?”
“No. I thought… it should be your decision. In case you wanted to release it to the world à la Ronald Reagan.”
“I’m sure millions of people would be interested in an Alzheimer’s letter from an old, retired prosecutor.”
Phoenix manages a weak smile. “Well, anyway. I do think you should call Franziska, at the very least.”
“Hmm.” For some reason, it had never crossed his mind to inform anyone else. And even now, the idea seems completely unappealing.
He knows why. But he doesn’t want to admit it to anyone. “I’ll consider it,” he says.
They continue to walk.
-
Flash forward.
-
Edgeworth spends an hour or so staring at the phone that night, Phoenix’s words echoing in his head. She needs to know. He doesn’t want to tell her.
But he should.
He finally picks it up, and, after several moments of stumbling around hunting down her number and instructions on how to make international calls-which he needs Phoenix to help him read-he tentatively begins to punch in the buttons.
A clipped voice answers. “What foolishly foolish person would call at this foolish hour in the morning?”
Damn. He had forgotten about the time zone difference. “Your foolish little brother, I suppose.”
“Miles?”
“Did I wake you up?”
“Yes, but…” A pause. “It’s not like you to display such foolish judgment in the timing of your calls. So this must be important.”
He winces at her words. “That’s what I wanted to talk about, actually,” he says cautiously. “My ‘foolish judgment’, as you so put it. S-something’s come up, Franziska.”
“What is it?”
“I…” I have a disease with no known cure that will strip me of my ability to form memories, make rational decisions, understand language, and, in the end, live on my own.
He shudders. He can’t say that to her-because if he does, then she’ll want to fly here and visit, and her last memory of him will not be of Miles Edgeworth, the brilliant, gifted prosecutor, but of Miles Edgeworth, the degenerating, dying man. And he doesn’t want that.
“Little brother?”
He should tell her.
But he won’t.
“I drank some stale tea.”
He can hear Franziska snort on the other end. “This is why you drink your tea as soon as you buy it, you fool.”
“I’ll have to keep that in mind.”
There is silence for a moment. And then: “Is that all?” She sounds suspicious.
“It, ah, made me ill.”
“Well.” More silence. “I trust that if you called for something foolish like this, you would certainly inform me of other important happenings in your life as well, yes?”
“Of course. I’m sorry to have bothered you, Franziska. Go back to sleep.”
“Hmph. You are no bother to me, Miles.”
He closes his eyes. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“Make sure Phoenix Wright takes good care of you.”
“He will.”
“Don’t drink any more stale tea.”
“I won’t.”
“Until next time, then, little brother.”
Next time. He has a sudden, terrible feeling that there won’t be a next time for the two of them-not while he’s still sane, anyway.
“You’re a good sister, Franziska,” he murmurs, and hangs up.
He should have told her.
But he didn’t.
-
Flash forward.
-
Trucy’s standing there in the doorway biting her lip and staring at him, like she doesn’t know what to say.
It’s probably best to get it over with. “Phoenix told me he told you about my… problem.” He feels a pang of guilt when he speaks those words, but he can’t quite remember what it is he’s feeling guilty about. Something to do with Franziska…?
She stares some more before throwing her arms around him and beginning to babble. “I’m so sorry it took so long for me to come back! I was on tour and I couldn’t get away and when Daddy called and told me I didn’t know what to do and oh, Uncle Miles, I missed you-”
“Trucy, I think you might be choking him,” Phoenix says from off to the side, eyes creased in amusement.
The other lets go quickly but continues talking, unfazed. “Anyway, I brought paint and other things so we’re going to really liven this place up!”
She is true to her word. After settling in and eating, she has them start on the living room, covering it in, of all colors, a bright, garish red. Phoenix hums to himself indulgently as he gets to work, and after a moment’s hesitation, Edgeworth follows suit.
It isn’t until after almost an hour that he realizes he’s been painting the walls in a completely eccentric way, his brush strokes wavering wildly, looking like mad scribbles. When he apologizes for wasting the paint, Trucy giggles and tells him that it’s fine, they can buy more; she has the money since she’s a world-famous magician now, after all. But he doesn’t miss the stricken look she gives her father, nor the sad shake of the head she receives in return.
Edgeworth excuses himself, at that point, to wash up. But he ends up curled on the floor of the bathroom, hating his own traitorous body and this stupid disease.
He knows it’s only going to get worse.
-
Flash forward.
-
“What’s going to happen to him?”
“It’s a degenerative illness. He’s… going to lose a lot of brain function.”
He probably shouldn’t be listening in on their conversation. They think he’s sleeping, after all. But now that he can hear them, he finds himself unable to move away.
“Who else knows?”
“He called your aunt. I don’t know if he told her. I hope he did, but I never asked. I thought it should be his decision.” Phoenix gives a bitter laugh. “God, I don’t even know. I read somewhere you should give them a lot of choice. Or something. Just… this is really hard.”
“Are you okay?”
A pause. “Not at all,” he answers, so quietly Edgeworth can barely make out the words. “But I’m trying to keep my spirits up. For both our sakes. You saw what he was like today, though. Making scribbles on the walls. Usually he’s normal, but there are times when something is wrong. And it’s probably going to start happening more often. I… I’m scared, Truce.”
He tears himself away from the door and stumbles back to his room at that point, unable to listen any longer. It breaks his heart, hearing the other talk like this. Phoenix, the eternal optimist, scared. The implications are terrifying.
But by the next morning, he doesn’t remember it well enough to be afraid himself.
-
Flash forward.
-
Phoenix looks hassled as he makes his way around the house, checking all the drawers.
“What are you searching for?” Edgeworth asks.
“My wallet.”
“Shouldn’t it be on the counter where you usually put it?”
“Yeah.”
“So it’s not?”
The other man shifts uncomfortably. “Um… it was moved.”
“By who? There are only the two of us in the house.”
“Weird, isn’t it?”
But then it hits him. “I moved it, didn’t I?”
“It’s fine, Miles, really.”
Edgeworth doesn’t answer.
Phoenix finds it eventually, tucked in the pantry between two bottles of grape juice. He laughs it off and says that at least it wasn’t in the trash can.
He hates himself a little more.
-
Flash forward.
-
He is back to sitting in front of the TV. A small voice in the back of his head tells him this isn’t a good sign, but his mind is too hazy to process it. Phoenix tries to drag him out on a walk, and when that doesn’t work, attempts to engage him in conversation instead.
Edgeworth tells him to go away.
-
Flash forward.
-
He puts on his full suit, complete with gold embroidery and ivory cravat, before leaving the room.
“Interesting choice of clothing,” Phoenix says.
“What?”
He stares at him for a second, then looks down. “Er, nothing. Sorry.”
Phoenix starts to lay out the next day’s outfit for him after that. He never figures out the reason for it.
-
Flash forward.
-
He hasn’t said “I love you” very much lately because it keeps on slipping his mind. But when he does remember, Phoenix still responds as warmly as ever.
He thinks he can see tears in the other man’s eyes on those occasions.
Sometimes he understands why, and tears form in his own eyes.
Sometimes he doesn’t.
-
Flash forward.
-
“Thirsty,” he mumbles from the couch.
“Do you want a drink?”
“Yes. Get me… when you have a glass of it and you put your hand on the other side you can see it. Same color.”
“What?”
“If you put your hand on the other side it’s the same color.”
“Do you mean clear?” Phoenix asks, biting his lip. “Like… water?”
“Mmm.”
And by now, he has been unable to find the right words so many times that he is only slightly alarmed.
-
Flash forward.
-
He hands Phoenix a book. “Read to me,” he tells him.
The other looks surprised. “Read…?”
“I… can’t read very well on my own anymore. So I want to hear you read. It’s like… I want to hear high language. I can barely make high language myself now.” He pauses, vaguely aware that Phoenix may not have caught his meaning. “Does that make sense?”
His eyebrows furrow. “I think so. Miles…”
“Just read,” he says, settling himself within the crook of Phoenix’s arm. “I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t know if I… can.”
“Alright,” Phoenix murmurs, pulling him closer and opening the book. “Wait, this is a play.”
“I know.”
“It’s a bit dark, too, isn’t it?”
Edgeworth presses himself against the other’s body. “It means a lot to me.”
A pause, then a grin. “Would you like me to do voices?”
He manages a weak laugh. “If you want.”
“Get ready to be amazed, then.” He clears his throat dramatically and begins. “Who’s there? / Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold yourself. / Long live the king…”
Edgeworth falls asleep in Phoenix’s arms, listening to the sounds of Hamlet being read out loud, reveling in the artistry of a language he can no longer fully comprehend.
-
Flash forward.
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He has a moment of acute awareness in which he realizes that he cannot read, he cannot write, and he cannot speak as he used to, and suddenly he’s scared, he’s scared, he’s scared, but there’s nothing he can do about it and it’s like parts of his mind are leaking away and he wants to patch up the holes but he has nothing to patch it up with and so it continues to empty and what is the point of living if he cannot communicate, especially not with Phoenix, Phoenix, the man he promised he would say “I love you” to all the time except he forgets as much as he remembers and sometimes he hears the word and isn’t even sure what it means but when he does recall the definition it breaks his heart because Phoenix needs to know this but he doesn’t tell him enough and he really should but his memory is failing and language is failing and he cannot keep his terrified thoughts in order but then for better or for worse this moment of acute awareness fades and he resumes his daily, dying life.
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Parts 1-2 | Parts 3-5