Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

 It’s a gradual process, so gradual that it’s not until the final, final resolution of DL-6 that Miles even notices. No, that is incorrect – it is a few days after that, when the truth of the situation has finally sunk in and the weight he has carried for fifteen years finally sloughed from his shoulders, that he notices. A grey January day split by a shaft of sunlight spilling through the clouds and across his desk and sleeve, the wine fabric rich in its light. And the thought comes to him…

Has it always been this vibrant, this… bright?

A moment to walk across his office, compare his current jacket to the one in the case to confirm that, no, this is indeed the same shade he has always worn. It simply appears more vivid today for some reason.

…

…it really is quite eye-catching, isn’t it?

A few more moments’ pondering on this and he dismisses the vague concern it raises as unnecessary. It is still a fine shade that suits him well, and as it has never caused undue trouble before then there is no reason to start worrying now.

It turns out it’s not just his own clothes that have become brighter, however. Perhaps he would not have noticed in another season, but it is January, and even Japanafornia cannot escape the clouds and gloom the first month of the year so seems to favour. And against this grey backdrop the colours that are there stand out all the more – a red scarf, a green hat, a shock of blue when Wright sprints past him one day in court, in too much of a hurry for more than a frazzled, “Hi, Edgeworth!” thrown over one shoulder. (And that really is… much bluer than he’d thought it was the previous times he’d faced the man (and a tiny part of him is relieved not to actually be the only lawyer in the city running around in jewel tones).) It is strange. Not… unpleasant, per se, but strange, that colours are becoming so much more apparent to him lately, though he thinks little of it.

Until Gant.

Until “You’ll end up just like him” starts ringing around and around in his head and the colours around him go so dim as to be nearly grey-scale, and he finally makes the connection that it was likely the years of stress and fear under von Karma that had had the colours originally leeching from his world.

…he can’t go back to this.

He can’t stand to become another Gant, another von Karma, and he especially can’t do it as he watches the city that was bright in his childhood memories, was becoming bright in his present day, loses all saturation and fades to monochrome. Not when he’d thought he finally understood how to bring about justice as opposed to merely convictions, and when he can now barely understand blue from yellow.

…there are too many memories here, good and bad and horrific, too many people with their faces going greyer by the minute, and it is too much-

It is too much.

If he stays, he’ll break, and if he breaks he’ll never get a chance to prove them wrong, that he is not the man Manfred von Karma raised him to be, he’s the one Phoenix Wright managed somehow to see and save. And he wants to have been worth saving. He may never follow in his father’s footsteps like he dreamed as a child, but he still wants to see justice done from the side of the court he now stands on.

And he can’t rely on Wright for this. The man saved him once – twice, really – but Miles learned young that people can be gone in an instant, so he cannot rely on Wright forever. This time he must save himself, find his way back into the colourful world Wright and the Fey girl and Gumshoe and everyone else seem to inhabit so naturally, on his own feet, by his own works.

He packs his bags and boards a plane for Europe, for places with no ghosts and no memories and where, for all he knows, the peoples’ faces have always been tinted grey. The note… is cruel. This he knows, even as he writes it, even as he leaves it. But Phoenix Wright chased him across fifteen years on nothing but the memory of a nine-year-old boy who, for all that man knew, could have vanished into the darkness years ago. They have somehow grown closer since then, friendlier, and that man has unusually strong luck; a mere ocean would not stop him, and Miles fears what might happen if he arrives, glowing blue, shining with his faith in the law and in the man Miles has yet to truly become.

…this is all for the best.

This is the only way Miles can think of to ever be able to meet his own eyes in the mirror again and bring colour back to his world.

So he studies. He reads book after case file, sits in on open trials, speaks with other prosecutors both senior and junior to himself, and even to some defense attorneys, judges, and other members of the legal system. He goes over the lessons Manfred von Karma drilled into him with a fine-toothed comb, discarding anything that looks even remotely unsavoury (anything that turns out to have been useful he can always relearn). He goes from country to country, lives in hotels, and, three months in, realizes that while he can meet his own gaze with greater ease now, feels that he is simply walking through deep mud rather than on rock crumbling away beneath his feet, the colours of his world are still dim and fleeting, and this will not do.

So he buys himself a small carrier bag, and into it he puts a camera, rolls of film, and an inexpensive, jointed figure of the Steel Samurai. Because he once heard that photography forces you to see the world around you in a new way, which is what he desires to do. The Steel Samurai figure is to ensure he always has something he wants to take a picture of and is willing to devote time to making look good. The film is so that he doesn’t get lost in taking too many pictures – he’s still primarily here to study law, not to become some strange artist or fill up his phone’s memory file or something of the such.

…the first roll, when he gets it developed, has him investing in a book on photography, because he’s not planning to be a professional but this is just embarrassing. The hero of Neo Olde Tokyo deserves better than this. Working within the limits of the figure’s joints slowly becomes easier as well, so it looks less like an awkward toy placed on the ground by a (vaguely embarrassed) man and more the noble warrior of justice it’s meant to resemble.

The entire enterprise serves no true purpose. He shows the pictures to no one, keeps more than the negatives of only a few, takes even fewer pictures than he had originally planned so as not to waste his limited luggage space with ream after ream of bits of coloured card stock, it uses time he could be devoting to furthering his understanding of the law, justice, and his role in both. Franziska would call him foolish. Manfred would call him childish. Wright would probably at least roll his eyes, perhaps tease him a bit.

Miles doesn’t stop. And two months after buying the camera he realizes that he’s noticing the details of his surroundings more than he used to, some places a jointed figure would look like a full-sized human or that would emphasize its true size, and some that are simply interesting to see. His phone begins to accrue its own library of carefully framed photos after all.

Another month and he has to stop for a moment to take in the vivid orange of a tree whose leaves are changing unseasonably early, turn and see the multi-hued faces of the people passing by…

OoOoOoOoO

He is not welcomed back with open arms when he finally returns to America. It’s not a surprise, not with how he made his departure. He was prepared for this.

It still hurts.

Just a little. Deep in the part of him that noticed and appreciated that that man always had a smile for him, when no one else generally did beyond Gumshoe. So it hurts to see Wright scowling and angry now, especially when the hatred is not mutual.

Miles doesn’t show it. He is- he was literally trained to scowl at people from a young age, to the point that it’s his natural resting expression. Wright is angry at him? Fine, that’s fair – he still needs Miles’s help for this, Miles came back and revealed his presence for this purpose and, so help him, that’s what he’s going to do!

Thus it is completely natural that Miles ends up standing on opposite sides of the court from that man, his sister shot and Wright apparently happy to concede the case to him as quickly as possible because of course. A year away had apparently brightened his vision while dulling his memory of the chaos field that man seems to inhabit, and now it’s lucky that Miles knows Wright as well as he does and is willing to put finding the truth above an easy win, or any sort of win, these days.

But he meant what he had said – the man he was, the Demon Prosecutor, is dead. Even the man he was a year ago, who saw everything with a thick grey wash and was struggling to rebuild his own identity in many ways, feels something of a stranger to him. So he fights and he stalls and he pushes as Wright does the same until they somehow manage to force the truth to light.

It’s rarely been more of a relief to have to brush that dratted confetti Gumshoe insists on making from his hair outside the courtroom. The confrontation with his sister is… less satisfying but, in spite of the circumstances that brought it about, she is his sister, and he does not wish to see her broken by the same legacy he himself is finally escaping. Her anger and sworn vengeance are preferable to the helpless frustration the trial had left her with.

For now, however, he still has much to learn himself, not to mention unfinished business in Europe, and cannot and will not wait for her.

This time Wright and Maya Fey see him off at the airport.

This time the paper he leaves behind has contact information on it.

He still has much to learn, but the colours around him are clear and the ground is solid enough beneath his feet that it feels safe to walk next to others now, if only from time to time…

Chapter Text

Miles and Wright contact each other infrequently – they’re in different time zones and both busy men, and Miles is unskilled at casual communication. Fortunately that man never seems overly bothered, likely he knows Miles too well for that (and what a strange thought it is, when he realizes this, one that comes with emotions he cannot identify).

At any rate, his studies continue to go smoothly, and he’s well-known enough in Europe at this point that he’s been requested to assist in several trials by colleagues he’s met here. When looking at some of his old photographs compared to more recent ones, he also notices that his skills in this area have significantly improved. This is not as important as his legal career, but it is oddly satisfying (tangible, quantifiable proof of growth and change).

Colour is something he’s growing increasingly sensitive to because, while important, his choice to continue his career in the law requires him to face old ghosts and mistakes, often at the most unexpected times. He’s learning to notice when the colours around him start to dim, to take measures before things begin to grey – stop and breathe for five minutes, make a cup of tea, watch an episode of Steel Samurai if it’s evening, listen to one of the theme songs if it’s the day, sometimes even just make a note to come back to this if he is in a situation he cannot halt or remove himself from. Tiny things he would never have considered, let alone allowed himself to do, a few short years ago, but now it’s a little hard to understand how he once functioned without them. Thus the world is staying its proper colours more and more regularly, and he believes it all right to be proud of this fact.

Then Larry calls him out of the blue.

“Edgy- Miles, it’s bad. Phoenix, he- there was a bridge, it was on fire- he fell-”

Miles is on a private jet within an hour, heading for America, doing his best to breathe in a world of perfect greyscale.

OoOoOoOoO

“Edgeworth! Hi! …weren’t you in Europe?”

Two things occupy Miles’s head the moment he sees Wright sitting up in the hospital bed, poking at a pudding cup. First is an overwhelming sense of relief, the colours flooding back into his vision insignificant compared to seeing Phoenix hale and whole. The second is that Larry Butz is a dead man, Miles is going to mail him to every country in the world simultaneously-

“-worth? Miles? Hello in there?”

“I was.”

“Huh?”

“I was in Europe. Austria, to be specific.”

“Oh.” Wright’s eyebrows knit together, puzzled. “Then why are you here?”

This is embarrassing in retrospect, but- “Larry informed me that you were in… rather worse condition than you evidently are.”

The man has the gall to laugh. “You listened to Larry? He’s-”

“I thought you were dying.”

Wright’s eyes fly wide open at this, all mirth leaving his face, jaw going slack, and Miles finds he can’t meet his gaze any longer, turning his head to stare at the wall, gripping his arm.

“I see now that it was ridiculous to trust such an obviously faulty source of information, but that’s what I believed to be true. Of course I came.”

He hears Wright make several false starts before he swallows audibly and finally gets out, “Nope, not dying – just a nasty cold. It’s- I’m glad you came, though, and I do need your help! You see…”

What follows are some of the most insane, chaotic days he will likely ever experience, a golden badge on his lapel and a green stone shaped like a comma in his pocket, the surreal experience of trying to prove innocence as opposed to guilt, old secrets and lies revealed, and wearing the same clothes for far too long because in his haste to leave he’d grabbed his photography satchel instead of his overnight bag and somehow not noticed this until he was halfway across the ocean. Indeed, it’s such a whirlwind that he doesn’t really have the chance to sit down and think about what’s happened, how he came to be in Kurain, what his reaction to Larry’s faulty news means until the night after the trial’s conclusion, alone in his hotel room.

Colour has never vanished this quickly for him before.

(He removes his jabot.)

Nor so completely.

(His jacket goes to rest on a provided hanger.)

Not even after Gant.

(His waistcoat follows on its own hanger.)

Wright is his friend, probably his best friend.

(Trousers go over a third hanger, carefully arranged to prevent further wrinkling.)

Miles has acknowledged this for more than a year now.

(He walks over to the bed.)

But this is more than that.

(Sits down on the edge.)

He respects the man, admires him, is more grateful to him than he’ll ever be able to express.

(Lies down on his side.)

And somewhere along the line this has turned into caring for him more than he would have ever believed possible.

(Deep breath in.)

Miles flips onto his stomach, face first into the pillow, and screams until he runs out of air.

Wright had been right – doubt, uncertainty, those are completely necessary feelings, they’re signals that something is wrong, spurs to attack, defend, protect, dig deeper until the truth is flung fully into the light, and Miles has learned to wield them like the tools they are. This feeling he is currently experiencing, however?

This is completely unnecessary!!!

He was fine with how things were, he was good, he does not need some foreign emotion so profound that it sends his world grey if it looks like the object of this emotion might vanish, he didn’t lose this much colour when Franziska was shot right in front of him, and that was one of the absolute worst moments of his life!

Irrationally, he grabs for his satchel, pulls out the tiny figure from inside it. “What would you do in this situation?”

Except Miles knows what the Steel Samurai had done, he’d taken a season and a half to come to terms with and then finally make his feelings known to the Pink Princess, and then another season and a half later there had been the special theatrical release of the wedding episode, which Miles had stayed up until midnight to attend. It’s one of the most hotly debated storylines in the fandom (according to Maya), but Miles has always found it rather moving, even, dare he say, romantic. Two mighty warriors coming together to defend their city and finding themselves strengthened by their differences, eventually drawn together not just by their mutual desire to see justice done but by something more and oh no-

(The Steel Samurai gets stuffed back in the satchel with far less care than he usually is, because he’s being far less helpful than usual.)

By morning, Miles has had far less sleep than he had intended, but he does have a course of action planned:

He’s not going to do anything.

Some might call it denial or cowardice, but he disagrees. He has never strangled a witness, never struck back when Franziska went at him with her riding crop as a child, and he’s not actually going to kill Larry. A strong emotion does not require itself to be acted upon; his understanding of this is one of the things that separates him from the people he helps put in jail. The fact that this is a positive emotion as opposed to a negative one makes no difference, especially when he’s not entirely sure what it is beyond a bone-deep need for Wright to continue to be alive and healthy. And until he can properly put a name to it, is ready to properly put a name to it, he is content to have the man’s friendship and respect.

Besides, he’s going back to Austria today, on account of the fact that he had work he left behind there which he needs to return to, along with a potential prosecution job he’s considering taking on (he’s been studying long enough, he’s ready to get back to being an active part of the legal system). Now is not the time to be getting himself entangled in emotional issues, of all things.

He’s still happy when Wright comes to see him off at the airport again, with a bright smile and a handshake and a promise that, next time he needs help, he’ll call himself. Miles goes so far as to turn back and wave at him before going through security, and perhaps it wasn’t under the best circumstances, but he’s glad he came. He has no regrets from this case.

OoOoOoOoO

Miles has so many regrets it’s not even funny, he should never have touched that blasted defense attorney badge, because apparently the chaos that follows that man like a lost puppy is contagious.

A month of normalcy, a decision to return to Los Tokyo to make his current status as an international prosecutor official, clean out his office, and put his possessions in storage, and suddenly he’s running into murder after investigation after trial and now he’s sitting in his current hotel room, staring at the prosecutor’s badge he had nearly given up for good. White, gold, red, all jagged edges and sharp points; he studies it in a way he never has before. After all, a prosecutor is simply what he is, what he has been trained to be since he was a child, what he’s been spending the past few years relearning how to do properly. The thought of not being a prosecutor anymore, of returning to his childhood dream of following his father’s footsteps… it had never even crossed his mind until his current job got in the way of protecting Kay Faraday, until Ray Shields. He hadn’t really thought about what he would do if he hadn’t been reinstated, but it had come so close…

No, no sense dwelling on what-ifs or maybes. He has it back and, if nothing else, he feels truly confident that he at last truly understands his place in the legal system. On a whim, he pins his badge to his lapel, where for a brief time Wright’s badge had perched. While he normally does not partake in nonsense such as ‘selfies,’ he is feeling rather worn at the moment, he had promised that man he’d let him know the outcome of all this nonsense, and a picture is worth a thousand words. Also, he trusts him not to show it to anyone problematic. Thus he does not bother sitting up from where he had indulged himself in flopping on the bed fully-clothed for once, merely pulls his phone from the inner pocket of his jacket and opens the appropriate application, then angles himself so that the badge is prominent. What was that other thing you’re supposed to do for photos such as this? Oh yes, smile. He smiles, because, even if the world had been looking a little greyer by the end, the colour is seeping back again and he is pleased with how events concluded.

*click*

…ugh, he’s rumpled, but the picture is otherwise decent and Wright might tease him, but he won’t actually care, so Miles simply types ‘I got it back’ and hits send. He can be horrified by his actions in the morning…

OoOoOoOoO

(He is asleep not long after, so he doesn’t see that his message is received almost instantly, nor that it takes nearly an hour of interspersed pausing and typing for Phoenix to reply, ‘Congratulations, I knew you could do it!’)

Chapter Text

A scant few weeks later and his phone goes off in the middle of the night. He has a trial in the morning, so it’s with an even worse attitude than usual that Miles answers with a curt, “Do you have any idea what time it is-?!”

“Edgeworth…”

Miles is not… the best when it comes to emotions, but even he can hear the tears threatening in this voice. All resentment leaves him as he sits up, abruptly awake. “Wright? What is it, what happened? Are you injured?”

“No, no, I’m not hurt, I-” there is a muffled sound that Miles would bet anything is the tears trying to win, “I messed up, Edgeworth. I messed up real bad and I- help. Please. I need help.”

“Are you in danger?”

“I don’t think so.”

“At trial?”

A noise too bitter to have come from Wright. “Not anymore.”

“I see.” He runs a hand through his hair, takes a deep breath, and tells the truth. “If this trouble you are in is immediate, I can be there in two days, but I will not be able to stay long. If it will keep for any amount of time, give me a week and I will be able to give you a month. I am prosecuting a trial at the moment, but I can call in a favour if necessary.”

A long, long silence, then-

“A week. Take a week.”

It sounds like it’s killing Wright to say it. Frankly it kills Miles a little to hear it – he’s never known Wright to require his aid for more than a few days. If the man thinks that it will take this much time-

“Wright, what happened?”

“…I’ll tell you when you get here, I can’t do it over the phone. I thought I could, but I can’t.”

“As you will, then.” Miles hesitates a moment, then adds, “But know this: whatever is happening, whatever has gone wrong, we will fix it. No matter how long it takes.”

“You don’t even know what I did.”

“I don’t need to; I know you. That is enough.”

Wright makes a sound somewhere between laughing and crying, but his voice is stronger when he speaks again. “Thanks, Edgeworth. I- thanks.”

“You are welcome.”

“Good night, I guess.”

He hangs up before Miles can respond.

OoOoOoOoO

It’s the longest week Miles has ever experienced, and he’s just glad he’d been in Germany, a country he is deeply familiar with and fluently speaks the language of, when Wright had called. A week to finish the trial, get his affairs in order, arrange time off, take two blessedly turbulence-free flights, and finally finds himself outside of Wright’s apartment. Which is odd – he’s only ever been to Wright's office in the past – but this is the address he’d been given.

The sight that greets him when Wright finally opens the door has him sucking air through his teeth, because never has he seen anyone living look this grey when the world around them remains colourful. He looks haggard, even his ridiculous hair is less spikey than normal, and his clothes are wrinkled in a way that looks slept in.

“Wright, what in the world-?”

“Hi!”

A small brown head in a salmon top hat pops up around Wright’s side, beaming up at him.

“I’m Trucy, last name pending! Are you Mr. Edgeworth? Mr. Wright said you were coming!

…

“Wright…”

“You’d better come in.”

He stands to the side to let Miles pass, which he does without a word, remaining silent until he’s seated on the sofa in Wright’s living room, Trucy vanished off to her room (her room???) to practice magic(?) while Miles and Wright speak. Wright sits at the opposite end of the sofa, hands loosely folded and dangling between his knees, eyes on them instead of Miles.

“I lost my badge,” he says abruptly, still not looking at Miles, “I was careless, I presented evidence in court without properly verifying its authenticity, and it turned out to have been forged. I couldn’t prove I didn’t do it on purpose, and was disbarred as a result. I am no longer a lawyer, I have no idea what I’m going to do, except that it looks like I’m going to be adopting Trucy, because she hasn’t got anyone and her dad told her to trust me but I have no idea how to take care of a kid and-”

Wright is clutching his hair by now, staring blindly at the floor, seeing less and less as he falls deeper into terror, and it is terrifying to see, he’s never seen Wright this helplessly afraid before-

…Miles has almost no practice offering comfort or solace, especially of a physical sort, but… he’s reasonably sure an arm around the shoulders is appropriate in this situation? He really hopes it is, because that’s what he’s about to attempt.

Wright apparently doesn’t notice Miles sliding along the sofa and stiffens at the contact, jerking to finally meet his eyes. “It was an accident,” he pleads, “I swear it was an accident!”

“I know,” Miles replies, “Apart from your tendency to bluff, you are quite possibly the most honourable man I know. You would never do that on purpose.”

Another moment of staring and then Wright’s face crumples and he’s sobbing into Miles’s shoulder, because for some reason, after all the good he’s done, all the times he’s proved himself, Miles is the only one who has believed him.

…

…this is outrageous.

Usually in a situation like this the world would have dimmed for him, at least a little, but for once the colours stay true, because the ground beneath Miles’s feet is still steady and he is not afraid, he is furious, at whoever caused this forgery to happen, at the mercilessness of the courts, at the world for letting a good man be brought so low that he has only someone as inept as Miles to comfort him. This is wrong, and it is all Miles can do to rein his temper into something manageable while Wright pours what feels like a week’s worth of repressed tears into his suit jacket and the sleeve beneath…

Manfred has always said that tears are completely without worth, a frivolous attempt by the weak to make themselves appear more pitiable. But, then again, the man had also claimed that all forms of emotional bond were weaknesses, so likely tears have some value after all, even if Miles does not know what it is. In any case, he makes no attempt to stop Wright, allowing the man to find his own ending point and trying desperately to recall how his father used to comfort him when he was small in the meantime.

Finally, Wright pulls away, sniffling and rubbing his nose on his sleeve. Miles sighs, pulls his handkerchief from his pocket rather than search the room for tissues, and offers it. “Blow.”

Wright blinks, but obeys, blinking again when Miles rises from the sofa, but also obeying again when Miles points at him and commands, “Stay.”

It takes two cupboards to find a glass when he reaches the kitchen, which he proceeds to fill with water from the tap before returning to the living room and holding it out to Wright. “Drink.”

“Bossy,” the man replies, but accepts with a watery smile, downing half the glass in one go.

“Hmph. Have you ever known me to be otherwise?”

“True.”

Wright takes the rest of the glass more slowly while Miles removes his jacket and goes to hang it over the back of a kitchen chair in the vain hope that it will dry at least somewhat before he goes to his hotel. The sight of the enormous wet patch taking up one shoulder and descending down the arm and chest causes Wright to wince. “Sorry about that.”

“Hmph.” Miles give the jacket a last twitch so that it lies smoothly, then, without looking, asks, “The crying. It… helped?”

“I- yeah. I’m still upset, but I feel better; my head’s clearer.”

“Then don’t worry about it.” Miles seats himself back on the sofa. “Now, if you are able, please tell me how this… wrongness came to be, in more detail this time.”

And so Wright tells him about the disastrous trial – murder, magicians, forged evidence, the upcoming young prosecutor who finally laid low the turnabout terror, and the final injustice. When he is done, Wright sits quietly, twisting Miles’s handkerchief in his hands as Miles thinks how to respond.

His first instinct is to offer aid, to do everything in his power to make this disappear. The career he has led and being one of von Karma’s protégés have left him with many connections and resources in influential places. It would be easy for him to get Trucy’s adoption sped up, acquire the necessary papers and passports in a fraction of the time their acquisition usually takes, place Wright in the position to take the European bar. The courts over there already tend to be somewhat disparaging of the American legal system, especially the three day limit for trials, and by their standards Wright’s disbarment is invalid, with no deeper investigation having been carried out nor a separate trial having been held to decide the outcome if the results came back unclear. With Miles vouching for him and the correct palms properly greased, it would be no great task to convince his colleagues there to view Wright’s disbarment as the farce it is and to accept him into their ranks. Indeed, there is only one thing stopping him from offering this outright…

“Wright.”

“Mm?”

“This will sound unrelated, but I swear to you it is not, so I ask you to humour me in this.”

“…okay?”

Miles takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and now it is his turn to avoid eye contact. “You have never asked me why I left. Ask me now. Fetch your trinket if you wish.”

“Which time you left?”

“You know which.”

Wright takes a shuddering breath, and Miles hears him slap his cheeks, bracing himself. Then, “Look at me, please.”

It’s hard, but he acquiesces, meeting Wright’s gaze as steadily as he can.

“Miles Edgeworth. Why did you leave me thinking you were dead for a year?”

…he has come to this situation of his own volition, but it is still a struggle to make the words come, to admit openly to weakness, even to one he trusts as deeply as Wright. “Gant. His assessment of me being destined to become like him… it left me with the foundations of my world and what I was crumbling. And I knew, no matter where I went, if you knew, you would follow. You found me through fifteen years of Manfred von Karma’s teachings – a mere plane ride wouldn’t have stopped you, and you had already saved me twice. This time I needed to save myself.”

“You,” Wright’s expression is pained, “You could have told me that, I would have-”

“The man I was then did not have the words to explain himself, nor the ability to ask for such a thing. I did what I thought necessary to survive, but I make no claims that in doing so I treated you in a manner you deserved. It was cruel, I make no excuses, and I am telling you this simply so that you will fully understand what I am about to ask you.” He straightens, meeting Wright’s gaze more directly. “You and I both know that someone set you up to be disgraced, publicly shamed. I am currently in a position where I can save you, but, Wright… do you want to be saved?”

The man is openly gaping at him now, at a loss for words in a way that would be most gratifying if they were facing each other in court. “I- Edgeworth…”

He halts when Miles holds up a hand. “You don’t need to answer now – I will be in Los Tokyo for a month, after all. Think on it, and be aware that, whatever you choose, I and my resources will remain at your disposal.”

“Okay.” Wright smiles at him, tears beading at the corners of his eyes again. “Thanks, Edgeworth.”

“Oh, go drink some more water,” Miles flusters, “If you keep crying at this rate you’re going to shrivel into dust before we resolve anything.”

Wright has the gall to laugh at him. “Fine, I take it all back, you’re a great big meanie.” He does rise to fetch himself more to drink, however, popping his head back through the kitchen doorway a moment later. “And I’m still mad at you about the faking your death thing!”

“As you should be.”

“You’re not supposed to agree with me, it’s not satisfying if you agree with me!”

“My heart weeps.”

“You’re the worst.”

“You’re glad I’m here.”

“Yeah,” Wright admits as he comes back in the living room, “I really am. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Chapter Text

Miles stays a touch longer, but only a touch. His life has left him surprisingly adept at dealing with jetlag, but even he can’t shake off nine hours that easily. Besides, if he doesn’t check in soon they’ll give away his hotel reservation, and he doesn’t want to spend time finding a new one on top of all the emotions and terrible news this day has already brought.

Trucy reappears at the sound of him leaving, peeking around a corner she has likely been lurking behind far longer than she will admit, if memories of childhood serve. “Aren’t you going to stay for supper? Mr. Wright was really looking forward to seeing you.”

“Not tonight, I’m afraid,” Miles offers in the face of this blatant attempt at emotional manipulation, “I’m quite tired from my travels. Perhaps tomorrow?”

“Sure?” Wright looks almost surprised at the suggestion, though as to why he would be Miles is uncertain – they have shared meals after and during cases on other occasions. “I’m not sure I can make anything that’ll meet your standards, though.”

“I believe you’ll find my ‘standards’ for restaurants is rather different than those I have for amateur cooks,” Miles replies drily. Honestly, is it such a stretch to believe that he might eat in at times, or even often? Or that his own far-less-than professional abilities might have prepared him for what this might mean? Besides, five star restaurants aren’t open at two in the morning for prosecutors any more than they are for anyone else, and he and Franziska both tend to forget to pause for meals when caught up in a case.

From Wright’s expression, even without being told the details, yes, it is an enormous stretch. “Oh. Okay then.”

Miles nods, adjusts his jacket once more (ugh, still damp), and takes his leave, promising to text after he has breakfasted the next day.

Once he is checked into his room, he strips down to shirt and trousers, then indulges himself in a temper tantrum.

The world is unjust by nature, he knows this, has known this since he was a child – it is why humans created the law. To rise above the base injustice of the natural order and become better for it. But humans are by their own nature flawed, as a prosecutor he knows this very well indeed, and so the system they have created is flawed. How can it not be, when he, who may never have purposefully used forged evidence, but who has certainly withheld it, obscured it, harassed witnesses and ensured sentences handed down that outweighed the crimes committed, who has obstructed and flouted justice for personal success dozens of times in his ignoble career, is here, successful and respected, while a far better man than him, one he owes his life to multiple times over, has been brutally cast out by the system he devoted his own life to. It is not just, it is not right, it’s not fair.

It’s not fair and, no matter how much he might wish otherwise, it is unlikely that Wright will allow himself to be saved. The trial may be over but the case is not closed, not with Zak Gramarye vanished into thin air and nothing truly solved. The truth is still buried, and that man is incapable of letting such things lie. Now begins the hunt for Zak Gramarye, the forger, and the mysterious figure who orchestrated Wright’s disgrace.

He sighs as his temper finally leaves him, and a glance at his trousers shows that it has taken a chunk of his colour vision with it, because of course it has. Unsurprising at this point. Irritating, but unsurprising. Well, that’s a problem for later – the colours around him are merely dim, not yet grey-washed, well within what he considers reasonable parameters, and it is one of those annoying situations where it is likely that only time will bring them back. He dislikes these. Then again, he hates to think what Wright is going through at this moment, so he won’t complain (much). There’s really nothing he can do at all until he acquires more data on the overall situation and what is needed from him. Best to simply prepare for bed and get adequate rest for tomorrow.

(He has no nightmares, but he still sleeps poorly.)

OoOoOoOoO

The next few days center mostly on Wright regaining his mental equilibrium – he’s gotten a surprising amount done in the week Miles took to arrive, after the initial shock, but it seems he was simply doing his best to ignore the situation as much as possible, treat it like any other case, started and ended within a few days. Then, the day before Miles had arrived, Trucy had appeared at the Wright & Co. Law Offices, and the true scope of the situation had come crashing down on him. He has almost no leads, no idea who would have wanted and been able to do this to him, and he’ll need a job of some sort to sustain himself and Trucy while he works to get his badge back.

Trucy is insistent that Wright doesn’t need to worry, because she is self-sufficient and can pay her own way. To prove this, she vanishes the third day after Miles’s arrival, sending Wright into a panic (not unreasonably, considering the recent case she was tangentially involved with), only for her to reappear come supper time, hungry as a lion and with several hundred dollars in her hat.

“Trucy, kiddo… where did you get that, keeping in mind that if you just say ‘magic,’ I’m going to have to assume you stole it and turn you over to the juvenile courts and that I really, really don’t want to do that,” Wright says, haggard and still slightly wild about the eyes.

“Of course not!” Trucy frowns at him, indignant, “I earned it!”

“How?”

“Busking, of course!”

Wright shoots Miles a look that very clearly says ‘the eight-year-old orphan has it more together than I do and I don’t think I can deal with that, help me.’

Miles sighs and rubs his forehead. “Trucy, if you will kindly allow Wright a moment to be relieved that you are not, as he feared, dead or kidnapped, I would like to talk to you about some things known as ‘child labor laws’ and how you are not going to accidentally get him arrested for breaking them…”

Trucy is a smart, charming, and, above all else, well-intentioned young girl. Once she has a grasp of what Miles is telling her, she insists that he and Wright spend the next few days helping her figure out how she can have a magic career to ‘help earn her keep’ without getting her new caregiver in even more trouble with the law. Fortunately her magic act counts as ‘theatre,’ meaning she is allowed to draw a wage from it at her age. However she definitely is not allowed to be the main income provider of the household at age eight, sending Wright back to the ‘help wanted’ ads.

To be honest… Miles isn’t much use with this. It’s an enterprise entirely outside his areas of both knowledge and experience, and even if he had failed to get his own badge back, his savings and stock portfolio are such that he wouldn’t have needed to seek new employment due to financial difficulty (Manfred had been awful in many ways, but one thing he had ensured was that Miles knows how to properly take care of his own money, a skill Miles does appreciate having). Not to mention that he’d gotten himself tossed out of the apartment early on in this leg of the venture due to being ‘overly obnoxious,’ even if he hadn’t really meant to be.

“I’m simply saying a janitorial position would take advantage of your propensity for cleaning up messes.”

“Objection, the prosecution is being mean and undermining the defense’s lagging sense of self-worth!”

“I am not!”

“Prove it.”

Miles had scowled, pulled out his cellphone, and scrolled through his photo library before pulling up the appropriate picture and sliding his phone across the table to Wright. “Take that!”

“I don’t see how a picture’s going to help your ca-aaaase, how the hell do you have this?!?” Wright’s confident if grumpy expression had melted to slack-jawed shock as he stared at the picture of himself scrubbing a bathroom floor in partial business attire.

Miles had raised a smug eyebrow, spreading his hands. “I have an informant among your people, of course.”

“What?!? Who would-!?” Wright’s eyes had narrowed as he shook a fist at a person not present. “Maya.”

“Indeed.” In spite of the… tensions of their initial meetings, Miles owes Miss Fey a great debt for the aid she offered Wright regarding DL-6, amongst other things, and she has since proven herself to have excellent taste in media, photographs of dogs, and cheerfully mocking Wright (though the first two are their primary topics of communication).

Wright had been unamused, in spite of Miles having proven that his suggestion sincerely took into account both his skill set and interests (if Maya was to be believed), and had found himself informed that he would receive either a text or phone call if his presence were required or it came time for supper, whichever came first.

(The second night’s supper has somehow turned into a standing invitation for the duration of his time here.)

Miles would very much like to be snide about the situation, but devoting oneself to the pursuit of truth does require a certain amount of self-honesty if it is to be successful. And, as he not only came expressly to help, but also implied that he would stand back if required or requested, he cannot truly be cross at Wright for tasking him to make good on his word.

At least, he can’t after he’s sulked through the peoples’ park for an hour, which he counts as good enough.

It also leaves him in the surreal position of being in Los Tokyo but not working in any way for the first time since he was nine years old. How odd. He ends up wandering somewhat aimlessly, looking to see which familiar locations have remained, which have changed. It doesn’t take as long as he’d thought it would, given his history with this city, rather driving home the fact that he hadn’t gotten out much unless he was on a case before he took up photography. Most of the places that are truly important to him have been visited by the time his phone buzzes with the message that supper will be ready soon, and, as he begins to make his way back, he thinks that it wouldn’t hurt to do a little exploring at some point, should his presence prove unnecessary again at some point during his stay…

Chapter Text

“It’s odd.”

“What’s odd?” Wright sticks his head in from where he’s just taken the last of the dishes to the kitchen.

Miles frowns down at his message log. “I would have thought Miss Fey would have contacted me by now, either to make sure I knew about that trial or to harangue me into helping her solve your problems – she’s very vocal about that, you know. She seems under the impression at times that I’m your keeper when she’s not around.”

There is a sudden silence in the kitchen; it sounds like guilt, and also like perspiration appearing on Wright’s face.

“Wright?”

More guilty, sweat-drenched silence.

Miles rises and walks over to the kitchen door. “Wright. She does know about what’s happened to you, doesn’t she, Wright?”

The idiotic man in front of him turns slowly, face dripping and wearing an embarrassed grin that Miles knows well from court. “About that…”

“Oh for god’s sake!” Miles puts a hand to his forehead as Wright tries to bluster his way out of the situation.

“I don’t want to worry her, she’s got so much on her plate learning to be the next master of the Kurain Channeling Technique and fixing the problems in her village and-”

“Wright, calm yourself! I’m not going to tell her!”

That cuts him off short. “You’re… not?”

“Of course not,” Miles folds his arms, “It’s not my place to inform her of such things.”

“Oh. Wow. Thanks, Edgewor-”

“However,” Miles continues over top of him, “I see no reason that I shouldn’t contact young Miss Pearl and inform her that you are now the father of a child that is not Maya’s. Perhaps provide her with the travel fare to come visit you afterwards.”

Wright turns white as a ghost. “You wouldn- no, you would, you absolutely would, oh my god, she knocked me out by mistake once! When she was eight! She’s older and stronger now, do you have any idea how much she’d hurt me if she hit me now?!?”

Miles raises an eyebrow. “Perhaps a fraction as much as you will hurt Maya when she eventually finds out what has happened to you and that you tried to keep it from her?”

This sends Wright reeling like he’s been slapped. He opens his mouth, closes it, groans and rubs his forehead. “You’re not allowed to have the moral high ground when it comes to not telling people about problems.”

“Then, by all means, take it away from me,” Miles spreads his hands, smirking in a way he knows Wright finds especially annoying in court, “You are, after all, still in that brief window of time where your tardiness may be put down to personal struggle rather than willful secrecy.”

For a moment, Wright simply stares at him. “…since when are you so good at this sort of thing?”

It’s Miles’s turn to sigh, though he manages to keep his hand from his arm. “Well. A truly successful demon knows how to tempt and manipulate as well as threaten and berate, does he not?” Wright’s gaze becomes too much and he looks away. “Not- you know that not all the things they said of me were untrue, though it is a tactic I generally avoid these days.”

“Well don’t I feel special,” Wright drawls.

“Especially stubborn, perhaps,” Miles huffs, then relents. “Just call her, Wright, before she manages to find out from Larry somehow.”

“Come on, that would never… no, wait, it’s Larry, it would.”

“Somehow,” Miles agrees.

Some more silence, awkward this time, then, “Could you entertain Trucy for a bit? I have a phone call I need to make.”

Miles spends the next hour being genuinely impressed by Trucy’s card tricks while Wright talks quietly in the kitchen. Afterwards he comes and joins Miles on the sofa.

“I’m not thanking you for that.”

“Typical.”

“But it does feel better than she knows.”

Miles allows himself a small smile. “Well then that’s-”

He’s interrupted when his phone starts buzzing like crazy, and unlocking it reveals a growing stream of angry texts from Maya.

“What the-?!”

“I also told Maya that I didn’t call earlier because you were yelling at me,” Wright continues blithely, “I hope that didn’t leave her with the wrong idea.”

Miles does not deign this with a response, too busy trying to get a word in edgewise in the face of Maya’s baseless wrath.

OoOoOoOoO

Miles spending the days on his own and the evenings with Wright and Trucy slowly becomes the pattern for the remainder of his stay. That man is remarkably good at landing on his feet, after all, and it’s not the first time he’s completely reconstructed his plans for the future, even if it was non-voluntarily this time. He’s already made remarkable progress at restructuring his law firm into a talent agency, procuring a part-time job at a grocery store until he can find something more permanent, and filling out the paperwork to make his adoption of Trucy legal. In these endeavors, Miles’s role remains mostly peripheral – acting as a second pair of eyes to spot errors in paperwork, standing in as a reference when required and dragging Gumshoe to do the same (the detective had been shocked to see Miles, but more than happy to lend his aid), making sure there are vegetables in the refrigerator because they are a necessary part of the diet, Wright.

A few times Trucy accompanies him as he wanders the city for the day, either because Wright needs space to work or Miles is going somewhere she wants to see or, on a memorable occasion, because she has a place she wants to show Miles. Really, aside from the initial panic her arrival had caused, the young magician has proven herself to be a treasure, and it is… reassuring to see the fondness that seems to be developing between her and Wright. They seem to be very good for each other. Well, beyond Trucy’s feline propensity for vanishing and returning as the mood takes her…

“She’s as stuck as I am from all this,” Wright admits one evening in the kitchen, after the girl has gone to bed, “I want- I need to clear my name, but I’m not the only one who lost a huge chunk of their life because of all this. And I didn’t actually care that much about that at first, but… now I really want to take care of her. She’s so smart and talented – I don’t wanna see her life get messed up because her dad and I made some bad choices.”

“Zak Gramarye made bad choices. You made a mistake. There is a difference.”

“If you say so.”

“I do, and I am in a position to know the difference,” Miles retorts, then takes a breath and forces himself to calm somewhat. “Have you considered my initial offer?”

“Mm,” Wright nods, chewing on his lip for a moment, then grinning, “I think you already know what I’m gonna say, though.”

Miles hums, falsely non-comital, and Wright chuckles and shoves his arm.

“It’s really, really tempting to let you pull your strings and make it all better – maybe if Trucy wasn’t here I’d even say yes, who knows?” his smiles takes a sympathetic edge as he looks at Miles, “As it is, though? The case is still open, the verdict was never handed down. I want to solve this myself, and I don’t want to risk you getting dragged down with me in the process.”

The expected answer, Wright has never been one to take the easy way out, though it still brings a twinge of sorrow with it. “Perhaps for the best, though my reputation isn’t that bad these days.”

“Edgeworth, I heard they only just found someone who was willing to use your old office, and it’s been years since you worked directly from the Prosecutors’ Office!”

“It-! That’s not my fault, and besides, I didn’t truly vacate it until quite recently!”

Wright has the nerve to laugh at him before settling down to seriousness again, moving from where he’s been leaning against the counter to sit at the table across from Miles. “You want to know the worst part of all this? I have no idea who would want to do this to me. Most of the people who’d be mad at me or have a grudge are more likely to want to see me hurt or dead or arrested, not… disbarred. It makes it almost impossible to know where to start looking.”

Miles considers this truth, then offers, “At the very least you have one advantage over them.”

That certainly elicits a surprised response. “Say what? Edgeworth, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m kind of stuck and have no way of knowing what they do and don’t know.”

“Objection,” Miles smirks, wagging a finger as Wright rolls his eyes, “It is almost certain that they do not know why you became a lawyer.”

“Objection, the prosecution is presenting irrelevant information unrelated to the subject at hand!”

“On the contrary,” Miles allows his smirk to widen, “Our legal system being what it is, lawyers are seen as being quick, relatively efficient creatures, sprinters if you will, unused to anything that takes longer than a few weeks to come to trial and then swiftly reach a verdict. You in particular have a reputation for not getting involved in cases until the last minute, so it is very likely that this is how your enemy views you – powerful in the short burst, but incapable of anything requiring sustained stamina.

“In contrast, you and I both know, due to how you enacted your plan to save me, that you are more than capable of acquiring a goal and devoting years into seeing it to fruition, with about as much certainty of success then as you have now. You have done this before, but, because they are likely unaware of your prior motivations, your enemy has no way of knowing this. Ergo, they will likely begin to underestimate you when they should not as time goes on and that, Phoenix Wright, is your advantage.” And he essays a bow in the face of Wright’s slack jaw.

Wright gapes at him for a moment, then puts his head in one hand and laughs. “You are such a pompous ass.”

“Oh? Then I shall have to take comfort in the fact that I am also correct. Unless you wish to attempt a counter-argument?”

“Nah, not this time,” Wright tilts his head to grin at him in a way that, oddly, makes Miles want to take his picture, “Thanks for the encouragement.”

Miles bows again, though a touch less theatrically this time, then squawks when Wright reaches across the table to smack him lightly on the back of the head.

Chapter Text

“Mr. Edgeworth!”

Miles startles a bit from his thoughts and looks over to where a young man is waving at him from one of the People’s Park picnic tables, books and papers spread out across its surface. A blue coat with a large gold crest hangs from his shoulders, worn over a white dress shirt and tie with a black vest, different enough from what Miles last saw him wearing that it takes a moment for him to identify his hailer. As he moves closer and the other’s face comes into clearer focus, however, it brings understanding as to why Miles’s mind keeps insisting the youth’s coat should be red. “Prosecutor DeBeste.”

“The same!” The young man beams at him, opens his mouth, then frowns and holds up a finger in ‘one moment.’ As Miles watches in bemusement, Sebastian pulls a small book from a pocket, his prosecutor’s badge catching the light where it’s pinned to his tie, scans a page, then chuffs in annoyance before looking hopefully up at Miles. “Um, a word for greeting, sounds a bit like ‘solutions’?”

“Salutations?”

Sebastian checks what Miles now guesses to be a pocket dictionary and beams again. “Indeed! Salutations, I’m happy to see you!”

“Likewise. You’re looking well.”

“Thank-you! May I ask what brings you back to Los Tokyo?” he adds, gesturing in offer at the bench across from him.

Miles takes a seat, answering, “An old friend of mine recently entered a patch of… unpleasantness. I came to help him get his feet back under him.”

Sebastian’s expression becomes regretful. “Ah, yes, Phoenix Wright, I presume – that was a nasty case, wasn’t it?”

He can actually feel his eyebrows rise. “How in the world-?”

“Um…” the young man actually colours a bit in embarrassment, breaking eye contact, “I looked at some of your old cases, as a deference of what good prosecution looks like, and when I saw he was one of the only people to beat you at trial, I looked into him as well. …was that wrong?”

There is blatant fear of chastisement in Sebastian’s face, tears beading in his eyes, and Miles cannot help but sigh. “While I would not agree that I am a good example, the only thing I believe you have done wrong is use the word ‘deference’ instead of ‘reference.’”

Relief replaces fear, and the pocket dictionary is once again thumbed through before Sebastian nods in agreement. “It was indeed what I meant. Still, only one letter off this time – that’s better than usual! It was an unpleasantness with Mr. Wright, though, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Miles agrees, doing his best to keep his tone neutral.

“Especially since he is innocent of the crime he was accused of.”

Miles feels himself visibly start at this, shock likely leaking into his expression. “And how did you come to that conclusion?”

“Ah-ha!” With a flourish, Sebastian produces his baton, prepared to ‘conduct’ his explanation. “Due to my previous research on both him and yourself, I learned that Mr. Wright is you-” he cuts himself off mid-sentence to check his dictionary, though this time it leads to a triumphant smile as he brandishes his baton once again, “Your esteemed rival, Mr. Edgeworth! A man such as yourself would not stand for his rival to be corrupt, and if he were in the habit of using forged evidence, a prosecutor of your skill would have caught him long before this.

“Furthermore, he has served in trials with far more dire stakes than the one in question, when it would have been much easier to resort to forgery than the tactics he actually used, thus there was no reason for him use it this time. And finally!” both hands are in the air now, moving with a fluid assurance that matches his tone, “A tactic such as forgery requires a great deal of forethought and strategy, and Mr. Wright gives every indication that he’s nowhere near organized enough to ever successfully utilize it, even if he wished to! Es cargo, he is innocent! That is logic!”

Shock effectively hides the wince at Sebastian’s slip-up right at the end of his surprisingly reasonable deduction, along with the pain that this unfortunately educated young man has been able to spot what so many of his seniors seem to have missed or ignored. “…yes, Prosecutor DeBeste, it is indeed.”

Sebastian glows. “Not only that,” he continues, eager to impress, “I know that Prosecutor Gavin also almost certainly had no hand in it.”

“Oh?” Miles knows his tone is colder than Sebastian deserves, but he can’t help it in regards to the man who lost Wright his badge, “What is your logic in this argument, then?”

There is a bit of wilting, but Sebastian neither backs down nor begins to cry. “Circumstantial evidence. Klavier Gavin and I are the same age, Mr. Edgeworth, and we both attended Themis Academy. We knew each other – not just of each other – because every time I got first, he got second. He knew me back then, knows who I was back then… and he doesn’t hold it against me now. He’s one of the only ones who probably doesn’t.” He fingers the uniform blazer on his shoulders, bright against his new black and white. “If he hadn’t decided to study overseas, and if my Pops hadn’t been pulling strings, that coat I used to wear would probably have gone to him, and most of the other awards I got, too. There’s every reason for him to be angry at me and he’s not. Even though he’s the real prodigy of the two of us.”

“Could he not be trying to gain favour or allies…?” Miles counters, more gently than usual, only for the young man to vigourously shake his head in response.

“Klavier’s friendly even when it doesn’t benefactor him, and to everyone. Well, everyone who obeys the law. He even had friends in the defense program back at school, and that hasn’t changed! Though,” he hesitates, baton bent nearly double, “That could be a bit because of his older brother.”

This is news to Miles. “Prosecutor Gavin has a brother?”

“Oh yes!” Sebastian seems to be on steadier ground here, some tension leaving his shoulders, “Kristoph Gavin – he’s a successful defense attorney, and Klavier speaks very highly of him. So perhaps Klavier’s just predisposed to think of defense attorneys as people instead of opponents or enemies. …I still don’t think he was involved any more than Mr. Wright was.”

“Hm,” Miles folds his arms, considering, “Well, we are not in court, so you are entitled to your opinion. However, please do not take offense when I say that I hope you are wrong.”

“What?!” Sebastian’s jaw drops, “But… why?”

“Because if neither the prosecution nor the defense were involved in the forgery, the entire situation becomes much, much uglier and even harder to solve. And I am not above personal bias myself – I would prefer to see this resolved as quickly as possible.”

“Ah,” a nod of understanding, “Yes, I see what you mean. I hope a rift solution is also found.”

“I believe you mean ‘swift’ solution?”

Out comes the pocket dictionary again and Sebastian sighs. “Yes, I do. I’m working on it, but there’s just so many words!”

The conversation having taken a far more serious turn than he’d intended, Miles jumps on the opportunity to change the subject. “What were you working on before I arrived?”

To his surprise, Sebastian colours, then flings himself on top of the books and papers in front of him. “I-! Nothing! I-! That is to say-!” his blustering crumbles before a raised eyebrow and tapping finger, and the young man slumps back into his seat, as red as his old coat. “Our last meeting made me realize how lacking my education was, so I’m trying to make up lost ground in my spare time. But I’m cheating. Again. On porpoise this time.”

“You’re cheating.”

“Yes.”

“At studying.”

“Yes.”

“How?”

Not meeting his gaze, Sebastian slides one of the larger sheets of paper to Miles, tears in his eyes again. When observed it is revealed to contain a pattern of squares and rectangles describing a half-circle, some of which already have legal notes in them. Even after having checked the back of the page, there is nothing apparently untoward about it.

“What am I looking at here?”

Sebastian manages to slump even lower on his bench. “The London Symphony Orchestra. I’m sorry, I’ll stop, I’ll- I’ll take notes properly and-!”

“Prosecutor DeBeste!” Miles cuts him off sharply, “Calm yourself! I have yet to see anything wrong with this situation! If you would please explain what you are doing?”

A few tears slip loose as the boy swallows, and Miles mentally kicks himself, but an explanation is at hand before he can soften his words. “It- it’s a way I used to organized my notes sometimes. I’m bad at lists, struc-” he pauses, checks his dictionary, continues, “Structuring them like an orchestra is so much easier, because it already has all the different sections and rows laid out, and assigning different subjects to different music halls and the like makes it easier to keep track of.” Tears are flowing rather steadily now, and his baton bows in his hands.

“I know it’s wrong, that lists are what I should use, my Pops always told me that this was cheating, but I have so much I need to catch up on, and this is so much easier, and- Mr. Edgeworth? What’s wrong, I-?”

Sebastian stutters to a stop, and Miles realizes that it’s because he himself is shaking with rage. With deep effort he forces himself to still. “I apologize, this- it is not something you have done, I simply did not realize I could be even angrier at your father than I already am.”

Because it seems the boy is not as slow as Miles and everyone else have assumed. Rather, he has been mentally hobbled by the assertion that the way he structures his thoughts is wrong, and no wonder the boy can’t keep his facts straight-!

With another deep breath, Miles refocuses his attention on the young man before him. “Prosecutor DeBeste- Sebastian. I ask you to listen to me very closely.”

The young man nods in mute terror.

“What you are doing is not cheating. Far from it, in fact. The technique you are using sounds like a variation on what is known as a ‘memory palace,’ and it is widely known as a highly effective, efficient tool for memorization that is used by many people.”

Hm, Miles had been under the impression that only Wright’s jaw could drop quite that low, but apparently he was incorrect. “It- it’s not cheating?”

“No.”

“It’s… okay if I keep taking notes and things like this?”

“Given that you seem to have a natural affinity for the technique, I would encourage you to. Many people work very hard to learn how to do this; if it is natural for you to do so, then, by all means, continue.”

Sebastian stares at him for a moment longer, and for a moment is ensconced with an expression of profound relief. Then his face crumples and, to Miles’s horror, he bursts into tears.

“Prosecutor DeBeste-?!”

“I-I-I’m s-sorry,” Sebastian manages to gasp out between sobs, “They w-won’t s-s-s-stop, but I’m so-o h-h-happy, re-e-eally!”

At a loss of what else to do, Miles moves to the other side of the table and stiffly pats the young man on the back until the tears slow and his breathing steadies, then hands him his handkerchief.

“Th-thanks,” Sebastian wipes at his face, then gives him a watery but genuine smile. “That’s never happened before. Usually I only cry when I’m upset or angry.” Then his nose wrinkles, “Ugh, I got my gloves wet. …and I didn’t bring a spare set with me. Bother.” Stripping them off, he begins to gather his things, grumbling to himself a bit as he does so.

“I take it that you will be taking your leave, then?”

“If you don’t mind,” Sebastian gives him an apologetic look, “Wet gloves feel terrible, but it also feels very strange at this point to be without them in public.”

Miles waves a hand in a ‘go ahead’ gesture, stepping back so that the young man has room to rise. “It was good to see you again.”

“Thank-you, you as well! Um,” Sebastian pauses, looking away then back at Miles, “If it’s not too much bother, may I write to you? To ask questions? It’s… a little hard to know who to trust these days, and Gumshoe’s extravagant, but he doesn’t really know the things a prosecutor is meant to, so…?”

…Miles has spent too much time around Wright, and it has weakened him to hopeful expressions. With a sigh, he pulls out his phone and opens the address book application. “Give me your number and I’ll text you my e-mail. Keeping in mind that I won’t be able to help you with active cases unless you go through the appropriate channels-”

“Of course not!” Sebastian interrupts, aghast, “That would be like- cheating! For real cheating! Just… techniques. Acceptable practices, good books of reference, that sort of thing.”

“Then I see no problem with this.” Sebastian’s number slots in right over Kay’s, and Miles sends the message in question, the young man’s phone buzzing somewhere on his person as it is received. Miles nods in satisfaction and gives him a rare intentional smile. “I look forward to following your career, Prosecutor DeBeste.”

This earns him a delighted, “I’ll do my best! Oh!” he shoots a parting smile of his own over one shoulder, “And feel welcome to drop by the Prosecutors’ Office whenever you’re in town – I’m not hard to find. They put me in your old office!”

OoOoOoOoO

Miles debates with himself on the way back to Wright’s apartment that evening about whether or not he should mention what he has learned about the Gavins. On the one hand, this is potentially useful information that Wright might not have yet. On the other, he has promised to keep his nose out of things for now, and this could be crossing the line.

In the end, he decides to simply put it to Wright as to whether he wants to know or not. “I ran into an acquaintance at the park today – do you remember Prosecutor DeBeste?”

Wright purses his lips, considering, and it’s only because Miles catches his wrist that the man doesn’t tap the spoon he’s been stirring soup with against his mouth. “DeBeste, DeBeste… wasn’t he that kid prosecutor you ended up taking under your wing for a bit – his dad’s the ex-PIC head?”

“I didn’t ‘take him under my wing,’ but otherwise, yes, that’s him.”

“Cool.” Wright nods and refocuses his attention partially on the evening’s meal, “That was a nasty one. And I’m a little annoyed at him.”

“Why in the world would you dislike him, you’ve never met him!”

Wright has the audacity to roll his eyes. “Because a few weeks after you met your seventeen-year-old prosecuting hot-shot, I met another seventeen-year-old prosecuting hot-shot in court, underestimated him, and lost my badge.”

“Ah.” Yes, put that way, he can see why the boy might have negative connotations for Wright. Still, “If it helps, he’s personally come to the conclusion that you’ve been wrongly accused.”

“…okay, yeah, that kinda does.” Wright is quiet for a moment, then turns to him, eyebrows raised. “Wait, why’re you bringing this up? Usually it takes Trucy to get you talking about where you’ve been all day.”

Miles sighs, unable to keep a hand from rising to grip his arm. “Because I inadvertently received some information about Prosecutor Gavin that may or may not be useful to you, and it was through Prosecutor DeBeste that it happened.”

A stillness pervades Wright’s tiny kitchen, and then the man sighs, turning off the stove and running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, okay, I see the issue here. You going to tell me what happened?”

“Only if you want me to.”

“Might as well – not like you went looking for this, after all.”

“Indeed not.”

“Well, lay it on me.” Wright folds his arms, leaning one hip against the counter as Miles relays what he has learned. At the end he sighs again. “Well that complicates things.”

“Yes.”

Wright begins to pace, hands now uncertain where to rest – hips, face, hair, arms – as he thinks. Finally he lets out a huff of air. “Damn. I was really hoping- but I guess it makes things easier in other ways.”

That comes as a shock. “How?!”

A crooked grin is shot in his direction. “At least this way I don’t have to hate that kid anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still mad as hell at the little glamrocker, but I can live with that. I don’t like hating people; it makes me feel sick.”

“Many sources do indicate it to be a toxic force.”

“How do you-? You know what? Never mind, I don’t want to know.” Wright returns to the stove and turns it back on. “Anyway. So, the rock star has a brother? Maybe I’ll try talking to him.”

Miles does his best to let out the breath he’s been holding discretely. “You think he’ll talk to you?”

“Dunno, worth a shot,” the grin Wright shoots him is realer this time, “Us defense attorneys are trained to believe in people when no one else will, after all. And maybe he’ll be able to give me some info about what was going on over on the prosecution’s side for that trial.”

“Or he’ll feel sorry enough for you that he’ll take you as a pro bono client and clear your name for you,” Miles smirks.

“Ha ha, very funny. We both know that if I was going to get someone to do that I’d ask you.”

Wright is right, of course – that is the basic understanding they’ve already reached.

For some reason, it still makes Miles’s chest feel warmer to hear it.

Chapter Text

“Oh, screw you, Edgeworth!”

“I don’t see how this is an issue!?”

“I asked you to come help, not for charity!”

“Char-?! She needs a phone! We agreed that she needs one, with how much she likes to vanish!”

“Yeah, but I don’t need you to pay for it!”

“I didn’t say that you needed me to, I said it would be more efficient!”

“Same difference!”

“It is not you insufferable-!”

“I could pay for it.”

Wright yells and falls over while Miles makes a rather embarrassing noise, clutching his chest as they both turn to stare at Trucy, who is calmly watching them from the sofa in Wright’s living room, eating popcorn out of her hat. When she sees that she has their attention, she reaches through the popcorn up to her shoulder, then withdraws it to reveal a roll of bills in her hand.

“I think I’ve got enough for a phone from busking, and you won’t let me pay for anything else,” Wright gets a look here, “So I might as well buy this.” She pauses significantly, tapping the money against her chin. “Or you could ask Mr. Edgeworth why he wants to buy me a phone, hear him out. Unless you want to keep shouting at each other. I did get popcorn.”

“…Trucy, how long have you been there?” Wright asks forlornly. She meets him with a bland look and crunches down another handful of popcorn. “Uuuuugh, fine. Edgeworth, why did you feel the need to try and undermine my ability to-” Trucy clears her throat. “-okay, geez, why’d you do it?”

Miles groans. “I wasn’t attempting to undermine you or imply you couldn’t afford to get Trucy a cellphone, they’re not that expensive these days, I’m aware. I offered because there is room for a second phone on the plan I already have. If I pay for the phone, I can add it to my plan and she’ll have what equates to a free, international phone plan, making it easier for you both to contact me in case of emergency. Or just, in general. Without having to worry about the cost.” He folds his arms and looks away, scowling and not at all red in the face.

“Oh.” Wright is quiet for a moment, then the sofa creaks as he sits down to Trucy’s right. “I’m sorry, I- I’m not that great with money, in general. And with what’s going on lately… guess it’s a subject I’m kinda touchy about.”

It’s gotten too hot in the room from all the shouting, and Miles decides to relinquish the advantage of full business attire for the moment, striping off his jacket as he sits on Trucy’s other side. “I am… unused to having people in my life I can make such offers to, or whom I give gifts. It is… not a skill I was either taught or endowed with. My intent was not to cause offense, merely offer the most efficient solution to the problem at hand.”

“Oh,” Wright repeats. There is silence for a moment, then, “Why do you have a plan with room for two phones, then?”

Miles shrugs. “It was the most cost-effective international plan. Don’t look at me like that,” he adds, scowling at the side-eye Wright is sending his way, “Just because I’m well-off does not mean I don’t understand the concept or practicality of thrift!”

“Okay, okay,” the man holds up his hands in surrender, “I guess we both messed up.”

“It would seem so.” He turns to the young girl seated between them. “I apologize that you felt the need to mediate, but I do appreciate it.”

Trucy grins at him. “It’s okay. Besides, you were so confused and upset, I would have felt bad if I didn’t.” She notices her hat is now devoid of popcorn and spins between her hands until it’s satisfactorily full again. “You’re not very used to having friends, are you?”

“I- no. I am not.” He glances at Wright, “But it’s something I’m working to improve on.”

“Ugh, fine, she can be on your phone plan if you’re going to be so sappy about it,” the man snarks, but lightly this time, more playful, and he leans around Trucy to offer a conciliatory smile. “Are you really that worried about losing contact with us?”

Miles shoots him a Look. “Is it that much of a surprise at this point?”

“…no,” Wright’s smile does something Miles doesn’t quite know how to describe, “I guess not.”

OoOoOoOoO

It ends up being a group adventure the next day, going down to the electronics store to figure out what is both appropriate and satisfactory. Wright is of the opinion that a flip phone is the way to go. Miles holds the firm mindset that she might as well get a smartphone, since they’re more versatile tools and thus a better investment. Trucy sides with Miles – smartphones can record videos, and she can use that to film her magic tricks then self-critique, and, anyway (her roll of cash reappears again),  she’s been saving her allowance and Christmas and birthday money for a whole year so she can buy it herself, so please?

“You’re going to have to watch this one, Wright,” Miles murmurs after the man weakly agrees in the face of Trucy’s enormous, earnest eyes and the absolutely besotted look of the sales associate helping them, “She’s too smart for you.”

“I’m gonna have to carry my magatama to catch her out,” Wright grumbles back, but with an oddly proud look in his eyes, “And she’s so smart. I love her.”

The words pass casually into the air, easy as breathing, but it’s the first time Miles has heard Wright say them, and they make him zone out, just a little. Because Trucy’s situation is not what his own was, not even a little… except in the ways that it is. Except in the scant handful of times he has caught her turning to a man who isn’t there and when the light that seems to compose her being vanishes for just a moment. And Wright is a good man, lightyears beyond the one who took in (who stole) Miles, but still… it is a reassurance to hear him say those words so freely, so lightly. A part of Miles that is still very young relaxes at their speaking.

Meanwhile, Trucy has chosen the model she’s going to get and Wright is negotiating for the right to buy a case for it.

“Look, you’re buying the phone, Edgeworth’s helping you with the plan, I’m feeling kinda left out. At least let me do this much, please?” he adds, trying to make his eyes go all big and pleading like hers (…actually he’s rather good at that). Trucy giggles but graciously agrees, and they shake on it.

“Great!” Wright perks up, turning to Miles, “You saw that, right?”

“I am standing right here.”

“Yes or no, Edgeworth.”

“Yes, you ridiculous human being.”

“Harsh, but I’ll take it!” Wright heads over to the phone cases. “We’re getting a sturdy one.”

“What? Wait, no,” Trucy protests as she scuds after him, “I want a cute one!”

“Only if it’s also water-proof and drop resistant. And no take-backs, we shook in front of a witness.”

Trucy gapes at Wright in utter shock. “You played me!!!”

“How is wanting to be part of you getting a phone playing you?”

“You knew I’d want to get something cute and you set it up so now I have to get one that’s all clunky!” she scowls and folds her arms at him, “I don’t need a safety case, I’m super careful!”

“Okay, one, don’t try the Edgeworth Scowl on me, you cannot beat the original there, especially when he’s right here,” Wright glances up at Miles, “Making the exact same face and looking much, much scarier. Two,” he lowers himself so that his eyes are level with Trucy’s, “I’m perfectly aware that you’re probably the most coordinated, agile person in the whole city. I have no doubt that you’ll take good care of your phone, none. However, three, I am also aware that there are a lot of klutzes in this world, and whatever you’re doing back there is not appreciated, Edgeworth.”

Miles folds his arms, because of course he would never stoop to pointing at Wright and mouthing ‘Exhibit A’ behind the man’s back.

“Anyway,” Wright continues, “It’s those people I’m worried about, Trucy, not you. I don’t want someone knocking you over or spilling their drink or something and ruining something you worked really hard to get. Okay?”

“…okay,” Trucy mumbles, mollified that it’s not her own competency being called into question, “But I’m not getting a black one!”

“Of course not, that would be boring! You can’t have a boring phone – it wouldn’t work with your theme!” Wright agrees easily, and, from the sound of it, with complete sincerity.

Following this, Miles trails after them, content to merely observe for this leg of the venture, until one of Trucy’s potential selections makes him pause. “So, black is boring, but grey is acceptable?”

Her eyebrows knit together as she turns her attention from the phone case she’s examining to him. “Huh?”

“You said you didn’t want a black case, but you’re currently considering a grey one? I was curious as to your thoughts on the matter.”

Trucy remains confused, glancing to Wright, whose own expression has become drawn. “Edgeworth… that’s not grey, it’s light blue.”

“Ngk.” …often he wishes he weren’t quite so… vocal when startled, and now, looking at the two concerned faces in front of him, is one of those times. Two years, going on three, that he’s been aware of and dealing with this… quirk of vision, and, after all that careful maneuvering, he’s finally been caught out.

Damn.

Chapter Text

Miles manages to convince them to finish the phone-buying process before demanding an explanation, then insists on returning to Wright’s apartment to do so because he is not doing this in public!

“I thought you weren’t getting a black phone case?” he adds, glancing over at where Trucy is seated at the kitchen table, eagerly unpacking her final selection.

The question earns him an extremely severe look indeed. “I didn’t want a boring phone case. This one’s black with silver sparkles in it!”

“Yeah, that’s like, the opposite of boring,” Wright agrees, joining them both at the table, “Now spill, Edgeworth – what happened back there at the store?”

“And if you don’t spill, we’re gonna assume you’re dying and take appropriate measures,” Trucy chips in.

“We absolutely are.”

Miles folds his arms and glowers at them. “What ‘happened’ is a private matter I don’t much care about being badgered into talking about, and should it continue I will absolutely enact my right to remain silent!”

Trucy actually sits back at this, biting her lip. “He really means it, Mr. Wright.”

Wright himself studies Miles for a moment, then relents. “Look, Edgeworth… all jokes aside, I really am worried about you. Just ‘cause I’m in a rough patch doesn’t mean I want you to pretend your fine if you’re not. If you don’t want to talk, I get it, but… I’m not just trying to get a rise out of you here.”

…that man, always worrying about him, even when he has no need to… “Fine,” Miles relents as well, “Though it’s likely not as serious as you’re assuming…”

And he tells them. It’s the first time he’s ever told anyone about this and it is… awkward. Sometimes it’s tricky to find words that feel quite right, but all in all it’s not as he’d feared. Trucy seems quite interested in the concept and inquires if everything’s ever gone entirely grey for him.

“Just once,” Miles admits around Wright’s scolding her for asking invasive questions, even though he really doesn’t have much ground to stand on in that regard (at least he’s trying to ensure she has good manners).

“When?”

“The worst day of my life.”

He can actually see Wright jump to the wrong conclusion in his head – likely something to do with Gant – and silently allows it. Regardless of his previous statements, Wright has enough on his plate without Miles’s profound yet formless feelings being thrust upon him. Thus he forges on without giving the man time to comment or grow uncomfortable, ending with,

“All in all, it’s not so bad – better than my issues with earthquakes or elevators at the very least.”

“Huh.” Wright mulls over what they’ve been told for a moment, Trucy still subdued from the answer her last question received, then, “I thought you were doing better with elevators?”

“I was.”

“Dare I ask what happened?”

“I went to use one and found a dead body in it.”

“…yup, I can see how that would do it.”

“Hmph, yes.”

Another bout of silence, then, “Are you… okay? I mean, not that I’m second-guessing you or anything, you’ve been doing this for years, but back at the store-”

He jumbles to a halt as Miles holds a hand up. “I am actually doing fairly well at the moment – pale, cool colours are simply the first to go. I was upset about getting caught in a situation where I would likely have to explain my mistake.”

This gets him narrowed eyes from Wright – the man unfortunately knows both Miles and evasion techniques just well enough to spot the flaw in his story, but fortunately Trucy speaks up again before he can press.

“You’ve really never told anyone else about it?” she has her feet on her chair, knees tucked under her chin and arms loosely surrounding them.

Miles shrugs. “I am accustomed to it. If nothing else, it forces me to be honest with myself about my own mental state, which can be useful. And it is infinitely preferable to stress headaches and other such things.”

“Reasonable assessment,” Wright nods, then gets that grin which means he thinks he’s being clever, “So, Edgeworth-”

“Yes, I am aware of the colour of my suit – a fine shade of wine that varies between pink and a blue-toned red, depending on the lighting.”

“Aw,” Wright pouts, “How’d you know what I was gonna ask?”

Miles deigns this with only a pair of raised eyebrows and an unimpressed expression.

“Fine, I went for the low-hanging fruit and you caught me,” the man grumbles, rising to begin the process of assembling a meal (which, Miles will concede, he’s getting better at, even if it’s still generally sandwiches or reheated soup of some sort), safely away from the topic of why Miles’s colour vision is at currently such that he’s beginning to lose certain shades, “You know more about colours than I thought you would.”

Miles shrugs, moving his chair nearer to Trucy’s so he can help her set up her new phone, “I’ve simply had reason to pay more attention in recent years.”

“I guess. Thanks for telling us about it.”

“You’re welcome.”

OoOoOoOoO

It is… something of a shock, to realize that he’s leaving in two days. Somehow the month has passed swiftly, and with far less drama than Miles had initially expected. It doesn’t seem quite so fear-inducing to return to his job, to leave Wright to manage on his own as the same thought would have been back when he first arrived. The man has his own new job that he’s starting soon, and a child that he seems to be getting the hang of caring for, and the beginnings of plans in place to figure out who was behind his disbarment and how to prove his innocence. That ridiculous grin is back in place, if a little less bright than usual, along with his belief that the truth will eventually come to light, both of which are heartening to see.

Thus it is odd that a twinge of reluctance still flares in Miles when he thinks of his flight back. He’s still brooding on it a bit that evening, chatting quietly in Wright’s living room after Trucy has retired for the evening, drawing out his own departure for reasons he can’t (or perhaps simply won’t allow himself to) explain.

“I know I’ve said this before, but thanks for coming like this,” Wright interrupts his thoughts, “It was a big chunk of your time, and I really appreciate it.”

Miles shrugs, feeling awkward and uncomfortably warm in the face at the sudden thanks, unexpected on top of his own emotional turmoil. “I haven’t done that much.”

“Hey, no, Edgeworth- Miles,” Wright actually rises from the couch, circles ‘round to Miles’s end to force their eyes to meet, “This whole month, you’ve never been more than a phone call away, and it might not seem like a lot to you, but for me it was huge. It meant so much that you were willing to come here for me, and that you supported me about Trucy, and just… lots of little things that you didn’t have to do, but you did.

“Trucy got me going again, made it so I couldn’t just hide in my apartment or office and lose myself in all this. And then I just didn’t want to do that anymore, because I wanted to be someone she could trust like Zak said she could, and just… if she ever decides that she wants to call me ‘dad,’ I’m ready to tell the whole world that this amazing girl is my daughter, and that I love her so much. But… I also knew that you were here, and that if I fell, this time you’d be there to catch me. And that’s made this month so much better than it could have been, and just… thanks, really, a lot, thanks.”

…this is more gratitude than Miles is comfortable receiving, even if it does diffuse his concerns over being unhelpful, but it feels like it would be caddish to brush it off or bring up how much he himself owes Wright. Thus, with effort, Miles gives a cordial nod and replies, “You are quite welcome. I am… glad I was able to provide some assistance in all this. And I suppose that I am… also grateful.”

This is obviously not the response Wright was expecting, as he goes rocking back on his heels, eyes wide, “For what?”

“For your trust in this matter. I have not always proven myself to be reliable in the past.”

Wright is quiet for a minute. “Yeah, I guess that’s true. You’ve pulled some pretty dumb stunts.”

“I have.”

“I’m still mad at you about that note.”

“We’ve established this, yes.”

More silence. “You always come back. And that means something too, you know?”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

“…I don’t like hating people, but Manfred’s an exception – I really hate that guy.”

“Feel free.”

“Mm.” the man considers for a bit longer, then grins at him. “I guess I can’t help it – even after everything, you’ve turned out to be a pretty trustworthy guy. There’s too much conclusive evidence pointing to the fact, no sense in ignoring it.”

“…thank you.”

Wright blinks, then grins even wider. “You’re welcome.”

Chapter Text

Miles’s last day in the States and Wright invites him over to watch a movie as well as for supper.

“You’re heading back tomorrow and I can’t see you off ‘cause I’ll be officially starting my new job then,” he’s been in a few days already for whatever training one requires to work in a grocery store, “Might as well do something fun for your last night.”

“You seem to be doing… surprisingly well,” Miles admits, changing his course from the park to Wright’s apartment, since he’s now joining them earlier than has been the norm.

The comment earns him a dry laugh in his ear, “I’m at least fifty percent bluffing – you know me, Edgeworth, ‘fake it ‘til you make it,’ that’s my philosophy.”

“I had garnered an inkling of that, yes.” Miles hesitates, then adds, “As long as it’s not all bluff this time.”

“…not anymore,” comes the response, after just long enough to make Miles really nervous, “Give a guy something to lean on and a light to see by, and suddenly the world’s a better place. Anyway, see you soon!”

And he hangs up before Miles can figure out how to reply.

OoOoOoOoO

It’s easy to forget that Wright is actually quite smart – he completed law school in record time and passed the bar on his first try, something only a small percentage of lawyers manage, but his tendency to work things out as he goes and reliance on ingenuity and bluffing often overshadow these facts. Miles doubts that most remember the man was only twenty-four when he started practicing in a field where most start in their late twenties or early thirties; if they hadn’t been in the same grade in school, Miles certainly would.

Thus it is not until Trucy is in the living room, enthralled by Atlantic 11, and Wright has asked Miles into the kitchen to help with supper that Miles realizes the man’s had ulterior motives in inviting him over early. And even then, not until Wright is leaning on the counter and asking, “How’re you holding up?”

Miles looks up from where he’d automatically gone to the refrigerator to gather salad ingredients (which, to be honest, are only there in the first place because Miles put them there), “I beg your pardon?”

“I told you, I don’t want you pretending you’re fine to me if you’re not. My life’s a mess, but I’m not made of glass.” He shuffles awkwardly, hands finding their way to his pockets, “And I know what’s happening next week.”

That catches him off-guard. “All that’s happened to you, and you’re still taking the time to worry about me?”

Wright rubs the back of his head with a grin. “I worried about you for over fifteen years; at this point I think it’s a habit. And Trucy says you’ve been looking at your suit more in the past week – you use it as a baseline for checking colour saturation, don’t you?”

Drat, he thought he’d been being more subtle than that… “I do.”

“And?”

For a moment, Miles considers telling him that it’s none of his business or simply that he doesn’t wish to discuss it. But Wright knows the details of the situation, is already intimately enmeshed in it, and, besides.

Miles trusts him.

So, “Greyer,” he finally admits, closing the refrigerator and leaning against it, “Still within reasonable parameters, but distinctly greyer.”

Wright winces and nods in understanding. “Bad memories?”

“Worse – good ones.”

That sends Wright staggering like an updated autopsy report, and it takes a minute for him to reply. “Okay… sorry, Edgeworth, you lost me on that one.”

Miles sighs. ‘In for a penny.’ “He was my mentor for fifteen years, Wright. They were not all bad. There are legitimate reasons I admired and respected him, why I emulated him. There are skills he ensured that I learned which I am glad to have, things he introduced me to that I still enjoy.” He’s gripping his arm so tightly it hurts, but he can’t let go. “You know what he did to me, to my family – and I include Franziska in that term. His true plans for me are a matter of public record, and it has been years since you revealed them. I gained something precious from that trial… but I also lost something I deemed valuable. It is still hard to reconcile.”

“Oh.” Wright is silent. Then, “Are you angry at me? For getting involved?”

“Never,” Miles states with a vehemence that surprises himself, “Nor will I have any regrets in regards to his execution. What he did – I cannot forgive. But nor can I fully hate. And therein lies the difficulty,” he shrugs and folds in on himself a touch, “Nonsensical as it is. I am… unskilled with emotions. Especially my own.”

A gentle bump to the side startles him, and he looks up to see that Wright has moved to stand so that they are shoulder to shoulder, expression sympathetic. “You’re getting better with them. And I don’t think anyone would have an easy time dealing with crap like the stuff you’re talking about.”

Words are too much after his most recent ones, so Miles simply nods his gratitude.

Wright nods back, then snorts. “Man, look at us – how did we get so messed up? We were such ordinar- wait, no, you wore a suit to elementary school, you were never ordinary. We were such well-adjusted kids. What happened to us?”

There are many obvious, serious answers to this question, answers they both know, but Miles finds he has had enough of serious discussion for the evening. “I choose to believe it’s Larry’s fault.”

This shocks a laugh out of the man. “‘When something stinks, it’s usually the Butz.’ Okay, good plan – from now on, we blame Larry!” Wright nods decisively, then turns to the doorway. “So, how much of all that did you listen in on, Trucy?”

Miles makes an undignified noise as he turns to see the girl in question peeking around the corner.

“Only a little,” she admits, “It sounded private, so I kept checking to see if it had turned into a good point to come get a snack.”

“Oh crap, supper,” Wright looks between Trucy and the still completely empty counter and stove, a vague panic seeping in when his eye catches the hour because apparently those pauses in the conversation lasted longer than either of them had realized.

Miles decides to take pity on him, since the reason Wright’s behind in the first place was his concern over Miles’s own welfare. “I find myself suddenly in the mood for Thai – would anyone object to ordering in? It would be my treat, naturally.”

It’s not the first time he’s offered this month; indeed, the first real quarrel after his arrival was over whether it was appropriate for Miles to be providing occasional meals or ingredients for them during his stay (a quarrel Miles had rather handily won, if he might add). In spite of this, Wright still snorts and shakes his head in amusement as Trucy eagerly goes to find the appropriate take-out menu from Wright’s small collection. “I can’t get over the great Miles Edgeworth suggesting we get cheap take-out.”

“First of all, La Sa Thai is not cheap, it is a perfectly adequate family establishment. Second,” Miles smirks and wags a finger at him, “You are forgetting once again the key fact that I was not born to wealth. Until I was about ten I was raised almost exclusively on stir-fry, casserole, and Asian take-out. It is nostalgic.”

He receives an unrepentant shrug for his troubles. “You wore a suit and bow tie at age nine. You’ll understand how easy it is to forget when you have literally always been fancy.”

“I can’t help it if you have no sense of taste, Wright.”

“No fighting!” Trucy interrupts imperiously, returning with the menu, “You already talked forever, and I had to pause the movie so you wouldn’t keep missing good bits, and I’m hungry – and I’m a growing girl, so that’s bad for me!” Thrusting the La Sa Thai menu into Miles’s hands, she points at several items. “I want appetizer six, then number fifteen with chicken and mild spice and number twenty-two with shrimp and hot!”

“Objection! Trucy, you can’t eat all that,” Wright protests, only for the girl to fling out a pointed finger in counter.

“Hold it! Have you considered the fact that I’m really hungry and also want to have leftovers for breakfast tomorrow?”

“Maybe so, but Edgeworth’s the one paying – he might not be okay with buying you supper and breakfast when he’s only offered to buy supper!” Wright shoots back (and what are the two of them doing when Miles isn’t here that Trucy’s already picking up Wright’s courtroom habits?).

As the hour is drawing on, and as he’s apparently the judge in this situation, Miles decides to step in before it can get any later. “Objection overruled,” he announces grandly, “Leftovers are one of the best parts of take-out.”

Wright makes a face at him.

“Cold leftovers,” Miles adds, just to see what the man will do.

The answer is flap around in apparent horror. “Edgeworth, that is disgusting-?!”

“I’m sorry, did you just say you wanted vegetarian options tonight?”

“What?! No, I-!”

“They do wonderful fried tofu.”

“Absolutely not! Number thirty-seven with chicken, medium spice, and-” he pauses, grabs the menu to scan quickly, then slaps it down again, some of his panic lost with the motion, “-and I guess make it a double order, if that’s what we’re doing?”

“Very well,” Miles demurs, “If you’re certain about the tofu-”

“Please don’t feed me tofu, I don’t want to have to end our friendship over bean curd, not after everything else we’ve been through together.”

Miles smirks, but refrains from further comment, even if the expression on Wright’s face is highly amusing, and even though he knows for a fact that tofu can be delicious if properly prepared. Instead he places the order, then retires to the living room with Trucy while Wright assembles plates, serviettes, and drinks in preparation for the food’s arrival.

Trucy is quiet for a moment, fiddling with the hem of her cape before inquiring, “Are cold take-out leftovers actually tasty?”

Miles raises an eyebrow. “What makes you think I was not simply ‘messing with’ Wright?”

She chews her lip, considering. “I just don’t think you are. You don’t actually lie much at all, even about serious stuff; it’s one of the reasons I like you.”

“Oh. …thank-you?” It’s a little unsettling at times how perceptive Trucy can be, especially when coupled with the world view of an eight-year-old (even one as smart as her). She smiles at him, however, so his response must have been acceptable. “In regards to cold leftovers, I must assume it depends on both the food and the person consuming it.”

Trucy nods thoughtfully. “Maybe I’ll try it tomorrow.” Then she changes subjects. “I’ve been teaching Mr. Hat to take pictures with my new phone – want to see him do it?”

…who? “I’m afraid I’m unacquainted with the man in question?”

“You haven’t met Mr. Hat?!”

Trucy’s yelp brings Wright in from the kitchen in a flurry. “Trucy? Kiddo? What’s wrong?!”

Horrified young eyes turn in his direction at the query. “I almost entirely forgot to introduce Mr. Edgeworth to Mr. Hat!”

For some reason this spreads a look of near fiendish glee across Wright’s face. “Well then you’d better fix that quick! I know Edgeworth would be so disappointed if he didn’t get to meet Mr. Hat while he was here!”

If Wright’s expression was a warning, his words and tone are definitive danger signals. And it’s still not enough to prevent Miles from falling off the sofa with a yell when Trucy materializes a wooden puppet nearly as big as she is out of her hat. Clutching his chest, Miles stares in utter shock as both Trucy and Wright bend nearly double with laughter while the puppet, with no apparent input from Trucy, flaps its hands and looks about in obvious consternation before finally tapping Trucy on the shoulder and appearing to whisper in her ear. Stifling her chortles, the young magician turns her attention to her puppet, nodding and making sounds of acknowledgement before turning back to Miles.

“Mr. Hat says he’s really sorry, he didn’t mean to scare you like that,” she offers, only for the puppet – Mr. Hat – to give her a rap on the head. “Ow!” she rubs the sore spot while scowling at the puppet, who simply folds his arms at her, one finger tapping against a wooden bicep. “Fine,” Trucy grumbles, “I’m sorry, too, Mr. Edgeworth – I should have warned you better.” In perfect tandem, she and Mr. Hat clap their hands together and bow behind them. “We most humbly apologize for our transgression!”

In the background, Wright is slumped to the floor, tears streaming down his face from laughing so hard, for a moment looking like he’s forgotten everything else, too caught up in the ridiculous situation to remember the sorrows of the past month. Somehow this melts Miles’s ire at the situation more thoroughly than Trucy’s apology, looking past her to where the man is now wiping his eyes while trying desperately to catch his breath. “I assume she did this to you as well?”

It takes two tries for Wright to get enough air in his lungs to do more than nod. “Scared the bejeebers out of me!” he admits with an easy grin, eyes still streaming.

(…tears of this sort suit him so much better than sorrowful ones…)

So, with a nod, Miles stands, dusts himself off, tugs his waistcoat straight, then politely offers his hand. “Miles Edgeworth, international prosecutor. And may I say what a pleasure it is to meet an esteemed gentleman such as yourself, Mr. Hat?”

Trucy slowly lowers her hands to look up at him, mouth wide with shocked delight, before remembering herself and somehow maneuvering Mr. Hat to shake Miles’s hand. “He’s very pleased to meet you as well, Mr. Edgeworth!”

From there Miles somehow finds himself on the floor next to her, Wright snug on her other side, all three of them smiling as Mr. Hat takes their picture with Trucy’s phone. Moments later the food arrives and Mr. Hat vanishes again when Trucy sprints to the door to claim it. Miles trails after her to pay and Wright finally levers himself up to go fetch the supper paraphernalia he’d been previously gathering in the kitchen. Miles’s final evening in Los Tokyo ends eating Thai take-out on an old sofa and, in a rare set of circumstances, cheering for the criminals as Donnie Atlantic and his crew rob the Benvolio casinos…

OoOoOoOoO

There’s no time to stop by before his flight the next morning, and Wright’s new job starts too early for him to see Miles off. Trucy could likely have magicked herself to the airport, but had promised them both she wouldn’t out of consideration of their ‘frail old men hearts.’ As he’s settling into the terminal to wait for his boarding call, however his phone dings with an incoming message. Unlocking it reveals a copy of the picture from last night, the three of them pressed close to all fit in the frame, faces painted with various levels of amusement.

Trucy W.: Thank-you for coming! It was really fun having you here! ~Trucy Wright

Fun. Not something he’d planned on having when he first arrived. And, really, he shouldn’t be taking joy in a situation brought about by tragedy. But he has had fun, has enjoyed exploring the city he still considers his, for all he no longer lives here, spending time with Wright and Trucy. And, awful as things had been at the beginning, it’s hard not to feel hopeful now, with the fire returning to Wright’s eyes and a relatively decent plan of action. No matter what life throws at him, that man’s never been able to stay down for long.

M. Edgeworth: Thank-you for having me; it was my pleasure.

The photograph is saved to his library just as his boarding call is announced.

Chapter Text

Not quite a week later finds Miles standing outside the door of Franziska’s current abode – she’s located in London, for the moment. Her expression, when she opens the door, is neutral.

“Little brother.”

“Meine Schwester.”

She steps aside and allows in, takes his coat and hangs it as he removes his shoes (he’s still not accustomed to how Americans will simply wear their shoes into another’s home, regardless of occasion and regardless of the fact that he himself used to do this as a child). Though he hasn’t brought any, Franziska is wearing a pair of around-the-house shoes, their carpet-accommodating wider heels making a duller clack than her usual court-wear as she leads him to the living room. It is as immaculate as every other part of her life, straying only from the usual in that a bottle of wine, two glasses, and a corkscrew are set on the low table in front of the sofa. The silence between them is not truly broken until he seats himself and Franziska raises her eyebrows at him.

“You are sitting on the left end of the sofa, Miles Edgeworth, when it has always been your habit to take the right side. You will tell me why.”

Today of all days he’s not going to fight her on manners. “It turned out to also be the side that man favours; as a visitor in his home, it would have been rude to claim my host’s preferred seat.”

“Hmph. Foolish.” It is a testament to how much of a façade Franziska’s calm visage truly is at the moment that she lets it go at that, instead claiming her own preferred seat – the exact center of the sofa.

“Perhaps. How is Miss Andrews these days?”

Franziska brightens at the subject change. “Adrian Andrews is, as she always is, quite excellent,” (and here is a tell of another sort – any other person held in such esteem by his sister would be ‘near-perfect’ or even simply ‘perfect,’ but Miss Andrews dislikes being so described. That Franziska has changed her vocabulary to accommodate this says far more than she likely intends), “Her excellence at work is being appropriately recognized, and her skill with the whip is greatly improved…”

They chat lightly, Miles allowing her control of the conversation, allowing her to enthuse about Miss Andrews, describe some of her recent work with Interpol, inquire about his own past month with that man beyond what he had told her in the few e-mails they had exchanged, and all the time the bottle and the wine glasses stand before them on the table, waiting.

Finally a quiet alarm begins to sound, and their conversation ceases as Franziska removes her phone from wherever she hides it (a question Miles works desperately not to contemplate) and silences its beeping.

“It is done.”

He nods in acknowledgement, watches her rise and uncork the wine, silently allowing it to breathe the appropriate amount of time before she pours, and he rises to accept his glass. The colour is rich, dark, its purple-red revealed only in the glints of light passing through it.

It is Manfred’s favorite.

It was Manfred’s favorite.

Franziska raises her glass, her form perfect, her face a mask. “To Papa.”

Miles raises his in return. “To your father.”

And he drinks. To the man who tried to destroy him (to the man who recognized his potential), to the man tried to make him a monster (to the man who gave him so many opportunities), to the man who killed his father (to the man who was his mentor for fifteen years).

To the man whom he cannot forgive, yet cannot fully hate.

He drains his cup, lowers it a moment after Franziska finishes hers. She takes a deep breath, sets her wine glass on the table with barely a tremor. “That is the end of it.”

“Mm.” Miles considers his own glass before placing it beside hers. “Franziska, there is something I have wished to say for a long time. If you are willing, I would like to say it now.”

Her look is wary, but she gestures her consent with one hand.

Moving to stand beside her, he lifts the bottle, looks it over, and turns back to her. “This is truly terrible wine.”

Franziska stares at him, her mouth opening to release a shocked laugh, then a more genuine one before, “It is,” she agrees, “It is absolutely terrible, a most imperfect year, quite the worst-” Her laughter shakes her until it finally knocks the tears loose, because he has never known his sister to cry willingly. For Miles there is no sorrow in this day. A tangled mess of emotions, yes, but sorrow is not one of them. But he remembers being small and alone and never truly allowed to grieve for his father due to the condemnation of those around him. So he tucks his sister close and murmurs what comfort he can into her hair and does not condemn her grief.

(When she is done, she leads him to the kitchen, and he watches as she ceremoniously pours the rest of the bottle down the drain.)

(When he returns to his hotel room, he turns on his laptop and begins the process of finding himself a therapist. It finally feels like the right time to let the past go…)

OoOoOoOoO

A few days later, an e-mail appears in his inbox.

Now that you have committed to living in this section of the world again, you require a place of residence. I have taken the prerogative of selecting several potentials that suit your preferences and will be convenient, given your penchant for traveling from court to court. I trust you to make the perfect selection.

Your big sister,

Franziska von Karma

…Miles and Franziska have considered each other siblings for the most of their lives at this point, but they were raised as siblings in near-constant competition with each other. This new way of being siblings they are figuring out, one where they do more than compete, where there is room for open fondness of each other… he finds he is liking this better.

He still critiques several of her choices in his reply, of course.

No need to let her think he’s going soft.

OoOoOoOoO

June 2019

“I think things are finally settling down.”

A month since he’d left Los Tokyo, a bit more than two since the entire mess started, and Wright seems to have regained some bounce to his step. “The press is finally leaving you alone?”

“They got distracted by the latest headline, I’m officially old news. And I think they’re having a harder time finding me with the new, er, ‘look,’ I guess.” Wright’s eyes drift tragically to the corner of his screen where his own camera feed is visible for their video call. Slightly shorter and with no gel attempting to shape or tame it, Phoenix’s signature hairstyle has devolved into something more wild, softer and spikier at the same time as some sections droop and others rise. Combined with the red and khaki uniform his work provides and he does cut quite a different figure than usual. Still…

“Surely that can’t be enough to have thrown them off your scent? Your face is completely unchanged and exposed.”

Wright shrugs. “I guess no one expects me to dress like this? Couple that with my nametag saying ‘Nick’ and a perky attitude, and no one connects me with ‘that awful defense attorney who made the papers a few weeks back.’ Can’t find what you’re not looking for.” His tone is bitter when it comes to how people are apparently still describing him. “On the plus side, I finally managed to snag a meeting with Kristoph.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah! He seems pretty nice, actually – likes poker. Doesn’t want to get involved, though, since his brother was the prosecutor, which I kinda get, but he does think the court made the wrong call. We’re meeting up again in a couple weeks, he said he’d take me to this restaurant he knows that’s pretty good. Russian or Ukrainian or something from that area of the world.”

For some reason this sends a twinge through Miles’s chest, ridiculous though it is. He and Wright have only begun maintaining close, regular contact since his disbarment, and the man is friendly and, more importantly, in need of allies that are nearby, as well as overseas. “I am… glad to hear it.”

Wright is quiet for a beat, then squints at him, as though this will clear the resolution of his video feed. “…you don’t sound glad.”

“It’s the call connection, I assure you.”

More squinting, then a look of dawning awe appears, sending Miles’s stomach to his shoes. “Edgeworth… are you jealous that Kristoph’s taking me to lunch?”

“Certainly not!” he snaps back, flustered and probably redder in the cheek than he’d prefer, “I- there is no reason-!”

“Aw, it’s okay,” Wright simpers at him, overly saccharine, “You’ll always be my favorite~!”

“Hmph!” Miles folds his arms and looks away from the camera, doing his level best not to feel gratified or reassured by such an inane statement. He’s not sure how well he succeeds in this, given that Wright laughs at him anyway.

“Hey, Edgeworth – look at me again?”

“What?” he growls, even as he complies.

Wright’s smile is softer now, the mocking tone gone from his voice. “I kinda wish it was you I’m going to meet up with, too. It was… nice, having you join me ‘n’ Trucy every night for supper. And it’s still a little weird not having you here anymore.”

“I had grown rather fond of the routine myself,” Miles admits, then, a touch self-consciously, adds, “I accidentally skipped supper my first few nights back here. It took me longer than I like to admit to realize I had been waiting for you to call and alert me to the time.”

It has become… easier to talk like this, at least with Wright. Their recent extended period of time together in non-legal settings has had an effect, one Miles chooses to view as positive. The chuckle he receives for his admission does not rankle or offend as it once might have, and the groan Wright lets out when he looks at the clock is disappointing.

“Ugh, I’d love to keep talking, but it’s literally almost midnight and I have to get up in the morning.”

“I shall not detain you, then. In any case, I should be making my own way to court.”

“It doesn’t stop being crazy that it’s tomorrow morning for you.”

“That is how time zones work, you know.”

Wright laughs again. “Yeah, yeah. Same time next week?”

“The courts willing.”

“Great! See you then – have a good day, Edgeworth!”

“Sleep well, Wright.”

Chapter Text

July 2019

Miles is in the midst of unpacking when the phone call comes. A few months of searching and careful consideration have gone into selecting his new apartment, a rather smaller one than those who know him would likely expect. Two years of living mostly out of a suitcase has gotten him accustomed to residing in somewhat more compact areas – yes he can afford to get penthouses and suites, but those are generally quite high up. Used to stairs he may be, but when it comes to taking twenty flights of them on top of those he’ll have to climb at work, he will happily take something smaller on the fifth floor, thank-you all the same. Besides, the money saved on space with his new abode can be used to acquire more comfortable furnishings to replace those it would have been inefficient to have brought over from America. Frugality where it matters allows for extravagance where it is desired, after all.

However, no matter where one resides, there remains the constant fact that moving requires first packing and then unpacking, and Miles is not exempt from this.

Thus he is clad in part of one of his older suits – too worn for public wear, but not so much as to render it unusable – and shoulder-deep in a box of law texts when his cellphone chimes. He answers without really looking at the caller ID, one hand still full of legal text. “Miles Edgeworth, international prosecutor, state your business.”

“M-Mr. Edgeworth?”

The voice brings him up short. “Prosecutor DeBeste?”

Sebastian has been in contact with him somewhat since they crossed paths in People’s Park, e-mails requesting direction towards certain legal texts or case files or advice on a tricky courtroom situation he might potentially encounter. Sometimes the young man includes tidbits of information he must think Miles will find interesting – unusual cases or scraps of gossip from the Prosecutors’ Office, simple things. This is the first time he has called or made any use of Miles’s cell phone number, however, and a glance at his phone’s clock reveals that, for Anwaltsstadt, Germany, at least, it’s one in the afternoon. “What’s going on? It’s four in the morning in Los Tokyo, why are you awake?”

“I-I-I’m s-sorry, I sh-shouldn’t have-”

“DON’T HANG UP!” Miles shocks both of them with his reaction. Perhaps it is understandable – the last person that called him who was so evidently distressed had been that man, the day of his disbarment. “I am not upset, I am concerned. Please tell me why you are calling me as opposed to someone nearer to you.”

A harsh gulping sound, presumably Sebastian trying to regain control of his breathing. “Y-you’re the only p-p-person I know who I tho-ought would be awake r-right now.”

“I see. A logical choice, then. And the reason for this call?”

“…it’s s-s-silly…”

“I believe I will be the judge of that. Your reason?”

More silence, interspersed with sniffles, then, “I-I had a nightmare. …I told you it was silly.”

“…there is absolutely nothing silly about nightmares,” Miles responds, probably with more vehemence that he should, but it brings no new sounds of upset, so he simply moves on, rising to go lean against his unusually cluttered desk. If there is one thing he has learned in his life beyond the law, it is how to deal with the after effects of nightmares, out of sheer necessity if nothing else. “Is there a window that opens in your room?”

“Yes, several?”

“Good. Go to one and open it as wide as you can, then stand by it – the fresh air will help clear your head.” He waits until he’s heard the scrape of a window frame and several shuddering breaths, then asks the question someone probably should have asked him as a boy. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“…”

“Sebastian, I am familiar with nightmares and the harm they can do. I will not think poorly of you for this.” (When in doubt, handle a situation opposite from how Manfred would have.)

A few more deep breaths, then… “I-i-it was- Pops. He said- he said it w-was time for me to join Mumsy. T-time for me to d-d-disappear, too.”

Loathsome man. “Have you had this dream before?”

“N-no. I d-d-don’t usually have nightmares.”

“Well, this one is absolutely not true. It’s just a dream, even if it feels very real.” This is a little tricky – if the young man is unaccustomed to such things, he likely has little idea how to handle them, hence his desperate call to Miles. Fortunately, Miles has quite a few methods of dealing with nightmares. Unfortunately, he gets the feeling that not all of them will be helpful – tragic as it is, not everyone appreciates the artistry that went into the Steel Samurai novelizations, even though they add interesting new layers and perspectives to the characters and settings. Meaning he’s going to have to move to a strategy that he’s not quite as thrilled about having to share…

“Do you have access to water?”

“Um, yes?”

“Good. Wipe some across your forehead and the backs of your eyelids.”

“…why?”

“It helps.” Miles hesitates, then offers, “It is something my own father taught me when I was young. I do not know why it works, simply that it does.”

Gregory had claimed that it washed away the bad thoughts and images from nightmares. Ridiculous, of course, but Manfred had seen no reason to deny Miles having a cup of water by his bed, so it is a technique he has employed for most of his life.

Sebastian is silent long enough for the mortification over having revealed such a childish habit to really sink in only for the silence to be broken by the sound of running water and splashing, followed by a sound of surprise.

“Oh! That does feel surmisingly better!”

Miles decides to overlook the word misusage in light of the situation, simply listening as the water turns off again and Sebastian presumably returns to his bedroom. Chewing his lip, he decides to risk adding, “Sebastian?”

“Yes, Mr. Edgeworth?”

“Regardless of anything else in that dream, you will not disappear, because there are people who would come find you. If nothing else, I know Kay Faraday is rather fond of you, and she is notoriously skilled at finding what she’s looking for, and Gumshoe would help her. Judge Courtney also has your well-being at heart, as do… others. Such an event would not pass unnoted, or unchallenged.” It is tempting to include that he himself would not be unmoved to hear such a thing, but his current location means that Miles would likely not hear of it until it was far too late to be of aid, and the young man needs solid reassurance now, not wishful thinking.

“Okay. …is it all right to shut the window again, or should I leave it open?”

“Whatever makes you more comfortable.”

There is no verbal acknowledgement, just a rustle, followed by the creak of a closing window. “Thank-you for helping me. I- you never said it was okay to call you, and I’m sure you have important things to get back to. It- it’s just that it’s my first night on my own,” he adds before Miles can reply, “I’ve been staying with Judge Courtney since Pops… was arrested, but I’m eighteen now, and I didn’t want to repose on her home anymore.”

“Where are you now?”

“Pops’s house. Well, technically my house now. It’s kinda scary now for some reason.”

…given that Miles hasn’t returned to the von Karma estate since he learned the truth of DL-6, he rather hazards he can guess the reason. “Well, fortunately, the only thing I have scheduled today is unpacking my home office, so you interrupted nothing truly urgent. And… I cannot promise I will always answer or be able to provide aid, but I see no reason to forbid you from calling again, should the need arise.”

“Really?” there is near childish delight in the young man’s voice.

“As long as you keep our different time zones in mind, really. Now,” Miles switches his phone to speaker, “I’m going to resume my unpacking. Why don’t you- hm. Why don’t you tell me about something you enjoy? Until you are ready to sleep again. Perhaps conducting?”

When he was small, Miles had always told his father about what his future as a defense attorney would be like, or his favorite television show at the time. Sebastian speaks of classical music, voice finally fading away mid-sentence while trying to explain some incomplete piece called ‘Mysterium.’ As he hangs up, Miles catches a glimpse of his own reflection in the darkened screen and is surprised to find he is smiling.

Feh, sentiment. He’s going soft.

(For some reason, the thought of this only makes him smile a little wider.)

Chapter Text

August 2019

“Edgeworth? It’s- holy crap, Edgeworth, it’s three in the morning for you!”

“I wished to ensure you were home and unlikely to be interrupted.” Miles rubs the bridge of his nose, “This is sudden, but would you be able to get the last week of August off of work?”

“…you do realize that it’s currently the first week of August, right?”

“Yes or no, can you do it?”

“I- yeah, I could, it’ll be squeaking in for giving the store enough notification to update the schedule, but why call me at three in the morning to ask about it?! We’re scheduled to talk in a couple of days already!”

“That might not have left enough time, and I- I need-” Say it, you coward! “I need your help. With a case.”

There is a silence on the other end of the phone, and when Wright speaks again it is in the sing-song tones of extreme displeasure. “You do remember I can’t do that anymore, right? It’s kinda a thing, you flew over from Europe, ‘cause I screwed up and got disbarred-”

“It’s not valid over here!” Miles cuts him off at volume, slamming a fist against the wall of his living room in emphasis since no horizontal surface is available.

“…what?” the musical anger is gone from the man’s voice, leaving it small and terrified.

“Your disbarment would not be considered valid by the European court system,” Miles reveals, the words spilling out in a rush after having been held back for months, “No investigation, no proper hearing from the Bar Association, none of your previous cases reopened, no evidence of guilt. For pity’s sake, no one even questioned where you got the funds to acquire that damn journal page, and forgery of any decent level of quality is expensive!

“Give it two weeks for a proper investigation – and, believe me, that’s all it will take for a case like this – and there would be no reason on Earth for you not to come over and act as an aid for the trial I’m working on! A bit of study and you could-” He cuts himself off, barely in time to stop from twisting the knife.

Wright guesses what he was going to say anyway. “I could be a lawyer again.”

“…yes.”

“But over there. Not here.”

“Yes, you would have to stay in Europe, or at least out of America.”

“…that’s how you planned to save me, isn’t it?”

“Partially.”

“Partially?”

“Give me some credit for thoroughness, Wright,” he sighs, leaning against his arm that is still resting on the wall, “You would have come to Europe with Trucy, somewhere where English is either a primary or secondary language, I would have helped you settle in, and then I myself would have returned to America, to complete the investigation of what happened at that… affront to justice. I’m no fonder of loose ends than you. And eventually you would have made your triumphant return, once we had gotten to the truth of things.”

“We?” There is… something in Wright’s voice, not pain, not hope, perhaps relief? Whatever it is, Miles snorts to hear it.

“You would of course have still been involved – I’m not unskilled at investigative work, but you have a flair for madcap thinking that will likely be necessary to bring these events to an end.” He sighs, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against his arm. “I need that madcap turnabout terror now, Wright. The man I’m prosecuting at the end of the month – Archibald Buser. It’s his sixth time before the judge on identical charges of battery. It’s… not like Maya and her dratted bad luck with murder charges. The situation is always the same, save that the injuries are worse each time, but for some reason the charges never stick. His latest victim is never going to walk again without assistance. Please, Wright – help me put this man away before he kills someone.”

Wright is understandably silent for quite some time, digesting this deluge of information. “I see why you waited up to call me.”

“Yes.”

“…that’s a lot to think about.”

“Yes.”

“…”

“…”

“I’ll call my boss as soon as I get off the phone with you – Pru’s awesome, she’ll give me the time. Any paperwork I need to fill out?”

Relief floods Miles. “I’ll e-mail it to you – I assume you have access to a printer and scanner?”

“A bold assumption, but a correct one!”

“Good. Excellent. You have my gratitude, I- oh.”

“Edgeworth?” Wright’s tone is immediately concerned, “What’s wrong? Did you think of something? Oh god, you’re safe, right-?!”

“Calm yourself, it’s nothing of the sort! Um,” Miles winces as he looks at where his fist is still resting in the wall from earlier, “You, ah, I presume you heard a rather loud bang earlier?”

“Yeah, I figured you were slamming your hand on your desk or something, like we do in court. So?”

“Not- not my desk. Or a flat hand. A wall. With a fist. And rather more force than I realized, it seems.”

“…Miles Edgeworth, did you get so worked up over my disbarment that you punched a hole in the wall?”

“…”

“Oh my god, I’m right, aren’t I?”

“As far as I’ve heard, you’re always ‘Wright,’” Miles replies testily, and he can hear the delight in the man’s voice even over the phone.

“Yeah, but this time I’m also correct, aren’t I?”

“…”

“Aren’t I?”

“…I wouldn’t call it a hole, per se. More of a dent.”

“Oh my god.”

Miles rolls his eyes, glowering at the not-a-hole and wondering if he can stand the embarrassment of trying to bring someone in to repair his wall, preparing to take his leave before he hesitates. “Wright?”

“Yeah?”

“What are you going to do? Now that you know about Europe?”

There is a puff of breath from the other end of the line. “I guess… I’m going to do the responsible thing.”

“Which is?”

And now he can almost hear the man’s grin. “Talk to Trucy about it. I know what I want to do, but whatever I choose is going to affect her, too. I’m a parent- well, a caregiver now, I gotta think about things like that.”

The statement shouldn’t come as a surprise, but Miles is still struck momentarily dumb by it.

“Edgeworth? You still there?”

“Yes, I-” he takes a calming breath, “I was caught up in the thought that Trucy is very fortunate to have you.”

“Nah, I’m the one who’s lucky to have her. It’s- wait, crap, it’s nearly four in the morning for you, go to bed, you’ve got court in the morning, get some sleep!”

“You have no evidence to back that claim.”

“Circumstantial evidence of having known the defendant for years, now go to bed – you can e-mail me anything else I need to know before the next time we talk!”

The obnoxious man hangs up before Miles can protest, and Miles would call back except, once again, he’s not only Wright but also correct, drat him. Still, it is with an easier mind that he finally lies down for what rest he can claim before court starts in a few hours.

OoOoOoOoO

Dear Edgeworth,

Here’s the scans of those forms you needed me to fill out and don’t worry about Trucy – Maya said she’ll come down to watch her for the week and she’s bringing Pearls, so hopefully she can have fun with her. Also, what the hell was with that number, I’ve already said I’d come, I don’t need a bribe!

~Phoenix Wright, part-timer and talent manager

Wright,

That’s not a bribe, that’s the standard fee for legal aids in Germany, converted into US dollars. If you go through the process to get certified as a paralegal, you’ll get a bit more and, regardless, your transport fees will be covered.

Miles Edgeworth, international prosecutor

Dear Edgeworth,

…Maya can never know… Also, I talked to Trucy about the European Bar, like I said I would – tempting as it is, I really want to get to the bottom of what happened with Zak and my disbarment myself as much as possible, and… she didn’t say in so many words, but Trucy misses her dad. The faster I can solve this, the sooner she can see him again.

Honestly it kind of hurts, knowing that I’m probably going to have to let her go at the end of all this. I mean, I could probably make a case for abandonment, retain legal rights and all since the adoption’s formal now, but, I mean… it’s not her fault he left, or that her family left her in such a mess, and if she wants to go back to him, I mean… he’s her dad. I’m Mr. Wright. I don’t even know if she wants me to be a real dad to her, you know? It’s hard to tell exactly where you stand with Trucy sometimes – she doesn’t really know how to go ‘off stage.’ …gonna have to work on that, actually, that’s not healthy.

Anyway, back on topic, do I need to book a hotel?

~Phoenix Wright, part-timer and talent manager

Wright,

I understand, and will abide by your decision, though the option will remain available to you. And, while I am by no means an expert, I do believe Trucy cares for you very much, and even when she returns to Zak, she will probably remain in contact with you.

There is no need for a hotel, I have a guest room you may make use of – it will be more convenient for transportation.

Miles Edgeworth, international prosecutor

Dear Edgeworth,

Thanks.

What, really? Cool, it’ll be like a sleepover!

~Phoenix Wright, part-timer and talent manager

Wright,

Yes, really, and no, it will not be a ‘sleepover.’

Miles Edgeworth, international prosecutor

Dear Edgeworth,

SLEEPOVER SLEEPOVER SLEEPOVER-!

Chapter Text

Wright is too groggy from his first plane trip of any true length to be truly cognizant when Miles picks him up at the airport, a suitcase in one hand, his briefcase in the other.

“Quick warning, no lying around me right now,” he groans as they start towards Miles’s car, “Got the magatama in my pocket, been messing with it for most of the trip because heights bad, and everything’s kinda weird at the moment. And I can’t handle any more psyche-locks at the moment.”

“More?”

The nod he gets in response is miserable. “Tell you about it later, okay? Right now I just want to sleep in something closer to the ground.”

Miles considers, then offers an awkward pat on the shoulder. “I suppose, between the height and the turbulence, airplanes are a suboptimal form of transport for either of us.”

“Oh yeah,” Wright nods, stowing his bag in the trunk, then having to be guided to the right side of the car, sulkily embarrassed about his mistake. “This is why I ride a bike, you don’t have to worry about this stuff with bikes…” Still, he slumps into the seat and straps himself in with every sign of relief.

Said relief vanishes for no discernable reason a very short way into the journey to Miles’s apartment, and when they arrive Wright spills out of the car to crouch shuddering on the ground.

“Oh god oh god I thought I was gonna die oh god-”

“There is nothing wrong with my driving, Wright,” Miles growls, unloading the suitcase and retrieving the man’s briefcase from the back seat. For some reason he gets a very affronted look for his efforts.

“Uh, there’s a little thing called a speed limit?!”

“Which I was obeying.”

A familiar glowing green comma is waved in his face (and how did that thing make it through airport security?) “Uh-uh, no lying, I can see you lying!”

He’s not in the mood to argue this. “Fine, not exactly, but going ten miles over is a common occurrence in America as well, and there’s also such a thing as keeping up with the rest of the traffic.”

Wright’s eyes bulge. “It broke,” he mumbles in something akin to horror, “But- but that’s not- you were going so fast-”

“The speed limits in Europe are often higher than in America,” Miles retorts, grabbing one of Wright’s arms and dragging him off the ground, “Much more sensible, if you ask me. And at least you’re awake now.”

“As if I’ll ever sleep again after that,” comes the dark response.

“Just be grateful we’re not in Italy, you coward.”

OoOoOoOoO

“Shoes off.”

“What?”

“Shoes,” Miles glances significantly at Wright’s sneakers while pointedly removing his own more formal footwear, “Off. You’re in a civilized country now, and we take our shoes off when we enter peoples’ homes here.”

“Ew,” Wright wrinkles his nose, even as he complies, “This is so unhygienic.”

“Better than tracking everything you’ve walked in through the house and hastening the destruction of the floors and carpets with the treads,” Miles leads down the hall to the living room, “The guest room you’re staying in is the last room on the left, living room, dining room, and kitchen in that order on the right, bathroom at the end of the hall.”

“Okay, thanks.” Wright grabs his suitcase, heading towards his temporary lodgings, peeking into the aforementioned rooms as he passes them then grinning at Miles over his shoulder. “This place is nice – not what I expected.”

Miles narrows his eyes. “And what, pray tell, were you expecting?”

“Full-on Rococo,” Wright replies without a lick of shame (well, Miles assumes he should be ashamed of himself from the tone (he’s not quite sure what the term ‘Rococo’ indicates…)), “More pink, more ruffles on everything, I dunno. This is… classy. Like a cozier version of your old office. It suits you.”

“…thank-you?”

The man chuckles, but there is no mockery in his face. “Don’t worry, that was a compliment, you read it right.”

“Oh.” Miles absolutely does not feel unusually pleased at Wright’s approval of his home, nor does it make him the slightest bit red in the face. “All right then. Do you require further rest, or would you like to look at the case file?”

“Case file! Definitely case file! Just let me get changed real quick, it would feel weird doing legal work in casualwear. Yeah, lawyer stuff!”

OoOoOoOoO

It is… a surprising relief to see Wright emerge from the guest room, hair gelled into his preferred spikes and having traded his jeans and t-shirt for a suit, though the relief is not the only surprise.

“You got a new suit?”

“Oh. Um,” Wright rubs the back of his head with an embarrassed grin and the hand not holding a pair of dress shoes, his usual blue replaced with a pale brown that suits him rather well, “It’s, um. Actually. Old?”

Miles sits back from where he’s been arranging his papers on the dining room table, folding his arms. “Old? I know suits, Wright – that one’s been worn once, if that.”

“…you’re really annoying, you know that, right?”

“Also an up-tight jerk, yes, why did you buy a new suit for this?”

“I didn’t, this is,” Wright actually blushes, “This is the suit. I originally got. When I first passed the bar. It was buy one get one half off. The blue one was half off.”

…much as he would love to, Miles can’t deny that Wright actually wears his usual suit extremely well, but the pale brown looks far more professional. “Then why-”

“Edgeworth, you’ve met me, right? I don’t have great luck with light colours… staying light. The salesman talked me into it, I just… never had the guts to wear it other than that first time.” He shrugs, embarrassed, unhappy, “But the blue one- I couldn’t-”

A raised hand cuts him off. “Never mind, it’s fine – you look more than adequate to appear in court.” He hesitates, then adds, “I apologize if my questioning caused you undue distress, it was not my intention.”

The unhappiness is not entirely erased, but he does receive a smile for his awkwardness. “Thanks.” Then his expression brightens and he claps his hands together. “So, let’s get this show on the road! Show me which file is the one I need to look at and then where’s the crime scene – we’ve got some investigating to do!”

The snort that escapes as Miles gathers the last of his papers is entirely involuntary but also amused. “The case has been open for several weeks, Wright, remember? It simply couldn’t be tried until now. The evidence has mostly been gathered already.”

“Then… where are we going after this?” Wright asks, disappointment in his frame even as he eagerly accepts the file Miles hands to him.

“First to my office so you may look over the documents I didn’t feel it prudent to remove from the building, then down to the police station so that you may look through the evidence locker if there’s anything you feel a need to personally examine.”

“…evidence locker?”

“Yes, we have access to it this afternoon – the defense has it this morning.”

“The defense has what?!?”

OoOoOoOoO

“I can’t believe the defense can just waltz into the police station whenever they want to look at evidence without having to finagle it out of people.”

“It’s hardly ‘whenever they want’ – they have their time, we have ours.”

“And pooling evidence! How are you supposed to properly wrong-foot the prosecution if they know what you’ve got?!”

“The same way one wins at chess, Wright, through superior logic and skill. Not to mention that, for the moment at least, you are also part of the prosecution – please refrain from trying to wrong-foot me in court, we want this monster locked up.”

“I didn’t forget, don’t worry. Guess this keeps you from having an updated autopsy report sprung on you out of nowhere… And I can see why you kept coming back here, though, everything seems a lot more… organized, I guess. More your style.”

“The European courts have their own foibles and eccentricities. And it is easier to convince a single judge of your case than a dozen jurors.”

“…jurors?”

OoOoOoOoO

“Twelve people.”

“Really, Wright-”

“Twelve people! It’s hard enough getting Judgy to listen to me sometimes, how am I supposed to get twelve-”

“Oh for goodness sake, Wright, did you manage to get yourself lobotomized while I wasn’t looking? I wouldn’t have brought you here if I thought you would be of no use to me, and if our legal systems were that different then I wouldn’t have come to Europe to further my studies and refine my abilities in the first place! Honestly, if anything I’d have thought you’d be more concerned over your language skills.”

“My language…?”

“…remind me, Wright, which country are we in again?”

“Huh? Well, we’re in Germany- crap, Edgeworth, I don’t speak German!!!”

“For god’s sake, Wright!”

Chapter Text

“I can keep going, honest!”

Miles rolls his eyes. “Wright, you almost fell asleep in the evidence locker. Jetlag doesn’t go away just because you want it to, you know.”

“But the trial-”

“Isn’t for two more days. We’re going back to my apartment and then you’re going to bed – you’re no good to me if you’re yawning too hard to speak.”

“…jerk…”

But he gets in the car with minimal fussing, and it is with a look of relief that he removes his jacket and loosens his tie when they enter Miles’s apartment. He pauses before heading for the guest room, however.

“I’m gonna set an alarm, but if I’m not awake at nine tonight, you gotta wake me up, okay? I promised I’d call Trucy then.”

“Wright, I think she’ll understand if-”

“No!” the man shakes his head emphatically and thumps the living room doorway with one hand, “I promised, and- and I don’t even remember why I was holding the damn thing, but I had the magatama in my hand when I asked if she was gonna be okay while I was gone when she an’ Maya an’ Pearls saw me off at the airport and- Edgeworth, that was the psyche-lock I mentioned earlier, she said yes and a psyche-lock showed up. A black one.”

That is a puzzling statement. Much as he dislikes acknowledging such things, Miles has personally used the magatama, seen the impossible locks and chains, felt it burn in his hand when he had asked wrongly. Thus, “…I was under the impression that psycho-locks were red.”

“Psyche-locks, why can you never-?! No, never mind, it’s-” he runs a hand through his hair. “Red locks are lies a person’s telling other people. Black ones are for lies they’re telling themselves, secrets they won’t let themselves know they have, they- Trucy’s eight,” his expression goes pleading as he turns back to Miles, “She’s only eight, and you can’t break black psyche-locks like you can red ones, it can really hurt the person, permanently, I’ve only seen them a few times and- she’s eight, Miles, and it’s only the one but the black ones are awful. I have to keep this promise, I would anyway, but-”

The babbling ceases as Miles gets out his own phone and presses a few buttons before showing it to Wright. “There, I’ve set an alarm.”

“You can do that with phones?”

“Luddite.”

“Hey, not all of us are good with technology!” Wright protests before a jaw-cracking yawn cuts him off, apparently taking his will to argue with it. “Thanks.”

“Far be it from me to deny a child who has lost her father contact with her new guardian.”

Wright somehow manages to wake up in time on his own, but the look he gives when Miles arrives to check on him is pure gratitude, though Miles does not accept the invitation to stay and say hello to Trucy. At least, not tonight he doesn’t.

OoOoOoOoO

Wright is looking far more chipper the next day, even through the blear of not being a morning person. “Say, can we go back to the evidence locker this afternoon? I had a thought last night, after talking with Trucy, but I need to check a few things over again.”

“That is acceptable.” Miles nods, then gestures towards a carton of eggs he has just finished marking to distinguish them from the raw ones. “Eggs? They’re still warm.”

Instead of gratitude for providing breakfast, he receives a wrinkled nose. “Boiled eggs are the work of the devil, Edgeworth.”

“…you’re joking.”

“The devil.”

Given that Wright obviously has more experience on this level, Miles elects not to be drawn into a childish argument and instead leaves the ridiculous man to find his own breakfast.

OoOoOoOoO

“…hey, Edgeworth, have you tried turning this around?”

“That’s what I called you for, Wright.”

“What? Oh, no, I mean that photo of the crime scene, over by your elbow, spin it so that it’s upside down.”

“I don’t see how that will… help… good lord…”

“And when you take that with the pink flamingo that was nearby-”

“-and the abandoned walking stick! EUREKA! Eureka and checkmate!”

“…did you really just say-?”

“Never mind that, Wright, this is definitive! We’ve got the bastard this time, no room for him to wriggle out of it!”

The rest of the day is spent rearranging Miles’s previous plans for his strategy in court the day after the next, fitting together some final puzzle pieces, and not remembering that eating is a necessity of existence until seven at night and they’re forced to return to Miles’s apartment with a bag of take-out and plans to finalize everything the next day.

OoOoOoOoO

“Damn!”

Wright starts as Miles storms into the living room. “What’s up, I thought we were all ready for the trial tomorrow? You were saying we’d be done before noon with what we have.”

“And we should have been,” Miles growls, glaring at his phone, “But I’ve just learned that there’s been a last minute change in who we’ll be facing for the defense. Attorney Goh is… not someone I wanted to face again, for various reasons. Her strategies are… difficult.”

“But we have definitive evidence,” Wright protests, rising from where he’d been lounging on the couch with a magazine he’d brought to come stand by him, “You can’t argue with definitive evidence!”

“No, but you can argue with a jury,” Miles replies gloomily, rubbing his forehead, “One of the difficulties of the jurist system that led to its abandonment in the States in the mid-twentieth century. It doesn’t matter how good your evidence is if the opposition can cast strong enough doubt in the jurists’ minds. And Ms. Goh is very skilled at painting the picture she wants the jury to see.”

This elicits a wince. “Is she corrupt?”

“Frankly? I haven’t a clue.” Miles moves past the man and into the living room to take a seat on the sofa, not even bothering to sit properly and prevent the knees of his trousers from getting stretched. “Morally grey, at least in that she doesn’t seem to much care who she defends. …possibly a touch insane.”

“Seriously?”

“I wouldn’t rule it out.”

“Well, at least you’ve got me this time!” The man grins, coming to sit on the right side of the sofa again, “We’ll prove that Buser did it, and that whoever Goh’s gonna try and throw under the bus in his place didn’t, and we’re going to do it so thoroughly that the jury won’t have a choice other than to agree with us! Cheers, confetti, a Not Guilty, I buy supper!”

“We’re aiming for a guilty verdict, but otherwise that sounds wonderful.”

“…right! Have I mentioned how weird it is to be on the prosecution’s side for once?” Wright asks with a sheepish grin.

Miles can’t help smiling back. “Only as often as you usually present your badge- oh. Oh drat, I- I momentarily forgot-”

“It’s okay,” Wright gives him a tight smile, “Since I got here, I keep forgetting, too. It’s kinda nice, like a vacation from not being a lawyer anymo- OW!” he scowls, rubbing the back of his head, “What was that for?!”

“Regardless of your official status, you are a lawyer, Wright, a defense attorney. It is how you think, what you are,” Miles says with a severe look as he leans back to his previous position on the sofa, “An empty lapel does not change that.”

The man squirms. “I wouldn’t say-”

“Four years.”

Wright blinks at him. “What?”

“It took you four years to go from being a theatre student to a fully barred lawyer,” Miles states, calm, the theatrics of court for once set aside, “And you passed the bar on your first try. I did as well, naturally, but I also began to study the law when I was seven. There are many prodigies in the legal world, and while you differ from most of them quite drastically, your actions and achievements are such as to place you solidly among their number.” He pauses, considers Wright’s slack jaw, “And if you tell anyone I said any of this, I will lie.”

“I- What-?” Wright gapes at him for several minutes, then shakes himself and points an accusing finger at him. “Wait a minute, I never told you about any of that! How did you find out?!”

Miles smirks, tapping his forehead. “Use your head, Wright. Some upstart comes along and ruins my ‘perfect’ record? Of course I did a thorough background check afterwards on what you’d been up to in the fifteen years since we’d met, at least academically.”

The man stares at him a moment longer, then slumps back on the sofa with a chuff of annoyed amusement. “You have the weirdest ways of cheering me up.”

The look that accompanies this statement makes Miles squirm for some reason, an unsettled feeling in his stomach, heat in his face, and he looks away. “Perhaps I am merely attempting to get you in a proper frame of mind for court tomorrow.”

“Nope!” Wright lets his head fall to the side so that he can grin fully at Miles, “You just don’t have much practice with this sort of thing and you’re still figuring out what works.”

The warmth in his face intensifies, and Miles busies himself with unlocking his phone. “It’s nearly nine – you promised Trucy you would call her daily at this time, did you not?”

“Right, I did! Thanks!” catching the phone when Miles tosses it to him, Wright dials his daughter’s phone number with a grin different than the one he’d given Miles but no less warm. “Trucy! Hey, surprise, it’s me! …yeah, Edgeworth’s letting me use his phone. …Mine works just fine, thank-you, he’s just being-! …You let me use your phone to talk to him all the time, he’s just doing the same with me and- …no, that is not grounds for me to let me use my phone in your magic act. …Or for me to be your beautiful assistant, Edgeworth, get over here and tell Trucy why I can’t be her beautiful assistant.”

The whole thing has the cadence of an old, fond argument, but for some reason Miles allows himself to be handed back his phone. “Hello, Trucy.”

“Hiya, Mr. Edgeworth! Tell Mr. Wright he should be my beautiful assistant – I’ll let him have his name on the posters and ten percent share of the show profits, and you can’t beat that!”

“…you are very determined for him to get a share of your earnings, aren’t you?”

“Children are very expensive, Mr. Edgeworth, and he’s only working part time,” Trucy scolds him, and Miles feels a smile tugging at his lips.

“Be that as it may, Wright cannot be your ‘beautiful assistant.’”

“Aw, why not? It’d be legal, I looked it up!”

“Ah, but you’ve overlooked a key point,” Miles smirks and makes direct eye contact with Wright, “He’s not beautiful.”

Wright’s jaw drops and after a moment’s silence he gives an indignant squawk and dives for Miles. “Gimme the phone back, you’re not allowed to talk to Trucy anymore!”

“Is that so? I think she would benefit from some intelligent conversation for once.”

“YOU JUST SAID I WAS SMART!”

“Did I? I have no recollection of those particular words ever leaving my mouth.”

Wright flounders and flails and is completely unaware that Miles has switched the phone to speaker until Trucy can’t contain her laughter anymore, and eventually neither of them can help joining in.

Chapter Text

The day of the trial dawns heavily overcast and, in a twist, Wright is already up and dressed when Miles enters the kitchen.

“Hey Edgewooooah!” the man turns from a pan of eggs with a smile that turns into a startle partway through. Miles raises an eyebrow while making a beeline for the kettle and setting it to start heating.

“Is something the matter, Wright?”

“It- grey!” the man gestures at Miles in a helpless sort of shock and the penny drops – he’s never seen Miles’s new European courtroom dress, likely wasn’t expecting Miles in a charcoal suit and wine waistcoat any more than he himself had been expecting to see Wright in pale brown that first day.

“The European courts have a stricter dress code than their American counterparts. I actually receive a certain amount of leeway due to my dual citizen status – over here lawyers wear primarily black and white.”

“Huh.” Wright glances down at his own not-black suit trousers, “Am I breaking-?”

“You’re American, you’re expected to be eccentric,” oh, yes, tea, perhaps not a necessity but infinitely better than going without, “I only recently began to dress this way myself for trials – since I’m now officially an international prosecutor, not merely studying here, I’m expected to be somewhat tamer in my presentation from now on.”

“Huh.” Turning back to the stove, Wright pokes his eggs a few times before removing them from the heat, “Say, do they actually wear those robes and wigs over here still, or is that a TV thing?”

“A gown and a peruke, and yes, they do.”

“Do you wear them?” Wright asks, expression nothing less than cheeky.

“I wear an unadorned gown.”

Wright snorts. “Using your status as an ‘eccentric American’ to not have to wear a silly wig, huh?”

Miles splutters, “There is a long history of respect and tradition when it comes to wearing a peruke-!”

“And you don’t wanna wear one,” Wright cuts him off, obnoxiously pleased with himself, then pulling out his accursed lie-detecting talisman. “Go on, say it – tell me to my face that you wouldn’t mind wearing one.”

“Hmph,” Miles does the mature thing and focuses on assembling his own morning repast, resolutely ignoring that man’s laughter. He relents just before the leave for the courthouse, however, pulling a spare umbrella from the stand by the door and offering it to his temporary aid. “Here. You’ll be wanting this today.”

Wright looks puzzled for a moment, then apparently catches on. “Oh, yeah, it is starting to drizzle, isn’t it? I guess light colours and rain aren’t a great combo.”

“…rain? Never mind, hurry up or we’ll be late.”

“Seriously? The courthouse isn’t that far.”

“No, but the courtroom we’re in is on the sixth floor and it takes time to climb that many stairs.”

“Stairs? Why not just take the ele- oh. Oh, right. Forget I said anything, stairs are great, nothing like some cardio to get the blood going before a trial, right?”

OoOoOoOoO

“Edgeworth, I’m dying, go on without me.”

“Quit being melodramatic, there’s only one flight left.”

“How are you going so fast?! And in a robe!”

“It’s called a gown, and my office in Los Tokyo was on the 12^th floor. Here it is on the 10^th. This is my normal rate of assent for climbing stairs.”

“Ugh…”

OoOoOoOoO

“Crap!”

“What is it now, Wright?”

The man turns to him, eyes wide with horror. “I still can’t speak German! How am I supposed to help you properly if I don’t know what anyone’s saying- stop snickering at me, this is serious!”

Miles shoots him an amused look and wags a chastising finger, “You honestly believe I didn’t take that into account when I requested your help? I made sure to arrange for an interpreter as soon as you agreed to come.”

“…smug bastard…” Wright grumbles, not entirely able to hide his relief as Miles leads him over to a professionally dressed woman in light blue glasses with a matching neckerchief tied around her throat. “Um, hi. Phoenix Wright, ace legal aid. Pleased to meet you.”

“Paulina Glott,” she shakes his hand warmly, “I look forward to working with you – anyone Prosecutor Edgeworth deems worth asking for help is sure to provide an interesting trial.” Her brows furrow as she takes the man in, however. “You, ah, you were informed that you’re going to be facing Ms. Goh in court today, were you not?”

“Yup!” Wright offers a smile that radiates reassurance, “Don’t worry, I’m usually on the defense, I can take anything she can throw.”

“That’s just-” Ms. Glott turns to Miles, accusatory, “You didn’t even give him an umbrella?”

“Of course I- Wright, where did the umbrella I lent you get to?!”

“I put it in the stand in the lobby – it was wet from the rain, I didn’t want it dripping everywhere,” Wright replies, clearly puzzled, “Was that a bad idea? Will it get stolen or something?”

“No, well maybe, but that’s not-” the clock catches Miles’s eye and he swears, “There’s no time left to explain, just- be ready to duck.”

“Huh?”

OoOoOoOoO

[“Perhaps the prosecution needs to work in a broader spectrum!”]

“DOWN!”

“Huh? ARGH!”

Miles closes his own umbrella again and turns to view the damage. A shell-shocked Wright is staring straight ahead, dripping purple. “I told you to get down.”

“…she threw a balloon at me…”

“Yes, she does that.”

“…a balloon full of paint!”

“Yes, Vanna Goh considers the courtroom her canvas.”

“She can’t do that, she’s defense! The prosecution’s the ones who- who attack people in court, not the defense! We defend people!”

“Yes, well, over here both sides are at liberty to take a more offensive or defensive stance regarding their interactions with the opposing council.”

“Are you kidding?!? If I tried something like that back home, I’d get penalized so hard I’d lose the trial!!!”

“…Wright, did you read anything about the European court systems before coming over here?!”

“Edgeworth, I think we both know the answer to that. More importantly, why didn’t you warn me about Goh?!”

“I told you I didn’t like facing her or her strategies, I gave you an umbrella!”

“I thought it was for the rain! And that she was just- really efficient or smart or something!”

“You honestly believe I would be cowed by something so trivial as an intelligent opponent-?!?”

[“The court requests the prosecution stop arguing with itself and resume focus on the case at hand. Failure to do so will result in a penalty.”]

[“Yes, of course, your Honour, I apologize for my aid’s histrionics.”]

“Sorry, your Honour. …Edgeworth, you snuck an insult in there, didn’t you?”

OoOoOoOoO

[“Therefore, this court finds A. Buser guilty on charges of battery, and sentences him-”]

OoOoOoOoO

“We did it! And the streamers at the end were kinda nice – I bet they’re easier to clean up than confetti, too!” Wright enthuses as they walk out of court together, almost absent-mindedly accepting the handkerchief Miles offers him to wipe his now multi-coloured face, too caught up in the high of a successfully completed trial.

Miles nods in agreement, “Indeed. And you have my gratitude for the help you provided. There are things I… might have overlooked without it.”

“I was happy to help,” the man beams, then looks down at his suit with a sigh. “Well, it lasted almost four days.”

This earns Miles a slight coiling of guilt for not better ensuring that man knew what he was getting into with Goh, and he winces. “I do apologize about that – she ruined two of mine last time I faced her.”

“That’s not too bad, you’ve got a bunch.”

“I was living in hotels out of suitcases and a carry-on at the time, Wright – that was a third of my entire wardrobe she ruined. Not to mention that they’re made to last for years.”

“Fair. And, I guess… I mean, she had a beret on over her wig and was waving a paintbrush around, that probably should have been a clue…”

“…I’ll get you a new one.”

Wright starts, shocked. “Hey, there’s no need for that – not like I was gonna be using it again after this for anything more than maybe school conferences for Trucy, and I’ve got enough semi-formal stuff to cover me for that.”

“How about this, then – I’ll take you to my usual tailor and have your measurements done. Should I require your help for another case, adequate court wear will be provided for you as a bonus. Does that sound acceptable?”

After considering the offer, Wright nods. “Just don’t try and stick me in a cravat like yours, okay? Neck ruffles are your thing, not mine.”

“Agreed.” They shake on it, then Wright drags him off for a celebratory supper, paint-spattered suit and all.

(Miles snaps a quick picture of him when he’s not looking, laughing and triumphant – Trucy deserves to see her new caretaker like this at least once. That’s the only possible reason he could have for taking such a picture, after all. It’s certainly not as a reminder of the thrill it had brought to work together towards a common goal with that man, no, of course not. Not in the slightest…)

OoOoOoOoO

Wright’s remaining three days are spent finishing off paperwork and with a bit of sight-seeing. Anwaltsstadt is not the most interesting town in Germany, but it does have a small art gallery, which Wright somehow coerces Miles into visiting with him (he spends the entire visit critiquing the pieces like he’d majored in fine arts as opposed to having simply done a few courses on them over half a decade ago (it’s more entertaining than it should be)).

“How did you know we’d get the case solved so fast?” the man asks on his second to last day as they wander aimlessly, “They don’t have the three-day limit over here, and even I’ve heard how long European trials can take.”

“I didn’t know for sure,” Miles admits, noticing a rather nice bit of stonework on the bridge they’re crossing (he’ll have to come back later with his camera), “But it had been said before that we make an excellent team. I may not believe in Maya’s so-called powers, but I found I could put my faith in our teamwork.”

Wright snorts. “Slow down there, people’ll start thinking you’re the one who studied Shakespeare.”

“I suppose some of us just have a natural affinity for fine language.” Something had shifted in the month Miles spent in Los Tokyo, and it has shifted further as he and Wright continued to talk over the intervening months. It is… easier to chat like this now, casual teasing and conversation. Not things Miles would have thought he’d enjoy, but has found he does, just as, in spite of his past struggles with children, he has grown to enjoy the times he is able to speak briefly with Trucy as well as Wright.

The man in question is currently rolling his eyes at Miles. “Or some of us are just ridiculous.”

“I’m sorry, I thought we were talking about me?”

A snort is his reply, and Wright gives up his teasing in favour of leaning against the bridge’s railing, looking down the river. “The sky’s a slightly different colour over here, you ever notice that?”

“Yes. Though it took awhile for me to understand that that was the case,” Miles comes to stand next to him, gaze drifting down the river to follow Wright’s, “It was a few months after I moved here as a child. At the time I was uncertain how I felt about it.”

“And now?” he can just see Wright looking at him from the corner of his eye.

“It is… hard to describe.” Miles folds his arms, staring up as he tries to tease apart memory and emotion and shades of blue, “I know… that I truly saw that blue again, the colour of the Los Tokyo sky, for the first time after you defeated Manfred, and it was… a good feeling. But I come here and see this shade of blue, a German sky, and it is also good. For better or for worse, I grew up in this country, and I am fond of it.”

“Guess it makes sense that you keep coming back, then.”

There is a… a something in Wright’s voice, a tone, a cadence, a thing Miles cannot name but which has him turning to the other man, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder. “I am fond of Japanafornia as well. It is no chore or sorrow whenever my life draws me to return.”

The smile he receives is worth the awkwardness of unaccustomed physical contact.

OoOoOoOoO

Miles sees Wright off at the airport with minimal fanfare – a promise from the man to text when he has arrived safely in Los Tokyo, another to talk again in a few days, a reassurance from Miles that payment for this week’s work will be in Wright’s account by September fifth (“That sounds so shady”). A final farewell, a parting handshake, and Wright is waving as he walks off towards the gate, past where non-passengers can follow. The first time Miles has watched as Wright leaves, in a reversal of their usual roles.

…no wonder Wright has looked so wistful at these times in the past…

The bed in the guest room is made when he gets home, in a relatively decent if pointless level of tidiness, seeing as Miles is just going to strip it down to wash the bedclothes.

(Having his suits cleaned professionally is one thing, but ever since he moved out of the von Karma mansion, Miles has found he prefers to tend to his home’s tidiness himself, rather than allow a stranger into his private space. It was a learning process, but there is a certain satisfaction in it, even now.)

Arms full of linens, a flash of colour catches his eye from the waste basket as he passes it, and further examination reveals, on top of some crumpled notes, a strip of red fabric, spattered with paint.

Wright’s necktie.

It’s been ruined for court wear, or any other sort of wear, by the aforementioned paint, traces of colour remaining even when thicker patches of pigment flake and crust off as the fabric bends in Miles’s hands, but the back is still vivid, the narrow end unmarred. And the more he rubs, the more red comes to light, dimmer and smudged, flecked with other colours, but still there, still itself-

-he halts abruptly. This is a pointless endevour, Wright obviously had no interest in trying to salvage the thing, and Miles himself has no use for it. Better to return it to where he found it.

(He doesn’t, he rolls it carefully and tucks it in the back of one of the desk drawers in his home office, and he doesn’t think too hard on why.)

OoOoOoOoO

P Wright: Hey, Edgeworth! Home safe and sound, Maya, Pearls, and Trucy were waiting for me at the airport and TRUCY GAVE ME A BIG HUG AND SAID ‘WELCOME HOME, DADDY!’ #Blessed I’m officially a dad now, life is good.

Chapter Text

September 2019

“Maya introduced Trucy to Steel Samurai while I was in Germany with you.”

“Oh?”

“She’s hooked. Why am I surrounded by geeks?”

“I believe you meant to say ‘people with excellent taste in media.’”

“I absolutely did not.”

“Hmf. How is she faring now that school has begun? I believe you mentioned that she was previously home schooled?”

“Yup, she’s doing well and, get this – she tested at a fifth grade level, so she got to skip fourth! She’s so smart, I have such a smart daughter, I love her!” a pause “Also, I really like being a dad – did not see that one coming.”

“Yes, because you definitely haven’t spent the past few months describing her as ‘wonderful,’ ‘extraordinary,’ or ‘your light.’”

“Hey, I’m just calling it like I see it. She’s turning nine soon, I’m thinking about attempting a cake.”

“I assume you have fire insurance?”

“Wow, rude? Besides, I’ve got time to practice – she’s a little Halloween girl. Isn’t that cool?”

“Rather appropriate, I suppose. How did she react to having the number of times she may perform a week cut?”

“Sulked, but I was firm. Fridays and Saturdays only while she’s in school, and if her grades or health drop I am completely prepared to use my parental authority to cut her hours even more. That’s a thing I can do, because I’m a dad now.”

He snorts. “Tell me, Wright, do you still do that ridiculous thing where you sit upside down on the sofa with your feet on the wall when this excited?”

A rustle, then, “What? Psh, no, I stopped doing that when I was thirteen, I’m a grown man now, who does taxes and has a daughter.”

“Oh, you have a daughter? How surprising, you’ve never mentioned.”

Muffled laughter…

OoOoOoOoO

Miles is unused to gifts, giving or receiving them, at least in regards to how much of society relates to the topic. Such things in the von Karma household were typically items that would be of use – new legal texts, a replaced desk for one that had been outgrown – and given with more ceremony than sentiment (frivolous items were purchased personally, if at all). The time he most remembers is his twelfth birthday, when he’d received his first jabot – acknowledgement that he was no longer a child and recognizement as being part of the von Karma legacy. It is an old tradition, established generations ago, and one he had spent much time thinking over after Manfred’s guilt was revealed in regards to whether he truly wished to continue wearing them. It had been nearly a surprise to discover that he did; they have become part of who he is, a part he likes, and, besides.

That had been the day Franziska first began to acknowledge him as her brother. It is not Manfred’s tradition he upholds now, it is Franziska’s, hers and her ancestors’, and why should he not? It is in the nature of the younger sibling to emulate the elder, after all.

This still leaves him uncertain in regards to the issue of gift giving, beyond that it would probably be appropriate for him to get Trucy a birthday present. What would be useful to her- or would something frivolous be better? He’s not so socially inept as to be unaware of the gap between himself and Wright financially, and knows that it is gauche to emphasize such things, but how much is too much for a gift? Too little? He is a successful prosecutor fluent in the laws of multiple countries, a prodigy in his own right, this should not be so difficult!

…Dr. Heilen, during Miles’s next therapy session, reminds him that his education and areas of knowledge are different than many peoples’ and that this is not a flaw, simply a difference, such as that between a finger and a thumb. Like all people, Miles is still learning, and his active desire to do so in areas he struggles with does him credit. The good doctor also suggests that, in this instance, Miles try to find something small but fun, if he is worried about cost being an issue. Perhaps something that they do not have in America? What interests does the girl in question have?

Rephrased in this manner, a solution becomes obvious. Trucy is a magician and fond of card tricks, even having suits of cards decorating her cape. But she has likely never seen a traditional German deck, thirty-two cards, Obers and Unters, acorns, leaves, hearts, and bells as suits. It had been a shock when Miles had first been invited to play cards with Manfred and his associates, moreso when he’d been tossed with little warning into a game of Schafkopf that had left him feeling like his brain was melting and a strong preference for Skat or, better still, chess.

Still, he’s always found the cards themselves intriguing, and it is likely that Trucy will share this sentiment. He even manages to find a deck with a different illustration for each card, for added interest. A short note of explanation and congratulations, a quick online tutorial of exactly how one wraps things, and the little parcel is sent, with plenty of time to arrive for the appropriate day.

OoOoOoOoO

October 2019

“The first leg requires the second!”

“…Kay, I’m in Italy.”

“That’s not the appropriate response!”

“I never agreed to this, Kay.”

“Yeah, well, I’m the head Yatagarasu trio member, so I made an executive decision! And you passed the interview with flying colours!”

“Kay, I have a trial in two days. Two. And not nearly as strong a case as I’d like.”

“But I need your help on this, you’re my lawyer!”

“Right now I’m a busy lawyer who has a rather messy abduction case on his hands.”

“Mr. Edgeworth.”

“Kay.”

“Mr. Edgeworth.”

“Kay.”

“The first leg requires the second, Mr. Edgeworth.”

“…”

“Please?”

“Ugh, fine. ‘The second leg flies to the aid of the first.’ What do you need?”

“Well, first, could you open the window?”

“Window? What- NYARGHH!!!”

“Geez, it’s like you’ve never seen a great thief dangling upside-down outside a fifteenth floor window before.”

“That is exactly the case and also an experience I could have done without!”

“Yeah, yeah, ya big wimp, you’re just lucky your hair’s already grey with how high-strung you are. Anyway, once you’ve got the window open, could you look over these files for me? I know there’s something off in here somewhere, but my legalese isn’t as good as yours…”

OoOoOoOoO

“Mr. Edgeworth?”

Miles glances from where he’s going over the wrap-up paperwork from the abduction case – a success, even if his lack of evidence had been a result of the wrong person being primarily accused. They got the correct crook in the end, that’s what matters. Though, for some reason known only to her, Kay is still present in his office, in spite of having received the solution to her problem by the second day of the trial. “Yes?”

The self-proclaimed great thief’s face is more serious than he’s seen it since she was last on trial. “You know I really appreciate your help and everything you’ve done for me over the years, right?”

“Yes, you have always been enthusiastic if unorthodox in your thanks.” He sets his pen to the side, sensing that the impending conversation is going to require more than fifty percent of his attention.

“And you know that if you ever needed help, I’d be there for you too, right?”

He folds his hands, brows furrowing, “Yes, that was made quite clear when you insisted I memorized the various code phrases of the Yatagarasu.”

Fiddling with her scarf, Kay finally looks up to meet his eyes. “Then why haven’t you?”

This, he was not expecting. “I- there haven’t been any instances yet where-”

“That’s not true! You should know better than to lie to the Great Thief Who Steals The Truth, Mr. Edgeworth!” Kay is on her feet now, one hand flung before her, fingers spread, “You need my help with Phoenix Wright!”

He resists the urge to bury his face in his hands. “How do you even-?”

“Sebbie told me! And Gummy! But not you!” she’s scowling now, hands on her hips, “This is exactly the sort of thing I’m qualified for, and you’re not letting me help! I may be the main Yatagarasu, but the true Yatagarasu is a trio, you know that! You’ve helped me so much, and-!”

“Kay!”

“What?”

“I’m not investigating Wright’s disbarment!”

Kay’s jaw drops and she staggers. “You’re… not?”

“No.” Kay is… safe enough, thus he allows his face to come to rest in his hands. “He has requested to be allowed to handle this in his own manner, and I have promised to stay out of it unless he personally requests my aid. He does not wish to be saved and I trust in his ability. Thus, I did not contact you.”

“Wow.”

“Yes, it is rather-”

“You’re both dumb.”

That has him snapping upright again to glare at her. “Miss Faraday-!”

“Don’t you ‘Miss Faraday’ me, Edgy, I’m your boss!” Kay scowls right back at him, “And just because he doesn’t want you directly involved doesn’t mean you can’t steer him towards people who can help! It’s a delicate situation, rife with official corruption – a frontal, public investigation won’t get you anywhere! That’s why you both need me! I have contacts and connections you’re both waaaaaaay too straight ‘n’ narrow to have access to, I can get him answers to questions he probably hasn’t even thought to ask! Let me help.”

Miles is quiet for a moment, digesting this information (examining the fact that it hurts that Kay may be able to help when he himself is only allowed to watch). There is also the fact- “Official corruption.”

“Huh?”

“You said ‘official corruption.’ We have no evidence pointing directly towards city officials in this case.” Miles steeples his fingers.

“Ah,” Kay’s demeanor loses several layers of bravado, “Well, I mean, there has to be some, no investigation on the US side, no cases reopened.”

“Such trivial details are not enough for the Great Thief Yatagarasu to speak so confidently about them, let alone build an opinion on. To the three-legged crow, that would be no more than a trail of breadcrumbs leading to a greater prize, a greater truth,” he leans forward, noting how Kay falls back a step, and moves in for the kill, “You did not come to me empty-handed, Kay Faraday. You have already begun your investigations, and you have brought your findings with you, because you know it to be important, yet outside the ability of myself or Wright to gain access to.”

“Urk!” Kay flinches back another step and breaks eye contact.

Checkmate. “What did you find, Kay?”

She droops, shuffling her feet. “$136,000.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Solemnly she brings her gaze back to his. “The cost of a forgery of that quality in the appropriate time frame is around a hundred thousand dollars in the current black market. And a sum totaling thirty-six thousand dollars was spread among a majority vote of the Bar Association very shortly before Mr. Wright’s disbarment was confirmed. He’s looking for someone with $136,000 or more to spend on ruining a man’s life. Not even taking it, just ruining it.”

…Miles is suddenly very glad he’s already seated as he watches the colour start to drain from Kay and the world around her. Closing his eyes, he focuses on breathing, calm and measured. Manfred. Daemon Gant. Blaise DeBeste. Separately and jointly, he and Wright have taken down people in positions of extreme power and influence before, this is simply another unsolved case. While not exactly good news, this information does narrow down the list of potentials to those who can afford to spend so much on something like this. Not only that, it indicates that Wright was an intended target, not just an innocent bystander caught in the crossfire of the Grammyre trial.

With a final deep breath, he reopens his eyes. The world is just dipping below acceptable parameters of colour desaturation – he’s taking this harder than he should; an extra session with Dr. Heilen this month is probably in order. In the meantime, he opens his second desk drawer, removes a sheet of personal stationary from it, and begins to write, ignoring Kay when she tries to interrupt. When finished, he signs and dates it, adds an official stamp, then folds the document and places in an envelope, which he stamps across the flap once it is sealed, signing his name across it as well and then marking the recipient as Phoenix Wright. Then and only then does he once again acknowledge the impatient young woman in front of him.

“This,” he says, offering it to her, “Is an official letter of introduction of you for Phoenix Wright. If you wish to offer your aid and skills in this matter, you will present both it and yourself to him in the manner a civilian would, and make your services available to him. You will give him only such aid as he directly accepts, and if he turns down your services you will neither pressure him nor pursue the matter further. Are these terms acceptable to you, Yatagarasu?”

Kay beams, going so far as to snap off a salute as she accepts the envelope from him. “You can count on me, Mr. Edgeworth! We’ll have the Truth flying high for all to see in no time!”

Miles allows a small smile and nods to her. “Safe travels, Kay Faraday.”

“See ya ‘round, Mr. Edgeworth!”

Chapter Text

Dear Mr. Edgeworth,

I had the great joy of observing Prosecutor Blackquill in court today – he is the newest member of the Prosecutors’ office, I believe I mentioned him to you in my last e-mail, he’s very nice, excellent manners, gets along well with our coworkers. It is very strange being younger than the new guy; Prosecutor Gavin seems to just roll with it, but he’s very good at that. In any case, Prosecutor Blackquill really is a marvel in both his understanding of the law and of human psychology, and especially how the two interact! However it was very strange – the tempo of the trial was somewhat thrown when one of the prosecution’s key witnesses failed to make an appearance. Prosecutor Blackquill managed to rise above this, naturally, but all the same, it was unusual; moreso because the defense seemed… I hate to say it, but they seemed less shocked at the witness’s failure to appear than they probably should have been.

From what I’ve heard in the prosecution lobby and break room, this sort of thing seems to be happening a bit more frequently than it has in the past, too. It is a troubling turn. In any case, I hope this finds you well, and thank-you for the recommendation of which volumes to investigate for minutiae on precedent law – it was very helpful in my recent case. If you are interested in reviewing it and have the time, I can send a copy of the transcript or recording for you, your feedback on such things is always helpful!

Regards,

Sebastian DeBeste, prosecutor

OoOoOoOoO

P Wright: Quick question: how trustworthy would you say a young woman with the initials KF and a very tall ponytail is?

M Edgeworth: She is my equivalent of Maya.

P Wright: Huh?

P Wright: Oh!

P Wright: Oooooooh.

P Wright: Good answer, just saved yourself from getting chewed out for meddling when you said you wouldn’t.

M Edgeworth: …your faith in my ability to keep my word is astounding.

P Wright: More like I know how worried you can get – I remember Kurain. Sorry, should have trusted you! :(

M Edgeworth: Apology accepted.

M Edgeworth: ….

M Edgeworth: :)

P Wright: OH MY GOD, YOU JUST-?!?

M Edgeworth: I’m putting my phone on silent and going back to work now, Wright.

P Wright: :D!

OoOoOoOoO

Trucy W: Hi, Mr. Edgeworth! You won’t see this for a bit, because yor asleep, but I wanted to send this now! Thank-you so much for the cards, I love them – I’ve never tried foing tricks with a deck with 32 cards, I’m going to make up some really cool ones! Also, Daddy says I can stay up after my show on Saturday and say hi if your free, I just know I’ll have at least one trick by then and I’ll show it to you, so please be free! Thank-you again for the cars!!!! <3 <3 <3

jpeg attached

Miles can’t help smiling at the picture of Trucy holding her new deck in a perfect fan before her and beaming. He makes sure to save it to his library before typing back his confirmation of availability, and that he looks forward to it.

OoOoOoOoO

November 2019

Several new cases keep Miles busy for the first few weeks following Trucy showing off her new card tricks, inadvertently making phone and video calls too difficult to schedule, so it is through an e-mail that Miles learns Wright has apparently done enough to impress his boss Ms. Tenveg, and that as a result he’s been promoted from part-time to full-time at the grocery store, which comes with a pay boost and health insurance. From the sounds of things, Wright is almost more excited about the health insurance, having never worked a job that provides it before, though the increase in funds is also welcome.

It’s going to cut into my investigations, since I’ll have to work more hours, but I’m kinda stuck at the moment, anyway, and regular hours will makes scheduling other things easier. Besides, it’s one thing living hand-to-mouth when I was on my own, it’s different now that I’m a dad. Got to keep Trucy in silk scarves and school supplies! Keeping my own belt a little tight for the moment, though – having some savings just in case feels a lot more important now, and I did work through a bigger section of my savings account than I like to admit during the part-time stint. And, if I’m being honest, I don’t really need hair gel.

(Before you get fussy, I’m just cutting back on non-essentials, we have food and stuff. Also, why did I even still have cable, we have an internet connection and the only shows either of us watch are on the free channels???)

The overall tone of the letter is upbeat and cheerful, and thus it is something of a surprise when Miles finally does manage to speak to Wright again only to find the man looking more wan than usual.

“Wright? What happened, I was under the impression things were going well?”

“Hey, Edgeworth. Yeah, job-wise things are pretty great, just… I saw Kristoph the other day.”

“Oh? How is he – still vexed that he can’t beat you at poker?”

This gets a bit of a laugh. “That’s a given – I used to be irresponsible and play poker back in college for extra cash, so I’m pretty good, and playing against Trucy lately’s been upping my game like crazy.”

“You taught Trucy to-?!”

“Trucy came pre-equipped with the knowledge, thank-you very much, Zak taught her, he’s really into poker, too. She’s not the best with strategy yet, but she’s amazing at calling bluffs. Seriously, she currently owns all the potato chips in the apartment, I’m starting to think she might actually be magic.”

“…you’re unbelievable.”

“Hey, we’ll see who’s unbelievable in two years when Trucy gets her letter to Hogwarts!” Wright grins, then his face falls. “…she’s actually the reason why I found out.”

“About what?”

“About…” the man rubs a hand through his hair as best he can with the video call headset on, “She’s still got that black psyche-lock on her, and she doesn’t- Trucy never cries, about anything, not really.”

“So?”

Wright gives him a raised eyebrow. “She’s nine, that’s bad, kids are supposed to cry when they’re upset, it’s natural. And… I don’t know how to deal with it, not with that psyche-lock there, I don’t want to hurt her and I don’t think she’ll see a therapist. I’m gonna have to wait this one out, from the looks of things.”

…Miles isn’t sure how to respond to this, it’s entirely outside his area of experience, or even knowledge. “What does this have to do with Kristoph?”

“Kris-? Oh, yeah,” Wright slaps himself on the cheek, presumably to draw himself back from whatever path his mind had been taking. “I didn’t have time to get the magatama back into my dresser between talking to Trucy and going to see him, and I tend to fiddle with it when I have it on me – probably why Trucy didn’t get suspicious when I was asking her questions.”

“So? I still fail to see the problem.”

“So three psyche-locks appeared on Kristoph while we were talking. Red ones.”

“I repeat, so? People lie quite frequently, for numerous reasons.”

“They showed up when he said he was delighted to hear about my promotion and very happy for me.”

“…oh.” Socially awkward he may be, but even Miles knows that that’s not good, especially when- “But I was under the impression that he’s always made it clear that you can call on him if you need help of any sort?”

“That’s the thing. He has.”

“Oh. Damn.”

“Yeah.”

Wright is quiet, and Miles appreciates the man’s realization that he doesn’t need the implications of all this spelled out for him. The person behind Wright’s disbarment has wealth, presumably some level of power or involvement in the legal system, and also presumably a high level of intellect. Kristoph Gavin meets all these requirements, they both know this, he’s even tangentially connected to the case via his brother…

But he has no motive.

Kristoph and Wright had never even met until a few months after the trial, and even then Wright had approached him. And he’s been overtly nothing but genial ever since, simply meeting with Wright once or twice a month to have a meal, play poker, and talk shop. He’s one of the, if not the, most successful defense attorneys Los Tokyo has ever seen. He and Wright are- were in entirely different leagues, one with a prominent law firm and impressive list of clientele, the other running a firm with a few big wins over the years but generally only enough clients that it provided a steady income. It makes no sense that Kristoph would do anything so drastic as to have a man he’d never even met, and who was no threat to his business, disbarred for no reason and then make friends with him afterwards-

“Hey, Edgeworth?”

“Yes?” he’s pulled from his dark musings with a bit of a start.

“I think- I think I’m going to take Kay up on her offer after all. If Kristoph’s involved… he’s wicked smart, and I’m not stealthy enough to investigate him without getting caught. And if he’s involved in all this…”

“Then he has the potential to be incredibly dangerous.”

“Yeah.”

“…you know that anything Kay finds by her methods will be non-admissible in court, correct?”

“Yeah, but at least I’ll know. And if you can learn something one way, you can learn it another – you just have to turn your thinking about?” Wright flashes him a ghost of his courtroom grin.

“How are you going to keep Kristoph from figuring out that you’re onto him? As you said, you’re not exactly subtle.”

“Hey, I might be a lawyer… sort of… but my roots are still in theatre – bluffing’s just another form of acting, after all!”

“You’re terrible at bluffing.”

“You’re just better than literally everyone else except Trucy at spotting when I am,” Wright counters, “And when times are darkest is when defense attorneys need to smile their brightest! I’m actually pretty damn good at faking confidence.”

“Your evidence?”

“You ever see me cry in court?”

“…you got close that one time.”

“Yeah, well, Maya’s life was literally riding on me getting the wrong person the death sentence, so I think I get extenuating circumstances on that one. The defense rests.”

Miles sighs, rubbing his head as he catches the time – he really can’t stay any longer. “Fine, the prosecution also rests. But this is going to be a very dangerous game, Wright.”

The man nods, expression equally serious. “I know. But it’s all I’ve got to go on at the moment unless I can find Zak. …I’ll be careful. And I’ll tell Kay to be careful and take it slow, too – the last thing I want is her getting all tangled up in this mess. Thoroughness over urgency, that sort of thing.”

“Thank-you.” Miles hesitates, then adds, “And be careful in regards to yourself as well.”

Wright laughs, “Of course I will – I’m a dad now, remember? Gotta meet at least the minimum standards of safety or I’m being a bad example for Trucy!”

“…I’m not even going to comment on that.”

“Objection, you just did!”

“Good day, Wright.”

“Sleep well, Edgeworth.”

OoOoOoOoO

P Wright: Hey, Edgeworth, quit stressing – I can hear you doing it all the way across the ocean. And this completely sucks, but I’m not going to let it stop me. Like you said back in April, not first time I’ve done long-term plan. Also not first time I really trusted someone I should not have. Not you, btw. Dahlia. Hurts, but I survived it once. Can do it again. Will do it again if I need to. Don’t want it to be Kristoph. Want to be wrong. But if we’re right, this is a BIG lead. And more than anything, want to get to the bottom of this. And for Trucy to stop sneaking money into my wallet, I’m COMPETENT. Seriously, you both need to try and remember that, Maya too. It’s not over yet, still time to turn it all about! :D

Chapter Text

December 2019

Miles nearly cancels his appointment with Dr. Heilen the first week of December, the urge to bury himself in work, shut out the rest of the world even as the nightmares worsen, a badly ingrained habit by this point. Even in light of the fact that, since 2016, the main nightmare has been growing less and less frequent during other months of the year. Even though the few months he has been seeing the therapist have already been making a difference, albeit slower than he would prefer.

Because, in spite of everything, exposing his flaws, his weaknesses and vulnerabilities, is still almost painfully difficult for him most of the time. Wright is one thing, he already knows most of it, was there for some of the more crucial moments, but speaking of his past and the injuries it has left him to those who do not already know? Agony. For all his good intentions, there had been very little dialog during his first few sessions.

But, in the end, this is also why he continues to go, even in the face of December. It is not the von Karma way to run from a challenge.

(It is a shock to most people who know his story when they hear him make comments such as this, even now. They did not attend the funeral. Franziska buried her father under the stone, ‘Manfred, Beloved Father, Perpetuum Silentium Inposuisset.’ A sentimental epithet… to those who do not know how he made traps and weapons of words, those unfamiliar with the value Manfred placed in both lineage and legacy, the latter a trait Franziska shares. An epithet she had discussed with her little brother, and which he agrees on.

Franziska and Miles Edgeworth are von Karmas; they uphold and define the traditions of their lineage.

Manfred is one no longer. He has been cast out, his achievements, his doings, all but his genetic existence have been erased from the family annuls. This is his final punishment. The justice handed down by the siblings von Karma.)

Dr. Heilen is encouraging when Miles arrives. “I will admit, I wasn’t sure I would see you again until the new year, given what you’ve told me about this month. It was very brave of you to come.”

Miles snorts at this. “I face murders and villains of the worst sort on a routine basis.”

“Yes, you do. But you’re not afraid of those people or situations and, if I understand correctly, you are actually quite comfortable in courtrooms. Your job gives you a sense of strength and power, and the opportunity to use both of these things responsibly and for the betterment of society. Is this an accurate assessment?”

“I… suppose. It is not inaccurate.”

The therapist nods. “In contrast, you aren’t truly comfortable here, and you often find our conversations or the subjects we touch on quite distressing. Here is place you confront things you truly fear and yet, even knowing that, you continue to return, out of a desire to overcome them. And that is what courage is – not a lack of fear, but the strength to confront and overcome it.”

“I-” Miles starts, then hesitates, “I am aware of that concept, however I… had not… had not… thought to apply it. In such a way. To myself.”

He receives another nod and a slight smile for his admission. “Would you like a few minutes to think?”

“…please.”

“Very well. Let me know when you are ready to speak, and then what you would like to discuss today.”

OoOoOoOoO

The second week of December he receives a package in the mail from Trucy, every inch of it not left to the address and postage scrawled with the words ‘Do Not Open Until New Year’s.’

‘I told her you and December don’t have a great history,’ Wright replies when Miles sends him a confused inquiry, ‘Didn’t go into detail, told her not to pester you about it. She still wanted to send you something, though, so this is her work-around. Sorry if it still makes you uncomfortable.’

‘No, it is fine. Please inform her that I look forward to opening it.’

OoOoOoOoO

25 December 2019

Group message

M Edgeworth: Merry Christmas.

P Wright: Hey, Edgeworth – Merry Christmas! :)

Trucy W: MERRY CHRISTMAS MR. EDGEWORTH!!!

Gumshoe: Merry Christmas, sir! Thanks for including me!

Larry B.: Happy holidays, Edgy!

Franziska: Das ist eine Überraschung. Frohe Weihnachten, kleiner Bruder.

Kay Faraday: Happy holidays from the wings of truth, Mr. Edgeworth!

Sending a message of two words should not be a task difficult enough to make one sweat. Then again, given that this is the first time he’s initiated any sort of December holiday ritual in nearly two decades, perhaps some allowances can be made.

And perhaps, staring at his phone and slowly accepting that there have been no negative ramifications for his action, Miles can even allow himself to feel the tiniest bit courageous.

OoOoOoOoO

January 2020

It would be inaccurate to say he feels excitement upon opening the package Trucy had sent him. Not due to any lack of interest or belief that there is malicious intent behind it, simply… he is unused to receiving gifts, especially wrapped ones, never mind from people he cares about beyond Franziska. Thus he is uncertain how to react, beyond a vaguely positive sense of curiosity.

The package contains a note and a scarf, hand knit, presumably by Trucy, some sort of non-natural fiber that is none-the-less pleasant to the touch. Decently crafted, it is striped in bands of grey, bright red, dark pink, then lighter pink.

Dear Mr. Edgeworth,

Daddy told me that you really like Steel Samurai too, but you don’t like people knowing, and also that it gets stupid cold in Germany. So this is in the Steel Samurai and Pink Princess’s colours, so you can enjoy it without anyone knowing what you’re doing and also stay warm! Happy New Year!

Love,

Trucy Wright

The colours clash with his usual suit, the hand-made look doesn’t fit with the rest of his attire, and Miles is absolutely going to wear it in public anyway because it is extremely cool. Also, Trucy might actually be a genius because he’s never thought of doing this before and it’s an excellent idea.

After an intense internal debate, he comes to the disheartening conclusion that this is likely another occasion where a photograph is required – solid evidence that he is indeed using the scarf and not just being polite. Wrapped around his neck and tucked into his overcoat, not all the colours are clearly visible, but he is obviously outside and wearing it, and even remembers to smile again, so he assumes that, upon adding a message, it will be adequate.

M Edgeworth: Thank-you very much for the scarf – it is delightful, you are obviously a young woman of excellent taste. Though your father exaggerates in regards to German winters – he is simply incapable of properly surviving in ecosystems that include actual seasons.

From the string of excited emojis he receives for his troubles, it appears his assumption was correct.

Chapter Text

February 2020

Maya Fey: I want you to know that I hate you. Deeply. Passionately. In my SOUL.

M Edgeworth: How tragic. Is this about Wright’s little misinformation session last spring? Again?

Maya Fey: No, but I’m still proud of him for that one, he got you good.

M Edgeworth: By tricking you into ranting at me for an hour.

Maya Fey: Psh, like I wouldn’t have been down for it.

M Edgeworth: Good-bye, Miss Fey.

Maya Fey: Wait, no, I haven’t told you why I hate you yet!

M Edgeworth: And yet somehow I still live.

Maya Fey: But Edggggggggewoooooooorth! Steel Kon UK is back on for the first time in two years! And I wanna go SO BAD and you actually probably COULD go but you won’t so I can’t even live vicariously through you because your the WORST!

M Edgeworth: You correct use of the word ‘vicarious’ is the only reason I’m not returning to my three hours’ worth of paperwork.

Maya Fey: …holy spirits, you don’t even know what Steel Kon UK is, do you?

M Edgeworth: Should I?

Maya Fey: Only the THIRD BIGGEST Steel Samurai convention in the ENTIRE WORLD after the ones in Japanafornia and actual Japan!!!!!!

M Edgeworth: …you have my attention.

Maya Fey: Damn straight I do! How do you not know about this?!

M Edgeworth: I was under the impression that such venues were intended solely for the show’s target age group and random adults would be unwelcome, though if you are acting thus I must assume this is incorrect?

Maya Fey: Yeah, your not the only old person with good taste, and it started in 2008, so a lot of us who were in the ‘target age group’ for the original show are in our early 20s anyway.

M Edgeworth: …I am the same age as Wright, you recall this, yes?

Maya Fey: Yeah, and Nick is super old. Anyway, important thing, you wouldn’t stand out.

Maya Fey: Wouldn’t stand out more than normal.

Maya Fey: You have a kinda distinctive look.

M Edgeworth: Be that as it may, I doubt I have time in my schedule for such an event at the moment.

Maya Fey: Edgeworth. My dude. My man.

Maya Fey: The convention is in August.

Maya Fey: Tickets just went on pre-sale today.

Maya Fey: You’re welcome.

M Edgeworth: …I thought you hated me?

Maya Fey: Yeah, but your explanation of how the in-universe legal system actually works was cool as heck. Plus, you know, Spirit Channeling Master, kinda sorta running the village, gonna lead my people into a golden age and all that, gotta practice being all wise and benevolent and stuff.

M Edgeworth: Hmph.

M Edgeworth: ….

M Edgeworth: Thank-you.

Maya Fey: Say it properly!

M Edgeworth: No.

Maya Fey: Aw, come on – for old time’s sake? PLEEEEEEEEASE?

M Edgeworth: ….

M Edgeworth: Whoooooooop.

Miles ignores Maya’s delighted response in favour of returning to his work. Of course he won’t actually be attending, intriguing as it sounds if it is targeted as adults as well as children. He likes to keep his leisure activities private and discrete, as is proper for one of his profession and standing. A masterpiece the series may be, with levels of writing and nuance that few appreciate, but he is well aware that most of the world views it as a frivolous children’s show. Thus, he will not be attending.

(He purchases a three-day pass and manages to snag a room in the convention center as soon as he gets home, then stares into the middle distance for some time, contemplating how the hell he’s going to pull off both going to a convention full of people and also ensuring that no one has the slightest chance of recognizing him.

At least he has five months to figure it out…)

OoOoOoOoO

March 2020

Wright,

Would you be potentially available to act as my legal assistant in the second and third weeks of June? While I do not have a case that goes to trial scheduled during this time at the moment, my presence has been requested to act as a stand-in for a prosecutor who will be undergoing surgery then. It may seem presumptuous to request your aid for what may well be nothing but paperwork, but this area has a reputation for being… lively. And I presume alerting you ahead of time will allow you to give your place of work proper notification, should you decide to come, not to mention time to arrange a passport. You will, naturally, be compensated for your time and effort.

Miles Edgeworth, international prosecutor

Dear Edgeworth,

My heart says yes, and Pru would probably give me the time off, because she’s a sweetie and also just that awesome, but I don’t know. I promised Trucy we’d hang out a bit this summer, and June’s actually a busy time for Maya – something about Solstice and the barriers between the worlds thinning, I’ll be honest, I didn’t really pay attention. Wish I could, though.

~Phoenix Wright, employee, talent manager, ace legal aid

Wright,

It would be no trouble to arrange two passports as opposed to one. Trucy is capable and well-mannered, and, as I should have mentioned in the previous e-mail, we would be in England this time, so there will be no language barrier. I can ensure you have a free day or two to sightsee with her as well as evenings, and arrangements can be made for her to either accompany us or be shown some sights by a trusted associate.

Miles Edgeworth, international prosecutor

Dear Edgeworth,

Trucy says that if I say no, she’s going to tell Maya I’m finally giving her custody of Charlie. So obviously I have to say yes, I had to watch 24 solid hours of Steel Samurai to get her to agree to settling for visitation rights.

~Phoenix Wright, plant dad and also dad dad

Wright,

Obviously. Have your measurements changed?

Miles Edgeworth, international prosecutor

Dear Edgeworth,

Measurements?

~Phoenix Wright, very confused

Wright,

I seem to recall that I owe you ‘appropriate court wear’ after the fiasco that was your last trial.

Miles Edgeworth, international prosecutor

Dear Edgeworth,

Nope, I don’t think so. I didn’t think you’d remember that.

~Phoenix Wright, who looks super terrible in ruffles

Wright,

Naturally I remember – including the part about you not wishing to emulate my neckwear. Do you have a colour preference?

Miles Edgeworth, international prosecutor

Dear Edgeworth,

‘Doesn’t show stains easily’ is always stylish, I say, and looks good on everyone. Um, not blue? Saving blue for when I get to be a lawyer again full-time. Oh Where are we going to be going, anyway? Which part of England?

~Phoenix Wright, employee, talent manager, ace legal aid

Wright,

The area in general is known as Midsumer…

OoOoOoOoO

April 2020

Sometimes Miles reflects on his life prior to meeting Wright again. At the time it had felt very structured – full of purpose, a straight path where he ensured criminals were punished for their crimes and that the law was upheld. In retrospect, he had been far less noble than he had believed himself to be, driven more by the need to triumph and hide from his own gnawing guilt and terror than the desire to see justice done, and the structured life he had valued seems so strangling he can’t help but sometimes wonder how he survived to meet Wright again.

These days he is capable of taking satisfaction in a ‘lost’ trial as much as he would from a successful ‘win,’ so long as the truth is revealed. He’s found time to both meet his own standards of what a prosecutor should be and also wander through his surroundings for the simple pleasure of taking an interesting photograph. Most nights he sleeps decently well, and the address book of his phone has a short string of names and numbers under the ‘friends’ section, even if he’ll never tell most of them that they are considered thus. The world’s colours brighten and dim as he faces triumphs and trials, but, for all the difficulties, his visual saturation levels stay true as often as not.

…he’s still socially awkward in most informal situations involving strangers, but growing less so with those he cares about; Dr. Heilen assures him that this is good progress.

Now, looking back at the young man he once was, the one who bore the title ‘Demon Prosecutor,’ he is starting to be able to feel sorrow for him instead of resentment, trapped behind bars of gilt and guilt and words as he was. There is a desire to let that young man know how much more there is to life than what he has been taught, and how much he will gain from a loss…

At the same time, loathe as he is to admit it… there were definite advantages to life back then.

“Where have you been?!”

“Sometimes the path of life is winding, Prosecutor-kun, and it’s easy to lose yourself on it.”

“…please state your name and profession for the court record.”

“Maaa, I don’t feel like it.”

Miles heroically resists the urge to bang his own head (or the witness’s) against the bench or the witness stand. Problematic witnesses are simply a part of the legal system, but the most eccentric ones are in America. Or, at least, they used to be…

One thing he would definitely tell his past self if he could is that, if he ever has to handle a defense attorney badge for any reason, for the love of all he holds dear, wear gloves, the madness is contagious!

OoOoOoOoO

May 2020

2 May

P Wright: Happy Birthday, Edgeworth! Welcome to the Being 27 Club!

M Edgeworth: Wright, you are only six months older than me. And how did you find out when exactly I was born, you can’t possibly remember from school and I’ve gone to lengths to make sure Larry doesn’t know.

P Wright: I asked Gumshoe.

M Edgeworth: …I’m cutting his salary.

P Wright: He doesn’t even work for you anymore?

M Edgeworth: You doubt my ability to make it happen?

P Wright: No, but consider this:

P Wright: What if you didn’t.

M Edgeworth: Didn’t what?

P Wright: Cut his salary.

M Edgeworth: And why wouldn’t I for giving out my personal information without my express permission?

P Wright: Because he didn’t crack until I deployed Trucy? And you’re secretly happy someone besides him remembered?

M Edgeworth: ….

M Edgeworth: Fine.

M Edgeworth: But only because of Trucy.

P Wright: I’ll take it!

P Wright: My brithday’s on October 11, btw.

M Edgeworth: I didn’t ask.

P Wright: I want a picture made out of macaroni, please!

M Edgeworth: I DIDN’T ASK.

He still snorts when Wright sends him a photograph of what is probably supposed to be Miles in court, rendered in bits of broken spaghetti.

M Edgeworth: That’s a waste of food.

P Wright: Nah, it’s not glued down, still useable.

P Wright: And it made you laugh, right?

M Edgeworth: …maybe.

P Wright: Then worth it!

P Wright: In fact, EDGE-worth it!

M Edgeworth: That was terrible and you should be ashamed.

Given that it took him five minutes to respond because he was laughing too much to type properly, he gets the feeling Wright probably doesn’t believe him.

OoOoOoOoO

Dear Prosecutor DeBeste,

Do not blame yourself – from the overview you gave me, a seasoned prosecutor would have had difficulty with that trial, even without the evidence potentially having been tampered with. I am sure you pursued the truth with utmost valiance, but you must learn to have more faith in your abilities, especially your memory orchestra. Hone it, and it will be a powerful advantage to you in court. Perhaps, if you wish to practice, you could contact Miss Faraday – that gadget of hers could be helpful in checking your accuracy, and she does love a good excuse to show it off.

In the meantime, corruption is still a problem plaguing the court systems of our world, on both sides of the court. In regards to this, the following are some techniques I have always found quite useful for calling evidence and testimonies into question if you suspect foul play or that you are facing a crooked attorney…

Chapter Text

June 2020

It’s a bit trickier talking to Trucy than it is to Wright, as not only does she have school and homework but also a job that requires significant portions of her leisure time and has her working during times at night when it would usually be easy to call. And, frankly, Miles had been fairly certain that she would lose interest in communicating with him once he returned to Europe after their initial meeting the April before last – she is quite young, and Miles isn’t that interesting if you’re not in the legal profession.

Trucy, it turned out, had had other plans. Photographs of herself and Wright along with videos of new tricks find their way into his phone’s inbox, along with imperious tutorials on simple coin tricks because, “It’s a valuable life skill, Mr. Edgeworth, Daddy’s learning and so should you! Honestly, the state of the education system when you two were in school!”

(Wright has informed him that she only talks like that to Miles, presumably in an attempt to either match or mock his more formal speech patterns. Honestly, Miles finds it rather charming, probably why he’s actually attempting some of the tricks.)

Her introduction to the wonder that is the world of the Steel Samurai series has only strengthened her insistence on speaking to him regularly, now that they share a definitive interest that Wright does not. And she’s just finished season three.

“I hadn’t thought about there being other heroes in other cities,” she gushes, fresh off of the climax of the Steel Samurai’s and Pink Princess’s pursuit of the Evil Magistrate across the country, and their encounter with the Silver Swordsman, protector of Neo Olde Osaka, “Does he show up again? Do other heroes show up???”

“A few times,” he offers, trying to be honest without spoiling the twist in season five’s plotline, where the main duo teams up with hero groups from several other areas that they’ve encountered by that point, “They tend to focus on Neo Olde Tokyo, since it’s his home.”

“Do they ever go to Kyoto?”

“…not that I’m aware of?” he replies, fairly certain that this knowledge won’t ruin anything, but uncertain where she’s going with this.

“Great!” And Trucy abruptly drops the subject, refocusing on things her Daddy has been up to that he probably hasn’t been telling Miles (apparently he’s still under the impression that he can bake). It’s enough of a distraction that Miles thinks no more of it until a few days before Trucy and Wright are set to arrive in England, whereupon he wakes to find he has received a photograph of a hand-drawn picture depicting five colourful figures.

‘The Heros of Neo Olde Kyoto!’

One is obviously meant to be a samurai of some sort and- that appears to be a ninja, and a shrine maiden, but the other two… he’s not sure. Honestly, he’s not sure what to do with any of this – he’s vaguely aware of the concept of ‘fan characters’ thanks to Maya, but he’s always found it a little silly. Why make up your own characters when the show already has such wonderful ones, why not simply go create something original instead? It makes no sense.

…

…he’s going to have to make a phone call he’d really rather not, isn’t he?

Because there are three facts in Miles Edgeworth’s life that, if he has any say in the matter, he will take with him to his grave.

1. He actually does agree with Maya that the anime remake handles several key plot points better than the original Steel Samurai series.
2. If Miles doesn’t have a second pillow, he’ll spend the whole night thrashing in his sleep looking for something to hold onto.
3. He actually does consider Larry Butz a good friend, in spite of the artist’s antics.

And the idiot understands children much better than Miles does, so it is his number that is dialed, his advice that is sought on this occasion.

Absolutely mortifying, as always.

At least he can take comfort in the fact that absolutely no one will believe Larry if he ever tries to tell them.

“Edgy! Heeeeeey, Edgy, what’s up? I was just thinking about you – would you say you’re more a winter or a spring?”

…he brought this on himself, he really did, “Larry, if you would be so kind as to make sense, it would be greatly appreciated.”

“Ouch!” he can hear the sniffling over the phone, “Just for that, I’m saying winter!”

“That’s nice.”

“Because you’re cold.”

“I had gathered, yes.”

More sniffles, then, “So, there a reason you called me this time of night?”

“You barely sleep. But,” deep breaths, Miles, you can handle this, “If a young child presents you with a drawing they have made… what do you do?”

“Tell ‘em they did a good job, ask ‘em about it, then stick it to your fridge with magnets if they gave it to you, so they know you like it,” Larry says cheerfully, then pauses, “Wait, you never ask about stuff like this ‘just because’ – did some kid give you a picture, Edgy?”

“…perhaps.”

“I WANNA SEE!”

“What?! No!”

“Nooooooooooo~ my artistic soul cries out to see my fellow artist’s work!” Larry wails, overdramatic as always, “Show me! Show me show me show me show me show me-!”

“Larry, you are an-”

“You called me at two in the morning without being sure I was awake, show me show me show me show me show me-!”

Miles forwards him a copy of the picture in a combination of self-defense and begrudging guilt. “There! It’s sent!”

There is a moment of blessed silence, and when Larry speaks again, the mania is toned down. “Aw, that’s sweet! Trucy-Lucy included you in her team!”

“I- what?”

“Her team, the Heroes of Neo Olde Kyoto! See, Nick’s the ninja in dark blue, and Trucy’s in pastel red in the center, and Pearl’s the shrine maiden, and Maya’s the one in light purple, and you’re the samurai!” a chuckle comes across the phone. “Aw, she likes you.”

Miles ignores him in favour of re-examining the picture. Now that he looks at it more closely… yes, the hakama are in approximately the same shade as his suit, and the flowing white scarf is likely meant to be a thematically-appropriate substitution for his jabot, and what he had taken for a face guard of some sort must be his bangs. The ninja does have a similarity to Wright, now that it’s mentioned, the back of his hood not tattered but deliberately spiked, and how in the world could he have missed Pearls’s distinctive twists of hair…?

For some strange reason, Miles’s throat feels thick, and it takes an effort to swallow. “I- It’s nonsensical – why would she make such a thing, let alone include me in it?”

“Eh,” he can hear the shrug in the other man’s voice, “She’s a kid. Some kids wanna be their heroes, some just wanna have fun in the same setting. Not just kids, actually, I’ve done commissions of peoples’ fan characters, they can be pretty neat! And specifically titling it so they’re in Kyoto ‘stead of Tokyo? I bet she’s got some cool ideas cooked up that she’s just dying to tell you about!”

A few pieces click into place in Miles’s head at this comment. “…you know more about this than you’re saying, don’t you?”

“Who, me?” Larry flails audibly, “Why would-”

“Beyond the way you’re talking right now? You instantly identified the artist of this drawing, even though it is unsigned, and referred to her in a friendly, familiar manner. Ergo, you know her fairly well, and possibly have already seen this image.”

“…why am I best friends with guys who regularly interrogate me?”

“Is that a confession?”

“No! But, I mean,” the artist snorts in annoyance, “Yeah, I talked it over with her a bit – one artist to another, you know? We hang out sometimes when Nick needs to work on his Secret Project Thing or just work late. I help her with bigger set pieces for her show, sometimes we do art, it’s fun!” there’s a grin in his voice now, “And she’s almost as into the Samurai series as you and Maya at the moment, even though she’s taking it kinda slow, and, like… you show your fandom by owning every boxed set of the series ever released, she wants to make a setting where she can fight bad guys with her besties and maybe do a team-up with the canon characters, and that’s how she shows her fandom. And that’s all you’re getting out of me about those characters, by the way, I swore an oath. One artist to another!”

Miles could absolutely get more out of him if he wanted to, but it feels unsporting if Trucy wishes to tell him herself. Still… “I do not… understand.”

“Edgy… it’s art. You don’t have to understand it, just enjoy it!” Larry’s voice is a friendly encouragement, “She wants to have fun with something you both really like – just go with it! Like we did when we were kids, remember? Quit worrying for a minute and let that big nerd you try to hide that you are shine through!”

“I am not a nerd.”

“You are an enormous nerd and it’s part of your charm!”

“Why do I even attempt to converse with you?”

“I do not know! Let me know if you ever figure it out, I’m curious, too!”

He can’t help it, Miles snorts. “Good night, Larry – do try to go to bed before the sun comes up.”

“No can do, Edger-roo, I’m in the zone! Have a good whatever time it is for you, though! Bye!”

Once he’s hung up, Miles links his phone to his computer and downloads then prints out a copy of Trucy’s drawing. He doesn’t have any magnets, but that’s easily remedied by stopping at the store on his way home from work.

(The plain ones are more cost-effective, but the Steel Samurai ones are thematically appropriate, so.)

It is unusual to see anything on his refrigerator other than a reminder to himself or a list of the contents and their various expiration dates, but not so bad. A feeling uncomfortable due to Miles’s lack of experience with it as opposed to its inherent nature. Hmmm, this ritual is meant to acknowledge approval, but Trucy has no way of seeing it, and will not be visiting his apartment next month.

…knowing Trucy is beginning to feel a bit like a string of scenarios that make him feel either idiotic or incompetent, but for some reason the thought of cutting ties with her is rather painful. Thus he snaps a picture of his printed-out photograph of a drawing where it hangs on his refrigerator and sends it to her as a response to the original photograph.

M Edgworth: I am unfamiliar with these characters. Perhaps we might discuss them sometime?

Later that evening, at about the time Trucy has her lunch break, his phone buzzes.

Trucy W: I’ll tell you all about them when I’m in England with you and Daddy, okay? It’ll be faster and easier and more fun!

M Edgeworth: May I know their names, at least?

Trucy W: The Salmon Sorceress, the Mauve Mystic, the Plum Priestess, the Guarding Ninja, and the Legal Samurai! But that’s all you get for now, no sneaky prosecutor tricks!

M Edgeworth: A good prosecutor never sneaks, but very well, the prosecution rests.

Trucy W: Court adjourned, then! See you soon, Mr. Edgeworth!

M Edgeworth: I look forward to it.

He’s just turning back to his novel when his phone buzzes again. Curious, who else would be texting him at this time of night…?

P Wright: Just got a text from Trucy. Thanks for being cool about the picture, Edgeworth, you made her day!

M Edgeworth: Was there ever any doubt I would be otherwise?

P Wright: Sorry, but I know how bad you usually are with kids, so there absolutely was, even though you seem to do okay with Trucy for the most part.

M Edgeworth: …your faith in me is overwhelming.

P Wright: Hey, I’m her dad, and I have to step pretty dang lightly to keep her from finding out how judgey I am about art! I’m not even trying to be, I’m trying to dial it back, but it’s HARD! And you’re just as judgey about stuff as I am, only you don’t really care who knows.

M Edgeworth: Was that supposed to make me feel more or less insulted?

P Wright: What? LESS, DEFINITELY LESS!

P Wright: Just

P Wright: You have a hard time with this stuff, I know you do.

P Wright: But you put in the effort for Trucy.

P Wright: And she knows you do.

P Wright: And I know you do.

P Wright: And we both really appreciate it.

P Wright: Thanks.

M Edgeworth: ….

M Edgeworth: I look forward to seeing you both this Sunday.

P Wright: Me too – see you then! :)

Chapter Text

Wright and Trucy’s flight gets in at 10:15 on the 7^th of June in Faulinbod East Airport, both groggy from a bit more than twelve hours spent between various flights and airports. It takes Miles a moment longer than he would have expected to spot them, as Wright has apparently convinced Trucy to leave her usual cape and top hat at home, an admirable feat, really. Her ‘full costume’ is negotiable, it’s easy enough to convince her that a t-shirt and jeans or a more casual dress are better for when she’s not performing or practicing, but the cape and top hat are staples any time she’s not in school.

At the moment, however, she’s traded them for a bowler derby much too big for her and what looks to be a more functional cape in brown tweed, though still clasped with her usual diamond broach. The hat nearly goes flying when she spots Miles and comes tearing across the terminal to fling herself at him. “MR. EDGEWORTH!!”

He staggers as she slams into him, arms around his waist, face pressed into his stomach, Miles’s own arms thrust to shoulder level at the sudden, unexpected need for extra help balancing and then held there by lack of knowledge on what to do with them from there. A laugh draws his attention to Wright, who is trundling up to them with both his own and Trucy’s discarded carry on, clad in jeans and a navy sweater. Miles shoots him a beseeching look and mouths, ‘What do I do?!’ in silent desperation.

‘Hands on shoulders – her shoulders, genius!’ Wright mouths back, still laughing, though it takes what Miles thinks might be a fond edge when he lowers his hands to rest on Trucy’s shoulders then give her a light pat on the back.

Wright’s advice is sound, because for his efforts he receives an extra squeeze, then is finally released. Trucy must notice his shell-shocked state of being, because she gives herself a knock on the head with one fist. “Oops! Sorry, Mr. Edgeworth – Daddy said to ask before I did that, but I got too excited! And I think that’s fair – it’s been more than a year since I saw you in person, after all!”

“Trucy, other peoples’ personal boundaries are not up for negotiation,” Wright gently scolds, setting down her bag and offering a hand in greeting. “Good to see you again, Edgeworth.”

“And you, Wright,” he accepts the handshake, adding, “And… I suppose it was all right, Trucy – but just this once. In the future, please do ask.”

“Okay.” She nods, an air of disappointment rising that Miles hastens to dispel.

“Ah, that is a very fetching hat – I assume it’s new?”

The question bears fruit; she beams, tugging it to sit more squarely on her head. “It is for me! But’s it’s actually really old – Daddy got it when he was in college,” she confides behind one hand in a stage whisper.

Miles glances at Wright with a raised eyebrow of amusement. “I see. Positively ancient, then.”

“Practically prehistoric,” she gravely agrees.

“See, you’re trying to annoy me, but that thing’s second-hand even to me, so it’s probably just as old as you think it is,” Wright says casually, giving the object in question a tap so that it slides over Trucy’s eyes and she squawks at him, “Come on, let’s grab our luggage so we can get out of here.”

“I didn’t think you usually wore hats,” Miles comments as they begin walking, Trucy reclaiming her carry-on as they do.

Wright nods. “That’s true. It was actually part of an assignment for one of my theatre classes; the professor wanted us to learn first-hand how much clothes and costume affect the image you’re portraying. Here, see,” popping the hat off of Trucy’s head (and promising that it’s only for a minute when she pouts at him), he sets it level on his own head. “Formal, typical, business-like.” Then he pushes it back on his head with a thumb, fully exposing his forehead and some hair, “Casual, playful, wide-eyed innocent.” A tug so it sits slightly forward over one eye at an angle, “Dapper, rakish, sly.” Another slight adjustment so that it’s now low over both eyes, “Sinister, shady, secretive.”

Then he takes it off again with a bow, “One hat, four positions, twelve potential characters! Thank-you, I’ll be here all week,” he adds when Trucy claps before reclaiming the bowler. It’s a bit of a shame, really – it suits him more than Miles would have expected.

“I confess, that’s not the sort of hat I’d have guessed you to choose,” he says instead.

“What, a derby?” Wright laughs and runs a hand through his hair (generally untidy in its natural state, travel has sent it positively feral), “Gelled spikes and hats don’t really mix, so I mostly stopped wearing them back in high school. So I figured, ‘hey, if I have to trade my spikes for a hat, might as well make it something fun!’” his expression goes considering at this. “Maybe I’ll start wearing them again until I get stuff sorted. What do you say, Trucy – think I could pull off a top hat? We’d ma-”

“No.”

Miles and Wright both start at the vehemence with which the word has left Trucy’s mouth, and even she looks startled for a moment. Then her usual smile is back in place.

“Top hats are my thing, Daddy! You can have your bowler back when we get home, and I’ll knit you a hat to match your red scarf for winter! Hey look, I can see my bag!” And she goes running off towards the luggage carousel, leaving Wright with an aching expression on his face.

Miles… has no idea what just happened. “What in the world…?”

“I messed up,” the man beside him rubs his forehead, “Zak wears a top hat as part of his own costume – actually his costume’s really similar to Trucy’s. She… doesn’t talk about him much. Has a portrait of him she keeps with her magic stuff, but… outside of stuff related to her magic or the case, he’s off-limits.”

They’re with Trucy again before Miles can decide what to say, Wright snagging his own suitcase when it passes (and really, with his own overt fondness for blue, he has no grounds for teasing Miles about unsubtle colour preferences, he really doesn’t). Perhaps someone with better social graces would better be able to navigate this situation, but Miles is not that person. He lets the matter drop instead, leading the Wrights outside to where his car is parked. Wright blanches at the sight of it.

“Oh crap, I forgot about that, Trucy, change of plans, we’re going home right now.”

“But we just got here!” Trucy protests.

“And only your daughter is here on vacation; you have a job to do,” Miles adds, incredibly unamused.

Wright keens. “But I wanna live…”

“There is nothing wrong with my driving, you ingrate! If you’re so set against it, though, perhaps you’d like to walk to our lodgings?”

Wordlessly, the man re-extends the pull handle of his suitcase, turns, and starts walking, resolute. “I will see you there, Edgeworth. Trucy, let’s go.”

“Uh-uh,” she shakes her head, “I’m going with Mr. Edgeworth.”

“Your decision, of course, but this betrayal will not be forgotten.”

In spite of her bold words, Trucy’s chewing her lip nervously by the time he’s halfway down the road, and has moved to stand so close to Miles that they’re nearly touching by the time he turns the bend and vanishes from sight. “Mr. Edgeworth…?”

Miles holds up one finger and checks the time on his phone. A few minutes more and he smirks, then loads Trucy’s bags into the trunk and the girl herself into the passenger seat. “I think that’s long enough.”

“For what?” she asks, fastening her seatbelt, head bobbing around to curiously take in the car’s interior, in spite of her misgivings.

Allowing himself to bask in self-satisfaction as the engine purrs on, he replies, “For that man to realize that I’m currently holding all the cards.”

OoOoOoOoO

Wright is standing dejectedly by the side of the road next to the airport turn-off when Miles pulls over. “Having troubles, are we?”

Already bowed shoulders slump further. “I don’t actually know where we’re going or how to get there.”

“I thought as much.” And maybe it’s petty, but it’s always a delight to so thoroughly get the better of this man when he’s being ridiculous. Because he’s learned mercy, Miles unlocks the doors of the car instead of handing Wright the map in the glove box and telling him the address. “Come on. I arrived last night, so you’ll be able to go right in when we get there.”

“We will?” Wright manages to get his suitcase and carry-on into the trunk, then slides into the back seat, “Are we sharing a room or something?”

“Of course not – I arranged for a small cottage in town for the duration of our stay, a short walk from my temporary office.”

“…riiiiiiiight, you’re you.”

“It’s not too late for you to make good on your choice to walk, Wright. All twenty miles.”

The man straps himself in, but refrains from further comment.

Chapter Text

In the world of Miles Edgeworth the only time quantity trumps quality is in the case of handkerchiefs, and, to be fair, that’s more of a necessity than a preference, on account of the fact that he has the bad habit of offering them to other people and then forgetting to secure their return. It’s a problem he’s attempted to fix numerous times over the years, but at this point he has quietly succumbed to the reality that he’s going to have to purchase more in a few months anyway, so no point in wasting money on the higher thread count or fancy edgings.

This being the way of things, the cottage he has secured is not the large, extravagant sort of place Miles is beginning to suspect that Wright associates with him for some unknowable reason, but it is quite nice. Picturesque without hiding a crumbling interior, with room for three people providing that one of them is quite small (which, as it happens, Trucy is). And, of course, it is within walking distance of the local prosecutors’ office, a fact Wright is likely going to be glad of if the way he dives out of the car to clutch the gatepost is anything to go by.

“I don’t know what you were so upset about, Daddy,” Trucy skips from the passenger side to fetch her bags from the trunk, “That was fun! Mr. Edgeworth’s a great driver!”

“I am indeed,” Miles agrees smugly, collecting Wright’s suitcase himself since the man seems to be intent on becoming an actual part of the gate, “And if you don’t wish to have a red cone placed on your head so you may be used as an over-sized garden gnome, I suggest you release your grip and come inside.”

“You’re a cruel, cruel man, Miles Edgeworth,” Wright groans, but manages to relax his grasp and stagger after them.

And… Miles can’t help it; he flinches at that comment, even though he is fairly sure Wright speaks mostly in jest. While he likes to think he has come far from the Demon Prosecutor, he is not so naïve as to assume he has escaped it entirely. The cruel streak he carries is part of his nature; he merely keeps it in better check outside of court these days than he once did.

“So, are you going to actually let us in, or are we camping in the yard?”

Wright’s voice startles Miles from his brooding thoughts and he refocuses to find both Wrights waiting for him by the door. Pushing his concerns to the side, he moves forward to put key to lock and open the door.

OoOoOoOoO

That first day of the Wrights’ arrival is uneventful. Miles himself would have been to work right away, but he is used to travel in a way they are not and, beyond that, he recalls how exhausted Wright had been on his first day the last time he came to work as Miles’s aid. He shows them to their room, then gives them leave to explore the house and town as they see fit for the rest of the day. As for himself, he settles down to the never-ending sea of paperwork that comes with being a lawyer (and also makes plans to sneak out with his camera and Steel Samurai figure for an hour once they’re gone, because there’s a section of wall nearby that he’d found absolutely charming when he first passed it, but which he hasn’t had time to return to just yet).

Trucy waits exactly long enough to change into fresh clothes, then is off like a shot, tweed cape flying out behind her, hat clutched to her head, a cry of “My phone’s on and charged!” flung over one shoulder as she goes. A few minutes later Wright also reappears, looking less travel-worn, a collared shirt poking out from his sweater rather than a t-shirt. Miles raises an eyebrow at him.

“Aren’t you going with her?”

“Nah, I’ve given up following her when she wants to go on her own,” the man admits, leaning against the doorframe to Miles’s temporary home workspace in the dining room, “She’s too used to coming and going as she pleases. The compromise is that she can go where she wants in the safer sections of town during the day so long as her phone is on and charged, but she has to be back by sunset. Nighttime and rougher sections of town require adult supervision. And if I’m going to be out all day for non-job stuff, she usually stays with Larry.”

“You’re joking.”

Wright gives a baffled shrug. “Turns out he’s actually good with kids? Like, really good? Anyway, she wanted to explore on her own first, and I figured, hey, might as well get a head start on work while she’s having fun.”

Well. Miles is no more fond of paperwork than the next person, even if he does recognize its necessity, so he motions for Wright to pull up a chair and join him, though he does comment, “I’d have thought you’d want to avoid this portion of the job.”

He gets an honest laugh in response. “You kidding? As far as I’m concerned, Trucy’s not the only one on vacation here – this is my vacation from not-getting-to-do-legal-stuff! I mean, yeah, paperwork, yuck, but…” his grin turns rueful, “If I’m honest, I kinda went to law school on a whim. Lots of good intentions, but I never once thought about what I’d do after confronting you, you know? Or maybe I thought afterwards I’d just go back to theatre at the time and I’m just forgetting – I don’t know.

“Only it turned out I really love practicing law. When I was a kid I didn’t really get what you saw in it – admired the hell out of you, but I didn’t get it. I think I do now. And I’m really glad I got to be part of it, and I can’t wait to go back to it full-time!”

Something about Wright’s expression makes Miles think of his father, and also himself when he was small and idealistic. The memories feel more comfortable than they have in years for some reason; perhaps because recently he’s been seeing that same passion for the legal system in the mirror again lately. He shoves a stack of papers at Wright with a slight grin.

“We’ll see how that lasts in the face of grunt work – you can’t fill anything out at the moment, but go over these cases and arrange them in order of importance, highest to lowest.”

To his credit, Wright lasts an hour before the quiet grumbling starts. And then he claims that grumbling is part of the paperwork process, Edgeworth, and if you try and make me stop I will fight you, right here, right now, I will throw down, Edgeworth (ridiculous man).

…it’s good to be in the same country as this man again, though, he’s missed being able to casually snark at each other like this without the limitations of technology impeding them, missed sharing a space with someone he so trusts, missed Wright...

...he's missed Wright.

Somehow this is less of a shock than it probably should be…

OoOoOoOoO

Trucy trails in just as the sun’s beginning to dip, looking tired but very pleased with herself. She’s also acquired a monocle somewhere, and proceeds to explain what it is to Wright, who very gamely acts as though this is his first time ever seeing one, then insists that he wants to hear her explanation when Trucy accuses him of humouring her. At this point Miles is frankly less worried about how she got the funds to purchase the thing (because ‘Trucy has money’ seems simply a fact of life at this point) and more baffled at where she managed to find a monocle in Little Stoak, Midsumer, as it’s not a particularly touristy town…

And, in spite of her intentions, the Heroes of Neo Olde Kyoto have to wait for another night for their stories to be told as, between the plane rides, airports, and her excursion, Trucy is half asleep before she finishes her supper, and winds up needing to be carried to bed.

Chapter Text

“You couldn’t resist putting me in a vest, could you?”

“A waistcoat, and it looks better if our levels of formality are closer.”

“Uh-huh. What’s the shiny grey strip of cloth for?”

“You tie it as you would a necktie – the result is wider and more elegant.”

Miles turns back to the kitchen table and his newspaper, Trucy attacking a bowl of cereal across from him, while down the hallway Wright puts on a suit for the first time since last August, a rich brown affair of a similar cut to Miles’s own. The man had kicked up a fuss initially upon discovering that Miles had actually acquired not one suit as he must have assumed but three, on the grounds that Miles had promised ‘proper court attire’ and wearing the same clothes for two days in a row is emergency procedure, not a fact of life. For once Miles has the opportunity to ensure Wright actually looks like the professional he is, and that is not a thing to be ignored. Speaking of which-

“There is a jar to the left of the bathroom sink you’ll likely wish to make use of before we go, by the way.”

“Jar?” Footsteps trace Wright’s path, followed by a pause, then a shriek, then a thundering down the hallway that ends with Wright draped in the kitchen doorway, practically glowing, and brandishing the jar in question.

“HAIR GEL!!! You got me hair gel, you beautiful man, I love you!” he plants a resounding kiss on the jar, then sprints off again, presumably for the bathroom mirror, “Yeah, gonna have proper spikes again!” trailing over his shoulder.

“…couldn’t having going in with looking like a bird’s nest…” Miles manages to get out, belated and far too quiet for Wright to hear. The room feels unusually warm all of a sudden, and the list of potential reasons for why this could be is forming in his mind much more slowly than it should. Also, Trucy has paused in her inhalation of breakfast to stare at him in a considering manner. “Is, ah, is there something on your mind?”

“Hm? Oh, nope!” she grins and has another spoonful of cereal, “Can I tell you about the Heroes of Neo Olde Kyoto tonight?”

“I see no reason you shouldn’t.” This, at least, he is on steady ground with – indeed, in the days that have passed since he first learned of them, he has found his curiosity has grown in this regard. The young magician before him is both immensely creative and intelligent, if not the best artist yet, and he finds himself interested to see how her concepts hold up to the original. It can’t be any worse than that one spin-off series at the very least, not that it should be counted as a series at all, character assassination and slander more like-

“Great!” she beams, interrupting his displeased thoughts, “There’s a theatre in town, did you know? They’re doing Robin Hood – I’m going to their matinee production today!”

“Oh?” Miles had been under the vague assumption that she would be accompanying himself and Wright, at least for the first few days. An incorrect assumption it now seems.

“Yup! Daddy’s gonna need a few days to get settled in, I don’t wanna embarrass him by coming in while he’s getting back into the swing of things – it doesn’t do for children to see too many of their parents’ flaws, you know,” she adds in the tone of one imparting great wisdom.

Miles can’t help chuckle at this. “As frustrating as they may be, that man’s flaws are part of his charm; I doubt I would attempt to overlook them if I could.”

“…you’re a lot nicer about Daddy when he’s not around.”

Miles huffs and partially retreats back behind his newspaper. “That is because I am a cruel man.”

Trucy’s spoon halts halfway to her mouth, then slowly lowers as she stares at him in shock. “You… really believe that, don’t you?”

An odd way to put it. “I do my best to acknowledge my own shortcomings. How can I find the truth in court if I cannot even find it in myself?”

For some reason this just makes her lower lip tremble before she shoves away from the table and stomps over to shove an angry finger in his face. “You’re wrong! You’re not mean, you’re really nice, you just try and hide it!”

Unexpected. Setting aside his paper, Miles folds his hands on the table before him. “Your evidence?”

“You’re always there for Daddy and me when we really need you, and you make time to talk to us even though you’re really busy and time zones make it complicated, and you don’t talk down to me even though I’m a kid, and,” she gulps air, probably not even noticing how her usual mask has slipped enough to let genuine emotions start to trickle out, “And you don’t hit when you’re mad or lie about important things and yeah, you say mean things to Daddy, but he does it back, and if it looks like you’re actually hurting each other you both stop and- and Daddy trusts you, and you trust him, and I trust you too, and I don’t trust mean people, so there!”

There is a fire, a certainty, in her eyes that somehow hurts to see directed at himself in this manner, and he is forced to look away. “I’m afraid we much agree to disagree on this.”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT! DADDY!!!”

“Yup?” Wright must have been already approaching because suddenly he’s right there in the kitchen doorway, fully dressed and looking quite sharp for reasons that have only partially to do with his freshly-gelled hair.

Trucy points angrily at Miles. “Tell Mr. Edgeworth that he’s a nice man and you trust him!”

“Eh, I don’t know about nice,” Wright wrinkles his nose, “Not gonna lie, he can be super mean-”

At least one of them is sensible, even if it hurts a bit-

“-but, he is probably one of the best people I know – past and present.” He grins in the face of Miles’s now steadily-warming cheeks, “And of course I trust you, Edgeworth – why did you think you were the first person I called after that trial? Now come on, I don’t want to be late to work!”

OoOoOoOoO

After a start to the day like that, the rest is positively mundane. Miles leads Wright to the local prosecutors’ office, ensures his paperwork and pass are in order, and then they spend the rest of the day following the rather dull procedures the legal system is comprised of between the excitement of trials. The morning, then afternoon, pass quietly, with minimal grumbling even in the face of paperwork.

Trucy is lying on the wall outside the cottage when they return, staring up at the sky, bowler derby held lightly on her chest. “You were right, Daddy – the sky really is a different colour here than in Los Tokyo!”

The evening is spent listening to Trucy tell about her day, and finally about the Heroes of Neo Olde Kyoto. The Salmon Sorceress, who makes lies vanish and the truth appear with the aid of the Guarding Ninja, who protects the innocent from within the shadows, and the Legal Samurai, who vanquishes the wicked by starlight. With them sometimes are the Mauve Mystic, who battles evil with the aid of her ancestors, and the Plum Priestess, defender of pure hearts in love.

“Pearl thinks the Mauve Mystic and the Guarding Ninja are gonna end up together,” Trucy confides at this point, “But that’s not happening.”

“It’s not?” Miles asks curiously.

“No,” Wright answers before Trucy can, tone flat, “He sees her like a kid sister, and she sees him as some sort of best friend/minion. It would be weird.”

“Very weird,” Trucy agrees, then goes on to explain about the villains of Neo Olde Kyoto, the Lurkers. “No one knows who they are or how big their group is, and they can make good guys look like bad guys,” she explains, “That’s why they’re so hard to fight – you can’t be sure if you’re fighting an actual bad guy or someone with a temporary corruption.”

“Hence the need for more than two heroes?” Miles posits, remembering just in time that the Iron Infant isn’t introduced until the sequel series, and Trucy’s still only on season four.

“Exactly!” she beams at him, “That’s why the Salmon Sorceress needs the Guarding Ninja, too – he can go into the shadows after the Lurkers, and he can tell if someone’s a Lurker or just corrupted if he gets close enough! But he needs the Salmon Sorceress to deal with them, and the Legal Samurai to keep them occupied long enough for him to use his ability.”

She’s actually thought about how they, or, rather, her ‘characters’ work as a team, impressive. However Miles can’t help glancing at Wright as he comments, “As a ninja, shouldn’t he be able to finish off anyone he gets close to on his own?”

“Nope,” Wright answers before Trucy can, faint amusement in his expression, “The Lurkers stole his ancestral jade swords, and he’s vowed never to use another blade until he gets them back, and he can’t use most of his fancy moves without them. That’s how he met the Salmon Sorceress – he heard about her magic and was hoping she could make his swords reappear.”

“But the Lurkers have them too well hidden,” Trucy adds, “So they’re teaming up to stop them and help save the city!”

“Interesting,” Miles concedes, “But how does the Legal Samurai fit into this? In that world samurai are wary of the mystical arts of other paths, and they dislike ninja. Why would he work with them?”

“…isn’t the Pink Princess magic?”

“In a way, but that’s because she uses a different variation of the samurai path – she follows Wood whereas the Steel Samurai follows Metal – but they still both technically follow the same path, as opposed to that of a mystic or a ninja. It’s not mentioned in the show in detail,” he concedes, “But it is a factor behind how their fighting styles and special moves are created and choreographed, along with those of other characters.” There’s a rather interesting supplemental book that was published on the subject, and Miles would probably still read it frequently if he didn’t have it mostly memorized at this point.

“Oh.” To her credit, it only takes Trucy a few minutes to think of a solution to this. “Well, at first he joins them because he has to – he’s the last samurai in Neo Olde Kyoto, the Lurkers have gotten rid of all the others, and he can’t fight them all by himself! But eventually he gets to like them, because they’re a good team and he’s lonely, since all the other samurai are gone.” She sends him a nervous look. “Does that work?”

Miles considers, mentally reviewing his knowledge of how the Steel Samurai world works. “I see no reason it shouldn’t – providing that the Guarding Ninja is honourable, of course.”

“Of course – that’s why the Lurkers stole his swords!” she exclaims, then dives into some impressively complex backstory involving the Guarding Ninja’s clan and the Mauve Mystic’s family, along with the temple the Plum Priestess guards. The Lurkers, it is revealed, are disrupting the spiritual world as well as the physical one, which is how Maya and Pearl’s characters are involved in the story Trucy is telling. Given the level of accuracy with which she is matching canon information of the subjects involved, Miles suspects that Maya, at least, has had a hand in the creation of all this, since the more mystical aspects of the universe aren’t really explored until season six. It is… oddly entertaining. There are flaws, places it doesn’t quite fit with canon, or even itself, yet it’s Wright who finally points out the lateness of the hour and insists on calling it a night.

“Nerds,” he grins, gathering up his daughter in spite of her sleepy protests.

“And yet, you remained for the whole conversation and even participated,” Miles counters, though with unhidden amusement.

“What can I say? My little girl knows how to tell a good story,” he winks, “And ninjas are cool.”

“Not as cool as samurai.”

“Hey, let’s be honest, we all know sorceresses are the coolest, right, glowworm?” the young magician mumbles a strong affirmative into Wright’s shoulder and the man sticks his tongue out teasingly. “The defense rests. G’night, Edgeworth.”

“Good night, Wright, Trucy.”

Miles and Wright hadn’t really exchanged good nights in Germany. It’s rather nice.

OoOoOoOoO

The next day is much the same, save that Trucy insists on taking a picture of Miles and Wright before they leave (“I meant to yesterday, but I forgot!”). A quiet day of paperwork, followed by hearing of Trucy’s day at supper and for a bit afterwards.

“Kinda surprised they have you doing this,” Wright comments at lunch, “I mean, this feels like the sort of thing you have a rookie cover, so they can get some easy experience in, not the King of Prosecutors.”

“That was one year, and it was non-consensual,” Miles glowers at him, then relents when the man holds his hands up in surrender, “This area… has a reputation, and their own lead prosecutor is currently in hospital with surgery. My being here is a… precaution, in the event that a case comes up a rookie would be unable to handle. And close your mouth, you’re an outlier, you don’t count.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. But, still. I mean… you’re you. This feels like overkill.”

Miles heroically does not roll his eyes, instead turning to his next stack of documents. “Please consider this: unlike you, I actually do full background and detail checks on the cases I’m assigned, as opposed to taking them on nothing but a whim and a prayer. Knowing this about me, please consider also the fact that, after accepting this assignment, I decided the best course of action was to try and ensure I had you at my side for the duration of it. Now, what does that tell you about this area?”

“…that I should probably brush up on British legal procedure when we get back to the cottage tonight?”

“It would be advisable, yes.”

“…do you always work through lunch?”

No, he used to, but in recent years he’s been allowing himself half an hour’s contemplation more often than not. Sometimes he listens to music or reads a novel. It keeps his colour vision truer. Today, however, he prefers to find solace in routine paperwork rather than risk having his media choices mocked. Again. “I do as I feel necessary, Wright.”

The man rolls his eyes but leaves him to it, and does spend the evening on his laptop, hopping around various legal databases that he presumably finds helpful. He must make some mention of their conversation to Trucy, however, as she shows up to the office at lunchtime the following day. Indeed, the week is progressing quite smoothly, in spite of Miles’s and the Little Stoak office’s concerns. Wright might not be fond of paperwork, but he’s being diligent enough, and Trucy, if she’s to be believed, is charming her way through town like some scamp from an old-fashioned children’s story. It’s enough to lower Miles’s guard to the point that Friday catches him completely by surprise.

Chapter Text

Staring at the ceiling of his cell in Little Stoak’s jailhouse, Miles considers how events had come to this. There had been an exhibit opening at the local art museum that Trucy and Wright had both been interested in attending, and a small art fair to celebrate it in the local park. Miles had given Wright today as one of his allotted two days off so that he could attend the opening with his daughter, then taken advantage of the man’s absence to take a slightly extended lunch break and slip out with his photography satchel to get the picture he’s been itching to take on that nice section of wall. Fifteen minutes to the cottage to acquire his things, fifteen for photography, fifteen to get back, and a sandwich eaten in-transit. Perfect.

Except he’d ended up taking longer than he intended and having to take his photography satchel with him back to the office, and then simply brought it along when he went to meet the Wrights at the fair after work. He’d set his satchel down at one point after finding them, picked it back up a short time later, gone to catch up with the Wrights again-

-and someone had shouted, “There, it’s him, in the red suit, one of the Handsome Gentlemen Thieves!”

He’d had just enough time to get out, “It’s wine you plebian,” before it had been revealed that his satchel was not, in fact, his satchel anymore, because his had had his camera supplies and Steel Samurai figure in it, not several carefully-wrapped statuettes from the new museum exhibit. Then had come the arresting. His phone call to Wright – in order to both alert the man of his predicament and have him inform the prosecutors’ office as well – had garnered the response, “Don’t worry, Edgeworth, I’ll gather some evidence and we’ll have you out of there in no time!”

And he’d hung up before Miles could tell him not to, or remind him that he has even less authority to investigate crime scenes than he usually does, or point out that he doesn’t even know the proper British legal procedures for such things.

So now Miles is stuck in jail when simply having Wright vouch for him would have meant they could both be out investigating together. He’ll just have to wait and see how things turn out-

There is a clink of a door opening, two sets of footsteps approaching the cells, and Miles sits up to see Wright, neatly dressed in one of his new suits, get escorted in and-

…locked in the cell across from Miles. They both sit in silence as the officer leaves again, and Wright is the one to break it.

“So,” he says, a considering expression on his face, “That happened.”

“Forget you’re not actually allowed on crime scenes without me in this country?” Miles challenges crossly.

“Uh, actually got mistaken for a ‘handsome gentleman thief’ for some reason,” Wright rubs the back of his neck in grinning embarrassment, “No idea where they got that from!”

Miles gives him a once-over, then admits, “No, actually, that makes a certain amount of sense – you’re a stranger around here, and if they mistook me for one I can see why they would think you were one as well, even if you are in brown instead of their signature red.”  While it could use a few touches to make it a truly proper fit, the brown suit does elevate Wright’s appearance by several social classes and, while unconventional, he is undeniably handsome.

And also blushing rather hard right now for some reason – perhaps embarrassment over having been mistaken for a thief? With the events of April 2019 being what they are, Miles can see how being taken for a criminal might strike a nerve.

“I merely mean that you look quite well in your current attire,” he offers in apology, “Not that you have the look of a thief to you.”

Oddly enough, this just makes Wright turn redder, though he manages to squeak out, “Thank-you!”

There is mutual silence for a few minutes where Wright avoids eye contact and Miles privately observes that red rather suits the man. This is not the topic at hand, though, so… “Dare I ask how you managed to get mistaken for a thief?”

This illogically seems to be safer ground, as Wright turns to face him with a frustrated expression. “That’s the thing – I don’t know! After you called I went back to the cottage to get your passport – official ID, definitive evidence, you know? But you don’t have it anywhere obvious and it felt weird to go rooting through your stuff, so I figured I’d just put on a suit and see if I could talk them into believing that you’re you! Except I’d only just said more than hello when they went ‘he’s a gentleman thief too, get him!’ And, well,” he shrugs, “Here we are.”

Miles stands up and walks closer to the bars. “That can’t be right-”

“I’m always Wright!”

“Stop that, you know what I meant! But what on earth did you say?!”

“I dunno! Just, ‘Hi, I’m here to see about my ac-’” the man’s eyes bug out, then rise to meet Miles’s as he slaps a hand over his mouth before, in a shocking twist, he starts to laugh, “Holy crap, Edgeworth, I walked into the friggin’ police station and told them, ‘Hi, I’m here to see about my accomplice’s arrest!’” he laughs harder, “I can’t believe I said that!”

Miles feels his jaw go slack, then, he can’t help it, he puts his face in one hand and begins to laugh as well. “Wright, you absolute idiot!”

“Objection, it’s your fault for using all those fancy words around me all the time,” Wright retorts, still laughing, “I’m impressionable!”

“You mean ridiculous,” Miles shoots back, but he also can’t stop laughing.

“You are so mean,” Wright complains, but it takes quite some time before either of them can speak again without at least chuckling.

“What about Trucy?” Miles asks once he is properly able, “I assume you used your phone call to alert her as to what happened?” because heaven forbid that man do the sensible thing and call the prosecutors’ office, the place that could get them out of here.

“Yup. And she’s okay,” the man reassures him, “She said you gave her an emergency contact for over here in case something happened to both of us-”

He keeps going, but all former mirth with the situation for Miles vanishes because oh. Oh no. That- This- It is the appropriate course of action for Trucy to take, but the results could be potentially catastrophic, he had expected that she wouldn’t need to use it, or, that if she did, it would be in the event of a situation far more dire than this…

“-worth? Edgeworth? You okay over there?” Wright has comes to stand by the bars of his own cell with a concerned expression. “You’ve gone pale. Paler than usual, I mean. Really, I’m just glad Trucy had someone to ask for help with about all this, to be honest, I’m glad you had her back.”

Miles gives a hollow laugh. “I’d withhold judgement until you have all the evidence, Wright, I really would.”

“Huh?”

“Wait another hour or so and you’ll see what I mean.”

“What?! Edgeworth, what’s going on, what’s happening?!?”

Miles folds his arms and goes to lie back down again with his back to Wright. “We’re going to find out if a man can actually die of humiliation, that’s what’s happening.”

Chapter Text

Wright tries to pester the answer out of him, but Miles is resolute in the face of interrogation, and eventually the other man gives up. They wait without speaking.

At long last, the door to the cells is opened and three pairs of footsteps enter – a scampering patter accompanied by the cry of “DADDY!” as Trucy materializes herself at the bars of Wright’s cell, an unfamiliar pair of footsteps that is presumably the supervising constable, and an all-too-familiar click-click-click of heels that sends terror through courtrooms and crime scenes around the world and stop in front of Miles, where he has come to stand by the bars of his own cell, arms folded.

“Miles Edgeworth.”

“Franziska.”

She’s gone back to wearing fitted trousers again since they last met in person, he idly notes as they stare at each other, along with that new style of vest Miss Andrews had recommended to her, the one based on an old-fashioned frock coat. Sleek and dangerous but with flair, just as she likes.

“These are them, Miss von Karma,” the accompanying constable announces, catching up before either sibling can say anything more, “The Handsome Gentlemen Thieves we’ve apprehended so far!”

Miles schools his face carefully blank in response to how his sister has to repress a smile at that. “You know this is not the case, Franziska. If you would be so good as to inform the constable that we are who we say we are, I have encountered at least one of these men before and would prefer to strike while the iron is hot.”

The instant he says it Miles realizes his mistake, but it’s much too late for that, Franziska’s eyes are positively glowing. “Yes, you have encountered them before… and failed to apprehend them. The Handsome Gentlemen Thieves are of great interest to Interpol.”

“Franziska…” he growls, tone warning, but this just sets her to actively smirking.

“So, what d’you want to do with ‘em, Miss?” the constable asks, “Interpol has jurisdiction on the Handsome Gentlemen Thieves, and we ‘ave it on the Museum. Should we let ‘em go, since you seem to know ‘em?”

“No,” Franziska announces, glittering with grand triumph, “We cannot rule out their being imposters entirely, and even if they are who they claim to be, this pair has a reputation for foolishness that defies natural law. It would be best to leave them here for the extent of the investigation.”

“WHAT?!? You can’t- Franziska, I have work tomorrow!” Miles finds his hands on the bars of his cell, but cannot bring himself to care, because she can’t be serious-!

With absolute seriousness, Franziska reaches up and pats his cheek patronizingly. “Do not worry – big sister will sort everything out. Come, Trucy Wright, we have work to do!” she turns with a swirl of her vest and strides off, Trucy squirting after her.

“Bye, Daddy, don’t worry, Mr. Edgeworth – Wright and von Karma are on the case!”

“FRANZISKA!” Miles bellows after her, is ignored, and bangs on the bars of his cell before turning to pace and mutter to himself in German, because of course, of course she did, he should have seen this coming, and of course she likely won’t inform the prosecutors’ office because they’d get him released, and this is going to look so irresponsible to his superiors-

“Franziska von Karma.”

“Was?” he turns to Wright and it takes a moment to remember to switch back to English. “What?”

Wright is looking at him with an expression of absolute horror. “You gave Trucy Franziska von Karma’s phone number as an emergency contact?!? Are you insane?!”

Of all the- “Who else’s number do you suggest I have given her?!”

“I don’t know, someone sane, who won’t potentially hit her with a whip?!?”

“She would never-”

“She’s almost gotten me loads of times! Has gotten me on some memorable occasions!”

“Trucy is a child!”

It’s an explosion of an argument, hot and angry, neither of them really listening to each other by the end. Miles is fairly sure he switches to German at one point, simply because Franziska is on his mind and that’s the language the two of them usually converse with each other in. It’s not a mistake he usually makes, but not even Wright gets to imply that his sister would attack a child. Like actual explosions, however, the argument dies almost as swiftly as it begins, leaving them both red-faced and panting, glaring at each other.

“If you don’t trust her, fine. But would you dare try and harm something under her protection?” And he spins on his heel and goes back to the cot in his cell, flopping down on it, because Wright doesn’t have sole claim on being a dramatic bastard. There is a creak as Wright presumably goes and settles on his own cot, and for a while things are quiet.

“…I know Franziska won’t hurt Trucy.”

The words are soft, subdued, but enough that Miles rolls over so he can watch Wright. The man is sitting hunched on the edge of his cot, but he keeps talking after he sees Miles’s eyes on him.

“She scares the hell out of me, but she’s not… bad. And you’re right about her protecting stuff – even de Killer didn’t try getting close to her.”

Miles sits up, hands loosely folded between his knees. “My sister is a terrifying woman,” he concedes, “But she is more… careful than most probably believe. Whips are vicious weapons, for all that they are considered non-lethal. She trained for more than a year before she began to carry one in public, to ensure she would only hit what she intended to.”

“She’s hit me a few times!”

“Then those were the times she intended to hit you,” Miles shrugs, “I did not say she was kind, merely careful. And you still returned her whip to me, knowing I would almost certainly return it to her.”

It’s Wright’s turn to shrug. “Franziska without her whip felt… weird. And, um…” he gets a little shifty, then admits, “She can’t actually reach me in the defense if I take a step back from the bar. It’s still scary as hell, though.”

Miles considers this for a moment, then reveals, “She has stopped striking people entirely since she joined Interpol, save in self-defense. She decided it was sloppy, and also more impressive if she did not need to make contact.”

“Oh. Huh.” The man across from him chews the new information over for a moment, then offers a conspiratorial grin. “And the real reason?”

The answering grin is surprisingly involuntary. “I cannot say for sure, but I believe she has come to the conclusion that she prefers scaring people to actually hurting them.”

Wright snorts a laugh. “I can sort of see that.”

“You expected deeper sentiment from her? Please, Wright,” Miles straightens a little and puts a hand to his own chest, “Everyone knows I’m the sensitive, emotional one in my family.”

“…that’s horrifying. Oh god, wait, that’s true, that’s even more horrifying!” he sticks his tongue out when Miles laughs at him, then drops back into a more serious mien. “She’ll really keep Trucy safe? Take care of her?”

“I wouldn’t have given Trucy her number if I didn’t think so,” Miles assures, “And she wouldn’t have brought your daughter down here with her if she did not intend to follow through on the request, nor given indication that she will be allowing Trucy to assist in the investigation.”

“Okay,” Wright finally looks reassured, then his brows knit, “She was serious about that?”

“Franziska was a barred lawyer at age thirteen. Of all the people we both know, she understands most what it is to be young and intelligent and overlooked because of your age. It is doubtful she will underestimate your daughter more than once.”

“Good point, I-”

“Lights out, gentlemen!”

A moment before Miles can process this the lights in the holding area are switched off, leaving them in darkness. Unsurprising, upon consideration, it was getting late when Miles was arrested and it’s been hours since then. There’s nothing to stop them from conversing, but it’s been a long day, so he opts to prepare for sleep instead. They took his belt when he was brought in, along with everything in his pockets, so it’s just jacket, waistcoat, and jabot to be removed. An advantage of being the only two in holding, it’s also safe to take his shoes off. Briefly he considers discarding his button-up to sleep in undershirt and trousers, but that’s a step too casual, even if Wright will probably be the only one to see him beyond the officers monitoring the video feed. Honestly (horrifyingly), this is probably his most comfortable stay in prison thus far – the cot is decent enough and there are no inmates who feel the need to cat-call the ‘fallen’ prosecutor…

“Um, Edgeworth? What are you doing over there?”

“Preparing for bed, of course. What else would I be doing?”

“Right, right, of course, you’re just sounding kind of… rustly.”

“…suits are made for daytime wear, not night.”

“What?!?”

“You are aware that fabric crumples if slept on, are you not?” Honestly, what in the world could that man-

“You’re stripping?!?”

The penny drops and Miles feels his entire head go bright scarlet. “Only my jacket and waistcoat you- you-!” English insults really don’t feel strong enough in this situation and, given the day it’s been, Miles allows himself the luxury of yelling at Wright a bit in German, specifically Anwaltsstadt’s local dialect, they have some rather good legal insults there.

“Okay, okay, sorry!” the other man quickly surrenders, “I should have known you wouldn’t do that, it’s been a weird day!”

“Hmph!” Miles gets beneath his blanket, then, after a minute’s internal debate, decides he’s probably going to sleep badly enough tonight anyway without guaranteeing he’ll be thrashing around for the duration, and opts to use a corner of blanket to cushion his head and hug the provided pillow to his chest. The sounds of Wright making his own nighttime preparations drift over while he is arranging himself comfortably.

“Good night, Edgeworth.”

“…good night, Wright.”

OoOoOoOoO

He sleeps poorly, but only wakes from nightmares twice, so that’s an improvement on last time, at least.

…though ‘sleeping well while incarcerated’ is honestly not high on the list of issues he’s working to solve as, really, he’d far prefer to simply stop getting arrested and have it become a non-issue…

Chapter Text

Morning brings natural light through the window of Wright’s cell, ensuring that Miles wakes first and is able to rise and remake the cot before the other man sees him. His shirt and trousers are hopelessly crumpled, but redonning the rest of his clothes makes him feel better – day-old they may be, but at least they look fairly tidy. It would be nice if he could switch to his spare jabot, but that’s with his belt, phone, and other personal items he generally keeps on him, in a bin or ziplock bag back somewhere in the station. A touch of his own face while doing his best to tidy his hair without a comb brings a wince – even nicer than a fresh jabot would be a razor, nothing quite ruins an attempt at professionalism like stubble.

 At least his hair is more manageable than Wright’s and, after decades of being worn in the same style, tends to fall into it naturally as long as it is untangled. Speaking of Wright, the man is just beginning to stir when a new constable, a red-headed fellow, comes in with breakfast, which he slides into their respective cells via slots at the base of the doors. “Morning, gentlemen! Slept well, I hope?”

Wright lets out a mumbled something and stretches. It is now apparent that he had chosen merely to unbutton his waistcoat and loosen his neckwear and collar for the night, jacket draped as an extra blanket and even his shoes still on. Combined with the mess his hair currently is, he looks nothing so much as a man who had spent a rousing night on the town and been brought in to sleep it off. Disgraceful.

…disgraceful yet also oddly hard to look away from as the man shambles over to retrieve his food and mumble genially if incomprehensibly at the constable.

The policeman laughs. “Constable Scalion, sir, at your service, and at least one of you is in a decent mood this morning! I’ll be back in half an hour for the dishes, and to escort you to the facilities. Enjoy!”

Miles gives a stiff nod of acknowledgement and Wright finally manages some actual, recognizable words of agreement, and the constable vanishes back into the police station. An examination of his tray reveals a bowl of oatmeal, a glass of water, and an apple. …he’s not fond of oatmeal, unless you mix it with eggs or something similar it simply doesn’t have enough protein to make it a worthwhile start to the day. Also it’s gloppy and disgusting, but that doesn’t affect its nutritional qualities-

“Hey, Edgeworth.”

Glad to be distracted from the contemplation of his breakfast, Miles turns his attention to Wright. “Yes?”

The man is standing at the bars of his cell, holding a banana and looking hopeful. “Trade you? I like apples better.”

“While I am not adverse to this, there are the trifling matters of two walls of bars and seven feet of walkway between us.”

“Please,” is the laughing response, “We’ve thrown evidence and stuff to each other in court loads of times, and that’s way farther! Besides, I’m taking the bigger risk here – it’s always more of a problem if you drop an apple than a banana.”

“Fair enough.” Setting his tray aside, Miles rises and moves closer, aiming carefully. “Then take that.”

He tosses, carefully, and Wright has to lean a little sideways, but he catches it, holding his prize aloft in triumph, then making good on his half of the trade. “Take that!”

The man is a klutz, but his aim is good – Miles doesn’t even have to lean.

“Woo! Thanks, Edgeworth!”

Chopped with a spoon and mixed with the oatmeal, the banana will make breakfast vaguely more palatable, so, “My gratitude as well, Wright.”

OoOoOoOoO

The morning passes slowly once breakfast is complete. When one doesn’t have concerns over being sentenced to death or long-term incarceration, prison is actually quite dull. If he’s honest, one of the main concerns on Miles’s mind at the moment is where his photography satchel has gotten to. Is it in the fair’s lost and found booth? Does one of the real Handsome Gentlemen Thieves have it? Will Miles ever see it again? The satchel and its contents are nothing that cannot be replaced or of true value – he could even get a figure with better articulation than the one he currently has, but…

…but he doesn’t want a new figure, or even an exact copy of the same one. He wants his Steel Samurai figure that he’s had for nearly years and helped return his colour vision and his camera and his satchel, with the little wear marks and stains it has accrued over time-

-and the world is actually looking a little dimmer at this prospect, that is not acceptable, so he forcibly pulls himself from these thoughts (though not after making a mental note to find a solution once he’s no longer in a cell (drat it, he’s going to have to talk to Dr. Heilen about this, isn’t he?)). Wright generally makes everything brighter with his mere presence, so Miles refocuses on him. While his waistcoat is rebuttoned, he’s made no other attempts to tidy up, which is something of a surprise – while he doesn’t dress to Miles’s standards when left to his own devices, he does generally try to be neat. “Not even going to straighten your hair, Wright?”

“No,” is the flat reply, “I slept with the gel in – acknowledging its current state is a path that leads only to pain and heartbreak. At least let me pretend it hasn’t gone feral on me.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“…huh, you actually believe that. Thanks, Edgeworth.”

“What?” his eyes drift down to Wright’s hands as a flash of green light leaks between his fingers. “How do you still have that?!”

Wright raises his arms in a baffled shrug. “No idea! They just… kinda overlooked it? Which is weird, you’d think more people would be interested in a glowing green rock. I should probably ask Maya about that.” He holds the magatama up to consider it, then tucks it away again. “And I should definitely stop using it as a fidget toy, that’s a bad habit. Probably a bad habit. Actually I have no idea if it’s a bad habit or not.”

“Given that it’s a mystical artifact with unknown properties, I would say yes, bad idea.”

 This gets him a look of surprise. “So, wait, you actually believe in the magatama’s powers? I kinda figured you were just humouring me.”

Miles spreads his hands. “I’ve had opportunity to both examine it and experience its effects myself – there is no reason to be contrary on the subject. Besides, I have given indication before that I believed in it.”

“Yeah, but I never really thought about it until now,” Wright replies, “And you still don’t believe in Maya and Pearls’s abilities, and you’ve seen them first-hand, too!”

“That is… different.”

“I don’t see a difference.”

Looking away, Miles feels his hand moving to grip his arm of its own accord. “Spend fifteen years terrified that you killed your own father, and your perspective on what follows life changes. The thought that there is nothing more is not a horror – it is a relief. A comfort that you will never have to confront those you have wronged.”

“…oh. Oh crap. I mean I- Edgeworth-”

He holds up a hand, stalling the coming tide of words. “That was my view then. Now… I don’t know. Something happens when they ‘channel spirits,’ that I can’t deny and… it would be nice to think that he is somewhere peaceful. I can say that much.”

The silence that follows is awkward, and Miles is uncertain how to break it – this is not a subject he wishes to discuss further, however now that it has been brought up it’s hard to think about anything else-

“I’ve never seen you with facial hair before.”

“What?”

“Facial hair,” Wright gestures to his own chin, clearly clinging to this topic with a desperation born of really not wanting to return to the prior topic, “You’re always clean-shaven, even during… you know.”

“The time I was incarcerated on suspect of murder?” Miles supplies drily.

The man winces. “Yeah. That. I sort of figured it just wasn’t something you had to deal with.”

“No,” Miles allows a touch of fondness to creep into his tone, “Gumshoe brought me some toiletries, including shaving supplies. He can be quite considerate at times.”

“Yeah, he’s a nice guy. You ever think about growing a beard or something?”

Yes, once, when he’d been young and trying to look older; he’d managed to grow a tidy mustache and goatee, promptly realized it made him look like a super villain, and been clean-shaven ever since. “…it is not a look that suits me.”

“Fair enough.”

“Not that my current predicament is one you seem to share,” Miles adds, glancing a touch enviously at Wright’s still smooth jaw.

“One of the advantages of having Asian heritage,” the man grins, smug, “Lack of facial hair.”

“You don’t have to shave at all?” That’s just unfair.

“No, it grows… sort of. Just really slowly.”

Miles narrows his eyes. “How slowly?”

The grin is now a smirk. “I have to shave about once every three days.”

…so that’s how he can pull off as many hijinks as he does during trials without ending up all scruffy. “That is disgustingly convenient.”

Wright puts his hands behind his head and beams. “I know!”

Miles comforts himself with the fact that at least his hair behaves itself without the addition of product.

Chapter Text

Lunch is nondescript and fairly inoffensive sandwiches, the afternoon spent vaguely discussing variations between the laws in Europe and the States and even between various European countries. They’re neither of them men used to extended periods of near-total inactivity, and the setting doesn’t help, especially when Miles points out that they are, in fact, on camera, which Wright had somehow missed.

No, the actual event doesn’t come until after supper, the door to the cells opening and, once again, three sets of footsteps entering and Trucy running ahead, though this time she simply hugs Wright through the bars, burying her face in his stomach as best she can while he worriedly asks her what’s wrong.

“I believe I can hazard a guess,” Miles says when Trucy remains quiet, though the person he makes eye contact with is his unusually silent sister, “There has been a- no, there have been several deaths related to the case Wright and I were incarcerated for, all of them under unusual, suspicious circumstances, and, as a result, instead of having us released tonight as you originally intended, we now have to be held until the actual criminals are found.” He folds his arms and glowers. “How is that for a deduction, meine Schwester?”

She snaps her mouth shut with a click and glares back at him. “I was going to have you held until tomorrow.”

“Ah, yes, because of course that was the most important part of my analysis.”

“How could you even know any of that,” she hisses back at him, brandishing her whip, “You have spent the day in a cell!”

He flings his arms wide, “Because this is Midsumer! It simultaneously has the best and worst reputation in all of England and is notorious for cases like this! What did you think I was doing here?!”

“As if I am supposed to understand the workings of your most foolish mind, Miles Edgeworth!”

“Wait, he really is Miles Edgeworth?” the accompanying policewoman cuts in.

“Of course I am!”

“Here, no need to fuss, the Gentlemen have played at being other people before, I’ll have you know! And the Prosecutors’ Office has been looking for you.”

“You know I rather thought that might be the case?!” he snarls, then pulls back and forcibly calms himself. “You wanted to prove you could do what I could not, Franziska? Fine. But the Wrights are only here until next Sunday, and if they miss their plane, well…” he pauses, smirks and wags a finger at her, “That would be very sloppy, wouldn’t it?”

His actions have the desired effect as Franziska goes ramrod straight and bristles. “Miles Edgeworth, I will make you eat those words, you foolish fool of a man!” spinning on one heel, she storms from the cells, calling behind her, “Take what time you need, Trucy Wright, I will be in the evidence locker when you are done!”

The door slams and Miles allows himself a self-satisfied smirk as the Wrights and the constable gape at him. “She’ll have the culprit by Wednesday at the latest.”

“How the bleedin’ hell did you do that, sir?” the constable demands, shock and awe wavering on her face, “She’s been terrorizing the force since she got here – has the bit between her teeth, that one does!”

“We’re siblings,” Miles says simply, “What sort of little brother would I be if I didn’t know how to drive my big sister absolutely mad when I want to?”

To his surprise, this gets him a laugh. “Truer words, sir! Um, seeing as you’re actually a respectable lawyer, and he’s…” she trails off, looking at Wright.

“I’m a prosecutor,” Miles answers the implied question, “Technically he’s a defense attorney.”

“Together, we fight crime!”

“Shut up, Wright.”

“Yes, well, seeing as you’re both here solely due to a bit of tangled red tape, I don’t see why I can’t give a man some private time with his daughter,” she winks at Trucy, “Just don’t let him out, young lady, I heard ‘bout what you did with Scalion’s handcuffs.”

“Okay,” Trucy promises quietly, and the constable gives them both a nod and leaves the three of them alone.

“Hey there, sweetie,” Wright crouches down and ruffles Trucy’s hair under the derby, “You okay? Not everybody’s cut out for murder investigations – you’ll still be my bright-shining Trucy if you decide you want to sit the rest of the case out. I’ll- I’ll even tell Franziska for you, if you want.”

“…can I say something awful?” Trucy asks, not looking at either of them. Her father nods and she continues. “It- it wasn’t that two people died. It- what if they blame you for it? Or Mr. Edgeworth? I don’t know any lawyers over here, what am I supposed to do if-?!”

“Trucy, Trucy, sweetheart, glowworm, listen to me,” Wright puts his hands on her shoulders and stares into her face as she hugs herself, “First of all, I am completely fine. They have us on camera in here, so even if someone wanted to accuse me I have an airtight alibi.

“Second, kiddo,” he pulls her closer again, so their foreheads are almost touching through the bars, “It’s not your job to save me if I do get in trouble. I won’t say you can’t help me if I’m in it, but you’re nine; I’m a grown-up. I’m supposed to take care of you, even if you make that hard sometimes by being so gosh-darn self-sufficient.” She giggles a bit at this, and Wright smiles at her before continuing, “And Franziska von Karma’s on the case – Edgeworth wouldn’t have asked her to take care of you if he didn’t think she was up to the task, right, Edgeworth?”

“Hmph. When it comes to important matters, it pays to accept only the best.”

“That means he cares about you a lot too and wants you to be safe,” Wright whispers conspiratorially, “Translated from Edgeworthese.”

“Excuse me, Edgeworthese-?!?”

However Trucy is giggling and sends him a smile, so he settles for sulking as she turns back to her father. “You promise you’ll be okay?”

Wright holds up one hand, little finger extended. “Super-extra-special pinky promise!”

“Okay then,” she links fingers with him, then turns to Miles and runs over to hold out her hand to him. “You too?”

…why is this his life? Reaching down, Miles reluctantly links little fingers and dully intones, “I super-extra-special pinky promise.”

Unfortunately, instead of smiling, Trucy breaks away from him with a scowl. “You’re lying!”

“Wha- I am not!”

“Yes you are, you’re not being sincere!”

“I am being sincere in my promise to do my utmost to steer clear of both harm and trouble while also being mortified at the format said promise was required to be presented in!” Miles folds his arms and glares.

“…oh.” Trucy bites her lip and looks away. “You are telling the truth. I’m sorry, I- I don’t usually get it wrong. About when people are lying to me. Sorry.”

…dammit, he was trying to reassure her- Well, he’s already thrown away a chunk of his dignity with that ridiculous promise, might as well go the whole way. Straightening, he puts a finger to one temple and strikes a regal pose. “As long as the stars glitter, so shall my heart and blade remain true to this noble quest – so says the Legal Samurai!”

Trucy’s jaw drops, but she’s a performer born, she recovers before Miles can second guess himself and strikes a pose of her own, pulling her hat down so she can peek stealthily from beneath it. “As the sun blazes bright, thus innocence shines forth with the aid of the Salmon Sorceress!”

They exchange a smile, then as one turn to Wright, who folds his arms and looks stubborn. “No.”

“Daddy!”

“Please no.”

“Please yes!”

“Come on, Wright, be a good sport,” Miles adds with a certain malicious glee, since the man had started all this in the first place with that silly phrasing of his own promise.

Wright shoots him a dark look, then caves. Standing straight, he angles himself to present a profile, then turns his head to look at them, one hand held vertically between his eyes. “Let the wicked hide where they like – the truth will be seen!”

Trucy cheers with a bounce and drags her father forward so she can hug him between the bars. “That was great, Daddy!”

“Yeah, yeah, I have seen the show,” he grumbles, “The beatings my dignity takes for you.”

“You don’t have any dignity, Wright.”

“Wha-?! I do so!”

Miles raises an eyebrow, then flings out one arm, finger pointed. “I would like to cross-examine the suspect’s pet-”

“I DID THAT TO LITERALLY SAVE YOUR LIFE YOU UNGRATEFUL BASTARD!”

“And it was much appreciated,” Miles demures, “But not very dignified.”

“Trucy, do me a favour, go smack him for me, I can’t reach.”

“Nuh-uh, no hitting!” tugging him down, Trucy gives her father a kiss on the cheek. “I’m gonna get back to helping Ms. von Karma now – sleep tight, Daddy!”

“Remember, glowworm, bed by ten.”

“Eleven – we’re on vacation and I’m on the case!”

“Fine,” Wright rolls his eyes theatrically, working hard not to smile, “Twist my arm while I’m behind bars and can’t enforce anything.”

“You bet,” she laughs, starts to go, then turns back in a flourish of cape. “Oh! And you sleep well too, Mr. Edgeworth!”

“And you as well when the time is right.”

Chapter Text

They both watch Trucy go, then Miles returns his attention to Wright. “She has your smile. How?”

He shrugs. “It’s Trucy, I don’t really ask questions about her and body language anymore – unless it’s about how well I’m hiding my tells, I still need to work on that.” Wright returns to his cot and begins straightening the mess of blankets it’s been since that morning.

Miles almost asks Wright why he needs to hide his tells, then catches the man’s eye and shuts his mouth again because oh yes. Kristoph. A dangerous game played against a man willing to destroy another for no discernable reason and who somehow holds immense sway with the Bar Association. It’s distressingly easy to forget all this at times… “Ah yes. And how is that playing out for you?”

“Well, I have yet to lose a game of poker, to there’s that,” Wright sends him a sharp smile, “And birds come home to roost eventually – sooner if they think they’ve found something.”

“That is the way of the world,” Miles agrees, returning to his own cot with no further comment – they are still on camera after all. But Kay thinks she’s found something? Good – she’s been giving Miles vague progress reports, as a fellow Yatagarasu member, but mostly they’ve been in regards to how frustrating this case is – more venting to an understanding ear than reports, really. Whatever else he is, Kristoph is good at covering his tracks.

Conversation drops for the moment, not the sort of silence absent of emotion or mood but a simple lack of words. It remains as they are individually escorted to the facilities again, Wright returning with a thoughtful expression and having made an obvious attempt to get what gel he can out of his hair before it starts matting. He waits until they are alone again before speaking.

“Say, Edgeworth?”

“Yes?”

Wright is seated on the edge of his cot, eyes resting on nothing in particular. “What’s up with you and Franziska?”

“I beg your pardon?!”

“No, nothing bad,” he waves his hands hurriedly, sweat almost visibly appearing on his forehead, “I mean – she always calls you her little brother, and I always thought it was some sort of power play on her part, but you called her your big sister tonight. How come?”

“Oh, is that all?” Miles folds his arms behind his head and leans on them, “The answer to that is really quite simple, Wright.”

“Yeah?” he leans forward.

“Yes. Franziska is the elder sibling.”

Wright falls off his cot with a rather satisfactory flail, then scrambles to the bars. “Oh crap, it’s getting to you, I heard jail can change people- don’t let it get to you, Edgeworth, think of chess-!”

“Do be quiet, there’s no way for me to imply I don’t know you in here,” Miles refolds his arms across his chest, one finger tapping, “And there is a perfectly logical explanation to my statement.”

“Enlighten me,” Wright deadpans.

“It is simple – the eldest sibling is the first born to a family, correct?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, there you have it,” Miles spreads his arms, “Franziska is the firstborn child of our branch of the family, and was a von Karma for two years before I was adopted. Therefore, in spite of my being seven years older, she is the first von Karma sibling and I am the second. An unusual situation, to be sure, but not so complicated as all that.”

“…” maintaining direct eye contact, Wright reaches up with one hand and slaps his own face.

“Wright, what the-?!”

“Sorry,” the man apologizes, “For a minute there it felt like I was back in court talking to a witness.”

“Tch,” Miles scowls and turns away. It doesn’t matter if Wright understands or not – he and Franziska do.

“Hey, come on, don’t be like that,” the man protests, “Seriously, what kind of logic is that?”

He sends one of his darkest courtroom glowers over his shoulder at him. “Ours. The logic of the siblings von Karma, and it is not your place to judge it in this instance.”

“Whoa, okay, geez, settle down,” Wright holds up his hands and leans backwards.

Silence returns, this one overtly resentful.

“…I didn’t know he actually adopted you. I thought you were a ward or something.”

“He didn’t spread that detail around,” Miles tells the wall, “But the legalities of taking me in in that manner would have made it harder for someone to remove me from his care, and it made it easier to insist I uphold the von Karma legacy, since I was now officially part of it.”

“Oh.”

“Mm.”

“So those times Franziska called you a von Karma…?”

“She merely spoke the truth – I am a von Karma, as well as an Edgeworth.”

“I would have thought you’d hate being connected to that name after, you know.”

“For awhile I did. I thought quite hard of casting it aside.”

“How come you didn’t?”

Miles finally turns to face Wright again. “Because I found I could not cast aside my sister. That is a bond I treasure, however strange it may appear to those outside of it.”

“…sorry.”

“For what?”

“For making fun,” Wright’s hands tangle together, his expression abashed, “I know you guys care about each other a lot.”

Slowly, Miles nods, then concedes, “Ours is a strange situation, and the logic surrounding it is not… typical. We… did not start out viewing each other as siblings. That came later. It- we were raised by Manfred; whatever our end relationship was to be, it was likely never going to be… normal.”

“Normal’s overrated anyway – shame you have to keep your connection to von Karma to keep the one with Franziska, though.”

Wright slaps a hand over his mouth the minute the words leave his mouth, eyes bugging out, and it takes Miles a moment to figure out why. “Oh – you mean Manfred.”

“Edgeworth, I am so sorry-”

“No need to be,” Miles waves it away, “You are incorrect, in any case.”

“Huh?”

“About my being a von Karma necessitating that I maintain a link to him,” Miles allows himself a moment to feel deliciously smug, “Manfred is eiectus – banished, cast out, expelled. By every legal means and manner, the only ones that mattered to him, he is no longer a von Karma. As the current heads of our branch of the family, Franziska and I have the power to do that, you know – and we did it to him posthumously, so he couldn’t contest it.” The smirk he’s wearing probably has more Demon Prosecutor in it than he prefers these days, but oh well. “Rather convenient, if I do say so myself.”

“…holy crap.” Wright gapes, runs a hand through his hair while shaking his head. Miles gets the feeling that he’s trying not to look impressed. “You guys really don’t take prisoners, do you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Wright,” Miles wags a finger at him, “We’re prosecutors, we take plenty of prisoners. And then we ensure they get what’s coming to them.”

The man snorts. “As long as the real culprit is the one who goes away in the end, I guess there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Of course we’re trying to get the correct person,” Miles raises his eyebrows and smirks wider, “After all, you’re not the only one who likes to be ‘always Wright.’”

“Wha- hey, that’s my joke! You can’t just go stealing a man’s jokes like that!”

“…you’re not serious, that was simple word play.”

The man folds his arms and sulks. “It took me effort to come up with that! Effort!”

“And, once again, my estimation of your cognizant abilities turns out to be over rather than under; what a pity.”

“I’d like to see you do better!” the man challenges.

With Wright’s last name? Miles barely even has to think. “If you became a holy man, you would also become king, on account of divine Wright.”

The dropped jaw this earns is plenty of incentive to continue.

“You can never be referred to in the past tense, because then you would be ‘Wrote.’”

This gets a cringe. “Okay, I get it-”

“If you turn left, is it still the Wright way?”

“Yeah, I get it-”

“When you bow, it always forms a Wright angle.”

“Stop-!”

Chapter Text

The next morning dawns with Miles having slept about as well as he did the first night, his stubble having graduated to scruff, and the information that there has been a third death in the night.

The townsfolk suspect a werewolf that has been rumored to wander the local woods for generations.

Of course they do.

Miles consoles himself that at least he woke up before Wright again and has kept his sleeping habits a secret that much longer, and with the fact that Franziska has sent a message indicating that she has an idea of how to catch the killer.

Wright, in contrast, is positively gloomy.

“I realized last night after lights out,” he explains unprompted after breakfast, “This is Trucy’s first official investigation.”

“And you’re worried about the impact it will have upon her psyche, considering her age?”

“No, I- well, yes, actually, now that you mention it, that too, but, Edgeworth,” Wright clings to the bars of his cell, distraught, “It’s her first investigation, and I’m missing it!”

“…words fail me.”

“I’m serious! What if she forgets to examine the entire crime scene?”

“The police are there-”

“Oh god, the police, what if they try and throw her out?!”

“She’s accompanying a ranking Interpol agent-”

“Edgeworth, I never warned her how dangerous old men with birdseed can be, what kind of a dad have I been being?!?”

“A relatively responsible one, for goodness sake, Wright, calm down!”

Wright does not calm down, so Miles switches to ignoring him, instead seeing how far he can get into season four of Steel Samurai going by memory alone. Usually he only makes it through episode 13, because episode 14 is both slow and what he tends to use for background noise if he needs some to go to sleep (the series as a whole is good at avoiding filler, but with the length of time it’s been running, simple logic dictates that there are bound to be at least a handful of suboptimal episodes). He’s on episode 7 by the time Wright finally runs out of steam, 9 when he himself is forced to interact with the real world again.

“I wish I had some vodka.”

Miles’s eyes snap open with no direct input from him whatsoever as he turns to gape at Wright. “All you’ve been through, and this is what drives you to drink?!?”

The man blinks at him from where he’s sprawled on his cot, then comprehension appears like a switch has been flipped behind his eyes. “No, no, not for me – for my suit!”

…give him strength… “And you had the audacity to say I was behaving like a witness last night!”

“Hey,” he swings his legs up and around so he winds up sitting and facing Miles, “In my own defense, just like you last night, I have a perfectly solid piece of logic to back me up.”

The round-about confirmation that Wright has been firmly swayed to Miles’s way of thinking on the aforementioned subject is mollifying enough to allow for Miles to indicate that Wright may continue.

“It’s an old acting trick,” the man explains, “For when you sweat a lot in costume but don’t have time to wash and dry it that night and need it for a performance the next day. You get a mister bottle, fill it half and half with water and the cheapest vodka you can get your hands on, flip your costume inside out and give the sweaty areas a couple spritzes. Then you let it hang in the open overnight and, poof! It smells fine the next morning, even the alcohol scent is gone.” He rests his elbows on his knees, grinning, “You still have to wash it later, it doesn’t get rid of the dirt ‘n’ stuff, but at least you don’t stink anymore.”

…it’s like finding out that final piece to a case, the one that makes everything else fall neatly into line for a resounding checkmate, a long-held question finally answered. “So that’s how you make it through trials with only one suit, in spite of how much you perspire when backed into a corner!”

“Rude, but also mostly accurate,” Wright concedes, “I do have more than one shirt, though. And, you know, under-”

“Yes, you don’t need to finish that sentence, I think well enough of you to assume you change that much from day to day!”

“I’m flattered,” Wright drawls, then tilts his head, “You look more pleased than normal for some reason.”

Miles shrugs, seeing no reason to dissemble. “I’ve been wondering how you did that for years, Wright, actual years, as have a not unreasonable portion of the Prosecutors’ Office and police force back in Los Tokyo.”

The man colours. “You could have just asked, it’s not a secret or anything.”

Miles gives him a skeptical look.

“…okay, yeah, that would have been a pretty weird question, no matter how you phrased it,” Wright admits, then adds, “And, for the record? I don’t drink vodka. …or much at all, I’m embarrassing when I drink.”

“Oh?” he leans forward, curious.

The man rubs his neck sheepishly, “Two beers and I turn really pink, much more and somehow I always end up sitting in a corner and grinning like an idiot. Drunk Phoenix also likes to wear his tie on his head – not a great habit for a guy trying to convince everyone he’s a serious lawyer.”

“Oh.” Miles wrinkles his nose as he considers a life where he couldn’t enjoy a glass or two of wine or – if he’s in Germany – a fine pint when he feels like without overt and near-immediate problems that outweighed the benefits. “Well that sounds… terrible.”

“Eh,” he shrugs, “I’m not a fancy society guy like you, no one really expects me to ask for the wine list or drink socially without getting at least a little tipsy. Or, I mean, I’m assuming you drink?”

“I did give that indication with my previous statement, if nothing else. So I suppose that’s a no on celebratory champagne when you get your name cleared?”

“You kidding? With the quality you’d get? It would be worth looking like a bit of an idiot to try a glass of that!”

The amusement Wright’s enthusiasm inspires feels a little fonder than usual for some reason. “One glass of champagne isn’t quite that potent, but I shall make a note of it.”

From there the conversation just… rambles. Their options for entertainment at the moment are talk, think, sleep, or perform what physical activity is possible in the limited space available. Lunch is accompanied by the news that there was nearly a fourth murder, but something happened involving a girl, a large wooden puppet, and a monocle, so now instead there’s just more evidence and another lead. Wright is a combination of proud and heartbroken about his daughter’s skills and his inability to witness them, and Miles returns to mentally reviewing episode 9 and onward until the man becomes worth talking to again.

This occurs partway through the afternoon, Miles pacing due to sheer pent-up energy and Wright lying on his cot, knees bent, fiddling with his neckwear.

“Say, Edgeworth?”

“Yes?”

Wright holds one end of the shiny, grey rectangle of cloth up, “What’s this thing called, anyway?”

“Why do you wish to know?”

“I dunno – it’s spiffy, I might get a couple myself when I get my badge back, for if I ever get any fancier clients or have to go somewhere nice while on the job.”

“Is that so?” Miles comes and leans against the bars of his cell, arms folded, smirk fully in place because he has been waiting all week for Wright to ask about this, “How odd.”

“What’s odd?” the man looks delightfully suspicious but still has no idea how perfectly he’s fallen into Miles’s trap.

Examining his nails, Miles manages, with effort, to keep his tone casual, “Your interest in acquiring more, since you were so set against wearing a cravat in the first place.”

There is not so much a silence as an enormous number of words that do not get spoken on account of the fact that they’re all trying to come out at once. After quite a bit of garbled choking, the ones that finally emerge victorious are, “But- but- it doesn’t look anything like what you’re wearing!”

“Of course not,” he wags a finger, tsking, and oh this is wonderful, “A cravat is a long rectangle of cloth, tied about the neck in various levels of intricacy, including the ones commonly used in neckties today. One cannot achieve three layers of ruffles with a single rectangle, Wright. Nor can one do this.” And with a smooth motion, he reaches under the layers of cloth to undo the fastenings hidden there, then whips it from his neck and holds it up to show how the ruffles attach inside the collar. “Four rectangles of cloth combined. Not a cravat.”

Wright loses his mind, flushing with emotion. “That-! It-! You-! You call it a cravat!!! You always call it a cravat!? What do you mean it’s not a cravat?!?”

“I mean exactly what it sounds like, it’s not a cravat.”

“What is it, then?!”

“A jabot. Bespoke, since I prefer this effect to the classical design, but still, a jabot.”

“…bespoke?”

“Custom made, you peasant.”

Wright continues to have a mental conniption from there, so Miles ignores him, instead using his attention to return his jabot to his neck, tilting his chin up and feeling the lines of his throat once it’s fastened to get it perfectly centered (a feat Franziska had claimed he would never achieve without a mirror when he was fifteen and she was eight, meaning he had devoted a month of effort developing this technique). There is an odd look on Wright’s face when he looks in the man’s direction again – Miles would call it disappointment, but that makes no sense, so he sets it to the side as another inexplicable quirk of the man.

“I can’t believe you’ve been lying about what that thing is all these years,” Wright’s expression is forlorn now, “Miles Edgeworth, champion of truth, lying about his ruffles.”

“I wouldn’t call it a lie so much as self-preservation,” Miles counters, “Don’t even pretend you’d heard the word ‘jabot’ before just now, because most people haven’t. And when they do they all require an explanation, and often a demonstration such as I just gave, and then, nine times out of ten, they call it a cravat anyway. I was sixteen when I came to the conclusion that this ‘was not the hill I chose to die on,’ as it were.”

“…how do you even know that phrase?”

“I still exchange texts with Maya at times.”

“That would do it.”

Wright retreats into a sulky silence and Miles quietly gloats to himself. It’s almost worth the years of teasing and outright mockery in regards to his wardrobe choices to have gotten one so thoroughly over Wright. And he’s absolutely going to bring this up if Wright tries to tease him about his clothes again. After all, of all people, that man should know that turnabout is fair play-

“Wait a minute…”

Miles’s attention instantly snaps back to Wright, because he knows that tone from court and it never means good things for him.

Sure enough, Wright is now looking between his cravat and Miles, eyebrows rising. “Edgeworth… is there a particular reason this thing’s the exact same shade of grey as your vest?”

“…it’s a subtle indication of unified force.” Somehow the explanation feels far more feeble here, set against Wright’s bemused expression, than it had in the tailor’s shop when he’d ordered the things, but if he scowls hard enough maybe Wright will stop talking and Miles’s face won’t turn red. Because there is no reason for him to feel embarrassed, he has done nothing wrong.

“I sort of wondered why you didn’t get me a red one, but I thought you were trying to get me all somber and non-distracting for once, not that you were worried that we’d clash.”

Non-distracting? If he’d wanted to do that, he’d have put Wright in a black, good-quality version of his usual suit – ignoring his signature hairstyle, this would have had the man blending neatly into the background of typical European court wear. Instead, Miles had chosen to see the man dressed properly for once, knowing full well that Wright wears royal blue polyester better than any person has a right to, and the result of that man in a three-piece suit has been anything but non-distracting. Absolutely worth it, but still!

…not that he’ll be informing Wright of this, of course. “It looks more professional if we don’t, and it can be difficult to properly match colour to skin tone if you are not physically present.”

The man snorts, making no attempt to hide that he thinks Miles is being ridiculous. “Given that the cravat is turning out to have been at least fifty percent you, of all people, playing a prank on me, I’m surprised you didn’t go all the way and give me one to match your jacket.”

“Please, as I said, it’s meant to be subtle. Imagine if I showed up one day in your shade of blue!”

The man must take him up on this suggestion, because he gets a thoughtful look on his face for a moment before turning bright red.

Miles nods in satisfaction. “There, you see? It would be embarrassing.”

“…yes! Embarrassing! Definitely! Extremely! The only possible thing it could be if you did that and we were together. While we were together! Together as colleagues, like we are right now!!!”

Miles steps back from the bars of his cell with a frown. “Are you well?”

“Yup! A-okay, neatorific, perfectly fine, thanks for asking! Wow, is it getting warm in here or something?”

“No, the temperature has remained stable for the duration of our stay,” he squints, “Are you quite certain you’re well? You’ve grown rather flushed – a constable would likely come if we both shouted-”

“THAT WILL NOT BE NECESSARY, AS I AM COMPLETELY FINE!”

“…if you die, I reserve the right to have ‘I told you so’ carved on your tombstone.”

“You are the worst!” Wright glowers at him, but his usual colour is returning, so that’s fine.

“Come now, don’t be like that,” Miles moves back to teasing, “I can give you the name of my former tailor in Los Tokyo if you wish to acquire some more cravats – they’re not particularly expensive, no more so than a decent tie.”

“Absolutely not, and I’m buying a proper tie when I’m out of here!”

“But Wright, I thought you liked them.”

“I lied!”

“What was that word you used? ‘Spiffy?’”

“Could you just drop it?!”

“After all the times you’ve made fun of my jabot? No, no I cannot.”

“You made fun of my suit all the time!”

“It’s polyester, Wright, everyone looks down on polyester suits.”

“Everyone makes fun of your cravat as well!”

“Not everyone, actually, especially over here. Besides, you’re forgetting a key fact.”

“Oh? And what, pray tell, is that?”

“While I have successfully gotten you to wear an actual cravat, you’re never going to be able to pay me back for this because I will happily go naked before I wear a polyester suit- are you quite certain you’re all right, you’re turning red again…”

Chapter Text

Supper that night is slices of actually rather good looking meat pie and unaccompanied by anyone besides Constable Scalion.

“Werewolves and Handsome Gentlemen Thieves and Interpol – not what you signed up for, eh, sir?” he commiserates as he slides Miles’s tray through the bars.

“On the contrary, Constable, it’s exactly the sort of thing I signed up for. It’s why I was sent while Prosecutor Pech is in the hospital, why I brought him as an aid,” he gestures at Wright, who waves before going back to poking suspiciously at his supper, “We both have… let’s say careers that have left us rather suited for stranger cases.”

“Some lawyers practice civil law, some practice criminal law, we practice weird law,” Wright speaks up, then glares at his supper again, “What’s in this?”

“That would be venison – there’s a deer farm nearby, so we have more of it than the average town. In fact, that’s Little Stoak’s specialty you have tonight, on account of everyone feeling a mite bad ‘bout having to keep a pair of innocent men behind bars so long,” Scalion offers apologetically.

“Huh.” The man considers this for a moment, tries a bite, then considers that, too. “Tastes kind of like weirdly seasoned beef.”

“What?” That can’t be right, Miles has had venison a few times before, and it certainly does not- but a forkful of his own reveals Wright’s assessment of the flavor to be correct. Which is impossible, unless- “That’s because it is weirdly seasoned beef!”

“What?!” Constable Scalion looks shocked, but a taste of the meat has him reeling. “That’s never Mr. Easy’s pie, I’ve had it before, but- Inspector Jones brought this one ‘round for us all to share tonight, it’s how we had any to give you gents! And he brought it straight from the shop!”

“…how well do you know Inspector Jones?”

“Not very – I’m new here myself, and he’s one of the ones that gets brought in special for cases like this, since we’re not used to dealing with homicide out here!”

Miles stares at the constable, then looks around him at Wright. “There’s no logical reason for this to be connected to the murders.”

“But we’re here and sort of involved,” Wright replies, “So it probably is.”

“…the insanity that is your existence disgusts me, all the moreso because I have been contaminated with it. You,” he turns back to Scalion, “You have a radio or a cell phone, something we can contact the investigation with?”

“Um, yes sir?”

“Give it here, then.”

“What?”

Miles snaps his fingers and sticks a hand through the bars. “Your phone!” it’s quickly pulled out, unlocked, and handed over, because Miles mastered the art of Being In Charge over a decade ago and knows how to be obeyed if need be. The phone rings.

“Who is foolish enough to interrupt me when I-”

“Franziska, it’s Miles,” he interrupts, silently grateful she answered an unknown number at all.

“Miles Edgeworth? Why are you contacting me? What do you know that you believe I do not?”

Ah yes, that’s his sister for you… “This town is known for its venison pie and has a deer farm. A man named Mr. Easy may have been selling oddly seasoned beef pies to non-locals under the claim that they’re actually venison. This wouldn’t have any bearing on the case, would it?”

“…”

“Franziska?”

“NATÜRLICH!”

And she hangs up on him. Rolling his eyes at his sister’s quirks (which she claims not to have), he hands Scalion back his phone. “She’s figured it out; we’ll likely be released by morning.”

“Woo!” Wright pumps a fist in the air and cheers.

OoOoOoOoO

It’s actually closer to afternoon, due to some last-minute shenanigans, but by twelve thirty on Monday, Miles and Wright are being escorted from their cells, handed the bags containing their belongings, and released back into the regular world (for a given value of regular), free of charges. Miles’s first important act (besides the necessities of returning things to their usual pockets and redonning his belt) is to trade his jabot for the fresh one that had been taken from him at the start of his incarceration.

Wright snorts as he watches him. “You know that looks absolutely ridiculous with the scruff and four-day-old-suit, right?”

“For once, I don’t care,” Miles says firmly, because the clean cloth against his skin feels heavenly. The man snorts again, but refrains from further comment as they go to meet Franziska and Trucy outside the police station.

Trucy shrills with delight and flings herself into her father’s arms as soon as he’s off the steps, chattering a mile a minute as he laughs and spins her around in a circle. Franziska is standing to the side, attempting for nonchalant, but for once not quite succeeding as Miles walks over to her.

“Meine Schwester.”

“Little brother.”

He regards her for a moment, then folds his arms. “You are aware that it is tradition for Wright to purchase a celebratory meal after a successful case he has been involved in?”

“Perhaps.”

“This time you will be paying.”

She winces but nods. “That is fair.”

“And you will be accompanying me to the Prosecutors’ Office to personally apologize for causing me to miss three days of work afterwards.”

Her face contorts like she’s bitten a lemon. “Of all the foolish-!”

“I had to spend three nights in a cell for no good reason. This is my fourth day in these clothes. If I were you, I would count myself very, very lucky that this is all I am asking of you.”

“…very well,” his sister relents, “But only because this case has resulted in my finally finding a suitable heir.”

That brings him up short. “You what?”

“Indeed,” she looks incredibly pleased with herself, “Trucy Wright has proven herself intelligent, resourceful, determined, talented, and every other quality that I would desire in such a person. She is perfect, and I intend to begin the paperwork for it once I have finished the paperwork for this, and also to have her added to the family tapestry.”

Miles rubs his forehead. “Franziska, you can’t do that.”

She looks surprised. “Why ever not? Do you object to having her added to the tapestry?”

“What? No, of course not-”

“Did you intend to name her as your own heir? You have been foolishly slow if this is the case, but I am not against sharing in this instance.”

“What?! Franziska, regardless of any intentions I may or may not have in this matter, you cannot simply claim a child as your heir! You haven’t even spoken to her father about it!”

She shrugs, unconcerned. “Her father has vanished, he is unavailable for consultation.”

“Objection, her father,” Miles thrusts a pointing finger in Wright’s direction, “Is right there. And both he and she deserve some say in this matter!”

“Fine,” she snarls, then marches up to the father and daughter in question, glaring at Wright. “I wish to name Trucy Wright heir to my wealth and legacy – agree to this, it is a very good opportunity for her.”

Wright blinks at her, then turns to Miles. “Is your sister trying to steal my daughter?”

“Um…” Miles looks between the three of them and shrugs, because he honestly has no idea what’s going through Franziska’s head at this point.

“Is that a no?” Franziska’s glare upgrades to a scowl, and she takes a step forward, hand on her whip.

Very, very slowly Wright lowers Trucy to the ground, then, so quietly Miles barely hears it, says, “Go stand with Edgeworth, firefly.” In a shocking twist, the young magician silently obeys, running over and grabbing his hand. Once she’s there, Wright turns back to Franziska, takes a deep breath, and moves a step forward, fists balled at his sides. “Franziska, I think you’re a decent enough person, and you’re definitely one of the scariest I know, but if you try and take my daughter from me, I will fight you with everything I have, including physically.”

Franziska, meanwhile, watches with an extremely unimpressed look on her face. “Phoenix Wright, what foolish foolishness are you playing at now?”

“Uh, defending my daughter from the scary prosecutor who’s trying to take her from me?”

“Take her? Why would I wish to take her?” Franziska appears positively baffled, “I desire an heir, not a daughter. If I wished the latter there are far easier ways to acquire one that would certainly involve fewer legal battles. Though, if it came to that, I would naturally crush you in court.”

“Naturally,” Wright replies, voice desert dry.

Franziska ignores this. “I have no desire for children of my own, Phoenix Wright. However, I have no wish to leave my earthly gains to some… foolish cousin or foundation. I would rather see it in the hands of one who will uphold my ideals, the von Karma legacy.”

“And you think I’ll allow you to teach Trucy these things,” Wright says, the desert in his voice now a polar one with its coldness.

“On the contrary,” Franziska tsks a smug finger, “Trucy Wright is not my selection because she might learn the appropriate principles; she has been chosen because she already embodies them. Thoroughness in her work. Intelligence in her actions. A determination to achieve personal per- excellence. This is the true von Karma legacy, even if Papa was unable to see it.

“She would, of course, receive some modicum of training – etiquette, how to run an estate and its finances, nothing she would struggle with or that you would find objectionable. There would also be the opportunity for her to be presented to society when she comes of age, if she desires. And,” here, surprisingly, Franziska folds her arms and looks away, faint colour rising in her cheeks, “And of course I would have to maintain contact with her. Merely to ensure her studies were progressing satisfactorily, of course!”

Tension leaks from Wright’s shoulders as his fists relax. “You don’t- You want-” slowly he puts his face in his hands and helpless laughter starts to trickle through his fingers. “You know, if you want to be friends with Trucy, you could ask without scaring the bejeebers out of me in the process.”

“Do not be foolish,” Franziska folds in on herself sulkily, “She would be an excellent heir. And of course I would not be so foolish as to try and take her when she’s clearly thriving under your care. I am very busy and have a dangerous job; it would be the height of foolishness to try and take her myself.”

Wright snorts but lowers his hands to reveal a smile. “How about we talk about it over lunch? I hear you’re paying.”

Franziska huffs in annoyance, but raises no further objections. Trucy goes back over and tugs the skirt of her long vest as they make their way to the main section of town to find a restaurant.

“I don’t mind being friends, but I think it’s better if I don’t become a von Karma.”

“Why?” Franziska glances down at her, a touch hurt if Miles reads it right.

“I like being a Wright,” she tosses a grin over her shoulder at her father, “It’s very appropriate.”

“How so?” the Interpol agent tilts her head, inquisitive.

“Because,” she twirls, bows, and reveals a bouquet of flowers, “I’m down-Wright magical!”

Franziska’s footsteps grind to a halt at this and Miles is extremely glad of having his handkerchief back, as it makes it easier to pretend he’s coughing instead of laughing. His sister is not fooled and spins to glare at both him and Wright, who is too busy looking delighted to be intimidated. “Which of you has contaminated this child with your foolishly foolish… foolishness?!?”

“That would be him,” Wright announces, cheerfully throwing Miles under the bus while he’s trying to get his amusement under control, and Miles enjoys having his colour vision remain relatively steady these days but concealing his laughter has gotten noticeably harder since this has become the case. Wright, meanwhile, is smirking at him, “He’s proved beyond any doubt that he’s the better punster of the two of us.”

“If you are referring to the fact that I am the superior wordsmith then I do believe that comes as a surprise to no one currently present,” Miles snaps back, because if he’s going down for this he’s getting at least one parting shot at Wright before he goes.

They squabble their way to the restaurant Trucy finally decides on, and from there the conversation switches to the case – an unfortunate incident of wrong place, wrong time in discovering that Mr. Easy the pie maker had been trying to save money by feeding out-of-towners pies made from cheaper cuts of beef and pork instead of more expensive venison, trusting their own unfamiliarity with the meat to explain away the taste and pocketing the difference. The third death had been meant to throw suspicion elsewhere, and the ‘prevented’ murder had never been meant to be successful, but simply to implicate the werewolf that roamed nearby woods according to local legend.

“Three deaths, for that,” Miles shakes his head, “Honestly, it makes one despair for the human race at times.”

“I don’t know,” Wright replies, pushing his plate momentarily to the side, “I always think of it as, yeah, you find at least one really nasty person in each of these cases, but you also meet a lot of good ones who are trying to do the right thing. Like all those people at the police station who were nice to us, even though it was probably as much of a hassle for them to have us there as it was for us to be there. Constable Scalion even broke protocol and let you use his phone, and that helped Franziska crack the case!”

“You mean Inspector Scalion,” Franziska corrects, “He was indeed most useful in this investigation, though I did not realize he had been to the police station.”

“No, I mean Constable Scalion – he’s new to the station, just arrived recently.”

“No, Inspector Scalion came from the main branch of the Midsumer police specifically to help with the homicide!”

“Franziska,” Miles interrupts, a growing suspicion in his voice as he recalls a prior case, “Out of curiosity, did you catch Scalion’s full name?”

“No,” she wrinkles her nose in disgust, “He introduced himself as Inspector R. Scalion. I dislike the use of initials rather than full names, it is lazy.”

…Miles would bet the chance of ever seeing his photography satchel and its contents again that, in this instance, the R stands for ‘Rap.’ “He’s gone back to main headquarters now, hasn’t he?”

“Yes, of course, the case is over.”

“He wouldn’t have happened to have given you a letter before he left, would he?”

“What?! Miles Edgeworth, how did you know-?!”

He puts his face in his hands. “I would read it now.”

With a suspicious look, Franziska withdraws an envelope from the pocket of her vest and flicks it open with one perfectly-maintained nail. As Miles watchers from between his fingers, her face goes very pale, then a furious red as she begins to call all manner of unpleasantness down upon the sender in German, not even resisting as Miles plucks the note from her hand to look it over himself.

“What’s going on? Edgeworth, what happened?” Wright demands, concerned, as he tries to edge himself protectively in front of Trucy.

Miles takes in the familiar writing on the card at a glance, amused exasperation colouring his tone as he replies, “She has just discovered that the score is Handsome Gentlemen Thieves two, Siblings von Karma zero. And you know how fond she is of being bested.”

“Ah, yeah, gotcha,” Wright nods, “Any plans for what to do while she’s venting?”

“Of course.”

“And they are?”

“Examine the desert menu,” he plucks it from the center of the table, “Franziska is, after all, still paying. All in favour?”

With both Wrights seconding it the motion is easily passed, and their orders arrive just as Franziska has calmed down enough to be mollified with a slice of wild berry tart.

OoOoOoOoO

Greetings,

We are most terribly sorry that our little endevour ended up muddying the waters of the investigation that began shortly after. In such circumstances, it felt poor manners to continue or to leave before the matter was resolved, as we have been to Little Stoak before and realized that something strange was going on with Mr. Easy’s usually exemplary venison pies. The rest of the statuettes are back at the museum, in a box behind the coffee filters in the staff break room. We will try for them again at another point in their tour, when conditions are more sporting, and look forward to crossing paths with you again.

A Group of Gentlemen

Chapter Text

It’s a relief to be able to finally, personally check in with the Prosecutors’ Office, watch Franziska apologize, apologize himself for not contacting them immediately and have them inform Wright of his predicament, as opposed to the other way around, though they are surprisingly understanding of the situation. Less thrilling is the discovery that the office had had a pool going of what would happen to him during his time here, and if he’d be of any use should a case arise, though he does have the satisfaction of knowing that the actual events that occurred were so unexpected that no one actually won. Wright mumbles a bit about having to go into work with the vague stubble that has finally seen fit to grace his chin, but a silent gesture from Miles towards his own face, where, after three days, ‘scruff’ is doing its level best to evolve into ‘beard,’ shuts him up nicely.

“I can’t believe you prioritized coming into work over getting changed,” the man comments, but Miles waves him off. This is what they were brought here to do and, much as Miles loathes the situation, paperwork builds up fast if left to its own devices. Besides, thanks to lunch they’ve already been wandering around in public like this – in for a penny, in for a pound.

Still, getting back to the cottage that night, finally getting to strip off his now well-worn clothes, have a shower, remove the infernal almost-beard from his face… bliss. Utter bliss. There would be temptation to linger in the hot water, perhaps even draw a proper bath, if not for the fact that Wright is waiting for his own go at the facilities, plenty miserable with his own state of cleanliness and not truly at fault for either of their situations beyond his initial poor word selection while legitimately trying to get Miles released.

Indeed, the man is waiting in the hallway, his own toiletries and a bundle of clean night clothes beside him when Miles emerges, and Wright’s eyebrows rise a bit. “Okay, I know this is closer to how you normally look, but dang, you really do look different clean shaven!” a glance up and down and he snorts, “Also, I can’t believe you brought a housecoat with you. I mean, I can, but seriously, who brings a housecoat on a two-week trip in summer, anyway?”

“People who wish to maintain both propriety and warmth while in their nightclothes,” Miles sniffs, gesturing at the room he’s just vacated, “And I would get a move on – the water should still be hot.”

“I would continue, but that’s a very compelling argument, so the defense rests!” Wright scoots around him and firmly shuts the door.

Miles snorts and goes back to toweling his hair.

The rest of the evening is subdued, all three occupants of the house more than a touch worn from the various stresses of the weekend, though Trucy either hides it better or is simply the sort to retain full mental capabilities while extremely tired. The latter proves to be the case when she falls asleep on her father and needs to be carried to bed again. The man gives a little nod to Miles as he picks her up and goes to tuck her in, then retire for the evening himself.

“G’night, Edgeworth.”

“Good night, Wright.”

OoOoOoOoO

And that, aside from all the backed-up paperwork that accumulated during his incarceration and which he’ll likely be battling with Wright for the rest of the week, is that for this case, as far as Miles is concerned.

Or, it almost it.

When he arrives in his temporary office with Wright dutifully in tow the next day, it is to the discovery of a not unsizeable brown paper parcel sitting in the center of his desk. On top of it lies an envelope addressed to him and, when he opens it, there is revealed a card written in a hand he has, as of the day prior, now seen twice before.

Greetings,

My deepest apologies for the terrible inconvenience I and my companions have recently caused you and your associate – you have my assurance that it was never our intention to do so. Indeed, when I spotted you in the crowd, it was a delight to think I might again have the chance to witness that marvelous mind of yours in action, and I was horrified to discover my colleague’s error. My word of honour, we shall be more careful in the future to ensure no repetitions of this event. Indeed, my only condolence is that it seems you were at least in good company during your inconvenience. Until the day that we see each other again,

A Gentleman

“Edgeworth? What is it, what’s going on?”

Miles hands him the card, hardly daring to hope as he unwraps the paper, but there it is, nestled safe and sound within – his photography satchel. A touch cleaner than he last saw it, actually, the weak spot in the shoulder strap reinforced, the camera’s lens polished, a small lined box replacing the old handkerchief, ruler, and rubber band ensemble he usually wraps the Steel Samurai and his spear in… It’s all still there, safe in his hands once again.

“They returned that bag you lost?” Wright comes to peer over his shoulder and Miles flips the top shut again before he can see the contents – a man is entitled to a few harmless secrets, after all, and he’s in no hurry to find out what Wright has to say about this particular hobby. This earns him a raised eyebrow, but for once the man simply refocuses on the question at hand rather than investigating this new one. “That’s kind of a surprise.”

“How so?” Miles redoes the satchel’s clasps then sets it down by his current desk, busying himself with tidying away the brown paper and string – he’ll have to notify the police station after work that they don’t need to keep an eye out for his ‘stolen’ item anymore-

“Well they’re thieves, right? It’s not very thief-y to return stuff you’ve stolen, even by mistake, forget writing an apology note about it!”

“Ah, but there is one factor you are overlooking,” Miles wags a finger with a slight smile, “These men are thieves, yes, obviously… but they are also, beyond any shadow of a doubt, gentlemen.”

And he settles down to start catching up on two and a half days of missed paperwork.

Chapter Text

The following days are filled with the queer, lackluster feeling that sometimes accompanies the end of a strange case. Interestingly, the Wrights’ presence helps even this out, the normalcy of the world struggling to counter their natural strangeness. And it is decidedly odd to be preparing files for a case Miles himself will not be seeing to trial – he hasn’t done this since the internships he served during law school.

It wasn’t much fun then, either.

Companionship makes it more tolerable.

Wright has the final Saturday off, because Miles is being gracious and not counting jail time towards the man’s holiday time for this trip, even though he is doing so for himself. If nothing else, the man needs time to pack before his flight tomorrow. In a strange twist, however, Miles doesn’t spend his final day as Little Stoak’s temporary prosecutor on his own.

Trucy accompanies him to the office.

“I didn’t get to see you very much while we were here,” she announces when he expresses surprise, “I want to hang out with you too!”

“It will not be very entertaining,” he warns her, “I have work to do – we would only be able to interact as you likely wish to during my lunch break.”

She wags a chastising finger at him. “Time spent together in companionable silence can sometimes make for the best memories, Mr. Edgeworth. And I’ll be quiet – I can practice my card tricks, and I brought my drawing stuff with me!”

“Uh…” he shoots a confused look at Wright, “I thought you wanted to spend time here with your father?”

“I have been! But we were supposed to spend a day together the three of us too, only you were both arrested and got to hang out in jail together without me, so I want a day with you! Please?”

It occurs to him that Trucy Wright could be a devastating force for evil if she ever decides to be, based solely on her ability to look tragically waifish on a whim, and also thank heavens Kay can’t do this, and also shut up, Wright, you would have folded even faster and you know it.

And now he’s sitting at his temporary desk one last time doing paperwork and Trucy is off in the corner she has declared her own, a pack of cards ostentatiously out and ready to be practiced with. Said cards are also being studiously ignored as she focuses on her drawing pad and a large pack of felt-tip markers she’s brought with her. It seems like she’s making up for lost time on creating art for the Heroes of Neo Olde Kyoto now that she’s gotten Miles’s approval of ‘his’ character. It’s rather sweet, and also oddly tempting to set aside his own work and simply watch her draw. However, Miles is a man of structure and discipline, and he manages to content himself with the occasional glance to check on her progress.

Lunchtime consists of a private viewing of the results of Trucy’s industrious morning over sandwiches and tea (Trucy has yet to find a blend she actually enjoys, but has been soldiering on her whole time in Little Stoak, because ‘she’s in England, so she’s being British’ (apparently this is the reasoning behind her current bowler derby and tweed ‘traveling cape’ as well, she finally reveals)).

The afternoon is much the same as the morning, with the addendum of Trucy taking a break from drawing to build a truly improbably structure out of cards, though Miles is familiar enough with her modus opperendum to not even blink over the fact that she produces far more than fifty-two from the box she has them stored in. He cannot honestly say that he manages to maintain peak work performance with the small magician present, but nor can he deny that she has been correct – the companionable silence is pleasant, and worth the price of distraction.

And, as almost always, Trucy is the only one who knows her full designs. Miles doesn’t suspect a thing until evening comes and he’s finished packing away his papers, ensured the office is tidy and the relevant files will be easy to find. His hand is almost on the doorknob when a tug on the back of his jacket halts him, and he turns to find the young magician looking unusually serious. “Yes?”

“Mr. Edgeworth, I have a confession to make.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” she nods, “I did want to spend the day with you, but I had ulterior motives as well. I… wanted to ask you something, and I didn’t want Daddy to overhear.”

“Oh?” he says again, far more caution in his tone this time, because there are quite a few questions he can think of that Trucy might wish Wright not to hear her ask, and most of them-

“Are you in love with my Daddy?”

-are not that. “What?!”

“Are you in love with my Daddy?” she repeats, then clarifies, “My current one, not my first one.”

Miles flounders, completely flat-footed. “Why do you ask? Why- why would you think…?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. The way you look at him, how you act when you’re with him. I just… want to know. For sure. I won’t be angry if you are, like I said, I just want to know.” She stares up at him, utterly serious, “Please be honest with me.”

It strikes him that, for one whose trade is illusion and misdirection, Trucy values the truth very highly, and he can’t help wonder what caused this in one so young. Nor can he do anything but give her the honesty she requests. “I don’t know.”

This surprises her. “You don’t know?! How?”

“I’ve never thought about it. I’ve actively never thought about it.”

Her brow wrinkles in confusion. “Why not?”

“I was not raised to be… comfortable with emotions. I was told they were a weakness, so… I am not as familiar with them as one might expect a man of my age to be. In many ways I am still learning.”

“Oh.” She chews her lip, thinking it over, then gives a firm nod. “That’s okay then – a lot of my teachers say it’s important to keep learning even when you’re a grown-up, so it’s good that you’re doing that.”

He gives a huff of amusement. “So Dr. Heilen tells me.”

“Who’s Dr. Heilen?”

“A person who’s helping me learn to understand my emotions, amongst other things.”

“That’s good,” she nods again, assured in the way you can only be as a child, even one who has dealt with things such as she has. Then she bites her lip again. “That’s good, but… could you maybe think about it a little? Please? I’ll still be your friend, no matter what you answer!” she hastily reassures.

…it has been nearly two years since Miles realized he has some sort of strong feelings for Wright, nearly two years since a misguided if well-intentioned phone call from Larry sent his world to perfect grey scale. He is comfortable with the current status quo, but… there’s no real reason to not start sorting them out… “I will try,” he says at least, “That is the best I can offer at this time.”

“Okay,” she smiles again, slipping her hand into his, “Thank-you for telling me the truth.”

“You’re welcome.” Miles awkwardly opens the door with his suitcase in hand, unwilling to relinquish Trucy’s grasp for the moment, and they walk back to the cottage together one last time. He uses said time to carefully tuck his promise to Trucy a little to the side, out of his immediate thoughts. No need to risk making things awkward between himself and Wright in the last instants of this current endeavor, and it will likely be easier to confront in the safety and privacy of his own apartment.

This decision is not made easier by the fact that Wright is leaning over the front wall and waiting for them when they arrive back, grinning and waving something that billows in the air. “There’s my bright-shining Trucy! Look what I found!”

The young magician shrieks in evident delight and dashes over to snatch the scarf from her father’s hands. “And you checked-?”

“Yup, the clerk let me take it outside under supervision – one English sky blue scarf, as per request.”

“I can’t believe you found one! Thank-you, Daddy!”

Trucy launches herself over the wall to tackle her father in a hug, and he grunts but manages to catch her, then answer Miles’s inquiring glance. “She’s been looking for one since she noticed the difference – I said I’d keep an eye out.”

“I’m gonna find one in Los Tokyo sky blue when we get home,” Trucy adds happily, “And I’ll find a new one for each new sky blue I see, and I’ll label them which is which, and eventually I’ll have a whole collection of skies!”

“A unique plan,” Miles allows, letting himself in by the gate, “I take it you intend to travel, then?”

“Uh-huh, when I’m a famous magician and when Daddy’s old enough to take care of himself!”

“Hey-!”

Chapter Text

“Hey, Edgeworth? What should I do with the suits you got me?”

Miles doesn’t turn from where he’s packing his own bags. “You may take them with you, or I can hold onto them for next time you come over here.”

“Next time?”

“It’s happened twice and we’re us. You honestly think this will be the last time something like this happens?”

“Fair point,” a rustle of fabric as Wright leans on the doorway, “Do you mind holding onto them? I don’t wanna be a hassle.”

“It’s no trouble.” Finishing one suitcase, he looks over at the other man, “Though are you certain you do not wish to take one with you for formal events?”

Wright laughs. “Unlike you, the most formal events I go to don’t need much more than slacks, a button-up, and a sport’s jacket or nice sweater, and I have all of those. Some of us enjoy a little variety in our wardrobe, you know.”

Miles spreads his hands in a careless shrug before returning to his packing. “And some of us don’t particularly care about clothes as long as we meet proper standards of formality and decorum.”

“Heh, you know, I always wondered how you can wear the same thing all the time and not go crazy,” Wright moves further into the room, “Who’d have thought that I’m actually more interested in clothes than you?”

“Certainly no one looking at us in our usual attire.”

“Harsh. Probably true, but still, harsh.”

Miles chuckles, then looks over at his companion again. “I… I didn’t say this earlier, but… I do apologize if I overstepped my bounds with the grey cravats. Not for the cravats themselves, but for the colour. There truly was no ill will in that selection.”

“Honestly, I’m not even that upset about it anymore – that was a pretty great joke. Definitely getting a brighter tie for next time, though, the grey and brown felt kinda drab for me.”

“I would say you looked refined, but it is your decision.”

A faint streaking of colour rises in the man’s cheeks at this. “Uh, thanks. I, um. I’m thinking I’ll get a golden-yellow tie this time – it would look good with the brown, but we’d still coordinate pretty well, right?”

“It should be fine, yes.”

“Cool,” Wright smiles, heads back towards the door, “I’ll go grab my suits, then.”

“All right.” The man has a foot in the hallway when Miles grits his teeth and adds, “Wright?”

“Yeah?”

He keeps his back to him, the only way he’ll be able to do this. “The brown suits you very well, but… you look best in blue. It is my hope that, next time I require your aid, you will be able to use your old suit.”

The silence to this is deafening, full of instant regrets for touching on a subject they mostly avoid when-

“…thanks, Edgeworth. I hope so, too.”

Swallowing hard, Miles gives a stiff nod, unable to do more for the moment. “You were getting the suits?”

“Oh, right!”

Footsteps and the man is gone, and Miles sighs. What with stilted progress, an unsure target, and the realities of life and raising a child, Wright is entering his second year outside the legal system – far too long already. And Sebastian’s e-mails, while full of praise for some of his colleagues such as Klavier Gavin and the rising star of Simon Blackquill, retain ominous hints that the corruption Miles and Wright have encountered via Manfred, Gant, Blaise DeBeste, and Wright’s own disbarment may be growing… not stronger, but bolder. The legal system needs good lawyers, on both sides, it needs the confidence and belief of the people it is meant to serve, or else it cannot function properly. And loss of that trust leads to tragedies such as Simon Keyes.

Even more than that man needs the legal system, the legal system needs Wright and people like him, and Miles can only hope that this will all be over soon…

OoOoOoOoO

Wright is loaded into the back seat of Miles’s car with minimal fussing and a woebegone expression in direct contrast to the glee with which Trucy bounces into the front seat, snapping one last picture of the cottage on her phone as she goes, then another of Miles once he starts driving.

“Glowworm, ask before you take peoples’ pictures,” Wright moans from the upright fetal position he’s assumed.

“Mr. Edgeworth, can I take your picture?”

“Just don’t use flash while I’m driving – it’s unsafe.”

A bitter laugh echoes from the back seat. Miles and Trucy ignore it.

“Actually, I was kind of hoping there’d be a trial while we were here,” the young magician admits a moment later, “I wanted to get a picture of you in your court clothes, with the gown and everything!”

“Why ever would you want that?”

“ ‘cause Daddy said you looked really good in them.”

There is a noise like a dying balloon animal from the back seat.

“Oh.” Well. That is. “Is this true?”

“…”

“I can hear you sweating back there, Wright.”

“You have to keep your eyes on the road, you can’t prove anything.”

Trucy twists in her seat to look at her father. “He’s sweating.”

“…this betrayal will not be forgotten…”

“So… you do think my new court wear looks good?”

“Argh, yes, fine, are you happy now?!”

“Relieved would be more accurate.”

A rustle, and then Wright’s head pops between the seats to gape at him. “What?!”

“For goodness sake, put your seatbelt back on, you imbecile!”

“Fine, fine,” he retreats and there’s a click, “But seriously, what?”

Miles shrugs. “Black has never been my colour, nor grey of any sort in large quantities.” In all honesty, Miles isn’t entirely sure why people seem to consider him so attractive. Yes, he has a good facial structure and physical build, he’s not blind, and he keeps himself well groomed, but, well. Grey hair. Grey eyes. Pale skin due to a combination of genetics and mostly working indoors. Overall he’s rather monotone, not very interesting to look at – it’s one of the reasons he started wearing brighter colours, besides his fondness for them. If he hadn’t been absolutely certain that Manfred would kill him if he did, he would have started dying his hair when he was younger. Indeed, until this moment, he’d been under the impression his new court wear washed what little colour he has from his face, especially when paired with the black gown.

From the noises Wright is making in the back seat, this is apparently not the case. “Edgeworth, I don’t know who told you that, but whoever they were, they were lying. You wear black and grey just fine.”

“Oh. Thank-you. That is good to know.”

Wright mumbles something grumpy and unintelligible from his seat, then resumes his upright fetal position with a yeep as Miles takes a corner at a perfectly reasonable speed.

OoOoOoOoO

He cannot linger at the airport until their flight arrives – he still needs to drive himself home – but Miles does come in briefly to see the Wrights off and ensure nothing has gone wrong that they might require assistance with. Too soon they are at security, ready to head for their gate.

“Mr. Edgeworth?”

“Yes, Trucy?”

“Can I give you a hug before we go?”

“Uh- um- I mean- that is to say- …yes?”

She’s thrown her arms around his waist, face in his stomach, before he has a chance to reconsider, and this time he remembers to let his hands rest on her shoulders.

“Aw…”

A look up reveals Wright watching them with a sappy, vaguely wistful expression, and Miles huffs in exasperation but also holds out one hand in offer as he has observed others doing. “Fine, you… whatever you are, get over here.”

Much like his daughter, Wright doesn’t need telling twice, and Trucy lets out a squeak, then a giggle as her father moves to embrace both her and Miles at once, Miles’s own hands fluttering for a moment before shifting to Wright’s back. It’s an awkward, squished position, Trucy can’t possibly be comfortable like this, but it is also… very warm, a warmth in his chest that he rather likes. Letting them go, watching them go where he can’t follow them… the colours around Miles dim, just a little, unnoticeable if it were not for how sensitized he is to such shifts-

Turning on his heel, he exits the airport, heading back to his car – he has his own journey home to undertake and, sometime in the near future, a promise to Trucy to fulfill…

Chapter Text

July 2020

Miles gives himself a week to settle back into his usual patterns, then, on the first convenient day off, ensures his refrigerator is stocked and locks himself in his apartment for the day to make good on his promise to Trucy and really think about what Wright means to him. A pot of tea placed on a hot pad on the coffee table, Miles settles onto his sofa and leans back, finger to temple, considering.

First off, and above all else, Wright is important to him, quite possibly the most important person in his life. For pity’s sake, the man has saved Miles’s life both literally and figuratively, caused him to rethink and alter his entire world view in regards to his actions, existence, and profession. The debt Miles owes him… he could work all his life and never pay it back.

But… that is not a deciding factor. What- what if he… didn’t owe Wright? What if, from this day onward, by mutual agreement, he and Wright declared Miles to be debt-free? Would that change his intentions towards the man? He takes a few minutes to try and picture it, fully visualize the implications.

…very little, it would change very little. About all he can picture is that he would have to find new excuses to help Wright when he needs it-

…excuses?

…

…yes, excuses. The debt of gratitude he feels towards that man, it’s very real, as is the urge to repay it, but… it had not been a sense of debt that sent him to Wright’s side in Kurain, nor after the man’s disbarment. Both those times it had been concern, honest concern for the man’s well-being, a need to- to protect, defend, do anything to ensure the man’s wellness. He cares for Wright, very deeply. To the point where he stays up late or rises at odd hours simply for a period of direct communication with him, no trials, no true work, simply… conversing. It- oh.

Miles takes a deep draught of tea as it sinks in that, with one thing and another, he casually converses with Wright more than he does any other person, including his own sister. What’s more, he has now recently spent two and a half days and three nights directly in the man’s company, unable to escape it, and, after a brief period of separation, had swiftly found himself seeking it out again. He does not simply enjoy the man’s company, he takes great pleasure in it. They have… fun together, it is fun, comfortable, to spend time with him, even when Miles is unsure of societal customs for a situation or unable to properly handle his or others’ emotions, overall they are good times. And he wishes there were more of them.

So, at the very least, he feels a profound friendship for the man, indeed, it would not be untrue to say that he is Miles’s best friend. And… not even by dint of the fact that Miles has no other friends. There are Larry, and Kay Faraday, and Maya Fey, and… the man is a buffoon, but Miles has held onto his phone number and still answers when called upon for help, so… Gumshoe probably counts. Trucy… Trucy is a friend, but also something more, closer to how Miles views Franziska, but with subtle differences. The same can be said for Sebastian – the prosecutor is something of a student, something of a protégé, something… something of a young man who had been left with few allies and whom Miles would not ever see so harmed again if he has his way. Ray Shields… an ally, but a complicated one. Amends have been made, but a part of Miles still stings that the attorney’s reaction to seeing him for the first time in so long had been to greet him by the name ‘Manfred von Karma.’ A grim reminder that, no matter what he does, in the eyes of many, Miles will never escape Manfred’s stain.

…Wright doesn’t see him that way. Even when everyone else, even when Miles himself had seen only the Demon Prosecutor, that man had somehow managed to glimpse Miles Edgeworth huddled and terrified underneath it all, still trapped in an elevator and reliving a nightmare of his father’s death again and again-

He shakes his head, rises to take a lap around the living room and some deep breaths. Not only is this getting off topic, it’s straying towards topics he still prefers to avoid outside of Dr. Heilen’s office. A few more breaths, a mental replay of the Steel Samurai theme song, and he’s starting to feel steadier again, a glance at his trousers confirming that his colour vision either held true or returned before he thought to check if it had slipped (either one an accomplishment to be proud of in his current situation).

So, Wright is very important to him, his best friend and the one who most clearly sees him. Is there anything more to Miles’s feelings than that? He is not so naïve as to assume a powerful connection is automatically a romantic one, he’s seen too many trials involving friends or families not to realize the terrifying strength platonic emotions can carry. Does… does he even want to be more than platonic with Wright?

…

…he should probably try and think about the physical side of things first, if only because it’s a necessary factor in the equation he’s trying to solve no matter whether the answer is yes or no. And also if he starts with the emotions he’ll try and avoid the physical entirely. So. Does he want to have a more physical relationship with Wright? The man is undeniably attractive, if a little unconventional about the eyebrows, but those add interest to his face, much like his heterochromia, changing it to something unique, impossible to forget even when he was a boy and quite striking now that he is grown. …and he actually has a decent amount of pigment in his skin, which Miles is just the tiniest bit jealous of. And he really has no right to wear dratted polyester as well as he does. And- um-

Yes.

Miles finds him quite physically attractive, known and confirmed, but he’s seen attractive men before, it does not necessitate a desire to do more than look at them. It- …this is hard. Miles prefers to try and avoid having intimate or sexual thoughts about other people if he can, especially ones he knows. Not that he always succeeds, but… he tries, because it feels… invasive to think about them so, a disrespect to their privacy, especially when he is quite uncomfortable with the idea of anyone doing the same with him.

…

(What if it was Wright having thoughts like that about Miles?)

…

…Miles learns three things in rapid succession:

1. Apparently one intrusive thought is all it takes to melt a lifetime of excellent self-discipline like spun sugar in the rain, dropping his mind straight into a gutter he was not previously aware it contained.
2. He is very, very interested in a physical relationship with Wright if the opportunity ever arises.
3. Cold showers apparently work even if one if fully-clothed (though he did have the advantage of having left his jacket off today, so that probably helped speed up the effectiveness).

Half an hour later he’s in his pajamas, slippers, and winter house coat, drinking still fairly warm tea on the sofa, because he’s not catching a chill from having an ice-cold shower in July, and especially not for having one for the reasons that inspired this one! Anyway, strong platonic feelings, check. Interest in sexual intimacy, not a deal-breaker if no, but still, check. That just leaves, well. The final question.

Thus, at last, Miles turns all the way inward, to the metaphysical box that has held that strange, profound feeling he’s had for Wright since Kurain and he lifts the lid off, at last allowing himself to fully examine what he had wanted back then. And he had wanted- to run to Wright’s side, once his legs had begun working again, scoop him off the bed, hold him close, physically ascertain that it truly was Wright alive and well before him, to never let him go again, never let him be hurt like that again. To never leave, just stay, together.

And, as it turns out, the emotion has not simply been sitting alone in its box, no, with it come memories, of their triumphs in court both joint and separate, and the meals after, of being the first person Wright had called in his moment of despair, of a month made pleasurable simply by proximity to that man, how his joys and sorrows can bring colours and dimness to Miles’s own world simply by hearing of them, of- of potential. Possibility. Of knowing that they are already close, already have strong bonds of mutual trust, care, concern… and wanting to see how much stronger they might get, how much more they might become to each other. To be able to hold him close and know he’s safe whenever he wishes because he needs him to be okay, because the thought of him potentially being with Iris had hurt when it crossed Miles’s mind in Kurain, because that is what Miles wants to be to him, because he-

…oh.

Because he loves him.

He loves Wright.

Phoenix Wright?

Phoenix.

…he’s in love with Phoenix, and he has been for a long time…

How… strange; it feels strange, and a little uncomfortable, and very, very warm, deep in his chest, and oh, so that is why people speak of candles and fires and flames when they speak of this emotion. It is… not so bad. He could get used to this. He would like to get used to this.

But… not just yet.

Miles isn’t very knowledgeable about this topic, but he does know that romantic relationships are difficult, complicated, and that love can cloud the mind. He has made great personal progress according to Dr. Heilen, but he feels there is farther he needs to go, more he needs to learn, before he risks what he currently has with Wright on romance. And Phoenix… he needs a clear head to deal with Kristoph, clear his name. The feeling is good, possibly even mutual if the way certain pieces are now clicking into place in regards to some of Wright’s behaviours and comments in prison (…that sounds wrong), but the timing is bad, for both of them. There are too many things that still need endings before he risks a beginning of this magnitude.

Thus, with a deep sigh, Miles carefully folds the feeling, the love, back up and returns it to its box as best he can. It has kept this long – it can keep until such a time as it has the chance to properly grow and develop, a chance to be successful. And if it withers before that chance comes… his current relationship with Wright is still good, still strong and meaningful. And in the meantime…

In the meantime, perhaps it’s time to start growing more comfortable with physical contact again, and learning what he needs to do to become capable of being in a healthy romantic relationship…

Chapter Text

Naturally it’s not so easy as all that; Miles acknowledging his feelings is not the same as quite knowing what to do with them. Indeed, at first it’s awkward – awkward and confusing, tiny gestures and shifts of Wright’s voice suddenly gaining new layers of meaning, an acute awareness of his own feelings and reactions to these things, the utter disinterest said feelings for Wright have in staying in their dratted box in spite of having lived there just fine for the past few years, blasted things, this whole situation is one his life has left him entirely unprepared for. It is a strange, new thing with unruly edges that he doesn’t quite know how to handle. Indeed, the first time Wright had called him after Miles made his realizations, the man had gotten as far as, “Hi, Edgeworth,” before Miles panicked and hung up on him. Twice. He’d blamed a bad connection, but he’s not quite sure Wright bought it.

Then, for once, a couple weeks after his realization and during a session with Dr. Heilen, he suddenly realizes… this is not new. It is not a new emotion he’s experiencing, he’s been aware of its existence since Kurain, it may even have been around longer. He simply has a name to go with it now, an understanding of why he’s grown to enjoy seeing Phoenix blush and why the man’s happiness has become so much more important than it once was. There is no need to be awkward, he’s been dealing with this for years. Loving Phoenix for years. And with that realization something… settles. Relaxes and calms, truly accepts that he’s not going to act on this right now, that he has time to learn something of how romantic relationships work – or, at least how healthy ones work. It’s not a race, and if he hasn’t driven the man away yet, it’s doubtful he ever will, no matter what happens.

And, in the meantime, he can enjoy what he currently has with Phoenix and focus his attention on more pressing matters, such as convincing both Wrights that, yes, vegetables are a daily experience and not a weekly phenomenon.

“Quit ragging on me, Edgeworth, we eat vegetables, regularly, scout’s honour!”

“I saw how you ate in England, Wright, colour me skeptical.”

“A man’s dietary habits should not be judged based on how he eats when he’s abroad,” Phoenix sniffs, then rolls his eyes with a slight smile, “Honestly, I’m being a responsible dad and making sure Trucy grows up big and strong. I’m even cutting back on how often I eat at Eldoon’s and making sure I keep my bluffing skills in practice! Do you know how hard it is to bluff Trucy? Newsflash, it’s super hard!”

“If you’re looking for sympathy by admitting to lying to a young girl who so deeply admires your general honesty, I’m afraid you’re out of luck,” Miles retorts, folding his arms and tapping one bicep with a finger.

“Hey, you stop that,” Phoenix levels a finger of his own at Miles, “Trucy’s may be quick as a whip, but she’s also nine and not as wild about vegetables as either of us would like her to be. Either I stretch the truth a bit or she gets… I dunno, scurvy. The point is, not only would no court in the land convict me, it’s actually harder to do than win at trial sometimes and you should be nicer to me about it!”

“You poor man,” Miles offers in a tone that oozes false sympathy, but he can’t stop the smile now tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Jerk.” Phoenix sits back from his computer screen, folding his arms in a melodramatic sulk.

“Missing a few adjectives there, aren’t you?”

This gets a snort, “You know, no one believes me when I mention how self-depreciating you can be.”

“Acknowledgement of one’s flaws allows for self-growth and a superior overall performance,” Miles shrugs.

“A sound philosophy, but I’m calling you ridiculous on principle,” Phoenix’s eyes drop, presumably to check the time on his computer’s clock, and he sighs, “I can only stay for a bit longer, then I need to go make sure Trucy and Larry are actually working on her new set, not just distracting themselves with side projects.”

“I had been under the impression that Trucy was too disciplined for that sort of thing?” Miles props his chin up on one hand.

“Usually, but, well, Larry. Plus the consequences of leaving two seriously creative people alone together. …though she might also be subtly grooming him to be a temporary assistant in her show, just to spite me for not doing the job myself.”

Miles laughs at this, at the image it brings whenever the concept of Phoenix being a magician’s assistant is brought up and in bemused admiration for Trucy’s sheer tenacity in trying to get her father to accept a cut of her earnings. When he looks back at the screen the expression in Phoenix’s eyes is undeniably fond.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better. You’ve been really twitchy the last few times we talked, I was starting to get worried about you.”

…drat, he really was being as noticeable as he’d feared, deflect. “I was under the impression that you were always worried about me.”

“Good point, I was starting to get more worried than usual about you.”

Miles chuckles and shakes his head. “When did it become normal for us to constantly worry about each other?”

“Hey, speak for yourself, newbie, I’ve been worrying about you since I was literally nine. And I’m turning twenty-nine in a couple months!”

“With all that seniority you must be positively ancient. Should I be getting you a support pillow for your aching back?”

Phoenix holds up a finger, opening his mouth to retort, then lowers it again grumpily. “While I know you’re making fun of me, that actually does sound really good, yes please.”

“I’ll make a note of it. Give my regards to Trucy and the idiot, will you?”

“Sure thing! See ya ‘round, Edgeworth!”

“See you later, Wright.”

OoOoOoOoO

18 July 2020

M Edgeworth: I have finished reviewing the case you asked me to and e-mailed you my thoughts on the matter, so you should be receiving them shortly.

M Edgeworth: Oh, and Prosecutor DeBeste?

M Edgeworth: ….

M Edgeworth: Happy Birthday.

Sebastian D: Thank-you, Mr. Edgeworth!

M Edgeworth: You are 19, correct?

Sebastian D: Yes – Klavier and Simon are taking me out for supper to celebrate.

M Edgeworth: You are on a first name basis with them now?

Sebastian D: Yes! We’re the three youngest members of the Prosecutors’ Office, so we’ve wound up together a lot. They’re both very interesting to converse with.

M Edgeworth: Oh. Well, congratulations.

Sebastian: Thank-you!

M Edgeworth: You’re welcome.

OoOoOoOoO

Miles had known this was coming. He’s known for a long, long time, and if he’s not as prepared as he’d like to be, he has only himself to blame.

Only himself.

…

…well, himself and the ramifications of June and the identification of his profound feelings for Phoenix had cut into the time he’d set aside for planning this, but the fact remains that it’s the last week of July and Steel Kon UK is the second weekend of August, and Miles is not feeling secure in his preparations at all. Yes, he’s done some research on proper convention preparation tips and etiquette, arranged for the time off (including a few days after the ‘con’ is over for the recovery time every article agrees is necessary if you can get it), but still…

Another look in his bathroom mirror has him squirming with embarrassment at what he’s wearing.

Jeans.

Sneakers.

A grey t-shirt.

An unbuttoned long-sleeved shirt of dim purple, dusty blue, and grey, because it’s been nearly two decades since he wore short sleeves in public for any reason and no.

…

…he will admit, he looks almost alarmingly different dressed like this, he wouldn’t expect it of himself in another’s shoes, but… he- it- his version of ‘casual clothes’ are just old suits no longer fit for court wear. They’re comfortable and convenient. Denim is a very strange texture on his legs in comparison, and the t-shirt… it’s like he’s walking around in one of his undershirts for all to see, and there is a strong urge to hold shut or button up his over shirt. And he’s planning to go out in public like this, how do other people manage it on a daily basis, it’s mortifying.

 …at least he decided to follow Dr. Heilen’s advice and try wearing it around the house a few times to get accustomed to it (not that he’d actually told the doctor why he was considering trying a new look, but the advice he received is proving sound). Also, ugh, he’s wearing shoes in his apartment, yes these sneakers have never been worn outside and thus are perfectly clean, but it still feels wrong in this situation, and they fit strangely compared to his usual oxfords to boot.

If Phoenix’s exploits avoiding reporters are to be believed, no one should recognize him in the event he meets someone he knows there, but still. This convention had better be worth it, or Miles is giving Maya a piece of his mind, whether she deserves it or not! In the meantime, he’s obviously going to have to do this a few more times before he gets there…

Chapter Text

August 2020

Trucy pouts at him over the video feed as Miles fails to do a coin trick. “You haven’t been practicing.”

“I have so! Some,” he tacks on at her skeptical eyebrows, “I still fail to see why it is so important to you that I learn this.”

“It’s an important life skil!” Trucy harumphs, then covers the headset’s microphone to call over her shoulder, “Daddy, come show Mr. Edgeworth how to make a coin disappear properly!”

A few moments later, Wright appears in the camera frame and Trucy unplugs her headset so they can both talk to him. “Hiya, Edgeworth! Behold, nothing up my sleeves!” he holds up a fifty-cent coin, then proceeds to send it flickering in and out of existence, not as deftly or fancily as Trucy can, but still, even knowing how these tricks work, Miles still can’t spot them. At the end Miles gives a polite but sincere round of applause.

“Bravo, you’ve gotten much better at that.”

Phoenix rubs the back of his neck and grins. “I’ve got a good teacher.” He ruffles Trucy’s hair and she glows.

“Indeed. Perhaps you might explain to her that some of us are simply not as dexterous as others?”

“Tell her yourself,” he replies, bemused.

“I have, she doesn’t believe me I’m calling you in as a witness.”

“If you say so,” Phoenix turns to his daughter, “Edgeworth’s never been very good with his hands, even when we were your age. Hey, remember the time we did origami in art class?”

Miles can feel his face heating up. “…I had forgotten that.”

“Forgotten or repressed?”

“Yes.”

Both Wrights laugh, and they chat as a group for a bit longer before Phoenix steals the headset from Trucy and requests some private conversation with Miles. The man’s demeanor changes the instant his daughter leaves the room, the relaxed air vanishing in a moment, and Miles sits up straighter.

“I take it you have news?”

“Kay stopped by last night,” the man nods, serious but also thrumming with some sort of nervous energy, “She thinks she may have a lead.”

That is news indeed, sending him leaning towards the screen. “On Kristoph?”

“On Zak.”

Just two words, and they send him reeling. There hasn’t been so much as a whisper about Zak’s whereabouts since his disappearance, and for Kay to tell Phoenix this… “You realize she only reveals solid information of this sort, correct?”

“Yeah,” comes the nod of confirmation, “She said it’s tenuous, but from a reliable source, and she’s setting aside Kristoph to focus on this for the moment. Edgeworth… if she can find him, if we can set up a meet, this could be a game changer. This could be the missing piece that pulls it all together.”

“…have you told Trucy?”

“Not yet. It’s still pretty up in the air at the moment, I don’t want to get her hopes up only for it to fall through. I- I don’t know what that would do to her.”

“The psycho lock?”

“Psyche-lock, and yeah, she still has it. Still not really crying, either, no matter how many times I tell her it’s okay to. But I will let her know if things get more solid – she’s involved, she deserves to.”

Miles nods, then peers at Phoenix, trying to get a better look at his expression through the camera feed. “Are you well?”

“Honestly?” he runs a shaky hand over his hair, “I’m terrified. Things have been going so slowly, and then suddenly this? It’s a shock. If it all goes right… I could be able to get my badge back. I could be a lawyer again, not just because that’s how I think but an actual, practicing lawyer in my home country. I was beginning to think it might take another year, maybe more, but… this could be all over by this time next year.”

Over. After nearly a year and a half, Phoenix is both right and correct, for all Miles’s fine words at the beginning it has been beginning to feel like this ordeal will never end. To suddenly have a glimmer of light after so long chasing shadows… it is a relief, but also such a shock that it’s hard to process, like the world is trying to desaturate and brighten both at once. He doesn’t even notice he’s gripping his arm until Phoenix inquires as to his own well-being in concern.

“I’m fine,” Miles assures him, folds his arms so the grip is less noticeable. “Merely a touch overwhelmed. Very pleased to hear all this, though.”

“Thanks,” this brings a tired smile back to Phoenix’s face, “Guess I won’t be able to consult for you anymore once this is all over, though.”

“I don’t see why not, as long as you’re not working defense for the same case. Indeed, if anything you’ll be more qualified than ever once you’ve got your badge back.”

“Oh.” The man blinks, then smiles a little brighter. “I’d like that. Even without the exotic locals, it’s fun working on cases with you.”

“That… is good to hear, as the feeling is mutual.” Phoenix stares at him long enough after this that Miles starts to colour self-consciously (was that too forward? No, it can’t have been, he’s said such things before, hasn’t he? HASN’T HE???) “Is, ah, is something wrong?”

“Hm? Oh! No, just…” Phoenix’s expression makes him feel warm inside for some reason, “You’ve changed is all, since the first time I saw you in court. In a good way,” he hastily reassures.

…this does nothing to make the colour in Miles’s cheeks go away, deflect. “More like the boy you used to know?”

“Not… exactly,” Phoenix frowns, thoughtful, “But you seem… happier? No, more- more comfortable, I guess. Less like you’ve got something to prove. It’s good to see.”

“Oh. Thank-you.” Miles hesitates, then chuckles, “Honestly, you haven’t changed a bit since we were boys.”

“Aw…” Phoenix looks put out for some reason, but Miles just shrugs.

“Always rushing in to the aid of others, seeing the best in people, giving your full effort to any task you dedicate yourself to… you never change, Wright.” It doesn’t feel so uncomfortable to acknowledge how highly he thinks of Phoenix to the man himself these days, at least occasionally. Hiding entirely that he cares feels… less important, somehow.

Also, when dropped out of the blue like this, outside of personal crises that require motivational encouragement, compliments tend to make Phoenix turn a rather delightful shade of red, which he does right on cue in reaction to Miles’s assessment. “I- uh- um- er- I- I’d be careful there, Edgeworth. Don’t want to build me up too much, I’ll get used to it.”

“Ah, but if I don’t build you up, however can I knock you down when we finally face each other in court again?” Miles smirks.

Phoenix responds to the challenge in a flash, that old courtroom grin making a reappearance. “Getting a little cocky there, aren’t you?”

“Next time we stand on opposite sides of the bar from each other in court I have every intention of destroying you.”

“I’d like to see you try!”

“Oh you would, would you?”

They both wind up thoroughly distracting themselves with this debate and forgetting both the time and the fact that they’re not currently in court until Trucy rematerializes and announces that “It’s past Mr. Edgeworth’s bedtime,” and also that he is found guilty of staying up too late when he has work in the morning, thus ruling in the defense’s favour and awarding said side a hundred dollars. It’s a testament to how caught up in their… call it a debate he is that Phoenix actually lets her count the twenties into his hand and flourishes them triumphantly at Miles before he realizes that he’s been inverse-grifted. Miles ends the call with an amused snort and the words, “NO, TRUCY, THIS IS YOUR MONEY, YOUR MONEY!!!” and “NO TAKE-BACKS-IES!!!” ringing in his ears.

Chapter Text

Miles arrives at the convention center on Thursday August 6^th in one of his dark grey court suits, though with a grey vest rather than a wine one, and a collared shirt with a black tie. If he’s doing this, he’s not making the stupid mistake of showing up in his signature look and colour and just hoping it goes smoothly. Check-in to his room is simple, and there’s a booth for those who pre-registered with the convention to pick up their badges and such in an area nearby. Noting its location, he first goes to his room, then emerges twenty minutes later, feeling far less secure than he would prefer in his ‘disguise.’

He’s taken some measures to prevent overspending, though he doubts that will be a problem – he already has most of the boxed sets of the different series and currently available literature he wants, and those are the only forms of merchandise he’s really interested in for the most part. His phone is charged, he’s got a new satchel to carry it, his wallet, and any paraphernalia he might wish to have with him (the website mention a convention map and schedule – both sound useful). He has ID and his room keycard and is dressed to blend in.

He can do this.

…

…it takes two false starts before he manages to unglue his feet from the carpet outside his room (he blames the sneakers) and make his way back to the sign-in area, and a physical effort to not keep reaching to adjust the jabot he isn’t wearing (his neck is bare and he is in public, it feels wrong). Not to mention, in spite of wearing them a few more times at home, his jeans still feel foreign, and his long-sleeved overshirt and untucked t-shirt feel loose and drafty. At least standing in line isn’t so bad – he’s queued for theatrical releases and to pick up pre-orders that could only be acquired in-store before, it’s not so bad. The tricky bit, indeed, the most dangerous part of this whole operation, comes only when he reaches the head of the line.

“Name?” a slightly bored volunteer asks as he reaches the check-in table.

Deep breath, no reason for her to have heard of him, most people outside of the legal world haven’t, and that is the majority of the global population… “Miles Edgeworth.” And he holds out his driver’s license for verification.

There is a spark of something in her eyes as they flick between his ID and his face, oh no- “Miles, eh? I have a cousin named Miles, small world. Anyway, this your first con?”

He blinks. “How…?”

“You’ve got that ‘terrified new guy’ posture,” she gestures at him, then offers, “You don’t have to put your actual name on the badge if it makes you uncomfortable – lots of people use nicknames or ‘net handles, it’s fine as long as it doesn’t obscure the badge and isn’t obscene or anything.”

Miles nods stiffly, neatly writes on the proffered slip of decorated card stock, slides it into its plastic sleeve, and hangs the lanyard around his neck. Moments later he has a bag with the promised map, schedule, and some flyers, and he’s loose in the crowd again, then heading back to his room feeling slightly more secure now that he has a pseudonym in place and a chance to look over the schedule ahead of time in private.

And tomorrow, the Legal Samurai takes on Steel Kon UK 2020.

OoOoOoOoO

Maya Fey: Well??? What’s the con like???

M Edgeworth: I don’t know, I haven’t gone down yet.

Maya Fey: IT’S BEEN OPEN FOR LIKE HALF AN HOUR WTH ARE YOU DOING IN YOUR HOTEL ROOM????????

M Edgeworth: Enjoying a late breakfast and getting a few last case files dealt with before going to the opening ceremony.

Maya Fey: …the opening ceremony isn’t until 1 pm, I have the con schedule open in front of me, don’t try to lie, that’s two and a half hours away that’s TWO AND A HALF HOURS YOU CULD BE ECPERIENCING OF CON LIFE WASTED ON PAPREWORK!!!!

M Edgeworth: In contrast, it is one in the morning in Kurain – you should be asleep.

Maya Fey: Nah, got an all-night ceremony, I’m not allowed to sleep anyway, ‘sall good.

M Edgeworth: I have a strange feeling that you are not supposed to be texting in the middle of this ceremony.

Maya Fey: Conveniently enough, the creator of said ritual never had an opinion on using cell phones, and I’m the head of the family so what I say goes.

Maya Fey: Also she reincarnated so we can’t just channel and ask her and Sister Bikini didn’t think to check my hair for contraband, so I’m in the clear.

M Edgeworth: I cannot help but feel this is still in contradiction to the intentions of what you’re supposed to be doing right now.

Maya Fey: You don’t even believe in this stuff, what do you care?

M Edgeworth: Touché.

M Edgeworth: Now if you’ll excuse me, I have paperwork to do.

Maya Fey: DON’T FORGET TO GET ME ONE OF THE CON T-SHIRTS, PLS!!!

M Edgeworth: I make no promises.

Maya Fey: Meanie. :(

OoOoOoOoO

Miles leaves his room with plenty of time factored in for taking the stairs (naturally) and getting self-conscious about his attire (unfortunately). …maybe he should have gotten a hat after all, he had thought wearing one would stand out too much, but plenty of people here are wearing all sorts of things, from Steel Samurai caps to costumes that would look out of place on the set of the actual show due to being higher quality, which is frankly staggering. The cosplayers are also the ones garnering most of the attention from people outside their own groups; no one really looks twice at Miles. This is good, but also more than a touch strange – he had not realized how accustomed he is to so generally being watched by others. It is a humbling but also liberating experience.

In spite of all this, however, it is somehow not until he’s seated and the opening ceremony actually begins, and the entire auditorium goes wild as the Steel Samurai season one opening theme starts playing, that it really sinks in for him that every single person here is also a huge fan of the series, just like him. He’s used to either being an outlier or encountering a theatreful of people at most, many of the latter consisting of families humouring their younger members. But now… there’s a few hundred people in this room, more buzzing around the corridors and attending various panels and demos, a line waiting for the vendors’ hall to open, even a few well-populated rooms set aside to simply play back-to-back episodes of various seasons and series for the entire convention!

Sitting back in his seat, he folds his arms and allows a trickle of genuine excitement to start flowing as the host begins the welcoming speech. It seems Maya might indeed have been right to steer him towards this and, if that turns out to be the case, she might very well be getting that shirt she’s so keen on having after all.

OoOoOoOoO

Maya Fey: Okay, opening ceremony is over by now, what you doing first?

M Edgeworth: Having lunch, there are some promising restaurants nearby.

Maya Fey: What? WHAT? No, no non ono no, you can’t jsut do that, ou just fot there, you have to do stuff, the first days alredy oalmost half over! DX DX DX

M Edgeworth: I still need to eat, and it should not take long.

Maya Fey: GOOD!

M Edgeworth: Completing the case file I was working on earlier may take longer, though.

Maya Fey: Case file?

Maya Fey: What case file?

Maya Fey: TELL ME YOU DID NOT BRNG WORK WITH YOU TO THE CON!

M Edgeworth: Miss Fey, I am doing my utmost to uphold the truth these days.

Maya Fey: YOU ARE THE WOEST, THE AVTIAL WORST, IM CHANGING YOUR CALLER ID TO EDGEWORST, THERE, DONE, I HOPE YOUR HAPPY!!!

M Edgeworth: You cannot imagine my joy.

Maya continues to rant angrily into the chatlog, and it is with a certain amount of amusement Miles watches while carefully eating the extremely inferior sandwich he’d procured at one of the convention center’s dining rooms, then switches his phone off. After all, the panel speaker’s just gotten on stage, and Miles has always been weak when it comes to hearing professional martial artists talk about the combat forms used in Steel Samurai.

Chapter Text

The rest of the afternoon goes on the positive side of how he thought it might – the panel he’d texted Maya from is excellent, and from there he goes to an equally excellent one that goes into further detail on some of the mythological and folkloric elements referenced and touched on in the show. The latter is especially interesting, as Miles has always found it a somewhat impenetrable subject when he attempts to look into it outside of direct reference books; there are simply so many variations on such things depending on the place and era their stories are being told in, and it’s easy to get confused (feudal law is so much more comprehensible, really, it’s a marvel anyone’s made any progress at all in regards to researching folklore).

The need to stretch his legs asserts itself after this (he’s climbed six less staircases than usual today, that’s quite a chunk of energy left unspent), so he takes a turn around the vendors’ hall and artists’ alley. Neither hold much to tempt him, but it’s enjoyable to simply browse, see items in real life that he has previously only seen in pictures, take in the sheer abundance of it all, and make mental notes of a few things he might acquire for Maya a little later. The only thing he actually purchases is the requested Steel Kon UK 2020 exclusive t-shirt, since if the mystic is to be believed they sell out relatively quickly. And, honestly, she’s been offering more and more outlandish bounties for one since he confirmed (and swore her to secrecy over) the fact that he would be attending unless some unavoidable situation came up. Indeed, this is part of why he’s been so vague in regards to whether he would be purchasing one for her or not.

Well, that and the fact that her desperate flailing over the past months has been entertaining for him personally. Personal amusement is also why he doesn’t get her a medium-sized shirt, even though there are plenty left. After all, why would he do that when Maya has the potential to be a small medium in a large? (And she has the gall to claim he has no sense of humour…)

He makes a brief stop back to his room after this, both to put away the shirt and to simply sit and breathe for a few minutes after the sheer… presence of so many excited fans in close proximity. It’s a strange combination of heady and overwhelming, and it’s a relief to get a little quiet before heading off to another panel.

Then another.

He’s just coming out of one on how Steel Samurai has impacted the tokusatsu industry (and writing down the titles of a few other series that sound like they might be worth taking a look at), when he chances to look towards a window and realize that not only is it getting late, but the convention center restaurants and food areas will likely have closed for the evening, meaning he’ll have to look farther afield for a source of sustenance.

And that’s where his plans go… awry.

Everywhere that’s anywhere near the convention center is packed with con attendees on the same mission as Miles to the point of there being extensive waiting lines, forcing Miles to linger around other people for an extended period of time. Which would have been fine, he charged his phone for a bit while he was in his room, except, well, he ends up standing quite close some other con attendees while in line for the Vietnamese place he’s settled on, a group of friends by their interactions. One of whom had referred to the legal system within the Steel Samurai universe as an ‘unholy mess,’ and, well. The fact that there is a coherent structure to the in-universe legal system has always been one of Miles’s favorite parts of the show, and he says so before he can think better of it.

And… somehow this does not lead to hostilities. Instead, he’s invited to join their group to dine, and supper takes place amid a hearty discussion of the topic laced with these new people also trying to trip him up or find flaw in his findings. They fail – if one takes proper time to study it, the legal system in question breaks down into a near-exact blend of 50% modern Japanaforian law, 40% Japanese feudal law, and 10% made-up laws to account for the fact that Neo Olde Tokyo has people like the Steel Samurai, Pink Princess, and Evil Magistrate existing there. Miles has been tracking it as a hobby since he first started watching, and it’s honestly a very interesting topic. Maya has also found it interesting to discuss, but, given her relationships with both her sister and Phoenix, that’s not so surprising – he honestly hadn’t thought anyone else would find this topic at all interesting.

Yet they do. And discussing it with other people like this is… enjoyable. Absolutely terrifying, but… enjoyable. Also surprising when, after paying his share of the cheque and expressing his plans to attend a few more panels before turning in for the night, two of the group members accompany him – a curly-haired woman with a light Scottish accent and a man who is either Asian or has strong Asian heritage (and also a more than decent cosplay of the Steel Samurai’s civilian form, complete with a cloth veil to imitate the shadow always cast over the hero’s face thanks to his hat and careful cinematography). The two of them are going to the same panel. For some reason they wish to accompany him there.

…

…this is very strange, he’s used to Maya and Trucy being the only ones interested in discussing Steel Samurai minutiae with him, and due to being in such different time zones they rarely have the time or opportunity to have a discussion lasting this long. Is this how socially capable people make friends? He hopes not, he’s trying to keep a low profile, exchanging contact information is not conductive to this task. This does not stop him from getting drawn into a new conversation about the special attacks and moves of various characters on their way back to the convention center and then the appropriate room. Or from sitting with them at said panel (purely so as not to be surrounded by strangers). Or from joining another conversation at the end of the panel (Maya prefers the cartoon remake to the anime and Trucy hasn’t seen either, so he doesn’t usually get a chance to talk about it).

He’s not quite sure how he ended up rejoining the rest of Fran and Fan’s group (“Yeh, I’m Fran Bhoy, he’s Fan Gal, yeh, those are our given names, and yeh, we’re datin’.” “Couple of destiny!”) in a bar. And especially not how he came to have a row of three shot glasses in front of him.

“Oh, oops, sorry, Legal,” Fan winces at Miles’s expression, “Counted heads at the table, forgot you’re not a regular with our convention gang. We can spread ‘em around if you don’t drink. But, uh, if you have one, you have to have the other two as well.”

“…what are they?” The middle one is… very pink. And the one on the right is nearly black. And the last one is grey. And glittery.

“Steel shots,” Fran says enthusiastically, “Samurai, Princess, and Magistrate – a grand old Steel Kon UK first night tradition!”

It is… tempting to give it an attempt, if only because he’s enjoying himself and does not want to cause offense, but he’s never done shots and has little experience with mixed drinks. Thus, “I had best not,” he gently pushes the tray away, “I do not wish to make a fool of myself by mistake, and have little experience with harder alcohols.”

(Actually, he only has one experience with them – when he turned eighteen and was at last legally allowed spirits. Manfred had sat him down with a bottle of vodka, made him drink ‘til he couldn’t stand, then debated law with him for over an hour afterwards. On top of this, Miles hadn’t been allowed anything for the resulting hangover the next day, not even time off. Since then Miles has stuck exclusively to wine and beer and been extremely conscientious of his intake rate. It’s probably the only instance of what could be counted as physical abuse towards him from Manfred, but as a result he’s never been tempted to seek solace from the bottle even at his lowest point, so another instance of the man inspiring obnoxiously conflicting feelings, damn him.)

“Dibs then,” Fran cheerfully snags the tray and pulls it next to her own little row of now-empty glasses, unaware of Miles’s thoughts.

Social interaction successfully navigated, he orders himself a beer instead (advantages of Europe to America – proper beer readily available) and settles back into the conversation. Then somehow just… never makes it back to his room. To the convention center, yes, through the halls with the group he is now vaguely part of, back to their shared room with every intention of returning to his own any minute now, any minute-

-he falls asleep in an armchair, wrapped around his satchel, conversation flowing on around him even as he does so.

Chapter Text

Miles wakes up stiff, disoriented, and very embarrassed when he realizes he’s not in his own room, not to mention the fact that the rest of the group he’d met the previous day is already awake.

“Don’t worry about it,” the yellow-haired woman – Zap, that’s what the others had called her – comments, offering him a sealed bottle of water from a twelve-pack in one corner of the room, “If anyone had really been bothered by it, we would have woken you up.”

…he’s never understood how other people can meet and just… instantly get along – this has never been the case for him at any point in his life. If not for that mockery of a trial, it’s unlikely he, Larry, and Phoenix would have ever made friends, what with Miles’s solitary nature, Larry’s troublemaking, and Phoenix still struggling with being the new kid in a class that had known each other for several years now. It’s a pleasant, novel experience to be accepted so quickly and easily into a group, to meet people as himself before they meet his reputation, before they form assessments of him based on one of the titles he’s picked up over the years.

Which is probably why he ends up loitering in the hall while the rest of the group gets changed so they can all go to breakfast together. There’s a few spaces in the schedule where nothing particularly grabs his attention, he can go and shave the-

…ugh, being here is doing things to his head, he was actively considering going out in public unshaven of his own free will, absolutely not. He knocks on the door and requests to either borrow a razor or meet them downstairs. Fan lets him in and the other man in the group – a dedicated Crimson Archer crossplayer called ‘Streamer’ for reasons Miles is uncertain of – lets him use one of the disposable ones he’d brought with him. “I can’t get over the fact that that’s your natural hair colour – I thought you dyed or bleached or something!”

…at least he didn’t just assume Miles was much older than he is, like so many do… Still, “Grey’s not that uncommon."

“It’s pretty uncommon,” Fran calls from the bedroom.

“Yours is bright pink,” Miles counters.

“Not my natural colour!”

“…oh.”

“Ignore her,” Fan says from where he’s helping Streamer with his costume, “Her natural colour is dark pink, she does bleach.”

Miles glares at the bathroom door, since the women are changing on the other side and he can’t go out.

“Legal’s glarin’ at you through the door, Fran,” Streamer calls.

“Meh!”

“Actually, he looks legit terrifying – change faster, I’m scared,” Fan chips in.

“Glare back, he’s more scared of you than you are of him!”

“I assure you, that is not the case,” Miles says coolly when the other man glances at him. Fan doesn’t have a magatama, he can’t prove anything.

Indeed, the man swallows, then yells, “FRAN, TELL CINDY AND SHIRLEY TO HURRY UP!”

“How come you’re not yelling at Zap?”

“Because we all know she’s finished by now!”

Miles rolls his eyes and leans against the bathroom counter, musing that he probably has Phoenix to thank for the fact that he’s barely registering the madness going on around him.

OoOoOoOoO

He splits off from the group again after eating (and agreeing on a meet-up spot and time in the evening if they don’t see each other again during the day) to wander around some more, and also because clean clothes. Not that it will be overly obvious to anyone else, seeing as he approached his going-unnoticed clothes the same way he approaches his usual wardrobe: find something he likes (or can at least tolerate in this instance) and just get copies of that. Much easier than having to choose each morning.

Another turn around the vendors’ hall turns up a CD of some of the more popular songs from the original Steel Samurai: Warrior of Neo Olde Tokyo series as performed by a full orchestra (too intriguing to pass up, in part due to all he’s learned about orchestras since gaining the acquaintance of Sebastian). He also stumbles upon a Pink Princess action figure of approximately the same size as the Steel Samurai one he uses for his photography. This alone is not enough to sway him… until he realizes that he realizes he would be able to take pictures of them going on walks and sight-seeing together, and then the next thing he knows is that she’s been paid for and carefully tucked into his satchel. Part of him has already made note of the fact that, with how the two figures’ hands are molded, a little careful positioning could probably produce a photograph wherein it looks like they’re holding hands and moved this to the top of his priorities for his next photography excursion.

The artists’ alley reveals a stall displaying several prints that he’s actually seen before, because Maya has sent him links to the artist’s blog over the years, often enough that he knows the woman running the booth is one of the mystic’s favorite fan artists. With the time he’s been having so far… he thinks Maya’s earned herself more than just her coveted shirt for putting him onto this, so he goes through the portfolio of available art on the table and selects several he remembers Maya rhapsodizing about. The artist thanks him for his purchase and smiles happily when he admits that they’re for a friend who is a huge fan of her work.

He’s almost out of the large room when he notices one booth is selling decks of cards, one featuring attacks and characters from season two, Trucy’s favorite thus-far. Honestly, he debates with himself for quite some time over these – he got Trucy cards last year, and he’s fairly sure constantly getting a person variations on the same present is breaking a rule somewhere. At the same time, the young magician has been having a wonderful time making up tricks involving the new pictures on her German deck, and he’d quite like to see what she’d do with a deck like this…

…he can get her something else as well, these are cheaper than the previous deck, it should be fine. He pays for them and, with a little quick walking, makes it just in time to catch the start of a panel on some of the more prominent side characters that started getting introduced in later seasons. If he ends up sitting with Shirley and Cindy, it’s because it’s more logical to sit with acquaintances than strangers and he recognized their cosplays (characters from another series made up to fit the Steel Samurai universe, or so he’d been informed this morning), nothing more. Afterwards he goes back to his room to drop off his purchases – he doesn’t want to risk the prints getting damaged from being carried around in his satchel.

While there he takes a bit of time to sit on the end of his bed and simply breathe. Miles has been to conventions before, and large social gatherings, but those were always formal or work-related things. This place… the sheer energy of it is immense, overwhelming even as it welcomes and draws in. The pleasure of being able to openly enjoy something so important to him… it’s intoxicating, but comes at the cost of feeling not quite himself. Liberating and terrifying both at once. For the first time he feels he might understand how people can behave so differently when granted anonymity – it’s a powerful force.

He considers staying on the bed a bit longer, but chooses instead to seek out food and find a place in one of the rooms where the various Steel Samurai series are playing. For now he’s here – he might as well experience as much as he can, including watching an episode or two with company for once.

OoOoOoOoO

Evening brings with it another encounter with Fran, Fan, and the rest of their group. He stands out more than he did the previous day, as he is now the only one not in some elaborate cosplay. Somehow – he’s not quite sure what happened even in retrospect – this leads to all of them sweeping out into the city streets to find a hat for Miles.

“Shouldn’t we be staying in the convention center…?”

“Nah, Legal, half the fun of these events is gettin’ to run around town in costume,” Zap assures him, “You just hafta take off your mask before you go in stores.”

And, indeed, they aren’t the only ones out and about, the city streets look dreamlike with all the cosplayers wandering around and taking pictures of each other, and the fresh air and open space are a relief Miles hadn’t known he needed. So he trails along, the hour-long ramble that follows ending with them in a combination vintage/second-hand store and Miles staring at the hat Streamer has just handed him. It’s a hunter green fedora, the old-fashioned kind with a wide brim and dark band, similar to the one his father used to wear. It probably says something about the surreality of the situation that he tries it on rather than handing it back.

The hat fits well and a look in a nearby mirror shows that it suits him – not a surprise, really, considering how strongly he takes after his father, however… it’s like looking at a stranger. No, it’s like looking into another world, at another version of himself, one not raised by Manfred, perhaps? Unthinking, he reaches up with a hand, adjusts the tilt so it angles forward over one eye. Dapper. It’s not hard to see his father in his own face these days, but it’s even easier to see the resemblance like this.

Somehow the thought is not as painful as he would have guessed it to be.

In fact, it’s rather pleasing.

He wears the hat out of the shop, along with a flowing white scarf he found to go with it, because damn the consequences, he’s tired of having this much of his neck exposed! And also because the Legal Samurai’s proper character design includes one, even if he’s the only one in the group to know it. That he knows is enough. This whole event is strange and surreal, and if he’s not going to feel fully himself, he might as well enjoy it.

Chapter Text

“So… nobility or straight-up royalty?”

“Hm?” Miles glances vaguely at Cindy from where he’s just set a timer on his phone for his tea (he might not be able to get the exact temperature of the hot water right using what the breakfast area of the convention center provides, but at least he can ensure he doesn’t over-steep it).

“Are you secretly nobility or just straight-up royalty in disguise?”

…Miles is going to blame the fact that he ended up spending another night on the group’s armchair (why did he even bother with a room?) that this question shocks him enough to knock over his mug of proto-tea, leading to a lot of hasty movement and serviettes being tossed on the spill. “I beg your pardon?!”

“We don’t want details or anything and we won’t tell – we’re just curious,” Fran adds.

“…is this why you allowed me to join your group?” he can’t help feeling a touch hurt by the idea, though Fan is waving his hands in denial almost as fast as the thought enters his mind.

“What?! No, Cindy came up with it last night after you passed out again, because she makes everything into a fairy tale, and… normally we all just ignore her for the most part at this point, except in your case it kind of adds up for once and no one can stop thinking about it,” he admits, leaning over to give him a reassuring clap on the shoulder, “You’ve got a neat perspective on the shows, and I’m still wowed you actually cracked the in-universe legal system!”

“Where did you even get the idea, then?” Miles responds, somewhat mollified by the explanation, because, honestly, of all the ridiculous ideas-

-six sets of eyebrows raised in near-perfect unison give him pause.

“You just have this… refined aura,” Cindy speaks up, fiddling with her serviette, “The way you talk and carry yourself – like a gentleman!”

“A really geeky gentleman,” Fran adds.

“I’m not that-”

“I’ve never seen anyone with better posture. And you carry a pocket handkerchief and brought your own fancy tea, mate,” Streamer cuts him off with a slight grin, “That’s pretty gentleman-y.”

“And your accent,” Shirley chips in, “You’ve got an English edge to yours, but there’s some other stuff going on in there as well – I think at least a slight German influence? I’m trained as a linguistic anthropologist,” she adds at his surprised look.

Well that’s a path he doesn’t want them going down, so, “I’m not noble or royal or anything of the sort – I had a formal upbringing that included elocution lessons with an English tutor, that is all.”

“…are you sure?”

Miles splutters, “Of course I’m sure!”

“Cindy!”

“What?” the woman pouts at Shirley’s reprimanding tone, “He could still be a long-lost heir or something!”

“We apologize for Cindy,” Fran says while maintaining eye contact with her friend in question, “She lives in the romance section of… everywhere, actually.”

Miles rubs his forehead. “Is the interrogation still in progress or may I safely leave to get some more hot water?”

“Nah, go for it,” Shirley assures him.

He does so, seating himself awkwardly back at his spot and glancing around as the new cup steeps. “You are… not going to press further in regards to my name or occupation?”

Streamer shrugs. “Honestly? We still don’t have the answers for those about Zap, and she helps run my website.”

“I am a woman of mystery.”

“Anyway, it’s con – it’s got its own ruleset. You wanna keep anon on? It’s cool.”

Cindy apologizes for getting carried away, and then the conversation shifts to how Steel Samurai characters change depending on what language it’s being shown in. It’s a topic Miles has never particularly considered before, and Shirley is more than happy to have a new set of ears, Streamer adding opinions here and there as they finish breakfast. Afterwards they all head off to attend a few more panels and take a last turn of the vendors’ room and artists’ alley before the closing ceremony. A group photograph where Miles pulls his new hat so low that his eyes aren’t even visible and that… is that. As promised, they don’t even press him for contact information, Zap just hands him a business card for Streamer’s website and says he can contact them through that is he wishes to.

“Just call yourself ‘Legal Samurai’ and we’ll know it’s you – most of the SS fandom doesn’t pay that much attention to the in-universe legal system at this point, so you’ll stand out. Anyway, you coming again next year?”

“Quite possibly,” he hedges.

“Well, if you do, tell us and wear the hat and scarf so we can find you and hang out again! It’s been fun.”

“…all right.”

They make their good-byes, he tips his hat, and then he heads back to his room to pack up for his return home.

OoOoOoOoO

One would assume it would feel restrictive to return to his usual attire after several days in more casual wear, but mostly what Miles feels is a sense of relief to be back in a suit again, the only real regret that he can’t also re-don his jabot until he gets home (because he’s not slipping up with all this and getting recognized at the last minute, either).

Stepping into the street with his luggage is like waking up from a dream, one that was exciting and enthralling, but not always comfortable and also quite tiring. He’s glad he’s not returning to work until Thursday and… he thinks he’s glad he came. Yes, yes he is, this has been an enjoyable experience overall – perhaps this is why other people are so keen on vacations? He’d been half thinking of donating his disguise clothes somewhere once he was done with them, but once he’s back in his apartment he finds himself instead putting them in the laundry chute and preparing a space in the back of one of his drawers for them. There’s also the matter of googling how to properly store a fedora, which he’ll definitely have to do soon.

For now, however, he finds himself settling down on his sofa in three-quarters in one of his around-the-home suits and an old jabot, a glass of wine on the coffee table and a case file on the cushion next to him, a smile on his face. This is his world, and he’s glad of it, but… the world of the convention had been fun to visit. And he might go back. And if he does, he’ll need proper clothes…

OoOoOoOoO

Maya Fey: Hi Edgeworst, finally got time to text you again – those twenty-four hour ceremonies really take it out of you, plus my phone battery died and I kept forgetting to put it on the charger because sleep deprivation, plus we got an inrush of clients over the past few days. Busy busy busy.

Maya Fey: Anuway please tell me you actually went to some panels or something, pls, I need to live vicariously through you, it’s the only way I’m ever going to go to Steel Kon UK.

M Edgeworth: And the truth of your informing me of it finally emerges.

Maya Fey: Hey, it’s not like I thought you wouldn’t enjoy it, I wouldn’t have told you at all otherwise, sheesh, but last I heard you were doing paperwork instead of con stuff!!! :(

M Edgeworth: Oh that.

M Edgeworth: That conversation was an example of what we in the legal profession refer to as ‘leading the witness.’

Maya Fey: I- what?

Maya Fey: Wait…

Maya Fey: YOU PLAYED ME!!!

M Edgeworth: Like a violin.

Maya Fey: AGJODAUUKYSD!!!

M Edgeworth: I did, as it happens, attend those panels you mentioned about cosplaying on a budget and the influence Steel Samurai has had on the tokusatsu genre.

M Edgeworth: I took notes.

Maya Fey: Everything is forgiven, I want details!

M Edgeworth: I scanned them a few minutes ago; they should be arriving in your inbox soon.

Maya Fey: You are my new favorite don’ttell Nick

M Edgeworth: My lips are sealed.

Chapter Text

Miles knows when Maya’s package arrives in Kurain because she actually calls him and screams in his ear. Then promises him a lifetime of free channelings and also a position of power in Kurain.

“I’m afraid I must respectfully decline. Besides, I was under the impression that men were not… particularly welcomed in your village?”

“Yeah, but, see, that’s a problem,” Maya replies, “We need women and men – too much of one or the other and the spiritual balance is thrown off. Not to mention what it’s doing to our society. I mean, look at Pearly.”

Miles’s brows knit. “What about her?”

Over the phone Maya sighs, and the sound is older than her twenty-one years. “There’s a reason she’s so obsessed with romance and ‘special someones,’ you know. Nine out of ten heterosexual Kurainese marriages fail, Edgeworth, and so do five out of ten homosexual marriages with outsiders. I grew up around a lot of heartbreak and broken homes, and now Pearly’s doing the same thing.”

“…this has to do with her determination to see you and Wright wed, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah. It- I’m pretty sure we were the first healthy male-female relationship of any sort she ever saw – her mom kept her pretty isolated, you know? And she knows I’m interested in having a family and kids at some point, and… I’m pretty sure it’s her way of trying to keep me from ending up one of the nine out of ten.” There’s a groan and a sound like a head thumping against something solid. “One of the big reasons I’m not stopping her like I probably should.”

“I have wondered about that.”

“Yeah. It’s really hard to crush the dreams of someone that much younger than you, who also thinks the world of you, and who also happens to be your cousin, and who also happens to be dreaming about you being in a healthy, loving relationship, which you would not in fact be against if it weren’t for who they think you should marry.”

“Mm.” the silence drags on, and Miles slowly realizes she’s waiting for him to speak. “I’m afraid I don’t have much to say on this topic – romance is outside my area of knowledge.”

“Yeah, but you like it,” he can hear the smirk in Maya’s voice, “You like it a lot.”

“I take mild pleasure from its inclusion in media.”

“Uh, yeah, no, I’ve heard you talk about the Steel Samurai and Pink Princess’s romance arc, remember? And it’s one of the shmoopiest romances I have ever seen once it gets going!”

“…I thought you liked it.”

“Edgeworth, I adore it, it’s like shonen and shojo got together and had a baby, but I bet you actually cry during the wedding episode where they say their vows and touch foreheads!”

He does. “I do not.”

“It’s a bad idea to lie to a psychic, Edgeworth.”

“I’m not lying,” he lies through his teeth (purely out of self-defense), “And you have insisted numerous times over the years that you are ‘not that kind of psychic’ and also that you’re not even sure if your ‘spiritual powers’ even count as psychic powers in any case!”

“Geez, why ya gotta go calling a lady out like that with her own testimony?” Maya huffs, but drops it.

She no longer tries to convince him of the ‘truth’ of her abilities; he no longer accuses her of being a fraud. Something happens when she or her fellow mediums ‘channel spirits,’ but he cannot accept that it is truly communication with the deceased. It raises too many questions that have no solid answers, and which he is uncomfortable even asking. Thus he is grateful that she seems to have accepted this and, ironically, it has left him more open to the potential that he might one day change his mind on this topic.

“Anyway, I love the shirt, wearing it now, it’s my new marathoning uniform, you’re awesome! And I can’t believe Suekane-sensei was there and you met her!”

‘…who?”

“Suekane-sensei! The artist you got me prints from – which I’m framing, by the way! You must have hit a lull in the crowd, I hear her booth usually has a line – she’s fandom famous, you know, and she actually works in the industry!”

“She’s an actor?”

“Artist – she does character design for a different series. Did she say anything?!?”

“She thanked me for the purchase and wished me an enjoyable convention.”

“Awwwww~ you should have stayed and talked to her!” Maya moans, “This was a chance in a lifetime!”

Miles raises an eyebrow even though she can’t see it. “You wish me to have engaged in casual conversation with someone you admire.”

“…on second thought, you made the right call, good job on that.”

“Imagine my relief to have your approval on this.”

“Uh-huh, keep it up and I’ll tell Nick you’re sassing me.”

“It’s amusing that you seem to believe he would be at all surprised.”

“Fine, keep it up and I won’t let you have a position of power after all in my new village order when I complete my mastery and come fully into leadership!”

“Oh?” Miles’s brow crinkles, “I was under the impression that you were already the leader of your people.”

“Eh,” though he cannot see it, he can easily picture Maya making a ‘kinda sorta’ gesture with her free hand, “In practice, mostly, in official standing, not quite. The head of the Fey Clan, and Kurain itself by default, has to be an official Master of the Kurain Channeling Technique, and I haven’t completed all my trials – I’m not even close to going to Khura’in yet. Talent and strength aren’t enough – you have to put the hours in, too. I’ve got a few years at least until then.”

“Ah. So you are unable to truly effect change at the moment?”

“What? No, I’m already making changes, there’s just some stuff I have to be the official clan head to do,” she says, her tone casual, offhand, “There are soooo many marriage laws that are getting kicked out the door when that happens.

“Like how if a marriage between a Kurainese woman and an outsider man breaks up and any girl children have to stay in the village and any boy children have to go with the dad? Yeah, that’s history. They don’t even have the chance for visitation rights, it’s gross. And I-” she takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, “I didn’t even know that until I had to take on my title. I thought mine just… didn’t want us. We just get told, ‘men and boys who leave Kurain don’t come back.’ But if I don’t start making small changes now, people will never go along with it when I’m master and start making big ones.”

“…are you not concerned that someone might overturn your position before you’re fully secure in it?” he asks, rising as quietly as he can to begin silently pacing, removing emotion from his voice by venting it through movement.

“Aw, Edgeworth, are you worrying they’ll run me out of town? That’s sweet. Completely unnecessary, but sweet.”

He’s practiced the art of deflection often enough himself to recognize when it’s being used on him, even if Maya’s methods differ from his own. “I fail to see how it is not a danger if you are already over-turning long-held practices in spite of resistance.”

“Okay, one, I’m not just kicking stuff over randomly – I know you gotta go slow and methodical with this stuff if you want it to last properly. And two… it’s in their best interests to keep me around, and they all know it.”

“How so?”

There is a strange calm to Maya’s voice as she responds. “Well, if they tried to throw me out, for starters? I’d leave. And I’d take Pearly with me because, fun fact, I have custody of her. That right there’s already pretty bad, we’re the two strongest talents in our generation, Kurain wants us, and not only because our leaving would make a big mess of the line of succession.

“And I wouldn’t just leave. After that I’d come back, and I’d sue them for everything they had, including rights to the Kurain Channeling Technique, and, another fun fact, as de facto clan head, I know where all the skeletons are buried, so I’d win. And then I’d open my own Channeling service and school, and not only would they not be able to stop me, I’d be more conveniently located and undercut all their rates for any services they managed to keep providing. So, yeah. Better to leave me where I am.”

Miles doesn’t even bother trying to be quiet this time as he drops back onto his sofa, free hand running through his hair in shock. “Gott im Himmel.”

“Kurian’s got a lot of problems, Edgeworth, and I’m the boss, so they’re my responsibility. They can accept relatively gradual, steady change, or they can watch me tear everything down around their ears,” Maya’s voice is steady, but there is an underlying thread of pain he can just barely hear running through it, “But they don’t get to just leave things as they are. Leaving things how they are is how Kurain dies, Edgeworth, and I’m not letting that happen. Not on my watch.”

Miles is silent for a moment, digesting this. “I would not have expected such a strategy from you.”

“Yeah. It’s… not something I want to do if I can avoid it, but, I mean… I grew up around clan politics and lawyers. I can walk the walk and talk the talk if I need to.”

“You take your responsibilities to your home very seriously, don’t you?”

This earns him a hint of a smile in her reply. “I am Mia’s little sister, you know. Was there ever any doubt?”

“Last time we exchanged texts you were debating whether to make hamburgers or miso ramen the new official food of Kurain.”

“And I was very serious about that!” Maya objects, moving back into her more normal tones, “And I’m still not sure which one I should go with! I mean, obviously I’m leaning towards burgers because, duh, burgers, but ramen’s really good, too, and we’ve got a lot of vegetarians in Kurain and it’s easier to make really good vegetarian ramen than burgers, so-”

Chapter Text

September 2020

Miles is on his way back from a photography outing when he spots it. Though it has been a learning curve, he’s finally getting the hang of posing his new Pink Princess figure on unsmooth surfaces – her smaller feet, different joints, and different center of gravity have made the experience he has from posing her male counterpart rather less useful than he’d thought it would be, but still. He’s gotten to the point where he finally got her in a pose that was worth taking a picture of; a bit more of this and he thinks he’ll be ready to try for that hand-holding picture that inspired her purchase in the first place.

Pleased with this, and with the excess energy he almost always has to burn on his days off (one would think there are only benefits to not having to climb a couple dozen flights of stairs or so over the course of a day, but of course it’s not that easy), he’d decided to take a turn around the shopping district of Anwaltsstadt before returning home. With the seasons turning, the shops are putting up new window displays, full of bright, autumnal colours, which add interest to a long-since memorized route. This is also why a splash of cooler colour amidst the abundant warmth catches his eye and, after taking a moment to confirm that what he is seeing is accurate, he enters the shop without hesitation.

The scarf from the window has the smooth heaviness of fine silk and almost certainly more costly than appropriate, but, the thing is, she likely doesn’t know enough about high quality silk to tell, and Phoenix definitely doesn’t, so as long as he removes the label and ships it in a generic box, they’ll never know. And the colour is exactly right, too perfect to pass on…

Thus, Miles wraps the deck of Steel Samurai playing cards he acquired at the convention, adding an extra note with the scarf before he wraps that as well.

For Trucy, a German sky. Happy birthday.

OoOoOoOoO

P Wright: Call me as soon as you have the chance – big news!

M Edgeworth: What? What’s going on?

Instead of a reply, Miles’s phone starts to ring and he almost drops it in surprise before he can answer. “Wright, what in the world-”

“Kay’s made contact with Zak. She’s negotiating a meeting.”

Miles finds that he has somehow come to be sitting on the floor of his office. Odd.

“Edgeworth? You okay over there?”

“When?” he asks instead, and only after several false starts.

“October. I don’t have a specific date or time yet, but October.”

“I see. I-” it is as though all his words have vanished, leaving only fragments and static in their place, and he shakes his head, trying to jolt something into place. “I- good god, Wright.”

A faint laugh echoes back to him. “Yeah, that was about how I reacted when she told me. Try not to punch another hole in the wall, okay?”

“It wasn’t a hole, it was a dent-!”

“Aaaaaaand there you are!”

He has no interest or use for awards, but if he did then Miles would almost certainly demand one for the restraint it takes to not insult Phoenix at this moment. But he manages a deep breath, regains his feet, and releases most of his temper. “How are you going to keep this from Kristoph? You’re still meeting with him, I understand?”

“Yeah, too suspicious to break it off and, hey, free food. And it’s satisfying to watch him try and be graceful about still not being able to beat me at poker. I’ll just tell him that I’m still nervous about Trucy being in 6^th grade – which, honestly, I am, it’s a heavier workload and you know Trucy.”

“She doesn’t like to subtract from her duties, only add.”

“Yeah – she gets that from you, by the way.”

“Nyngh?!?”

Wright laughs at him, “Joking, joking. Anyway, I’ll tell him that, and that my investigations aren’t going the way I want.”

“He’ll spot a lie that bald,” Miles says, still disgruntled over the man’s jest, but also making a fair point.

“Nope, that’s actually true,” Phoenix shoots back.

“How so?”

“For starters? I want to meet with Zak tomorrow, and to also have a whole bunch of decisive evidence for the case suddenly come to indisputable light. It’s been a year and a half almost, I’m ready for some answers.”

Miles is quiet a moment. “…you’re getting rather good at double talk.”

“…yeah, I guess I am.” A sigh and a creak that Miles recognizes as Phoenix’s sofa cushions. “Ugh, it’s necessary at the moment, but I don’t like that I’m turning into a better liar because of all this, and don’t try to rephrase it or reframe it or anything, because at the end of the day I’m still lying and I still don’t like it. Cards on the table, I’m really glad we’re better friends now; it’s a relief to have someone who knows the whole story, that I can be straight with.”

Knowing exactly what Phoenix is saying, but also remembering the man’s own joke moments prior, Miles makes the conscious choice to reply, “Does that mean we should stop flirting with each other?”

He can just about hear Phoenix’s brain explode over the phone, followed by a garble that the man likely intends to be a coherent sentence, but which really isn’t. When the man pauses to draw breath, Miles cuts back in.

“Calm yourself, Wright, I kid.” He has no intention of stopping, even if making that comment nearly resulted in an example of mutual destruction. It’s not like he teases Phoenix like this frequently, in any case, or as if Phoenix doesn’t do it as well. Miles just knows when he’s actively flirting with Phoenix now. Most of the time.

“Joke! Yes! Because that is what we do sometimes, gee wow, lookit the time, gotta get to work, talk to you later, Edgeworth!”

Miles stares at the call ended message on his phone and wonders how the hell neither of them noticed this sooner. In his own defense, Miles is emotionally stunted and subpar on picking up social cues, but Phoenix is supposed to be good at this sort of thing, what’s his excuse?

…then again, Miles himself isn’t always the most… expressive individual. He is… fairly certain that he’s scowling less often, or at least less deeply, but it’s hard to tell unless he’s looking in a mirror, and he has enough rumours circulating about his supposed vanity without doing that all the time. Another thing he needs to work on. If he is frank, sometimes it feels like every time he turns around there’s a new personal problem he needs to deal with-

A stray glance brings his jacket sleeve into sight – dimmer than its true colour, he’s spiraling. With conscious effort, he closes his eyes and breaths, then moves to begin making a cup of tea. However slow it is, he is still progressing, steadily, and Dr. Heilen assures him that steady is preferable to hasty, easier to maintain, powerful in its cumulative effect. And, even moving steadily, there will be setbacks. There will be stumbling points and tripping into old habits. Those too are part of the process, moments to acknowledge and walk through, not harshly censor himself for. He is moving at his own pace, no one else’s…

While his tea is steeping, he unlocks his phone again and texts Phoenix.

M Edgeworth: I am glad to hear this news and for you, Wright.

P Wright: Thanks. I can’t believe you made that joke, though, are you trying to fry my brain???

M Edgeworth: So that’s what that sound was, I had wondered.

M Edgeworth: And to answer your question, no, I am not, as I am aware of how much you need it for your current endeavors. I have no intention of doing anything that would throw you off your game.

P Wright: …you know he’s not that dangerous, right? I mean… yeah, still really dangerous, but I’m outside the system he has most power in right now and he’s still the top DA in LT. He doesn’t have lulls or much down time, running the office, managing his employees and students, running his own trials, very busy guy.

P Wright: And he doesn’t know what I’m up to.

P Wright: He might suspect, but no proof.

M Edgeworth: Does anything actually penetrate that cloud of optimism surrounding you?

P Wright: Do you WANT it to?

M Edgeworth: Not really.

P Wright: And you call ME ridiculous.

M Edgeworth: You ARE ridiculous.

P Wright: I’d like to see you prove it!

M Edgeworth: ….

P Wright: No wait, I lied, the defense concedes.

M Edgeworth: Excellent. I would have hated having to call a child to testify against her own father.

P Wright: …yeah, I’m hanging up on you now.

M Edgeworth: Objection, you can’t do that, we’re texting.

P Wright: CLICK!

M Edgeworth: For pity’s sake, Wright.

P Wright: I can’t hear you, I hung up.

M Edgeworth: And you have the gall to claim you aren’t ridiculous…

Chapter Text

He’s not quite sure how it happened, but Miles’s communications with Sebastian have begun to include the occasional regular phone call in recent months as well as e-mails. Texting was tried for… approximately half a conversation. Given the young man’s vocabulary trouble, auto-correct is not his friend, so this is the more logical choice.

(When did his life start requiring him to schedule for phone calls with people not directly involved with his job…?)

“Deliriously- no, wait,” flipping pocket dictionary pages, more flipping pages, “Seriously, I’m not sure what I’m doing wrong,” Sebastian admits, frustrated and in a hurry because he’s on his lunch break, “And- and it’s Detective Gumshoe! The man’s almost impossible to offend! So how am I managing it so-” flip-flip-flip “-routinely?!”

Miles leans back from the desk in his apartment office. Quite frankly, if he didn’t know Sebastian, he’d say the boy was lying. Dick Gumshoe met Miles at his first official case as a prosecutor, after all, had stuck by him through the cruelest tempers of the Demon Prosecutor. How Sebastian DeBeste is managing to drive him off when Miles himself couldn’t… it boggles the mind. “What on earth are you doing to him?”

“I don’t know! I’m simply trying to be polite!!” Sebastian wails, “And they’ve started putting us on a lot of the same cases lately – I have to do something before it reaches catatonic proportions!”

“Catastrophic-”

“Drat it!”

“-and yes, you do,” Miles puts a finger to his temple, trying to recall all the times he’s seen Gumshoe upset that don’t involve illegal activity. “You haven’t been cutting his salary too much, have you? He’s used to managing on a low income, but past a certain point and it starts to cause serious problems for him.”

“No, no, that can’t be it,” Sebastian says firmly, adding just before Miles can confess to his bafflement, “I never cut his pay.”

“You… what?”

“I never cut his pay,” Sebastian repeats, confused, “He doesn’t have a huge salary to start with, and Simon says that positive reinforcement tends to work better than negative. So I tell him when I’m pleased with his work, and ask him to do better next time if he makes a mistake. Well, and I tell him what he did wrong, of course. But nicely! Klavier says manners are free, so it costs nothing to be polite.”

For a moment, Miles is silent. Then he lets his head drop into his hand with a groan. “Oh good grief…”

“Mr. Edgeworth?”

“That’s your problem,” he says, instead of groaning again as he wishes to, “He’s used to having his salary cut by his superiors if he does a bad job, to the point that if you don’t do it, he thinks you aren’t taking him seriously and gets sulky.”

“…that can’t be right.”

“I assure you it can,” Miles replies, recalling the one month he’d tried to be nicer to the detective after DL-6 had finally been cleared up, and how relieved the man had looked when Miles had finally snapped over a particularly bad mistake and cut the man’s salary by half for the remainder of the case.

‘Had me scared there, sir – I was starting to think you didn’t care what kind of job I did anymore!’

From there it had become a careful balance of figuring out the line between cruelty and perceived slight.

…it had resulted in an extremely strange few months…

However, Sebastian is not Miles. Socially maladept they both are, but the young conductor is a gentler soul, with a bad history when it comes to verbal chastisement… Miles taps his temple while thinking.

“Pay cuts are usually about a five percent decrease of his total salary for him these days,” he finally says, “He’s fairly accustomed to getting by on at least twenty percent less salary than he should have – under forty-five percent and it causes him actual financial difficulty.

“If you are uncomfortable with inflicting this punishment, however, simply reminding him that you will cut his salary if need be should be enough for the most part. However, you must remember, we are prosecutors – we see that those who do wrong are punished. If he does badly enough, it is your job as his superior on cases to dole out the appropriate punishment, and he knows it. He has been a part of the police force longer than either of us have been at our own jobs, he is familiar with how it functions.”

“…yes sir,” Sebastian says quietly, unhappy.

“That said,” Miles continues, “It is also your job to reward him for good work, as you seem to have been doing, and to make use of his talents. I… have never been skilled at this, and am likely in part at fault for the difficulty you are having with him. For this I apologize. If you seek to reward him in ways he will most appreciate… he likes to be useful. Sending him on errands like a lunch or coffee run are good, and he’s more than happy to give rides to those who need them. He’s also surprisingly good at building things – he’s got a rather good bug sweeper he made that has proven useful on more than one occasion.”

“Oh. All right!” Sebastian says, sounding much more cheerful now, then hesitates, “Though, it is a bit digressing- wait, no,” flipping pages, “-distressing too met out punishment to someone so much my senior in terms of experience.”

Amusement colours Miles’s tone. “Forgive me, Prosecutor DeBeste, but you began prosecuting when you were only seventeen, and only just turned nineteen this year. It’s going to be some time before you accrue as much ‘experience’ as Gumshoe has, and even then, unless he retires in the interim, he will still be outpacing you.”

“I suppose so,” the young man agrees, then hesitates, “Is it really all right for Gumshoe to be treated like this? With him being so used to being punished that he gets upset if he isn’t?”

“I’m afraid you’re asking the wrong source – Prosecutor Blackquill seems far more likely to understand what’s going on from what you’ve told me of him. He is a student of the human mind as well as the law, after all."

“True. Ah, no offense, Mr. Edgeworth. I might do that sometime. He’s a little busy at the moment, though – some long-term case he’s been working on looks like it might have a lead.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, he was telling Klavier and me about it the other evening – that is, he was telling us what he could about it. Mostly that he thinks he’s close to a break-through and is excited about it. Actually that’s all he said about it. He gives the-” flipping dictionary pages, a curse, “Er, a word for ‘to leave a mark,’ sounds a bit like ‘suppression?’”

“Impression?”

More flipping pages. “That’s the one, thank-you! He gives the impression that it’s a rather dangerous case to discuss, even with other prosecutors!”

Given some of the prosecutors he’s known, Miles finds this fair, but decides not to mention it. “You continue to get along with Prosecutors Blackquill and Gavin outside of working hours, then?”

“Yes, we go to lunch together sometimes – Simon turned twenty-one recently, that’s why we were out the other evening – Klavier insisted we celebrate. Did you know there are karaoke parlors in Los Tokyo? I didn’t – it was quite pleasant…” he trails off, quiet for a moment, then softly adds, “It is… nice, having friends I can do that with. Much better than how I got on with everyone at school.”

“Oh? And how did you get along with them?”

“Er, I didn’t, really.”

Miles snorts. “I sympathize. And I should go – you need to actually consume something beyond fluids during your lunch break.”

“I should be fine-”

“Have you ever reviewed the footage of State vs. Orger?”

“No?”

“I’m not surprised – one of my earlier cases, made memorable only by the fact that the defense attorney involved had been eating too lightly for several days and fainted mid-trial.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes – quite shocking, most unprofessional. Go eat your lunch.”

“Yes, Mr. Edgeworth!”

Miles should probably be annoyed at being hung up on like that, but all he can manage is an amused shake of his head. There might have once been a time when he was that young, but never so enthusiastic, so openly eager to please. It gives the impression of one much younger than even Sebastian’s scant number of years. Hard to believe he himself was only a year older when he began his own career, harder still to believe anyone had actually let him (when did twenty start seeming so young? He’d felt very much grown at the time).

At the very least, it’s a strange reassurance to know that Gumshoe is working with the boy. Even if their communication troubles continue, even if he isn’t much help on cases, the large detective will protect him to the best of his ability. And it is good to know that Sebastian is making allies within the prosecutors’ office; Miles still remembers sitting in that cell before Wright showed up and feeling utterly, utterly alone…

-he’d prefer it if Prosecutor Gavin wasn’t one of those allies, he still doesn’t quite trust the boy, but probably safer to be on his good side than his bad if Sebastian must be noticed by the rock star of the legal world. At least Prosecutor Blackquill seems reliable enough.

OoOoOoOoO

P Wright: Meet date with Zak confirmed – October 17^th!

Chapter Text

October 2020

“All your coworkers are fools…”

“-my colleagues are the most foolish of fools-!”

“…can’t even follow basic procedure…”

“-they cannot even follow the most basic of procedures-!”

“…in spite of their years of seniority…”

“-when they have been doing this job far longer than I myself have-!”

“…how they survived without you, you don’t know…”

“-how they managed without me this long I shall never understand-!”

“…Miss Andrews would do a better job and this isn’t even her field…”

“-Adrian Andrews would do a far superior job and she is a business manager, not an Interpol agent-!”

“…and also perfect in all ways and you wish you could see her in person more often…”

“-yes, and she is perfect in all ways and I do- wait a moment… MILES EDGEWORTH!!!”

“Hm?” Miles looks up from his paperwork to where Franziska is now seething down at him, “I apologize, but I am rather busy today, so I thought I would summarize your exultations over Miss Andrews’s virtues a tad – it is one of the longest parts of this script.”

His sister boils down at him, her face clashing with her hair rather terribly. “You-! You-!”

Miles gets through several more pages of text while Franziska abandons English to yell at him in her far wider and more colourful German vocabulary while cracking her whip furiously against the floor. When she finally runs out of steam, he stands slightly and looks over his desk to examine the results before returning his gaze to her. “I’m going to bill you to get those marks scuffed out, meine Schwester.”

“I will not pay,” she snaps back, arms folded, “Younger brothers should show proper respect for their elder sisters, you have brought this upon yourself!”

“Ah, but is it not the job of the elder to set a good example for the younger?” Miles sits back in his chair with a smirk, “Is your behaviour just now truly that which you wish me to emulate? And does not a responsible elder sister admit to her own wrongdoings and correct them herself, rather than forcing the responsibility upon another?”

Franziska seethes, but he can tell his arguments are having at least some effect. The vaunted position of ‘elder sister’ is one she’s clung to for sixteen years now, and she finds it highly gratifying that he goes along with this, acknowledges her as the elder, but at the same time it drives her wild when he uses it against her. Still, she has her own sense of honour, and a few more careful nudges will have her accepting responsibility and paying for the damages.

Unfortunately for both his floor and his wallet, Miles decided years ago that if he’s going to be a younger sibling, he’s absolutely going to be a brat about it. So, “Besides, is it not also the prerogative of a younger brother to mock his elder sister in regards to those she fancies?”

She goes pale and red with rage both at once and, oh yes, he’s definitely going to need to hire a professional to fix his floor- [“MILES EDGEWORTH, YOU ILL-MANNERED, UNGRATEFUL, POORLY-THOUGHT-OUT EXCUSE FOR A RECALCIENT MONKEY-BRAINED PARODY OF A HUMAN BEING-!!!”]

With the ease of long practice he tunes her out and gets back to his papers, doing his best not to smile. He should probably be more sympathetic, considering his own romantic predicaments, but, really, she makes it too easy sometimes…

He’s made it through a decent amount of work by evening and she’s calmed down enough to actually discuss the case that has her so frustrated, a long, drawn-out exhaustion of Interpol’s resources and agents involving some sort of disguise artist of a spy who’s supposedly either been in the area or will be in the area soon. Unless they’re not. They’re a mystery, a monster, no face, no name – Interpol calls them ‘Meursault’ for lack of anything better, though they’re called different things by different groups and countries. Franziska doubts that the criminal is near Germany, but with someone as dangerous as this, her superiors aren’t taking chances, and her knowledge of German dialects as well as the law makes her a natural choice for this assignment, so here she is. There’s not much Miles can do to help, really, beyond his best to avoid tripping over more dead bodies than usual (as if he does that on purpose) and keeping himself safe.

And because, for all that he enjoys teasing her, Miles is still a good brother, he is just listing some of the local restaurants that will likely tempt her fancy for supper when his phone rings. A glance at the caller ID has him raising an eyebrow and answering right away.

“Hello-”

“MR. EDGEWORTH!”

“Prosecutor DeBeste?” Miles had seen who was calling, but the inane response pops out anyway, “What in the world-?!”

“Mr. Edgeworth, it’s Simon,” Sebastian’s voice is a previously unheard combination of calm and panic, tears lingering around the edges like a bad omen, “It’s Simon, he won’t talk to me, he’s- he’s been arrested – for the murder of Metis Cykes! Except he can’t have- the girl said he was lying, but no one- he’s in jail, Mr. Edgeworth!”

“Sebastian, calm yourself,” Miles cuts him off, more chilled by this disjointed fear than tears or even outright panic would have left him, “You know at least one decent defense attorney, if there’s a witness vouching for him, and you yourself as a character witness, it shouldn’t be too hard to prove his innocen-”

“No, n-no, that’s the fling,” they aren’t using video, but Miles knows that tone of voice well enough to mentally see Sebastian’s face crumpling as he chokes back a sob, “Mr. Edgeworth… he confessed. Simon confessed. Sentence has already been passed down. They’re moving him to maximum security…”

OoOoOoOoO

(For most of Los Tokyo, the actual day of October 7, 2020 went unnoticed, as did the days in the court that followed what was dubbed the UR-1 incident. Another day, another trial, and most who do know about it are confident of the outcome. Simon Blackquill is new, but he is already making his mark – a good man, an honest man, standing firm against the tide of corruption that has been rising in the defense attorney population over the past year and a half, using his skills as a prosecutor and a psychologist to root out lies, forgery, felony. There has been a mistake, but it will be found.)

(It is not until the day after the trial that the articles begin coming out, announcing the verdict. Twisted Samurai: Simon Blackquill Kills Mentor in Cold Blood.)

“Hey, Edgeworth, it’s okay – I’m old news, remember? No one’s looking at me twice. Thanks for calling, though, I’ll tell Trucy you said hi.”

(As the days go, the articles start to get more generalized, more incendiary. Prosecutors’ Office Produces Another Criminal. Corruption is Nine Tenths of the Law. Public Faith in the Legal System at an All-time Low…)

“Simon refuses to see me, me or Klavier… And I had to stay home from work today, Mr. Edgeworth, and- and I’ve been told to stop wearing my badge openly for now. People are angry – a few cases of lawyers being attacked on the street have come in.”

(The people are angry. It is not that the crime is so heinous. It is not that Blackquill was so well thought of. It is simply one crime too many, one fallen champion too many. The system meant to protect them from criminals has turned out to be led and populated by them too often in recent history, and this is the snapping point. Now the people of Los Tokyo are restless, angry, and unsure where to direct their anger exactly, struggling to properly rage against a system that has already declared eventual death to the grenade pin of their ire-)

P Wright: The situation in the city’s gotten too volatile, Zak’s in the wind. It’s all gone wrong.

(And one man witnesses the populace’s helpless wrath and sees not problem but opportunity. Actions made in blind rage might be regretted later, but the damage is still done, and until then those so blinded will dance to the tune of cooler minds if properly guided. And newspaper articles are far less expensive than forgeries…)

(Two weeks after the UR-1 incident, another article comes out. The Dark Age of the Law: Who is to Blame?)

(And a target for the public’s anger is presented.)

“Edgeworth, someone tried to fire bomb Pru’s shop today and I’m pretty sure the only reason I wasn’t attacked on the street is that my hat was pulled low and- and I’m scared, they don’t know about Trucy yet, I don’t think, but it’s only a matter of time and-”

“Wright, calm down, breathe, tell me what you need me to do!”

“I-! It-! Edgeworth, please… get us out of here.”

Chapter Text

There are times it is actually advantageous to having been raised an unfeeling bastard, and this is one of them. With ruthless efficiency Miles crushes down his own emotions and arranges plane tickets, paperwork, summons Gumshoe (ever-loyal) to see Wright and Trucy safely to the airport, acquires provisions enough to stock his kitchen for three people instead of one, contacts his superiors and informs them that he will be out for a few days on a personal emergency.

Once again the Wrights find him first when he goes to collect them from the airport. Phoenix is wearing a long red scarf with a matching hat pulled low over his eyes, and Trucy for once is completely without top hat or cape, draped in a man’s-sized grey hoodie with blue stripes running down the sleeves, a pair of familiar pink-lensed glasses resting on her hair and peeking out from under her hood. There is no attempt at a hug this time, merely subdued greetings as they go fetch their bags. Wright doesn’t even fuss at the car, and Miles drives slower than he usually does, the tension contagious and unpleasant.

It is not until they’re in Miles’s apartment, door closed and locked, shoes and hat removed, that Phoenix takes a deep breath and sags, looks so much like he’s going to fold up right in the hallway that Miles can’t not wrap his arms around the man’s chest, offer himself as a support. “Good lord, Wright.”

“Sorry- thanks, I- sorry…” Phoenix leans into him and holds on, shaking slightly with the release of stored fear.

“It is well,” Miles assures him, “I am here, it is well.”

A slight weight leans itself against Miles’s side, and he readjusts his grip, freeing a hand to reach down and let it rest around Trucy’s shoulder, drawing her in.

“For both of you, I am here. It will be well. One way or another, it will be well.” And if any tries to make a liar of him, he will show the universe how unwise it is to cross the sort of man it has made him into.

They stand like this for some time, quiet, as Phoenix presumably regains some mental equilibrium. Eventually he takes a deep breath and gently moves away from Miles. “Thanks for bringing us here. I- I was panicking, I didn’t know what to do, just… it wasn’t safe for me there, and Trucy could have been hurt…”

There is a small sound at that, quiet, but unexpected enough that it has both of them looking down to see Trucy staring up at her father, shock in her eyes. Then she sniffles again and a tear runs down her cheek. In a dazed movement she reaches up with one hand to touch it, stares down at her wet fingertip.

“Trucy? Trucy, what’s wrong?” Phoenix is kneeling before her in an instant, drawing her gaze back to him.

“It- he-” she shakes her head, eyes not seeming to track quite right, “He said that, too. It wasn’t safe for him, I could get hurt. You brought me with you, but you said that, and he said that, my other Daddy said that and- and- he left me.” And she bursts into tears, flinging herself into her father’s arms. “I didn’t want him to go, but he did, he left me, he- don’t leave me, Daddy, please, please, don’t leave me, I’ll be good, I promise, just don’t leave me-!”

And then she’s crying too hard to speak, sobs pouring out of her in a sound reminiscent of a shattering lock, and her father holds her tight, like nothing in the universe could ever make him let go, making sounds of comfort to ears that can’t hear words at the moment…

Eventually the tears either slow down on their own or she simply runs out, leaving her exhausted and clinging to her father as he loosens his hold enough to get her more comfortably situated in his lap, stroking her hair. “Hey, hey, it’s okay now, you’re my glowworm, okay, my bright-shining Trucy, my precious, precious daughter that I love so much. I won’t disappear on you, Trucy, and I will do my very best to never go anywhere you can’t follow if you need to, okay? I promise, okay? I promise.”

She’s started to shake now, but pulls back enough to hold up one hand, pinky extended, struggling to get the words out between still-ragged breaths. “S-super extra –s-pe-ecial-?”

He links pinkies with her. “Super extra special pinky promise.”

“O-okay,” she buries her face in his shoulder again, holding on tightly, albeit less desperately now, “Okay…”

“That’s my girl,” Phoenix soothes, scooping her up and standing, turning back to Miles again. “I’m kinda surprised you’re still here.”

“I was afraid to move, honestly.” That and leaving while Trucy was so obviously distressed had felt… vile, even in concept.

Phoenix chuckles. “Fair. You’ve already done a lot for us, but could I get a blanket for Trucy? She’s getting cold, it happens after a big cry like this sometimes. And I need to mix some saltwater for her, ‘cause the last thing you need after something like this is a dehydration headache.”

Well the man is a crier himself, he would know. Miles goes to get a throw from the living room. “The salt and glasses are where they were during your last visit – help yourself.”

“Thanks.”

Trucy doesn’t last too long after this, falling asleep at the kitchen table, still seated in her father’s lap, a mostly-drunk glass of salt water in front of her.

“I’m not surprised she’s tired,” Phoenix pushes the glass out of her reach then carefully shifts his daughter so she’s propped against his chest, “It’s been a heck of a month so far, and she’s been holding that in for a long time.”

“She’s not the only one who’s been having a rough month,” Miles points out from where he’s leaning against the counter, arms folded.

Phoenix laughs, quiet and tired. “Not right now, please. If I start talking about it now, I’ll be a mess, and Trucy’ll probably need a few days before she can handle me like that. Damn, it’s probably still going to freak her out, though…”

“Not necessarily.” Miles shrugs at the look Wright shoots him. “Franziska is in town at the moment, working on a case she can’t tell me much of beyond that it wouldn’t be hard for her to get a day off if she wished to. It wouldn’t be too hard to convince her to take Trucy for a day on the town so that we can converse more privately – she took quite a shine to your daughter last June, if you recall, and it has yet to wear off.”

“That… might be helpful, yeah. I’ll run it by Trucy when she’s feeling better.”

“Very well.”

They remain in silence after this, many words aching to be said, crowding out the potential to say any of the ones appropriate for this moment. Finally Miles pushes off the counter and heads for the electric kettle. “I am making tea. I will make a cup for you as well. It will be chamomile.”

“That’s your reaction to all this?” Phoenix asks, amused, “Make us fancy chamomile tea?”

“Of course not.”

“Are you sure? ‘cause it sounds-”

“You will be having chamomile tea with actual, medicinal value,” Miles speaks over him as he gets out the appropriate tin and a tea infuser, then reaches for the boxes stashed in the back corner of the tea cabinet, “I, on the other hand, will be having a placebo, and you will not be telling anyone I did.”

He doesn’t need to look to know that Wright’s eyebrows have nearly met his hairline at the sight of the box still in his hand. “You, Miles Edgeworth, professional tea snob, drink store brand tea?”

“I wouldn’t call myself a professional,” Miles demures as he brings down two mugs and adds the respective teas followed by hot water, “And some lawyers have a bottle of alcohol in their desk. This is my equivalent.”

“Cheap tea is your scotch?”

“We all have our foibles.”

Wright snorts, resting his chin lightly on Trucy’s head. “You’re a strange piece of work, Edgeworth.”

“I could say the same for you.”

“You can and do on a regular basis,” is the response, ghosts of the man’s usual cheer echoing in it, “So what’s the story behind this? And don’t say there isn’t one, because you, that tea, and the box of sugar cubes – yeah, I noticed those – are ringing a bell in my head, but I can’t remember why.”

For a moment Miles’s brows furrow, then- “Oh, of course. You already know about this.”

“About what?”

“Back when we were in school together, you recall sometimes we went to my father’s firm afterwards to do our homework?”

“And try to sneak along on any investigations he was going on.”

“Naturally.”

“And if he wasn’t busy, Mr. Gregory would make us sugar tea!” Phoenix continues the memory triumphantly, then shoots Trucy a guilty look to ensure he hasn’t disturbed her sleep (he hasn’t).

“Which was simply whatever tea was on sale the last time he’d visited the store mixed with four sugar cubes,” Miles concludes.

“Only you always snuck a couple extra, because you had such a sweet tooth,” Phoenix grins, not a ghost of one but an actual smile, “Heh, I haven’t thought about any of that in years – did you outgrow it?”

“The sweet tooth? No, simply learned to keep it in better check. Mostly,” he adds as he removes the tea bag from his mug and mixes in six sugar cubes.

Phoenix laughs at him. “Don’t you feel ashamed, adultering tea like that?”

“Given that this barely counts as tea in the first place, not a wit,” Miles replies smoothly, removing the tea infuser from Phoenix’s cup, tapping it twice on the edge, then setting it in the sink.

The man rolls his eyes at him even as he accepts the cup. “Snob.”

“Feh.”

“…remember the time Ray told Larry about his ‘memorization technique’ and convinced him to eat his history notes?”

Miles snorts into his cup. “I confess, I had forgotten that. He failed that test, did he not?”

“Probably. Definitely got sick from eating all that paper…”

They chat a little longer as they drink their tea, but the growing hour and his own stresses send Phoenix to the guest room soon enough to join his daughter in slumber. In the kitchen, Miles cleans away the three cups, sends a group text to Maya, Larry, and Gumshoe to reaffirm that Wright is safely settled in for the night, and then sends another message to Dr. Heilen’s office to see if he can get in for a few extra sessions over the coming weeks. He has a feeling he’s going to need them…

Chapter Text

Trucy is subdued the next day, still worn from her emotional outburst the day before and also clinging to her father in a way she usually doesn’t, independent and feline-natured as she is. She curls into his side as he makes phone calls, sends e-mails and text messages and basically does everything he can to make sure their entire lives haven’t gone up more in flames than they already have when they return to Japanafornia, whenever that may be. He contacts his landlord to confirm that he will still be continuing to pay his rent on time and wants to keep the apartment, Trucy’s teachers to arrange for her to get her schoolwork e-mailed to her so she doesn’t fall behind, even Gumshoe to reaffirm gratitude for getting the two of them safely to the airport and to confirm Charley’s watering and plant food instructions, since the detective had kindly offered to care for the plant while they were away.

The detective is actually also apartment sitting for Phoenix until they come back, a spur-of-the-moment thing that Gumshoe apparently suggested himself on the way to the airport, citing that having a cop staying there would help encourage at least some of the scum to stay away if Phoenix’s address gets out, and he confirms now that he’s still willing to do that, which leads to another phone call to Phoenix’s landlord to alert him to the arrangement.

(If Maggey doesn’t use the situation to get Gumshoe to give up his own atrocious apartment and move in with her after all this is done, Miles will be very surprised.)

Added to all this is the unsurprising but still harsh fact that Phoenix has no job to return to at the moment – even if Pru hadn’t had to let him go to keep her store and other employees safe, Phoenix would have left on his own to do just that. Finding a new one is… out of the question for the moment, for the same reason that it’s going to be some time before the Wrights can return to Los Tokyo, the situation is just too dangerous. So far Sebastian has remained safe, but from the e-mail Miles had received from him in response to his own confirmation that Phoenix and his daughter are with him, if things don’t settle down to a certain level, the city might just be a lost cause…

And through it all, Trucy remains by her father’s side, quiet, too exhausted for the moment to do anything other than simply be, unable to focus on anything other than her father’s constant, physical presence, on truly securing the knowledge that he is not leaving her, that anywhere he goes she will go too, that she will not lose another father…

As for Miles himself, his superiors had already known that the likelihood of his coming in today was slim to none, so he remains in his apartment for the most part, allowing the reality of the situation to sink in and drain away energy reserves that would usually have required him to go for a long walk or climb the building’s own stairs up and down until he can properly sit still. ‘At home’ does not equal ‘not working,’ of course – he has his office, and if there is one constant in the universe, it is that there will always be more paperwork that needs to be done. Besides, in a world that’s devolved into the worst kind of chaos, it’s relaxing to sink himself into something he understands inside and out, that he has a certain amount of control over…

OoOoOoOoO

The third day after the Wrights’ arrival and he can’t avoid the office any longer, and Trucy seems to have processed enough to be open to doing more than be her father’s shadow, though she’s still keeping understandably close to him. Thus Miles shows her how to work his television and the various paraphernalia involved in making it play DVDs, then, not without a little hesitance, reveals to contents of the cabinet to its left, where he keeps his collection of Steel Samurai boxed sets, and offers her use of them during her stay, should she so desire.

Phoenix, to his credit, doesn’t laugh for once, just shakes his head as Trucy gapes in delight at the many pictures the DVD case spines line up to form. “And to think I thought you were lying when you first told Will Powers that you were a fan of his work.”

Miles splutters. “Will Powers is a-!”

“Hey, hey, not trying to question his acting or anything,” the man holds up his hands in surrender, “I just absolutely couldn’t picture you as liking this stuff at that point, that’s all.”

This earns him a glower before Miles takes his leave for the day.

OoOoOoOoO

“Daddy?”

A week since the Wrights arrived in Germany, and Trucy is beginning to take initiative about things again, though she is still more subdued than her usual self. Miles has the feeling that she and her father have been having a great many conversations while he is off at work and, whatever they are about, it seems to be helping. Now she’s sitting next to Wright on the sofa, not touching, but close enough that it will take only a tiny movement to make contact. Once she is certain she has her father’s attention, she takes a deep breath and makers her announcement.

“My birthday’s in a few days, and I… don’t want to celebrate it.”

Instantly Wright’s expression fills with concern, enough that Miles drops his pretense of going through paperwork on his end of the sofa to pay proper attention as well. “Any particular reason for that, Glowworm?”

She shrugs, frowning slightly, “I dunno, it just… I don’t want to right now.” She chews her lip, looks away, “Could… is it okay if we do it later?”

There is a moment of silence as her father considers this, then shrugs. “Well, I can’t say I get it, but it’s your birthday, right?” Phoenix ruffles her hair and tucks her into his side in a gentle one-armed hug, “I want you to have fun with it.”

“Mm,” she nods, snuggling into him, “It doesn’t sound fun right now.”

“Okay. You let me and Edgeworth know when it does then, okay?”

“Okay.”

Miles can feel confusion furrowing his brow. “Wait, I’m included in this?”

“It’s your apartment, Edgeworth, this is obviously going to be impacting you somehow.”

Trucy straightens at these words, squirms into her father’s lap so she can put her hands on his shoulders and look him in the eye. “Daddy.”

He looks back at her, bemused. “Trucy?”

“Daddy, no matter when I celebrate my birthday this year, you can’t bake me a cake.”

“What?” Phoenix’s voice is distraught at this information, “Why not?!”

“Because Mr. Edgeworth is being very nice in letting us stay here,” she informs him, “And it would be really rude to set his kitchen on fire.”

Miles doesn’t see Phoenix’s next expression because he has to turn away at this point and cover his mouth to prevent himself from bursting into laughter, but he thinks it a safe bet to say the man is most likely displaying some form of betrayal at the moment.

“I would not-!”

“Daddy, I love you, but you can’t bake.”

“I’ve been-!”

“Mr. Edgeworth doesn’t deserve to lose his deposit because you put a scorch mark on his ceiling.”

“That was one time-!”

“Yeah, but it was a really recent one time.”

“I-! This betrayal shall not be forgotten!!!”

Ha, Miles wins his bet. Well, he can be gracious in victory; getting his expression into some semblance of control again, he turns back to the Wrights. “Would being allowed to aid in the creation of supper that night be an acceptable substitute?”

“Don’t patronize me,” Wright sulks, but Trucy’s giggling now and, given how serious his usually-smiling daughter has been recently, it’s no surprise that he soon concedes, “Fine, but I get to do all the cooking that night.”

“Very well,” Miles nods, turning back to his paperwork, “As long as you don’t attempt any baking.”

“Oh come on-!”

Chapter Text

November 2020

Two weeks after the article was published and Trucy at last feels comfortable enough to separate with her father for the day, especially if it’s with Franziska. It has been… a trying period. Miles isn’t close to many people, he’s never really had a situation where he has to choose between the well-being of two people he cares about. Trucy’s situation regarding her first father is just similar enough to Miles’s own tragedy that he cannot begrudge her current desire to remain close to her new father, reassure herself of his presence and affection in a way she has not allowed herself to before. If he had gone to a caring home, Miles might once have done the same. However Wright is also struggling, in spite of his insistence on helping with Miles’s paperwork while he’s here, and needs a chance to talk, to potentially break down as he had shortly after he was first disbarred, somewhere that Trucy won’t hear him and be further upset should he say anything in the midst of an emotional maelstrom that he would not otherwise have voiced anywhere near her, if at all. One needs proximity, the other space.

A dilemma.

It is fortunate, then, that both father and daughter are cut of fairly resilient stock, because if it had gone on much longer or Wright had begun to show greater signs of distress, Miles might have been tempted to step in and attempt to mediate and that…

…no. Simply no.

The less said or thought about it, the better.

As it is, Franziska arrives at his apartment door at nine sharp, her hair elegantly braided back (he hadn’t realized it had gotten so long), clad in black velvet and teal cashmere beneath a cream duster, her signature broach pinned neatly by her collar. “Trucy Wright. We-” and, wonder of wonders, Franziska hesitates. “Where are your cape and hat? Are you not yet ready for departure?”

Trucy shrugs in the overcoat she has on, dwarfed slightly by Wright’s red hat and scarf, both much too large for her but sure to keep her warm. “No, I’m ready.”

“I was given to understand that you always wore said articles of clothing on outings of any importance.” It’s not phrased like a question, but it is one.

“I- I didn’t feel like wearing them.” And that is an understatement. Beneath the sorrow and the hurt she has been finally releasing, there is also a strong vein of anger, and while her own diamond-shaped broach is pinned to the shirt beneath her coat, the hat and cape have been cast aside for the moment; she does not want to wear his colour. Miles empathizes – it is hard to come to terms with feeling so divided towards a person. Zak is her father; she loves him. Zak left her behind with no word; she is hurt and furious with him. A painful dichotomy. “They were getting too small anyway.”

“Hm.” Franziska purses her lips and taps a finger to them, considering. The arrangement of this outing had included telling her as much of Trucy’s current situation as the young girl had felt comfortable with, and Franziska knows what it is to have love and hate in equal measures directed at a single person. A moment more and she nods to herself before announcing, “We will shop, then we will dine, then we will see and be seen, and finally we will attend the opera, Trucy Wright, and you will be cheered. Close your mouth, Phoenix Wright, I will have her back by tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?!” Wright squawks, looking alarmed.

“Indeed. It takes time to travel from Anwaltsstadt to Berlin, and opera can end quite late. It will likely be past midnight when we return, and thus tomorrow.”

“Berlin?!”

“Of course Berlin. Anwaltsstadt does not have an opera house.”

Phoenix looks desperately between Franziska and Trucy, then turns to Miles. “Edgeworth…?”

Miles rolls his eyes, then drops to one knee before Trucy. “Are you all right with meine Schwester’s plans? You may be honest.”

“Um…” Trucy chews her lip, then looks down at her clothes – nice enough for every day, but she had packed to come here with necessity and sentimental value in mind, not for the potential of mingling with the sort of society the Interpol agent is implying. “I’m not sure I’m really dressed for opera…?”

“Hence the shopping,” Franziska says firmly, “I would not take you to any place in a state that left you open for potential ridicule – such are not the actions of a perfect host.”

“Mm,” the young magician nods, considering, “And the ‘seeing and being seen’ bit?”

“Berlin is a city of many historical and cultural delights; I have procured brochures for several that may be of interest to you,” comes the reply, “There will be time to look them over on our way, and to make any necessary changes to our chosen itinerary as we dine.”

“Then… that sounds interesting,” Trucy smiles, then turns to her father, “If that’s okay with you, Daddy?”

“Uh…” Phoenix sweats for a moment, then takes a deep breath and calms himself. “I’m nervous about you going that far without me in a place where you can’t speak the language, but if you promise to stay with Prosecutor von Karma and keep your phone on, I’ll say okay. Okay?”

“Okay!” she hugs him, “Then I promise I’ll be good for Miss Franziska von Karma, and you have a good time with Mr. Edgeworth!”

“Okay,” Phoenix leans down and pushes her borrowed hat back to kiss her forehead, then glances up at the Interpol agent before them. “Thanks for this, Franziska.”

“Hmph. As if I would turn down such a perfect opportunity to spend time with my heir.”

“Wait, you’re still-?!”

“You will be convinced that it is for the best, Phoenix Wright!” Franziska snaps, spinning on her heel, “Come, Trucy Wright, we have a train to catch!”

“Coming!” Trucy gives her father one last hug, then skuds after her friend, one hand on her hat brim more from habit than necessity, “Bye Daddy, bye Mr. Edgeworth!”

“Bye, sweetie!”

“Tschüss.”

Phoenix remains staring at the door for several minutes after their footsteps have faded, then turns to Miles. “She will be safe, right? I mean, I know she’s with Franziska, but-”

Miles takes a deep breath to steady himself, then puts a hand on Wright’s shoulder, startling the man into silence. “Franziska will take good care of her, you need not worry.”

“Right, right,” Phoenix runs his hands over his hair, “Sorry, I’m just… argh.”

Quirking his lips slightly, Miles raises an eyebrow. “Would it calm you to hear that Franziska has her whip with her? She is wearing it on her belt, beneath her coat.”

“…it’s probably horrible, but yeah, that actually does make me feel better.”

“The two of you came here from a dangerous situation, it is not an unreasonable reaction to wish your child to be in the hands of one who can properly protect her if need be,” Miles shrugs, removing his hand from Phoenix’s shoulder as he does, then pausing as a thought occurs to him. “I would ask you keep an open mind in regards to whatever they return with – there will be no ill will intended, Franziska will simply not think to spend any less on Trucy than she would on herself.”

Phoenix opens his mouth as if to argue, then deflates and closes it again with a slight laugh. “What are the odds that she’d be super insulted if I called and asked her to stick to a certain budget?”

“Very high,” Miles confirms with no small amount of relief that the man seems to have grasped the situation, “Likely she would perceive it as a slight against her opinion of your daughter or of what Trucy herself is worth.”

“Ugh,” the man shakes his head with a resigned smile, “Well… I guess it’s only one day. As long as Trucy has fun…”

“If she does not, it will not be through lack of effort on my sister’s part. Too much effort, perhaps, but not a lack,” Miles reassures, then hesitates as they begin to make their way back down the hall to the rest of the apartment, “Ah… how do you wish to proceed from here? I know there are things you wish to discuss…?”

“Honestly, I think I need a little time to think first – haven’t had much processing time between everything blowing up in my face and needing to keep it together for Trucy. And help you with paperwork.”

Miles turns back to him sharply. “You said you wanted something to do!”

“Hey, calm down, I did, but now I need something thinking time, okay? I needed something to distract myself before.”

“Hmph.” Miles turns away again, lengthening his strides, “Very well. I will be either in my office or the dining room when you are ready.”

“The dining room’s basically an extension of your office at this point, isn’t it?”

“Go think, Wright.”

Miles can hear the amusement in the man’s voice as he calls, “Grump,” after him.

Chapter Text

“It wasn’t so bad at first.”

Miles looks up from his paperwork, then begins clearing it away as Phoenix enters the dining room shortly before noon to lean against the wall opposite him.

“Those first couple of weeks after Blackquill’s case… yeah, I got a bit of grief, some people have long memories, but it’s been basically open season for lawyers in Los Tokyo since he got sentenced. I mean, defense attorneys don’t always have the best reputation as a whole, but prosecutors are technically city employees, so I guess people expect better of you guys or something? I dunno, I’m guessing.”

“Yours is as good as mine in this instance,” Miles demures.

Phoenix gives a half-smile of acknowledgement at this, then grows serious again. “Anyway, I probably would have been fine, even with Zak vanishing on me again, the jerk, but then…” he curls his lips in, swallows hard, “Then some reporter gets this bright idea for an article, and I’m not saying Kristoph was behind it-”

“-but he’s a manipulative, underhanded bastard and he was probably behind it.”

“Yeah,” he agrees bitterly, “And, like… I’ll hand it to the creep, it’s a beautifully worded article – indicates all this ‘increase in corruption’ that’s been happening ‘lately’ is my fault without leaving me any room to sue for libel. It sounds purely speculative, but it’s incredibly leading and- and they printed a picture of me in it, a recent picture, outside of Pru’s store in my work uniform. They wanted me found, he- I knew he didn’t like me, but this could have gotten me killed, could have gotten Trucy killed in the backlash with how angry people are right now, and I don’t even know what I did to him that he- I- argh!

“It’s not enough that he got me disbarred, that he’s pretty obviously keeping an eye on me, no, he has to go remind some smartass reporter that I exist and, hey, why not suggest that I’m the tipping point, that my disbarment was what got the whole corruption ball rolling! Forget all those corrupt bastards I helped put away and how long they were running around before I showed up, nope, definitely all my fault, because I made a mistake once, so I’m obviously the one at fault here-!”

Phoenix can’t say anymore at this point because Miles has somehow found his way around the dining room table without being consciously aware of it and clapped his hands on the man’s shoulders, shocking him into silence. “It is not your fault, it will never have been your fault, and if I ever hear you say that it was again, even in jest, I- you’ll- you’ll get a sharp clip to the ear, do I make myself understood?!”

“Gee, physical threats, I feel so loved,” Wright sneers, pushing him away and Miles lets him, steps back, forcing his hands to stay at his sides, not grabbing at his hair or clutching his own biceps the way they desire to, mind in a turmoil as he struggles to figure out what to say.

“Wright, it doesn’t matter what some bottom-feeding muck-raker says, or how far that coward Zak runs, or what Kristoph does, this is not over!” he locks eyes with the man, keeping his distance this time but willing him to hear what he means, “As long as we both know the truth, there is still a chance. You can still turn it about, as you’re so fond of saying, and you’ve never given up on me; I refuse to do any less. It doesn’t matter what Kristoph does, he’s not going to win.”

For some reason his words bring only a layer of guilt to Wright’s expression and he breaks eye contact with Miles, folds his arms around himself. “That’s- I did give up on you. Once. When I thought you had killed yourself. I thought- I didn’t think, I gave up. I didn’t search, I didn’t verify, I didn’t even let anyone say your name around me for ages, I gave up on you! I’m not perfect, I don’t always win, and sometimes I give-”

“But you’re alive.”

That cuts him off short. “Huh?”

The revelation hurts, it’s not surprising given how he’d been received after his return, yet still it hurts, but Miles takes a deep breath and plows through the pain. “You thought me dead by my own hand. But until that point you believed in me, even when no other did at times, not even myself. And when you learned I was alive, you somehow found the strength to believe in me again, in spite of my cruelty. And now you stand before me, attempting to tell me you are no longer worth believing in, and for what? A reasonable reaction to pain? Justified wrath at another’s wickedness?”

“What am I supposed to do, he has all the cards and I don’t even know what game we’re playing!” Wright shoots back, “He turned the entire city against me! With one article!”

“Yes, and prove your innocence and the city’s favour will turn again – there are few things so fickle as public opinion, Wright. And you are not alone in this, even beyond me, so it cannot be the entire city. All those whom you have aided in your career, those who know you, who have watched you grow…” slowly he reaches forward again, rests a hand on Phoenix’s shoulder. “Perhaps now is your time to crumble into ash, but you are still Phoenix Wright, and I know you will rise again, in full flame and triumph.”

“I- Edgeworth…” the fight and anger are leaving his face, letting the underlying pain finally show through, “I don’t know if I can believe that. I’ve been searching for so long and getting nowhere… and I’m no closer to solving the Gramarye case than I was two years ago. I’m tired.”

Miles lets his other hand rise until both rest on Phoenix’s shoulders. “Then I will believe it enough for both of us, until such a time as you are able to join me. And I would advise against arguing – I’m told I can be ungodly stubborn once I set my mind to something.”

A worn laugh and the man is leaning against him, arms around his shoulders. “Okay, fine, just… God, Edgeworth, I was so close. A few more days and I could have talked to Zak, found out what he knew, see if he had any clues about that damn forgery and why Kristoph had it to give to Trucy in the first place-”

“He what.”

“…I thought you knew about that. Look, the point is, the article was just the icing on the whole horrible cake, Zak vanished again days before that happened, and Kay says she’s been burned for this, he won’t talk to her anymore, and just… I was so close. I was so close and now it’s gone and worse than before and I don’t know what to do this time! I’m out of ideas, out of tricks, out of luck… what am I supposed to do now – I don’t even have a motive for him!”

“You… you should…” Miles struggles for words, mind racing. There’s something in the information Wright’s just told him, something important, if he can just step back and think about this logically… “You…” Kristoph’s been keeping such a close eye on Wright, everything the man has learned has indicated that the other attorney is involved in all this, especially if they know for certain he was the source of the forgery, he orchestrated Wright’s downfall, all that’s missing is motive and decisive evidence of a connection between Kristoph and the forger, but it’s beginning to look like no such connection exists, except- except- “…eureka.”

“Huh?” Phoenix lifts his head from Miles’s shoulder to stare at him.

“The evidence you’re looking for, a way to prove your innocence and his guilt, it exists.” Miles stares straight ahead, watching the pieces rearrange themselves in his head. “Kristoph tipped his hand with this move, he got sloppy. Keeping an eye on you as he has… there could be any number of reasons to do that. But there’s no reason to try and get rid of you… unless you’re a threat. Unless he has something to hide and he’s afraid that, somehow, you’ll find it. I’ll bet you anything you like that he’s terrified that you’ll do just that! You just need to keep looking, Wright, because there’s definitely something to find, something you’re capable of finding!” he falters as Phoenix’s expression finally registers. “That is… if you still want to.”

“…I don’t know if I do,” he admits, running a hand through his hair, “I- it’s been so long and I’m tired, and this isn’t like when I was trying to save you, I’m not the only one who could get hurt if I mess up. And even if I found whatever he’s trying to hide… he’s already proved that he’s better at working the courts than me. Maybe I should just stay over here, take the European bar, let someone else handle Kristoph. I hate to leave the Gramarye trial unresolved, but if Kay can’t find Zak again, then I really don’t have a chance unless he decides that he wants to be found.”

Miles is quiet for a moment, trying to properly organize his thoughts. He hadn’t- but of course neither of them are as young as they were when Phoenix first tried to play a long game – he’s twenty-eight, with a daughter, and no Mia Fey supporting him, constantly there to turn to for questions or advice. The world itself is a different place in so many ways, and Phoenix looks like he’s been carrying the full weight of it on his shoulders for much too long… “Wright,” he leans back, holding the man at arm’s length, “No one of any importance will think any less of you if you say that you’ve had enough. Not Maya, nor young Pearls, nor Larry, nor Franziska-”

“Wait, back up,” Phoenix’s eyebrows knit together in puzzlement, “Franziska?”

Miles shoots him a sardonic grin, “As far as I know, when you ‘finally give up’ your ‘foolishly foolish venture in attempting to convince a group of foolish fools’ of your innocence, she has your school over here picked out and tuition set aside so that you can gain your credentials as soon as possible.”

“…you expect me to believe that Franziska von Karma would be willing to pay for my education to become a lawyer again?”

“Wright, if it gave her another chance to try and crush you in court, she would take the classes with you. She took your disbarment as a personal affront, you know.”

“You know, I can actually see it?” Phoenix chuckles, then grows serious again. “What about you?”

Miles frowns. “What about me?”

“Would you think less of me, if I stopped now?”

“I… would be disappointed,” Miles admits, “Your tenacity is one of your more admirable traits. But I believe I would understand. And, regardless, I would continue to support you – it is not my place to instruct you on how to live your life.”

“Smooth talker,” the man snorts, but grins, then leans on Miles again. “I don’t… want to give up. I don’t want it to end here. But I’m tired, and I really don’t know what to do next, and I have to think of what’s best for Trucy, and… I just don’t know if I can keep going like I have been. I don’t know what to do.”

Slowly, Miles brings his arms up until Phoenix is not just leaning against him but being held. “For now just stay here, with me. Rest, give yourself time, be my legal aid for a bit if you like, think things through. I’ve worked with Gumshoe long enough to know that some mysteries take time to solve, and if Kristoph is still scared of you so long after the fact, then it should keep long enough for you to catch your breath.”

“Okay, that sounds… I can do that. Thanks, Edgewor-” Phoenix cuts himself off with a yawn, much to his own apparent surprise, “Oof, sorry, I’m… really tired all of a sudden.”

“Understandable. Would you like me to escort you to your room?”

The man hesitates, then, “Can I sleep on the sofa? And… could you maybe stay with me? Please?”

Miles swallows, then nods. “Of course.”

They somehow manage to end up with Miles in his now-customary position on the left end of the sofa, a pillow and Phoenix’s head in his lap, the man himself wrapped in a thick layer of blankets and deeply asleep, exhausted from his emotional outpouring and from carrying the weight of it for weeks. When Trucy and Franziska finally return, late as Franziska had suspected they would be, Miles is on the third episode of Steel Samurai season four, and the young magician simply goes and curls up at her father’s feet after giving Franziska an emphatic hug, settling in with a rustle of taffeta perfectly matched to her signature diamond-shaped broach, eyes glued to the screen. Franziska merely nods to him when he mouths his thanks, then leaves without a word, the knowledge that they will discuss things later unspoken and solid between them.

Miles finds he can’t quite focus on the show after this, quietly taking in the transformation Trucy has temporarily undergone. Here sits not a little girl in the jeans and shirt she had left in this morning, nor a professional magician in her stage costume, but a young lady, elegant in her new dress, the slightest touches of make-up and hair styling rounding out the outfit perfectly, and beautifully paired with a hooded opera cloak of dark wool that she had declined to remove upon entering the room. Slight nuances of body language give her away as not being accustomed to wearing such finery, but otherwise she seems well enough.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” he asks quietly as the episode comes to an end.

The look she gives him is tired but sincere. “Yeah. Miss Franziska von Karma was really nice, we had lots of fun. …can we watch another episode? I’m too wound up to sleep yet.”

It’s past midnight, but he doesn’t have work tomorrow (he’s at least somewhat getting the hang of how these things go), and Trucy can do her schoolwork whenever she wants while she’s here as long as it gets done, so, “If you like.”

“Yes, please.”

Another episode and a half, and Trucy finally speaks again. “Daddy’s going to be okay, right, Mr. Edgeworth?”

“He will need further time to recover, as you have and still do, but I believe so, yes, eventually.”

She squints at him, expression intent and just the tiniest bit unhappy. “You’re so sure of that. How are you so sure?”

He offers her a small smile. “Because, while I may not believe in such things as ghosts, when it comes to your father my faith is absolute.”

Chapter Text

Phoenix is still weary when he wakes the next day, but the tension that had been growing within his eyes has significantly decreased, and at least some of his remaining weariness is that of being stretched too thin for too long and suddenly being allowed to relax. The first few days he doesn’t even complain when Miles tells him in no uncertain terms that he’s to stay on the sofa and recuperate, and that Trucy is under strict orders to sit on her father’s legs if he tries to do anything too strenuous (sitting on his stomach would likely be more effective, but none of them wish to test the limits of Phoenix’s less-than-ideal spinal health any further than necessary).

The current understanding is that the Wrights will be staying with Miles in his apartment until such a time as they have a better idea of what their next move will be and also whether it becomes safe for them to return to Los Tokyo. It’s… not going so well over there. Sebastian is providing bi-daily updates at the moment as per Miles’s own request, and both he and Ray Shields have avoided harm so far, but, well.

Miles had once heard the quip that a mob’s intelligence is determined by taking the IQ of the mob’s least intelligent member and dividing it by the number of people in the mob. A laughable notion, right up until the grim revelation that it is often far too accurate to be truly funny. Sebastian and Ray are well, and Judge Courtney, but they are not the only members of the legal system in Los Tokyo… and not everyone has been so lucky.

There have been attacks.

If things do not calm down soon, there will be deaths.

As it is, for at least a few ‘lucky’ means only that they’ll survive their injuries. It is an ugly situation, nothing more than a witch hunt, really, and Miles is careful not to mention the full extent of it to either Wright or Trucy. He is under no illusion that either of them are fully unaware, but he is not so cruel as to rub in their faces a situation brought on by circumstances they are tangentially involved in, for all that they are both innocent of anything more than being born to or gaining the ire of the wrong man. They are in Germany to be safe, to heal. There is no point in pouring salt over freshly-cleaned wounds.

(How can Kristoph live with himself, that he has in part wrought this, what can Wright have possibly done that the so-called ‘coolest attorney’ would put so many innocents in harm’s way to have vengeance upon him?)

So Phoenix lies on the sofa and rests, Trucy entertains herself quite admirably, and the world continues to turn. Maya, Larry, and Gumshoe are informed of the current plan, and Sebastian informs Miles in one e-mail that he’s now renting a room of his house to Kay, who had shown up shortly after Blackquill’s arrest (another arrangement meant to be temporary but which has now become more permanent). In a blinding twist of Kay logic, it made more sense to rent a room from Sebastian than to try and keep an entire apartment on her own, especially when she was only in the city part of the time. In matters little in truth, Miles is simply glad that they’re watching each other’s backs.

The fourth day after the man’s outpouring, however, Miles returns home to find Wright looking far more tired than expected, but also very pleased with both himself and a plain gold-coloured locket hanging around his neck.

“Trucy wanted to get out for a bit, so we went shopping,” he explains, opening it up to show a picture of Trucy inside, most likely done while they were out somehow since her father’s arm is visible around her shoulders and she’s wearing the wool cloak Franziska had purchased for her.

“Now we match!” Trucy says proudly, before her eyes widen a fraction and she knocks herself lightly on the head with one fist. “Oh, that’s right, I forgot – I never introduced you!” she slides off the end of the sofa, where her father had pulled his feet back so she’d have space, and bounces over to Miles, materializing another locket between her hands as she goes of a very similar shape to the one her father is now wearing. Flicking it open with a thumb nail, she puts it gently in Miles’s hand, the chain still loosely between her fingers. “Mr. Edgeworth, this is my Mommy – she died when I was really little, but my- but I got told that as long as I have this, then she’ll always be with me.”

The woman in the photograph looks much as Trucy herself likely will when she is grown, and is dressed in a costume that was probably the inspiration for Trucy’s own stage clothes, though in a light blue-grey rather than salmon, a familiar diamond-shaped broach holding her cape shut. There is a wistfulness to her smile, as though she somehow knew what lay in store for both her and her family, or as if she had already tasted tragedy. Miles closes the locket again and respectfully hands it back. “She was quite lovely, and from her attire I take it she was also a skilled magician?”

Trucy nods, giving the necklace a twirl that would seem careless only to those who do not know her. “Everybody in Troupe Gramarye always said she was amazing, and that I take after her a lot!”

“If she had a fraction of your skill then she must have been very talented indeed,” Miles replies gravely, “Thank-you for introducing me.”

Trucy beams, then makes the locket vanish again, bouncing off towards the kitchen. “I’ll go get water for tea started, you sit down, you’ve had a long day at work!”

Phoenix chuckles as Miles watches her go in some confusion. “That day out with Franziska really helped, and she’s really enjoying the fact that she gets to boss me around and fuss and I can’t complain about it at the moment. Fingers crossed that this is how she looks when she’s recovering and not her putting up an act again.”

“I’m not putting up an act, I’m in a good mood!” Trucy’s head pops back around the doorframe to scowl at her father, “I promised, remember? No more being on stage all the time! I promised!”

“I know, I know,” Phoenix holds his hands up in surrender, “Old habits are just easy to slip into, okay? Besides, I’m your dad – I worry, it’s part of my job.”

She scrutinizes him for a moment before regally nodding, then vanishing from the door frame again. Phoenix just has time to turn back to Miles before there’s a pattering of footsteps and she’s back, flinging herself into her father’s arms half on and half off the sofa, face buried in his chest.

“‘m sorry for making you worry for so long, Daddy.”

“Hey, hey now, it’s okay,” her father scoots himself up so he can pull her into his lap and hug her back properly, “You told me as soon as you could, right?”

“…should have told you sooner…”

“And I should have been more careful about presenting evidence, hind-sight’s twenty-twenty, glowworm,” Phoenix soothes, “But we’re both working through it all, right? And next time we’ll both do better.”

Miles quietly removes himself from the room at this point to go make tea, and to allow them their space to talk.

OoOoOoOoO

Important as the outing no doubt was, the overexertion of walking the city while in an exhausted state combines to leave Phoenix flat on the sofa for another two days. Another two and he’s not quite ready to take up Miles’s offer of legal aid work just yet, but is definitely at the stage where the novelty of getting to lie around all day has completely worn off. Mentally he’s ready to get back in the ring, physically he’s still paying for pushing himself too hard for too long.

Miles rolls his eyes and pushes the man back into his cocoon when Phoenix tries to convince him otherwise. “Honestly, Wright, if you’re that eager for some physical activity, you could always clean the bathroom.”

“Ha ha,” the man grumbles, sulking into his nest of blankets.

“I only mention since Maya insists you’re so fond of the activity,” Miles demures with no sincerity whatsoever.

“I’m not cleaning your bathroom for you, Edgeworth.”

A few days later he comes home to Trucy giggling behind her hands, Phoenix hiding in his blankets again, and his apartment’s bathroom cleaner than it’s possibly ever been.

“Don’t judge me, it’s not my fault, Mia conditioned me-!”

Miles doesn’t judge (too much), but he does laugh at him as Phoenix continues to try and protest his innocence further, even as Trucy chips in to gleefully reveal a damning eye-witness report in direct contradiction to most of what he’s saying. Finally he gives up and retreats sullenly into his blankets, mumbling darkly about betrayal in ingratitude. Miles just laughs again and leaves the slender box he’d picked up on the way home in his briefcase, instead going to start supper. If Wright wants to be ridiculous, that’s perfectly fine – they can find out if the tie Miles acquired for him is the right shade of golden-yellow after they’ve all eaten.

Chapter Text

By the end of the second week, Wright is finally recovered to the point where he can be physically active again and start up legal aid activities (he had been delighted Miles remembered about him considering a tie in golden-yellow), but by this point the Wrights have also been in Germany for a month, and he’s obviously growing concerned about taking advantage of Miles’s hospitality, and about being away from Japanafornia for too long.

(…he was never going to stay. Miles knew it, he knew the man would start looking for a new solution as soon as he’d regained his strength, but a traitorous part of him had hoped…)

In conjunction with this, there is also the issue of what to do next, because, even besides the public’s current opinion, Kristoph is still a threat, and a dangerous one, for all that he can’t prove that Phoenix is onto him. Whatever else happens, they have to make sure the bastard never gets a whiff of Phoenix being close to success if/when it happens again.

“What about if you broke up with Mr. Edgeworth?” Trucy suggests a few days after her father starts working again, then elaborates when both of them start spluttering and turning red, “I mean as friends. He knows you’re close already, Daddy, you never made a secret of it, and if would look like you’d lost your biggest supporter and your best friend, and it’d be a great reason to act all depressed and vulnerable.”

“I dunno…” Phoenix rubs his chin, pensive, “It seems kinda drastic, and I don’t think he’d buy it.”

“No, he absolutely would,” Trucy counters, “Because it’s what he wants to happen. Lots of magic tricks are easy to figure out if you think about them hard enough or look up how they’re done, but most people don’t, because you’re showing them what they want to see. And he wants you miserable and alone, so if you tell him you are and give even an okay act, he’ll probably go for it. And it’ll be the perfect cover to enact the final steps of your plan and prove your innocence!”

“Which still leaves the problem of how to prove your innocence in the first place without decisive evidence,” Miles reminds them, not comfortable with Trucy’s plan but loathe to admit it at the moment. And this is the sticking point – how to free Wright from a system where he has landed so that nothing is in his favour, a perfect storm of events.

Phoenix groans, rubbing his face with both hands. “Evidence, evidence, it all comes down to evidence, and I don’t have any that’ll hold up in court, especially after so long! Ugh, why couldn’t this have all have happened over here, the European courts got me cleared in two weeks once you gave them the case and evidence is less important with the jurist system, none of this would be a problem if it had happened-” he cuts himself off, eyes widening.

“What?” Miles leans forward across the dining room table, “What is it, Wright, what have you thought of?”

“Over here.”

“Yes, we’ve established-”

“No, Edgeworth, you don’t get it – over here it wouldn’t be a problem!”

“Yes, I know that, Wright, I’m the one who told you in the first place!”

“No, I mean… what if I’ve been thinking too small? What if it’s not my personal problem we need to fix, what if it’s the problem in the Los Tokyo legal system that caused it in the first place!”

Miles gapes at him. “You’re not serious.”

“That’s the thing, I am! Seriously, what if we-?”

“Are you insane?! You’re disbarred, and you want to effect change on the legal system? How the hell would you-?!”

“Hold it! If you would just listen-!”

“You’ve lost your mind-!!!”

“You said you’d be disappointed if I stopped now!”

“Against Kristoph, not against the entire Los Tokyo legal system-!”

It’s a colossal fight, and this time Trucy doesn’t intervene, magicking herself away to the guest room instead, and it ends with slammed doors and nothing resolved, a lingering tension filling the apartment as they don’t get any real space from each other until Miles leaves for work the next day, Wright remaining behind by unspoken consensus. It is… a difficult situation. Short of getting on a plane and returning to the States, Wright cannot truly leave – he has nowhere else to go in Europe, cannot speak or read the local language, and, as he is sharing a room with his daughter, has no private space. And, socially inept as he is, even Miles is aware that he himself has too much power in this scenario.

At the same time, he does not know what to do to make this right, to alter things. Miles has spent the past several weeks watching the harsher repercussions of the Gramarye trial first hand, and a crusade such as Wright is suggesting… it could ruin the life of a respected man. One in Wright’s position…? Miles can’t bear to even think of it too hard. It is not his choice to make… but how is he supposed to support such a dangerous plan?

…especially when his reasons for opposing it are not nearly as altruistic as they should be…

He gets less work done that day than he’d like to admit, and that evening finds himself wandering instead of returning to his apartment, parking his car then leaving the building again, feet taking him towards one of his favoured bridges-

Another man is already standing at its center, a familiar silhouette staring out at where river and sky meet. He spots Miles before he can make his escape. “Hey.”

“…hello.” Unsure what else to do, Miles walks until they are side by side, both staring over the water.

“It is a crazy idea,” Wright breaks the silence, “A guy in my position trying to do something like this? Like you said, it’s insane. But, Edgeworth… I can’t be the only one who’s been hurt because of this, probably not even one of the ones who’s been hurt worst. I know the problem, I have a potential solution… don’t I owe it to everyone to at least try and make things better?”

Miles leans on his arms, bows his head. “I don’t want to see you throw your life away on some hopeless quest. You’re a good lawyer, it’s a waste to keep you from it, and something like this could take years. Decades.”

“Except I don’t have to see it through to the end, just get it started. I don’t care how something gets done as long as no one gets hurt and things end as they should,” he counters, “I would have been fine if you’d gotten Iris a not guilty before I got better. I… I know I have this reputation for being unbeatable, but that’s mostly been the big newsworthy trials. I’ve had more cases than just those, I’ve… I’ve had clients who went to jail, because my best wasn’t good enough. I can handle failure. But sitting back and not even trying…? That might actually kill me.”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Edgeworth-”

“Please don’t say it like that,” Miles grips the bridge railing tight enough that his gloves strain over his knuckles, “Not when you’ve come close so many times. Not when you’re presenting some foolish, madcap scheme that could consume you and that I am of no use for.”

He catches Phoenix turning to look at him from the corner of his eye. “What-? You’re not useless!”

“Am I not for this? Wright, look at what he has done to you, the apple of Los Tokyo’s eye until that trial. My changes, what personal growth I have made… it has for the most part been done over here. In Los Tokyo they still know me only as the Demon Prosecutor, my reputation was such that when I left none would take my old office save for one who had met me only recently! Answer me honestly, what would most likely happen if I returned now to aid you?”

“…the press would probably eat you alive before Kristoph even tried to do anything to you,” Phoenix admits with some reluctance, then winces, “Ugh, I can almost see the political cartoons.”

“Indeed. If I had returned sooner, begun establishing myself earlier, perhaps…” he turns away from the man, “But as it is, my political strength, my reputation, any numerous allies I might call on… they are over here, and thus useless to you. And it was fine for you to go toe to toe with Kristoph in your usual manner, but this…? You cannot do this alone from entirely outside the system, Wright. It is impossible.”

“Then I won’t.” Phoenix puts a hand on his shoulder, waits for Miles to turn to him. “I can’t be the only non-corrupt member of the legal system in the city. I’ll find them, and- I don’t have to succeed at this. I just have to try, to be able to look myself in the mirror and say, ‘you tried every option you had, you gave it your best shot.’ And if it does all fall through, then I’ll come over here, take the bar again, and throw paper airplanes at you in court and make you regret pointing out that I could be a lawyer again in the first place.”

“I wouldn’t,” Miles says, quiet but firm, “Regret it, that is. I… miss facing you in court. It’s reassuring to know that both sides have the same underlying goal.”

“Fine, but you asked for it,” Wright grins, then sobers. “And you’ve probably got more connections back home than you think and, even if you don’t… I don’t need you to do that for me. It’s great when you’ve got resources I can use, but, I mean…” he looks out over the river again, “You do stuff for me no one else can, you- this is going to sound stupid and weird.”

“Then by all means, continue.”

Wright snorts. “Jerk. It- I was scared when I called you after the article came out, but not as scared as I could have been? Because I knew you’d get me and Trucy out of it. I didn’t expect you to fly us to Germany, I figured you’d ship us to Kurain or something, but, I mean… when I need you, really need you, you’re always there. Somehow. I don’t… really have a lot of people I rely on – I’m more used to them relying on me. I mean, that’s my job and all, but… ugh, I’m sounding really weird and clingy, aren’t I?”

Miles offers a slight smile. “If asking for help from a friend when you need it is clingy, then I would rule us equally guilty. I’ve never requested you come to Europe as an aid for altruistic reasons, you know – both times I sincerely thought you the best man for the job, and I have no doubt you’ll more than earn your keep this time as well.”

The man colours slightly but looks pleased. “It’s not just that sort of thing, it- you’re helpful. You’ve been helpful since day one of this mess, even if it isn’t in the way you want to be. And… you’ll keep helping me, right? Please?”

And the expression on his face is genuinely concerned, as though he actually fears that this is the line Miles will not cross and just… “For something like this we will need clearer guidelines, but… I don’t want to fight with you, or see that bastard and his ilk left to run loose in our city.”

“Our city?”

“I still consider Los Tokyo my home in many ways, Wright,” Miles reminds him, “And I have every intention of returning to work there again someday, when conditions are more favourable. And… perhaps I do not support every choice you make, but I do sincerely believe that somehow, eventually, you will always find your feet and triumph. And I will always do my best to support you in this when I can.”

“Thanks,” comes the reply, with a look of profound relief.

Miles hesitates, looks away from the sincere gratitude being directed at him. “I… was not without fault in this. I should have at least heard you out before taking a stance. It hasn’t been a month since I encouraged you not to give up, and when you try to take me at my word… this happens. That was poorly done of me. I am sorry.”

“Thanks,” Phoenix says again and now their shoulders are touching, though Miles hadn’t noticed him moving closer. “I was overexcited, you were scared – it was just… bad. Want to just let this one go and start over, make a more proper plan?”

“…yes,” Miles turns back to him, offers a half-smile, “And next time we fight, we will do better.”

“What makes you think there’s gonna be a next time?”

“We’re us, Wright – it’s practically guaranteed. But we will both do better next time.”

“You seem pretty sure of that,” Phoenix replies, amused.

“We’re intelligent adults capable both of learning and self-improvement – I see no reason I shouldn’t be.” Especially when Phoenix is already skilled with people and Miles is going to be discussing this with Dr. Heilen…

“Okay, fine – the defense concedes this one,” Phoenix grins, then turns to the opposite end of the bridge from the one Miles had approached from and calls, “And it’s okay for you to come out now, lightning bug, we’re done talking!”

Miles lets out an involuntary sound of surprise as Trucy pops up from behind one of the railings and scuds over, cloak fluttering. Phoenix shrugs at him.

“We needed some air and she wanted to wander on her own a bit; I can see her for a decent distance from here and we both have our cell phones.”

“Ah,” Miles says weakly as Trucy slows to a stop before them, face extremely serious and more than a little scared.

“You’re friends again, right? You’re not… it’s okay now, right?”

“Oh glowworm,” her father scoops her up in a hug, “Me ‘n’ Edgeworth never stopped being friends, we just had an argument and needed to get our heads on straight so we could work things out. Isn’t that right?”

“Indeed, your father is both right and correct in this instance,” Miles hastily agrees, embarrassed and not entirely sure why, “After the levels of nonsense we have endured at each other’s hands, a little shouting isn’t enough to cause any real rift between us.”

Trucy narrows her eyes at him but slowly nods, apparently accepting his statement as at least ‘true enough.’ “Okay. But… you’re not allowed to leave either, Mr. Edgeworth.”

“I’m afraid I will not be able to accompany you and your father back to Japanafornia when you return-”

“You know what I mean!” the young magician scowls at him.

…she is upset with him, moreso than she is letting on. He doesn’t know why she’s decided that he’s so important, but she has and, as has been made amply clear on this trip, she is terrified of being abandoned by those she loves. …ugh, he’s going to have to do this, isn’t he, why must necessary things be so embarrassing-?!

Removing his right-hand glove, he holds out his hand to her, pinky extended. “I’m not saying that silly phrase, and I cannot say that I will never leave – my job requires travel. But… I will do my utmost to always return. Is that satisfactory?”

Trucy has her mitten off and her pinky linked around his in a flash. “You promise?”

He allows his finger to fold around hers in turn. “I promise.”

“And he’s good for it, too,” Phoenix chips is, looking disgustingly happy for some reason, “Edgeworth always comes back, even when you don’t expect him to!”

“Really?”

“Yup! He came back from the dead once!”

“Really?!”

“Wright, that doesn’t count-!”

They squabble their way back to his apartment and through the process of making and consuming supper, and it is strange how different similar forms of interaction can be. The argument yesterday had been painful and splintering, but the cross words of this evening feel almost comfortable in their familiarity as they bicker and tease and laugh.

And, somehow, it all winds together to leave the three of them seated around the dining room table with pens and papers, laptops and smart phones and dishes of cooling casserole, drawing up plans of battle…

Chapter Text

The Jurist System Accords

Phoenix and Trucy will return to Los Tokyo and Phoenix will acquire a new job. If he can’t find employment that will allow him to support himself and Trucy within six (6) months, that’s it, the plan falls through. In this event, the Agency will be sold, they will move to another city so Phoenix can earn some money, and then immigrate to Europe for good. This is the emergency contingency in case of total failure at any point in the process.

Once back in Los Tokyo and when he feels it appropriate, Phoenix will begin getting his qualifications as an international paralegal (an approximately two (2) year process) through online courses. It will not count for much in the States, but it may offer just enough of a toe-hold in the legal world to give him a modicum of legitimacy back without making him seem dangerous or threatening to Kristoph. It will also give him an excuse to openly study the European legal system and become more familiar with it.

While Phoenix is getting certified, he will also begin to test the waters in regards to potential allies. When given the go ahead, Egdeworth will begin to do the same with the allies he retains in the Los Tokyo legal system, including Judge Courtney and possibly Prosecutor DeBeste.

Once Phoenix has his paralegal qualifications, start focusing on actively gathering allies and introduce the concept of integrating the jurist system into American courts. If unable to gather enough allies, the plan falls through, engage emergency contingency plan.

Once allies gathered and plans made, begin working to enact the change desired in the legal system. Continue with this until the point of success, failure, or enough momentum has been gathered that Phoenix is no longer necessary to the process.

Keep an eye out for Zak. He is no longer priority, but if the opportunity presents itself to progress in this area, take it. Everyone deserves closure on this.

Watch out for Kristoph, in regards to him getting too suspicious of this plan or slipping up on his own. He is no longer the priority, but he is still a problem that eventually needs to be solved, and Phoenix clearing his own name will only help in the process of bringing about legal change.

Edgeworth will stay in Europe unless business, personal or otherwise, requires him to return to the States. He will continue to call on Phoenix as an aid or paralegal if need be and if Phoenix is able to with his new job – that system is currently working well, no point in changing it.

If Phoenix’s plans to enact change from outside the legal system fall through, then it is Edgeworth’s turn. After the emergency contingency has been enacted and Phoenix and Trucy are settled into wherever they have chosen to live in Europe, Edgeworth will return to Los Tokyo and attempt to enact the desired change from inside the system. Otherwise he will stand back and provide resources and aid only as requested. He is the safety net in the event of catastrophic system failure.

If/when it gets to the point that it looks like Phoenix is about to either successfully clear his name or get the jurist system put in place, he and Trucy will both ‘cut ties’ with Edgeworth to give him plausible deniability in case things go wrong and also to give an outward impression of Phoenix’s life falling apart on him to throw off any suspicions Kristoph may have. The signal for this radio silence will be Phoenix ‘picking a fight’ with Edgeworth for supposedly offering to get Trucy a new phone without telling him. Trucy’s phone will be removed from Edgeworth’s phone plan and complete silence from both sides will be maintained until Edgeworth is informed of either success or failure.

(Note: in the event of a true emergency, contact will be made via Kay Faraday, Dick Gumshoe, or another mutual acquaintance.)

If radio silence goes on for more than one (1) year, Edgeworth will return to Los Tokyo to do things his way, because things will have gone beyond wrong. This should not be necessary, however – once begun, radio silence should only be needed for a month or so.

Failure is not the preferred outcome, but it is an option.

If at any point these accords become a hindrance rather than a help, all members of it will meet and decide what changes need to be made.

Phoenix Wright, Miles Edgeworth, Trucy Wright

OoOoOoOoO

Phoenix sits back from the table after signing the draft of their battle strategy with a groan. “Well, that’s probably the most complicated plan I’ve ever made.”

“Daddy, that’s horrifying, I make more complicated plans for a single magic trick,” Trucy says before her stern demeanor is interrupted with a yawn. She covers is with one sweater-draped hand (it had been a surprise to discover that Phoenix prefers sweaters to something more casual, less surprising to learn that Trucy has an inordinate fondness of stealing her father’s sweaters and wearing them around inside, in spite of the fact that they are, for all intents and purposes, rather shapeless dresses on her).

“Yet unfortunately true,” Miles leans back and stretches as well, “And, as I hate to think what time it is, I do believe creating a formalized contract and writing out copies can wait until tomorrow. Agreed?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Phoenix winces as his spine straightens with a pop, “Okay, petty complaint, I wish I’d been able to bring that back support pillow you got me for my birthday, I only got to use it for a couple of weeks, but they were a nice couple of weeks. Ugh, I’m twenty-eight, that’s too young for back problems!”

“This is what maintaining poor posture while seated results in,” Miles chides him, then raises a very pointed eyebrow, “Not to mention falling off burning bridges into running water a good forty feet below.”

“That was only once!”

“You say that as if it in any way makes it bet-” Miles would continue, but a yawn of his own cuts him off. Gott im Himmel, it really is quite late, and he has work tomorrow- ugh, make that today according to a glance at the time as he turns his phone off. “While there are many points I could make on this subject, we both have work in the morning, so the prosecution rests and also plans to sleep.”

Phoenix snorts but graciously lets the matter drop, helping gather up the dishes and tidy the papers they’ve managed to cover half the dining room table with in a remarkable display of spite-fueled group effort. Trucy gamely tries to help, but winds up staggering off to bed at her father’s encouragement after receiving her hugs good-night (Miles isn’t sure how he has suddenly become entangled in this ritual, but given the exhaustion beginning to cloud his mind along with the events of the past two days, it’s honestly too much trouble to try and extract himself from it at this time).

“It’s still wild that you know how to cook.”

Miles startles from his thoughts at the man’s comment, turning from where he’s placing dishes to soak in the sink so that they’re easier to clean later today. “It’s not that hard – I began learning as a child and, while my education in this subject was interrupted, it wasn’t so difficult to pick back up.”

“Where did you even learn, though,” Phoenix moves into his range of vision, “Do you have a secret stash of cookbooks I don’t know about?”

That gets him the eye-roll it deserves. “There’s this little thing called ‘the internet,’ Wright, I don’t know if you’ve heard of it? It’s this shockingly new and sophisticated platform for sharing information, including things called ‘tutorials’ in all manner of formats-”

“Okay, okay, destroy me and another piece of my world view all in one go, why don’t you?”

Miles frowns as the last dish is dealt with and he turns to face the other man more directly, drying his hands on a dishcloth as he does so. “Why would my using internet tutorials damage your world view?”

“Uh, you have looked in a mirror lately, right?” Phoenix raises both eyebrows at him, “You look like you stepped out of some period piece, or a guy who only uses books for research and gets lost trying to use a web browser. Heck, ‘casual’ just means you take off your jacket, maybe roll your sleeves up!”

“And yet, of the two of us, I am the one with a smartphone, whereas I’m sure you don’t even properly know how to clear your browser history in the event that you need to.”

“…you learned how to do that so Manfred wouldn’t find out about your Steel Samurai habit, didn’t you?”

“Never you mind!” he absolutely did, but there’s no way he’s confirming it.

Phoenix simply laughs and turns to make his way towards his bedroom, waving over his shoulder as he goes. “Whatever. Anyways, g’night, Edgeworth.”

“Good night, Wright.”

Chapter Text

There is, of course, one large but immutable flaw to the plan they’ve constructed, of course: in order to enact it, Phoenix has to actually be in Los Tokyo. And almost a month and a half after that damned article came out, the public is only just beginning to look like it might maybe calm down enough sometime soon that it will actually be safe for the Wrights to go home. It’s reached the point that Miles finally tells Sebastian that the bi-daily updates are unnecessary (not to mention unfair at this point, forcing the boy to constantly think about the terrible state of the city around him even more than living there already does).

“I’ll let you know when the waters settle,” Sebastian simply assures him in response, “At once, remedially!”

Once, Miles feels, the young man might have reacted to his instruction with hurt or concern that he has been providing inferior work and is thus being replaced by someone more competent, but his reply had held no doubt, no uncertainty, simply moving to the next logical step in an efficient, matter-of-fact manner. He’s grown so far past the petulant child Miles had first met, and it is heartening. At the same time, however… “I believe you mean ‘immediately’?”

The long-familiar sounds of Sebastian’s well-used pocket dictionary carry across the phone line, as does his sigh of resignation. “Drat, yes I do, thank-you.”

“You’re welcome. And do not be discouraged, your slips have been growing less frequent.” Miles runs a hand through his hair. “You are… also still maintaining a healthy sense for your own personal safety, are you not? It is good that you and Kay are keeping an eye on each other, but I have been tracking events to a certain extent myself. I know there have been several attacks on lawyers within the past week, including prosecutors.”

Sebastian is quiet for a surprisingly long time. “…I… do not actually have to worry as much about that as pretty much anyone else in the Los Tokyo legal system.”

“What?” he frowns, unconsciously leaning forward at his desk a little, “Why not? Kay hasn’t done anything… irrational yet helpful, has she?”

More silence.

“Prosecutor DeBeste, if you are attempting to alarm me, rest assured, it’s working!”

“What?” Miles’s open concern apparently startles the boy into speech, “No, no, nothing like that I just… didn’t want to have to tell you this.”

While he cannot pinpoint the exact emotions lurking in Sebastian’s tone, Miles recognizes enough that it does nothing to calm his nerves. “Tell me what?!”

A huffed sigh. “You are… aware of the moniker people sometimes refer to you as over here?”

“‘The Demon Prosecutor?’ Yes, Prosecutor DeBeste, I am quite aware of that one,” Miles replies, tone dry, and not adding that he frankly prefers it to the one that he’s earned over here. “Hard not to when the papers were so very fond of it.”

“Oh. Yes, well, you’re not the only one with one of those… and you currently have the dubious honour of speaking to the Honest Idiot of the Los Tokyo Prosecutors’ Office.”

Miles blinks, taken aback. This- that cannot be right- “I was under the impression that you’ve been doing quite well at your job?”

“I am!” Sebastian hastily assures him, “I wouldn’t lie about that, especially considering how we met, and I’m still studying to fill in any gaps that linger in my education as I’m made aware of them, but… well. You remember how we met. That was the first set of cases I was publicly involved in, I’d only graduated quite recently, and they made an impression, you know? I helped put my own father, who was also at the time my boss, away for multiple criminal charges at seventeen, and made what reparations I could for the wrongs he had committed that I had benefited from. In many ways I’m seen as the closest thing to incorruptible that currently exists in the legal system here. But everyone knows that Pops paid for my grades and awards and I didn’t even notice… heck, his revolution of that is public record, because he said it in court. And… sorry, Mr. Edgeworth, but I don’t hide that I’ve maintained at least some contact with you, or that I hold you in very high esteem. I’m not considered… very bright by most. My, uh, vocabulary issues don’t help.”

That… he doesn’t know what to say to that. “If it would be in your best interest to cease contact with me-”

“No!” Sebastian cuts him off, aghast, “I don’t care what they say, I know they’re wrong about me being stupid, I- you’re the one who helped me see that! You gave me another chance after Pops degreased me, after everything I’d done, you’re the one who helped me when I needed it, and encouraged me with my memory orchestra – I found the truth in my last three trials because I had faith in it like you said I needed to, and you were right! You- I see you as a mentor of sorts, Mr. Edgeworth. And you’re a good one. As long as you’re willing to tolerate me, I want to keep learning from you!”

“I-” Miles starts, then has to stop because for some reason a lump has formed in his throat and it’s hard to talk around, “I do not… ‘tolerate’ you, Sebastian. I would not waste the time and effort it takes to review the cases of someone I simply tolerated. You are a good student, and it is with great interest that I watch your career.”

“Thank-you, sir.” The boy’s voice is soft and damp-sounding, as though he too is having difficulty speaking, and this is really getting far too sentimental, so Miles coughs to clear his throat and diverts the subject slightly.

“And surely not all your coworkers are so unobservant as to still think you incompetent after two years of working with you?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Sebastian hesitates, then, in a tone that indicates he has been spending far too much time with Kay, “That is to say, the Paynes are still working here, somehow.”

Ah yes, the Payne brothers, one of the reasons that Miles occasionally remembers the fact that there is currently an ocean and a continent’s worth of space between him and Japanafornia with a smile rather than frustration. “Tell me they’re not lumping you in with them.”

“Of course not – they have seniority.”

That- Miles manages to get a hand to his mouth and thus not laugh over the phone at the implied insult, given the perception the office seems to have of Sebastian. “Be that as it may, they cannot all be so mistaken in their assumptions about you.”

“Well, Mr. Pearing – Natta Pearing, he’s the new Chief Prosecutor – he notices that I’m at least competent, and he’s my boss, so that’s a good thing. And Klavier… I don’t know how smart he thinks I am or not, but he’s a genius, so it might be hard for him to evaluate others’ intelligence based on that. He never insults me about mine, though, and he calls me ‘Herr Maestro,’ so there’s that.”

Miles nods to himself, waiting for the boy to continue, but there is only silence. “Surely your boss and your friend aren’t the only ones-?!”

“Mr. Edgeworth, I was nearly a decade younger than the next-youngest recent hire when I joined the Prosecutors’ Office. I’m still younger than most of the recent hires, actually, they’ve never taken me any more seriously than they had to.” There’s a raised eyebrow behind that tone, Miles just knows it. “It was one of the reasons Klavier and I started to interact at first – we were in the same boat – and then S-Simon came, and it seemed a bit inevitable he’d get lumped in with us.

“He- Simon never called me stupid either. Not until- it’s so strange, he finally agreed to speak with me, and it was so… he called me a fool and said I was an idiot for caring about a dead man and that nothing good ever came of chasing ghosts, and…” Miles hears him take a deep breath, likely to try and calm the shudder out of his voice, “And I was so upset that it wasn’t until I got home and talked to Kay that I realized he hadn’t answered the few questions I did ask, and had completely cut me off from asking any more. Like,” a swishing sound, Sebastian must have gotten his baton out and started conducting to help organize his thoughts, “Like he was deliberately trying to make me upset with him. I- it’s confusing. That whole trial, something was wrong.”

“So you’ve said.”

“I know,” Sebastian sighs, “I just… I hope I- hope someone, anyone can figure it out before… before it’s too late.”

There is nothing Miles can say to that, no reassurance that won’t ring hollow to his own ears or, worse, present false hope. Perhaps Sebastian is right about his friend, perhaps he is wrong, but the darkness long-present in the Los Tokyo legal system is sweeping to the forefront, and now is not the time to pray for miracles. “Please keep a mind to your own safety as you deal with these matters. That is all I would ask of you in these circumstances.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Edgeworth, I will! If nothing else, Kay would never let me live it down if I do something too incredibly stupid,” Sebastian promises, “She has assured me that death is not an escape, she is quite willing to get spirit channelings done simply to yell at me on a monthly basis.”

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” Miles replies, deciding not to get started on the authenticity of such things at this moment, “In any case, the hour is growing late, and I’m afraid I have work I must return to. My gratitude, as always, for keeping me abreast of matters in Los Tokyo.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Edgeworth, and I should get going, too! Good-bye!”

“Good bye.” Miles hangs up, then looks up to see Phoenix watching him from the office sofa. He had… honestly forgotten that the man was there, and the expression on his face is… it’s similar to the sort of look he gives Trucy sometimes when she’s asleep or not looking, but- but not quite the same, and Miles is finding that having it directed at himself is doing strange things to his insides- “What?”

“Hm? Oh, nothing,” Phoenix shakes his head, tilting a smile at him, “Just… you really care about that kid, don’t you?”

Miles colours brightly. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh-huh.” Wright’s look is one of polite skepticism, but he thankfully changes the subject. “You know, this whole experience is probably ruining me for desk work, this’ll all end, I’ll reopen my firm, and everyone’ll be all ‘Mr. Wright, why are you doing paperwork on the sofa?’ and I’ll be all-”

Miles turns back to his own work, half an ear and half a smile still directed at Phoenix. Setbacks or no, the man’s talking about success as though it’s an actual possibility again, and it’s good to hear…

Chapter Text

December 2020

In the face of both of them working and Franziska not being available to help on a daily basis, Trucy is becoming a known face at the Anwaltsstadt Prosecutors’ Office. Often she will claim a corner of the sofa in Miles’s office to do her school work or quietly amuse herself, sometimes she settles in one of the break rooms for awhile, or walks the hallways to stretch her legs.

…Miles and Phoenix have no proof yet that she’s sneaking into trials to see if her lie detection abilities transcend the language barrier or not, but they’re both fairly certain that she is. One thing that certainly transcends language is Trucy’s ability to charm people and, armed with a decent enough translation app on her phone and a few phrase cards Miles has made up for her (including one noting who she is associated with and which office to return her to if she is being a nuisance), she’s gotten several promises that various lawyers in the office will come see her show if they’re ever in Los Tokyo.

Phoenix himself has gotten a few appreciative looks, more raised eyebrows, and several facetious comments along the lines of nepotism which fall miraculously silent after his infamous turnabout mindset brings some startling revelations to light in several trials he assists Miles in. After that the talk shifts to how in the world Miles and Phoenix manage to stand each other in court long enough to make it to the sentencing.

…it’s not their fault that they’re more used to being rivals than partners in this setting…

OoOoOoOoO

“[-and thus there is no possible way-]”

“Edgeworth!”

“Quiet, Wright, we’re about to win this case. [There is no possible way-]”

“Edgeworth!”

“Oh for the love of-! What is it, Wright!”

“I’m pretty sure we were wrong about that Frohman guy after all!”

“…we spent half the night proving without a doubt that he couldn’t have done it.”

“Yeah, but when he told us his alibi just now four psyche-locks popped up! Four!”

“Psych- I thought you weren’t using that thing anymore!”

“As a fidget toy! I’m not using it anymore as a fidget toy!”

“So you suspected we were wrong about Frohman and didn’t tell me sooner for what particular reason, pray tell?!”

“None, I was certain he was innocent – I only had the magatama out just now to use as a fidget toy!”

“You quite literally just said that you weren’t doing that anymore!”

“It’s a work in progress, okay?!?”

“[If the prosecution would stop arguing with itself and proceed with the trial?]”

“[Of course, apologies, your honour.]”

“Sorry, your honour.”

“[The prosecution would like to call Heimlich Frohman back to the stand-]”

OoOoOoOoO

Taking his car is the only truly efficient way to get to work, to Trucy’s delight and Wright’s dismay, but his apartment’s location puts it within convenient walking distance of a few places of interest – the Volkspark, a nice path along the river, and a shopping district with several quite decent take-out restaurants in it. Now that both Phoenix and Trucy are capable of being up and about, it would be remiss of Miles as a host to not ensure they know the basic layout of the area, that they might traverse it at times as they will, be it for fresh air, exercise, or any other reason. He might complain of the cold (in spite of the fact that its actually quite temperate at the moment for Anwaltsstadt in December), but Wright gets antsy if he’s cooped up for too long, as does Trucy. And it is not unpleasant to show them this place that is now his home.

Not that these tours always lead to their expected outcome.

OoOoOoOoO

“[Very well, officers, we will be waiting at the mentioned location.]”

“…you didn’t even blink just now.”

“Callous as it may sound, Trucy, after about the tenth, tripping over dead bodies does somehow lose its shock value.”

“Ten-! Edgeworth, I know you’ve mentioned getting mixed up in murder investigations over the years, but exactly how often does this sort of thing happen to you?!”

“Outside of the ones I encounter during cases I’m already formally prosecuting? I think it’s probably four or five a year on average at the moment.”

“…that’s… kinda a lot…?”

“It’s not like I’m doing this on purpose! And, in any case, it’s Wright’s fault!”

“My fault?! How is this my fault?!?”

“This happened nowhere near as frequently before I touched that wretched badge of yours! My life used to be orderly, you know, and then you showed back up!”

“Gee, sorry for literally saving your life. And wait, what do you mean not ‘as frequently’? How often were you running into dead bodies before Kurain?!”

“I’m not sure – maybe once or so a year? Perhaps twice?”

“…you realize that that’s still way higher than average, right?”

“…you still made it worse!”

“I did not-!”

“So, um, what do we do now?”

“Now, Trucy, we wait for the police to arrive, give our statements, and then I help investigate what happened.”

“Don’t you mean we?”

“I don’t see your legal aid qualifications on you.”

“I don’t see your prosecutor’s badge on you, either!”

“Behold.”

“You- you’re wearing your badge. Under the lapel I usually put mine on.”

“It’s easier to keep track of without being ostentatious- I say, are you well? You’ve gone red. I’m sure the police will understand if we get out of the cold to wait for them-”

“I’m fine, and, Trucy, close that mouth back up and wipe that grin off of it or I’m docking your work hours when we get home!”

“But Daddy-!”

OoOoOoOoO

It has been nearly a decade since Miles truly… cohabited with anyone, he has lived primarily on his own since he moved from the von Karma estate to his first apartment in Los Tokyo. That brief period the first time he brought Wright over to help him with a trial doesn’t really count, it was a short enough period that certain necessities of life could be put on hold for the sake of propriety (and maintaining a certain amount of distance). With the length of time the Wrights have been here, however, with their stay extending to an indeterminate period, well… it doesn’t do his dignity much good either way, and he’d rather be seen in trousers whose knees are shiny with wear, a worn waistcoat, and a fray-cuffed shirt, than give the impression that he lives in filth.

OoOoOoOoO

“Wright, is there a reason you just oh-so-stealthily took my picture?”

“Turnabout’s fair play?”

“How is this turnabout?!”

“Aw, come on, you’ve got one of me scrubbing my bathroom!”

“Which Maya sent me, unsolicited!”

“Well, now she’s got a matching one of you vacuuming your living room. I still can’t believe you clean your own apartment, by the way.”

“I value my privacy, and there are times I have sensitive documents in my office. This is the most sensible solution.”

“What, so your living room is private, but someone seeing your undies is okay?”

“Ngk! There is nothing wrong with having one’s laundry done, especially when the apartment comes with a laundry chute and service!”

“The fact remains, someone out there is, possibly at this very minute, handling your- ACK, TRUCY, HELP, EDGEWORTH’S TRYING TO VACUUM MY FACE OFF!”

“COMPLIMENT HIM, DADDY, HE’S WEAK AGAINST THOSE!”

“WHAT?! Trucy, that’s not- ARGH, I’VE ALWAYS THOUGHT THE COLOUR OF YOUR SUIT REALLY BRINGS OUT YOUR EYES-! …okay, wow, Truce, you were not wrong, um, hey, Edgeworth? Edgeworth? …how about we just sit you on the sofa until your brain reboots and I’ll just finish the vacuuming for now…?”

OoOoOoOoO

And somehow, somewhere along the way, all this has become simply a part of his day – the last week of October, all of November, and now into December, the three of them have been living together in a strange routine that has grown and adapted over the changes that have occurred. Trucy’s break down, Phoenix’s recovery, the continued discussions and allowances both of these events (and the events that caused them) have necessitated. Making plans. And now, for the moment, simply… living. Trucy is laughing again, Phoenix is speaking of the future with hope, and Miles’s world has finally regained almost all of the colour he lost in that terrifying moment Phoenix had called him, begging for help. A world-shattering moment.

It is a marvel, truly, how neatly those shattered pieces can begin to be fitted back together when there is more than one pair of hands doing the mending…

OoOoOoOoO

“Hey, Glowworm! Did you enjoy the trial today?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Daddy, I was doing my schoolwork in the prosecutors’ lobby the whole time! I had up the sign Mr. Edgeworth made for me and everything!”

“Nice try, but I saw a familiar Pink Princess baseball cap in the gallery today, with an even more familiar face under it.”

“Not to mention an equally familiar black-with-sparkles phone case in said figure’s hands – you do realize that photography is not allowed in court, yes?”

“Not as long as a member of the lay public is just taking pictures of the prosecution! Which both of you are at the moment, I looked it all up first so I wouldn’t get either of you in trouble!”

“That feels like a very fine line, Miss Trucy.”

“…I got a really good shot of when you and Daddy yelled ‘objection’ at the same time and ended up back to back, wanna see?”

“…”

“Ignore him, Truce, I wanna see! …oh man, Edgeworth, check it out, it looks like we rehearsed that, send me a copy, okay?”

“Sure thing, Daddy! You want me to send it to you, too, Mr. Edgeworth?”

“Er…”

“That’s his ‘I want to say yes, but I’m too dignified to’ face, copy him in.”

“You got it! I got some pictures of you two arguing behind the bench, too, do you want to-?”

“DELETE THOSE!” “DELETE THOSE!”

Chapter Text

It’s a… surreal month. Pleasant as parts of it are, the usual stresses and difficulties of December are still present, though… perhaps it is not as bad this year as it has been in years past. His step last year was a small one, but still it was made, still it has lasting effects, along with his continued talks with Dr. Heilen.

(Even if he had felt it necessary, it had been… uncomfortable to explain where he vanishes off to once a week or so to his houseguests. To admit that he is unable to escape from the mires of his past without help, as illogical as experiencing such shame was. Wright is so fiercely independent, able and willing to tackle just about everything life throws at him with bare minimum outside help. Again, illogically, he could not stop himself clutching his arm when he told them, could not keep his eyes off the floor, as though he were confessing a dirty secret.)

(He had not expected the hand on his shoulder. Had not expected to look up into an expression of pure relief and the confession, “I’m glad you’ve got someone to help you with this.”)

(One day he will learn to stop underestimating that man. One day.)

In regards to his continued cohabitation with Phoenix and Trucy, the word from Sebastian and Kay is that things are finally settling in Los Tokyo, to the point that, if the trend continues, they may be able to return in January, and plane tickets have tentatively been arranged for the sixth. Until then… it is December and they’re living with Miles still. Which means no Christmas celebration for them while they’re here. It would be marvelous if this were some holiday movie and their mere presence could alleviate his trauma surrounding this time of year, but it’s not and they can’t. He’d already had to warn Trucy when they first came that sometimes he has nightmares that cause him to wake… rather loudly, and not to be concerned, but now he has to sit her down and answer her question of why they can’t have a tree, no, not even a small one in their room.

To be fair, Phoenix had offered to give this explanation for him, to relieve Miles of the stress, but this time… it feels important that he look Trucy in the eye and tell her himself. She has heard very little of his past – at least in regards to the traumatic or unsavory parts. Miles… does not want her to hear this from another source, he would prefer to tell her himself, to confess to his pains and his crimes rather than lay this burden at the feet of another. Perhaps he will not reveal all, but enough for her to understand both the beginning and the end of DL-6, and some of what happened in the years between.

At the end, Trucy leans over from where she’s sitting on the sofa and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Edgeworth, we have a saying in Troupe Gramarye.”

“Oh?” he asks, trying for nonchalant and likely failing in the eyes even of those who aren’t Trucy.

She folds her arms and nods seriously. “Yup. It goes ‘time is an illusion, but holiday pay is real.’”

This startles a laugh out of him (and out of Wright, whom they’re all pretending isn’t hiding around the corner Just In Case). “You are a very pragmatic young lady.”

“I’m a businesswoman, Mr. Edgeworth,” she spreads her hands with a smug little smile, then wags a finger at him, “Plus it’s 2020 and I have an internet connection – I know about PTSD and self care and stuff like that, and if I pushed you on it and you gave in, that would be setting a bad example for me, and that wouldn’t do at all!”

Miles does his best not to smile. “Well we couldn’t have that.”

“Absolutely not!” she agrees.

“Especially when Wright has that aspect so thoroughly covered.”

“That’s true!”

“HOLD IT!” Phoenix’s head pops indignantly around the doorframe, “I’m an excellent example!”

Trucy exchanges a look with Miles, then they turn to him in unison and Trucy puts her hands on her cheeks in shock. “Really, Daddy? Eavesdropping on a private, sensitive conversation?!”

Miles folds his arms and tsks. “Not setting a very good example there, Wright.”

“I can feel my moral fiber collapsing as we speak!” Trucy puts a hand dramatically against her forehead and slumps against Miles’s side.

“Disgraceful,” he shakes his head.

“You knew I was here, we agreed on it ahead of time!”

“It’s your word against mine, I’m afraid.”

“Oh Daddy…”

“THIS IS SLANDER AND DEFAMATION OF CHARACTER!!!”

Miles makes the mistake of making eye contact with Trucy at this point, and it somehow ruins their joint ability to keep a straight face. Phoenix takes advantage of their helpless laughter to swoop Trucy up and over his shoulder, turning his head to blow a raspberry in her side as he does so and she shrieks with laughter, flailing enough that Miles quickly steps in to help support her, mindful of Phoenix’s back troubles even if the man himself isn’t. Lack of experience in this matter works against him, however, as his efforts result in tripping up not only himself but Phoenix as well, sending both Wrights down on top of Miles in a heap (thankfully on the sofa as opposed to the nearby coffee table).

As they try and untangle themselves without causing further damage to each other, it crosses Miles’s mind that, last year, speaking of DL-6 during December had generally sent his colour vision below acceptable parameters. Now, however, the world has gained a definitive grey wash to it… but he’s still laughing. And that’s probably a good sign.

OoOoOoOoO

“I must say, you’re doing better than I thought you would.”

“Huh?” Phoenix looks up from where he’s doing paperwork, “You mean at being a legal aid? I did run my own firm for three years, you know.”

“No, I’m aware of that, I mean… in general,” Miles waves a hand as he sits back from his desk, “You’re not the most graceful under pressure at times, I would have thought this waiting period would be driving you mad.”

“Oh. That.” Phoenix runs a hand through his hair and sighs, standing to wander the office a little. “I was at first, but the longer I’m here… I dunno, the less real it all seems.”

Miles frowns, following the man with his eyes. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“This whole situation is just… surreal. I mean,” Phoenix spreads his arms, “I’m in Germany, wearing a custom-made suit and working in the prosecutors’ office with you. When I’m done for the day, we’ll grab Trucy from the break room and pretend she didn’t sneak to the courthouse to watch trials, and then we’ll all go home together. We’ll have supper, you’ll watch some of that show you love with Trucy, and there’s nothing to connect me to the fact that Los Tokyo’s legal system is falling apart, that I won’t be going back to how things were in September…”

His feet lead him seemingly at random to the window behind Miles’s desk, and Miles turns in his chair to see him leaning against the frame, staring out at the city below them.

“Is this all a dream? Was Los Tokyo the dream? If I were to wake up, would I even be able to bear it?”

Miles-

[-goes to lean against him, put his arms around the man and hold him close, tell him he never has to leave, never has to wake back to the nightmare he left behind, he can keep dreaming, with him, together they can keep dreaming-]

-stands up and goes to lean against the opposite side of the window frame, hands in his pockets. “Is there a reason windows have such an influence on your inner poet?”

This startles a laugh from him, and Phoenix turns from the city to Miles with a rising redness in his cheeks. “College Phoenix thought it made him look all romantic and dramatic, and I’ve never been able to kick the habit.”

“There are worse foibles to have,” Miles shrugs.

“I guess.” He sends a sideways look at him. “Any sage advice on this?”

“Not really,” Miles shrugs again, tilting a look at Anwaltsstadt himself. “‘A von Karma does not run from a challenge.’ You are not a von Karma; you may do as you like.”

“Wrights don’t back down from challenges either,” Phoenix informs him with false primness, “And I shall thank you to remember that.”

The deeper register and atypical accent Wright uses to say the latter has Miles raising an eyebrow. “Please tell me that wasn’t supposed to be me.”

“Cut me some slack, your accent’s surprisingly hard!”

…it is very, very tempting to attempt to pull rank on the other man for this, considering that Wright is working for him at the moment – Gumshoe learned not to comment within a week or so, if only for the sake of his salary. But something makes him hesitate. Long has he viewed this man as his equal, in some ways his superior, and to imply that he is viewed as some sort of subordinate feels… wrong. And also like something Manfred would suggest he do. So yes, no. He turns a courtroom glare on Phoenix instead.

The man yelps and vanishes, reappearing on the sofa without apparently having touched the space between it and the window, nose buried in paperwork.

“That’s what I thought,” Miles says, settling back at his desk.

“Some of us are just fine going through life without experiencing defenestration, you know,” Wright retorts.

“Feh, you’d survive – you’re you, after all.”

“But think of the emotional trauma, Edgeworth! Plus, you’d probably make me pay to have the window fixed.”

“You are both Wright and correct – I would.”

‘Yeah. So best to avoid it, then.”

“Most likely.”

“Edgeworth?”

“Yes?”

Phoenix stares at him intently. “Please don’t throw me out a window.”

Miles rolls his eyes. “I never planned to, Wright – you’re the one who brought the subject up.”

“True,” the man agrees before his expression goes crafty, “But hey, it got you smiling again, right? So worth it – EDGE-worth it!”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Phoenix just waggles his eyebrows, and Miles has to bite his lip to keep from laughing aloud.

Chapter Text

He does not permit decoration, however, come the 25^th, Miles does casually mention over breakfast that he feels the need for some fresh air, and will be going for a walk after the meal. And that he’ll likely be gone until a bit after noon and, no, he would rather go alone, thank-you.

“Oh, and when I get back… I expect for any incriminating evidence to have been cleaned up,” he adds, adjusting his photography satchel over his shoulder as he glances back at them, raising an eyebrow, “Am I understood?”

The moment Trucy catches his meaning is clear, as is, in this instance, the reason her father sometimes refers to her as ‘bright-shining’; she lights up like a star and flings herself into his arms with a delighted shriek.

…when the Wrights had first arrived in his home, it had still been required for Trucy to ask before making physical displays of affection. Yet now he realizes… this is no longer the case. Somewhere over the months she has gained unspoken approval to do things such as this, as she does for her father. And Miles… does not mind, no longer flinches at the contact, simply runs a light hand over her hair, gives a nod of acknowledgement to the mouthed ‘thank-you’ Phoenix sends him.

How odd.

How very, very odd…

Usually on this day he locks himself in his apartment and buries himself in paperwork and books and films until nightfall, then an early bed. It has been years since he willingly stepped foot outside his door, let alone the building, and at first it feels… strange. Uncomfortable. Unreal. Avoiding more decorated areas is no effort at this point, though, and the day is clear – not sunny, but bright, albeit cold. He’s had to wear a hat along with the still very cool scarf Trucy knitted him last year. After awhile, however, the discomfort slowly fades into something more manageable, and after that… it’s not so bad. The fresh air is bracing, and the streets he follows are empty, still, almost as though he is the only person in the world in the moment.

Actually, it rather reminds him of a recent adventure Trucy told him about where the Salmon Sorceress – no, wait, it’s the Sky Sorceress now, Trucy’s new distaste for the former shade and a marathon texting session with Maya and Pearls had seen to that – an adventure the Sky Sorceress and her companions had gone on. The heroes had gotten too close to the Lurkers’ leader, and he had banished them to an empty, misty realm full of lost souls, separated and forced to find one another again. It’s one of the most intriguing adventures the Heroes of Neo Olde Kyoto have been on yet, and Miles had quite enjoyed it…

…

…there really isn’t anyone about right now, is there? Just him. Not even any security cameras or police. A terrible security risk, that. Why, a man might get up to anything at all, with no one to watch him…

“I was about to try your phone,” Phoenix grins when Miles returns homes nearly an hour later than he’d said he would, “What happened, did you get lost?”

“I was merely enjoying the fresh air,” Miles replies haughtily, because he had. The air in Volkspark had been very fresh and crisp, and chancing upon a stick the right length for a katana had meant he’d breathed in quite a lot of it while the Legal Samurai helped the Guarding Ninja hold off a Lurker ambush until the Sky Sorceress could arrive to finish them off. Another glorious victory for the Heroes of Neo Olde Kyoto when all was said and done, and just in time for the Plum Priestess and Mauve Mystic to successfully pierce the veils between worlds and bring them all home.

(He’s quite looking forward to seeing where Trucy goes next with this plot line, really, it’s rather exciting.)

“Uh-huh.” The look he receives is one of bemused skepticism, but the man drops the subject, instead asking, “So, after all that fresh air, wanna watch a movie with us? A warning: Trucy’s gunning for The Mighty Moozilla versus Gourdy.”

“Perhaps another?” Miles wrinkles his nose as he removes his winter wear, “While I do not doubt Will Powers’s or John Marsh’s abilities, I’m not particularly fond of the kaiju genre.”

“Uh, you watch Steel Samurai literally all the time?”

“That’s a tokusatsu, and while they can involve kaiju elements, they are not-”

“Never mind, I immediately regret asking, the defense concedes!”

“As well it should. Philistine.” He walks into the living room, removing his suit jacket to drape over the sofa’s arm as he joins the Wrights on it, “And that is a lovely hat, Trucy.”

“Thanks!” she beams, adjusting her new headwear – a shiny black top hat at least a size too large, “A proper magician needs the proper tools, you know,” then she leans forward and stage whispers behind one hand, “And I can’t summon Mr. Hat without a top hat – he’s a bit of a snob like that, only don’t tell him I said that, okay?”

“My lips are sealed,” Miles promises with utmost solemnity, then, a touch nervously, “He’s not about to make an appearance, is he?”

“Oh no,” Trucy assures as Phoenix looks on fondly, “He knows I’ve got a new hat, so he needs to make a new cape to go with it – it’s terribly tacky for a gentleman like him to go out in a hat and cape that don’t match, you know.”

“Of course. And you’ll be making a black one for yourself as well, I assume, or will you be using the brown tweed?”

“Mr. Edgeworth,” she puts a hand to her chest in over-played shock, “Brown tweed is for travel and sometimes vacations, not formal wear!”

“Yeah, everyone knows that,” Phoenix grins cheekily around her, “But you know what does go with black top hats?”

“Blue scarves!” Trucy announces happily before Miles can answer, and with a twist her hands are full of familiar sky-coloured silk, “Thank-you so much, Mr. Edgeworth, I love it – and the cards, too! Now I’ve got three skies in my collection!”

“You are most welcome.” It is not that he wants to, but for some reason Miles gets the feeling that, if he were to try and stop smiling now, he would have a very hard time of it.

“So, what are we watching?” Phoenix switches back to the earlier topic, “Edgeworth doesn’t want to watch Moozilla either, so we have to find something else.”

A discussion of not unreasonable length ends with them watching a CGI movie Trucy is fond of, a fantasy-romance involving two kingdoms, one magical, one mysterious, with surprisingly excellent artwork. Phoenix waxes poetic at the end about how refreshing it is to see a story based on A Midsummer Night’s Dream rather than Romeo and Juliet again, and Trucy quietly informs Miles that her father does this every time they watch this movie. And it doesn’t take much to get him further down the tangent.

…it is impressively easy to forget that Phoenix hadn’t just planned to be an actor but a Shakespearian one. That he loves the plays and the language and had spent the years before he started law school immersing himself in them, to the point that even now he can slip into the phraseology with only a moment’s thought. Miles hadn’t actually known he could do that, and the man laughs at his surprise.

“Hadst thou not the knowing of this, then? In sooth, my good sir, ‘tis simple as anything, for thrice were the years I did walk the most noble streets of Willington as a subject of our most gracious Queen, may God smile e’er upon her – most merry times indeed!”

“Daddy was on cast at the Japanafornia Renaissance Faire for a few years,” Trucy translates happily, “So he knows his thees and thous and everything!”

“What! Impertinent scamp, what meanst thou by repeating those most plainlisome words I have spoken not moments prior?” Phoenix catches his daughter under the armpits and drags her into his lap. “Ha, now I see – thou art a vexatious demon, sent to try mine own soul and return with news of thy success to thy fiendish master! Well I say thee nay – have at thee!”

Trucy shrieks with laughter as her father tickles her, throwing her new top hat to Miles when it starts getting in the way. “Tell Mr. Hat I love him!”

Miles promises with lips that keep wanting to smile and quietly sends Maya a picture of father and daughter laughing together.

OoOoOoOoO

“Thank-you.”

Miles turns back to Phoenix in confusion. The rest of the day and evening had somehow devolved into a series of excited anecdotes about old plays and performances, watching cinematic renditions of Shakespearian plays, and pausing said renditions to explain about the events unfolding within them or work out a tricky piece of dialogue. They’d ended up eating in the living room, a thing Miles (almost) never does and which will necessitate an unscheduled use of the vacuum tomorrow. Trucy has fallen asleep draped across her father and more of the sofa than a being her size would be reasonably expected to occupy and, quite frankly, Miles has no idea why his own rising to put away the television remote would earn him such a sincere-sounding expression of gratitude from Phoenix.

“For earlier today,” the man elaborates before Miles needs to request it, “For giving me and Trucy some time? It meant the world to her – to both of us.”

“Oh. That. It was-”

“Don’t say it was nothing; it was huge. Thank-you.”

“…you are welcome.” Miles awkwardly returns to the sofa and gathers up his long-discarded jacket, his attempts to keep it unrumpled thwarted when it fell unnoticed to the ground sometime in the past hours. “If you would indulge me… how did you manage to acquire that hat without myself or your daughter knowing?”

“You know carrier pigeons?”

“Yes…?”

Phoenix’s smile is downright smug. “Turns out crows are pretty good at package delivery, too.”

That takes but a moment to work out. “You enlisted Kay’s help?”

“It was just for finding one last-minute at first, you know? Since she’s so good at finding stuff. Then it turned out she had some stuff she needs to do in this area and ‘Sebbie’ felt safe enough on his own at this point, so she dropped it off herself.”

“How?”

“Guest room window – she already had your address, by the way.”

“I am aware – I gave it to her,” Miles replies drily, then smirks as an amusing thought occurs to him, “Though, knowing Kay as I do, I also assume you were not alerted as to her planned manner of delivery until she was outside the window?”

A wince conveys Phoenix’s answer before words can. “It was the evening Trucy went out with you to pick up Vietnamese; I don’t think I’ve ever screamed so loud outside a case, I’m surprised your neighbours didn’t investigate or anything!” he chuckles, then starts arranging himself and Trucy so he can carry her to bed, lifting her with a grunt.

“Careful of your back.”

“I’m okay, thanks, as long as she’s not squirming; she’s not that heavy. Yet.” He nuzzles a cheek against her hair. “Gotta carry my little girl around as much as she’ll let me while I still can.” The expression on his face is so gentle and Miles-

[-goes over and puts his arms around both of them, brushes a kiss against Phoenix’s temple, and they simply stand there in the living room, quiet, close, together-]

-folds his arms, stepping back slightly. “Fatherhood suits you, Wright.”

The smile this earns him is almost shy. “You think?”

“Every time I see you with her.” Miles turns and walks to the doorway, hesitates, grips the frame and takes a steadying breath. “And Wright?”

“Yeah?”

“…Merry Christmas.”

“…Merry Christmas, Edgeworth.”

The warmth suffusing Wright’s words is not enough to keep the nightmares at bay, but it had been… a good day, a surprisingly good day, really. And after nearly two decades of a terrible day paired with an equally terrible night… only half of that equation is nothing short of miraculous. Leave it to Phoenix and Trucy Wright to help him without even meaning to.

It feels good.

Like progress.

He sleeps poorly, of course he does, and he wakes in a mood that isn’t particularly merry. But Phoenix is in the kitchen, still not quite free of his morning blear, and Trucy is stirring a pot of oatmeal, because the eccentric child claims it a necessary part of any winter morning.

“Hi, Mr. Edgeworth! Good timing, I just put the kettle on!”

“Still attempting to find a tea you like?”

“I will prevail! And also prove to Pearl that it’s better than coffee!”

“Mrmblf kof’ee…”

“It’s okay that you like coffee, Daddy, you’re allowed to be wrong about some things.”

…the world may not be merry, but, from the doorway of his kitchen, it is bright.

Chapter Text

“But then how did she see von Schlauter drive away from the scene?!”

“I don’t know, Wright, perhaps if you would give me a moment to inquire, I might have gotten the answer by now!”

“…you noticed, too?”

“Of course I did – you’re useful, but I am capable of prosecuting cases on my own, you know!”

“…sorry about that…”

“Hmph. I should say-”

“[If the prosecution could please stop arguing with itself?]”

“[Apologies, your honour.]”

“[‘polgies yer honar]… does that guy in the gallery have popcorn…?”

“Yes, because for some reason we’re getting a reputation. Now if I may continue questioning the witness?!”

“Fine, sheesh, grumpy…”

OoOoOoOoO

“Hey, Edgeworth?”

“Yes?” he doesn’t look away from the road.

“What’s that term the people at the courthouse keep calling you?”

“You mean ‘Staatsanwalt’? It’s German for ‘prosecutor’.”

“No, no, it’s longer than that, um, diamerikanshgalhat or something like that?”

Miles does his best to keep his expression neutral and thanks the heavens that Trucy had requested to stay at the apartment today instead of accompanying them. “That is simply a moniker I have been… gifted with during my work in Europe, much as I am known as the Demon Prosecutor in America.”

“Oh. That’s… sorry. I sort of assumed you didn’t have to put up with that crap over here.”

There is no suspicion in Wright’s tone, only sympathy, meaning he hadn’t been playing with that dratted rock when Miles answered. Excellent. “The price one pays for earning a reputation is having to live with it.”

“Still…”

Aaaaand time to deflect before the man catches on that Miles is hiding anything. “I notice you seem to have become accustomed to my driving?”

“Driving? Who’s driving? We’re just taking a nice, leisurely stroll back to your apartment.”

“Ah. So you have retreated into the clutches of madness rather than face reality.”

“Oh look, what a lovely window box.”

“We’re in Germany, Wright, in the middle of winter.”

“Such pretty flowers.”

“Very well, if that is how you wish to be… What kind of flowers are they, then?”

“…tulips.”

“An interesting selection, given that their season of bloom is relatively brief.”

“…you actually know stuff about flowers?” the man actually cracks an eye open, turning to look at him, “Wait, what trial did you learn about them for?”

Miles simply raises an eyebrow. “The trial of growing up with Franziska.”

“Franziska.”

“Yes.”

“Franziska von Karma.”

“Presumably yes.”

“The one with the whip.”

“Wright, you are treading on dangerous ground.”

“What? No, I mean,” the man shakes his head, “She likes flowers? It doesn’t really seem her sort of… thing.”

Miles rolls his eyes, “In the same manner that Shakespeare doesn’t seem your ‘sort of thing,’ nor Steel Samurai mine?”

“Okay, okay, fine, the defense concedes this one to the prosecution and his extensive knowledge of flowers.”

“Most gracious of you,” Miles pulls onto his street and turns towards the apartment’s parking garage, “Though I’d be loath to call my knowledge extensive.”

“You know more than two types of flowers?”

“What? Of course,” Miles frowns at him.

Phoenix just shrugs. “I’d call that extensive.”

“That’s hardly- wait,” Miles pauses as what the other man has just said truly sinks in, “Are you saying that you only know two types of flower?!”

“Yup. Tulips and sunflowers. The rest are all just a pretty blur.”

“‘A rose by any other name’?!”

“Those obviously aren’t the only names of flowers I know,” it’s Phoenix’s turn to roll his eyes at Miles, “Tulips and sunflowers are just the only ones I can identify on sight. The rest… too much overlap. It gets confusing.”

“Surely you know what a rose looks like,” Miles protests.

“Eh,” the man shrugs, “I’m pretty sure they’re one of the ruffly ones, but you have to get a pretty distinct shape before I can remember it. I only know sunflowers because defense attorney badges are supposed to be based on them.”

That’s just… annoying for some reason, Miles isn’t even sure why, perhaps this is what causes Franziska to make that face every time he make a mistake with this subject, in spite of the fact that it gives her the chance to show off knowing more than him about something. Speaking of Franziska and flowers, though, that does remind him of one particular case-

“I’ll bet I can show you at least one more flower you’ll remember.”

“I sincerely doubt it. More invested people than you have tried, believe me, it breaks Larry’s heart that I don’t care about this.”

That momentarily derails Miles’s train of thought. “Larry has knowledge about this subject?”

“He’s an artist. Plus, a lot of women like flowers and Larry likes women – you do the math.”

Miles concedes via silence and parks his car, locking the doors before Phoenix can make a dive for the outside world because, of the two of them, Miles is the faster learner. “Hold it- and don’t press your face to the glass!”

“Noooooo~” the man whimpers, but stays seated while Miles does a quick google image search. Finding what he wants, he hands the phone over.

“Take that.”

He gets a dubious look, then an annoyed one when Phoenix looks at the screen. “I meant real flowers, Edgeworth, not made-up ones.”

“That is a real flower, Wright.”

“I’m not as green as I am cabbage-looking, you know.”

“…what? No, never mind – feel free to pull out your magic rock if you don’t believe me!”

“You know what? I will! I’m calling your bluff, Mr. Miles Edgeworth!” the ridiculous man retorts, fishing in his pocket with one hand, triumphantly revealing the magatama, then presenting Miles with his own phone. “And what exactly is this, then?”

“It’s a photograph of a passionflower. I encountered a window box of them during one of my investigations.”

Phoenix’s jaw drops, and he stares at the magatama, then at Miles’s phone. “Holy crap. That’s… wow. We actually live on the same planet as that?”

“Indeed we do,” Miles smiles faintly at Phoenix’s expression, “They are quite unique, are they not?”

“Yeah,” he nods slowly, “That’s… really cool. Thanks for showing me. Passionflower. I’ll remember that.”

It suddenly occurs to Miles that he’s leaned forward to view the image as well, meaning that he and Phoenix are sitting huddled together, alone in the parking area, looking at pictures of flowers on his phone. He pulls back with a cough, reclaiming and locking said phone again, and turning to hide the rising colour in his cheeks. “Good. That’s good. I told you I’d find one you would remember. We should go – Trucy will be wondering where we are.”

“Uh, right! Yes! Correct!” if Wright’s tone is anything to go by, he’s also turning bright red, “I’m kinda nervous to see what she’s been getting up to, to be honest.”

“I doubt it’s anything drastic.” As long as she hasn’t found out about German New Year’s firework traditions, Miles does not add as they exit the car and make their way to the stairs, “Likely she simply wanted some extended time to herself after having to spend so much of it together in the past months, a sentiment you naturally understand.”

A sardonic eyebrow is paired with a drawled, “Oh I do, do I?”

“I don’t see why you wouldn’t,” Miles shrugs, “The two of us have been arguing more frequently of late, I can only assume you wish also to be back in your own space.” It takes several steps before he realizes he’s alone, and turns back to see the other man staring at him. “Wright?”

“You… don’t tell me you think I’m tired of you.”

Miles’s brows furrow as he frowns. “Aren’t you?”

“…it’s a good thing von- Manfred is already dead, because sometimes I just wanna-” Wright cuts himself off and rubs his forehead, “No, Edgeworth, I’m not tired of you, and- this sounds weird, but I’m not tired of sharing an apartment with you, either. You’re… easier to cohabit with than I would have guessed. And I like working together, you think about things so differently than me!

“I’m just… I’m not a prosecutor. I don’t really like looking for guilt instead of innocence, and your caseload is way heavier than mine ever was – it’s stressy. That and having to work around the language barrier, not being able to properly investigate… I miss my apartment and Los Tokyo, yeah, and I’m tired of some of the stuff here, but… I’m not tired of you. Like, it’d be better if we didn’t have to be joined at the hip, but I mean- ugh, I can’t think of a good way to say it-!”

“It would be better if we were somewhere that we both spoke the language and were on opposite sides of the bar, but still living together?”

“Yes, exactly!” Phoenix snaps his fingers and beams, then his brain catches up with his mouth and his entire head turns an amusing shade of scarlet. Miles takes the opportunity to snap a photograph with his phone, then heads for the stairs.

“Do try and keep up, Wright, or you’ll return to the apartment to discover we’re having a vegetarian supper.”

“Buh- wuh? Huh? WAIT, NO, I’M COMING!”

Chapter Text

“You know, Wright, just because I take the stairs doesn’t mean you have to.”

“Yes, I do know, because you keep telling me,” Phoenix huffs and rolls his eyes, “And like I keep telling you, I’m going back to a world where I bike almost everywhere after this – gotta keep my legs in shape.”

“Oh, you call what you were in when you arrived ‘in shape’ then? Colour me shocked.”

“Just because you can jog to your office on the tenth floor if you need to-!”

“Come now, Wright, there’s no shame in admitting you need to step up your game.”

“…this betrayal shall not be forgotten.”

“Why, is all this exercise stairing you down?”

“Ow.”

“Perhaps it will be better for you in Japanafornia, a more suitable climb-ate?”

“Please don’t keep making me regret finding out you have a sense of humour, it hurts.”

Miles snickers but ceases, if only because they’re nearly at his apartment, and no point in antagonizing Wright too much on the last day of the year – let him start with the right foot forward and all that.

…heh, ‘Wright’ foot forward-

‘Do not even,” Phoenix glares before he can say anything, “I know you just thought of another one, I can see it in your eyes, tempt not a desperate man!”

“…fine,” he can save that one for another time, anyway, “Was that a quote at the end?”

“Romeo, from the obvious play. Nice catch.”

“Not really – you’re usually quoting when you randomly insert bits of Elizabethan in your speech patterns.”

“Eh, I guess that’s true.”

Miles shakes his head at him as he unlocks and opens his apartment door-

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!”

“NYAAAARGH!!!”

“TRUCY!!!”

Miles opens his apartment door to a shower of confetti, a surprising number of decorations, and twice as many people as he had expected.

“Hiya, Mr. Edgeworth,” Kay crows cheerfully, “Don’t worry, we put a drop-cloth down, Trucy was very insistent about not making a mess.”

“I promised,” the young magician says stoutly, wagging her finger at Kay, one hand on her hip, “We’re guests in Mr. Edgeworth’s apartment, so it’s rude to make a mess. And we tested the sticky tack we used to hold the paper chains up on a spot near the floorboards first,” she adds, turning to the two men and beaming, “To make sure it didn’t ruin the paint when you take them down again! Kay’s been helping me make decorations, and she helped with supper!”

“You did…?” Miles manages to get out as he eases into his home, doing his best not to track any confetti with him as he steps off the drop-cloth (with European courts using streamers instead, he’d almost forgotten just how… pervasive confetti can be), Phoenix following close behind.

“Yup! Traditional Faraday Egg-Drop Soba – it’s like egg drop soup, only with soba and carrots and extra onions; my dad invented it. Speaking of which, you’re here now, so it’s safe to go start heating the broth!” with that she turns and strides off towards the kitchen. “And don’t forget to wash your hands!”

Miles and Phoenix stand in the silence of the mutually shell-shocked for a moment before Phoenix gives his head a shake. “Every time I meet that girl, my hope that she never meets Maya grows stronger and stronger.”

An involuntary shudder ripples through Miles. “Agreed.”

“Aw, I think Miss Maya and Fay would get on great!” Trucy interjects, then pouts at the dual “That’s what I’m afraid of” she gets in response. “Do you at least like the decorations?”

Miles looks around to fully take in what’s been done to the hallway of his apartment. At a second glance there’s not that much – some paper chains in pink and blue and gold, paper flowers here and there in the same colours. Enough to give a firmly ‘decorated’ appearance without having a huge amount of clean-up to deal with afterwards. “They’re rather… charming, I suppose. Er, what are we celebrating?”

“I told you, silly, New Year’s!”

“Ah.” He shoots a helpless look at Phoenix and gets shrugged at, useless man. “And these… are New Year’s colours?”

“They are now!”

“Ah.”

Phoenix either figures out what to say at last or notices that if he stays out of the conversation much longer Miles is going to say the Wrong Thing (it’s going to happen, Miles can feel it rising up in his soul, he has no idea what it’s going to be, but he knows if left to his own devices much longer it’s going to happen) because Phoenix crouches down in front of his daughter and puts his hands on her shoulders. “Trucy, kiddo, care to share why you decided to throw a party without telling us?”

“Oh, did I not tell you? Heh heh, oops!” she knocks herself on the head with a fist, sticking her tongue out in a ‘silly me’ expression.

Her father does not smile with her. “Trucy, I know we’ve been here awhile, but we’re still guests in Edgeworth’s home. How would you like it if someone decorated your set without telling you? Even if it was easy to clean up after?”

She folds her arms and looks away. “I wouldn’t.”

“And you at least sorta knew that before you did this, didn’t you?”

Her shoulders slump. “…yeah.”

“Then why did you do it?”

“…because I thought he might say no, and Mr. Edgeworth didn’t get to celebrate any holidays this month, and that’s not fair!” she looks up at them, then away quickly, knuckling her eyes, “And I know he’s got trauma and nightmares and it’s awful for him, so I thought if I did something new-! And I wanted- it’s mean and selfish, but I wanted to celebrate with him too, Daddy, because we’re here this year, and- and I sent him a New Year’s present last year, and that was okay, so- so I thought-” she sniffs hard, then looks over her father’s shoulder at Miles, “I made it worse, didn’t I? ‘c-cause good intentions can still get good people badly hurt…”

Miles sighs, then goes to kneel by Phoenix, fishing out his handkerchief to wipe Trucy’s eyes as he does so. “That’s an interesting saying.”

“D-Daddy says it makes more sense than the one about the road to hell.”

“It’s certainly clearer in its meaning,” Miles agrees, then hesitates. “I… do not know what to say about this, Trucy. I am not upset, but… I am not happy you did this without my permission, either.”

She nods without looking at him, then takes a deep breath, straightens her top hat, and meets his gaze. “I’m sorry, Mr. Edgeworth. I should have asked first. Please don’t be mad at Kay – it was my idea, not hers, it’s my fault.”

That look in her eyes… almost without thinking he reaches out to brush a lock of hair behind her ear with one hand. “You are so like your father… and you’ve been with him such a short time. How do you already have so much of him in you?”

“Because she’s a good influence on me.”

Miles nearly yelps and falls over because he’d somehow forgotten about Phoenix, when he was literally touching shoulders with- good lord, they were touching shoulders, but it’s a lot more than that now because Phoenix somehow managed to catch Miles without overbalancing himself and he is in the man’s arms-!!!

“Whoa there, steady,” Phoenix admonishes as he helps Miles right himself, “Sorry for grabbing, but I figured, you know, better than potentially hitting your head…?”

“It’s fine,” Miles wheezes, which is a bit of a relief, since his brain had been all for saying, ‘You don’t actually have to let go if you don’t want to, I’m fine here.’

“You sure?” the man peers at him with concern, “You’re looking kinda re-”

“HURRY UP, THE SOUP’S READY!”

Kay’s bellow shocks them all back into motion, and Phoenix scrambles to go wash his hands, his daughter almost following before Miles catches her shoulder. “Trucy.”

She stiffens, then squares her shoulders and turns back to him. “Yes, Mr. Edgeworth?”

He opens his mouth, closes it again. Why does talking about subjects such as this one have to be so difficult?

“Mr. Edgeworth?” Trucy steps forward and takes his hand, “We can take down the decorations after supper if you want. And… if you’re not ready to forgive me yet, I understand.”

He gives a wry laugh. “Understanding… if only it were always so easily gained.” He kneels down before her again, as he has seen Phoenix do when he is being serious with the girl. “For the most part celebrations are not important to me – they generally seem too much fuss and bother. The twenty-fifth of this month… I had a good day that day. That is the first time that has happened since I was younger than you are now, a thing far more valuable to me than a few decorations and what-have-you. And it would likely not have happened if I had been on my own. Do you understand?”

Quite suddenly he has a double armful of Trucy, her face buried in his shoulder. “I think I do now,” she tells the fabric of his coat, “I’m sorry, I won’t try to force it again.”

“Thank-you,” he puts his arms around her as well, “Especially as it- oof!”

In a maneuver completely typical of her, Trucy has vanished from his arms and reappeared on his shoulders. “Come on, Mr. Edgeworth, supper’s getting cold – and if you stand up like this and walk me over to them, I can pull down the paper chains as we go to the kitchen! It’ll be more efficient!”

“This feels structurally unsound,” he protests, even as he tries to find his balance.

“Please? I never get to do this with Daddy – I mean, he tries, but his back goes ‘click’ in a scary way, so I don’t like asking him. Besides, it’ll be fun!”

And, for some reason, once Miles has staggered to his feet and Trucy has claimed the paper chain ends from both sides of the hallway, it rather is, in that unadmittable manner the chaos Wright exists within is entertaining even as it drives Miles somewhat mad…

Chapter Text

Kay lets out a sound of dismay as Miles and Trucy enter the kitchen, Trucy trailing paper chains behind her in each hand. “What?! No, we worked hard on those!”

“Change of plans, Kay,” Trucy chirps as her father comes help remove her from her perch on Miles’s shoulders without damaging either of them, “We’re not having a party after all!”

“Aw…”

The self-proclaimed great thief looks unexpectedly disappointed, and Trucy runs over to pat her on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, we can have a family supper instead – she can stay, right, Mr. Edgeworth?”

Her confident tone is belied by lingering nervousness in her eyes, so Miles merely huffs in annoyance anyone would be able to see is false. “I suppose it would be poor manners to toss the cook out on her ear without letting her share the meal.”

“Oh. Oh!” Kay’s frown flips into a smile so fast it’s like one of Trucy’s magic tricks, “Okay, yeah – that sounds great! Now seriously, hurry up, it’s just hitting edible temperatures and this stuff doesn’t reheat well. Say, did you know this town has a kosher grocery store? ‘cause, let me tell you, that was super convenient, much like you already having chopsticks and proper spoons and bowls and stuff – guess that answers whether you eat your take-out straight out of the box or not!”

“Also the question of whether or not you spy on me.” Miles would like to be upset over this discovery, he really would, but he can’t find it in himself to even be surprised – it’s Kay, after all.

In keeping with this, she just shrugs as she starts ladling out soup. “I take my cues from the Question – ‘I go through everyone’s garbage.’ …what, none of you get that? Come on, that series is a classic…!”

The egg drop soba is… different than any soup Miles has had, but tolerable enough. (Phoenix has seconds and asks for the recipe.) Kay chatters her way through the meal and, if he were not familiar with the curiously stealthy tornado that is the main Yatagarasu member, Miles would think her in high spirits. Yet there are lulls in the conversation she would usually fill, where instead he sees her… detached, watching himself and the Wrights as if from a far greater distance than she truly does, still with contemplation, though never long enough for him to call her on it. She also turns the conversation to more serious topics at the end of the meal.

“As much fun as this is, I’m not just here for pleasure – I’ve got official news, too.”

“Is that so?” the tension in the room almost physically rises as Phoenix turns to Kay.

She nods. “Yup. Got reports in today from Gummie, Sebbie, Ray, and a few other members of my LT network. Things are holding – you two can definitely go home on the 6^th like you were hoping. It’s safe enough.”

“…oh.” Phoenix blinks, leans back in his chair and shakes his head a little. “That’s- that’s great, Kay, thanks for letting us know. I- wow. I guess this means we’ll finally get the battle plan under way. It’s almost surreal.”

“Plan?” the great thief cocks her head to the side, curious as ever.

An exchange of looks and nods, and Kay is shown their plan of attack, Trucy materializing her and Wright’s copy from presumably the same place she hides her phone and Mr. Hat.

“And there’s only two copies, both hand-written?” she hums in approval when given confirmation, “Good, that makes it hard to prove it even exists, let alone find it. Call me paranoid, but I say the more old-school you can keep this, the better. I know enough about tech to know how hackable it can be, and Kristoph is the kind of guy who knows his way around a computer. So yeah, stick to paper, try to keep details to a minimum when you talk on the phone, don’t talk about it by e-mail or text if you can… maybe have Gummie scrub your phones for you every now and then, he’s good at that.”

“…Detective Gumshoe? But he’s- uh, I mean-” Phoenix looks like he’s struggling to find a way to say what he wants without being overly harsh.

Kay raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him, leaning back from the table and folding her arms. “Nicky, I hate to break it to you, but you really don’t get to try and call other people out on not being good with technology. And Gummie’s good at putting stuff together or making sure it works like it’s supposed to, and he’s been trained to spot stuff like bugs and wire taps. Whatever the real-world equivalent of Q-Branch is, they should have hired Gummie years ago!”

“Okay, that’s fair,” Phoenix slumps down, defeated, “I’ll talk to him when we get back – he’s apartment-sitting for me, anyway, so it’s not like I have to think of an excuse to talk to him.”

“Good,” Kay nods, “Also, while I’m giving advice – and, believe me, it hurts to say this – you should probably get a haircut.”

“Nah, that’s fair,” the man runs a hand through his hair, “I’m probably due for a trim anyway.”

“No, Mr. Wright,” Kay shakes her head, “I mean a haircut. You’ve got a distinctive signature look, and if you want to optimize your chances when you get back to Japanafornia, you need to lose it.”

Phoenix’s hands go from ruffling his hair to clutching it. “Cut off my spikes?!”

“Snip snip.”

“Noooooooo…” he shoots his daughter a look almost as pathetic as his moan, “Trucy, she’s being mean to me…”

“Hey, hairstyle matters more than you think,” Kay shoots back, “You guys didn’t even see me in the gallery earlier this week, and I literally only took out my hair key and did a braid instead of plume!”

“No way.”

The great thief pulls out her phone, beeps her way through some screens, then holds it up for all to see. There’s a selfie on the screen taken from the Anwaltsstadt Courthouse gallery, Phoenix and Miles’s silhouettes clear on their side of the court. In the foreground Kay’s flashing a peace sign, hair in a low braid over one shoulder but otherwise she’s wearing the same pink and black ninja-chic ensemble she’s currently sporting, complete with her signature scarf and broach.

Miles gapes and Phoenix buries his face in his hands. “Can’t I just wear a hat?”

“Yeah, but you have to take hats off eventually, and they can get lost or stolen. Believe me, as someone who prides herself on her look, I get how much it hurts to be told you need to lose it. But this really is your best option here.” She offers him a reassuring smile, “And it’s not like I’m saying to do it forever – just, like, a year or so, then grow it back once people are used to treating you like background noise again.”

The man merely groans. “Was I saying this is surreal? Well I changed my mind, I’m good with surreal, this is too real.”

“Safety measures are important, Nicky,” Kay states, giving him a stern look, “Yeah, you can just wear a hat, but an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.”

“I’m already going to have to stop gelling it again,” Phoenix shoots Miles a wretched look. “Edgeworth?”

Miles folds his arms as well. “I see no reason to weigh in on something you already know is for the best.”

“Say what?”

He shrugs. “If you were truly against it, you wouldn’t be looking for excuses from others, you would be properly defending your stance with what you viewed as reasonable arguments. As it is, you’re going to get your hair cut, you just don’t want to and are being dramatic about it.”

“…it’s rude to kick a man when he’s down, Edgeworth.”

“It’s inefficient to drag your heels about something you’ve already decided to do, Wright.”

“Ugh, fine,” Phoenix slumps in his chair, “I’ll get a haircut before we go home.”

“Good man,” Kay leans across the table and thumps him on the shoulder, “Mr. Edgeworth’ll get a haircut, too, out of solidarity.”

“I absolutely will not.”

“Aw, come on,” Kay pouts at him, “You’ve had the same hairstyle for literally a decade, that’s so boring!”

“Actually, he’ had it for closer to two decades,” Phoenix chips in, fully prepared to drag Miles under the bus with him, “He had that style when we went to school together, too – when we were nine.”

“Ngh!” Miles glares at him, “You’re in the same position with yours!”

“Ah, but I’m about to get a new look – I’m stepping towards the future, embracing change,” the man says as if he hadn’t been whining about having to do just that mere moments before, “You’re the one resisting progress.”

With chilly silence, Miles reaches up with both hands and sweeps his bangs back from his face. “Who do I look like with my hair away from my face like this, Wright? Think hard.”

Wright frowns and squints before both eyes widen in shocked recognition. “Okay, wow, yeah, never mind, I’ll get a haircut, you leave yours alone; it’s fine.”

“I’m glad we agree.” Miles lets his hands and hair fall. He’s only recently reached the point where he’s truly comfortable acknowledging just how much he takes after his father in appearance; he’s not ready to see the ghost of him in his own face every time he looks in a mirror.

“How come Mr. Edgeworth’s change has to be a haircut?” Trucy inquires, chin propped on her hands as she observes the conversation, “He could always grow it out. It’s almost 2021, and I bet you’d look good with longer hair.”

“Trucy, you’re a genius,” Kay breathes, stars in her eyes as she stares at Miles, “You could pull it back with a black ribbon, it would totally tie in with that whole ‘old-fashioned aristocracy’ vibe you’ve got going on!”

“No.”

“Aw, come on – you’d look great! Back me up on this one, Nicky!”

“Agarble…”

“…Nicky?”

“Don’t concern yourself, Kay, his brain simply overheated from trying to process faster than it is capable of doing.”

“Would pouring water over him fix it?”

“You know, Trucy, I believe it just might…

Chapter Text

Fortunately the conversation moves to lighter topics from here and then, to Miles’s surprise, Kay takes her leave and he finds him accompanying her to the door of the building – a thing she allows, even though it means she has to take the stairs. She also pauses of the second landing down from his floor, arms crossed and manner suddenly subdued. Miles stops and goes to stand beside her, hands in his pockets.

“I take it there’s something on your mind?”

“…yeah.”

“News you couldn’t tell the Wrights?”

“More- more it’s about the Wrights.” She looks away, then turns back hastily, “It’s not bad or anything – you know tonight was my first time seeing you really interact with them? I’ve never seen you so… I guess comfortable around people. Especially Trucy. I remember what you were like with me at that age. …you don’t even flinch when she touches you.”

His brow furrows. “I don’t fli-”

“You do,” she cuts him off, sinks into her scarf a little, “You do when I touch you.”

“I… was not aware of that,” he tilts his head at her, “But surely you understand why this might be the case with myself and physical contact, given my history.”

“I… don’t actually know that much of your history.”

That gets his attention. “You don’t?”

“No, mostly just what came up during those investigations we were both involved in – you haven’t told me much.” She looks up at him, very serious. “I’ve trailed you a few times for practice, but I’ve never done any, you know, digging on you. You’re my friend. Friends don’t do that to each other. You- you think of me as a friend too… right?”

Does he-? How can she even ask-? …but there is naked fear in her eyes, making it so much easier to remember that she is still young, likely still struggling with her own ghosts, much as he is. Slowly, doing his best to telegraph his movements, Miles steps next to Kay and tucks her into his side. “I would not have given over my badge for just anyone, Kay, let alone memorized all those ridiculous code phrases you insisted upon. But I did not grow up in a manner that left me accustomed to physical contact in any but the most formal of settings.

“What you saw of my interactions with Trucy… when the Wrights first arrived, she was required to ask before doing such things. I don’t know when that ceased to be the case, but we have been living in the same apartment for more than two months now, so I would gather that that has something to do with it.” He hesitates, then adds, “I do not generally say such things as I am about to, but perhaps that is a failing on my part. You are important to me, Kay. The world would be a greyer place for your absence.”

A hitch of breath and Kay is leaning into him, choking a laugh when Miles presses his handkerchief into her hand. “Not gonna let me use your ruffles for old times’ sake?”

“Never again, Kay. Never again.”

“Spoilsport.” She scrubs her eyes and leans into him. “Mr. Wright is ‘that man,’ isn’t he? The one you always talk about, who saved you?”

“He is,” Miles confirms, a touch wary.

“That’s good.”

“It is?”

“Yeah. ‘cause he cares about you just as much. Like Dad and Uncle Badd did.”

“I- uh- I’m not sure that’s quite-”

“They loved each other,” Kay says quietly, “I don’t know what kind of love it was – I didn’t really pay attention to that sort of thing as a kid, took a lot for granted, really. And I’ve never asked Uncle Badd about it when I visit him. But sitting at supper with you three tonight… it felt like when I was a kid, eating supper with them. Totally different, but it felt the same, you know? So, like… he’s worth having you talk about him like you do. And that’s good.” She pulls away, scrubbing her eyes again but smiling, and he lets her go.

In unspoken accord, they begin to descend the stairs again, Kay’s usual bounce back in her step.

“Mr. Shields offered me a job, you know.”

“I did not. He requires your help with something?”

“No, I mean as a full-time investigative partner, my own desk and everything.”

Well, that is… unexpected. “What did you say?”

“That I’d think about it,” Kay shrugs, “I’m – call me crazy, ‘cause I’m nineteen and I should know by now – but I’m really not sure what I want to do with my life beyond Yatagarasu. Everything sounds so… confining.”

“How so?” while Miles has experience with being uncertain where one’s future path should lead, he’s fairly sure none of it is transferable to this situation.

“Well, you’d think I’d be a great detective, but they can only go so far in a case before it has to be handed over to the courts. If you’re given a case as a prosecutor, you have to do your best to prove the accused is guilty, even if you don’t think they are, and you don’t get a lot of freedom with which cases you take until you’ve been doing it for years. If you’re a defense attorney, the system’s skewed against you and you have to prove your client’s innocence, even if you can’t personally be sure of it. It’s like- I want to work in the legal system, but I can’t find a place where I fit.”

“Perhaps you should take Ray up on his offer, then.”

“Uh, I just said that-”

“I heard you,” Miles cuts her off, pausing in his descent as he does so, “Now hear me. You have seen the court system from the prosecutor’s side, thanks to your experiences with your father and myself. You have some experience with detective work. But you have no true experience in working from the defense’s side, and Ray can give you that, and a more complete picture of how the courts operate as a result.

“And, once that is done, you must decide what you truly desire out of a court trial.”

“What I desire?” Kay scrunches up her face in confusion.

“Indeed,” Miles nods, “Whenever I take a new case, my ultimate goal is to find the truth of what happened and who did what with a crime. My mentor’s goal was to achieve a guilty sentence, regardless of anything else, and Franziska currently aims to do the most perfect job she is capable of.

“In contrast, Wright’s ultimate goal is to see justice done, and Ray Shields works from a place of compassion for those led to do terrible things by terrible circumstances, and Detective Gumshoe wishes to be as helpful as possible. If you do not know what you desire, it will be harder for you to find the place you fit.”

“Huh. I guess that makes sense. Neat!” Kay smiles again and bounces down a few steps, “I guess therapy’s really working for you, if you’re getting this good at giving advice!”

“It is,” Miles agrees mildly, “Though I don’t recall telling you that I was receiving it at any point.”

“Urk!” the great thief stumbles and Miles catches her shoulder even as she steadies herself and shoots him a guilty look. “I want to state up front, finding that out was an accident and I never followed you into the building.”

He simply folds his arms, a finger tapping against one bicep, and she swallows hard.

“I’ve never actually, actively spied on you,” she confesses, “But… I have used you for tailing practice a few times. Because I figured that if you caught me, I could explain and just be loveably quirky as opposed to worth phoning the police over. That’s how I found out about you liking Asian take-out. And I use translate programs to see what sort of buildings you’re going into before I follow. And when I found out that it was a therapist’s office you were going into…” she scuffs a foot on the stair she’s standing on, abashed, “That felt like crossing a line. So I didn’t even wait for you to come out again, I just left.”

With a quiet groan, he runs a hand over his face. “Kay…”

“Can I say one more thing before I get scolded?”

He rolls his eyes but gestures for her to continue.

“I think it’s really cool that you’re doing that.” Her fists are balled at her sides but she doesn’t look away again. “It’s not something I would have thought of – I didn’t think about it before, but- it’s a good idea. And I think, when I get back to the States… maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea for me to give it a shot, either. So, you know. Thank-you. Even if I only found out ‘cause I messed up.”

…why oh why is he friends with so many people it’s so very hard to stay angry with? “Just… don’t spread it about. And please stop following me unless it is absolutely necessary, I value my privacy.”

“Done and done!” Kay nods, a single, sharp motion, even snapping off a salute that she must have learned from Gumshoe, “I wouldn’t have told anyone about the therapy, anyway.”

This is enough of deeply private matters discussed in a public setting, even if Miles is the only one in the building to routinely use the stairs and they aren’t speaking the local language or dialect, so he switches back to the previous topic. “In any case, you have the potential to be a very successful prosecutor or detective,” he glances at her from the corner of his eyes, “And an excellent defense attorney, should you so choose.”

“Really?” her tone is too casual to be genuine, “I’d have thought I’d be bad at it – wrong skills, wrong mindset.”

“Mindsets can be changed,” Miles counters, “And you are creative, intelligent, resourceful, unyielding, and optimistic; these are all traits that would serve you well on the defense. That man’s creative thinking is a key part of what makes him such a fearsome opponent in court. And you are already far more aware of both the flaws and corruption within the legal system than many of my colleagues even now; this gives you an advantage. Wherever you end up, I have no doubt you’ll be a force to be reckoned with.”

“Thanks, Mr. Edgeworth,” Kay’s voice is warm and her cheeks are coloured with happiness, even as her expression falls. “The legal system back in the States has gotten pretty messed up, hasn’t it? Even just watching a trial over here without being able to understand it, the tone’s totally different.”

He spreads his hands in a shrug. “It is not a system without its flaws. Trials here can sometimes go on for months, one side even drawing the proceedings out so that the other side is forced to concede simply because they cannot afford further legal fees. Juries can ignore decisive evidence simply because one lawyer was more convincing and charismatic than the other. And corruption is tragically universal. Human beings are flawed creatures, and thus, despite our best efforts, we have created flawed systems – thus no matter where you go, those systems need to change.”

“…change,” Kay repeats slowly, then stops one flight of stairs away from the lobby to stare blankly ahead. “I think… that might be part of what I want to do; I want to help change the system, help make it better, so that it doesn’t need Yatagarasu to help catch the bad guys. And I’m going to start by helping Mr. Wright bring the jury system back to America, because decisive evidence alone isn’t working!” she darts a step closer to him, then halts just as abruptly, holding her arms out. “Can I get a hug?”

He shouldn’t be surprised – he’s known Kay for years, knows that she learns, incorporates, and adapts quickly – but somehow he always is with this girl, young woman now, really. “You may.” The rib-crusher he’s pulled into gives him a certain level of regret, but, again, it’s Kay, he should have expected it.

“Tell Mr. Wright that he’s got a silent partner in this now, Mr. Edgeworth, ‘cause I’m not obsolete yet. And the Great Yatagarasu’s going to help him steal the truth and show it to the world!”

“Yes,” Miles pats her lightly on the back, angling his head to avoid her plume of hair, “We are.”

She pulls back and beams at him, then goes flying down the remaining stairs with a wave of farewell, almost out the door before he can call out to her.

“Kay!”

She turns back to him, inquisitive.

He takes the last flight of stairs more slowly, so he doesn’t have to yell. “You will be returning before midnight, will you not?”

“Why?” she cocks her head to the side in confusion, and he raises an eyebrow in amusement.

“For the fireworks, of course. The roof of this building has a particularly good view of the local displays – part of why I chose this apartment.”

“Wait, fireworks? Like big ones?”

“Of course – it is Silvester, New Year’s Eve. Naturally there will be fireworks.” He tsks a finger at her, “I’m surprised one as skilled at gathering information as yourself was unaware of this.”

Unbridled delight wars with shock on her face. “How come you didn’t mention this earlier?!”

 “I meant to surprise the Wrights, but plans for this evening became somewhat derailed,” he shrugs, “As it is, I plan to join my fellow tenants and the Wrights on the roof at eleven forty-five – I trust you’ll be there?”

And she is, appearing over the edge of the building to the great shock of everyone who doesn’t know her, then perching on the ledge with Trucy standing next to her, Phoenix calling for them to be careful even while remaining several feet back from the edge himself, next to Miles, fretting about his daughter’s safety and grumbling half-heartedly about the cold.

All complaints are forgotten, however, when the clock strikes midnight and the new year is welcomed in with a chorus of church bells and a multitude of coloured explosions bursting across the sky.

“Wow…”

“Indeed,” Miles agrees, so enthralled himself with the dazzling display that he almost misses the nudge to his side. Turning, he finds Phoenix beaming at him.

“Happy New Year, Edgeworth.”

The sky blossoming with colour, the people around them radiating joy and welcome, he can’t help smiling back just as broadly. “Happy New Year, Wright.”

Chapter Text

January 2021

The five days before the Wrights’ departure on the 6^th have a queer cant to them – tension, excitement, sorrow, a coiled spring in some great machine they do not know the true purpose of. On the 4^th, after work, they stop, as scheduled, by a barber shop, and Trucy does card tricks to entertain Miles and the other patrons while Phoenix gets his hair cut. And the result, when Miles looks up as familiar shoes enter his field of vision-

…he had known it would be a drastic change, that Phoenix was planning to get the simplest, most classically common male haircut he could. And even so, the man’s hair being what it is, it still bounces away from his skull, no gel or weight to pull it down or back. An oddly stylish look, but Miles cannot stop seeing the shadow silhouette of what should be and… it hurts. A strange stab that brings an involuntary hand to his chest to try and find the non-existent wound.

Phoenix rubs the back of his neck, embarrassment failing to disguise genuine nerves. “I, um, didn’t think it was that bad…?”

“What? No, it is not bad – it is a very professional look that suits you well,” Miles hastily assures, “You simply appear very… different.”

“I know,” Phoenix’s tone and expression are both unhappy, “I’ll hand it to Kay, she was right – I don’t look like me at all. Which was the point, but, I mean… I don’t look like me at all.”

Flicks of misery are playing across his face, and without thinking Miles reaches out to push the front section of Phoenix’s hair back slightly, thumb tracing over one jagged brow. “You give yourself too little credit for what makes you distinctive.”

“I-” the man’s hand rises in an aborted motion – to pull closer, to push away? Miles doesn’t take the time to find out. More comfortable they may be around each other physically after such extended proximity, but they are not in a relationship and, if anything, now is an even worse time to try and start one than the previous summer would have been. There are too many factors at play already; Miles will not intentionally add another. As casually as he can, he steps away from Wright in time for Trucy, having finished packing away her cards, to crash into her father.

“You look great, Daddy!” she enthuses, “And don’t worry, it’s just hair – it’ll grow back! And until then you can just start wearing your bowler again and look posh.”

“Aw, are you saying I don’t look posh normally?” Wright’s expression goes theatrically woebegone.

“Yes,” Trucy and Miles chorus, after which Miles sedately bumps fists with the young magician and Wright grumbles, pulling on his red knit hat in preparation for going back into the German winter air, only to get an odd look on his face.

“Okay, that feels… funky.”

“What does?” Trucy inquires curiously, pushing her top hat back where it’s started to slip over her eyes.

“My hat against my hair – I haven’t had it this short in… ever, I think. It feels weird.” He rubs his head through the hat with one hand and half his face squinches up. “Yup, that’s gonna take some getting used to.”

In spite of Miles’s earlier words, he secretly can’t help but agree. The change in Phoenix’s appearance is… strange, confusing, and finally, unsure what else to do, not even exactly doing it on purpose, Miles starts needling Wright once they’re back at his apartment until finally the man shoots up from his chair, slams his hand on the table, and lets out a furious, “OBJECTION!”

And the tone, the pose, the words- it all clicks into place. “Oh. There you are.”

Miles gets the exciting revelation that he’s said that last bit out loud when Phoenix gapes, then starts laughing at him for some reason.

“I don’t see what’s so funny about this!”

“Of course you don’t,” the man chortles, “You’re- ha, you’re just as ridiculous as me!”

“You take that back!”

OoOoOoOoO

The 5^th of January, the very last day before the Wrights leave, and, for the first time in over a month, Miles goes to work alone, leaving Trucy and Phoenix back at his apartment to pack and make all the final preparations for their flight the next day. It is… lonely. Rather nice in some ways, they’ve been living in each others’ pockets for too long, but still… in some ways he has grown accustomed to the constant company. This- he had not thought things through when he brought them over, about how long they might stay, about how their leaving might hurt, even moreso than the other times he has watched them leave.

His role in their battle plan had seemed so simple when they first made it – after all, the only things he need do are wait, perform some research, and perhaps make some plans in case of further emergencies. Not near as much as he would like to do, but there are lives at stake, they need a failsafe, and Miles is in the best position to act as one, so he had agreed. How much harder that role seems now he must actually let them go, remembers how far away they will be for so very long.

This has…

How could he have prepared himself for this situation?

It has never happened to him before.

When his father had died… there had been no potential of return, only loss, for that is what death is. When he moved back to Los Tokyo at twenty to begin his career it had been an unacknowledged relief to get away from Manfred, and as for Franziska… he had been so… he had missed her, but the separation had not been truly painful, not when he had been locked within his own desires and terrors as he was then. By the time he had been capable of truly feeling such things, it had been normal to be separated from her for extended periods.

…what would it have been like, if they had been siblings from the start, raised to be allies rather than rivals? He cannot picture it, but… perhaps that now near-decade old parting would have felt something like this. Perhaps this is the price one pays for having a heart that can feel, that is capable of love. Or the price of love that is secret and silent rather than open and shared. It hurts, and he does not know a cure for it other than to force it away, watch the colours around him dim and hope that time will be enough to heal this, for there is no other solution he can think of.

But he will not tell Wright. The man journeys back into the lion’s den tomorrow, and Miles will not add another burden to his load…

OoOoOoOoO

Trucy and Wright are playing poker at the coffee table in his living room when Miles gets home, and there is a rather large package wrapped in colourful paper on the sofa.

“What is this?”

“Ah!” Trucy holds up a finger, eyes locked on her father, who looks lazy and relaxed, eyes half-lidded. Then, serpent-strike quick, she lays her cards on the table. “Straight!”

Wright’s go down as languidly as the rest of his posture. “Straight flush.”

“Dangit!” Trucy scowls, arms folded in a sulk as Wright pushes a stack of paper ‘chips’ towards Trucy.

That seems… incorrect. “Pardon me, but isn’t it the winner of the hand who takes the kettle?”

“The pot, and yup, usually,” the man stretches and smirks, “But me ‘n’ Trucy play inverse-stakes poker, so the loser gets it instead. It’s Trucy’s own invention – another attempt to get me to take her money.”

The young magician huffs and turns her glare towards the small mound of paper in front of her. “It used to work.”

“Mmm, unfortunately for you I have a very good tutor,” Wright pushes a piece of paper from his own scant pile in circles with one finger, grinning lazily, “Care to take me for everything I have?”

“You’re a terrible winner when it comes to cards, Daddy.”

“Only when my opponent’s trying to play me, glowworm.”

“Hmf!” she flounces up from the table, vanishing all her paper chips as she does so, then bounces over to Miles much more cheerfully, leading him to the sofa with a smile. “That’s your New Year’s present, Mr. Edgeworth,” she says, pointing at the wrapped package, “I was gonna give it to you on actual New Year’s, but, well,” she sticks out her tongue, lightly knocking herself on the head with one fist, “Things went a little sideways. And then the past few days went so fast, but I wanted to give it to you before we left!”

“Oh. Um… thank-you?” if he is unused to receiving wrapped gifts, he’s doubly unused to opening them for an audience, but Trucy looks so expectant… Settling onto his end of the sofa, Miles carefully removes the paper under watchful eyes, and inside-

…it’s like someone combined a pillow and a stuffed toy dog, soft and squishy and rather adorable. And he has absolutely no idea why she would give this to him. But, being Trucy, of course she picks up on his confusion and has an answer before he can even bring himself to ask the question.

 “He’s to scare away nightmares! You told me back when we got here that you get bad ones sometimes and not to worry if I heard you yell at night unless there were crashes or gunshots or something as well. But nightmares suck, so!”

“That… makes no sense.” Much like the sudden thickness of his throat, the burning of his eyes.

“Ah-ha!” Trucy points triumphantly, “But neither do nightmares – they’re not real and they’re not logical! So a toy dog can obviously keep you safe from them. Logical solutions for logical problems, illogical solutions for illogical problems! Don’t,” she falters, suddenly unsure of herself, “Don’t you like it?” Unspoken but not unheard is the question, ‘Did I mess up again?’

Miles stares at her, then down at the pillow dog in his lap. It- He- his voice won’t work, he opens his mouth and nothing comes out, but Trucy is upset, she requires an answer, so he nods- wait, that could be seen as agreement to not liking it, so he shakes his head- no, that could also be interpreted as not liking it, his eyes are burning, the hand pressed against them for relief comes away wet-

The sofa dips and the presence of another person appears where there was empty space a moment ago, Wright looking at him with genuine concern. “Hey, hey there – you okay?”

…it is too much. It is all too much, he cannot- cannot process all this and here is Wright, right next to him, close enough to touch, but tomorrow- tomorrow-

He slumps against Phoenix’s side, head on his shoulder, feels the man stiffen then put an arm around him, draw him closer.

“I don’t want you to go.” The words are small and strange coming past the lump in his throat, “It is selfish, but… I do not want you to go. I’m going to miss you both terribly.”

Phoenix leans his head against Miles’s. “That’s not selfish – that’s normal. We’re going to miss you too, you know.”

He swallows hard and nods against Phoenix’s shoulder, because he does, part of him does, but it doesn’t help very much at the moment.

Another presence next to him, a pat on his arm and then his knee to silently signal intent, and suddenly he also has a lapful of Trucy, who snuggles up to him, much as he’s seen her do with her father. “We’ll keep calling and texting and stuff, too! It’s… not as good, but it helps. I promise.”

Well, she would know best in this instance, wouldn’t she? With some effort he gets his arms loose and cuddles her close, even as he continues to lean against Phoenix. Though it’s usually with a pillow rather than a person, the familiar sensation of pressure against his chest is comforting. He can feel Phoenix breathing and for some reason this is also soothing. It stills the rising fears and unnamed demons that have been coursing through him since this morning, allows him to calm and breathe and finally relax…

Chapter Text

“Hey there, sleepyhead. Feeling better?”

Miles blinks, confused. He usually wakes quite quickly, but he’s too relaxed at the moment to think clearly. There are… other people with him? What… why…? His eyes make contact with Phoenix’s and it all comes back in a mortifying rush as he buries his face in his hands, Trucy squeaking from his lap as he jostles her then giggling as a quiet groan of “Ngoooooh…” leaks between his fingers before he gives himself a mental shake and tries to recompose himself. “I apologize for my behaviour, I have been wildly inappropriate. And naturally you must return to Los Tokyo, you have a life and plans waiting for you there, and I would not try and come between you and them or- or make matters harder for you than they already are-”

“Hey, hey, whoa, slow down,” Phoenix disengages slightly so he can push Miles back and look him in the eyes, “You haven’t done anything wrong – I’ve used you as a shoulder to cry on before, turnabout’s fair play, and you were out for maybe half an hour tops. And it’s not like you asked me to stay or anything, you just said you were going to miss us. And that’s fine – like I said, I’m gonna miss you, too.”

“I told you I don’t want you to go,” Miles reminds him, cheeks heating with embarrassment and shame.

“And I know you well enough to know that you were just stating a fact. If you were actually trying to get me to stay, you’d have more reasons why I should than just that you want me to.” The man puts a hand on Miles’s shoulder encouragingly. “If we’re being honest here, it was… kind of nice to hear you say it. I don’t want to just be someone who relies on you, Edgeworth; I want you to be able to rely on me, too. I’m not made of glass, remember? You can tell me if you’re having problems – especially if they involve me.”

“I… will try,” Miles agrees, “That is the best I can offer as I currently am.”

“Fair enough.”

“…I cannot believe I fell asleep on you.”

“I personally blame myself,” Trucy pipes up, “Not to brag or anything, but I am super cuddly.”

“Reigning cuddle champion of the Wright household,” her father agrees with practiced seriousness.

“Is that so?” They’re offering him an out. He doesn’t know why, as this is a prime opportunity for teasing, but they are and he takes it.

“Absolutely!” Trucy gives a firm nod before her expression turns repentant, “And I’m sorry my present upset you – we can take it back-”

“No!” the word pops out involuntarily and he can feel himself going crimson under their combined expressions of shock. “I- That is-” he looks away, face burning, “It is quite satisfactory. There were simply other factors at play at that moment that effected my reaction.”

“So… you do like it?”

Almost twenty-eight and here he is, afraid that if he tries to speak his voice will crack, so he nods instead.

This seems acceptable, however, because in a flash Trucy has vanished from his lap and plopped the pillow dog in it again, hopping to perch on the arm of the sofa next to him, replacing her black top hat upon her head as she goes. “What are you going to name him?”

“…name?”

“Yeah!”

“…it is an inanimate object, it does not require one?”

“So?” Trucy cocks her head to one side, “Daddy’s a mass hallucination, and he has a name.”

“Hey!!!”

The young magician leans across Miles to pat her father’s shoulder consolingly. “It’s okay, Daddy, I still love you even if you are an illusion brought on by mass stress and a subconscious desire to believe in the legal system by the general populace.”

“Okay, one, rude, and two, where are you even learning all these terms?!”

“…I’m ten and I have a smartphone with internet access, Daddy, it’s not that hard.”

Miles opts to ignore the squabble this comment leads to, instead considering the pillow dog. The stylized shape marks specific breed hard to distinguish; it could be a shiba inu like Gumshoe’s loyal if slightly inept Missile. Then again, with the colour and its size, it also looks rather similar to- “Little Pest,” he announces.

“Huh?” Trucy breaks off to reassign her attention from her father to Miles again.

“Her name,” Miles says, holding up the dog in question, “Little Pest, the second. Pess for short.”

Trucy looks utterly dismayed, but her father’s delighted remembrance prevents her from vocalizing it. “Oh man, I forgot that was Pess’s full name! It does look kinda like her, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed.”

“Little Pest…?” if Trucy’s forlorn tone is anything to go by, they have for once succeeded in thoroughly wrong-footing her, and Miles gives her a smile.

“My dog, when I was a boy. My family’s dog, technically.”

“She liked you best,” Phoenix comments, and even now the memory of this makes Miles feel a touch smug.

“Yes, she did. She had excellent taste.” Abruptly he notices that he’s rubbing Pess the Second’s ears the same way Pess the First enjoyed. Which is ridiculous. Because Pess the Second is not a dog, it is a pillow shaped like one. With a cough he stops. “I don’t suppose you know what happened to her after I… left? It was- well. I don’t remember that time very clearly.”

“You had to give her away?” Trucy leans forward, chin in her hands, elbows on her knees.

“I moved to Germany and could not take her with me,” he says as lightly as he can, “After my father… died.”

He’s been sitting up straighter since he awoke, but at this Phoenix pulls him so that Miles is leaning on him again, and Miles goes without a fuss; after falling asleep on the man there seems little point in trying to continue to follow societal norms while they are in private. “Pess went to a good home, though you’ll never guess whose.”

Miles looks at him from the corner of his eye. “Yours?”

“Nope – my parents didn’t believe in animals living anywhere but their natural habitats, so no pets.”

“…Ray Shields?”

“Bzzzzzzt, wrong again!”

Miles pulls back to fully take in the man’s expression of unholy glee. “I confess I am perplexed. Who else did I know that would have taken her?”

Phoenix’s grin widens further. “Larry.”

“No.” Miles draws back in horror.

“Yes!” Phoenix’s eyes dart over his face and he hastily adds, “It went way better than you’d think! Larry’s surprisingly good with animals when they’re his responsibility.”

“Really?” Miles watches him warily, “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

“Really really,” the man assures, “She was a bit spoiled, but when she went, it was of old age. Larry held a funeral and made a grave marker and everything, couldn’t even find it in himself to flirt for a couple weeks after. He’s a dumby, but you know Larry – when he loves something, he throws his whole heart into it. And he loved her to bits.”

He’s not sure how he feels about that. Definitely glad that Pess was well cared for and happy of course, but… Larry?! That’s just… it boggles the mind. “…I’m going to have to start being nicer to him, aren’t I?”

Phoenix scrunches his nose. “Uhhh, I dunno about that- wait, no, actually, definitely do, and don’t tell him why, that’ll scare the socks off of him!”

“Daddy!” Trucy scolds, “Why are you two so mean to Mr. Larry?”

“Because he’s an idiot and it’s funny?”

“Because his reluctance to tell the truth could have led to multiple trials ending in catastrophe if he’d been taken at face value,” Miles adds, “And he’s always had a talent for causing the greatest number of problems with the smallest amount of effort. He is a catastrophe in human form.”

“You’re both mean!” she folds her arms and scowls at them, thumbing her hat out of her face when the gesture knocks it forward.

Miles raises at eyebrow at Phoenix, who smirks back before turning overly large eyes to his daughter. “But Trucy, we’re lawyers. We’re supposed to be mean.”

“The worst of men,” Miles agrees calmly, “Little better than sharks in suits.”

“Scum of the earth, really.”

“Quite.”

Trucy lets out a noise of wordless complaint and flops across both their laps, then squawks when her father nicks her top hat and places it on his own head. Rolling onto her back, she folds her arms and scowls at them again. “Why are you even friends with him then if you don’t even like him?”

“Hey, I never said that,” Phoenix laughs, “Put it this way – I wouldn’t trust him with my wallet, but I routinely trust him with you, and you’re a lot more important to me. I think that says something about what I think of him.”

“He has… redeeming qualities,” Miles admits reluctantly, “Even if he’s unskilled at reliably demonstrating them. It would be interesting to see him collaborate on a project with Gumshoe.”

“Huh,” Phoenix rubs his chin while using his other hand to stave off an attempt to reclaim her hat on Trucy’s part, “I hadn’t thought of that, but that would be kind of neat, wouldn’t it? They’re both good at building stuff, and Larry’s a decent artist when he puts the effort it. I’m gonna mention that next time I run into the goof…”

Miles chuckles, then carefully lifts Trucy’s legs so he can get off the couch without rolling her onto the floor. “Entertaining as this is, the evening draws on. If you will excuse me, I need to prepare supper.”

“I’ll help!” with a sudden grab, Trucy successfully reclaims her hat and comes scurrying after him.

“Have fun,” her father waves at her from the sofa.

“Wright, go set the table.”

“Aw…” the man groans dramatically, even as he rises to follow them into the kitchen to help prepare the meal.

Chapter Text

“It wasn’t like this the other times.”

Phoenix glances over at Miles from where he’s helping wash dishes after their belated supper, Trucy having decided that she wants to walk around inside the apartment building one more time on her own before they leave tomorrow. “What wasn’t?”

“Our separating, for whatever reason. After Kurain, April 2019, the first time you came here to help me with a case, England,” Miles accepts the dish Phoenix hands him, begins to dry it, “It was not so… upsetting those times. Not pleasant, but not… like this. I do not know why I’m reacting so poorly this time, but I do apologize for it.”

“…we weren’t living together for a long time those other times,” the man says after taking a moment to scrub a particularly stubborn spot on a pan, “And it’s… different depending on whether you’re staying or going. Honestly, I think it’s harder to be the one staying.”

“I would agree.” He puts the now dry plate away, picks up the next one.

“And we’re, well, I mean… we’re a lot closer now than we were before,” colour hints itself known high in Phoenix’s cheeks, “So I guess it makes sense to not want to go back to having an ocean, a continent, and a nine-hour time different between us.”

“That does sound like a logical assessment.”

Phoenix laughs. “High praise, coming from you. Heh, I guess that’s one area Kristoph really screwed up.”

“What?” Miles furrows his brow even as he goes to dry the final pot and Phoenix drains the sink.

The man’s eyes dart to him in amusement. “Us. Every time he’s tried to do something to mess with me, it’s ended up with us getting to be better and better friends. He’s actually pushed me into spending more time with all my friends, really. I’m talking more often with Maya and Pearls, seeing more of Larry, getting letters from old clients letting me know they still believe in me… it’s kind of wild.”

Miles hadn’t really thought of this, but… it’s true. “One would think he’s have attacked your network of allies first.”

“That’s the thing – I don’t think it ever occurred to him that I’d have one, not one that would hold up to me getting publicly disgraced like that,” Phoenix strips off the rubber gloves he’d been wearing and hangs them to dry on the edge of the sink, “He’s not as good with people as he thinks he is. Yeah, he’s a great attorney, he’s good at getting people to do what he wants, he knows how to act like he knows what’s up, but I don’t think he understands how friendship actually works. He didn’t expect anyone to be willing to catch me after he knocked me down like that, he really doesn’t get how you and me are friends – keeps trying to insinuate you’ll get tired of the long-distance hassle eventually.”

Of all the-! “That’s ridiculous!” Miles bristles.

“I know!” Phoenix gives a sunny smile, “But he doesn’t and, hey, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt me.”

“True enough.” Miles dries the last pan and puts it away, stands again to find Phoenix with a softly amused look in his eyes. “What?”

“Hm? Oh nothing,” the man waves a hand, “I just… it’s still a little wild to see you doing your own housekeeping. Even if I wanted to tell anyone, no one would ever believe me; waaaaaay too much of a contrast to the image you present, even if the valuing your privacy thing makes sense.”

This quirks a slight smile out of Miles. “Actually… that’s only part of the reason.”

“It is?” Phoenix turns back to look at him from where he’d been starting for the doorway.

“Mm,” Miles folds his arms and leans back on the counter, “When I moved back to Japanafornia when I was twenty, that was my first time living on my own, and I was so intent on beginning my career as a prosecutor that I forgot to hire a housekeeper.”

Phoenix chokes on air. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.” Odd, this is a secret he’s kept carefully for nearly a decade, but now it slips easily into the open air, the predominant feeling not one of embarrassment but pleasure at the look of shocked delight the revelation is inspiring in Phoenix. “I barely noticed for a month, then one day looked up to realize Manfred was coming to check on my progress in a week, couldn’t find anyone to come on such short notice, and bought a vacuum cleaner instead.”

“Oh my gosh,” Phoenix has a hand over his mouth in horrified delight, “What did he say?”

“That I needed a better housekeeper – I doubt it ever occurred to him that I would try to do it myself.” Miles shakes his head with amusement, spreading his hands in a shrug, “And, well… of all the nonsensical reactions I could have had, I got so cross at that statement. I was an heir of the von Karma legacy, after all, whatever I did was supposed to be perfect.”

“Oh my gosh.”

“Indeed. So I did some research, reorganized my schedule a little, and the next time he checked on me there was nothing for him to complain about.”

“Oh my gosh.” Phoenix is shaking with suppressed laughter by now, “So you’re telling me that you learned how to clean your own apartment out of spite?”

“…yes, I suppose I did, rather.” Miles snorts; he’s never thought of it that way. “In any case, he never found out – probably the only time I really managed to completely get the better of him. He would have hated me doing that.”

Phoenix laughs openly at last. “What, you getting the better of him or you cleaning?”

“Both. Housekeeping is ‘the help’s work.’”

This receives the derisive snort it deserves, though the man’s look quickly turns back to one of mischief. “I can’t believe is – Miles Edgeworth, secret rebel.”

“I’d have rather thought the red sports car gave it away,” he counters, his own amusement twitching the corners of his mouth higher than usual.

“True, the prosecution raises an excellent point!” Phoenix taps his chin, “Though I can’t see the old jerk having problems with that.”

“Objection, he openly hated it, I just stood my ground on that one.”

“What, he didn’t like the colour?”

“He didn’t like that I drove it myself – Manfred believed very firmly in chauffeurs.”

Phoenix laughs again. “Only you would end up rebelling by cleaning up after yourself, being your own driver, and liking a kids’ show.”

Miles chokes. “I never said-!”

“Oh please,” the man cuts him off with a roll of the eyes, “There’s no way he was cool with you watching that, he was allergic to fun.”

“So you admit that it’s a fun show?” Miles grabs at any chance of distraction from potential embarrassment on his part.

The smile he gets for this is… odd, softer around the edges than he would have expected. “I’ll admit that it’s well made and that you, Maya, Pearls, and Trucy get a lot of enjoyment from it. But the first season came out in 2008 – you were only sixteen back then. How did you even find out about it over here?”

Miles regards him warily for a moment, then admits, “…I honestly can’t recall. It is as though… one day I did not know of it, then next I was scouring the internet every time a new episode came out.”

“Through perfectly legal means, I assume?”

…they’re not in court, he’s not required to answer that.

Phoenix chuckles at his silence. “Well I’m glad to hear you’re such a long-time fan, at least.”

That is confusing, especially given the teasing such admissions usually get him. “Why?”

The man’s smile goes even softer. “It’s good to know you had something good in your life back then, that made you really happy.”

“…oh. Um. Thank-you.” Miles would say more, but that expression of Wright’s has him blushing too hard for proper coherence any longer.

A quiet laugh and the slightest wince as a wandering hand reminds Phoenix of his newly-shorn hair. “You’re welcome. And, much as I hate to say it, I need to go round up Trucy and pack it in for the night – long day tomorrow.”

“Indeed.” Miles tries not to resent the pall this reality casts over the pleasant atmosphere they’ve been enjoying, but it’s hard. Hard not to resent his own feelings in regards to the coming departure, no matter how natural they are, to resent the events leading to him feeling this way, but not the man now walking away from him, into the hall and off to find his errant child…

Regardless of anything else, he’s going to miss them.

He’s going to miss them both so much…

OoOoOoOoO

Less than a year ago, the Wrights had arrived in an airport in Faulinbod, England where Miles had been waiting for them. Trucy had hugged him, and he had turned to Phoenix, to Wright, in desperate askance of how to respond to this situation.

Now he walks them as far as he can go in the Berlin airport to send them home, kneels on the ground without hesitation so he can give Trucy a proper hug good-bye. And when he rises, a moment’s pause and a hopeful glance have him giving that ridiculous man a hug as well, even as he rolls his eyes in ersatz annoyance.

“Don’t get used to this.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Phoenix promises, politely not commenting when Miles holds on a bit longer than is probably necessary.

“Take care, Wright.”

“You too, Edgeworth.”

He watches them go, waves back when Trucy turns to signal one final farewell before they vanish around a corner, watching for awhile even after they’re gone. So it begins. The three of them versus a monumental task. But… they are not entirely alone, are they? Kay has already declared herself to their side, and she is a valuable ally. According to Phoenix, Kristoph has a rather rigid mindset in regards to the law; he understandably wants things to remain as they are. But if Kay truly dedicates herself to being a force for legal reform, well. ‘Rigid’ is about the last thing anyone would ever dare accuse Kay of being.

And there are others Miles knows who will likely be willing to lend their aid, even more that Phoenix knows, and the man has a way of acquiring allies in times of need. And each new person will be another piece on the board that Kristoph must try and to discover, try to keep track of and control, and, unless he’s very careful, the pawn he’s wronged will cross the board in the resulting chaos without him even noticing.

Yes, today, there are four of them; tomorrow, who knows? And together with planning and strategy and a not insubstantial amount of luck, they’re going to turn this whole thing about. Miles allows himself a small smile as he turns to go, leaving the stale airport for the sharp winter air. Too many people underestimate pawns, and, with any luck, Kristoph’s going to learn a harsh lesson in just how dangerous that can be…

Chapter Text

Logically, Miles knows that his apartment isn’t very large. Not tiny, no, not by any means, but nor is it the sort of cavernous sprawl he’s seen others drawn to. Thus it makes no sense that it suddenly feels so enormous, so… empty. Surely Trucy and Phoenix did not take up so much space that their absence should feel like this…?

…what do other people do when they wish to see those they care about more often than they physically can? At this point, he’d settle for just being able to see their fa-

Oh.

Oh yes.

Photographs. Like Phoenix with his locket containing Trucy’s picture. 

Of course.

…

…at least he remembered before phoning Larry to ask him…

Miles spends an evening going through the photograph libraries on his phone and personal computer, looks into a local place to get them printed, loads his selections onto a flash drive, then stops be his selected shop the next day after work. In the process he acquires some frames as well, though not as many has he’d expected to need – he hadn’t realized one could get photographs just… printed as magnets. And he’d planned to try and have one in the kitchen, so putting some on the refrigerator along with Trucy’s drawing makes sense, honestly.

So now Kay, Gumshoe, and Miles himself stare from the appliance in question with varying states of pleasure, memorializing Kay’s declaration that they were the new Yatagarasu Trio. Beside them is a more recent picture Kay had sent of herself and Sebastian in Miles’s- in Sebastian’s office. The young man really has grown since Miles last saw him, and may have actually matched Gumshoe in height. They’re both beaming, Kay in her current black and pink ninja-esque look with her Yatagarasu badge prominently displayed, Sebastian in his formal black and white, blue Themis Academy blazer draped over his shoulders.

…Miles probably shouldn’t be putting this second picture up, but, well… he is rather connected to both their lives, isn’t he? Not to mention rather proud of the people they’re growing into, even if he can’t take any credit for it. But… this is what one does with pictures of young people one is proud of, isn’t it? Put pictures of them on one’s refrigerator? It’s- it’s probably acceptable that he’s doing this. And it looks well enough next to that first picture Trucy ever sent him of the Heroes of Neo Olde Kyoto, so he’s going to go with it.

The living room gets the photograph Trucy had Mr. Hat take, back during that first month of Phoenix’s disbarment, both Phoenix and Miles himself crowded into the frame on either side of the young magician. Three people with no true idea at the time of just how important to each other they would all become… He’s glad she had insisted on taking it; the circumstances had been bad, but the three of them… this photograph marks the early days of something good, and he is glad to have it, sets it carefully on the end table to the sofa’s left.

Next to it goes an older, though no less important image… the photograph taken after the final resolution of DL-6, Maya with her crooked victory sign, a strange blur to one side that looks far too much like Mia Fey for Miles’s preference, himself and Wright and Larry, and of course Gumshoe, the large man flinging a joyous handful of that confetti he insists on making for trials he’s involved in. As it happens, said detective is the reason Miles has a copy of this picture at all, having tracked down the photographer to obtain copies for himself and Miles on his own time.

…it is easier to work with many of the detectives he has met in Europe, but, if Miles is honest with himself, he sometimes finds himself missing the incompetent police detective’s inane banter and unwavering faith in Miles’s own abilities. While he might resent it at times, have outright disliked it at first, Gumshoe was the first person to show him true loyalty after being taken in by Manfred. The world would be a greyer place without him.

After this is a more recent photograph – Franziska, from the Handsome Gentlemen Thieves debacle in in England. She’d deigned to pose for him outside the police station, arms folded, stance and expression confident. They’ve both grown into themselves so much in recent years, to use Dr. Heilen’s phrase, possibly more than they ever did while children in the von Karma estate. At seventeen she had been strong in a desperate, brittle sort of way when viewed in hindsight. Now, at twenty-one, she is slowly coming into a sort of casual power that she wears with ease, and which will no doubt prove absolutely devastating should she ever choose to return to the courts as a lawyer.

If he is honest, while he knows that she is enjoying Interpol and that it has been good for her, Miles hopes she does take up prosecution again one day, if only for his own amusement. Franziska does not tend to look back, only forward, and she is accustomed to seeing herself in Miles’s shadow, in Manfred’s shadow. It would be entertaining to see how much time it takes her to notice just how long and wide her own shadow is beginning to spread, to see what sort of people she attracts to her, those who would see her not as an opponent, but a guide, a teacher. Miles will not wait for her while she determines her own path, he will never wait, as she will never wait for him... but he will always be there and he will always be watching her, just as she is watching him, for that is part of what family does.

The final two frames go in his home office. The first contains the picture he’d taken after the first time he’d called for assistance and brought Wright overseas, that stolen snap of the man laughing and unaware his picture was being taken, a rainbow of paint spattering both his face and what was once a decent enough light brown suit. It hadn’t been a long case, nor a particularly strange one, but it had been thrilling none-the-less, working side by side with Wright to get that bastard of an accused what he deserved.

The last frame is different than the others, a picture book frame that opens to reveal a pair of photographs, and can be set on display like this or closed again for easy storage. Its double nature is not the only thing that sets it apart however, because, of all the photographs he has chosen, he did not choose these two, nor the frame.

Ray Shields did.

Indeed, he’d handed it off to Miles just before he returned to Europe, back in 2019, telling him only that it contains old memories and to open it when he was ready.

It’s been close to two years since then.

Miles thinks he’s ready.

On the left side is a scene he’d forgotten ever happened, himself seated behind his father’s desk at the office, for all the world like he’s waiting to meet a prospective client. To his right Phoenix stands in front of the desk, alert, a notebook in hand like he’s prepared to jot down notes on the case. To young Miles’s left, Larry leans on the edge of the desk, flexing an arm and winking at the camera with a grin. The defense attorney, his detective, and their ‘hired muscle,’ as Larry called himself (there to protect them in case the real criminal sent goons to try and stop their investigations). He’d forgotten they used to play this as well as Signal Samurai. And opposite this picture…

…oh.

…he’d had no idea Ray would think to choose this one.

The opposite picture shows the same desk, but his father is behind it, devoid of the fedora and trench coat he wore for investigations and trials, smiling out of the frame at Miles.

Specifically at Miles.

After all, Miles is the one who had taken this picture as a boy. Another memory forgotten until now, how Ray had bought himself a camera to use during cases and had let Miles try it out around the office one day. The camera strategy hadn’t worked out long-term, it was still the era of film cameras and developing the film had taken longer than trying the cases the photographs were for. But for a month Ray had still lugged the thing around with him, and occasionally even after that because-

-oh.

Because he said that looking through a camera lens forced you to see the world through a new perspective. That’s where he’d first heard that from, from Ray showing him how to use that inexpensive automatic camera, his father happy to pose for him…

…it’s not the best photograph in the work, especially in light of all he’s learned about the art in more recent years. The focus is a touch off, the lighting isn’t optimal from the chosen angle… and Miles is so unbelievably grateful that this is the one Ray chose to send. Even as he closes the frame and slides it into the right top drawer of his desk, next to the paint-bespattered red tie Phoenix had left behind after that first trip to Germany, he is grateful. This is something to truly look forward to, to the day he’s ready to have this on his desk, next to the one of Phoenix. But for now, simply having it close at hand, available to look at whenever he wishes, to be able to do so… that is more than enough.

OoOoOoOoO

M Edgeworth: Thank-you.

Ray Shields: Hey there, kid, this is out of the blue! You’re welcome!

Ray Shields: For what?

M Edgeworth: The pictures you gave me, at the end of the PIC debacle. They are much appreciated.

Ray Shields: Woof, you sure take your time with stuff, don’t you?

Ray Shields: Well, everyone at their own pace, I guess. I’m glad you like them.

M Edgeworth: Yes. Out of curiosity, how in the world did you manage to get this together so fast back then?

Ray Shields: ….

Ray Shields: I already had it together.

M Edgeworth: What?

Ray Shields: ….

Ray Shields: ….

Ray Shields: ….

Ray Shields: I put it together

Ray Shields: It was going to be my gift to your dad that year.

Ray Shields: He’d been wanting a picture of you kids for his desk.

Ray Shields: And, don’t know if you remember, but you took that other picture, and I knew he’d like that.

Ray Shields: And, well, after everything that went down when we finally met again

Ray Shields: I thought

Ray Shields: he might like you to have it.

M Edgeworth: ….

M Edgeworth: I took up photography as a hobby several years ago.

M Edgeworth: I needed… a new perspective.

M Edgeworth: It has been helpful.

M Edgeworth: Again, thank-you.

Ray Shields: Miles, if you’re trying to make a grown man cry, let me tell you

Ray Shields: It’s working.

Ray Shields: ….

Ray Shields: I am so sorry for how we met again, back in 2019. I was out of line – your dad would have had me on desk duty for a monh for jumping to conclusions like I did without checking the facts first.

Ray Shields: He would be so proud of the lawyer you’ve become. Of the man you’ve become.

M Edgeworth: ….

M Edgeworth: I am not saying thank you three times in one conversation.

Ray Shields: ;P

M Edgeworth: Also, it has come to my attention that Kay Faraday has taken you up on your job offer.

M Edgeworth: Try that hug nonsense on her and you will regret it.

Ray Shields: Kid, that is one mistake I am NEVER MAKING AGAIN.

M Edgeworth: Choose your next words wisely.

Ray Shields: I think you’re under the wrong impression about who’s the victim here! Not only does she give rib-crushers, she got my phone, my wallet, my notepad, my attorney’s badge, and a candy bar I had been really looking forward to! I think I’m being very lenient with a girl who still overs me $50 and a Wunderbar.

M Edgeworth: My heart bleeds for you.

Ray Shields: It should – you can’t get those things in the States, you know, they’re Canadian.

M Edgeworth: How unspeakably tragic.

Ray Shields: You’re just as bad now as you were at age 9. :(

Ray Shields: Anyhow, gotta run – take care of yourself, Miles.

M Edgeworth: And you as well, Mr. Shields.

Chapter Text

February 2021

What is it about the stars that make Miles think of Phoenix so often when he’s tired? He wonders. It is not that they are similar; if the man is like any celestial body, it is the sun – dependable, bright, spreading light everywhere it goes, yet liable to burn if treated carelessly. Constant and powerful and always too far away.

And then there is Trucy, like the clever moon, seeming to be in a constant state of flux yet these seeming changes in truth no more than a trick of the light, with its true trick being how it shows itself as it will, day or night depending where its path takes it, appearing pale and unexpected in an afternoon sky even as the sun watches.

Indeed, if anyone in their little trio is truly like the stars, it is probably Miles himself, cold and distant and surrounded by darkness they can barely pierce…

Yet it is Phoenix he thinks of as he looks at them, leaning into the guestroom window as he pauses in cleaning it. If he stares hard enough, he can replace the Anwaltsstadt skyline with Los Tokyo’s, his guest bedroom with the kitchen in Wright’s apartment, an earlier Skype call with a conversation on Wright’s old sofa – no news on the job front, stress in that area starting to grow, a willingness to abide by the plan they made in December and a fear that he’ll have to as the only progress made continues to be having signed up for online paralegal courses… Miles stares at the star-filled sky and imagines a scenario where he had been there, next to Phoenix, sides touching, an arm around his shoulders, offering physical support as that is the kind that man most readily accepts.

…does Phoenix have nightmares as Miles does? He is afraid to ask. (If they were together, would they be able to keep each others’ nightmares at bay, if only at night…?)

He ends up taking a picture of his Steel Samurai figurine looking out over the darkness from the guest room windowsill, a more pensive, lonely shot than he usually takes, and, if he has dreams or nightmares when he finally sleeps, he doesn’t remember them come morning.

OoOoOoOoO

Miles preregisters for Steel Kon 2021, though not without a sense of guilt. It seems such a frivolous thing to do at the moment, when Phoenix is still trying to find a job and throwing himself into his paralegal courses. Kay and Sebastian’s information had been good, and the haircut paired with a touch of make-up on his eyebrows seems to have done the job for the most part – the worst he’s gotten so far are some dirty looks and a few insults. Trucy’s doing well enough by all accounts, mostly still in step with her school material thanks to her teachers sending her assignments and course work. She’s certainly dealing with any social situations that arise with better skill than likely her father or Miles himself could.

Still, it’s been a bit more than a month since the Wrights returned home, and Phoenix hasn’t even gotten an interview. Pru Tenveg, bless her, is willing to take him back at her greengrocer’s store, but frankly the man is afraid to tempt fate there. Pru’s shop has been in her family for three generations, and her daughter plans to make it four; he won’t risk that on the very good chance that people will recognize and remember him there, and take out their anger on his employer and her store.

So that’s one month down and five to go before the first step of their plan falls through.

“He’s happy with how his online courses are going though, correct?” Dr. Heilen asks when Miles brings it up during his next visit.

“Yes,” Miles admits, not pausing in his pacing, “He says it’s as challenging as he remembers law school being, but also a satisfying activity to partake in.”

“Then between that and his daughter and friends, his life is not a totally disaster at the moment,” Dr. Heilen calmly replies, “And, even if it was, it is not your job to fix it for him. I doubt you would ask him to put his life and happiness on hold for you; there is no need for you to do so for him, either.”

Miles spins on his heel to glare. “I’m not going to abandon him!”

“And you don’t have to,” is the soothing reply, “But you are allowed to be supportive of your friend and to enjoy yourself as well – even if what you’re enjoying might seem frivolous to some. Their self-care techniques and needs aren’t necessarily the same as yours. And making sure that you are in a good space allows you to help both yourself and those you care about more effectively.”

Even now it’s hard to internalize statements like that. He wasn’t raised to care, for himself or others, not really, and that creates mental blocks at times that can be quite hard for him to work around.

“What about this,” his therapist offers, “You have flown frequently enough that you’re familiar with basic airline safety, correct?”

“Yes,” he confirms.

Dr. Heilen nods and smiles. “Then you know that, in the event of an emergency requiring them, you put on your own oxygen mask before aiding anyone else struggling with theirs.”

“Of course,” Miles replies, “It is only logical – passing out from lack of oxygen simply creates two people in need of aid.”

The doctor nods again. “Exactly. And practicing good self-care functions on the same principle, if in slightly less extreme situations for the most part. Does that make sense?”

Put in more tangible framing like this, where cause and effect are far more obvious and understandable… yes, actually, it does. Not to mention it gives Miles a concrete image to connect the concept to outside of monitoring his mental health through variances in his colour vision. It also leads him to ask a question he’s surprised to realize that he’s never asked before.

M Edgeworth: Do you have fun outside of work?

P Wright: Huh?

M Edgeworth: Fun. Do you have fun, even when times are bad?

P Wright: You mean am I having fun right now?

P Wright: Gonna be honest, not really, but I’m not wallowing or anything.

P Wright: Life’s stressy right now, you know?

M Edgeworth: I apologize, my question was insensitive.

P Wright: No, I get it, I think?

P Wright: I do have fun with Trucy.

P Wright: And I saw a pretty decent performance of the Mikado last week.

P Wright: Best thing about Lo Tokyo: someone’s always doing something interesting in community theatre and not charging much for tickets.

P Wright: And Second Fridays are neat.

M Edgeworth: What are Second Fridays?

P Wright: The second Friday of each month, some of the businesses and groups down town do galleries with local artists and free admission. Sometimes one of the big galleries does a free open night as well.

P Wright: I go when I can, it’s a great way to see new stuff, and Larry’s actually been featured for various things a time or two!

M Edgeworth: Good.

M Edgeworth: That is good.

P Wright: This brought on by concern for my well-being or are you trying to figure out basic human behaviour again?

M Edgeworth: I don’t have to answer that!

M Edgeworth: ….

M Edgeworth: …a bit of both.

P Wright: lol

P Wright: Yes, I’m taking care of msyeld and not burning myself out trying to that that whole plan we cooked up done as fast as possible.

P Wright: *myself *do

P Wright: We chose that time period based on how long I can keep me ‘n’ Trucy fed with my savings.

P Wright: The current situation isn’t ideal, but I’ll work it out – I always have so far.

P Wright: And you’re one of the reasons for some of those times.

P Wright: So I’ll keep doing what I need to.

P Wright: And you’ll keep doing what you need to.

P Wright: And we’ll both take care of ourselves.

P Wright: Deal?

M Edgeworth: Deal.

OoOoOoOoO

March 2021

“I know this has been going on for awhile now, but it ends tonight.”

“…”

“No, don’t look at me like that, we both know this is for the best.”

“…”

“It- I am aware that the current situation isn’t that different from my previous one, but the differences between this one and that one, however miniscule, are still vital!”

“…”

“I’m a respected prosecutor and nearly twenty-nine. The fact that I am having an argument with a dog-shaped pillow is proof enough that this situation needs to change.”

Pess the Second continues to stare silently at him from where he’s perched her on his bedside table, and Miles folds his arms and scowls.

“If you’re going to be as stubborn as your namesake then I’m going to put you on the floor – dogs sleep on the floor, not the bed.”

Pess the Second does not spend the night on the floor and, really, Miles can’t bring himself to be surprised about it.

Pess the First always slept on the bed, too.

(And, for whatever illogical reason, she is strangely comforting to have on hand after waking from a nightmare.)

Chapter Text

April 2021

“That’s a metal path ability, Trucy.”

The young magician blinks. “But the Legal Samurai is metal path, isn’t he?”

“I was under the impression that he was wood path,” Miles replies, surprised, “Pink is the colour of wood in the Steel Samurai universe, after all, since the Pink Princess was the first character to use that form of samurai arts, and that is the colour you put him in.”

“It is?” Trucy’s brow creases, and her expression goes distant as she clicks away from their video call to double-check his statement online. Then she clicks back, confusion replaced with penance. “Oops, sorry, Mr. Edgeworth.”

It is his turn to frown. “Why are you apologizing?”

“Well… you like the Steel Samurai best, right? So I thought…” she shrugs.

“If I had had quarrel with your selection, I would have spoken up in June when you first showed me his design,” Miles points out drily, “As it is, this does explain a few things about how you design his attacks.”

“Phooey.” She folds her arms and leans back in her chair, scowling, then brightens just as quickly, “Wait, does this mean I can make his attack’s flashier, like Pink Princess’s?”

“If you wish,” he replies, bemused at such enthusiasm in the face of having to redo months of work, “Though it seems a rather laborious task for a minor detail.”

“It doesn’t count as work if it feels like fun!” Trucy counters cheerfully, “And coming up with special attacks is like coming up with new magic tricks, only I don’t have to worry about how to achieve all the special effects,” she heaves a deep sigh at this, “Life’s going to be so much easier once I’m old enough to learn how to do pyrotechnics.”

“…quite,” Miles replies, unsure what else to say.

Apparently that’s enough for Trucy, however, because she folds her arms on the computer desk and leans on them towards the screen. “Anyway, how come only samurai follow elemental paths? I don’t know how to look that up without getting spoilers, and I keep forgetting to ask Miss Maya.”

“Other warriors do use the paths,” Miles corrects, “If they’re a type that would have been in a formal military, like samurai or archers, they follow one of the five paths. If they aren’t, they use a blend of elements and abilities, though they do at times have an elemental path they favour. Ninja fall into the latter category.”

“Okay,” Trucy says, taking more notes, “Is it better to do one than the other?”

“It’s usually described as a matter of mastery versus diversity. Samurai specifically seek mastery of their own element, and only learn as much of other paths as is needed to properly coordinate with or counter them in battle.”

“Got it,” she nods, pencil flying, “Do they discuss this in a certain season?”

“No, a book of supplementary lore was written that explains it – it was published after season five, have you completed it yet?”

“All but the last two episodes!”

“Very good. I can get you a copy of the volume in question if you like – it can be a touch difficult to find these days.”

“Yes please!”

Miles has no idea why it’s so satisfying to provide Trucy with trivia like this, but it truly is. Perhaps because he is more accustomed to Phoenix teasing him about it, or Maya being on relatively equal footing in their discussions; it is pleasant to have Trucy look to him with something akin to respect for this knowledge, and she asks intelligent questions. Something tells him that she’s going to be an extremely interesting conversationalist on the topic once she’s worked her way through all the (acknowledged) series.

“And you’ll never guess who came to my show last night,” Trucy adds, switching subjects.

“In that case, I am agog.”

“…what?”

“Listening with baited breath.”

The young magician makes a little ‘ahhh’ sound of comprehension, then reveals, “Prosecutor DeBeste! Only he said I can call him Mr. Sebastian, or just Sebastian if I want.”

“That was kind of him,” Miles says, as he is… fairly certain this is an appropriate response to this revelation, “How did he end up at the Wunderbar?”

Trucy giggles, even as she tsks a finger at him. “How many times do I have to tell you? It’s Wonder Bar, not Vundebar!”

“I cannot help it if some American named their establishment a near homonym of the German word for ‘wonderful,’” Miles replies primly, “And my question stands. There wasn’t an investigation, was there?” he adds, concern creeping in at the thought.

“No, no crimes,” Trucy reassures him, “He said Kay told him it was good, and this is the first time he’s managed to come. And, Mr. Edgeworth,” she leans forward seriously, “You need to help me convince him to start wearing a cape. He’s all lanky and as tall as Detective Gumshoe, he’s got the perfect build for one!”

“He’s grown that much?” Last he’d seen the young man, Miles had had two inches on him, but apparently a late growth spurt means the situation has now reversed. That will certainly be an interesting factor in their next meeting.

“How would I know, this was my first time meeting him in person,” is Trucy’s reasonable reply, “Anyway, he should wear a cape – I bet he’d be really encouraged to if you led by example!”

“You do, do you?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, I’m afraid that is one hypothesis doomed to be left untested, as I like my coats just fine.”

“Aw, Mr. Edgeworth-”

“Aaaaaaaaand~ that’s time!”

Trucy and Miles both startle as her headphones are unplugged and a third person joins the conversation.

“Sorry, Trucy-Lucy, but it’s eleven, and that’s way past the time we agreed you’d go to bed, let alone the time your dad wanted you in bed by!”

“Larry?!” Miles goggles from his side of the screen, “What are you doing there?!?”

“Enforcing bedtimes,” Larry replies cheerfully, leaning on the back of Trucy’s chair so the camera can get his face, “Hiyas, Edgy, you’re up early!”

“And you’re up late. What are you doing there, where’s Wright?”

“He’s out job-hunting,” Larry answers as Trucy protests about ending her talk, “He hasn’t had any luck on day-shift, so now he’s trying night shift. I’m keeping an eye on the apartment and Trucy-Lucy here while he’s out.”

“Ah.” He knows, in an intellectual way, that Larry has been… ‘babysitting,’ for lack of a better word, Trucy for Phoenix on and off for more than a year now, but it’s one thing to hear about it, another to actually see the artist behaving, well, responsibly.

“Can’t I stay up just a bit later, Mr. Larry? Please?” Trucy gives him her most tragically waifish look and, shockingly, Larry doesn’t crumple like a wet paper tower.

“Nuh-uh, we agreed 10:30 pm, you’ve already had half an hour more than that, teeth, pajamas, bed,” Larry replies with a level of easy-going inflexibility Miles wouldn’t have thought him capable of, “Not enough sleep is bad for your skin, and under those spotlights on your stage it shows.”

“Fine,” Trucy rolls her eyes at him, hard, “You’re lucky I’m in showbiz, though, or otherwise you’d be in super big trouble for saying something like that about a growing girl in this century. Think of what you could be doing to my self-esteem and body image as I grow closer to my tumultuous teenage years!”

“Kiddo, you’re being raised by Nick and Edgy, you could give self-esteem lessons.”

Miles chokes at the first half of this. “Rais-! Larry, I am not-!”

“Yeah, sure, whatevs,” Larry actually cuts him off, turning back to the young magician, “No more stalling tactics – say good night to Edgy, then teeth and bed.”

She sticks her tongue out, but concedes defeat by finally removing her headset and putting her black top hat back on, balancing it carefully so it doesn’t fall over her eyes. “Good night, Mr. Edgeworth, I had fun talking to you!”

“It was my pleasure, as always. Sleep well, Trucy.”

She beams, then scoots off, hopefully to go to bed. Larry calls something to that effect after her, then puts the headset on himself and settles down in front of the computer, reconnecting the two pieces of technology as he does so.

“I’ll go check on her in a few minutes. ‘til then, got some time for your old pal, Edgy? This is the first time I’ve actually seen you in forever!”

“I suppose.” While he plans to go into the office still, technically Miles has the day off, so he can go in at his leisure.

“Awesome!” and he settles more comfortably so they can talk.

Chapter Text

“I’ll go check on Trucy-Lucy in a few minutes. ‘til then, got some time for your old pal, Edgy? This is the first time I’ve actually seen you in forever!”

“I suppose.” While he plans to go into the office still, technically Miles has the day off, so he can go in at his leisure.

“Awesome!” Larry settles more comfortably so they can talk, and, Miles will give him this, the artist doesn’t hold back when expressing how happy he is to see someone, a quality that can be charming when he’s not openly drooling over his latest ‘true love.’ “It’s great to see you in such a good mood!”

“I- what?”

“You are in a good mood, aren’t you?” Larry tilts his head, confused, “You’re less scowly than normal- wait, nope, spoke too soon, there it goes.”

Miles heroically does not rub his temples. “Did you have something you wished to discuss beyond common banalities or should I go?”

“Ouch! Why ya gotta be so mean, Edgy? Especially when I have news you might be interested in?” The artist pouts.

“News? Of what sort?”

Larry folds his arms and looks away, lower lip jutting out farther. “After all that, I’m not sure I should tell you. Dick’s nice to me, you know, you should be more like him.”

“…who?”

“Dick. You know, Dick.” Larry turns back and, seeing Miles’s uncomprehending stare, rolls his eyes. “Detective Gumshoe? Geez, Edgy, you only worked with the guy for years, you’d think you’d know his name by now.”

“I am fully aware of Detective Gumshoe’s full name,” Miles responds coldly, “However, as I had no knowledge that the two of you were on friendly terms, I had no way on Earth of knowing who you were talking about with the level of context provided and his first name alone.”

“I… okay, that’s fair,” Larry concedes, “And I got to know him more back in February, when Trucy asked him to help put some trap doors in her stage while I was there working with her on the set. He’s a nice guy, been giving me some tips on how to land a cutie like he’s dating!”

…well there’s a scenario to chill the blood. Though, to be fair, Gumshoe does his best to be a gentleman, and it’s not like Larry’s behaviour towards women could be worsened by this turn of events. Hopefully it just doesn’t ruin the little slice of happiness the detective and Ms. Byrde are carving out for themselves. “…do you actually have news to share, Larry?” a thought occurs to him. “Is it about Wright? Has he not been doing as well as he’s been claiming?”

“Whoa, no, chill, Nick’s fine,” Larry holds up his hands defensively, with such haste that he knocks his headset jack loose without noticing, “He’s starting to get super stressed about not having a job, but otherwise he’s fine!”

“Oh. Good.” Miles realizes that he’s leaned forward towards the screen and sits back with a cough.

“Geez, do you two ever stop worrying about each other?”

“No.”

“I… huh.” Larry sits back as well, surprised, “I… did not think you’d ever admit that. Huh. For that I’m gonna be super nice and tell you my news, in spite of you being such a meanie!”

“I wait with baited breath,” Miles says with nothing of the sort.

“You should!” Larry replies with gusto, “ ‘cause it’s about a subject very near and dear to your heart!”

“…please tell me you’re not trying to become a lawyer.”

Larry chokes on air then makes at least six warding-off-evil gestures. “No, gods no, no offense to you and Nick, but no. Ugh, way too much pressure, I dunno how you two stand it, BFFs and all, but wow, no! Plus, I’d probably get disbarred for- for- wassa word, fancy legal word for lying in court?”

“Perjury.”

“Yeah, that, I’d get disbarred for that my first trial, I wouldn’t even mean to, I’d just panic and lie out of habit. And then they’d take away my lawyer badge and I’d really never get the nerve up to properly meet my mom, and it would suck.” He sticks his tongue out with a ‘bleh.’ “No, I was talking about Steel Samurai- ha! Knew you’d be interested!”

One day Miles will learn how to effectively stop himself from blushing and never have to worry about it again, but as things stand this is just another reason to wish he wasn’t quite so pale and prone to turning crimson when embarrassed. He turns away from the computer screen with a huff, folding his arms. “I highly doubt you’ve heard anything I haven’t- wait, they didn’t change their minds about doing another season of that… abomination after all, did they?”

“Huh?” Larry purses his lips in confusion before a light clicks on behind his eyes, “Oh that- nah, even I don’t like that one, I wouldn’t waste your time with that. Well, maybe send a sympathy note or something.”

“Odd, I would have thought you a member of the demographic it was trying to pander to.”

“Edgy!” Larry gasps, putting a hand to his chest, “Don’t you know fan service only works if it suits the character’s personality?! You can’t just flash some skin and call it good enough, there’s an art to these things!”

“That is…” Miles shakes his head, for once baffled as to how to continue.

Larry just laughs. “Wow, mark this one down for the history books, ‘cause I just struck the great Miles Edgeworth speechless! And with something that’s perfectly logical, for that matter!”

“I beg your pardon, how is this logical?”

“Think about it, Edgy, you’re the smart one,” the man rests his chin on folded hands with a grin, “You know me – why wouldn’t I just want to see a hot female character in the skimpiest outfit possible?”

…he’s not going to be outwitted by dratted Larry Butz of all people, so Miles glowers but sets a finger to his temple, thinking. There is, naturally, the urge to write Larry off as a playboy, but this is inaccurate – he might pursue more than one woman simultaneously, but once he’s in a relationship he’s loyal, often to the point of clinginess. And it is not the amount of skin a woman shows that necessarily gains his attention, if Iris is anything to go by. Then again, Miles has seen some of Larry’s drawings-

Drawings.

Larry will take any job he can legally obtain, but he is primarily an artist and an actor – he majored in the former and minored in the latter. And, much as Miles loathes to admit it, when he applies himself the man is excellent at both, so it makes sense that a character’s design and personality being compromised could potentially bother him. But that doesn’t feel complete, there’s another link to the chain. Larry himself has just admitted that minimal clothing isn’t alluring on its own in this context, but, again, Miles has seen some of Larry’s work and sketches-

Sketches.

Art.

Classical art. Larry’s familiar with the classics to a fair extent, he did well enough in school to get his degree, and he made those notorious Thinker clocks so he’s familiar with sculpture as well as painting-

Oh.

Dammit.

Eureka.

Miles drops his head into his hand. “Classical art, which you have a formal background in, is rife with nudity of various levels, even without touching on sculpture, and many art classes involve live models, both naked and clothed. The unobscured human form is something you are therefore utterly familiar with, and thus in and of itself it has little allure for you unless given further context of some sort.”

“Bingo, got it in one!” Larry cheers, “The allure’s more in what you can’t see, so put it all on display and there’s nothing left to be excited about!”

“I suppose that makes sense.”

“Plus, like…” the artist squinches up his face in distaste, “Everyone’s pretty young in that series – I like ‘em legal, you know?”

“I never assumed you didn- wait a moment,” Miles pauses, actually thinks about the direction their conversation has gone, and turns bright red again, “Why are we even talking about this?!”

“You know, I can’t remember?”

“LARRY!”

“Eek! Sorry, sorry, it’s about the Steel Samurai stage show!”

“What?!”

“My news,” Larry cowers, “I know because they’re pulling the cast from the original run together to do an official recording of it and, you know, I was the Steel Samurai! So they kinda had to tell me about it! And that’s why I knew and you didn’t!” he pauses and grows considering. “And technically I’m not supposed to have told anyone about it, but, like… you’re you, so I know you won’t tell anyone else.”

“Oh. I. Um. Oh.” That. Well. That is definitely news he’s interested in – as painful as it had been to discover that it was Larry, of all people, playing his hero’s part… it had been a moving performance, as Miles himself had admitted at the time before discovering who the actor was. It’s just… Larry. He causes so many problems, is so irritating at times-

…and he’s still under the ‘friends’ section of Miles’s contact list. Wright trusts him with his daughter. Miles trusts the idiot to help him with confusing social situations. Maybe it’s time to take Trucy’s complaints last January onboard and start being nicer to the man. The only reason Miles is where he is today is that someone gave him the chance to be better; perhaps it’s time for him to start paying his dues for that. …not to mention the fact that he does still have that dratted autograph, because it was still the Steel Samurai’s signature and, even though he’d managed to finally get one from Will Powers himself after the madness surrounding the Moozilla movie, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to get rid of the first one. So-

“You have my gratitude for telling me, Larry, and my silence on the matter.”

Larry blinks, his expression almost… surprised for a moment before he gets a big smile and puts a hand to the back of his head. “You’re welcome, Edgy! I’ll make sure you get a copy when it comes out, okay? So don’t worry about preorders or anything; I get a bonus copy for being a part of it and I’ll send it to you!”

That is very tempting, to the point that he almost says yes, but, with some reluctance- “It would be better if you sent it to Maya Fey.”

The happy expression is immediately replaced by one of extreme disappointment. “…you don’t want it?”

“No- it is not- ugh.” Miles hates hates hates dealing with emotions, why must people be so complex? “She will desire a copy and have a harder time acquiring one than I will. It is simply more logical to send it to her than to me, regardless of my interest.”

This banishes the disappointment in place of surprise, then eyes narrowed in suspicion, then full-on shock and delight. “Holy smokes – Edgy, have you been making friends outside of me ‘n’ Nick and your hot-but-terrifying sister?”

“…she’s not interested in men, Larry.”

“I know,” Larry tilts his head to one side, puzzled, “She was really clear on that point last time I saw her. She’s still hot. And you didn’t answer my question – are you ‘n’ Maya friends now?”

“I haven’t consulted her on the matter, but I suppose that would not be an entirely inaccurate assessment,” he admits.

“Good for you! I’ll send it to Maya, then,” Larry grins, glances behind himself for some reason, then plugs his headset back in and lowers his voice. “Gotta go put Trucy-Lucy to bed now, Edgy, she’s finally asleep.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“She’s been over in the hallway eavesdropping – she does it sometimes when me ‘n’ Nick talk. I dunno why, I think Nick’s said something about she likes hearing grown-ups getting along? Or something? You’ll have to ask him. Anyway, I gotta go put her in bed. Talk to you another time, okay?”

“Very well.”

“Cool!” Larry knocks off a little salute before signing off, “See ya ‘round, Edgy!”

Chapter Text

May 2021

“You cut your hair again.”

Phoenix makes a face at him from the computer screen. “Geez, you can’t even let me wish you a happy twenty-eighth birthday before saying that? Rude.”

“My apologies,” Miles replies and ends the call.

Instantly there’s a new ‘incoming call’ icon on his computer screen, and when he answers it Phoenix is scowling at him. “That was uncalled for!”

“Now you’re the one cutting yourself off.”

“Huh?”

Miles spreads his hands with a slight smirk. “Here I give you the perfect opportunity to start the conversation over in the manner you desired and instead you do this and accuse me of poor manners. Disgraceful.”

“…if you bow at me I’m going to hang up.”

“If you say so,” Miles demures with amusement.

Phoenix struggles to keep his annoyed expression for a few minutes longer, but it’s cracking at the edges and finally he rolls his eyes and gives in with a snort. “Happy birthday, you insufferable sass-pot.”

“What happened to ‘stuck-up jerk’?”

“You mellowed.”

And now it’s Miles’s turn to unsuccessfully fight off a smile. “Well. Thank-you.”

“You’re welcome.” Phoenix folds his arms on his computer desk and leans forward eagerly. “So, how did that case you were working on turn out?”

“If you know I can talk to you about it, then you probably know what happened.”

“Objection, Trucy’s the one who’s been following it online, and she just told me that the ruling was finally handed down,” the man counters cheerfully, “I wanted to wait and hear it from you!”

“Well, if you insist…”

Miles takes the time he’s relaying the story to also examine Phoenix more closely. As well as the once-again newly-shorn hair, he’s getting a worn look that twists the gut to see – slight shadows about the eyes, a prominence of the cheekbones that must be brought on by stress (if only because Trucy is under oath to inform Miles if her father starts neglecting his physical needs), a less-than-straightness of shoulders that rarely bow. It all adds up to one conclusion: Wright still hasn’t had any success in his job hunt. He is no longer threatened, but nor is he wanted. And this is his second-to-last month before he must concede that Los Tokyo is a lost cause. There is no room for flexibility – come the end of June, the man’s finances will be at the point where he cannot risk pressing further. He will not risk Trucy’s health like that.

(Unspoken, but clearly heard nonetheless, Phoenix will not risk being declared unfit and losing custody of his daughter. And Miles will not fault him for this – it was not the same but, to at least an extent, Miles himself has been in the position of choosing between his career and the well-being of one who depended on him-)

“-orth, Edgeworth? Miles? You in there?”

He blinks and refocuses on the screen, where Phoenix is wearing a concerned expression that relaxes as he sees that he has regained Miles’s attention.

“Welcome back! Care to share where you went with the rest of the class?”

“Ah,” Miles flushes lightly, embarrassed at having been caught, “Simply thinking that it has been some time since I called Kay simply to converse, and that I should alter this state of affairs.”

“She’d like that,” Phoenix nods with a hint of approval, “It’s been nice seeing her running around town more often these days – she and Ray seem like they’re getting along.”

“That is the implication I received as well.” Kay’s last ‘progress report’ had been less on the Jurist Project and more about her first time formally working as Ray’s aid in court, as opposed to observing from the gallery. She had been so proud of herself (she had not been the only one)… “How are your studies progressing?”

“Audio lectures are the best thing, the law’s interesting as heck, but whoever’s in charge of writing legal textbooks should be arrested, I used to get the worst headaches studying.” Phoenix squinches up his face in distaste at the memory.

“Surely it wasn’t so bad.”

“I literally went and got myself checked for dyslexia and a couple other things,” the man says, dry as library dust, “I don’t know what I would have done if I didn’t already speak Latin.”

“Well then, thank heaven for small favour- wait, what? You what?”

Phoenix tilts his head to the side. “I speak Latin? Well, as much as anyone can speak it, considering that it’s a dead language and all-”

“When did you learn that?!”

“…you didn’t know?”

“No!”

“Oh. I thought you did.”

“Obviously not.”

“Okay, okay, geez, settle down! Grumpy. Anyway, I started ‘cause a comic I liked as a kid used to use the occasional phrase and I got curious. Then Larry started making me translate every Latin phrase he could find just running around town – coins, bumper stickers, monument quotes, whatever – and then Latin was a language option in high school, and I figured ‘eh, might as well, it’ll look good for college.’ Then I kept going in college ‘cause I was on a roll by that point, then I got into law school and I have never been so grateful in my life, because it is so much easier to memorize all those terms and how to spell them when you can actually read them!”

“So that’s the secret to you passing the bar in four years.”

“Oh yes,” Phoenix nods, mock serious, “It’s completely down to the Latin; anyone could be a lawyer in four years if they just got fluent in Latin first.”

“Having a natural affinity for legal matters didn’t have anything to do with it?”

“Nope, not a dang thing, it was all the Latin.”

“Ah, I see. Apparently I took entirely the wrong approach in my own studies, then.”

“I didn’t want to be the one to mention it, but…”

They manage to hold their serious expressions for almost a minute before both bursting into laughter. Phoenix chuckles to a smile, tired and fond.

“Can you imagine everyone at the courthouse hearing us talk like this? I mean, the last time they all saw us interacting was at the Engarde trial.”

Miles snorts. “Quite. There was a rather popular rumour at one point that I only laugh at the pain of others.”

“They said that at the courthouse?”

“The Prosecutors’ Office.”

The man covers a burst of horrified laughter with one hand. “But- but they voted you-?!”

“They might not have been fond of me, but I was undeniably good at my job,” Miles shrugs, “Especially after you showed up and I started doing it properly.”

“All hail the king.”

“Bah.”

Phoenix just laughs. “Speaking of royalty, I happen to have the queen of magicians here with me, and she’s been waiting very patiently for her chance to say hi.”

Miles manages to arrange his face back into a semblance of seriousness. “Far be it for me to keep royalty waiting.”

“All right then,” Phoenix beams, removing his headphones and disconnecting them as he calls over his shoulder, “Trucy, you’re on!”

There’s a cheer from off-screen, then a flourish of movement as the young performer appears, holding up the oversized black top hat that she’s refused to replace for one that fits better, a matching inky cape around her shoulders. From this angle Miles can’t tell if it bears her usual trim of card suits, but it’s absolutely fastened with her signature broach. The whole look contrasts sharply with the t-shirt she has on underneath rather charmingly – it’s pleasant to see her looking her age, as opposed to trying to appear as grown-up as possible.

“Mr. Edgeworth, happy birthday! How old are you now?”

“Trucy!”

“I am twenty-eight this year,” Miles replies calmly, raising an eyebrow at Phoenix, “And fear of aging is a social construct.”

“Says the guy who fusses when people think he’s older than he is.”

“Nyerk! Just because I dislike having incorrect assumptions made based solely on my hair colour-!!”

“Hey, no,” Trucy interrupts, “No fighting, I’m talking to Mr. Edgeworth now, you two can fight on your own time!”

“You’re not going to forbid us entirely from doing so?” Miles asks, chin bemusedly in his hand.

“Nope, arguments are a normal part of social interaction brought on by conflicting points of view, and, if handled properly, create the opportunity for greater mutual understanding,” Trucy replies, “So telling you not to fight at all would be detrimental in the long run."

Phoenix pushes her top hat to the side so he can plant a kiss on top of his daughter’s head. “I swear she only talks like this around you, you know.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Miles concedes, and Trucy beams.

“That’s the other reason you two’re allowed to fight – most of the time you don’t even mean it, you’re just arguing because you like arguing with each other! So that’s okay.”

“Guess you’ve got us all figured out,” her father grins before gesturing back at the screen, “Anyway, didn’t you have something you wanted to show Edgeworth?”

“Right!” Trucy quickly switches to her performance smile, spreading her arms wide, “Daddy and Gentleman, I would like to present… Mr. Hat!”

As always there is the brain-twisting series of motions involved in Mr. Hat appearing from wherever it is that Trucy hides him, one wooden hand reaching up to catch Trucy’s tossed top hat and place it on the puppet’s own head.

From there, however, the usual performance ends. Instead of his typical sharp salute or bow, Mr. Hat yawns and stretches before scratching one side, looking for all the world like he’s just staggered out of bed. Even his usual suit is replaced with the large grey hoodie Trucy had used in Germany, with the blue stripes down the sleeves, hood up and top hat resting on top of it. The sight of the usually dapper puppet looking so obviously disheveled startles a laugh from Miles, followed by more when Trucy feigns very convincing confusion, turns to Mr. Hat, and does an excellent jump startle.

“Mr. Hat!”

The puppet turns to her, cocking his head to one side, and Trucy thrusts her pointing finger at the camera.

“We are on stage! Do you call that professional attire?!”

Mr. Hat glances briefly at the camera as well, then does a double-take, one hand flying to his mouth before tossing Trucy back her hat and vanishing again.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she huffs, folding her arms then jolting forward a little as if she’s just been bumped. “Hey, careful back there! I tell you, he’s being awfully cavalier for someone whose salary is up for review,” she sighs, shaking her head in despair, “Maybe he’s going through his rebellious phase, I don’t know.”

“I’m sure you’re doing your best, glowworm,” Phoenix says with decently straight face.

“Thanks, Daddy.”

At that moment a wooden hand reaches up and taps her shoulder, and Trucy casts a stern glance at it.

“And you’re actually ready this time?”

A thumbs up.

“Okay then – hey presto!”

She tosses her hat in the air, and this time when he appears Mr. Hat is dressed far more to his usual style, his cape now black to match Trucy’s, though the classic card suit pattern is indeed visible around the border. He gives a wonderfully dramatic bow (that makes Phoenix snort for some reason), then straightens and-

“Happy birthday, Mr. Edgeworth!”

Miles nearly falls out of his chair. The voice isn’t quite low enough to be believably male, and Trucy’s obviously still working out the kinks in her technique, but for the first time Miles has seen, Mr. Hat has spoken directly instead of ‘whispering’ his words to Trucy and pantomiming the rest.

“Mein Gott! Ah, that is to say, thank-you very much, Mr. Hat.”

“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you, as it always is when we have the pleasure of interacting,” Mr. Hat replies with elegant manners, turning to Phoenix slightly once he’s done so, “And may I also say you have my sincerest gratitude for taking in and caring for Miss Trucy as you have – she would have been lost without you, and it is a relief to see her in safe hands.”

The man in question responds by getting so full of emotions they start leaking out his eyes. “I’m- she’s the light of my life, probably the best thing to ever…” he trails off with a sniffle.

Mr. Hat puts a hand to his mouth, then vanishes away to wherever he goes when not in use, leaving Trucy staring at her father in shock. “Daddy, are you crying?”

“‘m not crying!” Phoenix blubs emphatically, and Miles covers a smile with one hand before speaking.

“In court, Trucy, we call what your father is currently doing ‘perjury.’”

“‘m not under oath, it doesn’t count!” Phoenix protests soggily, doing his best to nonchalantly pull his daughter into his lap and snuggle her while she talks to Miles, a thing she graciously allows.

“Mr. Hat decided that he wanted to get over his shyness of talking to other people,” Trucy explains, “And he wanted to do something big for his first time, so I suggested this!”

“I’m honoured,” Miles says with complete honesty – it’s very good, but it’s also obvious, to him at least, that Trucy hasn’t fully mastered this trick yet. And for a perfectionist like her to decide that performing it for his birthday is more important than getting it fully refined first, well. Needless to say, he’s deeply touched.

She beams. “I’ll be sure to tell him! Oh, and apologies in advance, your birthday present is going to be… kinda late. It’s taking longer to make than I thought it would.”

“Oh. Thank-you, I will… keep an eye out for it?” he’s relatively sure this is the correct response, given that he’s never actually, personally been in this situation. ‘I wasn’t expecting anything’ and ‘you needn’t bother’ are both truer statements, but they feel rather more dismissive than he wishes to be.

Trucy, meanwhile, curls her lips in before making a popping sound with them. “Um, at this rate it’s probably gonna wind up a New Year’s present. Sorry.”

What’s the correct response in this situation, he has no experience with this, what is he supposed to do??? “It’s- uh- it’s the thought that counts?”

Phoenix chuckles before Trucy can say anything else. “That’s enough, Truce, you’re flustering him.”

“I am not flustered!”

Both Wrights raise synchronized eyebrows of unimpressed skepticism at him, and Miles feels himself colouring as he folds his arms and looks away with a huff.

“I’m not.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

They’re still trying their best not to laugh when he ends the call on them. A moment later Wright calls him again and Miles answers grumpily.

“What?”

The man just grins at him. “Happy birthday, Edgeworth.”

“…you’re ridiculous.” But he can’t help grinning back.

Chapter Text

A trial that runs long due to attempts at political maneuvering by the defendant ends up requiring rather more time than Miles had expected. It’s equally flawed, but the American three-day rule for trials is something that he misses at times, even if his colleagues joke about him being a speed demon with how fast he can bring cases to their conclusion (which, if he is honest, he far prefers to that other moniker he somehow gained during his traveling period). Thus it’s not until a few weeks after he’d decided to that he finally manages to contact Kay for a casual conversation.

M Edgeworth: Do you have a minute to talk?

Kay F: Something wrong? D8

M Edgeworth: No, merely a desire to converse with a friend.

Kay F: Oh. Great timig then!

She calls before he can respond to this. “Hi, Mr. Edgeworth! Sebbie, come over and say hi!”

“Oh, I- I wouldn’t like to improve- no wait, I mean intrude, drat it, I’ve known that one for years!”

“Prosecutor DeBeste?” Miles squints at the screen of his phone, trying to make out the figure in a somewhat darkened background, “What in the world-?!”

“I’m at Sebbie’s and my place right now!” Kay says, grinning cheerfully, “Ray said I can work from home today, since I usually hang out with my bestie here after a kidnapping, made all the more convenient by the fact that we're sharing a house.”

“Kidnapping-?!?”

“Kay, you’ve done that once, that doesn’t count as ‘usually’!” Sebastian protests, scrambling fully into the range of Kay’s phone camera (and good lord, he really has grown, hasn’t he? In the two years since Miles last saw him in person, the soft vestiges of childhood about his face have faded significantly, leaving him looking much closer to his actual age).

Kay, unaware of Miles’s thoughts, points a triumphant finger right between Sebastian’s eyes. “Ah-ha! But once is just enough for there to be what us legal folk call ‘case precedent.’ QED, Sebbie, where is your god now?”

“I- ah,” the young prosecutor goes cross-eyed trying to keep a visual on Kay’s hand, “I’m given to believe they’re omnipresent, but I’ve never verified it…?”

“Wha-! Don’t think being cutely confused will distract me from my victory, Maestro!”

“PROSECUTOR DEBESTE AND MISS FARADAY!” Miles thunders back into the conversation before it can devolve any further, “What kidnapping?!?”

The self-proclaimed great thief blinks at him in surprise. “Sebbie got kidnapped again, duh. Didn’t he tell you? He usually tells you when important stuff happens, I thought you told him, Sebbie.”

“Well…” the young man’s eyes dart nervously.

“You didn’t tell him?! What about the time before that?”

“Um…”

“Seriously? Or the time before that?”

“Well. That is to say-”

“Sweet Moses! And the time before that?!?”

“Well of course he knows about that one, Mister Edgeworth’s the one that found me that time!”

“Then why didn’t you tell him about the other times?!”

“I didn’t want to bother him!”

“Yeah well look how that turned out, look at him, he’s got anxiety!”

“Miss Faraday,” Miles cuts in again, “If you have enough energy to make outdated jokes, perhaps one of you two could be so good as to explain what the hell is going on?!”

They both swallow visibly at this, and Miles would feel guilty, except it seems like Sebastian has been the subject of three kidnapping events, that Miles hadn’t known about, when one of the boy’s greatest fears is vanishing without anyone being able to find him, without anyone caring to find him, and if Miles doesn’t get some answers soon he doesn’t know what he’ll do, because the world around him is starting to dip into unacceptable levels of grey-

“It’s fine, it’s okay, there’s nothing to worry about,” Kay waves her hands frantically, “It’s not- crap, it wasn’t a hate crime against the legal system or anything!”

“Indeed, I wasn’t even the intended target,” Sebastian chimes in hastily, his baton materializing from somewhere to bend between his hands, though, unusually for a stressful situation such as this, his eyes remain dry, filled only with concern.

“That’s what makes it so funny,” Kay adds with a hint of desperation, “He’s been kidnapped four times, but he was never the intended target they were trying to grab! He’s been accidentally kidnapped four times!”

“And since it was never anything serious, I never felt the need to trouble you about it!” Sebastian agrees with heartbreaking earnestness, “You have your own cases and Mr. Wright to worry about, it- Mr. Edgeworth? Did- ah- did I say something wrong?”

Miles has seen and heard the word ‘stricken’ used, but this might just be the first time he has truly felt it in application to himself. “…do you honestly believe yourself so unimportant to me that I would find such matters trivial? That I do not already worry over the fact that, regardless of your protective reputation, you are still a known lawyer who lives in relative solitude in a city that is openly hostile towards those of our profession at the moment?”

“…‘m not entirely alone,” the boy mumbles, looking away, flushed, tears beginning to bead at the corners of his eyes, “There’s the house staff, ‘n’ Kay, ‘n’ Klavier…”

“Sebastian.”

His eyes snap to meet Miles’s at the use of his first name.

“You are my student. I would not spend such time and effort on one I did not care about. Of course I worry about you. If I do not make that clear enough, then it is a fault of mine, not yours. This world would be a lesser place for your absence.”

Sebastian stares at him, blinks, blinks again as his lower lip trembles and tears start leaking out.

“Told you he wasn’t joking about liking you,” Kay grins, and that’s the tipping point in the boy’s composure as he emotionally overloads and starts bawling, leaning into his friend as she laughs and hugs him.

“Um… happy tears?” Miles guesses hopefully, recalling that conversation he’d had with the boy at People’s Park (was it really two years ago now).

Sebastian chokes something between a laugh and a sob but nods, a smile pushing its way through the streams of water cascading down his face, despite his best attempts to staunch the flow of his eyes and nose with a handkerchief. “V-v-v-very h-happy!” he chokes out.

Kay’s laughing at both of them now, staring cheekily at Miles as she pats Sebastian’s hair, presumably to help him calm down. “I swear, it’s a good thing you guys have me, because you’re both hopeless with this stuff on your own, geez!”

Miles does not dignify this with an answer, mostly because he’s aware that she already knows she’s right.

Eventually Sebastian calms again enough to answer Miles’s still-pressing questions about what exactly had happened regarding his abduction.

“It was rather scarier than the last one was,” he admits, “They had an accent I’m unfamiliar with, so even when they were speaking English it was a little hard to follow at times, but they kept speaking of justice and leverage and defiance, so I did initially presume they were from a group upset with or wronged by the courts. However then they began talking about queens and dragons as well, and I got lost. And then I wasn’t the one they were looking for anyway, so they dropped me off in the middle of People’s Park, and by the time I’d made my way out, they’d vanished.

“I’ve filed a report, of course, but it all sounds so fantastical, and with the other more pressing cases the police have to deal with…” he shrugs. “A single, utterly failed kidnapping is rather low priority at the moment. I doubt they’ll be found.”

“On the plus side,” Kay chips in again, “Sebbie totally schooled Mr. Ray in court the other day, it was amazing!”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on your employer’s side?” Miles inquires mildly.

“I’m on the side of truth and justice,” Kay says in pious tones, “And our client was guilty. But we managed to get him a reduced sentence due to-”

They spend nearly an hour discussing the case in question, and it’s an enjoyable one, with a tone far more in line with what Miles had had in mind when he first called, even if Kay does decide to open the question of which is more preferable – irregular accidental kidnappings or unexpectedly tripping over dead bodies. (Unmentioned is the horrifying but unavoidable thought that Miles has potentially spread his case of Wright’s chaos field to Sebastian as well, however inadvertently, and a silent apology on his part if this is the case.)

Eventually, however, the hour grows late, and Miles, unfortunately, has work in the morning.

…this may be the first time he has ever resented having to end a casual conversation due to his career, at least one that did not involve Phoenix or Trucy in any way. How very odd. “I’m afraid I must take my leave at this point – it’s getting late here in Anwaltsstadt.”

“What? Nooooooo~,” Kay moans, flopping over on the sofa that she and Sebastian retired to some time ago, “It hasn’t been that long!”

“We’ve been talking for two hours, Kay,” her friend corrects her before Miles is required to plead his case, “When you consider the time difference, that makes it almost eleven where Mr. Edgeworth is.”

“I guess that’s fair,” Kay concedes, though in a tone that makes clear her thoughts on the problematic nature of time zones, “How come you always remember about the time difference?”

“Because I reflect other peoples’ sleep schedules,” Sebastian replies primly, “Unlike you and Mr. Butz.”

“One, you meant ‘respect’-”

“Drat it!”

“And two,” Kay continues as if he hadn’t spoken, “It sounds weird to hear him called Mr. Butz. You should call him Larry, like everyone else.”

“I don’t know him well enough to address him so informally.”

“Excuse me,” Miles interrupts Sebastian’s protests, “But I was unaware you were acquainted with Larry Butz, Kay?”

“Well yeah,” she has the gall to roll her eyes at him (though perhaps this shouldn’t be so surprising – it is Kay, after all), “He’s friends with Gummie, so of course I know him – we third and fourth wheel on Gummie’s dates with Maggey sometimes, and I’ve run into him around town a few times. Wild guy, lots of fun when he’s not trying to flirt or chase a crush!”

…he’s going to have nightmares about those two being set loose on Los Tokyo together, he just knows it. In any case, “Well, as I said, I must be going. Oh, and Prosecutor DeBeste?”

“Yes?” the young man sits up a little straighter.

“You will let me know about future kidnapping attempts or any such things, won’t you? I would very much prefer to be kept in the loop about such matters.”

Sebastian nods emphatically, “Yes sir, Mr. Edgeworth!”

“Good,” he nods back, “That is- thank-you. Tschüss.”

“Bye, Mr. Edgeworth!”

“Good-bye!”

They’re all of them smiling when he finally disconnects the call, before rising to prepare for bed.

Chapter Text

June 2021

Miles has been doing his best to let things be, ignore what is outside of his control. There are still cases for him to investigate, criminals to see behind bars, falsely accused to free. Work takes him to Italy, then Sweden, then Borginia in the space of a few weeks, a dizzying itinerary that leaves him in mind of his traveling years. No one can say that he doesn’t have plenty on his own plate to keep him occupied, and that’s not even counting the numerous personal calls, texts, and e-mails he receives and responds to on a weekly basis (when did he become so social?!).

Yet even all this is not enough to erase the slowly growing tension at the back of his mind, shortening his patience, slowly greying his world drip by drop as time passes and the deadline grows closer and closer. Miles catches himself staring into the distance more than once, distracted and frustrated. It can’t end like this, with Kristoph winning by default because Wright literally can’t afford to keep job hunting in a city that is making it so obviously clear that it doesn’t want him. It can’t end like this. It just can’t.

But it seems like it can and, worse, will. Miles doesn’t even ask about jobs during his conversations with Wright anymore, the exhausted shake of his head the man starts each one with is more than enough to communicate the continued failure and frustration his efforts bring. Even Trucy grows more and more subdued as the month draws on, closer and closer to that hateful deadline-

“I have a new job.”

A week ‘til July, and the sheer relief of Phoenix’s statement actually causes Miles’s mind to blank for a moment as colour overwhelms his vision, not yet full saturation again but near painfully vivid in its suddenness. “Wright, that’s- that’s wonderful, congratulations-!” his brain finally regains enough processing power to take in Wright’s utterly sour expression. “It- this is good news, isn’t it?”

“Only technically,” the man replies, lemon juice practically dripping from his words, “I’m the new piano player at the Borscht Bowl.”

“I… was unaware you played the piano?”

“I don’t. It’s a cover job for tax purposes. I’m actually the Borscht’s new in-house poker champion who plays the piano when he’s not playing poker.”

This has Miles sitting back in his chair. “Good lord.”

“Kristoph got me the job.”

He nearly chokes on air. “You’re joking.”

“I wish. Said he’d ‘hate to see me leave Los Tokyo when I love it so much.’ Bastard just wants to keep me under his thumb.”

Miles stares at him for a moment. Then he puts his face in both hands. Then he dissolves into helpless laughter.

“Hey!” Phoenix’s tone is angry now, “This isn’t funny!”

“I beg to disagree,” Miles chokes out, wiping futilely at his streaming eyes with the heel of one hand, “He almost had you out of his hair for good, and what does he do? Goes and hands you the one thing you need to be a continued threat to him! He couldn’t have more glaringly shot himself in the foot if you’d put a gun in his hand!”

Phoenix goggles at him, jaw slack. Then a giggle pops out, causing him to clap a hand to his mouth, but another follows it, and another until they’re both of them full-on howling with laughter. “You know what else this means?” the man asks during a lull as they both desperately try to catch their breaths, “He definitely doesn’t know about the battle plan or the Jurist System, because otherwise he would never-!” he’s cut off by his own laughter again, months of stress almost visibly wafting off his shoulders as he does.

“So not only has he shot himself in the foot, he’s tipped his hand again!”

“He has!”

Miles’s stomach and face both hurt from laughing and smiling so hard, but he can’t find it in himself to try and stop, not when it’s such a relief to be able to do so, a catharsis they have both desperately needed. Though they’re not able to discuss the full details of the situation as a direct result; neither of them are able to keep a straight face long enough for proper conversation.

OoOoOoOoO

M Edgeworth: In all seriousness, is this job actually viable in regards to you being able to sustain yourself and Trucy?

P Wright: Yup. In the most obnoxious twist, they’re actually paying me better than Pru could, because ‘Mr. Gavin is such a trustworthy client,’ and also because I insisted on either a salary or an hourly wage rather than a cut of whatever I win playing for them. Steadier income for me, bigger profits for them when I win against big players.

M Edgeworth: That seems an awfully large investment on their part, given that you’re not a professional.

P Wright: Nah, they’ve been watching me mop the floor with Kristoph for ages now, and it turns out he’s been a regular customer of their various in-house champs for years.

P Wright: Only he’s not allowed to play there above certain stakes anymore, because he wins too often.

M Edgeworth: How horrible for him.

P Wright: Horrible for him, good for me, those are odds I like considering he’s never beaten me. Plus, the Borscht thinks having ‘the notorious Phoenix Wright’ at their table will be a big draw.

P Wright: Though if I regularly lose more than 45% of the games I play, I lose the job.

M Edgeworth: That seems… unfavorable.

P Wright: Given that the only person I’ve consistently lost to in the past ten years is Trucy, and that outside of her I’ve only lost a handful of times, I feel good about those odds.

M Edgeworth: Oh.

P Wright: I am very good at poker.

M Edgeworth: Out of curiosity, which kind?

P Wright: Yes.

P Wright: You know, I was feeling really aggravated with Kristoph about all this before.

P Wright: It felt like he was rubbing my nose in the fact that the only thing I could beat him at was poker, or that that was all I was good for.

P Wright: Now I think I’m going to wait a couple weeks then thank him profusely for helping me to find my true calling in life.

M Edgeworth: I take it this will annoy him?

P Wright: Oh yes.

P Wright: Whoever said ‘the best revenge is living well’ was really onto something.

P Wright: So far I’ve only ever gotten him up to three psyche-locks about how ‘happy’ he is for me.

P Wright: I wanna see if I can get him up to five.

P Wright: :3c

M Edgeworth: As you please.

M Edgeworth: Will you still be able to act as my legal aid should the occasion require it?

P Wright: If the frequency and length of time you need me stays about average to what it has in the past, it should be fine.

P Wright: I actually mentioned that during the application – Kristoph knows I do that anyway, so no need to hide it.

P Wright: Apparently me ‘vanishing for no reason’ every now and then will work well with the image the Borsht’s owner is hoping to build of me. Adds to the mystique or something?

P Wright: I guess there’s advantages to working for a seedier establishment.

M Edgeworth: I suppose.

M Edgeworth: What are your plans now, then?

P Wright: Pass my next paralegal test next week, take a month to adjust to working later in the day and at night, then maybe start asking around to see if anyone’s willing to even talk to me in the legal profession at the moment.

P Wright: You know, besides Mr. Ray.

P Wright: Still working on a way to reconnect with him that doesn’t get Kristoph poking his nose around.

P Wright: But yeah, time to start that phase of the plan soon, I think, now that the first step hasn’t fallen through.

M Edgeworth: That sounds like a reasonable course of action.

M Edgeworth: As you know, I still have several acquaintances in Los Tokyo who would be willing to at least listen.

M Edgeworth: Shall I get in contact with them?

P Wright: Not yet, thanks.

P Wright: I’ll tell you when I’m ready for that, okay?

M Edgeworth: Very well.

OoOoOoOoOa

He receives a text from Trucy several days later. Attached is a photograph of a grinning Phoenix, presumably at his new job if the piano he’s seated at is any indication. Clad in jeans, a dark button-up and navy sports jacket, and topped off with that old bowler derby tilted at a jaunty angle, the same one Trucy had worn in England… he very much fits into the scene, and will likely fit just as neatly at a card table. Really, it’s a little painful how neatly he fits when Miles knows he should be in a full suit and defending a client in court-

But then, Phoenix’s ability to thrive in this situation is part of the process of getting him back to where he’s supposed to be, one way or another. His smile in the picture is genuine enough and, besides. It is not Miles’s place to instruct Wright on how to carry out his portion of a plan Miles himself agreed to.

…

…relationships are hard, how do other people manage this, thank heavens it isn’t a romantic one at the moment, because Miles has no idea how he’d survive that…

M Edgeworth: Please inform your father that he looks very dapper.

Trucy W: Okay, will do! Thank-you, Mr. Edgeworth!

M Edgeworth: You’re very welcome.

Miles takes another look at the picture before saving it to his library with a shake of the head. Honestly, though, must that man look good in everything he wears…?

Chapter Text

July 2021

“If you would state your name and- what is that on your hand?”

“I don’t have anything on my hands.”

“Yes you do, there, on your right hand.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yes you- is that a carrot?!”

“That is my sixth finger, and it’s very rude of you to call it a carrot!”

“That’s not a finger, it’s a full-sized carrot, I can see the gaffa tape attaching it to you.”

“That’s ablest talk, that is, in regards to a relatively common-!”

“It still has the green leafy bits attached!”

“Of all the cheek-! Once I’m cleared for this trial I’m calling my lawyer right back and I’m suing for defamation of name I am, if you keep this up!”

“Prosecutor Edgeworth, if we could get back to the matter at hand?”

“But-! …very well, your honour. Sir, if you could state your name and occupation for the court record?”

“You know, after the treatment I’ve suffered, I just don’t think I will!”

“Oh, for the love of-!”

OoOoOoOoO

Miles accidentally ends up vacuuming his dining room twice as he considers his options before finally he switches off the vacuum and logs in to his laptop, where he creates a new e-mail account for himself, one completely unrelated to Miles Edgeworth. Then he goes to his room and retrieves his green fedora, donning it on a whim after extracting the business card that’s been tucked inside it since last August.

Zap, Streamer, and Sundry Others,

I will be attending Steel Kon UK again this year. If you retain interest, I would be amicable to congregating with your group again once there.

The Legal Samurai

Legal,

I was beginning to think we’d dreamed you up! Yes, definitely we want to see you again, we weren’t sure if you’d come or not! Though, wow, you’re not helping convince Cindy of your not-royal status with all that fancy language. Also, Streamer’s changing his channel’s name to ‘Streamer and Sundry Others,’ I hope you’re happy (I’m happy, his old domain name was boring and did nothing for his hit count). We’re in room 306 and we’ll be arriving Thursday evening. You?

Zap, public relations, site design, woman of mystery

Zap, Streamer, Cindy, Shirley, Fan, and Fran,

I will also be arriving Thursday, though from the sound of it I shall be there earlier than you. As requested last year, I shall have on my hat and scarf.

The Legal Samurai

Legal,

Streamer here this time, and sorry, too late to take back your use of ‘sundry’ now, mate. Fair warning, we might run into some folks who want to talk to you – we didn’t share your picture or handle, but it has come up a few times that we ran into a fellow last con who’d cracked the Steel Samurai legal system. If you’re game, we’ll introduce you there if we run into any of them. If not, we won’t. Ball’s in your court.

Sincerely,

Streamer Wilks

Streamer, Zap, Cindy, Shirley, Fan, and Fran,

I would not be averse to discussing such matters with people outside of your group, but I do prefer to keep my hobbies separate from my personal life. Would that be possible? Last year was my first time attending such a thing, and I have little interaction with other fans in my day-to-day life, thus I have little knowledge of these matters.

The Legal Samurai

Legal,

I’m not hunting for details, but it sounds like you have a very stressful day job. It should be fine, it’s not like any of us are particularly well-known, and thousands of people attend these things. Not to mention, given Mr. Powers’s tendencies, we’re lucky to have a fandom that’s pretty respectful about personal privacy. Grab some fake glasses or something if you’re really worried, or just say no if you’re really uncomfortable, it’s fine either way.

Sincerely,

Streamer Wilks

Streamer, Zap, Cindy, Shirley, Fan, and Fran,

As long as I may remain behind my pseudonym, I have no qualms. I shall see you all in August.

The Legal Samurai

Legal,

See you there, mate! Oh, and Fan reminded me to send you a copy of this, since we couldn’t when we took it.

Sincerely,

Streamer Wilks

Attached to the last e-mail is the group photo from the final day of the 2020 convention, and, if he didn’t know otherwise, Miles honestly wouldn’t suspect himself of being in it, wedged between Streamer and Fan, Fran and Zap slightly to the front of them, and Cindy and Shirley crouched on the ground together. One of his own hands is still raised, tugging the brim of his hat down to hide his face, but it doesn’t quite cover the smile on it (he hadn’t even realized he was smiling when the picture was taken).

…how odd. He’s felt a sense of growing anticipation for the coming convention for about a week now, but for some reason it has just grown by a noticeable factor. Just from seeing a picture of some people he spent a few days with a year ago. And he’d forgotten this picture was even taken, yet saving it to his library brings a feeling of relief at having it. How odd. How very odd…

OoOoOoOoO

The last week of July, Miles receives an e-mail from an address that is at once both unknown and familiar to him. Normally he ignores such things, spam mail having evolved to the level it’s currently at, but following the exploits of the Heroes of Neo Olde Kyoto means that he has a rather good idea who this ‘Plum Priestess’ is.

Dear Mr. Edgeworth,

Hello! I hope this e-mail finds you in good health. I am doing very well, as is Mystic Maya. She has also decided that, now that I am twelve, I am mature enough to have my own e-mail account!

I am e-mailing you because I have recently begun to type up the stories Trucy makes up for our Steel Samurai characters, because I like them very much and do not want to forget them. I have told Trucy about this, and she said that you might like a copy as well, and gave me your e-mail address. Do not worry, Mystic Maya has told me that it is usually very rude to give people other peoples’ e-mail addresses without permission, the same as with phone numbers, and this was a special circumstance. So I will not tell anyone else yours!

Mystic Maya also showed me how to attach a document to an e-mail, so that I could send Trucy what I have typed, so I have done that for you as well. If you would like me to, I will send you more when I have typed it. Thank-you for your time.

Sincerely,

Pearl Fey

It’s with no small amount of curiosity that he opens the attached file and starts to read, then stops himself as a thought occurs to him. Pearls, as she had mentioned, is only recently twelve, has no background that he is aware of in regards to writing, and is still desperately catching up on her socialization levels. It’s part of why Maya allowed her cousin her own phone last year and actively encourages her to use it to text and talk with Trucy, using their friendship to also help Pearl acquire more safe interaction with people outside of Kurain. And Trucy herself is unusually smart for her age, just as Franziska was, much smarter than the young spirit channeler.

Standing, he walks purposefully to his kitchen and takes a few minutes to stare at the refrigerator where that first picture Trucy drew of the Heroes of Neo Olde Kyoto still hangs with the aid of Steel Samurai magnets. The photo-magnet of Kay and Sebastian secures a more recent drawing of the Legal Samurai, Guarding Ninja, and Sky Sorceress in what have become their signature hero poses. He studies the two drawings, notes the slight improvements, the details in costume that have changed, recalls the excitement in Trucy’s face as she had drawn on his temporary office’s floor in Little Stoak. Then he returns to his office and computer, reopening the word document.

Pearl Fey is a child. What he is about to read will likely be inferior quality at best. But it will also be something made with passion and excitement, both of which he is being invited to share in, if Larry’s analysis of such situations is correct (which, oddly enough when it comes to children… it usually is (it’s certainly helped him with Trucy a few times)). With all this in mind, he settles down to read…

The next day, after several exchanged texts with Larry to make sure he’s not committing some strange situational taboo, Miles sends his reply.

Miss Fey,

I am indeed in good health, and pleased to hear that you find yourself in the same condition. You have my gratitude for sending me a copy of your work so far, as this is very much a thing such as I will enjoy having records of. I will mention, however, that there are a few scenes that you have not included. I have made note of the details of them at the bottom of this message, as I assume it was unintentional; unsupported memory is a far faultier tool than most give it credit for, and I myself had forgotten several details you mentioned in your writing. If you are still willing, I would greatly enjoy receiving any more such writings as you might create in the future.

Miles Edgeworth, international prosecutor.

This done and sent, he opens a new window in his browser to check the weather patterns slated for south England the coming weekend, and how they may effect events at Steel Kon UK.

Chapter Text

August 2021

True to his prediction, Miles arrives the midafternoon before SteelKon UK 2021 starts, and takes advantage of this to have a shower, don his convention clothes, then get a final bit of quick paperwork done. By the time he’s certain putting his fedora on won’t cause his hair to dry in a strange shape, it’s late enough in the evening for pre-registration to just be opening, and he heads down to claim his badge. He’s still quiet when he says his name, but this time he has more confidence in his disguise, and also in others’ lack of interest in him.

A quick scan of the crowd when he’s exited the line doesn’t find any distinctive features of his group to attention – Fran’s bright pink hair or Zap’s yellow, Streamer’s height, Cindy’s habit of gently bouncing in place. In retrospect, he should have asked what they were planning to wear/cosplay tonight – a rudimentary mistake, but, well, he’s inexperienced at this still. Mostly because he’s only been to the previous year’s fandom convention, and three days isn’t enough to free him of his rookie status at these things. Another scan of the lobby to see what other people are doing, and he claims one of the low, wide windowsills near the check-in to perch on. There, he’s visible and wearing his newly signature dark green fedora and white scarf; they’ll be looking for him when they come in, so this should work nicely.

That sorted, he settles down to look over his copy of the schedule of events and mark his time table with the ones that sound interesting. A bit more than halfway through, his phone buzzes.

Maya Fey: Hi, Edgeworth! Cjecked in yet?

Maya Fey: *checked

M Edgeworth: To my room and the convention both, yes.

Maya Fey: Awesome!

Maya Fey: You remembered to sign up for the special announcement on Satruday, y/y?

M Edgeworth: I purchased a wristband months ago, have marked my schedule, and set several alarms on my phone.

Maya Fey: EXCELLENT.

Maya Fey: It’s very nice to have an inside man for these things, text me as soon as it’s over.

M Edgeworth: They have rather been drumming up anticipation for this revelation.

Maya Fey: ‘They have rather been drumming up anticipation’ he says.

Maya Fey: Like I’m not high-key dying to know over here.

M Edgeworth: If that is how you truly feel

M Edgeworth: Then perish.

Maya Fey: XD XD XD Nooooo, now I’m dying for different reasons!

M Edgeworth: It’s your own fault for inflicting these meem things on me in the first place.

Maya Fey: I DIDN’T THINK YOU’D TURN THEM BACK ON ME!!!

M Edgeworth: Come, Miss Fey, anyone as well acquainted with Wright as you are should know

M Edgeworth: Turnabout is fair play.

Maya Fey: OMG, your the worst.

Maya Fey: Changing your name back to Edgeworst, so there.

M Edgeworth: So you are uninterested in procuring this year’s convention-exclusive t-shirt, I take it?

Maya Fey: I take it all back, power, wealth, glory, pretty people, all yours for the asking, just get me that shirt!!!

M Edgeworth: You are as nonsensical as Wright.

Maya Fey: Maybe, but please consider:

Maya Fey: I am Pearly’s favorite.

M Edgeworth: A matter completely unrelated to the one at hand, but congratulations.

Maya Fey: Congrats yourself on successfully NOT making her cry when you responded to that e-mail she sent you.

Maya Fey: Which she didn’t tell me about until after she sent it.

Maya Fey: I think I actually felt my heart stop for a moment there.

M Edgeworth: I think you’re talking yourself out of a t-shirt.

Maya Fey: NO, DON’T, I’M TRYING TO SAY YOU ID GOOD ND I UNDRSTIMED YOU N YOU’VE GOTEN SU MUCH BETTER WITH KIDS SINC THE POWERS TRIAL!!!

M Edgeworth: Groveling accepted.

Maya Fey: :P

Maya Fey: I know she wrote you back and said thanks, but she was bouncing around the temple all day when she got your first response, she was so happy.

Maya Fey: Even if she did need a little helping figuring out your phrasing in some places.

M Edgeworth: Oh.

M Edgeworth: Should I modify my language when writing her?

Maya Fey: Nah, it’s good for her – self-motivated grammar lessons, you know?

Maya Fey: Same as writing those stories down is self-motivated English class.

M Edgeworth: How so?

Maya Fey: Uh, sentence structure, vocab, word use, story structure, characterization, grammar as mentioned…

Maya Fey: Maybe not formal essay structure, but let’s be honest.

Maya Fey: Pearly in 90% more invested in Kurain and spirit channeling than I will probably ever be.

Maya Fey: And insanely powerful in the spiritual sense.

Maya Fey: So I think it’s safe to say that she’s gonna be okay skipping out on essay skills.

Maya Fey: Beyond what it takes to get her GED, anyway.

M Edgeworth: You have put a startling amount of thought into this.

Maya Fey: I’m her guardian, it’s my responsibility. And Kurain’s always been pretty home-schooly when it comes to teaching.

Maya Fey: Thank the spirits it’s a group effort.

M Edgeworth: Indeed.

M Edgeworth: I realize that response may have sounded sarcastic, it was not intended to be.

M Edgeworth: It sounds as though, between your cousin and your duties as acting village head, you are very busy.

Maya Fey: I am the busiest woman in the world, thank everything it turns out I’m pretty good at time management.

Maya Fey: Seriously, my mind doesn’t turn off anymore. :(

M Edgeworth: It’s all a matter of prioritizing, really.

Maya Fey: Maybe it is for you.

Maya Fey: Wait.

Maya Fey: EDGEWORTH, HOW DO I MAKE MY MIND TORN OFF!??!?

“LEGAL? ‘EY, LEGAL SAMURAI, OVER HERE!”

Miles looks up from his phone to see Fran cheerfully across the lobby at him as the rest of the group follows and lifts his hand in both acknowledgement and greeting before turning back to his phone briefly.

M Edgeworth: I’m afraid I have to go for now. Tschüss.

Maya Fey: What NO EDGEWOOOOOOOOOORTH!!!

He closes and locks his phone then puts it away in his convention satchel, ignoring its buzzing as Maya continues to message him while he makes his way over to his compatriots.

OoOoOoOoO

“You’re here as a test on Cindy’s resolve, aren’t you?” Fan laughs over supper, “She swore she wouldn’t bring up the lost royalty/secret nobility thing this year, and then you go and greet us like that!”

Fran pantomimes removing a hat in a sweeping bow. “Well met, I trust all of you had a pleasant journey.”

“I feel like I’m being mocked,” Miles says flatly.

“Nope, that would definitely be Cindy we’re mocking,” Fan corrects while Shirley pats her girlfriend on the back.

“You’re all mean,” the woman in question sulks from Shirley’s shoulder.

“You screamed into Streamer’s Iron Infant prop when he did that, sweetie,” the linguist moves to petting her hair, “You rather brought this on yourself.”

“But I didn’t say anything about it – Fan brought it up!”

“She has a point,” Miles cuts in now that he’s certain he’s not being made fun of, “And this could be viewed as a form of entrapment, surrounding her in a conversation she may not properly participate in without breaking her word.”

There’s a brief silence around the table before Zap raises a yellow eyebrow. “Well that’s one way to put it.”

Miles makes direct eye contact with her as he takes a pull from his beer, then holds up his convention nametag. “I’m the Legal Samurai, remember? Therefore I am simultaneously very dramatic and very boring.”

“Eh, he has a fair point,” Fran concedes before Zap can respond, “So, any guess what the ‘big announcement’ on Saturday is?”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” Miles admits, sitting back in his chair again, “I avoid fandom speculation – too much root in wishful thinking, not enough in fact.”

“Well and I can’t say I’m surprised at that, a trivia fellow like you,” she replies, “And yer quite right in this instance, not a lick of fact I’ve seen, just a lot o’ carefully polished hopes angled to try and pass for it.”

“I thought you were avoiding those sites, too?” Shirley inquires.

“My heart said no, but 2 am said yes.”

“Ah,” she nods in understanding.

They begin exploring what is apparently a well-worn subject between them, and Miles turns his attention to Streamer. “I take it you’re doing a crossplay of the Pink Princess’s civilian form this year?”

The taller man blinks at the subject shift. “What makes y’ say that?”

“You had a non-transformed Iron Infant prop-”

“Could be doin’ a father ‘n’ son thing with the Steel Samurai.”

“-and,” Miles continues with stride unbroken thanks to hours upon hours of witness wrangling, “You’ve shaved your head this year. Given the length your hair was last year, you were in the midst of growing it out to a length at which it could be donated after it was cut, as is common fandom practice for those planning to dress as the Pink Princess’s civilian form.”

Zap and Streamer are both goggling at him now, “You got all that from a prop and a haircut?!”

He folds his arms and raises an eyebrow. “Am I incorrect?”

“Nah, mate, that’s the thing – you’re spot on!” Streamer shakes his head with a grin, “Didn’t peg you for knowing details like that though, this only bein’ your second convention and all, and you claimin’ to be not the costume-wearing sort.”

“I have a friend who’s interested in it,” Miles shrugs, “She’s made quite certain that I’m properly informed. And I did some research into convention etiquette, of course, not to mention that any fan worth their salt knows the impact Miss Kobayashi made on the Pink Princess’s character with her choice to-”

“Yeah, but to get all that from two pieces of information-”

“Those were hardly the only two points of data I referenced, but it was simply logical to assume-”

When their food finally arrives, the waiter has to speak several times before he can catch anyone at the table’s attention.

Chapter Text

It really shouldn’t feel like an accomplishment that Miles makes it to his own room before falling asleep that night, but, considering he’d spent a grand total of zero nights in his room at the last convention, it really does. He takes the opportunity to sleep in, casually goes through the mass of texts that Maya has left him (along with a few from other people) over breakfast, then goes to meet up with Shirley and Streamer at the panel on side characters within the series.

The panel turns out to be primarily theorizations, but the speaker has obviously done their research, so for the most part the ideas seem reasonable enough. He even makes note of a few of the more interesting ones to pass on to Maya so that she in turn can pass them on to Pearl and Trucy (because he’s not dealing with having to explain how he discovered these when he’s made it so clear that the only fandom sites he goes on deal either with trivia or news).

There’s nothing much to do for the next block of time that the three of them are interested in, and the vendors’ hall isn’t open yet, so they end up wandering the halls for a bit, chatting lightly and enjoying other peoples’ cosplays. One thing leads to another and, as he is neither in costume (compared to Shirley’s Cyan Samurai and Streamer’s civilian Pink Princess) nor interested in appearing in pictures, he finds himself designated as the group photographer.

“These are pretty good,” Shirley admits as the Silver Swordsman cosplayer they’d just posed with nods in agreement, looking over the photos Miles had used the man’s own phone to take.

“I thought you were just being fussy with all those little adjustments you made, but if this is the result, then it was worth it!” he enthuses.

“I… did not realize I was fussing,” Miles looks away and tugs the rim of his hat down, as if this can hide his embarrassment, “I am unaccustomed to working with living people for this.”

There is a choking noise, and when he looks back he’s met with mild horror.

“Uh, Legal, I know we said we wouldn’t pry, but, um,” Streamer fidgets with his obi, “That sounds incredibly bad.”

“Like, ‘might have to call the police’ bad,” Shirley agrees.

Miles stares at them blankly for a moment, then the penny drops. “NYARG! NO! No, I don’t photograph dead-! I mean action figures! I-” he realizes exactly what he’s just admitted, feels his face catch on fire, and confesses the rest to the floor while clutching his arm. “I take photographs of action figures occasionally. The Steel Samurai and recently the Pink Princess as well. I must have slipped into habits from that due to your attire.” He closes his eyes and waits for the ridicule.

“Oh. That’s neat.”

His eyes pop back open in surprise to find the Silver Swordsman cosplayer scrolling through his phone before finding what he wants and showing the rest of them.

“I follow a bloke on twitter who does a lot of that with his figmas, does some wicked mash-ups with them, especially his Smash Bros group!”

…having understood approximately forty percent of that statement, Miles opts to simply nod and examine the image he is being shown. He’s surprised to see a rather complex scene created with a number of action figures, of far more detailed make than the ones he possesses (for a brief moment he considers the possibility of acquiring higher quality versions of the Steel Samurai and Pink Princess, but quickly discovers he dislikes the idea of replacing the ones he has and discards it). “These appear as if they would take a great deal of time to create. Why does he do it?”

The cosplayer shrugs. “I don’t know, ‘cause it’s fun? Why do you?”

…sometimes having a relatively inexpressive face is a true blessing, because he is not divulging the full truth of his visual quirks to a stranger… “I took up film photography and wished to ensure I had something worth taking pictures of, regardless of location.”

“And you chose… Steel Samurai and Pink Princess figures?” Shirley asks slowly.

“Just the Steel Samurai initially – I only acquired the Pink Princess when I attended this convention last year; as in the series, though, she was a welcome addition.” (He has done more Pink Princess and Steel Samurai couple shots than are in any way necessary since then, but he does not care, they are immensely satisfying to create.)

Shirley, meanwhile, is staring at him, walks up while making direct eye contact in a way that has Miles bracing himself so he doesn’t take a step back. “Bloody hell,” she says, voice soft with awe, “You’re adorable. How did I not notice that you’re adorable? Streamer, why didn’t anyone tell me he was adorable??”

“Nyerg.” Miles does take a step back at this, holding up his satchel like a shield. “You- you do recall that you have a girlfriend, correct?”

“You’re right!” her eyes light up with a disquieting flame, “I need to tell Cindy about this!”

Before Miles can respond, a hand is in his, and he finds himself staring up at Streamer. The man grins back at him. “This is the part where we run.”

Miles blinks. It- he shouldn’t-

The Silver Swordsman leaps between them and Shirley at this moment, sword prop still slung at his side but arms spread wide. “Fear not to make haste, my lords, for your vanguard this day is blessed with a sword of silver, yet a soul of steel!”

One of the character’s classic lines, and, in the humming energy of the convention-

“The glittering stars as my witness, your valour shall long be remembered!” And the Legal Samurai sprints away through the crowd, a stunned but laughing Streamer still clutching his hand.

OoOoOoOoO

Two floors away, after getting caught and thoroughly told off by security (one more stunt like that and they’ll be thrown out of the con), Miles and Streamer wind up sitting against a wall in one of the less populated sections of the convention, both still a bit giggly with adrenaline.

“Legal, mate, I cannot believe you did that!” the taller man laughs.

“I rather surprised myself,” Miles admits, tilting his hat so he can lean his head back against the wall, “It was most out of character for how I usually am.”

This earns him a snort. “I’m not asking, but you’d best not say that sort of thing around the Sundry Others – Cindy’s already dying to pry from last year, and that’ll just add to it.”

“…should I be concerned?”

“Nah, ‘s good for her.”

“If you say so,” Miles says a touch dubiously.

“Really, it’s fine,” Streamer reassures, “She knows about boundaries, she was just a cat her last eight lives is all, and still curious enough for one this time around.”

“Ah.” Miles… isn’t quite sure what to say to that, so he changes the subject. “Your crossplay is again impressive, though how you managed to run in a kimono I don’t know.”

“Trade secret,” Streamer winks, then cups a hand to his mouth, “‘scalled ‘practice.’ I’ve worn kimonos before, cross- and cosplays.”

“Oh.” Miles falls silent again. The taller man raises a knowing eyebrow.

“C’mon, you’re allowed to ask questions still, never said you couldn’t ask about me.”

“I- I had assumed, since I’m unwilling to divulge my own-”

“And now I’m telling you it’s fine,” Streamer cuts him off, “Now spit it out, I can see it burning away in there.”

“Very well,” Miles hesitates a moment long, then- “How in the world did you get your obi tied? I’ve never managed to look it up, but everything I know indicates that it should be a two-person job, yet- what is it? What did I say?!”

Streamer’s eyes had bugged out slightly, and now he’s wheezing with laughter. “Sorry, mate, sorry, just- that is not the question I was expecting!”

His brows furrow. “What were you expecting, then?”

“Oh, you know, the usual – what’s a big, buff bloke like you doing in crossplay, why crossplay, how come your costume isn’t the exact same colour as the original character’s when I have all the other details right. That sort of thing.”

“…the first question is rude, the second I do not know you well enough to ask, and as to the third, I would think it’s obvious that you made the adjustment on purpose, as you have a far darker complexion than Cherie Kobayashi. The shade you have chosen better compliments your own skin tone, and a detail like that is more in keeping with the spirit of the character, as the Pink Princess is very averse to wearing colours that don’t suit her, regardless of her form.”

Streamer’s jaw drops. “That last one’s spot on, but almost no one ever-! You in the fashion industry or som- whoop, sorry, that just slipped out, ignore that.”

“It is well,” Miles assures him, “And, as it happens, I am not – I merely have an eye for detail when it comes to colour.”

“Bloody Nora,” the man shakes his head, “And I assume you’re taken? The perfect ones always are.”

“Taken? Taken whe- oh.” Miles turns seven shades of crimson. “I- um. I am unavailable. Romantically. Yes.”

“Shame. Well, not for you, anyway. What’re they like?”

Miles’s brain is still trying to process being- being flirted with (or, more accurately, with noticing that he is being flirted with while it’s happening, and having it done by someone who, in a world without Phoenix, might actually have a chance), so, “He’s wonderful,” slips out before he can form anything more eloquent or subtle.

…this is it, this is the end, Miles Edgeworth chooses death for real this time…

“That’s good then,” Streamer simply says, holding a folded hand out to Miles, “Fist bump to pass a little of that luck on, so I can find someone wonderful, too?”

Miles remains in the upright fetal position he’d folded himself into, the better to await the ground opening up and swallowing him whole. “You don’t want my luck, it’s terrible. Besides, that man and I are not yet… we are merely friends. It is- neither of us are in the place for a romance at the moment.”

“But it’s still a strong possibility?”

“…yes. At least, I hope so.”

“Then that’s better than my current luck,” Streamer taps knocks his fist lightly against Miles’s knee, “Come on, Legal, help a bloke out.”

“Oh very well,” Miles snorts and taps his own fist against Streamer’s, “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I am well and truly warned!” the man grins, standing, then offers Miles a hand up as well, “Now, you were asking about obis…”

Chapter Text

Miles sends a quick text to Maya in regards to shirt size as he and Streamer make their way to the vendors’ hall. It’s only been open an hour or so, and Miles eyes the throng warily, one hand drifting without thought to the strap of his satchel, then a little farther to clutch his bicep as well.

“Not fond of crowds, I take it?”

“Not ones as dense as this,” Miles admits, eyeing the bustling humanity with distaste. Too many chances to ruin clothes or get one’s belongings stolen, purposefully or not (Kay and his second encounter with the Handsome Gentlemen Thieves have left him wary, for multiple reasons).

“Well, we can come back later, or go our separate ways and meet with the rest of the Sundry Others at that dancing workshop Fran’s so keen on.”

“I think the latter sounds preferable,” Miles answers, then raises an eyebrow, “And is the rest of the group aware that you’re using that moniker to refer to them as well as your channel?”

“Aware and thrilled,” is the laughing response, “You gave us a potential name for our little gang, Legal, and we’re all nerds. You really think we’d could pass that up?”

Given that he’s currently referring to himself as ‘the Legal Samurai’… “I suppose not.”

“Too right we couldn’t. Anyway, you’ve got a few minutes before the next set of panels starts, so you’d best be going. Cheers, mate!”

“Tschüss.” Miles touches the brim of his hat in response to Streamer’s wave, then pulls out his schedule to see if he has anything pre-marked as interesting in the current time slot…

OoOoOoOoO

Maya Fey: I want a large shirt again, please!

Maya Fey: Still not sure why you sent me one in that size last time, but, turns out?

Maya Fey: I really life big t-shirts.

Maya Fey: They’re versatile – and you can wear them on top of things!

Maya Fey: Like ceremonial robes.

M Edgeworth: I take it that you are once again making me party to some sort of heresy?

Maya Fey: Oh, hey, you’re here!

Maya Fey: And nah.

Maya Fey: T-shirts didn’t exist when Kurain and its practices were founded.

Maya Fey: So no rules against them!

Maya Fey: ^U^

M Edgeworth: Use that loophole enough times and someone’s going to hang you with it.

Maya Fey: Party pooper.

Maya Fey: Anyway, don’t rain on my parade, this is my first t-shirt and I’m going to enjoy it!

M Edgeworth: I find it hard to believe that was your first one.

Maya Fey: No, really. Don’t tell anyone, but that’s actually he ‘breaking with tradition’ bit that always makes me kinda nervous – wearing non-temple clothes just ‘cause I want to, not for a case r anything. Other kids in Kurain do, we’ve got stuff that isn’t ‘temple’ but is still Kurainese style, and we have a few who wear non-traditional stuff, but I was one of the Master’s daughters, then the heir, and just- I’ve always worn the stuff you usually see me in. My casual clothes are a kimono and a couple of yukata. I just never got up the nerve to buy anything else, you know?

M Edgeworth: Oh. I see.

M Edgeworth: Why are you telling me?

Maya Fey: ‘cause you and me are in the same boat when it comes to always wearing the same thing – I figured that you’d get it.

Maya Fey: That it can be stressy to change something like this, even if you want to.

Maya Fey: And I don’t think Nick wuld get it, bless him, he likes wearing different clothes, he finds you baffling.

M Edgeworth: Only me, not you as well?

Maya Fey: I have culture on my side, you’re more noticeable.

M Edgeworth: I suppose that’s fair.

M Edgeworth: Is this why you were so keen for me to acquire last year’s shirt for you?

Maya Fey: Little bit – I thought it’d be easier if someone else got it for me.

Maya Fey: But also, SK UK is FAMOUS for its great shirt designs – I mean, did you see last years?!?

Maya Fey: The Steel Pink Power Slash attack looked amazing I don’t know who their artist is, but they sure as heck brought their A game!”

Maya Fey: If I hadn’t gotten up the nerve to wear it around here, I was gonna frame it!

M Edgeworth: …you are a most ingenious woman.

Maya Fey: I’ll take that as a compliment!

M Edgeworth: Good, it was meant as one.

Maya Fey: 8O!

Maya Fey: Does this mean we’re friends now?

M Edgeworth: Were we not friends before now?

M Edgeworth: Was I remiss in protocol in some area?

Maya Fey: …anyone else and I’d yell at you for back-sassing, but your you, so I know you’re being genuine. Ancestoral Spirits, how did I ever think you were scary?

Maya Fey: Anyway, I was joking about the ‘friends now’ question, yeah we’re friends, we have been for years, and no you don’t have to tell people officially to start being friends with them unless its friending someone on social media.

M Edgeworth: Oh.

M Edgeworth: Good.

Maya Fey: :)

Maya Fey: Anyway, sorry to drop you like this but I gotta go grab my breakfast then start prepping for a cleansing ceremony then do some master training – big day ahead of me.

M Edgeworth: Well you are the busiest woman in the world.

Maya Fey: Ugh, I KNOOOOOOOOOOW!!! How do you stop your brain from overheating?!?

M Edgeworth: Tea and Steel Samurai.

M Edgeworth: I’m given to understand that some people find meditation helpful.

Maya Fey: ….

Maya Fey: I KNEW ABOT MEDITATION, WHY DID I NOT THINK OF THAT, WHY DID YOU THINK OF THAT BEFORE ME?!?!??!?

Maya Fey: Also thanks.

M Edgeworth: You’re welcome.

Closing the texting app on his phone, Miles begins to make his way to the vendors’ room – it’s probably been open long enough for the crowd to start thinning out, and he has a size large t-shirt to purchase for a small medium.

OoOoOoOoO

“How are you not exhausted after that?” Fran pants as Miles and the rest of the Sundry Others make their way out of the large room the dancing workshop had been held in.

“I lead a life with high day-to-day physical activity,” Miles replies, offering his handkerchief so she can wipe her face off.

“Ta, luv.” She accepts, then passes it to Fan after she’s used it.

“Should have known you’d know ballroom already,” her boyfriend grins, wiping his own face, “Keep it up and you’ll have Cindy in tears by the end of con, though, for reasons mentioned last night.”

“One does not need to be nobility or royalty to know how to dance,” he replies with a pointed eyebrow. One doesn’t need to be raised by old money aristocracy, either, even if that is Miles’s reason. He can still vaguely recall the feeling of stunned horror he’d experienced when he’d been told as a boy just how many dances he’d be expected to learn so he wouldn’t disgrace the von Karma name at social functions, let alone the myriad of manners expected for every situation in high society. Moving back to Europe meant he’d had to brush up on his dancing and start attending the occasional gathering again as well if he wanted to stay in the good graces of some of the more worthwhile contacts his upbringing had garnered him. Part of why he’d agreed to join the rest of the group for this workshop in the first place – an easy method to get some practice in with actual partners as opposed to a broom handle balanced across the arms. Thank heavens that, as a busy lawyer and an adopted von Karma, he can get away with attending a minimum of these events without causing too much of a stir…

“I still say it should have been a traditional Japanese dance workshop instead of ballroom,” Shirley grumbles, “There’s way more of that in the show.”

“Yeah, but everyone loves the Autumn Leaves Ball mini-arc and promo art,” Fan counters cheerfully, “And you’re just mad because y’ have two left feet and Cindy didn’t want to dance with you on account of it.”

“…I need to use my feet all weekend,” Cindy mumbles, blushing, “If it was Sunday and I was going to be sitting down tomorrow, I’d have done it.”

“I’m sitting between Zap and Fran for supper.”

“They’ll have cleared it up by then,” Fan informs Miles quietly, “She’s not as open about it as, but Shirley’s just as big a hopeless romantic as Cindy, and she always gets sulky when the power of love fails to improve her dancing skills.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah. Anyhow, what should I do with this?” he holds up Miles’s handkerchief, “I’d give it back, but it’s a bit manky now, what with the sweat and all.”

“Do whatever you like with it,” Miles shrugs, “I have extras.”

“You’re joking.”

“Resigned,” he corrects, “They’re the one thing I always manage to lose or misplace, to the point that it’s easier to plan for it than to attempt to prevent their loss.”

“Oof. Well, better than your keys or something.”

“True enough.”

They continue to talk of nothing in particular as they make their way out of the convention center in search of supper.

Chapter Text

“Aw, this brings back memories!”

Miles groans, rubs a hand across his face, then blinks blearily up at Zap. Wha- why…? Oh. “Schiesse.” He fell asleep in a chair of the Sundry Others’ hotel room again.

“Hey, at least you got to use your room Thursday night,” the yellow-haired woman offers with a grin that’s more cheeky than sympathetic, “You want to borrow a razor or go back to your room?”

“My room,” he runs a hand through his hair, then retrieves his hat from where it’s fallen on the floor and stretches, “Clean clothes and- wait, where did I put my phone-?!”

“Group charger,” Zap gestures at a small hub of electronics connected to a surge protector by various cables, “I thought this might happen, so I brought a spare cord this year – you hooked it up yourself last night.”

Oh yes, the memory comes back to him now. And indeed, there’s his cellphone in its usual dark case, distinguished only by the deep scratch mark along its back (that had been an… interesting trial). “Again, you have my gratitude for that.”

Zap snorts. “Gods, you’re killing Cindy this year, you know that, right? All pocket handkerchiefs and posh manners and fancy phrasing. You sure you’re not turning it all up a few degrees just to tease her a bit?”

“I assure you,” Miles says, stiff but quiet in deference to the fact that everyone else still seems to be asleep, “This is simply how I am.”

“Here now, no need to fuss,” she raises a placating hand, “It’s just a bit funny to me personally – you’ve got them all more curious about you in the few days grand total we’ve interacted than I have in the years I’ve been hanging out with them.”

“Are you disappointed I’ve stolen your thunder?”

“Nah,” she shakes her head, “Both have our reasons for staying private, don’t we? I’m just better at it ‘n you are.”

Miles… would really like to argue in his own defense, but he has a feeling she’s right in this case, so he switches topics instead. “I’m going to return to my room to freshen up – will you let them know that I’ll meet you all in the auditorium for the big announcement?”

“Could do – or we could both grab breakfast together first and theorize more about what they’re going to announce, and I’ll just leave ‘em a note. You could freshen up after.”

…

Oh why not? “That sounds a most agreeable start to the day.”

OoOoOoOoO

The auditorium is crowded, humming with barely held back excitement as the assembled fans theorize and speculate and sit in tense silence, according to personal preference. It’s a bit of a relief to be sitting with the Sundry Others, Streamer to his left and Fran to his right, an excited thrum of anticipation in his chest. He’s never been present at an announcement like this – heard about them after, watched a video or two of what happened, but it’s an entirely different sensation to be sitting here, in the actual crowd, satchel clutched to his chest. He’s too tense to join in the cheers when Joyce Bmery, the franchise’s new producer, walks out onto the stage with a microphone and- oh.

Oh yes, of course.

It hadn’t even occurred to him that this might have anything to do with Larry’s secret revelation that the Steel Samurai stage show is getting an official filmed release. He sits back in his seat again – excited as the rest of the auditorium is, he can’t quite join in, since to him it’s not news. Well, let this be a lesson to him on the dangers of spoilers-

“Now, I can tell what you’re all thinking,” Ms. Bmery holds up her microphone again as the crowd begins to quiet down, “This is something a lot of you have been asking for for a couple of years now, and it’s exciting… but is a film release of the stage show really worth all of the hype we did for this event?” She holds up a hand, wavers it back and forth as she wrinkles her nose, “Hard to say – I know that last announcement probably just made your month for some of you, and that’s great!

“But, personally, I think we put a lot of time and money into all that publicity, and this just doesn’t feel like quite a big enough deal to have been worth the budget we gave our marketing department for it. So I asked Sal if he had anything else I could bring with me to show you all, and it turns out he had just the thing! A cute li’l pet project he’s been working on for awhile now. Hope you all like it!”

She holds up a remote with the hand not occupied by her microphone and clicks it, walking to the side of the stage as a screen lowers behind her, the lights going out as it does.

Music starts playing.

A title appears on the screen.

And the entire auditorium, Miles included, collectively loses its mind.

OoOoOoOoO

M Edgeworth: MMYA!

M Edgeworth: MAYA!

M Edgeworth:  IT’S HAPPENING [WE DREAMED TOO SMALL I CANNOT BELIEVE THAT THIS IS REAL]!!!

Maya Fey: Holy flip your using all caps, who- actually given our histories I’m not asking tht.

Maya Fey: Partially not tempting fate partially because I know death isn’t enough to get you to use all caps or misspell my name, or accidentally switch languages on me, let alone all three.

M Edgeworth: MISS FEY THIS IS SERIOUS!!!

Maya Fey: You’re using multiple exclaimation points and this frightens me.

Maya Fey: What was in that announcement?!

M Edgeworth: THE TEMPERING! IT’S HAPPENING!!!

Maya Fey: The tempering? What’s that supposed to mean- wait.

Maya Fey: Wait a minute.

Maya Fey: YOU MEAN IRON INFANT: THE TEMPERING?!??!?!?

M Edgeworth: JAWOHL! JA!

M Edgeworth: ….