Irresistible Impulse

In criminal law, irresistible impulse is a defense by excuse, in this case some sort of insanity, in which the defendant argues that they should not be held criminally liable for their actions that broke the law, because they could not control those actions.

Thank you, Wikipedia.



There was some kind of pounding invading Phoenix's valuable REM sleep.


Construction work? No, it was too early.


Upstairs neighbor? Doubtful, she was seventy years old.


Aw hell, that was the door wasn't it? His door. Who in their right mind would be knocking on his door in the middle of the night? Maya liked a good night's sleep even more then he did.

The knocking stopped. Phoenix snuggled his pillow and tried to recapture his dream. It had been a good one. Miles had been wearing leather pants.


Muttering to himself, Phoenix opened his eyes and fumbled for the clock. 3:24. Seriously? All right, now he was just curious.

Phoenix found his bathrobe on the floor and stumbled out into the living room. By the time he found the lightswitch and one of his slippers, the knocking had degenerated to a kind of wistful rapping. Whoever it was seemed to be trying to tap out some kind of melody, but kept forgetting the notes or switching songs.

"I'm coming!" Phoenix shouted, realizing belatedly that there might be an actual reason for this interruption. The knocking stopped, just as he reached the door and twisted the knob.

Miles Edgeworth stood in the hall, blinking owlishly. He was missing his cravat and his vest, and his pink (Phoenix recalled Edgeworth calling it magenta, but he simply couldn't think of it as anything but pink) suit jacket hanging off one shoulder. His hair was mussed and he was swaying slightly.

"Edgeworth?" Phoenix said out of sheer shock, both at the man and his condition.

Edgeworth's bloodshot eyes focused on Phoenix after a pause that was just slightly too long to be blamed on the hour, and he pointed dramatically.

"You!" Edgeworth shouted. "'S'all your fault."

"Oh good," Phoenix said dryly. "You're drunk."

Edgeworth pushed past him into the apartment, and Phoenix shut the door before his neighbors got curious.

"'Ever'thing tha's happened has been all your fault," Edgeworth continued, waving his arms and pacing. "'F'it wasn't for you I'd still be depressed an' miserable. But at least I wouldn't be depressed an' miserable an' confused." He stopped and swayed dangerously. Phoenix automatically grabbed his arm to keep him steady, and Edgeworth swung his head around to glare at the shorter man.

"'S'all your fault," he muttered again. "Wha's up with your hair?"

"What?" Phoenix said. His mind was racing wildly, trying to figure out what to do. He'd never been in this particular situation before, and he was somewhat distracted by both the view of Edgeworth's collarbone and the reek of brandy that was coming from his pores.

"Your hair." Edgeworth reached out and grabbed a handful, not hard. "'S'not spikey."

"I was sleeping."

"Y'use gel?"

"Of course. Did you think it was natural?"

Edgeworth just blinked at him.

"Uh, look Edgeworth, why don't I call you a cab? You- Wait, how did you even get here? And how do you know where I live?"

"Drove past it." He released Phoenix's hair and waved his hand again, nearly falling over from the momentum. "Lotsa times. Middle'a the night. Sometimes 'afore work. Go an' lean on th' door when I know yer not a' home."

Phoenix realized his mouth was hanging open. "What- Why? Do you hate me that much?"

Edgeworth burst out laughing. The loud over-the-top laugh of the completely hammered. "Hate you? I prolly should! Affer ever'thing you've caused! Makin' me question ever'thing about myself. Ever'thing 've ever done. Ever! Makin' me remember what it was like to be happy!"

He grabbed hold of the front of Phoenix's bathrobe and leaned in close, too close, breathing fumes in his face. Under any other circumstances… "I didn' remember. I thought all I needed was t' be successful an' win all th' time an' punish criminals an' that was all I needed! But you came back an' you were always smilin' an' you had friends…" he swayed back. "An' you believed in people! You trusted people! You trusted me."

He let go of Phoenix and shook off his grip, stumbling away and flailing his arms. "'F'it wasn' for you I'd still be Miles Edgeworth, the demon prosecutor, who always gets a guilty verdict! 'Stead of Miles Edgeworth, the big GAY prosecutor, who always gets a guilty verdict 'cept when he's against the defense attorney he's got a big GAY crush on!"

For a second, time seemed to stop. Edgeworth was still doing a decent impression of a crazy street person, but Phoenix couldn't hear him. He couldn't hear anything. He was aware of his voice saying "What?" but it didn't break through his reverie. It wasn't until Edgeworth made a full circuit of the small living room and wound up shouting directly in his face again that he remembered what a bad situation this was.

"…an' yer stupid letters soundin' all worried, an' carin' about me and your damn damn convictions."

"Edgeworth." He grabbed the man by the shoulders. "You're drunk. I don't think you realize what you're saying."

"I'm saying I'm in goddamn love with you an' it's all your fault!" He put his hands on Phoenix's ribs and leaned in close again. "An' my name is Miles. Y'keep saying it in public when ya don't remember, an' then I have to go splash my face with cold water. Why y'gotta be so cute?"

Phoenix swallowed hard. "Look, uh, Miles. I really think you ought to get home and get some sleep. And, um, drink some water. Lots of water. Water is…uh…" Edgeworth's hand was drifting down his side. "Water is good."

"'S'all your fault," Miles muttered again, then his grip tightened around Phoenix's waist, and he knocked him over onto the couch.

There was a moment of awkward and FAR too pleasant squirming, then Miles wound up lying on top of Phoenix, their faces almost even. His eyes transfixed Phoenix, another moment frozen in time.

"M- Miles," Phoenix forced himself to say. "Please. You're drunk. This isn't…"

Miles ignored him, closing his eyes and moving his head down oh-so-slowly until their lips were a hair's breadth apart. "I don't want to feel the way you make me feel…"

The rush of desire Phoenix had been fighting since Miles had first grabbed hold of him suddenly swept through him, and he dug his fingers into Miles' sides. "Miles…"

And with that, Miles collapsed on top of him, his head bouncing off Phoenix's collarbone.

Phoenix prodded him a couple of times, then sighed and leaned back.




This is my first attempt at Phoenix Wright fanfiction, and to be honest I have no idea what I'm doing. I originally pictured this story as a multi-page comic, until I realized I have neither the time nor the patience to complete it. So I'm just sort of fumbling my way through, hoping others appreciate my sense of humor.

Please bear with me.

Oh, and for the record, this story happens some time after all three of the games. Here's hoping that new one with the penguin-looking kid doesn't make cancel all this out.