Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Phoenix Wright games or characters.

This is just something I wrote very quickly with lots of sleep deprivation. Enjoy.


Mia couldn't help but cry, despite Diego's words. It WAS all over. Terry Fawles was dead, and she couldn't do anything to stop it. She slammed her hand to the table and cursed at herself. More importantly, she cursed that foul, loathsome woman whose sugary sweet smile worked to mask the bitterness of her soul. Mia walked out of the defendant lobby, unable to even discern where she was going. She HAD her! That filthy wretch simply smiled as her client chose death over the truth.

Mia couldn't see straight and was only vaguely aware that she was walking ever so slowly out of the defendant's lobby, into the hall.

When she looked up, she found herself in the prosecutor's lobby. Strange, she thought. There was no one in sight. As she furiously glanced around, she heard a voice.

"What am I doing? This isn't a sentence…what have I done?"

Mia saw a young man, no older than 20 sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. It wasn't until she saw the magenta coat and the cravat in a heap on the floor that Mia recognized the boy as the intimidating prosecutor she had just faced. That's right! It was his first trial too. Not only that, but he was still a kid. He had come into the trial expecting an easy guilty sentence, not a suicide. Mia continued to listen.

"This isn't perfection, is it? No. Perfection is the guilty sentence, but this…I…I…knew about that woman, but I had no idea that she would actually…" Miles froze mid-sentence when he saw Mia standing there biting her lower lip, trying to hide her tears.

"You…that case…I'm sorry. I didn't want it to end that way," Edgeworth said uncomfortably. He truly meant it. "Even though I believed that Fawles was guilty, I…No one else should suffer at the hands of that woman…"

Mia gave him a half-hearted smile. "You did well Mr. Edgeworth. I wish I could face you again, but I don't think that's possible. I'm not cut out for this."

"Fool."

Edgeworth's single word startled Mia. Tears continued to sting her face as the young prosecutor glared at her, his eyes cold as ice. Soon, she became angry. "How dare y…"

"You have no right to quit."

Mia stood still wondering why this little brat thought that he could talk to her in such an arrogant, self-indulgent manner.

"What do you know?" Mia whimpered. "Defense Attorneys exist to protect their clients, but I…I let him die. He died because I was too weak to defend him from that…that…all because…"

"Because I trusted that wretched woman. Don't you see?" Mia looked up at the young prosecutor and noticed something in his face that startled her. He was trying to hide his look of pain with one of pity, but his youth failed him. "Oh, forget it." He was about to leave when he paused.

"Ms. Fey was it? I…I'm sorry," Edgeworth stammered, as if the apology was physically killing him. "I just didn't expect any of this. I just don't know what else to say. But I do know that you cannot quit. I must have the chance to defeat someone like you properly. If you quit now, I'll take it as an admission of your inferiority."

Mia blinked. "You…you really are still a child. This isn't a game Mr. Edgeworth. It isn't a battle of intelligence. People's lives need to be protected. Any adult can understand that."

Edgeworth smirked. "My apologies, Ms. Fey. Does your wise wisdom of adulthood teach you this? So, abandoning all those people you want to protect is the adult way to handle this situation?"

Mia stared at Edgeworth for several minutes before bursting into laughter through her puffy red eyes. She continued to laugh through Edgeworth's irritated glare for several minutes until he said icily, "I hardly see how I was so amusing."

"N...no. It's just…well, look at you! You're younger than me, you're wearing some rich prep school uniform, and you're lecturing me on adulthood! And the most hilarious thing is that you're absolutely correct! Everything you've said is…"

Mia could no longer pretend to hide the oncoming flood of tears. She cried like a baby for what seemed like hours before choking out the end of her sentence.

"…Spot on," she finished meekly.

Edgeworth could only say what he knew best.

"Hmph," he grunted. He had simply let this mere child of a lawyer cry herself to embarrassment without offering a hand of sympathy. The young prosecutor had never been put in a position to offer comfort, and instead of trying when he would most certainly fail, he ignored her completely and pulled out a piece of paper and began to write.

"All right mister maturity," Mia challenged through a tear-stained face. "How would you handle this?"

Edgeworth merely finished his note, folded it neatly, and slipped it into Mia's pocket.

"I look forward to seeing you in court once again, Ms. Fey."

With that last remark, Edgeworth bowed, scooped up his jacket and cravat, and gracefully exited the room, leaving Mia standing alone in the prosecutor's lobby. She quickly opened up the note and read the elegant regal-looking script.

"Is that for your eyes only, kitten?"

Mia looked up to see Diego enter the prosecutor's lobby with a freshly bandaged right hand wrapped around yet another cup of black coffee.

"Do you want to read it, Diego?" Mia asked skeptically. "I wouldn't think you'd be interested in what a mere kitten's note had to say."

"Fair enough, Mia," Diego chuckled. "Seems you're feeling a bit better. Still thinking of quitting?"

Mia paused and glanced down at the note that was now folded crisply in her hand.

"Maybe just a coffee break," Mia smirked. She took Diego's free hand and began to walk back home feeling maybe a little better that she did right after the trial. Diego ruffled her hair as the couple made their way back to Mia's home, with Edgeworth's note still tucked away in Mia's coat pocket.


Several months later, Mia sat in the hospital room, grasping Diego's right hand with her own like she used to, even though she knew he couldn't feel a thing. On this particular day, her eyes were dry, but there was a hint of anger and a sense of determination behind them that would make anyone shiver and give her their utmost respect. In her left hand was a crumpled scrap of paper with words in elegant script that she had committed to memory. Those words were important – now more than ever before. In the back of Mia's mind, she envisioned the perfect empirical handwriting that etched out her future and her resolve.

Don't forget the name Dahlia Hawthorne.