The second "half" ... THAT THING or something you haven't told me? :P

Oh and

There once was this girl we adore
You all know her stories, I'm sure
We all cry "hooray!"
For such plausible gay
So SHUT UP WE LOVE YOU U HOR

You (and Raelle) deserve everything you get :P

---

Basically, right in the middle. Nothing we haven't told you. I just distinguish the "halves" in terms of where the exploratory focus is.

---

And here's Funk, the guy we all knew
could write fanfics, but poetry too?
A round of applause
Is needed because
It's funny, but so very true.

---

It's coming through quite clearly, though obviously there's still tons of things about his side of the story that y'all know and we don't. And I have to say that the care that y'all are taking with the POV is one of the things that makes this story so great. So much fanfiction (and, for that matter, published fiction) can't resist head-hopping just to get both sides; but a good single POV is so, so much better when done well. And this one is pitch-perfect -- the reader gets some of the bits that Phoenix doesn't. So kudos to both authors, and to the editor.

Raelle insisted I post this for some reason, even though she did all the hard parts. More than half of this is hers, so you think she'd want the credit for her awesomeness.




Against better instincts, Phoenix cracked one eye. The back of the brown couch met his gaze, so close he could see the individual pattern of the cushions. Mumbling in the back of his dry throat, he shifted to face outwards. He closed his eyes to go back asleep—even without a clock in sight, something told him it was far earlier than he normally liked to wake up—but somehow he couldn’t find a comfortable spot.

When a particularly persistent lump seemed to be burrowing into his spine, he gave up and rose to survey the room with bleary eyes. He’d slept in his dress pants and shirt, he noted with vague irritation. He tugged at them, trying to get comfortable.

Logically, the room shouldn’t look much different—it wasn’t like the coffee table had been straight before Edgeworth came, and there had already been beer cans on the floor—but somehow everything seemed out of whack. As though he were seeing the mess for the first time: the cans, the pizza boxes with the dried husks of crust left to rattle inside—everything seemed new and nauseating.

It reminds me of college, Phoenix tried to tell himself, remembering the times he’d woken up on friends’ couches and see the destruction wrought by late night drinking.

His eyes fell on the video, still perched on the edge of the coffee table.

Without even thinking about it, he grappled for his phone, suddenly overcome with the urge to call Edgeworth and…what? Make sure he’s still there. The thought was so ludicrous that the phone slipped from his grasp. It stared at him from the floor. He averted his eyes to the kitchen clock off to his right.

It’s seven o’clock in the morning. Even if he were there, he’d still be asleep. And I’d rather not deal with a crabby Edgeworth this early. The tension submerged somewhat, like wrapping a klaxon in layers upon layers of cotton.

He probably wouldn't answer anyway, at this hour, he told himself. There was a tiny hitch in the back of his mind. Thinking about it, was there ever a time Edgeworth hadn’t answered his phone when Phoenix had called? Yeah, but I don’t usually call at seven in the morning.

Phoenix glanced up upon hearing the audible click of a door opening from down the hall. As expected, Maya padded into view a few moments later. Her long-sleeved nightgown swished around her ankles, so long it made granny nighties look almost scandalous in comparison.
She let out a surprised squeak as soon as she saw him. “Nick! You scared me!” she said, somewhat reproachfully.

She’s surprised to see me in my own apartment?

“Usually I have to drag you out of bed,” she continued, looking strangely annoyed at the interruption of their routine. It was true; normally he woke up just as she was done with her morning meditation. Then they bickered about breakfast until he gave up and they both went down to the local bagel shop on the corner.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Well, I guess it’s not your fault,” Maya said, moving closer. The chair squeaked ominously—I should probably get that replaced—as she flopped down pulling the rest of her nightgown out from behind her, squirming to what seemed to be reasonable comfort.

“I had fun last night,” she said. “We should do it again soon. Like, today! I wonder if Mr. Edgeworth is doing anything tonight…”

“He’s probably busy, Maya,” Phoenix said carefully. His throat felt tight, almost too narrow for words to fit. I need something to drink.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Maya stretched, back popping audibly. “You two are hopeless. One can’t get anything done, the other can’t slow down…”

“Uh-huh,” Phoenix mumbled.

“Speaking of which, where is Mr. Edgeworth? At the rate you two were going, I thought he’d spend the night.”

“He left.” It felt like Maya's words were being filtered through water. There’s a reason I don’t like waking up this early, I guess.

Maya reached to rub a lock of her hair; unbound, it pooled over the side of the chair and nearly to the ground. “Looks like I missed the after dinner party.” She stretched her toes to poke at one of the beer cans.

Her other foot glanced against the beer puddle still soaking into the carpet next to the chair. Her face wrinkled in disgust as she pulled the foot up, inspecting to make sure it hadn’t landed in anything worse than beer. “On second thought, maybe I’m glad I missed it.”

Phoenix sat quietly, eyes trained on the can as Maya rocked it back and forth. “Yeah…” he finally said, trailing off. He must have sounded more out of it than he thought; a few seconds later, he realized Maya was waiting for him to say something else.

Nothing came to mind.

“So, what exactly happened here? Don’t tell me Mr. Edgeworth is a rowdy drunk!”

“I’m not really in the mood to talk right now,” Phoenix replied.

Maya’s smile flickered briefly before it melted into a more subdued expression.

They sat in silence for a while. Eventually Maya seemed to get bored with the beer can and began twisting her fingers together into knots. Usually fidgeting tended to provoke some sort of reaction from Phoenix, even if it was just an irritated sigh.

When Phoenix seemed disinclined to respond, move, or even blink, she worried her lips between her teeth, darting glances at him as though trying to build up enough courage to broach something she’d rather not. “Um, did you two get into--”

“Didn't I just say I don't want to talk about it?”

Maya’s eyes widened slightly and she pressed into the back of the chair. An invisible hand around Phoenix’s stomach clenched briefly. He ran his hand through his hair and took a deep breath before continuing. “I just woke up and I didn’t sleep well, so…”

A beat too late: “No, I understand!” Maya’s voice started too high, stretched too thin, but quickly settled into its natural timbre. She stuck out her tongue. “I should have known better than to try to carry on a conversation with you this early—especially before you’ve had some coffee!”

Maya…

Before he could say anything, she was on her feet, carefully avoiding the puddle as she strode towards the kitchen. “Now, what do you have around here for breakfast…”

Phoenix watched as she opened the refrigerator and seemed to ponder her leftovers before pushing back the containers full of various shades of mold in her search for something edible. A quick whiff of one of his older milk cartons—he got milk every time he went to the store as a force of habit—had her making a trip to the sink to dump it out, pinching her nose tightly closed the entire time.

After a few more minutes of watching her move on to dig through the freezer, Phoenix hefted himself up off the couch and moved towards the kitchen, stopping only to pull his shirt away from where it stuck to his back. Once there, he reached up and opened the cabinet above Maya’s head, next to the fridge.

“Same thing I always have,” he half-sighed, motioning to the sad assortment of boxes—some of them five or six months old.

“Cereal?” Maya asked, in the same tone as if Phoenix had offered her a bowl of dryer lint. “We’ve been over this before! That is not breakfast.”

Phoenix repressed a small smile despite himself. Maya continued, “Breakfast has to be warm. Like oatmeal with brown sugar, and eggs, and waffles, and bacon, and sausage, and…”

Yeah, that sounds balanced. A very small part of him whispered ‘thank you’ as his assistant spun her protracted list of what breakfast was and wasn’t.

“You could always warm up the milk,” he deadpanned, opening the fridge. Maya paused in mid-sentence; Phoenix could practically hear the gears whirling as her mind considered.

I was just kidding! Heaving a sigh, Phoenix reached into his back pocket and fished out his wallet. He pulled out a twenty-dollar bill; Maya plucked it from his fingers with a triumphant grin.

“Okay, let me go get dressed, then we can go!” she chirped, moving back into the living room at a fast clip.

“Uh, Maya--” he called. The only answer was the slamming of the door to the guestroom. And then, a few seconds later, the sound of the shower running.

She reappeared about ten minutes later, hair still damp. She smoothed the front of her robes with one hand, sandals in the other. “I’m ready!”

“Why don’t you go ahead without me,” Phoenix said. “I’m not very hungry.”

Maya lost some of her buoyancy, like a balloon slowly sinking to earth. “Are you sure? We always…”

“I know,” Phoenix finished, then motioned to the rest of the room “There’s some stuff I have to do. This place is a mess.”

Another uncomfortable beat passed.

“Okay,” she finally said, moving towards the door in a defeated shuffle.

“Maya!” Phoenix called just before she was right out the door. She poked her head back in. He smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring fashion. “Why don’t you bring me something back? I’ll probably be starving by the time I get the living room clean.”

“Will do!” she called. Her answering smile was a trifle bit smaller than it was normally, but it was a start.

As soon as the door to his apartment swung shut, Phoenix’s own smile dissolved. He sighed and moved back into the kitchen, bending down under the sink to retrieve a thick, black trash bag.

It should have been a relief to shovel the cans, pizza boxes, and outdated newspapers inside the bag. Instead he just felt irked, like something was alternately pinching and poking his nerve endings. He contemplated the beer spill for a few moments, wrinkling his nose at the smell of stale alcohol. Guess I can’t just leave it…

It took a quick trip back to the kitchen for a basin of water and a rag before he got on his hands and knees and began scouring. Distantly he recalled that this wasn’t the way you were supposed to get stains out of the carpet, but couldn’t bring himself to care. I just want it gone.

After several minutes, Phoenix leaned back and wiped his forehead. He wasn’t sure if his cleaning had done any good in the long run, but at least the smell of old beer was no longer assaulting his nose and making him ill. Finally he leaned down to retrieve his cell phone—which he shoved in his pocket quickly without even sparing it a glance—and grabbed the tape of his performance from where it still sat near the end of the coffee table.

He let it fall in the back of his closet with a muffled clatter as he pulled his other suit off the rack and transferred his cell into its pocket. It felt strange to see his bed already made this morning as he laid his clean suit across it. Most of the time, he was in too much of a hurry to deal with it just after waking up.

Walking into his bathroom, there were still faint traces of steam from Maya’s shower earlier. Her toiletries had also overtaken his; he had to dig around to find his wash cloth and soap. The bathroom was cleaner than the rest of his house, but still somewhat dilapidated; the tiles needed replacing and the linoleum was curling at the edges behind the toilet.

Once inside the shower, Phoenix pulled the curtain forward, pushed the knob as far to the left as it would go, and lost himself in the blisteringly hot water.

By the time he was done and dressed, Maya had returned. It was a lie, Phoenix realized as she held out the bag of bagels in a well-meaning offering and his stomach lurched in protest.

He still wasn’t hungry.

“Let’s head to the office,” he said instead.



The office was a mess too. Upon entering, his stomach sank even lower—it was somehow incredibly depressing to ping-pong from one pigsty to the other. Granted, Phoenix had had to leave it in a hurry the day before yesterday due to the unexpected client, but it had left decidedly non-filed paperwork scattered over the desk and its surrounding floor. But much like his apartment, the wreckage looked different, today, somehow—impersonal and alien, the lines oddly shifted, the lighting subtly off-color. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mia's roll of addresses left open on the left corner. Edgeworth's cell phone number was still the newest entry, scrawled near the bottom, marked with a date from a month previous. Phoenix pushed it to a different letter.

“Hey, Nick,” Maya called in from the other room. “Don't forget to finish Mr. Downing's paperwork, too, okay?”

It never ends.

Resigned, Phoenix cleared a decent portion of the desk space with a sweep of his arm, forcing the floor to sacrifice a few more scraps of its linoleum dignity. It took a few seconds of digging before he managed to locate and pry Joe's final contracts out from amongst the chaos.

Even the words on the paper seemed distorted. The letters jumbled together, not quite clicking into place as whole, cohesive sentences. He could easily say the same about most of the legal documents he'd been forced to deal with over the years, but there was a strange feeling of unease as he scanned the fine print for any of those nasty catches his profession was supposed to be so good at.

He sighed, standing abruptly—then sat back down, agitated. He tapped the edge of the pencil against the paper, trying to clear the distracted static from his head and will the inexplicable discomfort out of his system.

Unsuccessful on all counts, Phoenix finally just dropped the pencil in frustration, and watched it bounce against the surface of the desk once before rolling to a stop against his cell phone. His line of vision moved with it automatically, and it registered suddenly that the screen of the phone was alerting him that he had missed approximately half a dozen calls from around midnight last night. He picked it up to take a closer look.

He couldn't have tried to--

A quick check to the call history corrected him before he could complete the thought.

Pearls? A familiar jolt of worry, carried on the recollection of a frigid temple and a burning bridge, flitted his senses like the ache from an old wound. He hit the redial button, pressing the phone against his ear. It only rang once before the sound of a young voice filtered over the line.

“Mr. Nick?”

Phoenix felt himself relax fractionally. “Pearls?”

Pearl hesitated. “Yes, Mr. Nick, it's me.”

“Are you okay, Pearls?” Phoenix asked. She sounded fine—albeit puzzled, and he could practically see the pensive frown playing across her features—but fine. “You kept trying to call last night...”

“Oh!” Pearl exclaimed, and Phoenix could hear the sound of the lightbulb going off above her head. “Y-yes, I'm just fine, Mr. Nick. I'm very sorry to have worried you. It's just, I didn't get Mystic Maya's message right away yesterday, and I wanted to make sure she had arrived safely...”

“Maya's...? Oh. You mean, that she was coming up here?”

“Yes, that's right.”

“She's here,” Phoenix said. “She's fine. At her desk right now, actually.”

“That's a relief,” Pearl said. “I wasn't able to reach her yesterday evening, so I was concerned. So then I tried to contact you, Mr. Nick, but...”

“Yeah,” Phoenix said. “We were out together. Sorry about--”

“Yes, I thought you might be!” Pearl's voice suddenly broke from her carefully measured formality, ingrained during her years at Kurain, like an igniting lantern. “No, no, don't mind me, it's perfectly all right! Take as much time with each other as you want!”

Phoenix sighed. He could feel his headache becoming several measures worse—he should have known better than to hope the sudden acquisition of a few inches in height would be enough to cure her mind of its longtime affliction with fairy tale delusions.

“Anyway, Pearls,” Phoenix said. “You're up in Hazakura, aren't you? Are you having a good time?”

“Yes! I'm teaching Miss Iris and Sister Bikini how to brew some of the blends of tea that are local to Kurain,” Pearl chattered excitedly. “I'm very happy that I'm able to share something with them, after all of the kindness they've shown me, even if it's something as small as that... and the three of us have been practicing tea ceremony together, too...”

In spite of his foul mood, Phoenix felt the corners of his own mouth crease slightly. “That sounds great.”

“They have the cutest tea confectionaries here, too, Mr. Nick. Sister Bikini says she and Miss Iris make them all themselves. Isn't that amazing? They taste really good, too... I'll bring some back for you to try when I see you again!”

It seemed that every time Pearl returned from one of her visits to Hazakura, she had some kind of gift in hand for he and Maya—matching sets of beaded bracelets, simple hand-crafted pottery, and in one instance, at least five dozen paper cranes suspended on a colorful band of string. Phoenix had been recruited as the tallest person Pearl could think of to drape them over her windows in her room at Fey Manor. Despite his initial resentment at having to board a train for two hours for the sake of two minutes' worth of interior decorating, her delight at seeing the sunlight filter through the shapes of the origami had, somehow, made it worthwhile in the end.

“Mr. Nick, you've never seen Hazakura in the summertime, have you?” Pearl asked. “You should come sometime with Mystic Maya. It's really beautiful, everything smells so fresh and clean and the way the trees rustle is really soothing, like wind chimes...” She trailed off, her voice taking a thoughtful, somewhat more somber air. “And, I think Miss Iris gets a little lonely, too...”

Phoenix paused. “Yeah...”

“Oh, did you want to talk to Miss Iris? She's right here.”

Phoenix's fingers tensed against the phone. He felt a strange lurch against his stomach, as though a stray fish hook had scored its mark amidst his lower intestines.

Nearly a full minute passed until Phoenix heard the crackle of breath against the receiver once again. He imagined Pearl's invitation had caught Iris nearly as off guard as it had for Phoenix himself.

“Phoenix?”

“Iris.”

There was a short pause on the other end—the hook jerked a little further to the right—before Iris laughed, softly. As always, the sound of it made the air around Phoenix feel a little warmer, a little more welcoming to his presence. He relaxed, unsure why he had been so uptight in the first place.

“Hello, Phoenix.”

“Hey,” he said. “How have you been lately, Iris?”

“About the same as the last time we talked.” Iris's voice was faintly amused. “Things don't change much up here beyond the passing of the seasons.”

I wish I could say the same.

“Thanks for looking after Pearls.”

“It's no problem at all,” Iris said. “Actually, Sister Bikini and I always look forward to her visits. When it's just the two of us, it tends to get very quiet around the temple. Pearl has a way of making everything seem brighter when she's with us.”

I can't deny that. Phoenix had often been witness to the same phenomenon.

“Still,” he said.

“Oh, you and Mystic Maya both,” Iris said, audibly suppressing another quiet laugh. “I mean it. It's anything but trouble. That's right—how is Mystic Maya? She's with you, isn't she?”

“Yeah. She's fine—content to watch me doing paperwork, as usual.”

“Paperwork?” Iris asked.

“I've been putting it off for a while,” Phoenix admitted. “I had it coming. It's probably going to take me a couple of days to get through it all.”

“That brings back memories,” Iris remarked. Before Phoenix could answer, she went on to say, “That reminds me. I wanted to thank you for the letter you sent last week.” Her voice softened. “It means a lot to me.”

“Oh—no, no problem. I'm just glad to hear it got there all right this time.” Negotiating with the workings of the post office was an interesting exercise when trying to send mail to a location as remote, and frankly dangerous, as Hazakura Temple, Phoenix had discovered.

“What about you?”

“What?” He winced slightly, hearing the edge in his own voice—it was a perfectly ordinary question, but it had somehow caught him off guard.

The somewhat puzzled note in Iris's tone told him that she had noticed, too. “Things are going all right, aren't they?”

“It's been...” He trailed off. Somehow, though, it was difficult to bring himself to lie to Iris. Maybe even more so than it was to himself. “It's been strange, I guess.”

“Strange?” She sounded surprised; her voice took on a sharper note, indicating that she was paying close attention.

“Yeah. I guess, honestly... I don't really know.” He let his head fall back against the head of the chair. “If things are all right.”

“Phoenix...” Iris exhaled audibly. In the back of his mind's eye, Phoenix could draw the picture of her adjusting the phone to her other ear, tucking away a lock of dark hair. “Did something happen?”

Phoenix's lips drew back in the beginnings of an automatic no, never mind, everything's fine—but something stopped him again. He let the hand holding the phone drop slightly; suddenly the direct contact of the metal against his skin seemed overwhelmingly cold.

“Yeah.”

There was a brief stretch of silence on the other line.

“If there's anything I can help with...”

“No,” he said quickly. “It's not like that.” He hesitated. “I just...” As he searched for the right words, he suddenly felt very weary, his headache back at full force—choking on his own frustration. “I just don't know what to do.”

“It's all right.” Her voice was understanding, but cautious, simultaneously trying to process his garbled attempt at an explanation and searching for the right response to give in return. “You always find your way, somehow.”

“I guess.”

“I mean it. It's true.”

He managed a weak smile. It was the same reassurance, the same understanding, that had left him in grateful tears so many times back in his college days. Knowing he could trust her with anything. Knowing that her compassion had been boundless and infinite. The shy warmth of her hand against his as they walked across brick-paved roads together, how she had stood on tiptoes to brush her lips just so against his as they slowly learned to dare to push that much further, together...

But that had been a lie.

He straightened in his chair.

“It must have been hard,” he said, suddenly.

She sounded startled. “Phoenix?”

All those years of living it. He had thought he'd put it to rest, fully behind them both, since they had parted ways at the trial. But allowing himself to think about it now—the idea seemed overwhelming, suffocating, in how difficult it must have been—to keep smiling through the deception, over the course of passing weeks and months, facing someone who had no idea what he was putting her through every single day.

It wasn't something Phoenix thought he ever could have endured.

Though he hadn't spoken aloud, there was another soft crackle over the phone. Phoenix didn't ask, but he was suddenly certain that she was no longer in the same room as Pearl.

Iris...

“Yes,” she answered, quietly. “It was hard.”

Phoenix's eyes fell to the floor, where his left foot rested against a stack of paperwork.

“I'm not exactly the greatest at noticing things, am I?”

Iris didn't answer immediately. “It's easy to close your eyes,” she murmured, voice distant, and Phoenix had a feeling she was no longer speaking only to him, “when you don't want to see.”

“Yeah,” Phoenix said. “That sounds... about right.”

“But,” Iris continued, “I think...”

Phoenix listened.

“I think it's best to have faith,” she said, finally. “To trust enough to be honest. Running away from that isn't...” She struggled. It had been awkward, rebuilding in the time since her trial. Neither of them had been willing to risk treading upon the countless eggshells buried amidst their shared memories. Thinking back, Phoenix couldn't remember a time either of them had actually talked about any of it—the six months, or her sister—since then. “It hurts yourself,” she concluded. “And it hurts the people you care for most. Trying to run from the truth just leads to more sadness.”

Phoenix's fingers tightened, briefly. She would know that better than most anyone.

And there was another person who told me the same thing, too. A long time ago.

“Thanks.” Phoenix leaned back, eyes drifting to the ceiling above. “You're right.”

“I can't tell you what the right thing is to do,” Iris said, slowly. “But...”

“No,” Phoenix said. “You are right. I think... things will turn out okay.”

“You do?” Iris asked.

Phoenix closed his eyes. “No,” he admitted. “I have no idea. I don't know how things will be. For all I know, it's going to be a complete disaster. Maybe it already is.”

“But,” she pressed, “that's not what you believe.”

He didn't know how to answer that.

“Iris,” he said, instead, “Thanks for hearing me out.”

“Phoenix...” She wavered briefly, before she finally seemed to decide against whatever she had planned on saying. “All right. Take care.”

“You, too.”

A click told him that Iris had ended the call. He followed suit, moving from his chair—it creaked in protest at his sudden motion, but he ignored it, grabbing his jacket from where he had tossed it haphazardly against the bottom of the desk.

He checked his watch. It was barely five minutes past noon. That was good—he had no idea, it struck him, where Edgeworth actually lived beyond the confines of his office. He walked quickly, tugging the jacket's sleeves into place. In the corner of his eye, he could see Maya's head raising from where she sat at her desk, questioning.

“Maya,” he said hastily, over his shoulder, “I'm heading out. Can you close the office early for me?”

“Nick?” Maya looked bewildered; she was holding the office phone in one hand. But there was a trace of pensiveness about her frown, as though he had somehow lived down to her unspoken expectations. He pushed the observation to the back of his mind. “Actually, there's a call...”

“I'll be back,” he said, opening the door leading outside with one hand. “Don't worry.”

Maya shook her head once, but seemed to relent. Despite his best efforts, Phoenix's limbs felt oddly heavy with guilt for leaving her standing there. But something told him that now that he had begun moving, he couldn't afford to slow down until he had reached his destination.



Phoenix leaned forward in his seat as the taxi inched through traffic. At this rate, he was beginning to think he should have taken the bus. But after his talk with Iris, something seemed to have taken a hold of him, a distant feeling of alarm that he had been shoving away all day. It felt like every minute that trickled away, the more inexorable the situation became.

When the taxi at last pulled up to the plate glass winders of the lower level of the Prosecutor’s Office, Phoenix all but threw the fare plus tip at the driver before rushing off. The driver peeled away from the curb in puff of exhaust and burning rubber, seemingly as annoyed with his twitchy passenger as Phoenix had been at the speed of their progress through the city.

Once inside the building, Phoenix bypassed the front desk all together and took an immediate right towards the elevators. He found it hard to resist the urge to peer around the corners like a spy in enemy territory, but if there was one thing he’d learned from his investigations, it was acting like he belonged made people think he belonged.

Upon reaching the steel doors, he pressed the up button, then began rocking back and forth on his heels impatiently. As he reached forward to press the button again—as though that would somehow summon the elevator faster—a man came to stand beside him. Though Phoenix's focus remained trained on the doors, he caught sight of a brown trench coat and a head of ash-blond hair from the corner of his eye.

Shortly thereafter, a horse of an entirely different color joined them in their wait. Phoenix once again gave the newest arrival a cursory glance. Between the black dark jacket with silver streaks and the long hair, the only thing that told Phoenix he hadn't gotten lost in the wrong building was the thick manila folder under his arm, and the familiar nod the blond man gave him when he showed up.

Phoenix began tapping his foot. Is this thing broken? Maybe I should take the stairs.

The elevator dinged it’s arrival and all three shuffled inside, Phoenix on the left and the other two on the right, as if members of law enforcement and defense attorneys were naturally the human equivalent of oil and water, though neither of them even gave him so much as a suspicious glance. He leaned over to press ‘twelve’, but the number was already lit, to his surprise. Are they going to see Edgeworth too? Phoenix hadn’t even stopped to consider that Edgeworth would probably be getting reports today—that could make things difficult. There are other prosecutors on that floor, he told himself.

“Prosecutor Edgeworth?” the blond finally asked his fellow officer once the elevator started to move, with a quick nod to the files the other was carrying. Phoenix startled, for a moment irrationally wondering if his mind had been read.

“Yeah,” the dark-haired man said, looking irritated as he hefted the papers. “I got the call this morning. Just got done typing up and organizing all the reports. What’s he going to do, use them as bedtime reading?”

“I’ve only worked with him once, but he’s ridiculously thorough.”

“Great.” The dark-haired man shifted, mood growing even darker. “I should have known, with what I’ve heard…”

“You’re working on that case with that offshoot of the Cadaverini family, right?”

“That’s right,” the dark-haired man responded with a toss of his head and a cocky grin. “I’ve been working on the Italian side, with Interpol. The guy who was handling this end wasn’t available, so I got stuck reporting.”

“That’s strange, it doesn’t really seem like Prosecutor Edgeworth’s style,” the blond man mused. “Usually, he gets assigned those high profile murder cases.”

“Guess it’s not anyone’s style. It’s been bouncing around from prosecutor to prosecutor like a hot potato. It must have finally landed in Edgeworth’s lap.”

“Nope.” The blond sighed and wiped his forehead. “I heard he came in at the crack of dawn and asked for any unassigned cases. There have to be at least seven or eight. My department is in chaos.”

What is he thinking… The doors abruptly opened, wrenching Phoenix from his thoughts. He pushed past the other two hurriedly, wanting to get to Edgeworth first. Strangely, he didn't hear anyone following him. Instead, there was a bout of raucous laughter; Phoenix glanced back and saw that a third man had approached the elevator and had engaged them in conversation. None of them looked in a particular hurry to get anywhere, to Phoenix’s relief.

As Phoenix walked further down the hall, his heart began keeping time to his steps. With a start, he realized that sickening heaviness in his stomach had turned into something else. A sort of nervous anticipation, boiling like a pot of water. It reminded him of his first year practicing, stepping into court knowing he wasn’t prepared.

It reminded him of the first time he had confronted Edgeworth.

When he got to the door of Edgeworth’s office, he hesitated for a moment, but then quickly swallowed the lump in his throat and knocked. The heavy wood muffled the sound, and for a moment, Phoenix considered just walking in. But it didn’t seem right, somehow, to just open the door; it felt like the knob would burn his hand.

He tried again when there was no reaction. There was another pause—long enough that Phoenix wondered if Edgeworth was even in his office, and if not, what his next course of action should be. Then he heard faint footsteps from inside.

The door opened. Phoenix caught a quick glimpse of the room behind Edgeworth’s head; his first impression was that a copy machine had vomited all over his desk. The faint sound of classical music escaped from the crack—something bombastic and famous that Phoenix couldn’t quite identify.

A spilt second later: “If you’re here about the Cadaverini case, Sam Riverton has requested it. You’ll have to--” Edgeworth cut off abruptly as he raised his eyes and saw who he was addressing.

Edgeworth’s eyes suddenly narrowed, and it was only some instinctive impulse that made Phoenix stick out his foot just in time to catch the door from being slammed in his face. He winced. The door crunched his foot, even with his loafers as protection. Nice to see you too, Edgeworth.

“Get out of my office, Wright.” Edgeworth’s voice was low, with the faintest suggestion of a quaver, like he was trying with all his might to keep control. Phoenix wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Edgeworth like this, even at his most avoidant. “I don’t have time for this.”

“I’m not leaving,” Phoenix said. And technically, I’m not even in your office to begin with.

Edgeworth looked down. Phoenix had no doubt that if looks could kill, his offending leg would be a blackened husk at this point.

“I just want to talk,” he tried again.

“We have nothing to discuss,” Edgeworth said, still pulling on the door. “And even if we did, you know my number. There was no need for you to come down to the office and create this…disturbance.”

“Would you have answered the--”

“Leave, Wright.”

For a moment, Phoenix was tempted, wondering if it was really worth the energy and—he winced as Edgeworth gave the door another yank—pain to get to the point where they could even have a discussion. If getting inside was this hard, Phoenix didn’t even want to imagine how their talk would go. Maybe Edgeworth was right; Phoenix wasn’t sure if he would have appreciated Edgeworth suddenly materializing at the Wright and Co Law Offices a few hours ago.

Maybe if I just let him deal with it by himself, it’ll all blow over. Looking at the furrow between Edgeworth’s eyes as he glared, Phoenix almost pulled his foot away. I did come all the way down here—that’s probably enough to show I don’t hate him or anything. I can let him cool off a little, then… Phoenix’s gaze drifted lower.

Edgeworth’s arm was shaking so badly he was having trouble keeping a grip on the doorknob.

No, it has to be now.

“Look, Edgeworth,” he began again. “I can either talk to you through the door while all these people listen, or you can let me in where we’ll have some privacy.”

Edgeworth head snapped up to meet his eyes, probing as though to gage exactly how serious Phoenix was. For a split second, the prosecutor’s slate eyes wavered, darting a quick glance behind Phoenix at the silent people walking slowly about their business. Phoenix inwardly rejoiced.

But Edgeworth’s look suddenly grew sharp, the softer slate turning to steel, and Phoenix knew he had lost the gamble.

Before Edgeworth could open his mouth and call his bluff, Phoenix sighed. “Edgeworth, please.”

The pressure on his foot lifted. Edgeworth’s arm fell limply to his side and he abruptly moved away from the door.



Phoenix didn’t even have time to feel triumphant as he stepped into Edgeworth’s office—he was too busy being stunned. The normally—well, the few times he’d seen it before, several years ago—pristine office looked like a miniature tornado had gone through the rest of Prosecutor’s Office and finally dispersed on Edgeworth’s desk, leaving stacks of papers that nearly dwarfed the ones back at Phoenix’s office.

The classical music had since switched to a young woman warbling mournfully in a language Phoenix couldn’t understand, her light vibrato undercut by the sudden trilling of the office phone. As soon as Phoenix turned his attention towards it, it went into voicemail.

Phoenix shifted, feeling like an interloper in this chaos, before turning his full attention on Edgeworth. Now that Phoenix was here, everything he wanted to say, all the things he thought he understood seemed too dry and meaningless to voice.

Edgeworth himself seemed caught between two points, pushing himself towards his desk and the temptation of the escape of work, but at the same time he seemed oddly repelled by it—it reminded Phoenix of a magnet forced against its matching point. “So why are you here?” he asked, suddenly, frustration wound tightly in his voice. “Just to disrupt my work?”

Phoenix shook his head and opened his mouth to reply, but Edgeworth was still talking, as though intentionally trying to round him off before he had a chance—voice gaining a strange, grating momentum that was painfully familiar to Phoenix—that recalled shades of a gray detention cell and the fall of snow in a winter garden.

“Or was it to laugh at me?”

“Don't be ridiculous--”

“If you want to laugh, go ahead—I'm not stopping you.” His back was still turned, and his fingers moved along the documents on the desk, shuffling and re-shuffling them in a practiced, concise flurry of movement. “Who could blame you? I'm waiting—go on, then, laugh--”

“I'm not here to laugh at you,” Phoenix said, raising his voice. Edgeworth stopped, letting the stack of papers settle back atop the desk in peace. He turned to face Phoenix at last, and in the full light, the dark creases under his eyes were more pronounced than ever. It seemed a safe assumption that the prosecutor hadn't exactly slept well after leaving Phoenix's apartment. If he slept at all.

“Then what do you want?” Edgeworth asked, still bristling with hostility. Behind them, Phoenix thought he heard a knock at the door, but the prosecutor gave no indication that he had noticed. “I'm busy, Wright.”

“I know.” Like anyone could miss it, Phoenix thought, “But I just—wanted to talk.”

Edgeworth snorted; his eyes darted back to files. Phoenix was filled with a sudden urge to dart forward and throw the lot of them out of the window. “There's nothing to talk about.”

This is ridiculous.

He very nearly said it out loud, but managed to exhale instead, struggling to keep whatever it was that had gotten his throat so painfully tight—whether it was anger, frustration or something else, he couldn't say—in check. He quickly tried to rephrase. The last thing Phoenix wanted was for to be driven into a shouting match. The knocking outside had increased in volume and persistence didn't make it any easier to concentrate; a flash of irritation crossed Edgeworth's face as he crossed the room to lock the door shut. Phoenix tried again.

“Look, last night...” he swallowed. It was difficult to keep his voice steady. “Look.”

Edgeworth's expression remained neutral, even as he folded his arms, waiting. In spite of his own insistence on talking things out, Phoenix found—with vague horror—that his mind had been rendered blank, at a loss for something, anything that could break that unreadable veneer—or even better, he thought, to fix things. Turn them back the way they had been before, laughing quietly and breaking foul-tasting bread between them and talking about old college plays...

There has to be something.

“It doesn't make a difference to me,” Phoenix said. It wasn't right, the words rang slightly off from the center of the weight in his chest—but I'm trying.

Edgeworth's eyes flickered, too quickly for Phoenix to get a proper read of it, but at least it was finally something. But the brief spark of internal triumph was quickly snuffed when his face went on to settle into an expression that he did know, that made the heaviness in Phoenix's stomach return at full force—a detached, indifferent cool. It was the face of the high prosecutor as he made his way to the bench to go about the impersonal business of dispensing justice. He began to turn once again.

Phoenix's lips seemed to move on their own. “Say something.”

Edgeworth paused; his right hand began to raise to his hair, and then it dropped back to his side. His lips pursed as he turned his gaze back onto Phoenix. “Is that it?”

“I don't know,” Phoenix said, pressing. “Is it?”

“If that's all, then yes.”

By all rights, that should have been enough. He didn't have anything else to say, no matter how the back of his mind raced. He had no reason to not nod, wave goodbye, and turn and walk back through the door from where he came, rattling knob and all. As Phoenix's eyes flitted to consider his potential escape, though, the noise cut off abruptly. The man from the elevator must have finally given up.

The air around them felt strangely hollow, reinforced with their isolation.

It's not enough.

“Last night--” he began again, raising one entreating hand.

There was a sardonic bite to Edgeworth's voice. “I thought it didn't make a difference to you?”

Annoyance tempered with sharp frustration jolted through him like a shock; it colored an edge to his voice and prickled beneath his skin. He had to stop himself from stepping forward. “Will you stop that?”

“That was what you said.”

“I know, but--”

The prosecutor's eyes had narrowed and at his side his hand tightened briefly on the edge of his desk; the indifferent mask was beginning to chip. “Don't say it if you don't mean it—”

“Stop cutting me off!” Phoenix said. “What was that, last night?”

A brief pause. Edgeworth's eyes moved to the side, forcibly relaxing his knuckles, and Phoenix realized vividly how very, very much he was coming to hate that gesture.

“It wasn't anything.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was nothing. Neither of us were thinking straight.” Edgeworth paused again, visibly searching for his words, the right details that would prove his point beyond a reasonable doubt. “I believe you were on your fifth or sixth beer. It was an unpleasant accident I'd rather forget.”

Actually, I only had four and a half, including what I had at the restaurant. This didn’t seem like the time to get into semantics.

A moment passed, the heavy silence tempered with the sound of violins—oddly strained to Phoenix's ears—in the background. Phoenix waited, but Edgeworth didn't seem to have anything more to say. His gaze was still firmly planted on the wall where his old prosecutor's suit, as gaudy as Phoenix remembered, hung framed.

“...is that it?” Phoenix asked, finally.

Edgeworth didn't answer immediately; his eyes had become clouded with internal thought.

He tried again. “Is that really...”

“That's it,” Edgeworth said, suddenly. “That settles things, don't you agree? Now if you'd excuse yourself from my office, I have work to attend to.”

Phoenix didn't move. He wasn't sure if he could even if he wanted to—it felt as though weights had been attached to his ankles, nailing him in place—in this office with the classical music still whirling in the background, pale sunlight filtered through pink curtains, and the face of a prosecutor strained with years of stress and the difficulty of years past— maybe just one night—across from him.

It hit him.

He's trying to fix things, too.

Edgeworth spoke again. “Did you hear me?”

“Edgeworth--”

“Unlike you, I don't have time to lounge around and talk about nothing, Wright.”

Nothing? The word felt strange. Somehow wrong, like a puzzle piece that didn't fit, no matter how much he or anyone else tried to jam it into place by force. The memory of its echo rose to the forefront of his mind—nothing—barely a month past, as a guilty man had bleated it at Edgeworth himself in hopes that it would somehow magically erase everything that had happened and any consequences that followed.

“Even if that was true--”

“Even if it was true,” Edgeworth said, suddenly, “I think you made things perfectly clear last night.”

Phoenix's mouth fell shut. Whatever he had planned to say had turned to cold ash on his lips.

Edgeworth grimaced, still not meeting his gaze. The fingers of his right hand pressed self-consciously into the opposite sleeve.

“I'm sorry,” Phoenix said quietly.

Edgeworth shrugged, irritably; he quickly raised a hand to adjust his cravat, eyes moving to the view of the city outside the adjacent window. “You don't have anything to apologize for.”

“Knock it off.”

He's still trying. But...

Phoenix felt his shoulders slump forward. His throat was hoarse; he couldn't tell if it was either because of the outburst of yelling or because he suddenly felt more exhausted than he could remember ever feeling in any of the recent years, probably since Hazakura. I'm not being honest, either.

It was hard, Iris had said. She'd smiled at him after supper at Hazakura Temple, taking his plate from him with the polite consideration of a stranger. Hm? No, I don't think we've ever met.

It was hard.

“I'm scared, too.”

Edgeworth flinched.

“I don't know what it was. That's why I keep asking. It didn't feel like 'nothing' to me,” Phoenix admitted. “I couldn't focus all day.”

“Then work it out on your own time.” Despite the words, Edgeworth's voice was a note softer, almost half-hearted. Like Phoenix, he seemed drained of all energy.

“I am,” Phoenix said. “Or, I'm trying to.”

Edgeworth sighed—his entire frame seemed to deflate, all prior defensiveness visibly withering. His tone was defeated. “What is it you want me to say?”

The question caught Phoenix off guard. I don't know. I didn't... think about it like that. It was tempting to fall back onto script, to assert that he didn't want anything—but it would be a lie that leads us right back into the same circle.

“I don't know,” Phoenix murmured. “The truth, I guess.”

After all, you were the one who taught so many people how to face the truth.

Edgeworth met his eyes full on, abruptly; his stare was piercing. You don't know what you're asking.

“It was strange,” Phoenix said, lost in his own thoughts. “I didn't... I mean, I don't know how to put this. I don't even know what 'this' is.” And it's driving me crazy. “But when it comes down to it, I can't convince myself that I wasn't...” He shook his head. “I guess what I'm trying to say is—I was there, too.”

Edgeworth stared.

“Wright,” he said, heavily, and his gaze fell away from Phoenix's. “I can't.”

Edgeworth...

It seemed impossibly distant—hazy and filtered with the static he normally associated with recollections years past, even though in reality it had been less than a full day—but the memory stirred of Edgeworth's silent, desperate attempt to communicate as they had stared at each other in the apartment. His own thoughts had been in such disarray at the time that it had been utterly lost on him.

Phoenix swallowed. His throat was dry.

He thought he understood now.

“Ha ha,” he said, weakly, but he felt strangely relieved, as though some kind of invisible chain had finally been broken with both of their admissions. It left him suddenly weak and slightly dizzy—but relieved nonetheless. He half-sat, half-collapsed on the office couch, running his hand through his hair. “I guess I can't expect you to if I can't, either.”

Edgeworth looked at him. There was muted emotion visible beneath his gaze.

“I enjoyed them,” he said. “The dinners. With you, they were...” He trailed off.

Something you didn't want to lose.

“Yeah,” said Phoenix. “I did, too. Highlight of my week, really.” Although his tone was wry, it hit him that it was the truth.

He didn't so much see but feel the movement next to him, the weight sinking in on the cushion next to his, as Edgeworth sat beside him, hunched over with elbows propped against his knees. He gazed in silence at the floor.

And I don't want to lose them, either.

“You can reserve again for next week, right?”

Edgeworth's head lifted, slightly.

“Though maybe we ought to branch out a little,” Phoenix spoke on, “I've been hearing some good things about that Russian place in the area, too. Or the Italian around the corner, whatever works best. That—” --his pronunciation failed him once again-- “--place... has good food, but you know, eating German week in and week out... you'd get sick of it eventually. Or, I would.”

“That doesn't surprise me when it comes from someone who orders the same thing every week,” Edgeworth murmured.

“I'm just saying,” Phoenix said.

A short curtain of silence fell between them. Edgeworth folded his hands in front of himself.

“I'll make it,” Edgeworth said, abruptly. “The reservation.” There was a slight up tilt to his voice at the end, like a question—an unspoken are you sure barely concealed beneath.

“Great,” Phoenix said. I'm sure. “And some other time...”

Edgeworth's brow furrowed. “Some other time?”

“We could—I don't know, try something else.” The sentence was stiff and awkward in his mouth, but he forced it out regardless. “Maybe if there's a decent play showing in the area, or something.” The Empty Room, if the universe is feeling particularly ironic.

“I can make time for dinner,” Edgeworth said, after a moment. There was quiet disbelief filtered between each syllable. “I can't... guarantee enough time for a play.” He hesitated; Phoenix could see the same internal battle, mirroring his own, playing out across the prosecutor's features. “But if it comes up... I'll try.”

“Good,” Phoenix said, a little quickly. “Well... can I leave the restaurant up to you, anyway?”

“Somewhere different?”

“Yeah, if you can manage.”

“I assure you, Wright,” Edgeworth said, “I can manage.”

“Right.” Hearing the familiar wryness in his voice was oddly relieving. “Give me a call. Let me know.”

“I suppose I don't have a choice.”

I guess it can't be the way it was before.

They settled into silence once more.

But maybe things will somehow still be all right, anyway.

And it struck Phoenix that, if he was being honest with himself, he was still scared. In a lot of ways. He had no idea what he was doing, and he had a feeling that he could safely say the same for the man sitting next to him.

Edgeworth's eyes were still thick with uncertainty and the traces of emotion they had both failed to capture properly in words. But looking at him, shoulder pressed lightly against his, it was difficult not to believe that somehow things really would be all right. It had always been that way, Phoenix thought. Whether he was facing him, or walking at his side, or laughing together as children, or chasing after the visage of his photograph in an old newspaper article.

It had always been that way.

---

Absolutely wonderful. I don't think I could manage to say anything more. This story is going to make me cry.
Wonderful job, both of you.

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Oh this was just lovely. I'm a bit moist-eyed now so in no state to offer any constructive crit at all. I've had this kind of conversation (or tried to) and yeah ...

Loved Iris in this too by the way (and Pearl). The Feys truly are the muses that Phoenix needs :)

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I'm partying here. Because of this chapter. Haven't read yet. I love you two and I will read now. Brb.

Last edited by Ethed on Sun Nov 25, 2007 1:17 am, edited 1 time in total.

Another beautiful chapter... this is one of the best fics I've ever read. And again, the characterization was wonderful.
I don't think that I have to say something more :).

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I'm in the middle of writing a paper, so I don't have time for any really constructive crit.

Ah, this made me misty -- absolutely beautiful. I would love a track listing of what you two believed was playing in Edgeworth's office during their talk :)

Seriously, this is one of my favourite chaptered fanfics ever, in any fandom.

Fucking. Brilliant. and Wonderful.

and Fantastic. and Amazing. and Emotional. and Stupendous. and Nifty.

I'm running out of words.

You two girls are AMAZING.

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I presumed the foreign singer was Lamiroir from GS4, but it could just as easily be German music or something from an opera, I'm sure.

I can't help but love the heavy uncertainty that pervades this fic -- while most romances have a period of misunderstandings and unsureness before the 'payout', you have managed to both keep it realistically tense and, unlike light-hearted love stories, still uncertain even after Phoenix and Edgeworth take the first steps towards realizing that they're 'allowed' to be together. While I usually have to play happy music afterwards in order to balance out this mood, I cannot help but praise it for its realism. *bow*

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Update.

The storytelling is just so overwhelmingly realistic... I can only repeat the compliments I've given you two. This chapter was very refreshing. Every chapter is refreshing. Nothing ever gets old. Nothing ever is truly predictable. And you two are very, very productive.
I have to admit, I've never respected and liked Maya this much before. I loved Iris, too. I loved all the eloquence you wrote for her. I loved the trust. I loved the yes to whether something happened. I loved how genuine they were. I believe Iris gave Phoenix all the eloquence he needed to talk to Edgeworth. Not that he is a crushing teenager unable to ever express himself, but their relationship is so (haha who am I talking to?) touchy that I don't know how much he would've handled without his wimminz' help. (I'm fighting the tears a little here, excuse the low humour). All Phoenix' way to Edgeworth's office, and all talk long, I was shifting on my chair. I wanted to look away, I had to stop, minimize, stare at the blank screen. I wanted to laugh at myself in pity. I slapped my hands over my mouth at Edgeworth's awareness. They've shot some of the most beautiful lines I've ever read at each other. You've done that. I was there, too. How they couldn't hide the hints that this is right, this is true. How they sat next to each other, once again, shoulder against shoulder. This sent me on a bizarre emotional rollercoaster ride.

As a player, I've accepted that Maya is easily dismissed as a burger-eating teenage nuisance in the games to many, but being a spirit medium..it has to take a lot of strength, a lot of discipline. I see that as a reader. She just seems so sensible to me now. So tactful, in her own ways. Her intended training at Hazakura Temple is easily tossed to the side by players as well, but what would it really take out of anyone to chant in ice-cold water? Not just once, but... agh, I... I'm barely making sense here. I'm frowning so hard because this story is the spirit of mathematics: You can never invent it, you can only discover, and there is universal logic behind all. If it doesn't make sense, then you haven't understood it. But once you do, you're captivated by its neverending fluency.

That is all.

I've said it before, but I really, really mean it. You two, are brilliant. I'm sure everything I want to say has been said before, either by me, or someone more eloquent then me. You two have a gift. The two things I loved most about this chapter was you bringing in Iris and Pearl, [because this is a WORLD, not just a story about Phoenix and Edgeworth, and you can capture that], and then Phoenix confronting Edgeworth. Although I've never been in that kind of situation before, I could still relate. And everything was right~! Most of all, you had me on the edge of my seat the ENTIRE time I read it. It was so dramatic, and most importantly, you did that scene in a completely original way. Out of all the fanfiction I have read, this scene has been done over and over. But never YOUR way. And very deep, too. You're really THERE as you're reading it, and when someone can feel that kind of emotion as you write it, you are very skilled indeed. Like Ethed, I had to stop reading a few times. I was that tied up in it. I had to stop, I couldn't stand the tension. It sounds so silly when I write that down...but it's true.

THERE AREN'T ANY MORE WORDS TO TELL YOU. All I can say is, don't ever stop. And thank you, to both of you, for the most amazing fanfic I have ever had the privelege to read. Really.

But like I said, it's been said before...and better then I can stutter out, I'm sure. But you two are the most amazing thing ever. And just know it's true, or I'll come and beat that into you! I will!

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Now that I'm done slapping musouka with a fish, I'm really glad to hear you guys enjoyed the chapter. <3 We were both a little worried about it, not sure if the shift into actual P/E (!!!) was going to come across smoothly, so…

Thank you, Mercurykitten. ;_;

KingMobUK, I’m really thrilled you (and others) liked Iris here. We both love Iris to death, and it’s a total ridiculous joy to be able to try to use her and still connect her into Phoenix’s life. I really do think she has a unique, wonderful connection to him, and she’s one of the people who’s always going to understand him the best. So, yes. <3

Elriel, thank you very much. T-that’s really high praise, it’s kind of overwhelming. XD;

Funk, HAET YUO. <3333

Thanks for taking a break from writing your paper to comment, commonlogic. <3 So happy to hear you liked it that much. ;_;

DSL-69, it’s incredibly gratifying to hear you talk about “realism”, because we were really hoping that we could make things come across believable, for as relatively quickly as things move along in this chapter. So thank you very much. <3

Ethed, I’m so happy you’re liking Maya in this fic! We adore her, and what you said was interesting, because we’ve also discussed when outlining how we don’t think Phoenix and Edgeworth would have been capable of reaching out to each other on their own, because they both have somewhat glaring emotional shortcomings. So yes, they definitely need that push that only the Feys can give, but we definitely didn’t want it to come across as a contrived ‘matchmaker’ type situation either.

Sakuro, I’m glad the argument worked for you. <3 We were pretty nervous about that scene, so that’s really good to hear. :D

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Ok I've been staring at the reply box for I don't know how long now, trying to come up with something coherent to say, but I give up. I have no words to explain how wonderful this is. I was on the verge of tears the whole time I was reading that last part. And I know I'm just repeating myself, but all of this seems so real, it really gets to me. And like Ethed and Sakuro already said, I too had to stop reading a few times cause it was just too much. I kept staring at the wall and fiddling with the pens on my desk, trying to play out the scene in my mind and reflecting on what I had just read, and then I'd go back and read the last few paragraphs over again to make sure I had really been paying attention and that I really understood everything. I reread Phoenix's thoughts quite a few times too to try to make sense of all of them and I find it incredible how it shows the connection between the two of them, almost as if Phoenix can read Edgeworth's thoughts and finish off all of his sentences for him.

And just so you know how much I was looking forward to reading this, I was working on something all night but then I saw the fourth chapter was up and I really wanted to read it but I couldn't exactly stop working so I thought I'll read it tomorrow when I get up. But then I couldn't sleep cause I kept thinking about it so I had to come back and read it.

Ok now I realize that I lied when I said I had no words to describe this, but still I feel like I'm barely making sense so I'm gonna go get some sleep now.

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God, it's so beautiful it hurts.

I've never been good at dealing with suspense, but nor am I a fan of a fic laying everything out on the table, so who am I to complain? I had to read this twice, once to "make sure everything would be okay" and again to actually tell what was going on. =P

I love it. I love how both of them are uncomfortable, but they're still trying to be happy, in the only way they know. It feels spot-on. Excellent job.

Oh hey it's Cromage.

Hi Cromage!! <3333

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Wow, that was just wonderful. I...I, really can't find the words to say anything, as many others have already said. You two are wonderful writers. This story is so touching and moving and I'm enjoying it immensely. Great job you guys, great job.

---

In stark contrast to the Prosecutor's Office, in all of its towering glory, Phoenix liked to think that the sight of Wright and Co. was built to inspire a feeling of reassurance. Whether or not that actually coincided with the reality of his practice was a judgment he preferred to keep a safe, professional distance from. Either way, the incoming sight of the patterned brick and worn door felt welcoming. It also probably helped that his movements no longer ached with tension thick and distracting enough to cloud his vision as he walked.

The glow of the office light was still visible from the window. That didn't necessarily mean Maya was still there—it wasn't uncommon for her to forget to turn off something or another as they closed down for the night, usually at the expense of the monthly electric bill. But, Phoenix noted, with the lingering, acrid taste of guilt beginning to creep back into his mouth, he found he couldn't exactly blame her if she really had decided to leave.

He apologized to Maya internally, hoping that hastening his usual rush up the stairs would at least be a symbolic start towards making it up to her. He had to twist rather awkwardly to avoid colliding into someone heading the opposite direction, earning him an irate glare, but he ignored it. The door leading into the offices was unlocked, and Phoenix felt his shoulders set with confirmation; although Maya occasionally forgot to take care of lights or the television when heading out, he couldn't remember a single instance where she hadn't at least made sure the door was locked behind her.

Pushing it open, he peered around the entranceway. “Hey,” he called—not quite a whisper and not quite normal speech. “I'm back.”

He blinked when he received no reply and leaned further in; the receptionist's desk was empty. A glance upwards told him that the door to the office proper was slightly ajar, and he was fairly sure he could pick up the faint sound of the television filtering through it. He kept walking.

"Maya, are you there?"

He gave a start when he stepped through. To his surprise, the chaos he'd left the office in as he'd rushed to leave was rearranged into relatively neatly stacked piles—not exactly filed, but probably a lot easier to manage. There was the scent of pine in the air; he noticed that the filing cabinets and the windows had been freshly wiped of dust and grime. Even the surface of the television screen was set with a sparkle Phoenix couldn't recall seeing in the past several months.

Maya was sitting in his chair, taking meticulous—meticulous no doubt referring to the samurai doodles in the margins—notes. Her head shot up first at Phoenix's entrance, followed by the rest of her body, making her hair beads bounce almost comically off her shoulders.

“Nick!” she exclaimed. “You're okay!”

Well, it's not like I was carried out of here on a stretcher...

Despite that, he managed a weak smile that he hoped was good enough for affirmation.

Maya made her way out from behind the desk; she hung back briefly, trying to get a better read of his demeanor—whatever she saw seemed to reassure her, as she quickly went on to return the grin and pull him into a quick hug. “It looks like you're feeling better,” she said, peering up at him and giving the side of his face a chiding tap. “Thank goodness. I'm really relieved.”

Relieved?

"Yeah," Maya nodded, drawing back. "You should have seen your face when you charged out of here.” She formed circles around her eyes with her thumb and forefinger for emphasis. So I looked like an owl? Phoenix mused. “It must be what all of those guilty witnesses see flash before their eyes right before you tighten the noose around their necks, huh?"

You are definitely asking the wrong person that question.

“Though,” Maya said, on further consideration, “I guess it was kind of cool, in a scary sort of way. Just...” She hunched her shoulders, considering. “Doesn't really fit you at all, you know? When you think 'Phoenix Wright', cool just isn't the first word that comes to mind. I'd rank it about... hm, seventeen, actually.”

Dare I ask what the first sixteen are?

“And 'scary' is probably around twenty-one,” Maya supplemented.

What's scary is the amount of thought you seem to have put into this. But the smile on his face had broadened. He looked at his assistant fondly.

“Sorry,” he said. He meant it.

“Hey, as long as you made it back, that's what matters,” Maya chirped. She turned her head, gesturing towards the desk. “A lot of calls came in when you were gone, so I put down all the important details--” she pointed to the pad of paper she had been scribbling on, “there, so you should take a look when you get a chance, okay? I think a couple of them sound really promising.”

Phoenix nodded absently. He began pulling his jacket off, but as the first sleeve came off, the rush of startlingly cool air against his arm made him give it second thought. It was late—late by his measure, anyway—and given the emotional rollercoaster this day had been, he had severe doubts about his ability to concentrate on paperwork anyway. There was a familiar mental fog lying in wait at the borders of his mind, precluding any attempts at being productive.

“I'll take a look tomorrow,” he promised. “Why don't we close up for today?”

“Pffft,” Maya chided, but she didn't look particularly surprised. “You're so lazy, Nick.”

“I know, I know.” We'll have to really hit these files hard tomorrow, I guess...

Even as limited as Maya's attention span was, and Phoenix's own lack of motivation, closing the office was by now such a practiced ritual between the two of them that they usually managed to take care of it within the span of twenty minutes. Phoenix briefly settled in at his desk to give the paperwork an obligatory final shuffle, skimming the notes Maya had laid out for him. None of them really caught his attention. The note about the murder case bulleted with the notations stuffed duck, tea kettle, bookcase gave him brief pause, but not in any way that constituted interest in further involving himself with that mess. He reached up for where he kept the address roll.

His eyes quirked upwards when his hand hit empty desk. The rolodex was absent from its usual position, re-stationed next to the telephone and skewed diagonally to face the desk occupant.

Skye, Lana was listed on the top card, followed by a row ten numbers, its date of entry four years prior.

“Maya,” Phoenix started, swiveling in her chair to face her, but she had returned to her station outside, taking care of whatever she usually did there. He caught the faint sound of her familiar hum, oddly in tune with the snapping of disappearing lights.

Phoenix tossed a few papers haphazardly into his briefcase before clicking it shut, and moved to join her when he heard the bustle come to a stop, replaced by an impatient tapping of sandals against floor. As he moved out—Maya pressed close on his heels—he remembered suddenly that he didn't have the key. Maya rolled her eyes, pushed him aside, and locked the door herself.

As they went down the stairs, Phoenix opened his mouth to ask about any particular calls she might have made while he was out—but Maya seemed to have something else in mind.

“So...” Maya hesitated. “You went to see Mr. Edgeworth, right?"

"Yeah.” They made their way outside and past the parking lot. “You really were worried, huh?"

“Well...” Maya said, slowly. She came to a stop as her feet hit sidewalk, turning back to face him. Her head flitted from side to side, giving the distinct impression that she was rolling her intended words around on her tongue. “It's just that... I was thinking about what Mr. Edgeworth was talking about last night.”

"Last night?" Phoenix's brow furrowed. What is she talking about?

“Yes, last night. Geez, where were you, Nick?” Maya rolled her eyes, but was fortunately willing to set aside her teasing long enough to elaborate. “You know, with Lana, and the Prosecutor's Office, remember? About how things had been really rough over there lately...”

“Oh, yeah.” Phoenix said, vaguely. It was surreal to think about it as last night—if it had seemed distant when he had first stepped into Edgeworth's office, it felt a million years away now. “Hm.”

Maya folded her hands behind her back. “Just... it's really true, isn't it? When you stop and think about it...” She shook her head, and began counting off on her fingers. “That is, their top prosecutor—Prosecutor von Karma, I mean—you went and proved that he was a fraud and a murderer on top of that! And then the same thing with the chief of police, just a few months later...”

Hey, don't say it like it's my fault! They really were murderers...

“And then the other Prosecutor von Karma was only there for a year. And the year after that, what with Mr. Armando...” Maya bit her lip. Her hair slid over her eyes, half-framing them in shadow.

I hadn't thought about it that way, Phoenix had to admit. It did seem pretty grim in context. And as mixed as his emotions still were about the series of events surrounding the last incident, he imagined it must be much harder on Maya, even now.

Maya took a deep breath, collecting herself. “I guess what I mean is... Mr. Edgeworth really must be going through a hard time. So, I think it'd be even worse for him if you two had another falling out. He looks up to you an awful lot, Nick.” She flashed him a knowing grin. “You can't be in a rivalry by yourself, after all!”

A rivalry, huh...?

“So,” she repeated, head tilting slightly with a smile, “I'm really glad you made up from... whatever.”

“I am, too.” I really am.

Maya spun on her heels, as though shaking off any troubles that could have ever been weighing on her shoulders as easily as it was to discard a shawl. “All right! Now that that's settled, why don't we celebrate?”

Celebrate what, exactly!?

“I already ate up my leftovers, so I think I'm long overdue for a helping of burgers!” She winked at him, balancing the palms of both hands against the crown of her head. It was as much of a private, comfortably worn joke as an actual request.

The more things change, Phoenix thought, but he couldn't pretend he wasn't grateful. No matter what else seemed to turn upside down in his world, Maya would always be Maya.



Phoenix had always disliked the smog of the train station. The noise and the crowds never did much for him, either, dotted every few feet with the quiet rumblings of meetings and partings; tangles of fingers and other limbs crashing into each or being forcefully wrenched apart. With as uncharitable his feelings towards the whole of it, it was slightly disheartening to find himself here so often, and he found that he only wound up resenting it more with each subsequent visit.

“Pretty fast five days, huh?” Maya asked, adjusting the strap of her carry-on bag. “They really need me back there, though.”

Has it really been five days? It seemed off no matter how he considered it. He wasn't sure if it actually felt like Maya had only been here for five minutes or for five years—but either way, he thought, looking at the waiting train, it would have been nice to have five more.

“It feels like you just got here,” he said, feeling for all the world like a petulant child.

“I know. You can't do a thing if I'm not here to keep an eye on you.” She gave her usual smile, but Phoenix thought—maybe he was projecting—he could see a hint of something bittersweet along its edges. “Next time I get a couple of days free, I'll be right back.”

“Sure thing.”

“I'll give you a call when I make it there,” Maya said, as the attendants loaded her things—mostly newly purchased Steel Samurai merchandise, yet another month-long deficit she had insisted she needed to compensate for—onto the train. “Just so you don't lose any sleep worrying about me, Nick.”

What do you think I am, a mother hen?

“I'll bring Pearly next time, okay?” Maya promised. “She's really been wanting to see you again, too.”

“She's not the only one,” Phoenix said.

Maya bent a little closer, cupping her hands in a parody of a conspiratory whisper. “Though, I'd better give you fair warning. it's like she's taller and taller every time I turn around. You're going to have to help me chase off all of her suitors, Nick—they're going to be coming in packs...”

He must have betrayed the odd stab of discomfort at that notion somehow, because Maya let loose a delighted sort of cackle as she straightened into her normal posture.

He felt a little stupid having to ask, as though he couldn't function without knowing. “So do you know how long this time...”

“Hmm,” Maya said, thinking, chin tilted upwards toward the sky. “It's hard to say. It depends.”

Depends on what, exactly?

But she didn't seem particularly inclined to fill him in on the details. Phoenix handed over her last bag, and she balanced on the edge of the platform a moment longer before stepping up to board herself. The door shut behind her, and Phoenix was about to start walking back when her face suddenly appeared in one of the windows near him. She stuck her tongue out.

The whistle blew, signaling its time for departure. He watched her wave at him from the window until he lost view of her face, and then the entire train as it sped towards it destination.



So he was here now by himself.

He hadn't bothered to open the office this morning at all; rather, after seeing Maya off, he'd sulked rather impressively back to his apartment where he spent most of the day dividing his attention between the blank expanse of the ceiling, the blank expanse of the wall, and the blank expanse of the television screen. He and Maya had managed to clean up the last of the paperwork the night before it was time for her to leave, and he didn't feel particularly enthused about dealing with a new client, especially with her absence. It always took him at least a few days to shake off that particular fog, weighing heavily around his shoulders, in the immediate aftermath of her departure.

Charged with overseeing a village, huh.

That was jarring to think about. No matter how he tried, he couldn't quite get his ideas of 'Maya' and 'village overseer'--basically a softer version of 'government official', really—to line up. It was a little easier to scorn the reason his apartment was barren of her cheerful presence if it was an inherent paradox.

But even when Maya was with him, he had to admit that there were discrepancies, small cracks in the usual picture of Wright and Co.'s operations, even if he tried to turn a blind eye. Especially in the last few days when they had actually managed to set about working at a relatively steady pace, the sound of Maya's cellphone firing, and the subsequent sound of her voice talking about things like 'disciplinary action' or 'training regiment' or even 'budget balancing', became more and more common. Even more disconcerting was the low, somewhat weary edge with which she spoke, that he was accustomed to hearing from Edgeworth—but never from his assistant. Whatever Maya had to say about the workings of Kurain and the charming quirks of the acolytes that trained there, he was hard-pressed to find a way to sell himself on the idea that she was enjoying her newfound duties.

But I guess it wasn't really her choice. Kind of harsh, being born into such huge responsibility—I guess Edgeworth would understand what that's like a little bit better than I would. I don't imagine von Karma gave him much free choice in his career, either.

But we all had our reasons for becoming the things we did...

He tilted his attorney's badge, cool and light between his fingers, so that the sheen of the light hit it at that certain angle that highlighted the symbol of the court engraved into the center.

The truth was that he had never really thought about it. It had seemed like the obvious decision to make at the time—after months of unanswered letters and phone calls, the question of whether entering law was something he wanted to do was irrelevant.

He always did have a strange habit of disappearing from my watch.

Phoenix knew better than to put much stock in the reliability of his own memory. Varying case details swept in and out easily, usually, he figured, for the benefit of his own sanity—but there were the moments and images that stayed with him, even through the mundane passage of years and decades. Maya's tear-stained face and outstretched hands, not quite willing to touch Mia's body. Dollie's fury on the witness stand as she was exposed as a killer. And a single empty desk from fourth grade, followed by another, identical in all the ways that mattered—this time left at the prosecutor's office, leaving him with a hollow emptiness in his chest and a meaningless chunk of metal decorating his lapel.

The same feeling from back then resurfaced like a flood if he considered the possibility that Edgeworth might eventually take off again. To Europe, or anywhere else.

That won't happen.

With a sense of distant surprise, Phoenix realized it was the assumption that Edgeworth would be back that had allowed him to smile and wave as Edgeworth left shortly after the Engarde trial, and then again after Diego Armando had been tried and sentenced.

But telling himself 'he'd be back someday' didn't do anything to assauge the unease that came with the hypothetical now.

He wasn't sure when it had stopped being enough. Maybe after they had talked in his office—or a month earlier when Edgeworth had met his eyes and said ‘yes’ to a friendly dinner...

Phoenix closed his fingers around his badge. The beer stain next to the chair from last week stared up him—his attempts at scrubbing it away had proven fruitless.

We really have been through a lot together... saving Maya and Iris, exposing Gant... but it's always worked out because we were both there, hasn't it? He knows that, too.

Even yelling at each other in an office, Phoenix noted. That had been new.

But even that that had turned out all right. Because we were both...

Phoenix blinked, abruptly jerked out of his own stream of consciousness. It was Tuesday.

He still hasn't called.

His watch, reliable as always, informed him that it was slightly past noon.

It can't be that hard to find a decent restaurant, can it?

Then again, it was Edgeworth.

There was a sudden icy stab Phoenix felt all the way to the blackest depths of his bank account and possibly beyond.

Should I call him? I could name about five good, affordable places off the top of my head...

Then again, it was Edgeworth.

Financial anxiety aside, a strange tightness rose in his throat; he shifted position awkwardly in the chair in a vague attempt to eliminate it. That still wasn't any reason for the other man not to call. When Edgeworth promised something, he always put his utmost effort to keep his word. Even back when Phoenix had asked him to defend Iris, when it had been obvious he felt uncomfortable doing it.

The memory suddenly gave way to another—the way Edgeworth had affixed his eyes to the gravy-stained scroll, so pale he'd almost gleamed luminescent in the cave's scanty light. And then afterwards when they had lit, this time with panic, as Phoenix faced him in the courtyard, before nearly stumbling in his haste to make a retreat towards the men combing the place for clues.

It was a completely different story when Edgeworth was afraid.

But why would he...

The same reason he had taken over half an hour to rejoin Phoenix outside of the courthouse the first time they had eaten together.

Phoenix's head fell back over the chair's headrest, staring at the ceiling.

Same old, prideful Edgeworth.

And with that—distantly, and almost comically, he realized he must have seen it coming—the familiar hitch in the back of his mind, like the spark from a malfunctioning wire, told him he wasn't being completely honest with himself, whether or not he chose to admit it from there.

It was really hard for you, wasn't it.

How long has it been this way?

Edgeworth had turned his head to the side, looking at him with a smile that was mingled with the unmistakable traces of a faint grimace.

Partner.

The badge fell from his hands, skittering dangerously against the chair's armrest for a few seconds before slipping off to bounce twice along the floor. Phoenix ignored it; he was too busy leaning forward to dig through the pockets of his discarded jacket for his cell phone.

When his search turned up nothing but lint—he must have left it in his room—he stood and headed for the landline anchored in the kitchen. The feel of the cool plastic against his skin was oddly jarring.

What am I doing?

Thursday was still a few days off. He was being downright paranoid, not to mention presumptuous. He stared down at the phone, resting benignly in the palm of his hand.

You'd think that fifteen years of running would be enough. For both of us.

He dialed.

The phone rang several times, and Phoenix wondered, tongue wedged nervously between his teeth and knuckles rapping against the counter, if this would be the day he would finally hear Edgeworth's voice mail message for the first time. Then there was a click on the other line that told him that wouldn't be the case, but when the other man's voice filtered through, he seemed to be completing a rather harsh thought aimed at someone else entirely. “...bother coming in if you're not going to work—”

In spite of the agitated edge to his voice, hearing the prosecutor's voice against his ear seemed to solidify the ground beneath Phoenix's feet, just a little. “Edgeworth?”

In answer to his prompt, the sound abruptly became muffled, enough so that although Phoenix could hear more conversation on the other end, he couldn't make out what was actually being said. A moment later Edgeworth spoke more clearly—presumably he had dismissed whatever company he had been entertaining and stopped blocking the receiver with his hand. He didn't bother with any greetings.

“What is it, Wright?”

“Hey,” Phoenix said. “Sorry. I was just... checking in.”

Pause. “...Checking in?”

“Yeah. You know, seeing how the, uh, arrangements were...” He honestly had planned on just asking about his availability after dinner on Thursday, but heard—and felt—himself fall short of actually doing so; tumbling into a familiar abyss of hesitant, searching silence.

“Actually...” He fidgeted with the edge of his collar with an index finger, frowning. “I wanted to ask if you were free.”

“I don't know yet, Wright,” Edgeworth said, slowly—testing invisible waters with each syllable. “I'll let you know on Wednesday how things stand. This week has been...”

“No, no,” Phoenix hastily clarified. “I meant now. Do you have some free time now?”

There was a short pause, then, somewhat incredulous: "What?"

“Do you have some free time now?” he repeated.

When Edgeworth spoke, he sounded fairly convinced that Phoenix had been struck with some kind of mental illness. “Wright, you can't seriously expect me to just drop what I'm doing and...”

“Sorry,” Phoenix said quickly. He suddenly found himself wishing he had paid more attention when covering improvisation skills in his old theatre classes. “I didn't mean—now, as in now. Today. At some point. In the near future.” He hesitated. “If you're free.”

Pause.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah.”

Pause.

“I suppose I can wrap things up for the day within about three hours.” Cautiously: “...Where did you want to go?”

Yet another snag. “I, uh—actually didn't have anything specific in mind.” For once, though, it was fairly easy to come up with a proposal on the spot. “What about dinner?”

Pause.

“I haven't made any reservations for today,” Edgeworth answered shortly.

We don't need a reservation to find a place to eat, Phoenix thought, but something about the slightly flattened tone of Edgeworth's voice told him that for some reason, the prosecutor wasn't particularly taken by the idea of dinner tonight.

Then what is he interested in?

“What about a play?” he suggested. “Like we talked about?”

“No, that's not going to work, either.” Edgeworth spoke with such certainty as to be suspect. “There's nothing worthwhile showing today that's not already sold out.”

Is he trying to be difficult? On further consideration, Phoenix revised that thought. Does he ever not try to be difficult?

“All right... then are there any places you like going? I don't know...” Phoenix floundered. “Things you like to do?”

“I...” Edgeworth trailed off, voice descending into an odd hum. It was like hearing the other man's puzzled concentration made manifest.

Phoenix bit back the sudden urge to laugh at the sheer absurdity of their predicament. Do you do anything for fun? He paused, then rubbed his temples with a grimace. Actually, come to think of it, do I?

Not wanting to dwell on his own lack of a social life more than he had to, he noticed that Edgeworth's contemplative hum had fallen into an odd, sullen sort of silence. “Edgeworth?”

“Sometimes,” Edgeworth offered, tentative, “I golf.”

For a long moment, neither of them said anything.

“I haven't bowled in years,” Phoenix noted, offhand.

“I've never bowled,” Edgeworth said, voice smart with annoyance, “At all.”

You don't sound particularly eager to start, either. Phoenix stuck a finger through his blinds for a better glance outside, and nearly jerked them back as the patch of sunlight burst through. If he angled his head the right way, he could make out the shape of Wright and Co. Offices, though it was still mostly obscured by the Gatewater Hotel—beyond the nearby park, dotted with children flying kites and a few couples pressed against each other on the benches.

“Look, Wright,” Edgeworth finally said, voice stern, “I appreciate the offer, but I can't afford to waste any more time chattering about nothing on the phone when I have cases to deal with.” He hesitated, then added, somewhat softer, “But on Thursday...”

“The park,” Phoenix blurted out, cutting him off.

Edgeworth was startled. “What?”

“Park. The park. Meet me there.” The words came out haltingly; he was only half-aware of them before they came spilling haphazardly from his mouth. But he had a feeling that if he stopped to think, he probably wouldn't manage to get them out all.

There was a short stretch of silence on the other end.

“Which park?” Edgeworth asked, with the slow, slightly disbelieving lull that Phoenix tended to associate with the prosecutor's interactions with Detective Gumshoe.

Which park? Phoenix registered, simultaneous with Detective Gumshoe.

“Uh,” a momentary fumble, then, nearly incoherent: “Exposé.”

“...Exposé?” Edgeworth repeated. It was obviously unfamiliar to him.

“Yeah. The place with... you know, where Maggey got into trouble that one time.” He realized two seconds too late that Edgeworth had been missing when that particular incident had taken place, but Edgeworth was already ahead of him.

“Wright, I haven't a clue what you're--”

Phoenix grit his teeth. “I'll see you there, okay?”

He hung up the phone. The receiver came very close to sliding right back off its hook; he reached back a second time to steady it before it could fall.

I have absolutely no idea what just happened.

It occurred to him that he could have just invited him here if it was for the park. That probably would have been several times more convenient. But he lacked both the nerve and the energy to call Edgeworth back after that spectacular display. Crash and burn would probably be a more accurate way to put it.

The phone safely secured, he exhaled deeply. There was no point in dwelling on it now that it was done.

He just had to find a way to kill a couple of hours.



The evening was cooler than Phoenix thought it would be. It's still August, he thought. Still summer. You'd think the chill could at least hold off for another month or two...

He felt a little stupid—he hadn't considered the size of the park, and had no real arranged meeting spot with Edgeworth, so he found himself wandering aimlessly for the first several minutes, eventually lingering in the general area near the parking lot. He was tempted to sit down on one of the benches—but then he might have a harder time seeing me...

He blew into his hands for warmth, casting another glance at his surroundings. The grass was browning in several places from neglect; weeds dotted the ground; he could hear the sound of birds—and occasionally children, he noted, as a boy managed to slip off the branch of a nearby tree and began screaming for his mother—as evening approached.

He checked his watch again, for what felt like the tenth time in the span of ten minutes. It was past seven, and no still no sign of Edgeworth.

It crashed around him, the insanity of all of this, that he had been valiantly holding at bay through the span of a phone call and two hours of watching thought-numbing television specials.

What am I doing? Of course he's not showing up. I probably wouldn't, either.

All he'd managed to do was make an idiot of himself and, by all indications, convince Edgeworth that he had lost his mind.

Dazed and feeling slightly sick with epiphany, Phoenix dug in his pockets for his wallet. Do I have money for a return taxi?

He didn't have time to find out; the moment his fingers came in contact with coarse leather, a flash of pink drew his attention from the corner of his eye—his head jerked up so quickly that his bones gave an uncomfortable pop in protest. The pink was complemented by a head of greyish hair and the unmistakable sight of ruffles tucked at the base of a man's neck.

Edgeworth's eyes met his, and the prosecutor began to change direction. Then he seemed to pivot strangely, as though catching his own action a second too late. Phoenix didn't give him a chance to decide if he'd rather stay or turn and leave—he closed the distance between them as quickly as he could without breaking into an outright sprint.

As he approached, his arm began to raise automatically—what, to shake his hand?--and he did his best to cover up the momentary, and rather embarrassing, disorientation that followed by turning the motion into a short, awkward wave. Thankfully, Edgeworth didn't seem to notice.

"Hey," Phoenix greeted.

Edgeworth nodded curtly. Both of his hands were tucked into the pockets of his trenchcoat.

"Where did you park?"

"I didn't," he answered. "As it turns out, my apartment isn't far from here." In spite of the apparent convenience, he ended the statement on a sour note and a pointed glare; Phoenix had to keep himself from visibly wincing.

“Well,” he said, lamely, “I knew that.”

Edgeworth shot him a shrewd look that told him in no uncertain terms that they were both in on his obvious—and rather pathetic—lie.

“By the way, Maya went home,” Phoenix said, flushing briefly and fumbling for a change the subject. “Back to Kurain. The village needs her there most of the time, so...”

“Yes,” Edgeworth said. “I assumed.”

“She wanted to see you again before she took off,” Phoenix continued, “But the way things went...”

Edgeworth shifted somewhat uncomfortably; neither of them had to verbally acknowledge that the incompatibility of their schedules was laid mostly of the feet of his frenzy of case work after the incident last Thursday.

Phoenix mentally hit himself. That was an effective way to kill any chance at natural conversation.

They stood there, faces angled conspicuously downwards, towards each others' shoes. In the background, Phoenix could hear the shrill laughter of a young boy chasing his dog, clutching a frisbee high above his head.

Now what?

He was pretty sure the thing that was usually done in parks was walking—an activity that Phoenix felt reasonably confident in his ability to perform. He chose a random direction, and then stopped to glance over his shoulder. Edgeworth was hanging back, expression forcibly neutral—but the subtle line of tension against his jaw gave him away. When their eyes met, and Phoenix gave a small jerk of his head to the side, Edgeworth moved forward alongside him.

If you're asking me what I have planned, I don't know, either.

He found himself wondering again why Edgeworth had turned down dinner; now that it wasn't tense with the anxiety of waiting, his own stomach gave a rather displeased rumble. At the park by his office, there were at least hot dog stands dotting the area, but a few minutes of searching only turned up a rather shabby place that offered overpriced beverages. It looked like the kind of station Phoenix remembered his high school offering to the patrons of its football games.

Phoenix turned his head, making a vague gesture towards the stand. “You want anything?”

Edgeworth shook his head. “I'm fine.”

He felt an irrational clench of irritation. Would it kill him to just humor me, for once?

“Well,” he said. “I do. I'll be back in a second.”

The vendor was a bleary-eyed teenager, and based on what he had already seen Phoenix could only guess at what kind of customers he was used to entertaining at this place. He hoped he presented a comparatively ordinary figure in contrast.

“Have anything warm?”

The vendor gave a quick glance to the menu posted above him. “Coffee,” he said. “And cocoa. Apple cider. Packets, not homemade.”

“That's fine,” Phoenix said. “Two coffees.”

As he totaled up the bill, Phoenix counted out the change in his wallet. It turned out that the output was even more depressing than he'd originally feared--and no amount of scraping at the bottom of the leather pouch managed to procure any more coins.

Urk.

“Make that one coffee and one water,” he amended, face burning. The vendor shrugged and switched the order with a deftness that suggested to Phoenix that a customer deciding against accepting a proffered hot drink was probably to his advantage.

A beverage in each hand, he returned to where Edgeworth was waiting. He shifted his hold on the bottle of water, and held out the aluminum can towards him.

“Here.”

“Wright--” Edgeworth began.

“Don't worry about it,” Phoenix said, shortly. “My treat.”

“Wright, I said...”

Phoenix tilted his head in the direction of a nearby garbage can. “If you don't drink it, it's going to waste.” At that, Edgeworth took it, with a final exasperated shake of the head. Phoenix watched him throw back a swallow. At the very least, he wasn't spitting it back out, so that was a relatively good sign.

“Warming,” Edgeworth allowed.

I wish I could say the same. But it wouldn't do much good to complain, after he had practically forced it on him.

They stood there for a minute, containers in opposite hands, sipping occasionally and observing a line of clouds above their heads. A familiar knot tightened in Phoenix's chest once again; the strange pull of obligation to do or say something. Even if he had no idea what.

Right. I guess there's always more walking...

It wasn't what anyone would describe as the ideal version of a leisurely stroll. On a relatively fresh patch of grass, an exhausted-looking mother was futilely attempting to control her rowdy children long enough to have something resembling a picnic. They had to swerve to avoid several packs of drunkards.

Phoenix gave a sympathetic wince as a well-meaning elderly man's aim went slightly askew, causing some of the birds to squawk in pain and shake the assaulting seeds from their feathers. He knew exactly how hard those things could hit.

Edgeworth was studying his expression. “What's the matter?”

“Bad memories of a case, is all,” Phoenix said. Just be glad you weren't there. He found it surprisingly easy to imagine Edgeworth's expression at being confronted with the likes of the head chef of Tres Bien. Somehow, he sincerely doubted that the High Prosecutor would have been able to maintain his composure as well as Diego Armando had managed.

They passed several more minor distractions—a girl fooling around with an array of hats, several squirrels running for their lives, a young man warbling painfully on what looked like an old guitar worn with age and overuse—but nothing that prompted any more snatches of conversation. Phoenix felt a brief burst of irrational annoyance that the residents of the park weren't making things any easier for him, either.

Phoenix glanced at Edgeworth to gauge his mood. The other man was staring straight ahead at nothing in particular. Although he didn't seem to be loathing the experience as much as Phoenix had feared, it still wasn’t very comforting to see him focusing on something Phoenix couldn’t, probably miles away.

His thoughts cut off with a loud and slightly painful clunk as he felt his feet collide metal; he blinked and readjusted his line of sight to what was in front of him. His hands were pressed against rusted guard rails, overlooking, directly below, a phone booth and an ancient clock, and somewhat further than that the outstretchings of a beach, leading into a surprisingly pristine view of the nearby lake.

I guess there had to be some reason this park is still around, asides from serving as a resting ground for the homeless.

Edgeworth moved next to him, forearms propped against the railing, taking in the sight as well. Phoenix turned his head slightly to look at him more closely; it was a strange paradox, seeing the prosecutor framed against such a serene, natural backdrop. He seemed oddly out of place—the very idea of Edgeworth relaxing at a picturesque beach seemed downright bizarre—and yet, at the same time, Phoenix found himself wishing that it was something he had been able to witness much earlier.

It was a comfortable silence. There was nothing in particular that signified the shift, but Phoenix felt his shoulders relax and the water settling a little less frigid in his stomach.

“I heard you're taking on a lot of cases.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Edgeworth allowed. “But there were a lot of cases to be taken.”

They hadn’t even been assigned yet, Phoenix thought. He held his tongue; if even obliquely mentioning the toll it had taken on Edgeworth’s already non-existent leisure time had killed the earlier conversation, Phoenix could only imagine what discussing the reason behind his sudden flurry of activity would do.

“It's hard for me to imagine—must be pretty tough...” Phoenix said instead. That was the understatement of the century; whenever he thought about the logistics of what Edgeworth seemed to consider a standard workload, his head throbbed. I barely take four cases a year on average, let alone seven at once...

“It's nothing I can't handle,” Edgeworth replied. He paused, frowning slightly, and then continued. “And it's not like the workload is carried by myself alone. It's the forensics team and the other investigators that perform most of the difficult tasks. At best, for most of the time invested into any single case, a prosecutor just functions as an overseer. The cogs of a bureaucratic establishment can't really be compared to the responsibilities of an independent attorney.” A thin smile flickered over his lips. “That's something I learned rather keenly about a year and a half ago.”

But you did fine, Phoenix thought; there was an unfamiliar, alien sort of tightness within his chest, recalling the memory of watching the newsfeed of Edgeworth standing in his place, attorney's badge on his lapel as though it had never belonged anywhere else. More than fine. I can't even imagine how things would have turned out if you hadn't been there...

“At any rate,” Edgeworth said, eyes falling to a particularly conspicuous indent in the sand, “One of them was just wrapped up today, at trial.”

“So you were prosecuting?”

Edgeworth shot him a scathing look.

Uh, right. “So how did it go?”

“It was all right,” Edgeworth said. "It was standard procedure, more or less. Though this may be difficult for you to fathom, the courtroom does usually hold some level of sanity in its conduct when you aren't present.”

How many times to have to keep telling people that that isn't my fault?

Edgeworth took a sip of his coffee. “Lana was on the defense. This was our first time facing each other, as a matter of fact.”

That would have been something to see. He must have been pretty nervous, though. “So... did you win?”

“No,” Edgeworth answered, voice level. “I didn't.”

“Oh,” Phoenix said.

For a minute or two, the same quiet fell upon them again.

Phoenix stole a sidelong glance. The breeze was tugging at the ends of Edgeworth's loose hair—making his bangs tumble over themselves in uneven clumps. He didn't seem to mind, although the uncharacteristically ruffled appearance made it look like the prosecutor had just woken up and rolled out of bed.

“What are you smiling about?” Edgeworth asked, a touch irritably.

“Nothing,” Phoenix said.

Edgeworth snorted.

The sunset swirled amidst the clouds, striking them alight with vivid color and reflecting unevenly off of the distant surface of the water.

"It's a nice view," Phoenix noted.

"Mm," Edgeworth agreed.

“Can't imagine it really compares to the sights and sounds of Europe, though.”

“I wouldn't say that,” Edgeworth said, shaking his head. He still seemed lost amidst the depths of the lake. “This is...” He considered, gazing out into the waves. “It's nice,” he finished a bit helplessly, echoing Phoenix.

Phoenix had never even been in a plane. Or out of state, come to think of it. The most experience he had with anything overseas were limited to glimpses of television dramas, and the specialized foods he tried now and then on his days off when he was feeling relatively adventurous.

“You must have seen a lot of things.”

“Hmm, how should I put it,” Edgeworth said. “Most of my time is taken up with work, of course, but... yes, I did try and see what I could as long as I was in the area.”

“So what kind of things?” Phoenix tried to imagine what he thought would capture Edgeworth's attention the most, prosecuting duties aside; it depressed him slightly when the first thing that popped into mind was still a courthouse. No, maybe a museum... old libraries. Something dusty that would give any sane person a splitting headache.

“The historical sites,” Edgeworth said, “were fairly interesting. After a while the castles just start bleeding together... but it is a rather different experience to stand somewhere where some of the most critical events in history have taken place. But the natural sights were fairly impressive, too. And the foreign experience isn't just limited to that, of course. Eating different kinds of foods, hearing the music... being plunged into a different culture is something that engages the full range of a person's senses.”

“Yeah...”

In other words, of course a run-down park in the city can't compare.

Edgeworth caught his gaze out of the corner of his eye. The warmth of the fading sunlight met the cool grey of his eyes.

It opposed all common sense, but for that second Phoenix thought he might really be able to believe that Edgeworth would rather be here, with dying grass beneath his feet and cheap coffee in his right hand, surrounded by shrieking children and senile old men, than any of those other places with all of the luxuries they had to offer.

Phoenix found that he felt the same way.

Because...

“Can I assume you've been here before?” Edgeworth asked.

“Nah.” Phoenix shook his head. “When I was in the mood for parks, there was the one by my offices.”

“The 'mood for parks'? You?” Edgeworth raised both of his eyebrows. “In other words, that would be...”

The couple of times I locked myself out of the office, Phoenix thought, but he wasn't about to voice that particular confession aloud. There was a hint of a wry, knowing quirk to Edgeworth's lips anyway, and Phoenix quickly set about finishing off the contents of his water bottle.

Edgeworth's head drooped abruptly; a second later his shoulders began to tremble violently. Phoenix turned towards him, alarmed, before realizing that he was shaking with suppressed laughter. Phoenix stared, and then felt it bubbling in his own throat, inexplicable and slightly insane.

Why fight it?

The sound of their conjoined mirth was enough to draw a few stares, but by that point Phoenix was too consumed to care. He found himself blinking back tears from the force of it.

Edgeworth fell quiet first, shaking his head. His hair once again fell unnaturally against his head, supported by the wind; lopsided to the right side of his face. Ignoring it, he crushed the empty coffee can in his hand and gazed down at the crumpled tin. It glowed a faint gold under the light of the sunset, illuminating Edgeworth's features, the curve of his face, just that little bit more.

“Hopeless,” Edgeworth murmured.

I know, Phoenix thought. His fingers closed slowly against his palms; he unclenched them again after a long moment. It did nothing to ease the odd, unnatural feeling of weightlessness just beneath his skin. I know.



“I'll walk you back,” Phoenix offered. “You said it wasn't far, right?”

Edgeworth pursed his lips, expression caught between vague irritation and something else Phoenix wasn't able to define, but he didn't protest. He picked a direction—the opposite side from the parking lot, Phoenix observed—and started walking. As they made their way through the city blocks, a few of the surrounding street lamps began to light around them.

He lives pretty close to the Prosecutor's Office, Phoenix noted.

Edgeworth slowed to a stop outside a sleek apartment complex. It was considerably more impressive than the hovel Phoenix lived in, but that wasn't anything he hadn't already expected. He hesitated half a step when they approached the building entrance, but something pushed him forward to continue alongside him, up the three flights of stairs where Edgeworth's actual living quarters waited.

Edgeworth pulled out his keys, moving forward. Phoenix stepped aside.

“I had a good time,” Phoenix said. “Thanks.”

“A good time of doing nothing?” Edgeworth asked, skeptically. But muted warmth was coloring his eyes—maybe lingering remnants of the sunset, long gone from the sky itself.

“Yeah,” Phoenix answered. A part of him was surprised at how easily it came. “A really good time.”

Edgeworth glanced back at him, then turned his attention back to unlocking the door. Even the jangle of keys seemed terse; Phoenix couldn't help but think that the sheer amount of effort Edgeworth seemed to be taking to turn the key into the lock was rather unusual. But eventually, the door gave way. Edgeworth took an automatic step forward, and lingered awkwardly in the thin boundary between his home and the world outside.

Edgeworth's eyes were still distant, lost amidst some new uncertainty. Finally, he seemed to settle on an unseen decision, and nodded to Phoenix.

“Well, then,” Edgeworth said, hand still on the doorknob. “Goodnight.”

Phoenix nodded. Raised a hand in farewell, and began to move to leave.

Edgeworth turned away, leaving only the frame of his back facing him. The familiar sight jarred something within Phoenix, making him stop.

Whether it was impulse, decision, or some strange amalgam of both, Phoenix had no idea. The wave shifted into an awkward fumble for Edgeworth's sleeve, somehow managing to get a decent grip on his forearm to pull him forward. It was clumsy, uncoordinated; their noses came dangerously close to colliding against each other. Edgeworth managed half of a surprised sound.

But Edgeworth's eyes still widened as Phoenix felt his own fall shut. Edgeworth’s lips were warm, stark in contrast to the chill of the descending evening, even stiff and unmoving against Phoenix's own.

After a long moment, he pulled away, breathing heavily. A faint mist lit the air between them. Edgeworth was still staring. He seemed frozen to the spot, as though unable to process what had just happened.

"Goodnight," Phoenix answered. There was a giddy, fluttering sort of thrill twisting in impossible knots amidst his chest, maybe in time, he thought dazedly, with the beating of his heart.

He turned and began to make his way back. The last he saw of Edgeworth, the prosecutor was still left standing in his doorway, struck into dumbfounded silence.

---

*Happy Dance*

That is all.

XD

---

I'll second that.

---

I liked it. I said last time I commented here that I enjoy the way you did this, that unlike most P/E it doesn't make me squick.

I think I figured out why: It comes naturally here, It's not like they're suddenly having startling realizations that they are the gay for each other, it's a far more emotional relationship (which it would have to be, Phoenix is not sexually attracted to any of the men in the games) and it's done very, very well.

---

*pull Object 'n Say*

The. Fangirl. Says. "Squeeeeeee!"

I'll have to echo everyone's kudos for you. The way the story flows is absolutely awe-inspiring.

---

I was having such a bad week, but for a moment this story made me forget it entirely. Thank you for the beautiful distraction from life!

I'm sure everyone and their dog is going to be gushing over the kiss (and rightfully so!), so I'll just address this detail instead:



I see the look on Nick's face in my head and it is hilarous. Poor guy. I can't wait until Pearl comes into the story. I'm especially interested to see how she'll react to Nick's newfound relationship, especially in light of her diehard "Phoenix/Maya forever!!!" mentality.

---

HOW PRODUCTIVE ARE YOU?!!!!!!!!!

BRB

Edit: UNELOQUENT WALL OF TEXT INCOMING
How you manage to fit in such characterisation is beyond me every single chapter. I was quite worried about Phoenix Wright - Peaceful Co-Existence merging into Phoenix Wright - Brutal Mansex With The Occasional Peck On The Cheek, but in retrospect - it seemed to seamlessly connect. And once there's romance, you don't neglect the rest either. This opens the story to many different clienteles; shippers, PW fans and supporters of good literature alike. Fantastic job.

I enjoy your high respect for the characters' individual life. Once again, Maya still knows Pearl although she hasn't played a major role in the story yet. She's still her cousin and all, and blocking her out of the picture until needed would be wrong - and you build in all these references... to events that happened in PW, of course, but even more so, events taken place in this story. Many more complicated stories published chapter by chapter make the mistake of just going on and on lining up events without building up a really complex scenario, planning intrigues etc. ... but truthfully - it's a damn hard thing. You've never failed to leave me guessing till something actually took place, however. You had me sketching down the case of chapter one in my mind, you had me sitting back and smiling yet unable to guess the conclusion in chapter two, you had me on the edge of my chair all the way through chapter three. Chapter four is no disappointment. It seemed so different, but I believe it's the progress that the characters undergo. There were new touches to the characterisation, new approaches to storytelling, flexibility in interaction. Their walk was one of the most intriguing scenes actually, because you could read so much from it. All the bits Phoenix sensitively picked up around him, the coolness he forced upon himself, the ambigious "Hopeless", and yet - what is this madness between a teenage crush and serious adult business? I keep hiding my face in my hands. It's gorgeous.

I had a hearty laugh right at the start, by the way. :) The "smell of pine" reminded me of Spektor's "Buildings", think that wasn't intended though...
I've had to try - boy does she have to throw her neck back! XD It gives me the most hilarious image, really. WHOOSH

Also...

I'd buy the world for you, Miles,...argh my wallet's empty

Thanks as always for all the wonderful feedback, guys. We were genuinely really wringing our hands about the transition into romance, so it's really great to hear that it worked. <3

Chapter Six is going to be a little different from the others; it's kind of lining up to be a transition chapter of sorts. But we're just really relieved to be pretty much done with the beginning. Finally.

---

HOLD THE PHONE. I THINK WE HAVE A NEW TITLE FOR THIS FIC.

Thank you as always, Ethed. Really, that's our biggest thing with this fic--we wanted it to be the sort of thing you can enjoy even when you don't ship P/E. Getting feedback from you, and MoogleGunner, in that regard is incredibly heartening.

Officer 1BDI, my lips are painfully sealed. It seems like everything I want to say comes out a spoiler, but I hope you enjoy where the fic goes in that respect. (Is that vague enough? XD )

---

I think I've just fell in love... with this story. Maybe it sounds exaggereted... but I don't mind xD.

And I completely agree with MoogleGunner. They're not like "OMG, we're gay let's have mansex". It's a real romance story and I must say that you handle their relationship in a very realistic way.

Great work, as always :).

---

I have to say that while I am a fan of the aforementioned brutalmansex!P/E because, well, it's hawt. I do think that the beginning of their relationship should be a slow burn, and very, very awkward.

I think you two are doing an excellent job of easing them in slowly.

I am really hoping that we get to see more of Maya, and how she is adapting to her new position -- and really, how that affects her relationship with Phoenix. The way this has been handled so far has been very interesting.

Oh, and Pearl. I can't remember who said it, but I also am looking forward to seeing how she might handle P/E's relationship. And poor Phoenix, his girls are growing up and he just can't seem to handle it :)

Great job you two <3

Thirded. If I had the authority of KM, I think that's all I'd post. You just know her one-liners say a hundred paragraphs. ;_;


You mean you fooled us with all that kissing action? No more PxE?

THE NEW YORK TIMES MUST KNOW ABOUT THIS

BRB

Edit: Back. They laughed and said it was planned to be the Most Interesting And Slightly Erotic Memoirs of Dick Gumshoe from the start. Rats.

Last edited by Ethed on Tue Dec 04, 2007 11:29 pm, edited 1 time in total.

OH GOD, THEY FOUND US OUT, THE JIG IS UP. D:

(In seriousness, no, I meant more in terms of uh... structure, and tone, a little bit? I'll stop now before I start shooting off my mouth instead of, you know, actually writing and musouka comes to beat me.)

RADIO EDIT: Thank you for the comments, Elriel and commonlogic...! We do have plans for the Feys, though not all of them will come to fruition immediately. Hope you enjoy what we have in store for them as well as P and E. :D

---

If you don't get back to writing so we can all have more chapters to read over Xmas, we'll *all* find you out and come to beat you.

:-)

---

I even gave Gumshoe's memoirs a title (actually, editing once was to make the "Edit:" more authentic..fail) Let the horrors commence :(
Oh talk on my dear, have this veritaseru-- I mean aniseed (such a common slip) cookie and go ahead. Nom nom.


But on a more serious note: I'm looking forward to the next chapter. You two seem to be constantly writing, the gap between chapter four and five was tiny yet the new chapter lived up to all expectations. You know I respect you a lot already, but that's just - wow.

Seconded! ;)

... having a title for Gumshoe's memoirs is really interesting. Now I am curious to listen about it.
*puppy eyes*

---

(Sorry, just a side story! We are working hard on chapter six, though!)




Phoenix had long since lost track of what Miles was actually talking about.

Phoenix sat on the red brick wall outside the front elementary school, swinging his legs and letting his heels hit the bricks. He carefully avoided touching the jacket to his left where it lay neatly folded on the wall. Every so often he nodded encouragingly when the other boy paused in his speech. Beside Phoenix his other best friend, Larry, shifted irritably, but even he knew there was no stopping Miles once the subject of law was broached.

And Miles was in fine form today. The nine-year-old paced and gestured to his audience of two as other kids rushed past to meet their parents in the circular drop-off-pick-up point. It had rained the previous night, so his path curved as he walked to avoid the puddles of water still on the ground.

“Are you nervous?” Phoenix asked when Miles stopped for breath. This seemed to throw him off; he paused, adjusted his reddish-pink tie and looked down at his dress shirt before continuing.

“A little,” he admitted, shifting from one foot to the other awkwardly. “I’ve been in the courthouse before, and I’ve seen my dad on TV, but this is my first time attending a trial.”

“What if you get bored?” Larry said, hands crossed behind his head. Talking to Miles was infinitely more interesting than being lectured by Miles, so keeping the conversation going was in his best interest.

“I won’t.” Miles looked scandalized by the mere possibility.

“I wish I could go,” Phoenix offered. He did wish he could go. The way Miles talked about trials and law and court made it sound better than a day at an amusement park. Even if it did seem as though you had to get dressed up in your Sunday best to attend a one.

“Maybe next time,” Miles said. “I’ll ask my dad.”

“What kind of trial is it?” Larry asked, leaning forward from his perch on the wall.

“It’s a robbery,” Miles replied, walking closer to his friends, still carefully avoiding puddles. He paused where the expanse of concrete met the muddy grass.

“Did the guy do it?”

“Of course not!” Miles’s answer burst from his mouth right as Larry finished the question. “My dad wouldn’t defend a guilty person!”

Larry opened his mouth to say something else. But before he could get the words out, Miles suddenly hurtled forward. Like a scene in sickening slow motion, he threw his arms out to keep his balance.

It was futile. His foot caught on the edge of the concrete, and he fell onto the mud heavily on his right side. The palm of his hand left a long gash in the grass from where it skidded in an attempt to keep his body from the ground.

Phoenix, Larry, the boy who had slammed into Miles, and his friend a few paces behind stared in silence.

“I…I’m sorry…I wasn’t looking…” the boy eventually said. Behind them, a blonde woman opened the door to a cherry-red car and impatiently called out “Greg!” Both the boy and his friend turned their heads at the sound. They hesitated, but the shouting grew louder and they shuffled away, glancing back guiltily every few steps until they reached the car.

Miles gave no sign of having heard the aborted apology or the subsequent yelling as he lifted himself from the grass. His hands made squelching sounds in the muck and his arms shook. As though the spell had been broken, both Larry and Phoenix moved as one. They jumped off the wall and rushed forward to offer assistance. Larry caught Miles’s forearm while Phoenix grabbed his hand and together all three of them managed to bring Miles clumsily back to his feet.

Miles looked down wordlessly, inspecting the damage. His shirt was a mess. From his torso to his right armpit, the shirt wetly clung to his skin. Every spot where there wasn’t a muddy streak, there were long, dark grass stains. His pants had fared better; they were dark and hadn’t hit the mud as badly. His black shoes were badly scuffed.

“Are you okay?” Phoenix asked, breaking the silence.

Miles opened his mouth, then abruptly closed it again. His shoulders tensed, small hands balled tightly at his sides until the knuckles were stark white. To Phoenix’s surprise, he suddenly turned around, his back to them.

“I can’t…” His shoulders shook.

Phoenix and Larry exchanged glances, then walked around to face their friend. Miles glared, blinking rapidly. Not at them, but something far in the distance.

“I can’t go now!” It came out a sob.

Phoenix nearly stepped back in alarm. Beside him, Larry also winced.

Miles Edgeworth was crying.

His face was red and screwed up in sheer frustration as he scrubbed at his eyes in angry, short motions, leaving grimy streaks from the dirt on his hands. His breath came in choked hitches and gasps.

Phoenix hadn’t seen Miles this upset since the time the class had folded origami cranes for cultural day and he hadn’t been able to manage a single one.

“Can’t they let you in anyway?” Phoenix asked after a few moments, hesitant, but feeling like he should say something.

“No!” Miles took a shuddering breath. “A courtroom is a garden of judgment, you have to show it the proper respect!”

Phoenix didn’t quite understand, but Miles seemed adamant on the point that it was better to not show up to court at all than to show up with mud on your shirt.

“So, let’s clean you up,” Larry suggested.

Miles fixed his wavering gaze on the sandy-haired boy, then looked back down, as though he could make the dirt vanish if he simply glared hard enough.

“That won’t work,” Miles finally said flatly. There were still tear tracks on his face, but his breathing had steadied.

“You haven’t even tried yet!” Phoenix countered, relieved that a course of action had been decided. If they could just somehow get Miles presentable, everything would turn out fine. “Come on!”

***

Luckily, the inside of the boy’s bathroom was deserted. Miles made a beeline past the three white enamel sinks and the row of small urinals on the opposite wall, into the back where two green stalls stood. Phoenix trailed behind, having been given the task of holding Miles’s jacket. Bringing up the rear was Larry with their backpacks. He shifted his load and knocked the doorstop up with his foot, letting the heavy bathroom door close, giving them an illusion of privacy.

As Miles undid his tie and began to unbutton his shirt, Phoenix looked around for a place to put the jacket. There were no hooks or anything of the sort he could see. He made a half step towards the urinals, figuring he could sort of drape it across one of them, but the mere thought of Miles’s reaction was enough to pull him back.

He decided the best course of action was to hang it over the side of one of the toilet stalls. Holding the jacket in one hand, Phoenix climbed on to one of the toilets, bracing himself against the wall with his free hand. He half flung the clothing over the side, making sure it would stay, then quickly hopped off and back to where his friends were waiting.

By that time, Miles was holding his shirt. The fall had been even worse than it looked at first glance. Even with the shirt off, his stomach and sides were alternately rubbed red and dirty.

“I’ll wash it,” Larry said confidently, moving to take the button-down shirt out of Miles’s hands.

Miles didn’t let go. Phoenix could almost hear the familiar phrase about their friend echoing in his head. Apparently, Larry could hear it too.

“Come on! Don’t you trust me?” Larry’s lower lip wibbled. “I’ve seen my mom wash my shirts a million times! I’m practically an expert!”

With a small sigh, Miles relinquished the shirt.

Larry went back up to the front where the sinks were. Miles seemed disinclined to follow, so Phoenix went up and grabbed three or four huge handfuls of paper towels. He wet half of them as Larry turned on the water in the sink next to him. Larry worked the soap dispenser with abandon until the pink liquid soap almost overflowed in his hand. Every so often, he took his heaping handful and worked it into the shirt in vaguely clockwise moments. Phoenix couldn’t say if he was doing it right or wrong, but Larry seemed sure enough.

Phoenix went back to where Miles was waiting. He handed the wet paper towels to his friend, who silently began to wash the worst of the muck off. Phoenix followed up by inexpertly patting the wet spots dry. Over on the other side of the bathroom, Larry began humming loudly and tunelessly over the sound of running water.

Then, the wet slap of something heavy and waterlogged hitting tile. The humming stopped.

“Oops…”

“Oops?” Miles parroted, tensing. “What are you doing over th—“

“Weren’t you telling us about something before?” Phoenix hurriedly interjected. “That jeopardy thing?”

“Double jeopardy?” Miles turned his attention back to Phoenix.

“Yeah, that’s it.” Phoenix gave an inward sigh of relief. He didn’t know what Larry was doing, but getting Miles worked up again was the last thing he wanted right now.

“Double jeopardy makes it impossible for someone to be tried for the same crime once they’ve already gone to trial for it.”

“So…they can’t try me for stealing lunch money ever again?” Phoenix asked after puzzling the sentence out.

“Not exactly. Let’s say you stole lunch money again—“

“I didn’t steal it!” The issue was still a little bit sore.

“I know.” That was the best thing about Miles, the way he could say that without hesitation or impatience. “It’s just an example. You’ve been on trial for it once, right? Let’s say you decided to actually steal some this time.”

“I wouldn’t!”

“I know. But let’s say you did. It’s a separate crime, so you could be tried again.”

He paused in his lecture to wipe his face off. Now he looked like the boy Phoenix knew again. The dried tear tracks and dirt were gone; the only evidence of his previous outburst was a slight puffiness around the eyes. It was a comfort to see Miles’s dignity returned.

Miles continued. “But they could never try you again for stealing my lunch money that one time. Basically, double jeopardy means that the court can’t change its mind.”

“Oh,” Phoenix said. That seemed like a safe enough answer.

At this point, Miles was as clean as he would ever get without the help of a shower. He began to walk back up to the front of the bathroom where their other friend stood, uncharacteristically silent.

“I’m, uh, not done yet!” Larry called out as he heard footsteps. The note of panic in his voice made Miles speed up his pace towards the sinks rather than slow down. He stopped just short, next to Larry, leaving Phoenix to duck around the two to get a glimpse of their friend’s handiwork.

He hadn’t known it was possible to use that much soap and to still make a shirt dirtier in the process. Miles looked as though he wanted to kill something; Phoenix was just glad he was glaring in Larry’s direction.

“I thought you said you’d done this before!” Miles said. Larry’s eyes darted back and forth, as though the way to appease Miles’s wrath was hovering to the right or left of his head.

“W-well, it’s your fault!” Larry finally replied. Miles turned an interesting shade of red and began to open his mouth, but Larry cut him off. “I didn’t say I had done it before! And you gave me your shirt!”

Miles shut his mouth with a nearly audible snap; his eyebrows furrowed as he seemingly tried to find a mental route past Larry’s own brand of logic. When that failed, Phoenix watched as Miles pulled the shirt out of the sink instead, holding it up to inspect the damage their friend had wrought. His eyes moved wordlessly over the foamy streaks of dirt and dust down to the dripping mess it was leaving on the tile.

“Even if it was clean, I couldn’t wear it,” he said, falling into a morose silence that was somehow worse than anger.

“That’s no problem!” Larry said, motioning to the row of hand dryers along the side.

“It’ll take hours to dry it with those,” Phoenix noted when he pressed the rusting button of the one nearest to him and all that came out was a half-hearted whisper of hot air.

“H-how was I supposed to know that!” Larry’s demeanor took a sharp right turn once again. “It’s not my fault!”

“This was a stupid waste of time,” Miles said, tossing the shirt back in the sink and folding his arms.

“Guys,” Phoenix offered, “There has to be some way to—”

“No!” At least they could agree on that.

At this rate, Miles wouldn’t be able to go to the trial even if the boys’ restroom had a washer and dryer in the corner. As Miles glowered and Larry’s protestations of innocence grew louder in volume, Phoenix sank into a calm introspection. Larry was the creative one, and Miles was the smart one, so if they hadn’t been able to fix the situation, there probably wasn’t much Phoenix could do…but…

If only there was a way to get another shirt, Phoenix considered. His own shirt wouldn’t do, it was a dingy shade of brown, faded by one too many times in the washer. Larry’s was even worse—his was a sort of pukey neon green. Phoenix had a feeling Miles would rather go stark naked to court than wear it even under his jacket.

The ideal solution was to somehow get Miles a dress shirt, but he was the only kid in their class crazy enough to wear one to school. Phoenix looked down. He hated dressing up himself, but he wouldn’t have minded if it had meant Miles had something to clean to exchange.

Phoenix stopped.

He glanced at Miles—it was difficult to measure how tall he was with his shoulders hunched and arms tightly crossed against his chest, but there wasn’t really much of a difference in terms of size. And if it was just a matter of getting a replacement shirt…

“I’ve got an idea. I’ll be right back,” Phoenix promised, rushing out the door before either Larry or Miles could protest. Instantly, he took a deep breath of air, feeling his spirits lift automatically at getting out from in-between Miles’s muted anger and Larry’s spastic defensiveness. All he had to do was make it back before he had to worry about a dead Larry and a dirty shirt.

***

Phoenix took the right of the two hallways that opened at the bathrooms. The slightly curved halls always made him think of being underground in a large ant tunnel, though Phoenix was fairly sure most tunnels weren’t festooned with art projects of varying levels of talent. (Of the three of them, Larry was the real artist. Phoenix was decent. Miles had long since dismissed art as being “unnecessary for his life goals”, which was a good thing because he “kind of sucked at it”, to use Larry’s words.) Phoenix broke into a trot—not quite a run, lest a teacher poke his or her head out from one of the classroom corridors and give him a lecture—until he emerged out the other end. Stopping only to blink momentarily at the sunlight, he ran past the bike rack and into the field that separated the school from the row of houses in back.

The rain had left the field treacherously muddy; several times Phoenix nearly lost his tennis shoes, and once he almost fell. Water seeped in above the rubber soles, so when he finally made it to drier ground his footsteps made unpleasant squelching noises.

Most of the kids that went to Phoenix’s school walked in the other direction out of necessity, but his house was just beyond the street that that bordered the grounds. A while back there had been a gap between fences that allowed the neighborhood kids a shortcut, but it had been closed for a couple of months now. Still, this was the fastest way to get home; he didn’t have the luxury of taking the long way.

Mumbling a quiet apology to the owner of the yard he was about to sneak into, he rubbed his hands together, then pulled himself up on to the wooden fence, wet shoes scrabbling against the side as he strained for purchase. Somehow he managed to climb over the other side and drop down. He tip-toed past the assortment of dying potted plants and through the gate; his heart ground to a stop when it let out a heavy screech as he unlatched it.

From there, Phoenix’s house was on the next street. The front door proved to be his biggest challenge yet as he emptied his pockets of dryer lint and candy wrappers while searching for his lost key. He finally fished it out from a twisted fold in his left pocket, and then it was through the front door—stopping only to pull off his wet shoes and socks—down the left hall and into his room.

Once immediately inside, his right foot crunched down on a model car. He winced as he half-limped, half hopped towards his closet, distantly wondering if there wasn’t something to this “clean room” thing Miles constantly harped about whenever he came over here after school.

Phoenix knew there was a dress shirt back here somewhere—he’d been forced to wear it to a distant family member’s wedding a few months back. The real question was if he had bothered to hang it up, or if it was in the pile of the rest of the clothes on the floor. He shuffled past winter coats; vests his mother bought that he had never worn and were two sizes two small now; and sweatshirts too bulky for his regular drawers.

Finally, there it was, way in the back. Phoenix reached towards it, but drew back upon seeing his own hands—streaked with grime and sweat from his climb, fingernails filthy.

There was no point in taking his shirt back in the first place if it was too dirty to meet Miles’s standards; Phoenix sighed as he went into the bathroom and began scrubbing his hands. Once they looked clean enough for Miles’s approval, he went back and retrieved the shirt.

Thinking about it, as he walked back into the living room, he was probably going to have to climb the fence again. There was no way the shirt would remain unscathed unless he took the long way, which would add at least ten minutes he couldn’t afford to waste. They had already spent at least ten cleaning Miles up and wrecking his shirt; his dad couldn’t be too far away at this point. And if Miles had been that upset over a messy shirt, Phoenix didn’t want to see him confronted with not being able to go for real. Phoenix bit his lip as he paced across the living room, careful to keep the shirt from dragging on the carpet, as he tried to figure a way out of his dilemma.

His eyes lit up. He crumpled the shirt into a large ball and rushed into the kitchen. Pulling open a drawer, he pushed past the serving spoons and spatulas until he found what he was searching for: a box of plastic wrap. A few seconds later, the shirt was wrapped as securely as one of his mom’s rice crispy bars and he was already out the door.

***

“It’s wrinkled,” Miles said as he held the shirt against the light, as though looking for factory defects. Phoenix manfully resisted the urge to punch him. Instead, he slid down the wall next to Larry, who was engaged in running his fingers in strange patterns on the floor—in other words, thoroughly bored.

“They’re barely going to see it anyway,” Larry protested, looking up. “Unless you want Nick to run back to his house for an iron and a board too…”

Miles had the grace to look guilty. “You didn’t have to do that,” he said, turning to Phoenix.

Phoenix couldn’t help but think a ‘thank you’ would have been nicer, but instead said, “You wanted to go, didn’t you?”

Instead of answering, Miles pulled the dress shirt on. The sleeves were too long, so he began rolling them up, a tic of mild annoyance clear in his slight frown, though he didn’t voice another complaint. He retrieved his jacket and pulled it on, tugging on the cuffs to make sure it hung properly on his frame before he buttoned it.

“See, you can’t even tell,” Larry said when Miles went to the mirror.

“I can,” Miles said, before doing his tie and shooting a quick, unreadable look at where Phoenix was sitting on the ground, still breathing heavily. “…but I don’t think my dad will.”

“What are you going to do with the other shirt?” Larry asked. Miles looked as though he wanted to burn it—or Larry, one of the two—and be done with it, but instead reached for the discarded plastic wrap.

“I’ll put it in dad’s laundry; I don’t think he’ll notice,” Miles said, wrapping the soapy mess with the same amount of disgust as the time Phoenix’s mother had picked up a dead rat by its tail.

“I could take it home if you think it’ll be a problem,” Phoenix offered.

“How would you explain to your mom that you managed to get your dress shirt dirty, and it magically grew a size too small? Don’t worry, I’ll make sure it gets washed—properly—and bring it back.”

Even as Larry looked like he was going to launch into another defensive spiel, Phoenix couldn’t help but feel relieved at seeing Miles back to his normal self.

Miles gave his jacket one last brush, fiddled with his collar one last time, and then opened the door of the bathroom, Phoenix and Larry close behind.

***

Miles’s father pulled up shortly after they made it to the front of the school; Phoenix recognized the navy blue car, mainly because it looked like it could do with a good wash. Probably Mr. Edgeworth had been too busy saving innocent people’s lives, because it was hard to imagine Miles hadn’t reminded him about it at this point.

To Phoenix’s eyes, Miles looked extraordinarily composed for someone with a filthy, wet shirt wrapped in a ball of plastic wrap in his right hand and slight lumps underneath his jacket above the wrist from where he had rolled up the sleeves.

Mr. Edgeworth got out of the car when he saw them approaching, “Are you ready, Miles?”

Miles nodded, shifting so that the dirty shirt wasn’t quite as visible. Larry, after scrutinizing Mr. Edgeworth, turned to Phoenix and whispered, “I thought he’d be taller…”

“I’m sorry we don’t have more time,” Mr. Edgeworth said. “But it’s nice seeing you again, Phoenix. And it’s a pleasure to finally meet you too, Larry. I’ve heard—” his lips quirked for a moment, “—a lot of interesting things about you from Miles.”

Miles tapped his foot, looking tempted to open the door to the driver’s seat and take a chance at driving off himself. As though sensing his son’s impatience, Mr. Edgeworth gave one last wave and retreated back to the car. Before Miles opened the passenger-side door, he stopped and abruptly turned back to face his friends.

“Thank you,” he said suddenly, easily. Miles’s “thank you’s” were usually a thing of dignity in miniature, like everything else he did. This time, the effect was somewhat marred by the ear-to-ear grin spread across his face. Even though his shirt was wrinkled, his tie had somehow become lopsided on the trip from bathroom to the front of the school, that smile was there, sheer happiness immutably beaming from every pore in his body.

It was a rare day when Miles Edgeworth actually looked his age.

Even Larry seemed struck speechless. The car had long since disappeared down the road before he finally turned to Phoenix. “Hey.”

When Phoenix didn’t answer, Larry shook his shoulder. “Come on, I’m bored! Let’s go play video games at your house.”

Phoenix blinked at the contact, and turned his attention reluctantly on Larry—now several paces away, and looking back irritably. Some part of Phoenix still felt strangely hesitant to move. “Okay…”

He took one last look over his shoulder before following Larry down the sidewalk to where he was busy stomping in puddles to see how high the water would splash. The air was chilly and Phoenix dimly realized he’d be in for a lecture if his mom got home before he did and discovered he’d left his jacket back in his locker.

He couldn’t bring himself to care. For some reason he felt warm enough already.

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I was so happy to go back the Fanfic forum and find that you'd written something new!
It was so cute and heartwarming! I loved it!
I felt sorry for poor Edgey though, not being able to make the origami cranes It's just like him though!

All in all, yet another great piece of writing from you!

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Oh my, that side story was adorable. So cute. There aren't many stories [at least, not many that I can find] that really delve into the childhood lives of Phoenix, Edgeworth, and Larry, and, man, this just made my day. <33 The writing style is fantastic, which honestly made it even more of an enjoyable read. All of the cracks at Larry were just so funny, especially since Gregory made it fact that Miles had mentioned him before. And well, since Larry pretty much gives Miles a homicidal drive every other minute, the information that Gregory was given can't be good. XD

Phoenix was such a sweetheart in the side story, too. Going all the way back to his house to just get Miles a dress shirt - that really shows how much he cared about his friendship with Miles when they were younger. It also showed the bounds that Phoenix would [and probably will even now] reach to for Miles as well. God, it was extremely cute. <3 [Miles scrutinizing the state of the shirt made me laugh too, along with Larry's statement after that.]

And about the recent chapter, I regret not posting anything about it sooner since it was so fucking AMAZING, but I was at school while reading it, and Court Records is blocked, so...what can you do? XD I was actually working on a Health assignment [I was borderline done with it, really.] when I got bored and started to browse through some PW fanfiction and when I saw that this fanfic was updated, I went straight to reading it. And god, I was so happy afterwards, you have no idea. That chapter was just full of love. <3

[Just as a little insert statement - as I mentioned before, the writing style that's incorporated into this story makes every chapter all the more enjoyable.]

Maya's mini-rambling on the adjectives that would describe Phoenix was pure gold. "When you think 'Phoenix Wright', cool just isn't the first word that comes to mind. I'd rank it about... hm, seventeen, actually." I'm really wondering what the first sixteen adjectives are now. XD

And at the mention of Pearl...oh jeez. XD Phoenix sure has something to worry about now. "You're going to have to help me chase off all of her suitors, Nick—they're going to be coming in packs..." I wonder if Pearl's still got that whole Maya/Nick idea lodged into her mind. Phoenix is in for some trouble if she still wants him to end up with Maya.

Now, as much as I love Maya and her antics, it's time to talk about Phoenix and Edgeworth. :D

First of all, the many random suggestions for places to go was so amusing, I really had to hold back my laughter. Is he trying to be difficult?, indeed. XD

God, I felt so bad for Phoenix when he was counting out his change at the park. He had to switch his coffee for a water, the poor guy. He really needs to do something about his money problem. [Stop being pitied into buying Maya so much food, maybe? XD] Giving the coffee to Edgeworth was a really nice gesture, though. Always thinking of others before thinking of himself, that Phoenix...

Oh my, that mention of Trés Bien was pure gold. XD Especially this part. He found it surprisingly easy to imagine Edgeworth's expression at being confronted with the likes of the head chef of Tres Bien. Somehow, he sincerely doubted that the High Prosecutor would have been able to maintain his composure as well as Diego Armando had managed.

Why does a very frightened and disgusted Edgeworth enter my mind when reading that? I can just see Edgeworth running behind Phoenix and going, "You. Talk to...it. Now, or I swear, I will show you no mercy the next time we face off in court." Then Phoenix would actually comply, and Edgeworth would be standing in a far-off corner watching with a smirk plastered on his face. [Phoenix would then proceed to get revenge by offering Edgeworth some food at Trés Bien, and forgetting to mention that it tastes like utter crap. XD]

Mentioning Lana again was nice, too. The fact that she won against Edgeworth shows that she's actually shaping up quite nicely as a defense attorney.

The end to the chapter was really sweet. Edgeworth just standing there looking dumbfounded after Phoenix kisses him [be it out of impulse or decision] is something I can actually see, and it is adorable.

So...yeah. I loved it, as to be expected. [On my part, at least.] Amazing job.

[A near-Christmas update would be made of win, by the way~ :D *hint, hint*]

Phew! Finally got the time to read em. I am saved.... huhuh~

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