Drabbles for the Phoenix Wright Kink Meme: Empty Chairs and Empty Tables

Title: Empty Chairs and Empty Tables
Request: Edgeworth’s disappearance post 1-5 from Gumshoe’s point of view.
Warnings: None.
Original Link: http://teagueful.livejournal.com/38756.html?thread=12887396#t12887396


He is the first one to find the note, the sole thing out of place in Mr. Edgeworth’s otherwise immaculate office. He shows it to Mr. Wright, hoping to God that Mr. Edgeworth is being figurative. Mr. Wright smiles and lies through his teeth that he is sure Mr. Edgeworth will show up again someday with that “insufferable smirk of his”, and everything will be all right again, and he pretends to agree, but his heart’s not in his cheeky grin and he hopes Mr. Wright doesn’t notice.

He rushes to Mr. Edgeworth’s apartment as soon as his shift ends, almost bursting down the door before remembering to ask the landlord to give him a hand. He finds it just as immaculate as Mr. Edgeworth’s office, and feels his heart skip when he realizes that Mr. Edgeworth’s beautiful dog is nowhere to be seen. Upon a more thorough search, the pet carrier is added to the list of missing items, and he dares to believe that maybe, just maybe, Mr. Edgeworth was coming back rather than off somewhere committing murder-suicide with his dog.

He keeps Mr. Edgeworth’s office spotless, knocking on the door every time and letting himself in slow and easy even though there is no Mr. Edgeworth to yell at him that there is more important work than dusting to be done. At first, he makes a bigger mess of things, but as time passes he learns to navigate the area without knocking things over. He even puzzles out Mr. Edgeworth’s filing system and delivers all of Ms. von Karma’s finished cases as soon as court adjourns.

He still showers confetti on Mr. Wright at the end of every case he takes, but during the trial his eyes are no longer on the court proceedings but fixed in the gallery, scanning the faces for any sign of Mr. Edgeworth. He goes to every crime scene, hoping to hear Mr. Edgeworth’s voice, even if it’s to dock his pay for the latest infraction, real or imagined. He keeps an extra umbrella tucked under his arm whenver it rains, becase Mr. Edgeworth always forgets his, and even the slightest bit of water would ruin that beautiful suit. The tiniest tremor puts him in a panic, looking in every corner and under every desk he can find to see if there is a familiar form huddled there, trembling.

He leaves long, rambling messages on Mr. Edgeworth’s cell phone, telling him how everybody is doing. He writes much of the same to the address Ms. von Karma provides for him, and he also sends along many, many pictures. And though the calls are never returned and the letters sit in a pile unopened—he knows this because Ms. von Karma keeps in contact with her family in Germany and no one comes to claim the envelopes marked for Mr. Edgeworth—he never gives up, never stops trying.

The days stretch into weeks, and then months. He cleans, and files, and watches, and calls, and writes, and waits. And waits.

And waits.

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