Ok, I just finished reading them all, I must say, OHMYGODILOVEYOU.
<3 Your writing is amazing, the plot isnt like HEADON, and I want more D: Congrats, this is officially a shortcut on my firefox now.
<___<

x =

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Am I the only guy reading this?

I haven't read fanfiction for quite sometime, and I've never read one with a male x male pairing before, nor had I had the intention to. Not that I have a problem with it, but as a straight male, it's really not the thing I go out looking for to read.

This, however, has been keeping my attention. I started reading this because my curiosity got the better of me after seeing the "Struggling Against Gravity" signatures tagged under the aurthors' posts across the forum. I'm really not a huge fan of the Phoenix and Edgeworth pairing (As I mentioned before, I'm a straight male) but that really hasn't interfered with me enjoying this story one bit. These characters are dead on. I mean it, everything they say, do, think, I can easily picture all of it in my head. This story is seriously helping me to tide myself over until Apollo Justice comes out.

Keep up the good work.

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I'm a mostly straight male and P/E is fine by me.

Also the story is fine by me.


And by that I mean the single best fanfiction I've ever read.

So yeah.

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"Tide you over until Appollo Justice"?

Forget that, I need something to tide me over until the next chapter! ;_;

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Hah xD I know the feeling
I was so jittery and happy from the last chapter xDD

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Awww, really comprehensive. Just for you to know that I really keep the story on my track(s).

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I was a little nervous about this fanfiction at first, since i'm more of a Pho/Maya Kind of girl, But MAN,

You make it WORK.

(and, of course, re-playing case 1-4 and all it's yaoi-inducing glory helped too. XDD)

God, You are amazing. All the other fanfiction i've read abou these two are about...
1st chapter
"MY GOD I THINK IM GAY"

2ndchapter

"hot buttsmexplzkthx"

This..I love how it just kind of Flows...Like something that could happen in all reality.

Once again, I love this, and i'mn looking forward to the next chapter.

(GET IT DONE NAOW PLZKTHX. )

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I really hope this thread didn't die and you two stopped Writing.

I'd probably die, since I check this thread nearly everyday and still let out a grunt of annoyance at myself for being so niave.

Bah, still as childish as ever.

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Yes, we're still writing~ chapter six is just taking a bit longer because of swamping due to the holidays. We do appreciate your patience, though. <3

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When Phoenix walked in to the restaurant, he had to stop himself from wincing impulsively. The entire place seemed wrapped in lacquered wood, expensive-looking rows of booze Phoenix had never heard of all along the back wall of the bar to the left, where a bartender standing polishing glasses. Even the air smelled different—Phoenix briefly wondered if it was pumped into the building using fans made out of one hundred-dollar bills.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, he thought, feeling distinctly ratty in his old suit.

That afternoon—when he had gotten to the office after a relatively sleepless night of staring at the ceiling, all of last night’s courage having evaporated hours before—he’d half expected several angry calls from Edgeworth on his cellphone voice mail. Or a single frantic one from Gumshoe on the office line, informing him that the prosecutor had packed up and moved back to Europe late last night.

Instead the day had been relatively quiet, almost painfully so, until Edgeworth called him around noon and asked him if he was free this evening instead of Thursday. Apparently Edgeworth had managed to get reservations to Il Cocina—and from the way Edgeworth said it, that sounded like a feat in and of itself—because of a last minute cancellation.

Between a tongue that was suddenly several degrees too dry and too many words vying for position in his throat, Phoenix managed a simple, “That sounds fine.”

Right now, pizza in his underwear was sounding even better as he scanned the crowd of tables, looking for a particular familiar face. After several seconds of peering, his eyes locked on that familiar shade of pink. Edgeworth was in a booth near the back, mostly obscured by a leafy potted plant. He looked up from his menu as Phoenix sat down.

“You made it.”

“Yeah,” Phoenix said. He shifted in his seat and reached for a menu. “So, what’s good here?”

“I’ve always been partial to their linguini alla vongole,” Edgeworth said. “But all of their pasta is excellent.”

And no doubt expensive, Phoenix added mentally. Looking at the menu, he noticed there were no prices listed next to the entrees. I guess I could always sell a kidney. I have two of those, right?

He eventually decided on the fettuccine al burro, and relinquished the menu to the waiter when he stopped by to take their food and drink order. When his water arrived after several agonizing minutes of silence, Phoenix fell upon it like he hadn’t drank in days.

As he watched Edgeworth take a sip of his wine and look across the restaurant in a pointed sort of politeness, like staring at Phoenix in this state would be as rude as gawking at someone with a disability, Phoenix couldn’t help but think, it shouldn’t be this different.

But it was. It was as though he had somehow become hyper-attuned to Edgeworth’s every movement, the way his broad fingers cupped his wine glass easily, the way his throat worked every time he took a sip of wine. What have I gotten myself into? Phoenix thought. The last time I can remember being like this was the first time I…

Their meals arrived. Thankful for the distraction, he nearly shoveled the pasta into his mouth, barely stopping to taste before he gulped it down.

“It’s good,” he said. Maybe “phone bill” good, but I’m not sure it’s quite “electricity bill” good…

Edgeworth nodded as he took a bite of his own dish. “It’s been a while since I’ve been here. They’ve improved.”

“Really…” Phoenix said. He felt the knot in his gut suddenly tighten, like someone had grabbed both ends and pulled with all their might. “So, Edgeworth, about—” The words he was about to say suddenly twisted in his mouth to become something else entirely. “—this place. How did you find out about it?”

“Someone once suggested it to me, and its proximity to the office made it ideal.” Something like a shadow flashed across Edgeworth’s face. “I used to…have dinner meetings here.”

Guess I probably shouldn’t ask what type of meetings they were, or why he decided to bring me here.

They managed to lurch from one conversation topic to the next between bites of food. Phoenix shared what little news he had from Maya. Edgeworth talked about another prosecutor that had been caught taking bribes.

It’s almost like a ballet, he found himself thinking inanely when the topic shifted to the décor of the restaurant. Both of them dancing around what they really wanted—needed—to discuss.

When the check came—singular, not plural; Phoenix didn’t quite know how to read that—Phoenix barely glanced at it before fishing his credit card from his wallet and sliding it between the leather folder. Edgeworth looked like he was going to protest, but a look at Phoenix’s face forestalled anything he planned on saying. As long as it was less than a hundred dollars, Phoenix thought he could manage.

It felt like he was trying to digest strings of lead instead of fettuccini as they left the building and walked down the sidewalk towards the parking lot.

“I’ll drive you home,” Edgeworth said. It wasn’t quite a question, and not nearly a command.

It gave Phoenix pause. He tried to process the switch between the Edgeworth he’d grown familiar with—turning away from Phoenix and continuing alone to where his car was parked down the street—and the one who was staring at him right now. Edgeworth’s body angled slightly towards the red sports car in mute invitation, feet making crunching noises as he shifted against the gravel in the parking lot.

“All right,” Phoenix said, following Edgeworth to the car. He got inside and Edgeworth turned the key in the ignition, shifting gears in concise, almost abrupt motions, until they were back on the street again.

“So, about… all this.” There was a sort of ironic humor that it would slip out when Phoenix least expected, considering he’d been trying to keep the words at bay all night. Beside him, Edgeworth’s grip on the wheel tightened.

The prosecutor swallowed, but when he spoke, his voice was level. “I understand if you—”

“No, that isn’t what I meant,” Phoenix said quickly, hoping to forestall a conversational path he didn’t want to take. And I didn’t go out to dinner to laugh at you either. “This is new to me, so I…” He ran his fingers through his hair when the words wouldn’t come.

“I know.”

“I don’t really understand what’s going on,” Phoenix said, feeling more and more stupid as the seconds ticked by. “Or what I want…”

A familiar silence settled, thrumming with a strange undercurrent.

“What happened last night doesn’t mean…” Edgeworth began, then abruptly switched to another thought. “If you need more time to think about things…” He never took his eyes from the road.

Phoenix was silent, but something seemed to loosen in his chest, like he could finally breathe for the first time in days. But looking over at Edgeworth, the headlights from the cars moving past shone over the prosecutor, washing out his pale complexion even further. It was irrational, but for a moment it felt like this was all a dream, that Edgeworth was going to melt away to the blearing beeps of Phoenix’s cellphone alarm under his pillow.

Phoenix turned away and leaned against the hand rest next to the passenger window, watching as a couple cars passed them and sped off into the night.

“Whatever happens, last night wasn’t a mistake,” Phoenix said. The quiet words filled the car. “I did it because I wanted to.”

Edgeworth didn’t respond.

The rest of the trip passed in silence, seeming both too long and too short, until they finally pulled up in front of Phoenix’s apartment complex. Phoenix walked around to the front of the car and realized, dimly that he wasn’t sure what the protocol for this situation was—that he wasn’t even sure how to define the evening in his own head.

Edgeworth made things easier by rolling down the window, but not making a move to get out of the car.

Phoenix leaned down and, after a short pause, found himself saying, “You’re free on Saturday, right?”

“Why?” Edgeworth responded instantly, blinking. “Did you have something in…no, you never do.” He ended in a half-chuckle, and Phoenix realized it was the first time he’d seen the prosecutor smile all night.

“I’ve got a couple of days. I’m sure I can think of something by then.”

“If you manage to think of something besides an impromptu walk in the park, then, yes, I’m available,” Edgeworth said.

Something seemed to bubble and fizz underneath the surface of Phoenix’s skin, like champagne, as he focused on Edgeworth’s face. I’m still not sure what I’m doing, or where this is going to lead…but I don’t think I need any more time.

“Then, it’s a date.”




Phoenix pulled the phone free of its charger. The battery was only partially refilled, but his own supply of nervous energy seemed endless. While years of opening up a law office still had yet to beat out a regular schedule in the framework of his morning, this particular ritual was becoming ingrained habit only with a few days of practice. It was difficult to feel cowed at his own lack of responsibility, though, when his heart performed the funny spin it always did when the clock flipped its minute hand to a quarter past twelve.

As he punched in the numbers, he was pretty sure he'd used this thing more often in the past two weeks than he had in the past two months.

For most of his life, Phoenix had carried mixed feelings about the weight of the cell phone in his pocket. The best he could usually "hope" for was a voice mail from an inebriated Larry or the occasional check-in from Maya. But now it didn't seem a day didn't pass without his fingers drumming impatiently against the outline of rectangular shape of the device, checking the time on the half hour and eventually leaning back against the wall with the receiver against his ear and a smile touching his lips as he heard that one particular voice, irritable more often than not, filter over the line.

A quarter past twelve was one of the few periods through the framework of Edgeworth's workday when it was less likely that he'd be greeted with a terse “I'm busy, Wright, I'll talk to you later” and the subsequent companionship of a click and a dial tone. Phoenix supposed this was around the time that he was on his lunch break. 'Lunch break' probably meaning something more along the lines of 'a span of about a half hour where Edgeworth was working on two papers at a time as opposed to six'.

"It's a Greek restaurant this time. I've never been there myself," Edgeworth explained, once they were past the standard 'hello' and 'how are you'. His voice was accompanied by the familiar sound of a pen tapping sharply against paper. "But I've heard good things from a coworker."

You actually talk to your coworkers about things not related to work? Phoenix mused. Didn't see that coming...

"Trust me, Wright,” Edgeworth said, “I wasn't particularly enthusiastic about being on the receiving end of the recommendation."

"Receiving end?" Phoenix repeated. "So you were invited out?"

"Once in a while, it does happen." Edgeworth said, the faintest hint of amusement in his voice, and Phoenix realized that his own nails were digging tightly into the side of the phone.

I don't doubt it, Phoenix thought, but...

"Greek sounds fine," he said, not wanting to dwell on this.

“All right,” Edgeworth said. “I don't have trial that day, so we'll have to meet...”

Phoenix didn't hear the end of Edgeworth's suggestion; a shrill series of beeps abruptly cut over his voice. For a split second, he considered ignoring them, but sighed in resignation as they only seemed to sharpen in insistence.

"Hang on a second, Edgeworth, I'm getting another call."

"Oh." Edgeworth sounded slightly disoriented at the intrusion. "Of course."

Phoenix pulled the phone from his ear and glanced at the screen.

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “It's Maya. I'll get back to you later, all right?”

“All right." There was the bubble of a pause that meant Edgeworth was half-considering adding something more, but as he did nine times out of ten, ultimately decided against it. As his call ended, Maya's automatically took its place.

“Hey Nick!" she greeted at once. It was somewhat jarring hearing her cheerfulness replace the low voice of the High Prosecutor in such rapid succession. "I didn't wake you up or anything, did I?”

Come on, Phoenix protested, it's past noon! I'm not that much of a deadbeat...

“Oh, quite sulking, Nick; I was just kidding,” Maya said. “I was just seeing how you were doing; it's been nearly a week since I've heard from you!”

“Nearly a week?” It doesn't really feel like it...

“Yup. Holding up the fort okay?”

“It's still standing, at least,” Phoenix reported. “How have things been for you?”

“Mmm.. pretty busy, as usual, but okay," she said, in half sing-song. "Dealing with this and that, you know...” I really don't. “Though I've been having to get my hands pretty dirty."

A series of bizarre mental images flashed before Phoenix's eyes, all of them fairly unsettling. "Uh, excuse me?"

"You've seen the gardens up here in Kurain, right?” Maya said. “Because we're so out of the way, we just grow a lot of our own food. And there's some old tradition about using, uh, what was it... purified, natural diets to hone the soul, but I don't really remember the specifics. No one really follows that tenet anymore, but it is about time to start pulling out some of the early stuff, so..."

"Oh.” To be honest, Phoenix couldn't remember seeing any gardens around Kurain, but it was probably in his best interests to keep that to himself. “Yeah, right.”

"Make sure you're actually awake when you're up and about, would you, Nick?" Maya teased. "Anyway, that's been the bulk of it recently. Winter's coming, so we've got to be careful.”

You mean the acolytes have to be careful. Anytime you got hungry you'd just come rushing down here asking me to treat you to a burger...

“And with you?” Maya asked. “Anything exciting going on?”

“Well...” he opened his mouth, a shapeless, unknown word readied against his tongue, then closed it again, brow furrowing. He had no idea what his instinctual reply would had been.

No, he probably had a good feeling what it would have been. He switched the phone to the opposite ear, feeling something twist uncomfortably inside him. In spite of everything, he still wasn't quite sure how to define whatever it was that sent him going to dinner with Miles Edgeworth and pacing around the room waiting for a chance to call. Even more unfathomable was the prospect of having to explain it to Maya.

“Huh? Don't tell me you actually took a case?”

“No,” Phoenix said. “Not really...”

“Tch. Why do I bother asking anymore?” Maya clucked her tongue. “Well, as long as you're doing okay. Keep me updated, will you?”

“Yeah,” Phoenix said. His stomach twisted a little farther; once again the phone switched ears, outside of Maya's perception. “Of course.”

“Oh, Pearls is back from Hazakura, by the way!” Maya added. “There she is—why don't you say hi to her, too?”

“Oh—uh, sure.”

If he expected the knotted lump in his gut to ease a bit when he heard Pearl's voice, he was sorely disappointed; it only clenched heavier against him.

It wasn't a lie or anything, he told himself. He didn't have any reason to feel guilty. But he didn't really have any reason not to tell her what changes had been going on in his life since she had left, either. The former notion was just a more comfortable one to focus on than the latter.

Still, as he said hello to Pearl, the lingering unease continued to prick sharply at the back of his neck, and no amount of rationale could erase it completely.



In hindsight, Phoenix was fairly sure that the only way he'd managed to survive the first few dinners was forcefully blinding himself to how uncomfortable the situation had really been. It was easier to sprint through a mine field ignorant of the actual danger. Now that things were like this, though—where the long stretches of uncertain silence were no longer acceptable—the process of trial and error that was learning to converse with Edgeworth seemed to be outlined with sharper, deeper boundaries—almost regulations to tally and keep track of.

There were certain lines that weren't to be crossed when speaking with him—not yet. Phoenix had known that as a generality for a long time, but he began to trace where they were etched in more precise terms—discussing their childhood was always dangerous, but talk of this funny incident or that particular idiocy on Larry's part was a pass more often than not. Gregory Edgeworth's name was never to be invoked when it could be helped. Phoenix also had little, if any, room to broach the subject of Manfred von Karma without express prompting.

He also had to come to grips with taking more stairs than he ever thought he would have to in his life. Some of the city's fancier restaurants employed a skyline view as part of the attraction. Phoenix had moved automatically to the elevator; Edgeworth had moved to the stairwell—he hadn't looked back while Phoenix had, and by the time, panting and nearly doubled over, he had managed to catch up, there was a wall closed behind Edgeworth's eyes and a clench to his jaw that told him that this habit wasn't up for discussion, either.

It was frustrating—but it wasn't really all navigating through explosives, trying to determine which wires were safe to cut, either. There were the other things, smaller things, captions scribbled into the edges of his archive of mental recollections. Not off limits, but there. It was like having a blindfold taken off. He wasn't sure how they'd failed to escape his notice before.

When the day's work at the Prosecutor's Office had been stressful, Edgeworth's tone was a little too level to ring naturally; his eyes focused a little too hard on his utensils as he ate. Those were the days when Phoenix learned that the bulk of the conversation would have to come from him. When he ran out of interesting college stories to relate, he took to reading the newspaper more carefully, skimming for anything that looked remotely like something Edgeworth would be willing to talk about. It wasn't a perfect system, but it more or less worked—though he still wasn't sure how he and Edgeworth had at one time managed to maintain a nearly six-minute conversation about football. He considered it a landmark.

Edgeworth was also surprisingly straightforward taste in food. It was probably the ruffles that brought to mind the idea of his taste for escargot and its ilk--”I have eaten it,” Edgeworth said, when Phoenix brought it up over a plate of steak and potatoes, “For your reference, it is actually quite good”--but he seemed willing enough to eat most anything as long as the presentation met his standards. Experimental rather than elitist was probably a good way to frame it, Phoenix figured. Though on further consideration, he couldn't help but wonder if the prosecutor might be toning down his real preferences for the sake of Phoenix's wallet. He hoped not.

When Phoenix went out to eat, he was usually content just to focus on his food. He'd raised an eyebrow, as they were leaving an Italian place he'd been more than satisfied with, when Edgeworth neglected to leave his usual excessive tip.

“Didn't like it?” Phoenix asked, as they were walking back. “I thought mine was pretty good. Maybe you just chose a bad dish.”

“It wasn't the food,” Edgeworth said, running a distracted hand through his hair. “The service was rude--” I didn't notice anything strange, Phoenix thought, somewhat bewildered, but continued to watch Edgeworth tick off everything imperceptibly wrong with their dining experience with something approaching affection, “the lighting was distracting, and the music was grating...”

Phoenix hadn't really noticed any of that, either. He considered himself musically illiterate; he couldn't really tell the difference between this week's rock band and last month's pop sensation. He supposed he assumed Edgeworth was mostly the same, too consumed in his own professionalism to spend much time dwelling on the arts—Phoenix himself hadn't exactly devoted an excess of thought to them even when they were his major in college.

So the week after that, it had caused a few blinks when Edgeworth had drifted quickly over to the records section when they stopped by an antique store. (Edgeworth had slowed as they passed by the sign; Phoenix turned on his heel and pushed the door open before he could catch himself and resume their regular pace.)

It had surprised him more when Edgeworth's fingers flicked quickly over the classicals and moved onto the selection of jazz.

“I already own most of that,” he said, glancing up and seeing Phoenix's expression.

He realized as they were leaving that it was sort of funny that it struck him as more odd that Edgeworth had a taste for jazz than that he still owned and purchased records in this day and age. But then, given his taste in fashion, it wouldn't have surprised him to step into his apartment and find himself transposed into a century or so in the past, either.

He did notice one day—he was pretty sure when they returned to Exposé for another walk, this time treading the beach and crunching sand beneath their feet—that Edgeworth was actually wearing a different suit. He was almost certain he wouldn't have noticed it before; the discrepancies were subtle. While the main bulk of the design itself was identical, and the color was still a shade of vivid magenta, it was just a shade darker, the sleeves angled slightly differently at the cuff.

“You're wearing something different today,” he observed.

“So are you,” was Edgeworth's sardonic reply.

The suit I wear to court is pretty much the same each time, actually... But he supposed it was different when you were juggling different cases day in and day out. Still, it was though a switch had flipped; Phoenix began keeping track of the different suits he was able to identify. He counted off at least a dozen—differences lying in different-shaped buttons, narrowly folded lapels—before he began to see them cycle over again. He wondered if he'd ever get to see Edgeworth in something normal. A sweatshirt or a pair of jeans. It was a nicer thought than it really had any right to be.

They weren't able to meet every day, but with enough pressing Phoenix found he could usually pry three or four holes in Edgeworth's schedule per week. It wasn't long before he found himself becoming a little tired of only seeing his face over a dinner table, even when they tried out different restaurants.

So the next time they wound up at a museum—most of its material about colonial times—and even though Phoenix felt about as much interest as Edgeworth displayed at the old cookwear and muskets, it was nice. And the surreal, vaguely nightmarish sight of Edgeworth's head surrounded by carnivorous fish afterwards when they stopped by the aquarium was definitely different.

There was a time when, at a general loss, they had actually just gone to the local library, an abode Phoenix couldn't remember stepping foot into for years. After amassing an impressive collection of tomes covering, of all things, dog breeding, Edgeworth had performed a singularly magnificent eye roll when the librarian, stereotypically stern, bespectacled, and elderly, informed Phoenix that his account had expired quite a long time ago.

The brief humiliation was thoroughly worth it to see the look on the prosecutor's face when he deftly took Phoenix's place at the front of the line, and was promptly given the same notice.

"I've only been back for a few months," Edgeworth muttered, growing only more agitated when Phoenix could not for the life of him wholly wipe the smirk from his face. "And I've been occupied."

“Right,” Phoenix answered. Edgeworth only looked more sour as he signed the registration form. Phoenix moved to take the pen from him.

“Never mind,” Edgeworth said shortly. “It's not like you'll be coming back, is it?” He slid Phoenix's selection of books against his own. The librarian set to work checking both sets out under a single name without so much of a questioning look. Once again, it was only after they had already left, and Phoenix was reveling in the blessings of Edgeworth's car heater, that it occurred to him that he'd somehow become accustomed to keeping an eye for it whenever he and Edgeworth went out together. That look.

The awareness of it was oddly detached. It wasn't as though they knew Edgeworth.

Though their meetings became more frequent, and as Phoenix's archive of facts to remember about Miles Edgeworth grew heavier and heavier in volume, learning to greet each other was never much of a problem. Phoenix was still trying to adjust to that odd flutter in his chest whenever he saw Edgeworth approach, one hand raised when their eyes met. A part of him didn't really want to have to get used to it.

Learning to say goodbye was harder.

When he over-thought it the second time, it had been strange to accommodate for the taller man's height; miscalculating this and insufficient warning had led to heads knocking together briefly and lips pursed mainly over cold air. Edgeworth's eyes had bugged strangely before he started chuckling, low and strained; Phoenix joined him shortly after, but didn't let it last long before gripping his forearms and making a better job of it on the retry.

Edgeworth had been hesitant, his arms began to raise from his sides, palms turning halfway inwards, before falling again in a rather helpless motion.

On the fourth or fifth night, he had finally leaned in as Phoenix did, and Phoenix felt his right hand lift, as though of its own accord, to cup the underside of the other man's cheek. They stayed like that for a long moment.

It was nice, he thought. Even as the autumn chill settled more deeply into the evenings, necessitating gloves and scarves and warm drinks as they walked through town, the sun fading into the horizon a little earlier as August slid into September—for the few seconds after he pulled from Edgeworth to make his way back down the stairs and across the street to the nearest bus stop, he could never shake that lingering warmth from his fingertips and the nerves of his lips.



It really shouldn't have left him so flabbergasted.

He and Edgeworth had spent the evening grimacing at each other over similar plates of undercooked Indian food. Phoenix recalled he had entered the restaurant considerably hungry, but his stomach was making painful jabs of protest against his ribs as he even contemplated attempting to further shovel the overspiced mess down his throat. Edgeworth managed somewhat better than he did—probably owing to a broader pallet of experience—but still led a conspicuously small tip behind them as he led the way out. As the fresh air rushed against their faces, and they turned to start walking back in the direction he had parked his car, he'd suddenly stopped to tell Phoenix he was leaving next time's choice up to him.

“Uh,” Phoenix answered, “what?”

“I don't have the time or the patience to booking restaurants week in and week out, Wright,” Edgeworth said, adjusting the cuff of his left sleeve, lips drawn into the beginnings of a pensive frown. “I'm leaving it to you next time.”

Everyone picks a bad restaurant now and then, you didn't have to take it that hard...

“Er,” Phoenix responded, smartly, “All right.”

After they had said goodbye, and he was back in his own apartment, Phoenix silently cycled through all of the nationalities they'd dined at until now—German, Italian, Greek, French, Indian, Japanese and Russian—what was left? For a ridiculous moment, his mind offered him nothing but white noise in answer—American?

Unfortunately, spending more time with Edgeworth didn't make the idea of the prosecutor accepting a burger and an order of fries any more plausible to Phoenix. He was briefly tempted just to return to their old German standby, but in his mind's eye he thought he could see an imaginary Edgeworth's expression twist in the faintest hint of disappointment in response.

Eventually he settled on fondue. That seemed safe enough, as he couldn't think of anyone he knew who disliked it off the top of his head. The sheer number of internet searches and ad pages he'd flipped through to come to that conclusion was slightly embarrassing, but Edgeworth didn't have to know about that part.

It turned out that there were four establishments that served fondue in the local area. He selected the one with the name he thought was most pronounceable and reached for his phone.

Edgeworth agreed deftly to the suggestion; the actual ease of it after all of that anxiety and frustration made Phoenix grin a little sheepishly to himself, beyond Edgeworth's sight.

And after hanging up, giddiness he couldn't remember feeling since his college days rushed in a wave of goosebumps down his arm as he looked up directions, and then browsed through the menu selection posted online.

Good, they have that Vin-Soulier wine... he likes that, doesn't he?

The pictures the website had of the interior—rich velvet lined with silver, and subdued lighting—were promising, too, if he trusted his familiarity with Edgeworth enough to venture a guess as to his preferences there. He remembered the prosecutor hadn't seemed to take well to the grey, stony layout of one of the places they'd gone earlier—if he remembered right, that Greek place...

Maybe I can convince him to stick around long enough to check out the local theater, too... we still haven't done that...

When the hour hand of his watch hit six on the arranged evening, Phoenix made a quick check around the office premises before moving to leave. The television and the lights were off. Everything more or less in its prescribed location. After a final, ceremonial glance in the mirror and a quick adjustment of his tie, he reached for the doorknob—when the Steel Samurai theme began wailing at him from his pocket. He felt something tug at the corners of his mouth when he saw who it was.

“Edgeworth?”

“Wright,” came the reply, sounding agitated—the knotted stress in his voice fell like a dismaying weight upon Phoenix's ears. “I can't make it in tonight.”

“Huh?” he said, rather stupidly. “Why?”

“Something's come up on the case I'm working on. The details aren't important.” There was bustling in the background; if Phoenix strained his ear he could make out voices hollering about updating reports and re-examination of some crime scene. “But I'm going to have to be here all night, by the looks of it.”

Phoenix's hand fell from the door.

Oh, he was supposed to say here, all right then, goodnight. Maybe some other time.

He didn't voice it. There was something else curdling against his insides, bitter and acidic in the shadow of the stock lines—lines that had been easy to utter barely six weeks ago.

“You've always managed to make it before,” he protested.

“What?” Edgeworth said; his voice rang harsh and somewhat surprised. Phoenix didn't repeat himself; he knew Edgeworth had heard him.

“I have cancelled before,” the prosecutor said, after a terse moment. The earlier agitation grew a degree more audible. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Ahead of time,” Phoenix argued back. “The reservation is half an hour from now, I was just on my way out the door--”

Edgeworth's voice became stony, slanted oddly downwards. “I don't see how this is different.”

“It just is.” Before Edgeworth could point out what an irrational and stupid statement that was, he added: “Isn't there something you can do? You can't even swing thirty minutes...?”

“Wright, you--”

“Twenty?” He didn't need Edgeworth to call him on being pathetic by now; Phoenix was painfully aware of it all on his own, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. “What's going on, anyway?”

“I'll tell you what I can,” Edgeworth said, “later. ” It was attempted reassurance as much as dismissal.

“Right,” Phoenix agreed. “Unless you're too busy with work.”

There was a sharp sound on the other end, like something had snapped.

"Look, there's nothing I can do about it," Edgeworth said. His voice had a bite of impatience to it, an underlying grow up. “I can't compromise my cases and the people involved just so that I can have a meal with you, or anyone else.”

For a minute, neither of them said anything.

“All right,” Phoenix said, finally. “I guess I'll cancel.”

“Please do.”

Another stilted pause. If he hadn't been able to manage a graceful goodbye, take care from the beginning, he could still make do with it now and cut his losses, leaving both of them with dignity relatively intact. Things came up, after all. It couldn't be helped.

"I was just looking forward to seeing you," Phoenix said. "That's all."

It was the most unfair thing he could have said.

"I..." Edgeworth began, then hesitated; he finished the thought with a heavy sigh that cut as deeply as any retort might have. "I have to get back to this, Wright." Phoenix opened his mouth to reply, not quite done with being petty, but realized he was only speaking into the sound of an empty dial tone.

He didn't know if he'd expected it to ease his disappointment or not, but it did nothing of the sort. As the lights flipped back on, in much slower succession than they had been turned off, and Phoenix sank back against the couch, fingers of one hand cradling his temple against a building migraine, part of him wondered what, exactly, had been happening to him over the past month.



Tinny laugher echoed from the office television across the room. Though the lights were on inside, dusk had given way to night at least half an hour ago. That, coupled with the darkened receptionist area, gave Phoenix the feeling of being adrift and alone, like he was the last living person in the entire building complex.

His phone rang, Steel Samurai ringtone taking on an almost humorous—if startling—quality in the low light and relative silence. He answered it without even glancing at the screen, there were only two people that would call him this late, and one of them was probably out on a date with his latest girl.

“Edgeworth?” he asked, turning the television off with a wave of the remote.

“Wright,” Edgeworth said in greeting.

“What’s going on? Do you have to cancel again?” Phoenix asked, keeping his voice neutral and light. Directly after that debacle last time he’d tried to pick a place to eat, there had been several days of no contact between the two of them—he assumed Edgeworth had been too unsure of where they stood, and Phoenix too stubborn to outright apologize until he had to. It wasn’t something he wanted to go through again so soon.

“We’re still on for tomorrow,” Edgeworth said distractedly, as though Phoenix had derailed what he’d been planning on saying. “Though I was considering pushing our reservations back a half hour, if you don’t mind.”

“No, that’s fine,” Phoenix said, puzzled. When Edgeworth didn’t affirm and hang up, his bewilderment grew. “If there something—”

“How was your day?” Edgeworth said abruptly.

“Me? Good, I guess. Made some follow-up visits on my most recent clients, went down to the detention center to talk to some prospectives…”

“I see,” Edgeworth said. There was a long silence on the other end, and Phoenix was just about to ask again if Edgeworth was feeling all right when it hit him.

He blinked from the force of it, smile slowly stretching across his face as he leaned forward, chin in hand. “Yeah, just the same old same old. How was your day?”

He thought he heard an audible sigh of relief on the other end—he really isn’t good at this sort of thing, huh—before the other man replied, “It was decent enough, all things considered. My case went well, Detective Gumshoe’s dithering on the stand aside...”

I’d think he’d be used to that by now, Phoenix thought. “What happened?”

“He got the testimony he was supposed to give for my case confused with the one he had just given for another prosecutor. When I asked for an explanation, he apologized and said he’d been distracted over thinking about what he was going to do for dinner,” Edgeworth said, voice spread thin with irritation even hours afterwards. Then, relatively normal: “I’m not sure he’s been eating properly.”

A mental image of a particularly clumsy, young ex-police-officer-turned-waitress surfaced. I think it’s less what he’s planning on eating, and more about who he’s planning on eating it with. But Phoenix had a sneaking suspicion that Edgeworth wouldn’t be especially keen on discussing the particulars of his subordinate’s love life.

Phoenix heard the sound of Edgeworth shifting in his leather chair. He wondered if Edgeworth was still staring at his desk with its stacks of paperwork, or if he had turned around to take advantage of what had to be a gorgeous view of the nighttime city skyline. “Still at work?”

“Yes.” Judging by the unusually soft tone of Edgeworth’s voice, Phoenix was surprised to find himself assuming it was the latter instead of the former.

“Me too,” Phoenix said.

“Really? Since it’s this late, I would have expected…”

“I’ve been running around all day, so there were some things I had to finish up here,” Phoenix replied, letting Edgeworth’s disbelief go without comment. He’d finished up what little paperwork he had about thirty minutes ago. “I guess I sort of feel obligated…”

“Obligated?”

“Well, it is a law office. If there’s someone who absolutely needs my help, I’d like to be here,” Phoenix said, thinking about coming in to all the messages left on his machine every morning.

“It might be more helpful to them if you kept regular hours,” Edgeworth said, a touch dryly.

How did I know that was coming? Phoenix sighed. He pushed the chair back further and propped his feet on the desk, turning his own gaze towards his “view”—that of the Gatewater hotel rooms across the alley. A motorcycle backfired from somewhere down the street.

“Sometimes it’s a little hard to get motivated to come in,” he admitted. “Especially when I go down to the detention center because I think someone wants my help, then they tell me I only have fifteen minutes because they have an appointment with someone else after me.”

“Most lawyers aren’t like you,” Edgeworth finally said after a moment of silence. Phoenix got the feeling the prosecutor was trying to phrase something delicately. “They’ll take whatever comes their way.”

That’s not really what I meant, but thanks. “I’m planning on leaving pretty soon here,” Phoenix said, getting up to close the blinds.

“I’m about done here as well,” Edgeworth began as Phoenix deposited the last of the paperwork in the newly organized filing cabinets. He jiggled the keys in his pocket—finding the one to the door by the familiar shape—as he made sure all the windows were secure and turned off the lights, Edgeworth’s voice intimate against his ear the whole time.

It was on the tip of Phoenix’s tongue to ask if Edgeworth wanted to meet somewhere for an impromptu late dinner or even just a cup of coffee. But he didn’t. For some strange reason, a quiet bowl of noodles over at the stand down the street, and then falling asleep to late night infomercials on the couch sounded like the best way to cap the day.

“I’m heading out. Yeah, I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Sleep well,” Phoenix said as the door swung to a close behind his back. His voice seemed to warm in his throat. “Thanks for calling.”



When Edgeworth called him and mentioned he had come into possession of a couple of symphony tickets from a coworker, Phoenix wasn’t sure what to say.

On the one hand, being asked out by Edgeworth for something other than dinner was a rather nice novelty. On the other, all classical music sounded pretty much the same to Phoenix; he had never really understood the concept of going to watch people play music for hours; and his mental image of ‘going to the symphony’ involved a certain level of style not found within a ten mile radius of his closet.

“They’re good seats,” Edgeworth had offered, as though Phoenix should know what that meant.

“Sounds good,” Phoenix had found himself saying. It wasn’t as though he had anything better to do.

So here he was now, waiting outside his apartment, dressed in his other clean work suit. Edgeworth pulled up about fifteen minutes later, just as Phoenix was considering going back inside to wait. Edgeworth rolled down the passenger-side window as the car eased to a stop; he leaned forward and stared at Phoenix. Even in the relative darkness, Phoenix could see the prosecutor’s brow furrow as he squinted.

For a moment, Phoenix was genuinely sure he would be found lacking—that Edgeworth would insist he go back in and comb his hair, or find something to wear that wasn’t threadbare and navy blue.

“I know you’re attached to your badge,” Edgeworth said instead, “But I’m fairly sure you won’t need it tonight.”

Phoenix looked down and there it was, on his left lapel. “It’s a habit,” he muttered defensively as he got into the car. Edgeworth’s lips quirked for a second before he shifted into first gear. Perhaps it was Phoenix’s imagination, but he’d been doing that more often lately.

The drive went quickly enough. Edgeworth seemed well acquainted with this part of the city, grumbling under his breath about parking options aside. Eventually they managed to find a parking garage—with a fee that Phoenix generally attributed more to highway robbery than parking—but Edgeworth was silent as he pulled up and took a ticket from the automatically teller.

As they got out of the car and Edgeworth locked it, he turned to Phoenix and motioned to the back seat. “The music hall is a few blocks away. Do you want my coat?”

“No, I should be fine.” I’m not exactly a fragile flower.

Edgeworth frowned, but he seemed to reconsider what he was going to say because after a short pause he replied, “I’m wearing more layers than you.”

And your suit isn’t as cheap, huh? Normally, the unspoken implication of Edgeworth’s words might have been irritating, but instead, Phoenix found he had to struggle to keep a grin off his face. “Come on, you were the one that was antsy about being late, right?”

Though Phoenix hated to admit it, once they got out on to the street, he began to wish he’d taken Edgeworth up on his offer. It was colder than September had any right to be; the empty streets somehow gave the chill in the air more bite than normal. When Phoenix began to rub his hands together, Edgeworth glanced at him with a smirk that had more than just a tinge of ‘I told you so’ to it.

Phoenix grabbed Edgeworth’s hand, just meaning to dissipate some of his own chill—and annoy the prosecutor in the process. Indeed, Edgeworth frowned in irritation. “Your hands are cold, Wright,” he complained.

Nothing gets past you, huh, Edgeworth?

But instead of pulling away when he could feel his digits again, Phoenix found his fingers curling around Edgeworth’s. He matched his pace to Edgeworth’s as they walked past the lit shops and traffic lights. Just as Phoenix’s fingertips were becoming comfortably warm Edgeworth pulled away, shoving both his hands deep within his pockets and increasing the pace of his clip towards the building looming down the street.

The look on the prosecutor’s face reminded Phoenix of the few times he’d grabbed Edgeworth’s hand and pulled him towards a destination when they were children. Invariably Edgeworth would tug away after a while and rub his hand on his shorts conspicuously, making a face like he’d stuck his hand in muck instead of a little bit of sweat.

It’s nice to see he’s gotten a little more subtle about it, Phoenix thought as he trailed a couple of paces behind, grinning.

As if reading his thoughts, Edgeworth slowed and turned towards him. “What’s so amusing?”

“Nothing,” Phoenix said. Well, nothing he’d find funny, at any rate.

They passed the last street across from the music hall, and Phoenix was slightly comforted to see more of a mixture in levels of dress than he expected—actually, more of a mixture of people than he’d expected. A man walked past them, daughter’s hand in his. They, in turn, passed an older couple leaning against one another as they slowly navigated the steps.

Edgeworth was obviously familiar with the inside of the building too, as Phoenix found all he had to do was follow him as he led the way to the box seating on left side of the hall. Settling in, he watched for a few minutes as the orchestra began to warm up their instruments. His earlier assumption had been right, Phoenix discovered. While the acoustics up here were nice, it was difficult to sustain interest in watching people playing in the distance. He let his eyes fall shut.

“You can listen without closing your eyes,” Edgeworth whispered after a few moments. Phoenix didn’t dignify it with a response, he knew the end result would be a zing on his inability to do more than one thing at a time, or something along those lines. Instead, he allowed his head to loll to the side, against Edgeworth’s shoulder as though he’d fallen asleep.

He could feel the other man’s muscles suddenly tense, a slight twitch that not even the normally stoic prosecutor could hide, but instead of the shove and irritated chiding he expected to follow, Edgeworth didn’t even so much as move.

The light behind his eyelids dimmed, and the high, almost mournful sound of an unidentifiable wood instrument eased into the air…

Phoenix jerked awake with an almost-snort, blinking as applause filled the auditorium. “Wha…?” he mumbled.

“It’s over, Wright,” Edgeworth said, still clapping.

“The first movement?” Phoenix rubbed his right eye with the back of his hand.

“No, the entire concert.”

At first Phoenix thought Edgeworth was kidding, but the people a few seats down were already packing up their things and moving towards the exit.

“How did I…” Phoenix began, sleep still softening the edges of his brain.

“I don’t know either. At least your snoring provided an interesting counterpoint to the percussion,” Edgeworth said. It sounded like he was trying to work himself into irritation and was failing miserably.

“I don’t snore,” Phoenix protested, taking Edgeworth’s proffered hand when the prosecutor stood up.

Edgeworth didn’t have much to say as they maneuvered through the crowds towards the exit, but when they were back on the street, he turned to Phoenix once again. “I hope you know that was a complete waste of a perfectly good ticket. Are you too tired for a quick cup of coffee, or should I just drop you off at home?”

Keep needling me and I won’t tell you about the drool on your left shoulder, Edgeworth. Phoenix shook his head. “No, coffee sounds good.” I’m pretty well-rested thanks to someone who’d rather waste a ticket than wake me up...



Their meeting place this evening was just down the street from Edgeworth’s apartment—a privately owned café Edgeworth had suggested after shooting down Phoenix’s proposal of the chain closer to Phoenix’s office, since they were both too tired to make the effort for dinner.

There had been a point, Phoenix was pretty sure, when he would have mentally rebelled at taking the bus out of his way to drink a cup of coffee with Miles Edgeworth, then turning around and taking it back home. The fact that this sequence of events wasn’t only normal, but desirable, was probably a sign that what little sanity he had left after dealing with cases and Maya on a regular basis was slipping away.

Phoenix found he didn’t mind too much.

And when Edgeworth looked up through the window of the cafe from the magazine he was perusing while waiting, a sort of pleasantly startled expression coming over his face, like meeting Phoenix really was the highlight of his day, Phoenix found he didn’t really mind at all.

“Have you been waiting long?” Phoenix asked when he got inside.

“Fairly,” Edgeworth replied, closing his magazine and placing it on the table. “If I had known you would be this late, I would have gone home to change.”

My fault for asking, Phoenix thought. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. But, as it didn’t appear Edgeworth was particularly perturbed over the delay, Phoenix moved on without comment.

“This looks like a nice place,” he said instead. The ambiance was nice, especially compared to his local coffee chain, which was usually filled with people tersely grunting their orders and crying children. Most of the patrons seemed to be college couples, leaning over lopsided stacks of textbooks and papers a little closer than was strictly necessary.

“…the only place that serves it,” Edgeworth finished saying.

“Huh?” Phoenix blinked, returning to earth. He settled a little more firmly in his chair, trying to quash the idea that the two grown men in business suits seated across from one another at the small circular table made a particular sight. He reached for a drink list. “Why did you choose this place again?”

Normally Edgeworth would become irritated at having to repeat himself, but all that happened was a briefly sour look on his face, like he had bitten into a slice of lemon, before he sighed in a can’t be helped way that was almost affectionate. “I said they’re the only place in the immediate area that serves Lapsang Souchong that isn’t from a tea bag.”

I have no idea what that is. Having thought that, perusing the menu, if it was anything close to how Edgeworth pronounced it, it was the most expensive drink on the list.

“Have you decided?” Edgeworth asked after a few silent moments.

“Oh, ah, I’ll just get the house special coffee blend.”

The waiter came by shortly, nodding with familiarity to Edgeworth before taking both their drink orders and vanishing in back. I wonder if he comes here often…then again, with the way he dresses, once would probably be enough.

When their drinks came back, Phoenix took a sip of his coffee. As far as his unrefined pallet could tell, it was good enough. Phoenix could only really tell bad coffee when Maya burned it or if it had been sitting in the pot for several days, so the intricacies of tea were probably completely beyond his ken.

Watching Edgeworth take a sip of his and then unconsciously sigh contently in response, however, made a particular warmth hover in the center of Phoenix’s chest—he was fairly sure that wasn’t from the coffee either.

“That looks good,” he said.

Edgeworth paused, then inclined his teacup slightly in an almost-but-not-quite invitation. Before he could change his mind and pull back, Phoenix reached out. Their fingers glanced as Phoenix took the cup. He raised it to his lips and took a small sip.

His reaction must have been a sight to behold, because Edgeworth’s chuckle was particularly loud as he reached out a hand to rescue his tea.

“How can you drink that?” Phoenix said sourly, wiping his mouth and unconsciously reaching towards the center of the table for the sugar. It tastes like someone used it as an ashtray.

He had the packet open and about half of it into the tea before his brain caught up with his hands and saw it fit to inform him that he was dumping something in someone else’s drink. He drew back and fidgeted with what little remained, debating on whether or not to pour the rest of it into his own coffee. Edgeworth reached out and plucked the sugar from Phoenix grasp and poured the remainder in, stirring once or twice to make sure it didn’t just settle at the bottom before he took another swallow.

“Ruined,” he said almost conversationally, eyes half lidded in amusement as he stared at Phoenix over the edge of the cup.

Don’t look at me like it’s my fault. Just add some liquid smoke; that should fix it! “Sorry,” Phoenix said in lieu of anything else. “I’ll, uh, make it up to you.”

At that, Edgeworth’s smirk seemed to widen faintly, taking on the tinge it did when Phoenix said something particularly foolish in court. No, that wasn’t quite right—there was nothing derisive about the way Edgeworth was looking at him. It was almost affectionate.

“Good day?” he asked when Edgeworth set the cup down once again. It must have been. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this before.

“About as well as can be expected.”

Phoenix smiled. Regardless of Edgeworth’s blasé response, he could tell. There was something calm and confident in Edgeworth’s entire air tonight, in the way he held the cup to his lips, the way his hand rested quietly on the table instead of drumming. It was a rare enough sight that he found himself wanting to soak it up; while Edgeworth occasionally turned to watch people walk down the street in-between bursts of small talk, Phoenix’s eyes didn’t move.

Eventually, Edgeworth set his teacup down and Phoenix took one last gulp of his coffee for the road, before both of them got up as if as one. Phoenix reached for his wallet, but Edgeworth was faster; he had pulled out a twenty and set it atop the check before Phoenix could even open his. Phoenix shrugged. Some part of him, no doubt left over from his days with Dollie, protested, but that particular aspect of his personality wasn’t paying the bills.

The night air was cold against his face and the sky rumbled ominously as he followed Edgeworth out the door. He paused to gauge the thick clouds hiding the moon from view. If this weather kept up, he was going to have to invest in a pair of gloves, or bribe Pearl or Maya to make him a set. In lieu, he reached for Edgeworth’s hand, and was momentarily surprised to feel it close around his own. And, when Edgeworth didn’t pull away after a minute or two, that surprise changed into something warm that seemed to radiate across his chest.

It almost became a strange sort of game Phoenix played with himself. He’ll let go after this stoplight, he’d think, and then Edgeworth’s grip would actually tighten as they rushed across the alternating white lines of the crosswalk, angry rumbles of thunder following their hurried footsteps.

Edgeworth didn’t actually let go until the first heavy drops of rain began to fall, about a block away from his high rise. They both picked up the pace, not quite running but no longer walking. By the time they made it to the entrance, Edgeworth’s long bangs were plastered to his forehead and his cravat was a limp parody of itself. The back and shoulders of his suit were damp.

Phoenix followed Edgeworth to the left and into the stairwell. It was always a slight shock to the eyes to go from the opulence of the marble tiled, open lobby to the cramped cement flights of stairs, but it was something he was getting more and more used to as time progressed. Their footsteps were wet against the steps, echoing loudly.

When they reached the familiar door to his apartment, Edgeworth turned around, digging through his pockets for his keys. Once he had gotten the door open, he turned back to Phoenix. This too had become familiar.

Edgeworth very rarely touched when they kissed—and when he did it was usually a fleeting palm against Phoenix’s arm. Phoenix sometimes had a sinking feeling it was more for his benefit, to allow for a quick get away if things should go beyond Phoenix’s comfort level.

So it was a surprise when Phoenix leaned across to give Edgeworth a goodnight kiss and he felt a hand come to rest on his lower back. There was no force behind it, but Phoenix leaned in closer than he might normally. He raised his hand, fingers skimming across the line of Edgeworth’s jawbone—stubble, his brain noted distantly, amusingly—before coming to rest at the base of Edgeworth’s neck, still cold and slightly clammy from the rain.

When their lips met, Edgeworth made a noise low in his throat, so faint Phoenix thought he might have imagined it. Phoenix broke away and, in a move of daring that left even himself surprised, moved down to kiss right below Edgeworth’s ear, at that sensitive junction where it met his jaw.

That time he knew he wasn’t imagining the sharp hiss of breath that escaped the prosecutor’s mouth. Or, for that matter, the hand moving up his back, pulling him closer. Edgeworth caught Phoenix’s mouth again, pushing forward. Phoenix’s breathing became labored as a twist of tension caught in his lower belly, taut and thrumming with anticipation.

Edgeworth pulled away first, breathing heavily. There was a second of brief silence, a thick pause overflowing with possibilities, but the moment passed before Phoenix could wet his lips or move his tongue.

Knowing it was too late, Phoenix forced his mouth to work. “I should get going.”

“Goodnight, Wright,” Edgeworth said, a faint tinge of warmth, an unspoken ‘see you soon’ ghosting beneath the surface.

“Yeah,” Phoenix said. “Uh, you, too. Sleep well.”

There was nothing left for him to do but leave.

In the elevator, Phoenix ran a hand though his still-damp hair and tried to decide which was stronger, the relief or the disappointment. Too late he remembered that it was raining.

I should have at least asked to borrow an umbrella.



Typical day. Recently, that meant waking up—somewhere in the range of ten and eleven o' clock—checking to see if he was able to scrape together a bowl of starch resembling breakfast, taking a shower, and heading to the office, chiefly to watch television. He turned the volume down when the phone rang.

His heart still gave a funny jump; maybe it always would—but he no longer felt obligated to let his mind race itself into the frenzy before he so much as answered, and his hands no longer went cold and stiff as he pushed the button to receive the call.

“Hey,” Phoenix said. “Are we still on for today?”

“No, not tonight,” came Edgeworth's voice, “I'm working late again.” There was an unspoken apology beneath the words. “Maybe tomorrow... no, the day after—wait a moment.” The sound of pages fluttering fell in place of his fading voice.

Phoenix drummed his fingers on the armrest as he waited.

“Actually...” Phoenix spoke up, then hesitated. “Can I still see you tonight?”

“What?” Edgeworth said. Then, slightly annoyed: “I just said I'm working late, Wright. I'm not going to have time to go out.”

“We don't have to go out,” Phoenix replied.

Half a beat, then, “Excuse me?”

“I could see you at your place,” Phoenix said. It was akin to forcing lead weights out of his throat—but he drove forward. “We could just meet there. If you give me a call after you've wrapped up.”

The sound of pages turning had stopped. Phoenix remained silent, waiting for him to answer, but internally his mind was churning at a rate that almost matched the rolling boil that was his stomach.

“It'll be late,” Edgeworth said again. His voice was tightly level. “Probably very late.”

“That's fine,” Phoenix said, before he could allow himself to rethink it.

By Phoenix's count, it took fifteen seconds, but he was fairly certain his heartbeat was firing at least six times that rate by the time Edgeworth spoke up, his words passing through tense fingers white against the curve of the receiver.

“All right,” Edgeworth answered. The right came out slightly strangled.

“See you then,” Phoenix said, “tonight.”

As it turned out, Phoenix got the call just shy of eleven. From the way Edgeworth had talked, he had half wondered if he was going to have to stay up waiting until past midnight into all hours of the morning.

“I'm driving back,” Edgeworth said, shortly.

“Okay,” Phoenix answered.

That had been the sum of it.

He'd walked to his door, turned the doorknob, heard it open with a click—and turned back around when he realized he'd left his jacket—and again for his keys. With the former slipped over his shoulders and the latter tucked into his pocket, he moved back to the exit, but the nagging feeling persisted at the back of the mind that he was forgetting something important.

Should I bring something...?

Imagining the look on Edgeworth's face if he showed up to greet him with a bouquet of flowers was enough to make Phoenix's flinch slightly from the force of the imaginary door being slammed in his face.

In the end, he had just went. He ended up sorely regretting it five minutes into the bus ride, too, when his throat was parched and aching painfully.

Phoenix flexed his wrists as he stepped off the bus into the evening air and began to walk; it was like his body couldn't figure out if he wanted to hurry or delay his approach. Maybe it just wanted to stay in the limbo of the darkened street, suspended just before the finality of walking through a door.

Inevitably, though, he caught sight of the apartment building. He gave a cursory glance into the parking lot for Edgeworth's car—it was there—before making his way in and up the three flights of stairs, realizing halfway up he could have just taken the elevator. It must have been out of habit—after all, though he didn't actually remember the exact number of Edgeworth's room, walking through the familiar halls made it easy. It was routine. He'd done it a dozen times before, after all.

He'd seen the door a dozen times before, but never stepped past it.

He raised the back of his hand against the polished wood, breathing deeply.

Here goes nothing.

Two quick raps with the back of his knuckles. It took about a second and a half; he ended up waiting for five minutes. He was about to decide if he wanted to try to call Edgeworth to see if he was alive or turn around and leave—his hand had inched towards the pocket of his coat—when the door opened abruptly, the click of the releasing lock like a soft bang in the otherwise quiet hall.

Phoenix had expected that seeing Edgeworth's face, knit tightly with unspoken anxiety, would only serve to knot his intestines into a further tangle—but to his vague surprise, he instead felt a strange wave of calm—and something resembling certainty—wash over him.

“Hey,” he said.

Edgeworth met his eyes.

Phoenix stepped inside.

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Hurray for new chapters!

There were so many little things I loved about this chapter: the evolution of their hand holding, Phoenix actually sleeping through the opera orchestra and Miles (relatively) unannoyed with him because he spent it sleeping on his shoulder (incidentally, that drool line actually made me choke on whatever liquid I was drinking while I was reading this), Nick feeling guilty about keeping his relationship a secret from the Feys....

And, of course, the heavy yet unspoken sexual tension of epic proportions that accompanies the last two or three pages. :P I cannot believe you two left the loyal readers that we are on the doorstep; that's just evil.

Anyway, seeing the new chapter posted made my night.

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The waiting's worth it. This chapter has become of my favourites ones. The tension between both of them is very realistic and I like the slow development of their relationship (I loved all the little details, like their hand holding and that Edgeworth starts feeling more when he kisses Phoenix). In conclusion, the fic just keeps getting better and better.

And that ending... now I'm in desperate need of reading the next chapter. You're evil...

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You have no idea how happy I was this morning when I opened this tab and found chapter six was up.

For most of my fanfics, 90% of them I tend to just sit and read, and somewhat give a mix between a grunt of annoyance and a small laugh at the end. I noticed in this chapter - well this whole fanfic - in general made me very giddy. I noticed that my heartbeat sped up alot at the intense parts between Pheonix and Edgeworth ( such as the hands, phoenix's emotions ). I also accidentally yelled out
'EDGEWORTH YOU IDIOT' about three or four times.

The wait was so worth it, but not I feel like I'm gonna die if this doesnt update soon.
It's great to finally read a fanfic that isnt completely "OKAY. FIRST CHAPTER, LETS GROPE" and stuff, and its nice and calming how it goes slowly and nicely.

I also found myself super giddy when I realized that this chapter - well to me - was a bit longer.

In conclusion, thank you, and I will murder you if you don't undate soon.
[ I kid, I kid. Atleast now I have a reason to get up every morning. ]

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I recently regained access to my forum account but have continued to check this thread... I read Beautiful (which was, ha-ha, beautiful... I couldn't help but laugh thinking the three girls sat right there during chapter 6's Italian restaurant) and the side story, and once again you've outdone yourselves. The attention you pay somebody you're obsessed with, the realness of events like Wright's disappointment when Edgeworth cancels and their pride clashes... how, er, relationships in the fledgling stages make you give up large chunks of your personality and preferences for the moment. How Edgeworth sees through him on the professional level - being in a position that demands careful selection of words to prove or make a point - and having his masterplan fail on the emotional. It takes them several months of rather regular dating to move past the stage of dignified kissing (although personally... I thought that the long timespan and effort it takes them wasn't stretched enough in the chapter yet - that's due to my extreme image of Edgeworth though. The storytelling was very good. I hope you won't rush anything in the future either), and slowly they're moving to the next stage... despite their shared slice of childhood it can be tougher than anything to find topics to talk about.

God bless their little souls, I feel with them so much, and I'm so happy they're not stuck in a perfect romance scenario but walking through the real world (without homophobic crap - boy was I happy when I read Beautiful and saw Pearl is fine with them rather than "OH GOD MYSTIC MAYA WHY IS MR. NICK TOUCHIAAAAHHHGHF")) rich in detail and always at a well-defined pace. You two - not as "lol musouka and raelle from the intarwebz! o and dey think of funay storiez" - but as writers, as people - continue to amaze me. Inducting such strong feelings in someone using the mere power of words, fiction - which is completely fake -, shuffling me around from the edge of the seat into fetal positioning in the black depths of this armchair, partying for a long solid moment upon seeing a new chapter is up... really.

The cliffhanger broke my heart, though. This chapter was too full of good things, I get the feeling you're going to do something terrible to them next, especially since it's the start of a chapter, agh, agh.

Waitwaitwait, where is this Beautiful and how many I access it?

ETA: ...Oh, that Beautiful. ^_^' I thought another side story had been uploaded.

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Thank you all so much for the praise, as usual. Both Raelle and I were nervous over this chapter, since it was pretty different from the others that came before it in that it was more of a "collection of moments" than an actual narrative. Having said that, in that, I can see we made a few mistakes...

In the original timeline, Phoenix and Edgeworth's courtship phase lasted for about two weeks. This ended up being absolutely ridiculous, so we stretched it out to a couple of months--not so much because of Edgeworth, but because of Phoenix. We tried to leave hints as to the time frame, but figuring it out is a bit like a complex mathematical problem (Going from August to September, plus meeting two or three times a week minus five carry the eight, ect, ect) so it makes sense why it would seem like half a year or so. XD

Though Phoenix and Edgeworth go to the same restaurant as in Beautiful in the beginning of this chapter, Beautiful isn't actually in the Struggling timeline/universe--mainly because we have no plans for a Maya/Fran romance in this fic. (Neither is One of These Things is Not Like the Other, btw.) Yes, even our alternate universes are so boring they all seem alike.

As for homophobia, while I'm sure that it still exists even in 2020, we really wanted Phoenix's struggles to be more internal. He loves Edgeworth, deep down accepts that he loves Edgeworth, but is still slightly preoccupied with how things look at times. (At others, he doesn't really care, I guess) In that respect, even if he did run into a homophobic person, I'm not sure he'd recognize it at this point. As always, too focused on himself. :p

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Fics like this are what keep me reading, instead of screaming in terror and banning myself from fanfic reading for all eternity.

I've always hated fanfiction, but reading this, and a select few others (namely in the PW community.. I still cannot sit through reading other fics in other communities I'm involved in, especially when they turn to MPREG WTF?!? AHH!) has made me very happy to find those few pearls in a sea of oysters.

I did enjoy the VERY slow, gripping, evolution of their relationship... it also made me realize that I, myself, am extremely uncomfortable showing public displays of affection. I refuse to ever hold hands, to kiss or hug in public, and have and always will be like that. To read about someone else holding hands, going out on numerous dates, made me feel like I was missing a large part of what relationships encompass (as I never and still don't do any of those things, and have been in a serious relationship for quite a few years, I just feel uncomfortable doing said things). The head-bonking or whatnot, basically learning how to kiss another person, the awkwardness of it, was very real (incidentally, I chipped my front tooth yesterday doing the same thing, and we've been kissing for years, haha!)

I'm guessing the next update'll be another month down the road, but man, now I'm curious how far it'll go. It'll be quite the wait, with that cliffhanger!

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I discovered this fic yesterday evening.
I thought to myself, after reading the chapter one and half of chapter two, "Hmm. This looks like... a surprisingly good fic. Seeing as Court Records is blocked at school, I'll post the rest of this chapter to my e-mail to read there instead".

I then completely forgot doing that, apparently, and continued to read until I'd finished chapter two.

...then, when I went to bed, I tried to go to sleep for a bit, then sat up, turned on my Wii and proceeded to read the rest of the fic for three hours straight until one o'clock in the morning.

And, apparently, I'm more excitable after midnight. So I squee'd. A lot. Into my pillow. Curled up on my stomach in the darkness reading the entire fic. XD

NOTHING EXCEPT ROLEPLAYING FOR TWELVE HOURS STRAIGHT HAS EVER GOT ME TO DO THAT. CONGRATULATIONS!

Er, yes. So, this is an amazing fic. 8D Seriously. I can't express how amazing this is. I kept on replaying scenes in my head and laughing very loudly in the middle of ICT. Aaand then I went home and skimmed over the entire fic again (and re-read certain scenes five times). THIS IS AMAZING SERIOUSLY.

Also, I discovered Struggling Against Gravity YESTERDAY and I've already checked for updates three times.

...seriously. XD

The characters are so amazingly written and it is SO SO SO realistic. The annoying thing is, whenever I read an amazing fic for a pairing I just... keep to it. Re-reading it over and over again and not quite bringing myself to reading any other fics of that pairing for fear of damaging what is now totally canon. XP

EDIT: Additionally (I'd jammed the Wii remote to continue scrolling very slowly non-stop so I could just read very close to the screen) when I saw your signature coming up at the end of the chapter, and realised OMG THERE IS NO MORE. WTF. WHY IS THERE NO MORE WHY. I just stared at the screen in a sort of mix between O____O;;;; and >OOOOO for at least ten seconds. XD And then proceeded to fall asleep.

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I think that what this fic captures well is the awkwardness of the Phoenix/Miles pairing. On the one hand, they seem to be made for each other, but on the other, each one is emotionally oblivious in his own special way. And the financial gap is treated perfectly.

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I am not at all a fan of this pairing, but your writing so so friggin pretty that I find myself wanting to read it anyway. I binged on your chapters just because I kept wanting to know what was going to happen next and found myself bubbly with joy when Phoenix suddenly kissed Edgeworth.
Your creative way of describing scenary has inspired me to add more of the same to my own works of fiction and fan alike, but at some points I felt that there was too much scenary and not enough story. I understand that you're wanting to set the mood, but as a girl who chiefly reads comics I start getting a little impatient and want to scroll down to the dialogue. This is just a personal distaste and I'm sure a majority of your readers will disagree with me.
I wait in anticipation for your next chapter, and thank you for taking the time to produce quality fanwork.

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I'm really glad that my curiosity got the better of me and I decided to click on the link in Musouka's signature. I became a fan of the Phoenix/Edgeworth pairing since I played the games, but I like this fic for more than just the characters involved. You put so much effort and care into this, and it really comes across in how believable it is. I really believe that this could be how the events in the game end up, and no one acts in a way that doesn't work with how he is portrayed in the games.

First of all, I like the writing style a lot. The pace is slow but never boring. The point-of-view is a lot like the games in that you see how Phoenix is thinking and feeling without getting too wordy (and his inner sarcasm comes across just like in the games). I think more writers need to realize that emotions can be just as powerful if they're subtle and not dramatic (which you've expressed nicely with Edgeworth here). You also have a talent for imagery. When I read this I feel as though I'm seeing what's going on like a movie. I can feel Nick's anticipation, embarassment, and nervousness, and can guess at how Edgeworth is feeling as well. My heart pounded along with Nick's as he went to confront Edgeworth at his office, and a nice warm feeling set in as they held hands or laughed together in the park.

This story is really a continuation on a relationship that has been built up throughout the games, and never once does it seem cliché or forced. It feels real, and that's the important part. Another aspect I like is how you don't mention the word "gay" at all. This is a development in a relationship between two people. That they're both male is only a secondary aspect. Nick's anxiety over being kissed the first time is more of his confusion over Edgeworth doing this, not just because he is male. Although it's interesting that he still notices "the look", but he doesn't seem to care anyway. It was interesting that Edgeworth made the first move though. I wouldn't have expected it, and I felt bad for how awful he probably felt after that, but it had to happen that way. And Nick trying to work it out was the most nerve-wracking part, but I'm glad it ended up the way it did. I like how even though they're "dating", it's more of two people learning to understand each other, and the kissing is only a nice extra.

Obviously Edgeworth began to realize his feelings before Nick. I'd always thought it was sometime between 2-4 and 3-5, so what are your thoughts about that? When do you think they both started to see each other in a "different" way? (If this will be mentioned in future chapters, sorry for asking ahead of time).

Another thing I like is how Maya, Pearl, and Iris are included in this, as developed characters instead of plot devices (although we all know Maya's had suspicions about them for awhile). The way you presented Nick's and Iris's relationship is exactly how I feel about it, so good job on that.

Now I guess I'll talk about more of the specifics that I've liked. Nick being hyper-aware of everything Edgeworth does, Edgeworth framed by a sunset, Edgeworth being like a nervous schoolgirl around her crush, Nick falling asleep on Edgeworth's shoulder at the orchestra, learning to adjust for Edgeworth's height, Nick's nervousness every time he gets a call on his phone, watching Edgeworth at the trial, Edgeworth being a fan of jazz and working hard when he's stressed.... There are too many to list!

This is not only well-done for a fanwork, but for any piece of writing. I commend you both for such an excellent job. The fic has put me through an emotional roller coaster right along with Nick, but that is definitely not a bad thing! I can't wait to see future chapters.

Good job.

...I didn't think it was possible. I truly didn't. I never thought any piece of literature could make me feel this giddy, and happy, and God knows what else. I have no idea what to say. And I have not the slightest idea what this wonderful fanfic is making me feel. It's just so awesome. I especially like the tension between the two. I could never write anything this good. My dreams of ever becoming an author are crushed, but that doesn't matter becuase I can't even feel the pain of having them crushed. All I feel... Well, as I said, I don't know what I'm feeling. If I wasn't a fan of P/E before, I would be now. But I was a fan in the first place.

I am so showing this to my friend Charly. She'll love it, for sure. Even though she's never played PW before, she hears me talk about it. A lot. And she laughs at my obsessivness every time (In a nice way). It's a shame she doesn't have a DS. I can't get over this high. I've had it since yesterday in Buisness Ed. class (Which is 5th period, and a very hard time to get me happy) when I first started reading this, and the giddyness hasn't declined in the least bit. Well, maybe that's an exaggeration. I wasn't giddy this morning when I woke up, but as soon as I thought of what was going to happen in the 4th chapter (Which is where I was yesterday), I was instantly imbued with that wonderful sense of happiness I can't explain in words.

*to Musouka* You're just an overall awesome person. I first met you on that thread (Hopefully you remember) about why people like or dislike P/E, and my respect for the wonderful person you are has only grown immensly after reading this. You actually mkae it seem real, and I can imagine every moment of this happening, even though I'm not actually as big a fan of them on a full out romantic relationship as I may have been a while ago.

*to Raelle* I haven't personally met you, but I must thank you for working on this. I'm sure this couldn't be done without both of you. If I knew more about you, trust me, I would be showering you with praise right now. However, all I can do is direct the praise I'm giving this fanfic to you as well. It would not be fair to not thank both the wonderful parents of this miracle.

I've never read a fanfic in my life, but from what I've heard, most of them are just pretty much pieces of shit. This, however, is not. I'm at the edge of my seat, fists clutched tightly, pressing so hard it hurts, and barely hearing anything else while I read this. I can feel Phoenix's emotions coursing through my veins. I can feel Edgeworth as well. I get so jiddery whenever they kiss, and I almost squealed with joy when Phoenix grabbed Edgey's hand. I laughed with Edgeworth, and I sighed with Phoenix. I even felt the taste of sourdough bread on my tounge. I find it so hard to focus on anything else for hours after this! Please, please, write more soon. Not only for my sake, but for the sake of all the wonderful people around me. I don't need any more enemies. *laughs*

Let me end on this note; I love y'all. Abosouletly love you. Yes, I'm a girl, and yes, I'm straight, but I can't help but love you. Both of you. I wish y'all the best of luck on all of your endeavors, whatever they may be. May God (Even though I don't believe) bless your souls.

Edit: Finished chapter 6! And it was freakin awesome! But oh, the cliff-hangerness! The horrible cliff-hangerness! Makes me want to pull my hair out. In a good way. (By horrible, I don't mean horrible writing on your part. In fact, it's excellent! I mean bad for me since I want to find out what happens)

Edit x2: I just finished copying, pasting, and formating this all in a Word document. Guess what I discovered. $15.20. That's what I discovered. That is exactly how much money it would take to print out all 6 chapters of SAG, excluding the side stories, from the library at 10 cents a page. That's right people. 152 pages. And that's with the title, "Struggling Against Gravity," in 18 point Zapfino once at the top of the document, the chapter numbers (Ex: "Chapter 1" at the beginning of chapter 1) in 24 point Edwardian Script ITC, and the body of the chapters in 12 point Times New Roman.

Last edited by Clarissa Gavin on Sun Jan 27, 2008 10:07 pm, edited 1 time in total.

A beautiful story.... looking forward for the continuation.

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Wow, you guys. Once again I'm awed and flattered at the responses to this fic. (Half of me is still going "Really? Really, is it that interesting?" Which is, uh, probably not the best mental outlook you can have on your own fic. ^^;; )

I'm uncomfortable with recieving and watching PDAs, so a part of me is still wondering if chapter six is "too much". It's kind of late now, I guess, huh? Chapter six was really about getting all of the sap out of the way--you probably won't have as romantic a chapter as this one from here on out--and both Raelle and I tore out our hair in parts.

Since I've said that, I guess I can finally say that Struggling isn't about Phoenix and Edgeworth getting together, it's about them being together. I think they're pretty firmly entrenched at this point. That's not to say that there's nothing left to tell--the courtship is just the beginning of the interesting stuff, IMO--just that, yeah, they're definitely dating now, and all the good stuff that goes with it.

It just makes me so happy to hear that people are doing with this fic what I used to do with all my favorites. Hearing about people staying up late to read--uh, p-please don't fail any classes!--getting involved with the story emotionally...that sort of feedback is so gratifying to hear as a writer and I appreciate the time it takes to type out those reviews. Reviewing is hard work, and the fact that so many of you take the time to do that--some of you for every chapter--is really stunning.

I don't know how to thank you except putting my nose back to the grindstone and hoping you'll like what's to come just as much!

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No offense, but I think you have self-esteem issues. *smiles* Then again, what artist shouldn't? That's one of the great gifts of a writer. I have a list of great gifts of the perfect writer (IMO), and if any of y'all want to see it, all you have to do is ask.

I don't think chapter 6 was too romantic. I actually think it had a nice balance. However, I don't think too many more chapters like this would be good. It was a great addition right here, but it's kinda a one time thing. You shouldn't rip your hair out. No matter how much you want to. Believe me, I've seen a bald woman, and it ain't pretty. No offense to the woman, of course, since it wasn't her fault.

I agree. They've already gotten together, but that doesn't mean there's nothing more to talk about. In fact, I'm quite happily awaiting more of the being together stuff. It's most definately the most interesting part. Edit: Here, I have a quote I discovered on the net that I think fits their relationship pretty well:
"The decision to kiss for the first time is the most crucial in any love story. It changes the relationship of two people much more strongly than even the final surrender; because this kiss already has within it that surrender." Emil Ludwig

I'm glad I could make someone happy. Most of the time, I tend to do just the oppisite. And don't worry, I won't fail S.S. *laughs* I wish I could've reviewed it chapter by chapter, but since I only just discovered it about two weeks ago, I couldn't very well do that, could I? Well, I suppose I could've, but I'm afirad I just don't have the time.

I wish I had something else to say... This post seems like it sucks, but I'm going to post it anyway, before I change my mind. I hope I don't seem like a complete idiot.

I just had to bump this incredible fic to the top page so perhaps some AJ newbies could stumble across its glory!

I'm not going to wax lyrical like the prior posters because they've basically said what I feel. I'm a librarian, so I read A LOT and for non-professional writers I'm completely astounded, ach I wish I had your talents, I can't even write my appreciation without turning fangirlish and offering you internet cookies and my firstborn (but I would)

I just hope you guys haven't become bored of this project because you don't want to break our little hearts do you? DO YOU?!!?

February has come and gone and still I linger here, hoping that the next chapter will soon be up and waiting to be read. The anticipation I feel when I click on the present testimony link to see if this thread has been updated is almost unbearable! I most know, are you nearly finished? Halfway finished? Almost-sorta-kinda-definitely-not finished? As long as you don't give up on this fic I shall not despair, but please let me know, give me some hope! A light at the end of the tunnel!

In short: When do you think you'll update? >w< The wait is killing me!

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We're hard at work on chapter seven, never fear! Hopefully we should have that, chapter eight, and a couple of other goodies out in fairly record time afterwards.

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Yay! *is happy* I've been waiting forever! Not that I don't understand that writing is a process that can take a long time (And usually does, if it's half-decent writing), and I really appreciate all the work that you two put into this, just to appease us poor pitiful people out here.

Last edited by Clarissa Gavin on Mon Apr 14, 2008 11:46 pm, edited 1 time in total.

Hope this one is long enough to make up for the delay!




Phoenix squirmed and wrinkled his forehead when the sunlight glanced across his eyes. His left hand flew upwards to shield them from the unwelcome brightness; the other grabbed blindly for sheets that still felt somewhat stiff and alien against his skin. Successfully seizing a loose fistful, he dragged them upwards until they obscured his face up to his hairline, but it didn't help as much as he had hoped. There was something fundamentally irritating about the blend of regal pink and iridescent yellow.

An earlier, unwelcome intrusion of the sun was one of many things that had been difficult to adjust about waking up in another person's bed; in his own apartment, the window was situated such that the morning light never hit higher than his waist. Personally, he thought that this was more than a fair trade for the plush carpets and fancy kitchen—and it was beyond Phoenix why an apartment occupied by a single man would require more than one bathroom—but he supposed he wasn't the one paying for it, so his opinion didn't count for much.

Though it wasn't really as bad as it could have been: being in a third story apartment gave Phoenix a slight respite from a full on glare. Even though the windows in Edgeworth’s room were huge—nearly floor to ceiling—the surrounding buildings were tall enough to block most of the rays until the sun rose to a certain height or angle. Like, unfortunately, now.

“You need curtains…” Phoenix mumbled, rolling over. The light was considerably less invasive when attacking the back of his head rather than his face, he observed.

Edgeworth’s reply, when it came, was farther away than Phoenix expected but no less tart. “You always say that.”

And you never do anything about it, Phoenix inwardly retorted. He lifted his head and briefly squinted at the form of the other man across the room before falling back onto the pillow. This routine was as familiar as his perennial complaint—the sound of footsteps against the hardwood floor; the closet rolling open; rustling of fabric against fabric as Edgeworth tied his cravat. Somewhere before and after, the sound of water running and the hum of an electric shaver; hopefully Edgeworth hadn't made enough of a mess in the bathroom last night that it wouldn't be unbearable to use when Phoenix felt inclined to wake up more fully...

Remembering suddenly, his eyes flew open and he pushed himself up again. “Wait a second, you’re not actually going in today, are you?”

Edgeworth paused—almost guiltily, Phoenix thought—in putting on his jacket. “I feel better.”

It’d be hard for him to feel any worse than he did last night, Phoenix thought, inspecting Edgeworth from head to toe. He really did look a little more lively, if still as pale, but the bar hadn't exactly been set high. Rubbing his eyes and shaking his head, he glanced around—the glass of water on the bed stand, still half-full when he had last seen it before, had been emptied now. That was promising.

“Do you need any help? Breakfast or anything?” he asked.

“No,” Edgeworth replied. “I'm fine. It's not as though I've been rendered an invalid, Wright.”

You could stand to be a little less defensive, though.

“If you say so,” Phoenix said. “But let me know if there's something.”

Edgeworth seemed embarrassed by the scrutiny; the dresser on the other side of the room abruptly held an inordinate amount of interest for him. His hand plucked at the cuff of his suit distractedly—whether out of frustration or trying to hide how bad he really was feeling, Phoenix couldn’t tell.

“I said I'll be fine,” he repeated. More awkward fumbling at invisible lint, then, “But... thank you for your concern.”

The condition you were in, Phoenix thought, you'd have to have been blind or stupid not to be concerned...



When Edgeworth hadn’t answered the door last night, Phoenix had paused only briefly before digging into his pocket and using his index finger to fish out the ring of keys in an easy, practiced moment.

Where before there had only been two on the steel loop, home and the office, there was now another, newer addition. This was the first time he had the chance to use it to enter the apartment—he usually left later than Edgeworth, so he was normally the one left to lock up—just looking at the jagged piece of metal instantly brought forth the memory of receiving it.

Phoenix had been halfway through swallowing a bite of sandwich when Edgeworth had held it out to him, with a coached, casual ‘I thought you should have this’. His unfortunate reaction had caused a quite a degree of alarm from Edgeworth, who rose from his seat, and drew several stares from the surrounding diners.

When he'd managed to free his windpipe of the last bits of bread and cheese, Phoenix closed his fingers around it, and managed a raspy, 'thank you.'

He left it lying in his pocket until he'd gotten home that day. It didn't quite hold the same impressive sheen as his attorney's badge—an unreasonable standard for anything to be compared against, probably—but he still took a few minutes to admire the shape and feel of it against his palm.

The words sprang into his mind, vision blurring just for a moment, as he locked it onto his key ring: this is real.

The click as Edgeworth's door sprang open was equally real as he withdrew his hand and let the key slip back into his pocket, leaning forward to peer inside. Despite all of that, he wasn't quite to the point that he felt wholly comfortable just walking into the other man's home without permission or acknowledgment.

He wouldn’t have given it to me if he didn’t want me to use it, Phoenix reasoned as he stepped into the foyer and closed the door behind him.

“Edgeworth?” The low light seemed to swallow his inquiry as soon as it left his lips; the only reply was the subliminal hum of the stainless steel refrigerator on the other side of the kitchen.

Maybe he’s still on his way home… But Edgeworth almost always called when he was going to be delayed, and Phoenix's phone had been silent the entire evening.

Phoenix bent down to remove his shoes before tiptoeing past the kitchen and directly into the expansive living room. Even in socks and with the ticking of the stately grandfather clock against the far wall, the sound of his footsteps against the wooden flooring were loud to his ears—the sound of an interloper instead of an occasional inhabitant.

He gave the far side of the room a cursory inspection, eyes drifting past the dark widescreen television and the equally dark matching leather chair and L-shaped sofa that curved around it. To the right of that, the abstract art that took up a large portion of the wall lost much of its punch; without the lights on, its somewhat disturbing slashes of red tempered into a set of inky black lines.

Phoenix briefly considered stretching out on the sofa to wait for Edgeworth’s arrival, but even in the quiet and the darkness, the sense that someone—Edgeworth or not—was there permeated the air like a static cling raising the hairs on his arms. He flipped on the lights to avoid tripping over something and made a beeline down the wide hallway. He stopped just in front of the first doorway.

The room at the end of the hall, Edgeworth’s study, was technically a safer bet. Even though Edgeworth had started keeping, in Phoenix’s opinion, saner hours at the office, Phoenix couldn’t count the number of times he’d woken up and stumbled to the bathroom, only to notice his companion’s side of the bed was empty and cold. Invariably, if Phoenix stuck his head out to check where Edgeworth had drifted off to, the telltale line of light radiating from underneath that same door gave him his answer.

It was that lack of light that made him turn his immediate attention to the bedroom instead.

It was dark there, too, but by squinting Phoenix could make out a huddled lump in Edgeworth's bed. As he crept closer, the form became more definite—definitely Edgeworth.

All that was visible was the very top of his head, tufts of hair haphazardly bunched in a way that informed Phoenix that the prosecutor hadn’t been out of bed all day. Phoenix let out a breath he hadn't even known he was holding.

A more comprehensive inspection proved that Edgeworth was still breathing. At least he isn't dead. Sick, maybe? It'd have to be something really bad if it kept him away from work...

He reached out a hand reflexively, but his fingers closed back against his palm halfway across. I should probably just let him sleep... he wouldn't want me to see him like this, anyway, knowing him...

It was possibly the idea of having wasted an entire cab fare for nothing, but something balked inwardly at the thought of just walking out the door and going back home when Edgeworth was in this state. He'd spent enough miserable nights on his own with a cold to know how lonely it got when you were sick by yourself. Briefly considering options, Phoenix figured that the prosecutor wouldn't mind too much if he camped out in his living room, at least.

Mind made up, just as he was about to leave the room, he heard the blankets shifting behind him. Edgeworth’s face appeared, squinting and blinking disapproval in the light streaming from down the hall.

“Is that you, Wright?” he said, surprisingly coherent, if somewhat muffled.

“Yeah,” Phoenix said, moving closer again. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“You didn’t,” Edgeworth replied cryptically, wincing as he shifted to a somewhat upright position. A glanced at the digital display of the alarm clock on the bedside table didn't seem to improve his mood. “I’m sorry. I meant to call you earlier.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Phoenix said. Even in the semi-darkness, Phoenix could see that Edgeworth’s pajamas were sticking to his abnormally grey-tinged skin. His breathing seemed labored, tight with suppressed pain. “Hey, are you all right? Should I get you some water or something?”

“Don’t bother,” Edgeworth replied, struggling back under the covers. “I just need to sleep it off.”

Phoenix supposed that Edgeworth turning his back to him most likely signified the end of their conversation. Now that I've had a better look, I’m not sure all the sleep in the world is going to help with whatever he has.

Even with that, Phoenix still felt a strange need to 'bother' with something, after seeing the other man so obviously suffering—whether Edgeworth himself wanted to be nursed back to health wasn’t really the point. In spite of Edgeworth's protests, he left the bedroom towards the steel-edged, rather imposing kitchen for a glass of ice water.

After going back to place it on the nightstand, then, on further thought, redoubling back for a coaster when he remembered the death glare he’d gotten last time he set his drink on a piece of Edgeworth's furniture without one—Phoenix scrambled himself a dinner of eggs and settled down to watch the evening news on Edgeworth’s widescreen TV. It wasn’t quite the fresh seafood along the beach he’d been looking forward to, but Phoenix liked to think that years of perfecting the technique of living alone had left him with the ability to fry a mean egg or two.

Carrying out his normal evening routine in a different apartment took some getting used to, but it wasn’t long before he was stretched out on the leather couch just as lazily as he would his own. The glow of the television cast long shadows against the furniture as it flickered across Phoenix’s face.

He thought he’d turned the TV down to a whisper, but apparently even that was enough to rouse Edgeworth from his non-slumber. He shuffled into the living room a couple of hours later, half hunched over, and gave Phoenix a look that said ‘you’re still here?’ before settling down into the overstuffed leather chair without a word.

“Feeling any better?” Phoenix asked at the next commercial break, moving his eyes from the screen.

“No, not really,” Edgeworth said, directing a glare towards his abdomen, as though he could somehow will himself back to health by using the same techniques he would on an unhelpful subordinate.

“I could fix you something to eat,” Phoenix offered, muting the television and turning his full attention on Edgeworth. As long as he likes scrambled eggs or canned soup. He fully expected his offer to be instantly rebuffed, so he was surprised when Edgeworth seemed to consider.

“It’s probably not a good idea,” he finally decided, wearily but not unkindly. “I’m not particularly hungry.”

“Well, I’ll get you another glass of water, at least,” Phoenix said.

He sloughed off the couch and walked into the kitchen, shaking away a slight prickle in his feet that told him he’d been supine for too long. When he returned, Edgeworth straightened for a moment to take the proffered glass and cup it in both hands, as if he didn’t quite trust himself to manage with one. He took a quick gulp and then another, with a slight grimace that was more reminiscent of foul-tasting medication than ice water.

“What do you think it is?” Phoenix asked when he was done swallowing.

“The stomach flu. There was a pretty bad strain of it going around the office a few weeks ago.”

I guess that’s one of the perks of being a one-man agency—you don’t catch what everyone else gets. Before Phoenix could respond verbally, Edgeworth set down his half finished glass of water with a quiet ‘thank you’ and tottered back towards his room down the hall. Phoenix watched him for a few moments to make sure he got back in one piece, then turned back to the television.

Once the news finished and most of the late night programming was changing over to reruns of old sitcoms from half a century ago and infomercials, Phoenix was faced with another dilemma—or rather the one he’d faced earlier: stay or go.

He turned the pros and cons over for a few moments before giving a mental shrug. If he’d already stayed this late, it didn’t seem like there was much point in going back now.

When Phoenix crawled into bed next to Edgeworth, the other man stiffened slightly before gingerly maneuvering himself to face Phoenix.

“I don’t think you want what I have,” he murmured.

“I’ve probably already got it,” Phoenix said. All things considered...

“Suit yourself,” Edgeworth said, with exactly the same inflection someone else might use to say ‘you’re an idiot’.

An hour later Phoenix had to inwardly agree with Edgeworth’s implied statement about his mental capacity. He flinched as he heard Edgeworth’s feet hit the floor and a mumbled expletive escape the prosecutor’s lips as he limped towards the bathroom for what had to be the fifth time that night.

Then the sound of retching began.

All he had was a glass of water! There can’t be anything left! Phoenix protested, trying to drown the sound out under a layer of pillows.

He felt torn between two options when the other man returned to bed and pulled the covers up to his chin, obviously miserable and almost shaking: the still slightly alien desire to pull Edgeworth closer, and the desperate longing to grab a pillow and retreat to the relative sanctity of the couch in hopes of stealing at least a few hours of sleep.

In the end, he didn't quite do either, but he stayed, at the very least.

He thought it was around three or four when he felt Edgeworth relax at last, as though the string of pain making his body tense had finally snapped. His breathing evened out and Phoenix, with no small measure of relief, felt his own respond in kind.



“I just wanted to make sure you'd make it through the night,” Phoenix said. “It wasn't a big deal.” Really, I didn't really do anything besides get you some water and invade your space...

“You won't be saying that when you're retching in your own toilet a few days from now,” Edgeworth suggested, rather ominously.

Gee, thanks.

“It's not like I haven't taken care of sick people before,” Phoenix shrugged. “I'm used to it.”

Edgeworth raised his head to match gazes with him for possibly the first time all morning. “Maya, you mean?”

“Huh?” Phoenix said, briefly thrown. “Oh... yeah.” Edgeworth didn't seem to take nearly as much delight in the situation as Maya had, he recalled. The spirit medium showed no particular shame at exploiting her run with a common cold to demand that Phoenix bring her soup, crackers, magazines, and operate the television remote at her command. All day.

Edgeworth's hands continued to work in repetitive motions about his cravat. “How has Maya been, by the way?”

Phoenix frowned. That's kind of a strange place for the conversation to turn, but...

“The last I heard of her, she seemed to be doing okay,” Phoenix answered. His brow furrowed further as he tried to think back. “It's kind of been a while, though... why do you ask?”

Something flickered across Edgeworth's face, too quickly for Phoenix to get a good look at, let alone properly read into. “No reason. I was just wondering.”

Cravat fixed securely in place—truthfully, it had been for a while, but Edgeworth finally seemed to notice—he crossed the room in confident, striding steps to retrieve his briefcase from the corner, unable to entirely hide a short wince at the effort of bending over to pick it up. Phoenix leaned forward automatically, even though he was too far away to provide any real assistance.

I hope he's careful today...

“If you want to skip tonight, I’ll understand,” Phoenix said. It’s not like it’ll be much fun if he spends the evening in the theater bathroom.

“What part of—” Edgeworth cut himself off with a sigh of irritation, straightening quickly, as though to further reassure Phoenix of the stability of his condition. “If I feel that terrible, I’ll call you ahead of time to cancel, like I always do.”

You didn't last night, Phoenix thought. Somehow this didn’t seem like the best time to bring that up. Though to be fair, he is usually good about that sort of thing...

Mollified more by Edgeworth’s attitude than his words, Phoenix rolled over to the prosecutor’s sunlight-free half of the bed and pulled the comforter up over his shoulders. The ensuing sigh from Edgeworth was several degrees fonder than the first, and half a minute later he felt a light touch along the side of his cheek.

“Don’t forget to lock up,” he heard Edgeworth say. “And make the bed.”

“I won’t,” Phoenix mumbled in reply. The touch transformed into an almost chiding tap before withdrawing, and Phoenix waited until he heard the sound of the apartment door closing shut in the distance before he let himself slip back into sleep again.



On Phoenix's end, the day played out rather uneventfully. Once he'd managed to drag himself out of bed for real, he had to admit that Edgeworth's shower was several degrees nicer than his own, even if he was still struggling to decipher the figurative Greek that was the other man's assortment of fancy soaps and hair conditioners.

After that, a dull day at the office filled mostly with even more television meant that his mind was primarily split between wondering how Edgeworth was holding up, and wondering about the incoming theater date they had arranged once they were both free from their respective jobs.

By the time Wright and Co. closed, his phone had yet to ring with any significant calls. He took the lack of contact as a reassuring sign that Edgeworth had managed to keep himself from clogging the toilets at the prosecutor's office with any further content from his stomach, pocketed his keys, and headed out of the building.

He'd been looking forward to this for a while—the fingers of his left hand closed around the ticket concealed in the jacket of his pocket. For all they had talked about it, this was the first time he and Edgeworth had managed to gain entry to a play they were both willing to give up over two hours of their time to attend. Despite Phoenix's history in the field, he found he couldn't drudge up much enthusiasm for lengthy political grandstanding and Edgeworth had seemed reluctant at best to trade paperwork for a show whose script was written by a college student.

Truthfully, he still wasn't sure how enthused he was about a dusty classic featuring two men debating the finer points of existentialism, but glancing down the cast list of the advertisement his interest had spiked at the sight of a few names that, if he could trust his memory, he recognized as former classmates. Even if the production itself didn't cater to his tastes, it'd be nice to catch up on old times, though it occurred to him a few days too late that this would also mean introducing them to Edgeworth.

He still hadn't made up his mind if that prospect filled him with a strange, indescribable jolt of excitement or a bottomless weight of dread. Either way, not quite willing to commit himself to one conclusion or another, it might not even be up to him. There wasn't any guarantee that in the post-showing rush he'd be able to get anyone's attention or that Edgeworth would be interested in meeting a bunch of strangers anyway—and it wasn't like the potential reunion was the real point of going to begin with...

As he made his way down the stairwell, something in the back of his head suggested that, given Edgeworth's state this morning, it might be best to call and make sure they were still on schedule.

He did say he'd call if something came up…

It was as simple as that, Phoenix decided. Besides, it wasn't as though Edgeworth didn't know that he was concerned when they had split up that morning.

One cramped bus ride later, Phoenix—after an adventure in circling several of the same blocks before stopping at the closest retail store for a local map—managed to locate the theater in question. It was a relatively small place packed between privately owned shops, but the black velvet lining its doors and the tuxedo the usher was sporting like a second skin still suggested some measure of class. There was already a line forming outside, Phoenix noted, which was generally considered a positive sign for the performance quality.

He checked his watch. He was twenty minutes early, which owed more to the bus schedule than his own prudence, but Phoenix was almost always first at the place of their arrangements anyway. He glanced around, pacing back and forth a few times to confirm the prosecutor's absence, before taking his place at the back of the line.

But when the doors opened nearly a half-hour later and people began to be escorted inside, he was still alone. A second glance at his wrist told him that Edgeworth was now five minutes late and counting. Something like misgiving fluttered briefly in Phoenix's chest, but he pushed it aside as the people behind him began to mutter loud complaints about his holding the line up.

Where is he...?

As with Phoenix's general experience with lines, this one moved in a series of starts and stops, rather than anything resembling a flow. Every few paces forward, he glanced over his shoulder, scanning the contents of the crowd stretching out behind him and any incoming passersby’s. No familiar faces crossed his sight, and he felt himself becoming outright uncomfortable—like he was entirely out of place if Edgeworth wasn't here at his side.

He tried to think of the other times the prosecutor had been this late—ten and a half minutes... and all the instances he could come up with were countable on one hand.

Did I get the wrong building?

He shifted uneasily when the doors came into view with no one blocking his path, one hand gripping the ticket still lying in his pocket. He cast yet another look over his shoulder as the usher held out his hand expectantly. Phoenix sighed. There was no graceful way to do this, so he just muttered a quick apology under his breath, brushed off the annoyed glares from the people shuffling behind him as best he could, and excused himself from the line.

No...this is the same theater and time listed on the ticket. I didn't make a mistake...

He hesitated briefly before staking out a path adjacent to the rows of people, searching with eyes used to training for a glimpse of pink or a telling cravat. Once again, he was rewarded with neither, even as he went back for a second comb through.

Where the hell is he?

As the street lights began to illuminate around him, the last person vanished through the entrance, and Phoenix was left mostly isolated on the sidewalk.

The usher glanced over to his direction with a questioning look. Phoenix shook his head, caught between an impulse to apologize and an impulse to plead for a few more minutes. The usher shrugged, apparently making up his mind for him, and took two steps back to pull the heavy doors shut.

Phoenix exhaled slowly. He nearly glanced at his watch, before letting his arm fall back to his side in frustration. Having reached his limit, he dug in his coat for his cell phone.

After pressing a sequence of familiar keys, it rang sharply against his ear: once, twice, five times.

Then an automated click, followed by: “This is Miles Edgeworth. I'm unavailable at the moment, so if you have business...”

Phoenix clapped the phone shut, one half of him too irritated and the other half too worried to sit through the entire message. He moved forward about five steps before dialing again. The second effort procured the same result—and so did the third, thirty seconds later, and the fourth, in another three minutes, then the fifth, sixth, and seventh on the bench while nursing a cup of coffee to stave off the cold.

He wasn't sure how many attempts he'd made altogether by the time he slowly rose from his seat to walk to the nearest bus stop, a sick feeling settling deep in his stomach.

Probably a late day at work, he told himself. Let it go, Wright. He just doesn't have his phone with him... something like that...

The bus arrived after ten more minutes of waiting with an almost mocking hydraulic hiss—and even through that span of time he couldn't stop himself from scanning the area between each passing minute to see if maybe, against all odds, Edgeworth had shown up after all.

As he approached—more like sulked—towards the vehicle to step on board, he hesitated as the driver shot him a questioning, almost sympathetic look from beneath his cap. At that, Phoenix found it difficult to convince himself that ‘stood up on a date’ wasn’t etched across his face for anyone to read.

He moved his hand to change his phone for his wallet in order to pay for fare. He hesitated.

One more try can't hurt...

His hands were apparently ahead of his brain; he’d already flipped it open and begun to redial. He knew it was ridiculous—he'd already tried at least ten times, so there wasn't any reason why this one should be any different.

Still, by the same logic, there probably wouldn't be much distinction between Edgeworth's annoyance at having ten missed calls left on his phone versus eleven. The driver's expression shifted from subtle concern to subtle annoyance, but Phoenix ignored it as a small family brushed past him in order to board in his place.

A jolt ran through him when the ringing had cut off after two rounds, meaning someone had picked up.

“Edge--”

“Hey!”

The voice that cut him off was so loud and so different than the one Phoenix expected that his cell phone nearly slipped out of his fingers and on to the pavement. “Mr. Edgeworth is trying to get some rest, and that’s pretty hard when his phone is ringing every five minutes, pal! What’s so important?”

Detective Gumshoe?

“Rest?” A vision of Edgeworth's sickly demeanor from last night popped into Phoenix’s head. The tension he’d felt all evening began to recede. I guess that explains why he didn’t answer. Still, if he was feeling that bad he should have just called me and gone home.

“Yeah, pal!” Gumshoe huffed. “What else would he be doing? We’ve been at the hospital for…”

What?

“What?” He felt his tongue working, the word heavy—wrong—against his lips, as though the sounds were arranged the wrong way, with too many syllables dividing them. “…Hospital?”

“Yeah, pal, that’s what I said. Mr. Edgeworth and I...”

The rest of what Gumshoe said receded into a faint buzz in Phoenix’s ear.

“What happened?!” For brief second, everything around him blurred. He was dimly aware of the passerby's nearby turning to stare at him, then pointedly turning away, as though they might catch his obvious insanity through eye contact.

Reluctance seeped into Gumshoe's voice. “Uh, well... I don’t think I should…I mean, I know you and Mr. Edgeworth aren’t on a case or anything, but I don’t know if he’d appreciate me dropping all this personal information, pal,” he said.

Phoenix felt his grip on the phone tighten painfully, knuckles whitening as he struggled to find the proper words that would get him what he wanted instead of a dial tone in his ear.

“Just…” He swallowed. If I have to beg, fine. “If he gets upset, I’ll take the blame. At least tell me why he’s there. Please.”

There was a brief tick of silence over the other end; just enough time for a puzzled blink or two.

“Well, if you're gonna get that upset about it... some part of his stomach burst. His, uh…” There was a murmur over the line that told Phoenix someone else was talking in the background. “Yeah, that’s it! His appendix. It exploded, pal!”

Phoenix felt his own stomach respond with a sickening lurch, like he’d accidentally boarded a rollercoaster instead of the bus he'd intended. Several moments passed before he felt like he could speak without being sick all over the sidewalk. Meanwhile, the bus had closed its doors directly in his face and hurtled down the road, spewing thick exhaust in its wake.

“Why wasn’t I--” He stopped himself. Of course Gumshoe wasn’t going to call Phoenix to inform him—he had no reason to.

But it seemed even a question half asked was enough for Gumshoe once he’d already committed himself to his boss’s breach of privacy. “I was going to call all of Mr. Edgeworth’s friends once things got calmed down a little, pal.” He sounded a little defensive.

“Is he... I mean... he's not...”

“Whoa, what are you thinking, pal?” Gumshoe asked. “He's in a bad way, got out of surgery not too long ago, but the doctors are saying he should pull through—like I said,” pointedly, “if he manages to get his rest, so...”

At that, Phoenix managed to pull himself together enough to register that he was mostly inhaling toxic fumes. He backed away a few paces from the street, where he was in less danger of suffocating or being run over.

“Which hospital?” he managed.

“Huh?”

“Which hospital is—which hospital are you at?”

“Oh, uh, come to think of it... hold on, gimme a second to check--” Phoenix bit back the rising urge to scream. “Ah, okay. Hotti Clinic, pal, but why...”

“I’ll be right there,” Phoenix said instantly. He ignored Gumshoe’s surprised noise and ended the call. He swerved his head to look from one end of the street to the next, scanning for the first approaching taxi he could find.



Gumshoe met him at the entrance of the Hotti Clinic. “You really didn’t have to do this, pal,” he said, as Phoenix ran up to meet him, eyes darting back and forth as he spoke, as though he expected his boss to pop out of the surrounding foliage any second. No doubt he was wondering exactly how much talking to Phoenix Wright would cost him out of his rent this week.

“Whoa,” he added, startled, upon getting a better look at Phoenix, who was panting and nearly doubled over; it had been a decent sprint from where the taxi had left him off to the entrance here. “Take a minute to catch your breath, pal! I know you must be worried, but I told you, they're saying he'll be okay...”

Phoenix didn’t reply; the pounding of blood through his ears seemed muffle the words, as though they were being spoken to him through a wall. Gumshoe fell into step a few paces behind as Phoenix recovered enough to walk hurriedly into the hospital waiting room. He briefly took note of the people scattered throughout the mostly empty rows of chairs, the majority of them reading or sleeping quietly, before he fixed his attention on reception desk to the right. He stopped just in front of counter. The nurse manning the station continued filing her nails as though he wasn’t even there.

“Excuse me,” he said. His voice came out hoarse.

She glanced up, blinking once before bending back down to attack the edge of her pinky with a relish she clearly didn’t have for her job.

“I’m here to visit Miles Edgeworth,” he said, his foot tapping. It did little to relieve him of his nervous energy. Some time within the next decade, if it’s not too much trouble...

The nurse sighed, in apparent resignation to the fact that ignoring him wasn't going to make him go away, and placed the file on the counter as she pulled the keyboard closer to the edge of the desk. Every action she took seemed, to Phoenix's perception, as though it were being filtered through slow-motion. “How do you spell that?”

“Exactly how it sounds.” Perhaps some of his irritated impatience was seeping through, because the stare she gave him in return was bordering on hostile.

“Pretend I’m deaf,” she said.

“E-d-g-e-w-o-r-t-h,” he spelled. His nails dug into the palms of his hands. From the corner of his eye, he could see that Gumshoe still looking at him strangely, as though he had grown another head.

“And you are?” she said after a few quick keystrokes.

“Huh?”

“He just got out of surgery a couple of hours ago. The only people allowed to visit are family,” she clarified with a roll of her eyes. “And don’t lie. I’ll need to see some form of identification before I can give out the room number.”

Family? This particular complication hadn't occurred to Phoenix on the way here, and now that it was thrust in front of his face, the world around him seemed to flicker strangely, dizzyingly, at the idea of trying to untangle it.

“I’m his…” Phoenix stopped. Abruptly, it seemed like Detective Gumshoe was too close, crowding behind him uncomfortably even though he was pretty sure the taller man hadn’t moved an inch. He swallowed briefly and looked down for a moment. His badge gleamed dully under the artificial light. I'm...

“I’m his…lawyer?” he tried weakly.

“And I’m the director of this clinic,” she parried instantly.

Actually, I think he’s off in the corner harassing that blonde with the huge breasts. Phoenix grimaced and shook his head, both hands coming down on the desk, more forcefully than what was probably appropriate. The nurse's lips thinned as her pens leapt from their cup holder.

Desperation bleeding audibly into his voice, he began, “Look, can we just skip this and get to the--”

“He’s with me, pal,” Gumshoe suddenly interjected with authority, moving to stand beside Phoenix at the counter. The moment was somewhat marred by the extended pause as the detective dug around in the pockets of his trenchcoat before he located his badge and brandished it with a flourish. “Police business.”

She gave it a once-over flick of the eyes.

“Room 307,” she replied. “Visiting hours end in about thirty minutes, so make it snappy.”

“Sure thing!” he heard Gumshoe say distantly in the background; Phoenix was too busy moving towards the stairwell, as though his legs had a mind of their own. His breath came in short, rapid bursts, rattling against his ribcage, in an effort to keep up. And then, even fainter behind him: “Hey, wait up, pal! It’s not like he’s going anywhere!”



A distant part of Phoenix had hoped—after he’d gotten over the initial shock of ‘Edgeworth’ and ‘hospital’ in the same sentence—that upon entering Edgeworth’s hospital room, he’d be greeted with the almost amusing sight of the High Prosecutor chafing at being confined to a bed and suffering the indignity of a seasick-green hospital gown.

The only thing that had lived up to his wish was the color of the gown.

As soon as he stepped past the threshold, the entire room seemed to expand. Then, without warning, it contracted around him with a force that pushed the air out of his lungs and left him unable to focus on anything but the hospital bed and the body recumbent within it.

Edgeworth had always been sallow, but never this sickly, waxen color that made him look as though all the blood had been drained from his body. And Phoenix had gotten used to the circles under Edgeworth’s eyes that signified one too many late nights at the Prosecutor’s Office in the months they’d been together, but here, the dark puffiness was so pronounced and stark, it seemed his eyes were sunken into his sockets. That, coupled with the jutting cheekbones and the cracked, colorless lips gave the impression that, far from being convalescent, the next breath might be his last.

He could have died. Phoenix felt the knowledge radiating from his heart like ice water pumping through his body instead of blood, dispatching bitter numbness to the very tips of his fingers; down his legs, leaving a trail of shuddering weakness in his knees; and pooling around his feet like cement. He could have died.

I wouldn’t have even known. Somehow, that was the worst part of it.

He took a halting step towards the bed only to be jerked back by Gumshoe’s loud exclamation, “Whoa there, pal! The doctors said Mr. Edgeworth needed rest, remember? If you have to ask him about something, you can do it tomorrow.”

That’s not… He swallowed. “I won’t disturb him. Just, let me…”

Let me…

Gumshoe made a small, impatient noise as Phoenix walked forward, but didn’t attempt to stop him again. He resisted the urge to brush Edgeworth’s bangs from his face when he made it to the side of the bed, stilling his hands by grasping the metal railing instead. He stood for a long while, just watching Edgeworth’s chest move slowly rise and fall, trying to will his own heart to the same leisurely pace.

Edgeworth’s eyelashes fluttered, and then, a glimpse of dark eyes made unfamiliar by dilation, the customary grey almost completely overtaken by black. Something underneath Phoenix’s lungs seemed to jump when Edgeworth’s brow furrowed in a motion of confusion, lips moving faintly.

The expected words never came, not even in a faint undertone. Edgeworth’s forehead smoothed itself, his eyes closed, and his head fell slightly to right as sleep swallowed him once again.

Behind him, Detective Gumshoe cleared his throat. Phoenix forced his fingers from their grip on the rail, and trudged back to where the detective was waiting at the door.

“See what I mean?” Gumshoe whispered. The words came out in a low rush, unused to being pressed down to a lower volume. “They’ve got him so doped up he probably didn’t even recognize you!”

Phoenix wanted to protest, but the idea of fending off another one of Gumshoe’s ‘are you feeling okay, pal?’ looks was too much to bear at this point in time. He allowed the detective to steer him from the room, stopping only for one last glimpse before Gumshoe pulled the door quietly shut.

In direct contrast to Phoenix’s earlier dash, Gumshoe had to wait for Phoenix to catch up several times as they navigated the bright, labyrinthine halls. It was to the detective’s credit that he didn’t get annoyed at Phoenix’s plodding pace. Even though he didn’t know the situation, it seemed that he was doing his best to be quietly considerate in regards to Phoenix’s perturbed mood.

Edgeworth was fine this morning… Not exactly fine; Phoenix still remembered the way the prosecutor’s back had stiffened slightly as he bent over to retrieve his briefcase, but nothing near the point of requiring hospitalization.

“How did this happen?” He hadn’t meant to speak out loud, but Gumshoe paused and turned towards him.

“You’ve got me, pal. I heard Mr. Edgeworth was feeling under the weather a few days ago, but I figured it was just a bug.”

“Yeah, with everything going around...” Phoenix said vaguely, trying to pry his thoughts from where he had left them in Edgeworth’s room and focus on something else.

“I got real concerned when he called in sick the next day. It’s just not like Mr. Edgeworth to miss work…” Gumshoe scratched the back of his head. “I could tell he was still feeling lousy when I went to give him my report today, but I never expected him to stand up and ask me to drive him to the hospital!”

“Wait, you were the one that took him?” Phoenix blinked. His mental image had been Edgeworth collapsing and ambulances racing—the whole nine yards.

“Yeah, I nearly got pulled over getting here!” Gumshoe exclaimed. Several nurses stopped and shot them a universal irritated stare before continuing on with their tasks at hand. “Too bad my car doesn’t have a siren—it would have come in handy. Mr. Edgeworth was gritting his teeth and mumbling ‘it hurts, it hurts’ over and over and over again…I’ve never seen him like that before.”

“I can only imagine,” Phoenix said quietly. I should have known something was wrong last night. No one throws up like that just from a sip of water…

With a start, he realized they had somehow made it back to the entrance. Gumshoe shifted back and forth, as though he wasn’t quite sure if leaving Phoenix in this despondent state was the right thing to do, but clearly wanting to extradite himself from the awkward conversation.

Finally, he decided: “Sorry to run like this, pal, but they’re probably wondering what happened to me. I called them on the way, but I didn’t really get the chance to explain what was going on.”

“I’ll see you around, Detective,” Phoenix said. “Uh, thanks. For your help today, I mean.”

“Oh, no problem, pal!” Gumshoe beamed like a dog having been given a juicy bone.

I guess he doesn’t hear that very often, Phoenix thought as he watched the detective trot away. Before he could reach the doors, Gumshoe suddenly pivoted back and rushed back towards where Phoenix was standing, next to the reception area.

“Before I forget--” he reached past the partition and snagged a pencil and a scrap of paper between thick fingers. “—I’ll go ahead and make sure everyone knows what’s going on, but I’d appreciate it if you could take care of this one for me…last time we talked, I, uh…”

He pushed the slip of folded paper into Phoenix’s hands and hurried away without even waiting for his reply.

What was that all about? Phoenix unfolded the slip of paper and flinched as the words “Prosecutor von Karma”, accompanied by a scrawled telephone number directly underneath, stared up at him balefully.



The clatter of the keys falling from his hands to the cold concrete of the floor created a rattling echo that flung its way down the entirety of the stairwell. Phoenix exhaled slowly, blinking slowly amidst the darkness—something must have gone wrong with the building's electricity again—and bent down to search blindly until his fingers closed back around the shape of the metal ring binding the keys together.

He straightened and focused on what he was actually doing as he experimented until he managed to successfully locate the one that unlocked his apartment door.

The first thing that hit him as he stepped through was that the air was unpleasantly stale. He crossed over to the kitchen—the remnants of the night before last's dinner, a mishmash of pizza and macaroni, was still stagnating in the sink, completely forgotten.

Still, dealing with it was better than staying fixated on his own lingering helplessness at the memory of Edgeworth's pale face in the hospital room, simultaneously right before him and a thousand miles away.

He turned the faucet on to start doing the dishes, and shut it off a second later, exhaling slowly. The water slid in a strange, surreal gloss off the grimy plates and down the drain.

He'll be fine. He's going to be fine.

He's still going to be there tomorrow.

Fifteen minutes later, with the last glass put away and his hands raw from scrubbing too hard to get rid of the last bits of sauce clinging stubbornly to the plate, he withdrew back into the living room, emptying his phone and wallet from his pocket in preparation of a much-needed collapse on the couch. From the wallet fluttered a small, tattered piece of paper—the one Gumshoe had frantically, conspiratorially pressed into his hand before fleeing from its wake.

Franziska...

He plucked it between his fingers, frowning. It had been years, but he was pretty sure he still had scars from the lashings she had given him when they had last encountered each other. Even with the assurance that there would be thousands of miles of physical distance between them, it was difficult not to feel some measure of aversion at inviting contact with her again.

Still, I guess it's the right thing to do...

Sighing—Edgeworth would want her to know—he punched in the numbers on the memo. It felt as though the only meaningful thing he could remember ever doing was making calls.

As the distant ringing stretched on against his ear, he let himself thrive, briefly, on the hope that the German prosecutor probably wouldn't answer a call from someone she didn't recognize. He might even be lucky enough to be welcomed into the sanctuary of her voice mail—but those hopes were rapidly crushed when the responding click went off against his ear, followed by a crisp female voice.

“Franziska von Karma speaking. Who is this?”

Here we go. At least she hadn't answered in German.

“Franziska,” Phoenix said. “It's Phoenix—Phoenix Wright.”

“Phoenix Wright?”

She sounded genuinely flabbergasted, but it didn't take long until she slid back into the same Franziska he remembered so keenly, speaking with a smug self-assuredness thick enough to drown a man even over the telephone.

“So, come to challenge me again at last? Well, you'll find I'm more than up to the task, Mr. Phoenix Wright, so you had better prepare--”

“No,” Phoenix cut in, as quickly as he could, “No, no, no. It's not like that—hey, listen to me!”

“--saturated with the inevitable cowardice that you've been--what?”

“I'm not interested in a challenge,” Phoenix said. And it's not like trials are supposed to be competitions anyway; shouldn't you know that by now? “It's about Edgeworth.”

“...Miles Edgeworth?”

Something low and wary entered her voice; it was only at the rare times when they talked about Edgeworth that Phoenix seemed to remember that Franziska von Karma was also a person who had grown up under the shadow of her father, and didn't just exist as a painful caricature with a whip.

“What did you do?”

Excuse me?

“I didn't do anything,” Phoenix said, “but listen—he's in the hospital.”

He waited for her hysteric retort, echoing his own outburst when Gumshoe had relayed the same information to him, but there was only terse silence over the line—and he realized she was waiting for him to tell her more. Franziska displaying restraint was definitely a rare novelty.

“It's not bad,” Phoenix continued. “I mean, uh, it is bad, obviously, since he's there in the first place, but he'll be fine. He's through the worst of it. Apparently he came down with appendicitis, but he had surgery and it was fine. Things are fine.”

If he was expecting some sort of sisterly relief expressed at his clumsy attempts to assure her of the stability of Edgeworth's condition, limited in vocabulary as they were, he was sorely disappointed.

“Is he there? Let me speak to him.”

You could let me answer the question before making demands...

“No, I just got back from visiting him. But just, I figured you should know...”

There was another long pause. It was the type that Phoenix thought he had moved past enduring with Edgeworth and never really foresaw himself having to deal with from his younger sister.

Finally, neutrally: “I see.”

Phoenix frowned, trying to gauge her tone. “Like I said, he should be okay. Don't worry.”

“Who's worried?” she said, airily.

Oh, right. Let me guess—a proper von Karma would never allow himself to be handicapped by something as trifling as a part of his stomach rupturing...

“Well, if there's anything you want me to tell him...”

“Don't be absurd,” she cut in. “I don't recall ever requesting your services as a go-between myself and my little brother.”

Excuse me for trying to help!

“I will call him personally,” she announced, with an inflection that Phoenix thought suggested murder more than concern.

“Last I saw, Gumshoe had his phone, so--”

“I'll manage.”

Okay then...

Phoenix fidgeted, feeling as though the pressure was on him to somehow drive the terse exchange to an end, but then something else occurred to him.

“So are you, uh, flying out?” he asked. “Here, I mean.”

“Why should I?” she snapped. “If, as you've taken the care to emphasize so much, he's going to be fine.”

You were ready to fly over to challenge me, but not when Edgeworth's in the hospital? The dynamics of the ways the von Karma family expressed affection for each other would forever be a mystery to him, Phoenix supposed.

“Just asking.”

Franziska snorted.

“Don't waste my time again,” she said, “until you're ready to settle the score.”

“I'll, uh, do my best.”

He hung up the phone quickly—that seemed as good an opportunity that would come to wrap things up—and wondered with a sigh if he had any headache medicine lying around. Anything to relieve the particularly sharp throbbing in his temple that was entirely unique to dealing with Franziska—the memories of it had become blessedly dim in the years since their last separation, but it was recalled with full force now, like a forgotten specter dragged back into his life.



He woke up intermittently about four times through the night, all with a great deal of twisting and turning. For most of his life, Phoenix had considered himself a sound sleeper no matter how dire his prospects seemed for the next morning. Then, the circumstances of Engarde's trial were enough to prove him wrong; he had tucked Pearl in that evening, he remembered, and spent the rest of the night alternating between futile attempts at resting his eyes on the couch and pacing the hallways in an equally futile attempt to calm his frayed nerves.

It wasn't as bad now as it was then, but enough unease prickled down the length of his body and into his fingertips to make it impossible to get comfortable. The last fifteen minutes before the visiting hours at the hospital opened again were spent staring across his pillow as his cell phone ticked away the minutes. He'd shut the alarm off half an hour ago, as it became apparent there wasn't any further point in keeping it on.

A quick shower and a toss of clothes later—he found he didn't really have the stomach to eat anything solid—he was back out the door and, a taxi-ride through terrible rush hour traffic later, back pushing his way through white doors to confront a rather cynical-looking nurse. It was a different woman, but apparently the same appraising half-scowl was a job requirement amongst the staff here.

"He's been a rather popular guest," she said, directing him to the room.

Practically collapsing at the office like that... there must be a lot of people checking in on him...

Still, he couldn't resist asking. "Popular?"

"I'm pretty sure you're the forth or fifth person in here to see..." Another flip of the clipboard, "Mr. Miles Edgeworth." The nurse gave him a pointed look. "Visiting hours started an hour ago."

Forth or fifth? One of them was probably Gumshoe, but...

There was something uncomfortable about that lackluster relegation, especially juxtaposed with the fresh memories of counting off passing minutes and trying to keep himself from outright sprinting out of the taxi’s backseat--but he pushed it aside. The important thing was seeing how Edgeworth was.

Edgeworth was sitting up when the nurse opened the door to let Phoenix in, and at the sight of him conscious, an odd, rather high-pitched sort of thrill played in Phoenix's throat that he barely managed to suppress against his lips. He was still a shade too pale for Phoenix's comfort—in fact, his complexion rather reminded Phoenix of his own reflection in the aftermath of his tumble down into the depths of Eagle River during the incident with Iris—but he was conscious, and Phoenix figured that that was a good enough start for him, considering his condition barely ten hours before. He let his grip on the doorknob relax. Behind him, the nurse quickly excused herself.

A loud clearing of the throat jerked his attention past Edgeworth and to the left of the bed. He blinked in surprise when he realized Edgeworth wasn’t alone. A woman with short grey hair—the string of youthful, candy-red barrettes against her right temple did nothing to alleviate the heavy wrinkles around her mouth and jaws—in an unflattering navy blue jumpsuit had gotten up from where she’d been seated next to Edgeworth and was blasting towards the doorway with all the speed and subtlety of a freight train.

Wait. It can’t be… “It’s--”

“—you!” Ms. Oldbag finished for him, face growing even more pinched in outrage as she all but shoved Phoenix back into the hallway with the sheer force of her voice. “Hasn’t my poor Edgey suffered enough without you coming in to rub salt in the wound? After all he's been through, why would you even think of showing your ugly face to the poor man! Why I remember-back-in-my-dayweusedtohavebettermannersthantoshowuptoplaceswewerentwelcomeuninvitedIswearkids--”

How did she find out? Phoenix thought as the verbal torrent of words burst from the elderly woman’s lips, achieving a pitch and speed far beyond his listening comprehension. His eyes met Edgeworth’s on the far side of the room in a sort of mute appeal for help, but Edgeworth looked just as stunned as he did.

“If you’d just excuse me--” he began, trying to duck past her into the room. Her arm flew up as unerringly as a signpost. He stepped back into the hallway, at a loss.

“I don’t see your name on the list!” she proclaimed with a smirk.

“What list?” he asked, knowing he’d regret it.

“The approved visitors list!” she shot back, waving a—mostly blank, he noticed—sheet of paper in his face.

You've got to be kidding me.

“How do you get on the list?” he sighed. It seemed easier to just go along and hope this wouldn’t take too long.

“That’s classified!”

Just glancing at Edgeworth made it obvious this “list” wasn’t any of his doing; he looked torn between swallowing outrage and hesitancy to turn the woman’s attention over his way again. Phoenix imagined it had grown increasingly difficult to keep up Edgeworth’s ‘cultured prosecutor’ facade as Oldbag’s visit had lingered on.

“Okay, so, who else is on the list?” he tried again, reaching to see for himself.

“You’re not authorized to receive that information!” She pulled back just as his fingers brushed against the edge of the paper, like a child torturing a dog with a bone. Phoenix took a deep breath and reminded himself that hitting little old ladies was bad form, especially with a prosecutor anal-retentive enough to enforce the assault charges in a hospital bed ten feet away as a witness.

“Who wrote the list?” he asked finally. Bingo, he thought when Oldbag’s eyes widened then suddenly narrowed.

“What’s with all the questions?” she started. “Treating a poor young lady like a criminal just because she’s--”

“Miss Oldbag?” Edgeworth ventured. Like flipping a switch, she silenced herself and turned to him, nearly skipping over to his side. Phoenix slipped into the room while her attention was diverted.

“Yes, Edgey-poo?” she crooned. Phoenix could see her eyelashes fluttering even from where he was located, fast enough that it looked as though Edgeworth was being pressed into the hospital pillows by the wind they generated instead of a self-imposed retreat.

“I was…wondering,” he managed, “if you would mind getting me something to drink. My throat is awfully parched.”

“He could get it for you,” she said, with a dismissive wave in Phoenix’s general direction. “I’m sure there are other things I can help you with. You know what the nurses said about making sure--”

“No, you’re the only one I can trust with this,” he cut her off with a shudder he couldn’t quite suppress. Phoenix wondered what it was the nurses had said, until he saw Edgeworth’s eyes flicker towards a portable basin and a sponge on the table next to the bed like a nervous tic. “I’m in the mood for something very special. I doubt Wright could even find the water fountain.”

At the word special, Oldbag’s eyes lit up. “What can I get you, Edgey? Just say the word!”

“I’m really in the mood for some mineral water, but it has to be a special brand. Naïve Minérale. That brand only. It has to be that one.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t come back until I find it for you! When you need someone to find something-all-you-havetodoiscallWendyOldbagwhyinmyyouthIusedtobeknownasfinditallWendy--”

“Thank you, Miss Oldbag.” Edgeworth managed a sickly smile. He kept it pinned tightly to his face until she rushed from the room. The outraged squawk of a nurse she nearly collided with in her haste to leave filled the air before peace finally descended, along with Edgeworth’s grimace.

“Must be tough being so popular,” Phoenix remarked.

"Shut up, Wright," Edgeworth replied. The typical edge of Edgeworth’s words was somewhat blunted by his soft, distracted tone as he settled into his pillow and closed his eyes. Phoenix thought he could almost see the tension escaping from the prosecutor, like a balloon deflating.

“Won’t she be back soon?” Phoenix asked. “Even if you can’t get mineral water in the hospital, there’s a grocery store just a couple of blocks away.”

“Weren’t you listening?” Edgeworth shifted, annoyed.

Don’t take it out on me! Phoenix thought, I didn’t call her down here…

Edgeworth continued, letting go of his tension: “I said it’s a very special brand. So special it’s not sold outside of France.”

“I see,” Phoenix said, relaxing.

“It was a wild gamble, though. I must be spending too much time with you…” Edgeworth said, after a pause. “I can’t actually drink anything…in my condition.”

“Why didn’t you pretend to go to sleep?” Phoenix asked. “That might have gotten her off your back for a little while.”

“I did,” Edgeworth said, looking genuinely exhausted. “Whenever I closed my eyes, she leaned over to,” he shuddered, “whisper sweet nothings in my ear.”

Phoenix crossed the room to settle down into the chair--previously occupied, he supposed, by Oldbag—not exactly a pleasant correlation—to Edgeworth's bedside. He blinked—a sharp burst of color that came into view nearby caught his attention.

The tiny table across from his hospital bed bore a surprising assortment of flowers. More specifically, most of that end of the room had been overtaken by a bouquet of roses that towered over the rest like a redwood among saplings. If the excessive size of the gift alone wasn't enough to give away the identity of the sender, the large, heart-shaped tag certainly was.

But there were other vases clustered around the centerpiece—including one tied with a purple and black ribbon that briefly caught Phoenix's eye, and another with flowers so yellow that it nearly hurt to look directly at them. The only one, aside from Oldbag’s, whose sender he could tell at a glance was the one in an oversized plastic mug, with an uneven heaping of botanical bounty he couldn’t identify—but looked suspiciously similar to the flowers planted in the front of the police station.

I guess it’s the thought that counts, huh? Come to think of it, I didn’t even bring anything at all… Phoenix tried to console himself with mentally pointing out that even if he had brought something, there wouldn’t have been room for it. It rang slightly hollow. I’ll bring something tomorrow, he promised.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Better,” Edgeworth said. “Aside from the obvious." He jerked his head in the direction of the door.

Hearing the sardonic tilt to his voice, raspy and tired though it might have been, provided better reassurance to Phoenix than any of his own weak attempts for Franziska the night previous. His smile widened.

"You don't look so well yourself," Edgeworth went on to note.

"Rough night," Phoenix admitted.

“Detective Gumshoe did inform me a little about that. He told me you were acting 'real strange, pal' in your rush to get here." The last part of the sentence had an inquisitive tilt to it. .

“Strange?” Phoenix echoed.

Edgeworth's eyebrows quirked. “Thirty missed calls?”

Phoenix winced. It was twenty—no, fifteen at most... though I guess that doesn't actually sound that much better...

“Well," he mumbled, staring down into his hands, "I was worried.”

Edgeworth looked at him for a long moment, the ghost of a frown touching his lips, and then said, “I'm sorry.”

Huh? Phoenix blinked. “It's not like it was your fault...”

“No,” Edgeworth said. “I was irresponsible...”

“I don't think there's a way you could have known,” Phoenix said. Not that I'm an expert on appendicitis, but... He added, “You're too hard on yourself.” You always have been.

Edgeworth shrugged, looking less than convinced. Phoenix decided it was probably best to just let it go—if there was one thing he had learned about the prosecutor over the years, it was that when he had his mind set on blaming himself for something, no matter how irrational, it was nearly impossible to convince him otherwise.

“I called Franziska, by the way,” he said. Changing the subject seemed like the best option. "Last night. To let her know what happened."

“I'm aware,” Edgeworth said. “She managed to reach me this morning, before permitted hours. The nurse who transferred the call was reduced to tears, as I recall."

Typical Franziska. “I hope she was in a better mood talking to you than she was to me.”

“I don't know exactly what she said to you," Edgeworth said, dryly, "but I would have to say I find that unlikely.”

“Ouch.” Phoenix winced. "Well, she must have been glad to hear you were okay.”

“In her way, yes.”

“So... is she coming here?"

"Why would she?" Edgeworth asked. "It isn't as though my life is in danger."

Phoenix opened his mouth to respond with something about his still being here, seeing as that was generally the thing that was done when a loved one was hospitalized, but thought better of it.

Still, Edgeworth seemed to settle a little more comfortable back against the pillow, resting one hand over his lap and letting the other drape over the side of the bed's railing, eyes focused on Phoenix.

“Did you make any other calls?”

“Huh?" The question threw him. Who else would I have called? "No... Gumshoe probably had the rest of that taken care of, right? He just didn't want to deal with, uh, her.”

Phoenix wasn't sure why the pause that followed felt as heavy as it did. Edgeworth had that look about him—when there was something he was hoping Phoenix would understand without forcing him to actually verbalize it.

“I see.”

Whatever it was, it was beyond Phoenix's comprehension, and he found he didn't have the energy to try to pry through Edgeworth's reluctant barriers at the moment—he was tired and still grappling with the transition from anxiety into relief.

"So... you're going to be all right?"

"With about a projected week's stay here, yes," Edgeworth said. "I can't say I'm thrilled about it. The backlog at the office is going to be a nightmare."

And, of course, that's your main concern about this entire mess...

"It could be worse," Phoenix offered.

"You don't have to tell me that."

No, I guess I don't.

As the morning slipped into afternoon, a nurse came to the room. She seemed cheerful enough compared to her coworkers downstairs, especially considering the smile on her face and the chirp in her voice as she fluttered around Edgeworth like some large, white bird. No matter how far her grin stretched, though, it was hard to ignore the pliers and what looked to be a large syringe in her hand. Just as Phoenix was trying to think of a way to excuse himself from the room without being obvious—he wasn’t sure he wanted to be around for this—his stomach gurgled a complaint.

“I think I’m going to go grab something to eat really quick,” he said, his chair screeching against the tile as he stood up a little too quickly.

Judging by Edgeworth’s deadpan expression, Phoenix hadn’t quite accomplished that whole ‘not being obvious’ thing, but he didn’t say a word as Phoenix left him to the tender mercies of the nurse.

It took Phoenix a good fifteen minutes to figure out where the cafeteria was located—all the hallways tended to blend into one another, and there wasn’t a single sign to let him know whether he was on the right track or about to hit another dead end.

It wasn’t exactly the most welcoming place either; most of the space was taken up by long stainless steel rows, where people could choose between some sort of meat-product with congealed fat jiggling on the surface like clear gelatin or an equally unappetizing glop of watery, orange macaroni and cheese. Then on the other side of the room, a sad assortment of lopsided chairs and wobbly tables huddled in the corner along with a small selection of men and women in scrubs, chewing their food with all the enthusiasm of a cow masticating cud.

Phoenix walked over to the stuttering freezer unit and picked out a prepackaged turkey sandwich—all the other choices looked, to him, like they would land him in a hospital bed himself. After paying a price that made airport food seem like a bargain in comparison, he managed to locate both a relatively stable chair and table.

The turkey was dry and the bread tasted like damp mayonnaise-flavored foam rubber. He ate it all and licked his fingers when he was done for good measure.

Was the last time I ate really yesterday? It must have been for something this excruciatingly bad to taste so good. He considered buying another sandwich, but both his wallet and his head protested in equally loud measure. Now that his stomach wasn’t trying to kill and digest his lungs, that prickling sensation of unease was back in full force—an itch that wouldn’t go away until he was back upstairs again.

Come on, he told himself, nothing’s going to happen while I’m gone.

When he made it back, the door was closed. It had been open when he left. Irrationally, he debated for a moment before grasping the handle and pushing it open—only to stop short at the sound of another voice.

“…we think these fingerprints will prove to be pivotal in--” The stranger left off in mid sentence as soon as he heard the click of the latch, turning to stare at Phoenix.

Reporting a case? Phoenix thought, incredulous. Here, like this?

“Should I…” the detective—or so Phoenix assumed—began.

“No, please continue,” Edgeworth said, both cutting him off and dismissing Phoenix from the room in a single sentence.

Phoenix ducked back into the hall and leaned against the wall. Well... it can’t take that long, can it?

Twenty minutes later, the leaning had become more of an irritated slouch. He let out a half-hearted groan when another man, this time in a navy-blue officer uniform, came into view. He held a slip of paper in his hand that he thrust up to his thick, round glasses in between peering at the door numbers. When he finally made it to where Phoenix was standing, he asked, “Is this the line for Mr. Edgeworth’s room?”

I guess it is now, Phoenix thought. “Go ahead, I was planning on sitting down anyway.”

“Oh, thank you very much!” The officer replied, looking as though Phoenix had made his morning, noon, and night when Phoenix vacated the spot and relocated to the bench along the end of the hallway.

It proved to be the perfect vantage point to watch the steady flow of police officers of various rank trickle in and out of Room 307. The shortest visit was a record breaking thirty seconds—when the man had come out, he looked torn between bursting into tears and kicking a line of holes in the wall—while the longest were about thirty minutes on average. Phoenix had a sneaking suspicion he was getting a firsthand look at what a typical day at Edgeworth’s office looked like—something he’d find exhausting even on a good day.

Is he holding up okay...?

“Hey, pal!” Phoenix nearly jumped at the familiar voice from behind. He turned to the right, where Gumshoe was standing, inspecting the scene. “Waiting to see Mr. Edgeworth? You should have gotten here earlier.”

“Mmm,” Phoenix mumbled noncommittally.

“Looks like he’s pretty popular—I even heard a group of nurses talking about him on my way up.”

“Yeah,” Phoenix said, with considerably less enthusiasm than the detective. He changed the subject: “Are you here to give a report too?”

“Nah, I just happened to be in the area and decided to stop in and see how Mr. Edgeworth was doing.” Gumshoe said with a lopsided grin. Before Phoenix could warn him, he’d already clomped over to the room, past the two officers currently waiting, and stuck his head inside. If his sudden jolt and tensing of shoulders was any sign, Edgeworth didn’t exactly welcome the interruption with open arms—and if that had been in doubt, the sheepish way the detective scratched the back of his head when he returned over to where Phoenix was sitting dispelled the last of it.

“Wow, that’s Mr. Edgeworth for you! Not even exploding internal organs can keep him down!”

He looked pretty exhausted to me, Phoenix thought. His chest still tightened at the mention of ‘explosions’ and ‘internal organs’.

“I guess it just goes to show you there’s always something worse, pal. I thought I was going to die when I caught that flu that was going around a few weeks back. I couldn’t even move for three days. Even after Maggey was nice enough to make me an extra large batch of her five-alarm ‘Put the Pep Back in Your Step’ chicken noodle soup, I couldn’t take more than one bite.”

“The nausea was that bad?” Phoenix asked. No wonder Edgeworth thought he had it…

“No, it felt like my tongue was on fire!” Gumshoe exclaimed. “Weirdest flu symptoms I’ve ever had, pal, that’s for sure.”

Uh, I don’t think that was from the flu!

“But, yeah, and that was just the flu! I don’t even want to think about how Mr. Edgeworth must have been feeling, how much pain he must have been in…”

Something cold and icy trickled through Phoenix’s lungs, making it hard to breathe for a moment.

“It was pretty terrifying, seeing him like that. Mr. Edgeworth is a really sensitive guy, but he’s actually got a high pain threshold. There was one time I accidentally smacked him in the face with a ladder, and he filled out the pay reduction form without even flinching, even with all that blood gushing down his forehead--”

“Sorry, Detective Gumshoe,” Phoenix said, cutting him off. “I think I’m going to go take a quick walk. My legs are falling asleep.”

Once he reached the opposite end of the hallway, before he turned the corner, he stole a glance to make sure Gumshoe didn’t get any more bright ideas, like trying to follow him. A running commentary on the various injuries Edgeworth had sustained over the years was one of the last things he wanted to hear right now. But, instead, the tall detective just seemed slightly puzzled, brow furrowing momentarily before he shrugged and walked to the other side of the hall to talk to his coworkers.

Phoenix wandered aimlessly until he was sure Edgeworth’s visitors would be gone. The empty hallway that greeted him upon his return bore out his theory, as did the bare-except-for-Edgeworth-himself room when he opened the door again.

Edgeworth looked worse than he had that morning. Where before, when someone entered the room, he’d maneuver himself into a sitting position, now he just barely cracked his eyelids when he heard the door open.

Phoenix settled back into the chair next to the bed.

“Is it over?” he ventured after a few minutes of silence.

Edgeworth didn’t open his eyes. “I certainly hope so.”

“It’s not going to be like this every day, is it?”

“No, probably not,” Edgeworth replied. He paused to wet his lips. “It appears the office hasn’t gotten around to reassigning my cases yet.”

“Still, coming to give reports in the hospital seems a bit much…”

“It doesn’t make sense to give them to someone uninvolved in the investigations, and we can’t exactly freeze everything in place for a week because of my own carelessness.”

“Couldn’t they just call?”

“Detective Gumshoe seems to have misplaced my phone…” Edgeworth trailed off, finishing the thought with a shake of the head.

Silence descended.

Phoenix shifted his weight in the chair, letting his hands fold in front of him. "...you know, we missed the play."

Edgeworth's line of sight had drifted to the far window; it fell squarely back on Phoenix.

"I completely forgot," he admitted.

"So did I," Phoenix said.

“I kept you waiting, I suppose.”

And down about ten fifty in coffee and taxi fare, but nevermind that. “Don't worry about it.”

"You could still see it," Edgeworth murmured. "There's more than one showing. You don't have to stay here."

Phoenix shook his head. "Don't be stupid."

"But if you..."

"I said not to worry about it. Like I said, it's not like it's really your fault. There'll be other times."

"Yes..." Edgeworth said. His voice was almost thoughtful. "You're right."

Lacking further conversation, they settled into a familiar quiet. It wasn't a bad thing, Phoenix figured—probably more conductive to recovery. He found that exchanging small talk with Edgeworth wasn't really necessary for him to want to be here anyway.

As time passed, Edgeworth's breathing slowed to an even pace that signified, if not sleep, then at least a comfortable doze. A smile touched Phoenix's lips. Unbidden, he reached out and let his fingertips brush against the outline of the other man's knuckles.

The door flew open with a bang and the bulb of light exploded from behind. Phoenix wasn't sure whether he or Edgeworth's hands snapped back first, as though they had been burnt. The voice, shrill with triumph and thick with a familiar Southern accent, rattled against both of their ears a quarter of a second after the flash finished its sweep over them.

“Gotcha, rock star!”

A moment passed. It was silent enough that Phoenix could hear the sound of the nearby clock ticking away the seconds. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Edgeworth pushing himself into something like a sitting position, and with an internal lurch Phoenix found he felt ill enough in that instant to consider committing himself to the bed adjacent to the prosecutor.

“Hey,” Lotta noted, perturbed, lowering her camera in a gesture of honest bewilderment. Her eyes darted to the left, then to the right, then to the ceiling—as though whatever she was searching for would manifest itself if she just looked hard enough. “This ain't right...”

Edgeworth heaved a world-weary sigh. Phoenix felt his own insides fold over in a strange, acidic blend of relief and exasperation. Lotta apparently didn't notice, because she was still ranting in unimpeded indignation to herself.

“That nurse swore up and down—” the Southern photographer stamped her foot. “--doggone it, nobody fibs like that from my part of the country, I'll tell ya that! You city folk, couldn't learn to talk straight to save yer lives...”

Edgeworth's expression could have made one think the man had just swallowed a vat of lemon juice. “It wasn't a lie. He already left. Hours ago.”

Phoenix's eyes darted to him briefly, almost curious.

“Aw, darn it,” Lotta sighed, forcing a frustrated hand into her glob of hair, “I thought I had him for sure this time! And if he's at a hospital, I figured, it's got to be a real juicy story, being a hospital and all...” She blinked. “Hey, this is a hospital, ain't it? What the heck are you doin' here, Edgeworth?”

Astute as ever, Phoenix noted.

“I would think,” Edgeworth said, “that would be fairly obvious to anyone with eyes.”

Lotta scratched her head, as though she wasn't sure whether to be offended or not—before diverting the problem altogether by rounding on Phoenix in a jump of exaggerated surprise.

“Oh, hey, if it ain't Phoenix on top o' that! Since when did you get here?”

I've been here the whole time!

“What, you two workin' together on a case again?” Lotta asked, fiddling with the camera strap around her neck.

“No,” Phoenix said. “It's not like that...”

“Huh,” she said, vaguely. “Well, you sure look in a bad way, Edgeworth. Stress get to ya at last? Some murderer you tryin' to nail strike back?” She blinked, mulling further over the idea. “Now there'd be a story. I mean, yer kind of a rock star all by your lonesome these days yourself, ain'tcha, prosecutor? All the press 'bout you and your sordid, under-the-table dealings...”

“What?” Edgeworth said.

The gleam in Lotta's eyes had shifted from astute disappointment to that of a predatory hawk. “Lots of people'd love to take a shot at ya, goes the rumor mill. So what went down to land ya here as an invalid? Did they hit ya outside the courthouse? Come on, share a coupla details and I'll run with the rest--”

“Lotta,” Phoenix said, but it was a futile attempt. She plucked a notepad from her jacket, already taking furious notes, darting knowing glances at Edgeworth, who was looking less and less amused with each passing second.

“Ooh, don't tell me it's the--” she lowered her voice to a harsh whisper, “Cadaverini varmints? Papers've been going wild about them last couple o' weeks, nasty pieces o' work--”

“I'm not even connected with that case,” Edgeworth said, speaking very slowly, as though if he enunciated firmly enough, he could force comprehension onto the woman.

“Yeah,” Lotta said, not to be dissuaded, “that's what they say, but they say a lot of things... they said you went and kicked the bucket a coupla years back, and they said what's his name offed your pop all that time ago, but--”

Edgeworth's mouth opened again, then closed.

Phoenix rose from his chair.

“All right, that's enough,” he announced, hoping a firm hand on the shoulder would be sufficient to steer Lotta decisively from the premises.

“What's enough?” Lotta huffed, flapping the loose pages of the notepad against Phoenix's nose. “I still got questions to ask! I got journalistic integrity to maintain! C'mon, be straight with me! Who put a hit on ya, Edgeworth!?”

Edgeworth, by all appearances, was busy drowning out the sound of her voice by counting the number of circles engraved on the ceiling above, jaw tense and hands tight around the bed sheets.

With a fair amount of effort, and lots of squawking, Phoenix finally managed to get Lotta to the doorway, managed a hasty goodbye, and closed the door in her face. He pressed his full weight against it until he could be sure of the sound of annoyed, retreating footsteps peppered with a fair amount of distinctly Southern curses.

He turned back to face the other man, caught between three separate impulses still trying to untangle themselves from one another within his mind.

What was that all about, anyway?

“Uh, rock star?” he inquired, somewhat weakly, figuring that was likely to be the least offensive of his conversational options.

“Don't ask,” Edgeworth said. “I'd rather not be reminded.”

That did little to satisfy Phoenix's curiosity, but it probably wasn't a good idea to continue provoking Edgeworth when he was still pale and confined to the hospital bed—not to mention probably still stewing over the unwelcome reminder of DL-6. So the silence fell back on them again.

There wasn't much, Phoenix knew, with some despondence, that he could offer about the incident that had taken Edgeworth's father from him that he hadn't already said or done. So as he settled back into his chair, his thoughts slid instead back to the near heart attack he'd suffered at the burst of light that had shattered the comfortable silence that had taken so long to attain—and the cold sweat that had congealed against his hands before Lotta confirmed she didn't find anything particularly amiss in what she saw besides the lack of her unknown target.

It wasn't something he particularly wanted to define the implications of.

But his eyes fell onto Edgeworth's hand, still pale and looking oddly vulnerable and out of place against the steel railing of the hospital bed.

Phoenix swallowed heavily. He wanted to take it, but he held back.



The rest of the visit had proven uneventful; Edgeworth, in between fits of dozing, was uncomfortably reticent throughout the remainder of the day for a variety of reasons one or both of them hadn't really felt up towards discussing.

Still, Phoenix hadn’t felt inclined to leave until the sun had dipped beneath the horizon and the announcement came over the speakers that visiting hours were coming to a close; he'd stood, diverting his eyes from the television hanging from the corner of the room, and left with a promise to return the next day. Edgeworth had mumbled something about how just because he was confined to bed rest it didn’t mean Phoenix had to join him in doing nothing for a week.

When he walked back through the halls to the entrance of the hospital, he was mostly isolated—no detectives, photographers, or other law officials in sight. It was oddly comforting, after biting back the unsettling feeling of intrusion that had permeated the entire day, where it was almost like he'd spent more time staying out of Edgeworth's way than actually keeping him company.

It wasn’t just the nurses, subordinates, and other irritants in the ointment; he hadn't heard from Franziska in years, Gumshoe in months. He'd forgotten about the former entirely, even though it was her brother who had been hospitalized, until reminded.

In a way it was as though the world constructed around just the two of them—consisting of the things they saw together, looks from people they didn’t even know and would never see again, and the counting game of how long Phoenix could silently goad Edgeworth into grasping his hand—had been punctured and all the things he hadn’t bothered or wanted to think about came seeping in. Because Edgeworth had fallen sick—and the backlash the world offered in response turned out to be even more jarring than being forced to act as a serving boy to his assistant in his own office.

What would Maya even say, seeing things like this...

At that, Phoenix frowned.

I have no idea what she'd say.

He couldn't immediately remember the last time he had spoken to Maya, off the top of his head either, if he was being honest with himself. With a start it hit him, after thinking about it, that it was almost two weeks ago, and even then, he couldn’t bring to mind a single thing they’d talked about.

He’d been too busy thinking of what not to talk about.

For a second he felt annoyed, not with himself, but with her—she had access to a phone just as much as he did. In the second after that, he had a hard time feeling much of anything except a rather bitter flood of self-disgust at even reflexively trying to pin it on Maya.

If she hadn't been calling, it probably meant that she was busy—whether with the gardens she had mentioned a while back, or any other number of tasks he only had the vaguest of ideas about--while he had spent the past two months not worrying about much of anything beyond counting the minutes to and since the next dinner or walk or impromptu library visit.

Keep me updated, okay? she had asked.

And he suddenly remembered that Edgeworth had looked at him oddly, slight frown touching his lips, and asked him if he had made any other calls.

After all, it wasn't just Phoenix—there were other people who would want to know something had happened to him.

Phoenix pulled his phone out of his pocket once again to dial.

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UPDATE

UDPATE UPDAT EUTETPETUT

this always gets updated when I'm hardcore busy :\

will read in a moment

I still love you two

25 pages!? The waiting has worth it I'm not good at reviewing fics but I'll try.

This chapter is as well written and as in character as the other ones :D. Phoenix concern for Edgeworth was so... err, so. I can't completely comprehend the relationship between Franziska and Edgeworth, but you've portraid it perfectly. When you mentioned that Edgeworth was a popular guest in the hospital and that he wasn't alone when Phoenix arrived I just knew that Oldbag was there.
And I loved the ending. Keep up the good work :edgey:!

PD: I wonder if that play they were supposed to watch together was Waiting for Godot.

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Last edited by Elriel on Mon Mar 10, 2008 8:26 pm, edited 1 time in total.

I didn't even realize that was a 25-page-long post. And holy cow.... I was not expecting that at all.

I'm kind of glad you skipped the "first night" entirely and jumped straight to their relationship after the fact. On the one hand, I was kind of looking forward to reading that scene (eh, not that scene, but just seeing how they fumbled through their first full night together would have been hilariously awkward, I'm sure), but on the other hand, the way you handled it made for an awesome transition: now Nick stepping through the threshold in the last chapter mirrors them taking the next few steps in their relationship and to their current status. And... it's kind of nice to find a romantic story that doesn't heavily focus on the sexual aspect of the relationship.

I think you two have been really, really, ridiculously good about developing their relationship without exploiting the fact that they're a homosexual couple (a problem I find with far too many stories featuring yaoi or yuri); now that you're starting to really delve into the issues so commonly associated with that kind of relationship, I'm even more satisfied. You're not shoving it down our throats; the more subtle hints are refreshing to read. Everything from the Look Edgeworth gave Nick when he said he hadn't called anyone else to the quick withdraw both made when Lotta burst into the room was just... golden. Having the realization hit Nick only at the very end was perfect (and, sadly, in character; stupidly oblivious Nick...).



This scenario is one of my not-so-well-known fears, so I found these lines to be especially powerful. I think it would take a wake-up call like this for Nick to figure out there are still issues with the relationship that need ironing out.

I could feel the tension in the conversation with Franziska. She handled the news with the precise amount of coolness I've come to expect from her. I'm a little miffed that she apparently gave Edgeworth the same treatment, but on the other hand, her character hasn't given me any indication that I should have expected something different. Edgeworth's own self depriciation was depressing, but not unexpected.

The parade of visitors; oi, where do I begin? Oldbag made me squirm, the Klavier reference made me squeal in delight, and Lotta... gawd, I actually like the woman and I still wanted to sock her by the end of her scene. My respect for Phoenix kicked up a few notches when he finally threw her out.



I winced when I read that. Part of me gets so effing frusterated with Nick when he acts like that, but... I don't think I can really blame him, given all of the circumstances. He's working it out as the story goes along, albeit slower than I'd like to see, and that's all I can really ask for.

...Heh. Really, I think this is why I love Struggling Against Gravity so much: when I'm in this thread, reading your words, I don't feel like I'm reading a story; I feel like I'm actually inside of Nick's head, observing people. You make everyone seem so real it's hard to not react to their actions.

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Gah! Hit "quote" instead of "edit." Sorry.

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I really love this story. I was so happy when I saw it had updated. I decided to spend a few hours reading through the whole thing again instead of jumping right to the latest chapter. So excellent... I really should have been doing work instead, but this was just too compelling.

This latest chapter was excellent. I like how Phoenix is realizing that their relationship is pretty unbalanced, in that Edgeworth very much has a busy life of his own, and deals with all sorts of people on a daily basis, whereas Phoenix - running his own office, rarely taking clients, and with his assistant gone and living her own life - doesn't really do much in particular outside of their relationship. It's interesting... I would have been interested to see how Phoenix interacted with his old classmates, too... maybe in a later chapter? And, uh. Hm. I'm not quite sure what I'm trying to say here, other than that I think it's really good. So yeah. It's really good.

A really belated thank you to everyone who reviewed and offered such kind words before we got this chapter up. It really means a lot to us. ;_;

Elriel: Thanks! Especially glad to hear you liked the ending; I wasn't totally sure if it was a satisfactory stopping point, myself, so that's really a relief to hear. :D

(In my head, at least, the play was either Waiting for Godot for the lulz or Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead because that is my favorite play ever and I am a nerd, so take your pick. :P)

Officer 1BDI: Wow, thank you for the amazing response. We're really sensitive about treading lightly about the homosexuality issue, too (personally, I almost never see it brought out explicitly in fic without being made to cringe, so...) and I'm happy to hear that skipping over the "first night" worked for you. We actually had a lot of that planned out in detail but decided not to write it, but all you really need to know is that their first time was terrible. Terrible.

Scherzando: Thank you, it always sends me over the moon hearing someone likes the fic enough to read the whole damn thing through, let alone take the time to reread it on top of that. ;_; I'm glad that you enjoyed the chapter, and yes, Phoenix does sort of has tunnel vision like that, doesn't he? XD;;;

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*squeak* I didn't even consider the second play as an option, but... that would have been awesome if that was the play in question. My high school drama class put R&GaD up one year; ah, memories.



You're most welcome. And... why am I not surprised? XD

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Firstly, I'd just like to say how much I adore this series. This is the fic that really pulled me headlong into the Phoenix Wright fandom, and I'm thrilled to see another update. I will admit to being disappointed that you missed out the first night (especially the awful, awkward sex, because I am a masochist like that), but nevertheless, it was still a very enjoyable chapter. Poor Miles, having a burst appendix and then Ms Oldbag to cope with on top of that! I love your characterisations in this series. They're all very believable and enjoyable, and I look forward to reading more from the both of you! : )

You're welcome . I think I'll pick Waiting for Godot as I don't know anything about the other play xD.

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I am amazed. I started reading Struggling Against Gravity a few days ago and I tried my best to finish all the chapters. It took me until early morning of the next day, but it was really worth it. I can't explain how accurate your description of the characters are. They're so skillfully fleshed out that it's not hard to envision that it's them speaking. I just feel really happy to see a well thought out fanfic of Phoenix and Edgeworth.

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