#she gets out after like ten years and asks if he and Edgeworth are together yet despite never talking about their relationship for a decade

[science-lings]

I love researching something and then finding something other than what I was looking for that’s also fascinating like, I’m going through the rfta transcription bc one of my fic ideas is about Phoenix reminding various people of Mia but that’s besides the point, it led me to the Lana’s line about Mia talking to her about Phoenix, saying that she’s heard ‘quite a bit’ about him.

Anyway she totally knows that he ate glass and is very likely to get the inside scoop on Edgeworths gay brooding and I’m guessing that the promise for a dramatic trial is the only thing keeping her from going insane in her situation.

[queenlua]

Phoenix Wright / Kristoph Gavin "What the fuck are we even doing together?"

The disbarment hits the papers, and suddenly every Tom, Dick and Harry that Phoenix has ever met is blowing up his phone.

Amazing how many of them there are.  There's his aunt Jessie, whose sole previous communication with him these past ten years has been a dutifully-sent annual birthday card.  There's Gary from that internship Phoenix did his last summer in law school, calling from five states over.  His barber, for some reason.  And a bunch of guys that he hasn’t talked to since 1L.  Like a freaking class reunion in his phone, except through one-way glass, so he can't get a look at them.  It'd only be fair, after all, if he could judge them right back—judge them for whatever biglaw job they burned out of, or how much weight they've put on, or how divorced they are, or whatever it is people henpeck at those sorts of things—

And it's amazing how many of them won’t even admit why they’re calling.  Hey Phoenix, it’s been a while huh, just wondered how you’re doing these days, well if you get this call me back—

Right.  As if.

He plays the voicemails back every night, after Trucy’s asleep, sitting alone with a bottle of cheap swill, and he lets the voices wash over him until he’s comfortably numb.

When Maya calls, two weeks later, he recognizes it right off because he’s got the Kurain area code memorized.  And he stares at those digits a long while, deciding—because, hell, he owes Maya an explanation, doesn't he? Edgeworth, Larry, it's whatever, but Maya didn't ask to get mixed up in any of this—

Then he swipes the call straight to voicemail, and stops listening to the voicemails altogether.

Which he should’ve known wouldn’t be enough to put her off.  So he shouldn't be surprised when Maya shows up at his apartment a week later, banging on the door and hollering for him to come out, Nick, it's me—

His apartment looks like shit.  He knows that already, from the look the pizza guy's been giving him this past week, every time he opens the door.  He doesn't need to see that look on Maya's face, too.

“Do you mind,” he says, blocking the entryway with his shoulders.  He says some other things, probably.  He already had a good buzz going before she got here.

She squares her shoulders and shoves past him.  Then she barges into the nearest closet, roots around until she finds the swiffer and some wet wipes, and starts going at his place with the same vigor he used to have when he was cleaning up the office.

So it takes some doing, getting her to leave.  He stands in a corner and says nothing while she's sweeping and scouring and chattering.  I had to find out in the paper.  The paper!  You KNOW how slow news is to get to Kurain, Nick, you could've called—

You weren't here, he snaps.  He says it like an accusation, as flinty and sharp-edged as any he's ever flung in a courtroom, stares her down—and she's not a hardened criminal, she's barely an adult, she isn't steeled against this sort of thing.  She just blinks and stares back at him like a kicked dog.

It's a low blow and he knows it.  She's got a life in Kurain, she's got Pearl to take care of, and everything that went down with Godot was just two months ago, and he kept saying he'd go visit her in Kurain but he hadn't done that so who wasn't there for who, really—

But it does get her to leave.  Which is what he wanted, after all.

The next morning, he pulls up the call history on his phone, for the first time in days.  It’s a wall of missed calls from the very same number, that familiar area code.  He flips over to the voicemails, and ventures a click on one of them at random—Nick, I’m on the train down, I don’t know why you’re not answering your phone or why you didn’t just tell me what happened but I'll be there soon—

And he almost takes it back.  Almost calls her back, I messed up, Maya, I'm sorry, I'm messed up—

Except then, that night he’s at the Borscht, he's sitting across from Kristoph, right.  Kristoph, the only guy who's seemed normal about all this, whose sympathies are tinged with the comfortable chilliness of professional courtesy, who's been kind-but-not-too-kind.  Halfway through the first course, Kristoph mentions seeing a young lady at the train station this afternoon, he just happened to be passing by—and she looked just like that assistant of yours, Phoenix, wearing that most unusual garb—is it a spirit-channeler custom, or just a current fashion, do you know—?

All the hairs prickle on the back of Phoenix's neck.  Kristoph smiles like he’s describing nothing more consequential than a strange, alluring bird at his backyard feeder.

And that's when it clicks, when Phoenix realizes the thing he can't prove yet, the thing that'd make him sound crazy if he tried—that he's being watched, that he's been set up, that this Kristoph is a wolf waiting by his door.

Phoenix forces his best shit-eating grin.  How about another glass of that wine, Kristoph.  How about this dessert menu, Kristoph.  Like those birds that draw other, bigger birds away from their nest by flashing their wings just so.  Better that Kristoph have Phoenix in his sights than anyone else.  Better that he does this alone.

[bevioletskies]

(and i’m lost) in a daydream

summary: Napping together, in Klavier’s opinion, is one of the most romantic things a couple can do. But, he has to admit, staying up all night with Apollo to talk about nothing in particular is pretty good, too.

word count: 5.4k | read on ao3

a/n: For @klapollo-week, day six of seven (prompt: "sleep"). All seven of my fics take place in the same continuity! However, each can be read as a stand-alone, with the exception of day seven being a sequel to day five.

This fic takes place at some distant point in time after Spirit of Justice where Apollo and Trucy have learned that they’re siblings, but doesn’t reference any specific plotlines otherwise. Fic title is from the song Daydream by The Lovin' Spoonful.

“Why are your feet still so cold? You’ve been lying here for like, ten minutes already!”

“Don’t question my blood circulation, baby, it’s rude.”

“I - what?” Apollo shook his head incredulously as he snuggled deeper into the mattress, pointedly moving his feet away from Klavier’s. “You know what? Never mind, I’m not even gonna ask. Just when I think I finally get you…”

“I’m an enigma, liebling. Hard to understand,” Klavier deadpanned, adjusting the covers so Apollo was snug underneath his duvet, weighted blanket, and faux-fur throw. Apollo seriously questioned how his boyfriend’s skin could be anything but blazingly hot with enough sheets on top of him to legitimately smother someone.

“You? You’re about as deep as a puddle on a freshly-paved road.” Klavier pouted exaggeratedly; Apollo leaned over to kiss his trembling bottom lip with a teasing grin. “Kidding, kidding. How could I possibly question the depth and breadth of someone who writes songs like 13 Years Hard Time For Love and Gonna Lock U Up? Clearly, Guilty Love is your magnum opus - ”

“You are so mean to me,” Klavier whined, wrapping his arms around Apollo’s shoulders and pulling him closer. “How are you still one of my favorite people in the world, achtung.” Laughing, Apollo buried his face against Klavier’s neck. “But...you’re not wrong about Guilty Love. It’s obviously my best work.”

“I prefer The Guitar’s Serenade myself,” Apollo mumbled into his hair, slowly detangling himself from Klavier so he could get a good look at him. He felt deliriously tired for some reason, like he’d been worn out to the point of restlessness. Strange, considering it was just like any other day; there was nothing that would’ve made him more exhausted than normal. Klavier seemed to be that way, too, blinking sleepily at Apollo with a wide grin, more lazy than flirtatious. “...hi?”

“Hallo.” Klavier kissed him again. “We should sleep, it’s late.”

“It’s barely ten,” Apollo pointed out.

“It’s late,” Klavier repeated, throwing an arm out across the pillows. Apollo took that as his cue to move in closer once more. “Some people need their beauty sleep, Apollo. We can’t all be fresh-faced, rosy-cheeked engels like you.”

“Now I know you’re tired, ‘cos that was complete crap,” Apollo said, poking Klavier in the cheek. “Have you seen this pimple on my chin? Look, Klav. It’s big enough to have its own legal system.” Klavier half-snorted, half-yawned. “Why’re you so tired, anyway? I thought you said you had a power nap at work, which is definitely not something you should be doing.”

“Herr Edgeworth can manage without me for twenty minutes, ach,” Klavier said derisively. “And I like a good nap, but it’s no substitute for sleep. And besides, it’s...it feels nicer, going to bed, when I have someone to share it with.”

“You are nauseating,” Apollo informed him, kissing him more intently this time. “...but I get what you mean.” He pulled back, swallowing. “Trucy and I were talking the other day about, like...stuff we missed out on by not growing up together. Y’know, family trips, home movies, falling asleep in the same bed...or, at least, that’s what I think it’s like. I wouldn’t know.”

Klavier went silent for an unsettlingly long time. “...it’s not all bad. Having a sibling. Until you look back on it and start to question all the...you know what, never mind.” He shook himself before he could finish his sentence. “You make a pefekt older brother, baby. Though you’re more like a little big brother, now that she’s taller than you.”

“By half an inch!” Apollo protested loudly, prodding Klavier more insistently now. “Look, her dad has the height gene - ”

“And your dad had the ‘loud voice’ gene, I hear.” Klavier took Apollo’s hand in both of his and brushed a kiss across his knuckles. “Well, thanks to you, mein kleiner sirene, I’m definitely awake now.”

“Asshole,” Apollo said affectionately. “So, what, you wanna get up or something?”

“Nein, not at all.” Klavier rolled onto his side, bringing Apollo’s hand to his chest. Apollo could feel Klavier’s steady heartbeat beneath his fingers. “Let’s just...hang out, ja? We can talk until we fall asleep, just like we used to when you were working in Khura’in. Or, more recently, just the other day.”

“Emphasis on ‘day’ - we were s’posed to be helping Ema finish the decorations for Kay’s surprise party!” Apollo spluttered. “That was not a good time to take an accidental nap.”

“Well, entschuldigung for wanting to reflect fondly on a nice memory we shared,” Klavier griped, poking Apollo in the stomach. “For a moment there, I forgot I was dating the most pedantic man on the planet.”

“We’re lawyers, we’re pedantic for a living.” Apollo poked him back. “Hell, you got mad at me just the other day ‘cos I accidentally swapped two of your face serums or whatever - ”

“My skincare routine is a delicate ecosystem, baby, you can’t just move things - ” Klavier then cut himself off with a long exhale. “Nein, nein, we’re not getting into this again. I don’t like being mad at you. It’s unfathomable, really.”

Humming, Apollo used his free hand - the other was still being held against Klavier’s chest - to gently run his fingers through Klavier’s hair, brushing it out of his face. It was silky smooth and tangle-free, naturally; Klavier had a whole wealth of products he used on his skin and in his hair to maintain their quality. He still hadn’t forgiven Apollo for telling him that his own skincare routine consisted of nothing but St. Ives’ apricot scrub and Ponds cold cream (“At least let me buy you an actual cleanser, ach. And don’t tell me you don’t wear sunscreen!”).

“What’re you thinking about?” Klavier said quietly, finally releasing Apollo’s hand so he could cup his jaw, his thumb brushing across Apollo’s bottom lip. “I can practically see the little hamster wheel turning in your head right now.”

“Shut up,” Apollo murmured, playfully nipping the tip of Klavier’s thumb with his teeth. “I’m not thinking about anything, actually. Which is kinda nice, not gonna lie. I don’t have, like, a million pieces of evidence flying around in my brain for once.”

“The benefits of date night after a trial is over, ja?” Klavier said. “We can enjoy each other’s company without...conditions. Though to be fair, you were right when you said we shouldn’t spend nights together while we’re working the same case. Separate the lover from the lawyer and all that.”

Apollo groaned. “I hated that saying when you came up with it, and I still hate it now.” Laughing, Klavier moved closer, neatly tucking his head underneath Apollo’s chin. He pressed a kiss to Apollo’s collarbone, winding his arms around Apollo’s waist. “One of the many things I gotta put up with, I guess.”

“You love it,” Klavier mumbled against Apollo’s chest. “You think I’m so clever - ”

“Rewind to about five minutes ago when I said you’re about as deep as a footprint on a hardwood floor,” Apollo said wryly, pinching Klavier’s waist so he would look up; Apollo ducked down to kiss him. Grinning, Klavier deepened the kiss, letting out a pleased hum as he did so. “...I don’t totally mind putting up with you, though. Wouldn’t be here if I did.”

“I’m still not completely convinced you aren’t here for my mattress and heated floors.” Klavier began pressing open-mouthed kisses along the crook of Apollo’s jaw, savoring the smell of Apollo’s shampoo as he went. “From what you’ve told me of your apartment, it sounds like an absolute nightmare. A complete schreckgespenst.”

“Gesundheit,” Apollo murmured, tilting his chin upwards to give Klavier better access to his neck. “Yeah, my apartment sucks. The only reason I’d want you to come over is so you can finally meet my cat. Hell, he’s a nightmare and a half on his own.”

“Is this the same cat I’ve heard you refer to as your son?” Klavier asked, sitting up slightly. “The one who you said eats more expensive food than you do - ”

“One and the same,” Apollo replied with a long-suffering sigh. “Fine, fine, you caught me. I’m only dating you ‘cos you have air conditioning, a flatscreen TV, and food that isn’t frozen.”

The laughter that escaped Klavier’s mouth was near-hysterical; his exhaustion was getting more and more obvious by the minute. “And here, I thought you actually loved me. My mistake.” His laughter was swiftly cut off by Apollo’s lips on his, his breath hitching when Apollo quickly turned them around so he was now straddling Klavier’s hips. “So was I right after all - ”

“I can’t believe we have the exact same stupid sense of humor, you make me so angry,” Apollo said breathlessly between kisses. “God, I love you. You’re the worst. The absolute worst - ”

“You and your mixed messages.” Klavier moved his hands from Apollo’s waist to his backside, gripping him possessively; Apollo’s back arched at his touch, anticipatory. “Your thoughts are as confusing as your logic, you know that?”

“This is the part where you say ‘I love you, too’, not ‘I think you can be stupid sometimes’, you asshole,” Apollo retorted, grinning.

Klavier leaned in close, his lips brushing against Apollo’s ear, his voice low and warm and more than a little bit sensual. “Ich liebe dich mehr jeden Tag.” Apollo shivered with pleasure. “Ich kann nicht ohne dich leben. Liebst du mich?”

“Ja,” Apollo whispered, kissing Klavier yet again. “You know that I do.”

_____

Fifteen minutes later, Klavier reluctantly detached himself from Apollo long enough so he could get up and crack open a window; his bedroom had gotten noticeably warmer, and it wasn’t just because they’d spent the last ten minutes making out like teenagers with a limited window of opportunity.

“Warm,” Apollo grunted, rolling up the sleeves of his t-shirt. “It’s so warm - Klav, can we please get rid of at least one layer of bed covers already? I have no interest in getting roasted anymore than I already do.”

“Fine, fine.” Klavier rolled up his faux-fur throw, then disappeared briefly into his walk-in closet so he could set it aside. When he returned, Apollo was sprawled out like a starfish on top of the duvet, his fingers and toes brushing the edges of Klavier’s California king bed, staring up at the ceiling with an exhausted, yet blissful smile. “Er...you okay, baby?”

“Excuse me for enjoying the cool air,” Apollo huffed, smirking when Klavier crawled on top of him once more, knees braced on either side of Apollo’s hips. He automatically reached up to run his hands along the sides of Klavier’s waist, his touch warm through the thin fabric of Klavier’s t-shirt. “...hi. Can I help you?”

“Nein, you’re just fine where you are.” Klavier leaned down to kiss him, then rolled onto his side, letting out a contented sigh. “What do you think, are you good to sleep now?”

Apollo snorted, nudging Klavier’s thigh with his foot. “You’re the one who has a self-imposed bedtime, you tell me.”

Klavier propped himself up on his elbow, then ruffled Apollo’s unstyled hair, sweeping it out of his face. “I was thinking about what you said earlier, actually. About the things that you and Trucy missed out on sharing together.”

“...ah.” Apollo’s expression grew serious. “What about it?”

“Do you think…” Klavier hesitated. “It’s just, you grew up as the younger sibling. Not by much, natürlich, but you were still the younger one. Do you think you would've preferred being the older sibling instead?” He let out a bitter laugh that made Apollo’s heart ache. “Not that I’m projecting, of course. Nein, not me.”

“Oh, Klav,” Apollo sighed, wrapping his arms protectively around Klavier’s shoulders and pulling him into his chest. “And...I dunno, I don’t think it’s really comparable, you know? Nahyuta’s barely a year older, while Trucy’s a whole seven years younger...besides, it really comes down to personality and, like, compatibility. Would I be the same person if I grew up with Trucy instead of Nahyuta? Probably not. Hell, definitely not.” He then snorted. “I mean, for one thing, I wouldn’t be living in the mountains.”

“I’m still not convinced when Herr Sahdmadhi tells me he doesn’t have any other pictures of you two lying around,” Klavier chuckled, his laughter causing the mattress to tremble. “Papa wants to take up scrapbooking, by the way, and he’s been asking me if I have any gut photos of you. Ach, it’s like my parents already decided you were their son-in-law the moment we started dating.”

“I think it’s sweet...a-and a little intimidating,” Apollo admitted. “No pressure, right?” Still, he snuggled in even closer, legs loosely wrapped around Klavier’s hips. “But your parents are great, I’ll see if I can find some photos for your dad. I'm sure I’ve got something in those boxes I brought back from Khura’in that I never bothered opening.”

“Sounds like someone needs to do a little spring cleaning,” Klavier teased. “But danke, baby. It’ll certainly be interesting, seeing our childhood photos side-by-side. Me with my hot pink braces, you with your...what was it, pet rabbits?”

“So many rabbits,” Apollo said forlornly. “We didn’t have the means to stop them from, y’know. Procreating. So, uh, think I’ll stick with my neutered cat any day.”

“Did you have a favorite?” Klavier asked; he seemed much more relaxed now, though Apollo couldn’t help but wonder about his earlier comment, if it was worth mentioning at all. “I had a favorite hündchen. She was very stupid.”

“Nice way to talk about your favorite childhood pet,” Apollo snorted. “Though I frequently brag about how much of an asshole my cat is, so I guess I’m one to talk.”

“Nein, like - she was the kind of dog who ran into glass doors and barked at her own reflection,” Klavier explained, biting back another laugh. “Her name was Sascha, and she was this darling cream-colored retriever who loved to sleep on my legs every night. I would always wake up with numb toes.” His smile then turned sad, melancholy. “The first time I tried a weighted blanket after she passed, I...I almost cried. It had been so long since I had that feeling, you know? Like someone was hugging me while I slept...keeping me safe.”

“Babe,” Apollo said softly, gently cupping Klavier’s face.

“Mir geht's gut,” Klavier reassured him, placing his hands over Apollo’s. “It’s a nice memory, that’s all.” He cleared his throat, making small, soothing circles on the backs of Apollo's hands with his thumbs. “So, your favorite häschen?”

“Well, they were wild rabbits, so it’s not like they were ‘ours’, exactly,” Apollo said thoughtfully, leaning into Klavier’s touch. “We didn't give ‘em names or identifying marks, so we got them mixed up all the time. But there was one little guy who was a real piece of work. If I didn’t feed him fast enough, he’d bite my fingers. I had a weird soft spot for him.”

Klavier raised an eyebrow. “...you have a strange relationship with your pets, liebe.”

“Hey, maybe he was my favorite ‘cos he reminded me of me,” Apollo said defensively. “Just like how your favorite dog liked sleeping on your legs. You sure like hogging the bed, after all - which is an incredible feat, considering this is a California king.”

“True,” Klavier agreed. “You do remind me of kätzchen, sharp nails and all.”

“I accidentally cut you with a broken fingernail while holding your hand just one time,” Apollo sighed. “So, do you have pictures of Sascha? I’d love to see her.”

“At my parents’ house,” Klavier said, smiling softly. “I’ll have to break out the photo albums the next time we drop by.”

Humming, Apollo lowered his head to Klavier’s shoulder, half-burying his face against Klavier’s neck. Klavier’s hands moved to Apollo’s back, tapping out rhythmic patterns along his spine. They stayed like that for a while, quiet, almost zen-like, with the occasional breeze whistling in through the open window. Finally, after a few peaceful minutes, Apollo began to shiver, the hairs on his arms and legs prickling from the cold. “...it’s getting pretty windy now. Maybe it’s time for us to actually try to sleep?”

After closing the window, the two of them got back under the duvet, Klavier playfully prodding Apollo’s bare legs with his literal cold feet. Apollo countered him by aggressively poking Klavier’s cheeks with his frozen fingers, only stopping when Klavier begged for mercy. “You’re a cruel one,” Klavier sniffed despite the fact Apollo was now rubbing his face to warm him back up.

“And you’re such a diva,” Apollo said affectionately, pecking him on the nose. “Remember that one time we went to get poké and they didn’t have furikake? You honest-to-god pouted like a kid who didn’t get their favorite ice cream flavor.”

“I know what I like,” Klavier huffed. “And speaking of which, between the way you talk about Mikeko and the way you talk about me - are you sure you actually like us, schatz?”

Apollo softened somewhat. “To borrow a phrase from you - you know you’re, like, one of my favorite people ever.”

“I would hope so,” Klavier murmured, nudging his face against Apollo’s neck. His fingers then slipped underneath Apollo’s t-shirt so he could feel his warmth, feel the softness of his skin. “That’s something my parents used to say, actually. Back when they were in school, when they wrote each other love letters. ‘You are my favorite star in the sky’, Mama would write.”

“Did they end up keeping those letters?” Apollo asked. “It almost sounds like you’ve read them.”

“Nein, I could never,” Klavier protested. “It’s their private correspondence, after all. They just read me some of the nice bits, the poetic parts. I’d write you a poem myself, if I didn’t think you would absolutely hate it.”

“Hey, I wouldn’t hate it.” Apollo kissed the side of Klavier’s head. “I’m just not big on performative romance, y’know, big displays of love that seem to be for people that aren’t part of the relationship. But this right here...it’s more my speed.”

“I can tell,” Klavier hummed, kissing him. It wasn’t long before the two of them found themselves distracted again, caught up in each other’s embrace. Despite seeing plenty of each other over the past few days, Apollo couldn’t help but - privately - admit that he’d missed being able to see Klavier as his boyfriend, not his rival. Every time Klavier smirked at him from behind the prosecutor’s bench, he had to remind himself that he usually preferred to kiss him, not slap him. “...we’re never getting to sleep, are we?”

“Keep your shirt on, Gavin,” Apollo mumbled against Klavier’s lips.

“Not what I meant, but I like where your mind is at,” Klavier teased. “Besides, a bit hypocritical of you when you have your hands on my ass, ja?”

Apollo quickly withdrew his hands as if he’d been burned, ducking down underneath the sheets so Klavier couldn’t see how red his face had become. “Sh-shut up. It was just more convenient to hold onto than your waist, that’s all!”

“My ass is more convenient than my waist, you say? That’s a new one.” Klavier pulled back the duvet with a mocking grin. “Ah, there’s my favorite forehead. Where’s the rest of you, hm?”

“I hate you so much,” Apollo groaned, reluctantly crawling back out. “Why do you even start calling me that, anyway? It’s not like we were talking about my forehead, it was the location of Dr. Meraktis’s bullet wound!”

Klavier looked at him thoughtfully, his head cocked. The dog-like resemblance was becoming more and more apparent by the second. “Honestly? I don’t actually know. All I know is, I wanted to give you a cute nickname, and it just...stuck for one reason or another. And you have to admit, your hair makes your forehead quite...prominent.”

“Cute nickname?” Apollo repeated.

Now Klavier was staring at him more incredulously than anything else. “...I know we’ve talked about this before, but could you really not tell I was flirting with you from the start? Granted, it wasn’t meant to be anything serious until after our first case together, but still.”

“Oh,” Apollo said faintly, slumping back against the headboard. “I, uh...I honestly thought you were just making fun of me.”

“Achtung,” Klavier remarked, trying his hardest not to laugh. “Maybe it’s time we take a trip down memory lane and see what you thought I was doing. For my curiosity’s sake, if you don’t mind.”

Apollo yawned and stretched. “Hell, why not? It’s not like we’re sleeping anytime soon...apparently.”

_____

Thirty minutes later, the two of them were sitting cross-legged on top of Klavier’s duvet, trying their best not to touch anything with their still-wet nails. Apollo wasn’t a fan of having painted nails - not that he didn’t like nail polish itself, it was more the fact that chipped polish bothered him - but he liked letting Klavier do them, liked the feel of his boyfriend’s soft, gentle fingers as they tenderly held his own.

“Wait, wait, wait - you only said that you didn’t think Athena was my type ‘cos you wanted to know if I was single?!”

“I thought that was obvious,” Klavier said, sighing. “How are you so clever and so unobservant at the same time, ach. My boyfriend, the walking contradiction. The man who helped rebuild an entire legal system, the man who can’t tell when someone is asking him to dinner. You truly are a wonder, liebe.”

“Why didn’t you just ask me - ”

“My mistake, clearly. I should have just walked right into Themis, wearing a neon sign that says ‘Ask Me About My Romantic Feelings for Apollo Justice’.” Klavier snorted at the incredulous look on Apollo’s face. “What, too subtle?”

“I just can’t believe you were into me for that long,” Apollo admitted, his voice small. “Like, if you really thought I wasn’t interested...why didn’t you just...stop?”

“You say that like it’s easy.” Klavier turned away for a moment to delicately blow on his nails, pointedly avoiding Apollo’s eyes, then reached for his bottle of Seche Vite. “Remember what you said to me once? About...feeling your feelings before realizing you even have them. After all, it’s not like feelings are just something you can turn on and off, like a switch.”

“I got pretty good at doing that, actually,” Apollo muttered. “Compartmentalizing, I mean.”

“That’s not the same, though, is it?” Klavier said gently. “Pretending not to love you and not loving you are completely different things. I could act like a carefree flirt all I wanted, but...at the end of the day, my heart was always set on you.”

Apollo bit back a grin. “You are such a sap, sheesh. But I hear you. Sorry I made you wait around, I guess.”

“Don’t be,” Klavier murmured. “I’m just glad we got here in the end, you know?”

“Same.” Apollo leaned in to kiss Klavier chastely on the lips, both of them still taking care not to touch each other or the bed. “So, now that we - ” But before he could finish his sentence, he was interrupted by a short, but loud grrrrr. “...Klav?”

“Achtung,” Klavier said, staring down at his stomach in surprise. “I guess we should’ve ordered more dumplings, after all.”

“Or you shouldn’t have let me take the last one,” Apollo pointed out, laughing. “Okay, okay, after we’re done here, we’re raiding your fridge.”

Another fifteen minutes later, they found themselves sprawled on top of Klavier’s duvet once more, this time with two empty bowls that once held ice cream sitting on his bedside table. Apollo’s eyes were closed in contentment as he hummed a little something - some strange combination of The Guitar’s Serenade and something else he couldn’t identify - only for him to jolt slightly at the feeling of Klavier’s cold fingers on his skin.

“Ah - babe, your hands are freezing - ”

“Sorry.” Klavier didn’t look all that sorry as he pressed a sticky-sweet kiss to Apollo’s stomach. “What’s that you’re humming, liebe?”

“I...I don’t actually know.” Apollo furrowed his brows in confusion. “It feels like something I’ve heard over and over again, but I couldn’t begin to tell you what it is. Weird, huh?”

“It almost sounds like…” Klavier then began to hum it himself, tapping out the rhythm on Apollo’s thigh. “...like a lullaby of sorts. Maybe that’s why you’re mixing it with The Guitar’s Serenade.”

“A lullaby?” Apollo repeated. “Wait, you don’t think it’s something that...I mean, Mom told me this story the other day that…” He swallowed thickly. “...she said my dad used to sing to me, like. All the time. Apparently, Mom would come home from work and find him making dinner, and he’d have me on his back in one of those baby wrap things, and he’d just be...singing. Bouncing up and down to the beat to make me giggle.”

Klavier placed his hands over Apollo’s heart, lightly resting his chin on top of them. “That sounds like a wunderschön sight to come home to. Your papa must have been an amazing man.” Apollo shot him a rueful smile, running his fingers through Klavier’s hair. Then, after a moment’s consideration, he separated a portion of it from the rest and began to braid it almost mindlessly, instinctively, resuming his quiet humming. “Ah - you know how to braid hair?”

“Muscle memory,” Apollo explained, continuing to braid. “I liked keeping my hair short, but Nahyuta experimented with growing it out all the time. Aesthetics and beauty are a big part of Khura’inese culture, so he liked switching things up, even though we were never around anyone but...but Dhurke. I learned how to do braids and buns and stuff so he could have a different hairstyle every day.”

“Maybe I should seriously get you to do my hair sometime,” Klavier mused, right as Apollo tied the ends off. “We’ve got that work event next month, maybe then.”

“Hey, I’m no expert,” Apollo chuckled, leaning back to rest on his elbows and admire his handiwork. It wasn’t quite as neat as it used to be, but even in the middle of the night, even with his sloppy attempt at a simple braid, Klavier was still one of the most beautiful people Apollo had ever seen. “But if you let me practice on you, maybe I will be.”

“As long as you don’t pull all my hair out while you’re at it,” Klavier said, preening.

Apollo continued to laugh; then, his expression grew sober. “...is it weird that I think about, like...if I should miss my dad or not?”

Klavier frowned. “Why is it weird?”

“Because I shouldn’t have to think about it, right?” Apollo said, shrugging. “Like, either I miss him...or I don’t. And it’s not like I can tell Mom, ‘cos she loved him, and she misses him all the time, but I...I…” He inhaled sharply. “...I didn’t know him. Not really. So, uh...how do I miss someone I never knew?”

“Well...maybe it’s not about missing him, per se,” Klavier offered. “Maybe you just...miss that you never got to know him. That all your mama’s stories are just that - stories, not memories. And you wish you had the chance to make your own.”

Apollo shot him a soft smile. “You got all of that out of one train of thought, huh? Though...you might not be wrong. It’s kinda like the whole ‘what if’ with growing up with Trucy versus growing up with Nahyuta, y’know, only with...with my dad. What if things had gone completely differently? Would it be better, worse?”

“You seem to be thinking about family quite a lot these days,” Klavier commented. “What’s on that beautiful mind of yours, hm?”

Apollo shook his head. “I meant what I said earlier - nothing, really. It’s just the kind of thing my mind comes up with at - well, it’s not that late, but still.” He then bit back a smile. “Would be, uh. Would be kinda nice, though, wouldn’t it? If that really was dad’s lullaby I was remembering, that I still - that I have a piece of him still with me?”

“Natürlich,” Klavier agreed. “You should sing it to your mama next time you see her, see if she recognizes it. Even if she doesn’t, it can become your version of The Guitar’s Serenade, for just the two of you.”

“I’d like that,” Apollo said quietly. Klavier squeezed Apollo’s thigh, then shuffled back up the bed so they were face-to-face, kissing Apollo chastely. “Hm...your lips are cold, too.”

“You could warm them up for me,” Klavier murmured suggestively; once again, it was his turn to grab Apollo’s backside, pulling him closer and closer until their chests were pressed against one another, his knee sliding neatly between Apollo’s legs. Apollo groaned at the cheesy line but continued kissing him regardless, his lips parting slightly so he could deepen the kiss. “What happened to us having the same stupid sense of humor, baby?”

“You still make me so mad.” Apollo captured Klavier’s bottom lip between his teeth, tugging slightly with a wicked grin that made Klavier shiver. “It’s funny, whenever I complain about you to someone else - ”

“Which I suspect happens often,” Klavier commented.

“ - they always ask, ‘so why are you with him, then?’.” Apollo released him, nudging his nose affectionately against the underside of Klavier’s jaw. “And usually, I give ‘em some bullshit excuse. No need to tell them more than they have to know, y’know? But the actual answer’s pretty simple.”

Klavier smoothed Apollo’s hair away from his forehead, his thumb tracing a line across Apollo’s freckles. “Tell me.”

“Because it just...makes sense. Which doesn’t make any sense at all.” Apollo’s smile was so warm, so open, that Klavier felt as if he was falling in love all over again. “You get what I mean?”

“I get you, liebling,” Klavier said fondly, capturing his lips once more. “I’ve got you.”

_____

Sugar, sugar...oh, that night, in your embrace…

Apollo violently jolted awake at the sound of his ringtone, nearly tumbling right out of bed in the process. Groaning, he blinked blearily into the morning sunlight streaming in through the windows, then threw his arm out in an attempt to grab his phone from his bedside table without getting out from under the covers. Instead, he ended up hitting something else entirely.

“Ach! Apollo, what are you doing?”

“Crap - sorry, Klavier,” Apollo winced, sitting up properly so he could rub the sleep out of his eyes. He then turned to pick up his phone, letting out an annoyed huff when he realized it was just an unknown number. “Great, spam calls. And at this hour?” He paused. “Wait...what time is it? Shit, it’s - Klav, it’s almost eleven!”

“Perfekt,” Klavier sighed, rolling back over and pulling the duvet over his head. “Another seven hours, bitte.”

“No, i-it’s eleven in the morning!” Apollo shook Klavier’s shoulder. “Babe, we gotta get up!”

“Why?” Klavier said, yawning as he reluctantly opened his eyes. “It’s the weekend, süßer, relax. Neither of us has anywhere to be, ja? I missed my morning run, sure, but considering we didn’t fall asleep until...ach, three? Four? I’m in no mood to work out.”

“But...shouldn’t we…” Apollo was swiftly interrupted by his own yawn. “...fine, fine, you have a point.” He collapsed back into bed, defeated. Grinning victoriously, Klavier pulled him closer, fitting him snugly underneath his chin. Apollo braced his hand against Klavier’s chest; his heartbeat was steady, comforting, beneath Apollo’s fingers. “Seriously, though, let’s never do that again.”

“I don’t know about that,” Klavier hummed. “Personally, I thought it was a night to remember.”

“A night to remember, not a night to repeat,” Apollo muttered. Klavier merely laughed, dropping his head to rest on top of Apollo’s, briefly turning to kiss his forehead. “Klavier…”

“I mean it, liebe,” Klavier murmured; Apollo felt his own eyes drifting shut at the sound of Klavier’s low, soothing voice, his muscles relaxing as his body melted against Klavier’s familiar embrace. “We have nothing to do today. Sounds like the right time to take a nap, don’t you think?”

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to get a few more hours,” Apollo mumbled into Klavier’s chest. “Early dinner after we get up?”

“Someone’s optimistic,” Klavier chuckled, rubbing Apollo’s shoulder. “Sure, baby. Now go back to sleep, okay?”

_____

a/n: Welcome to my sixth entry for Klapollo Week 2021! Continuity-wise, this is the fifth of seven fics, but again, there is no need to read the others to follow each fic on its own. This is definitely the most plotless fic out of the seven, which is just fine by me, since as I've mentioned before, I love writing dialogue between these two - especially when they're together and get to lovingly snark on each other. It gives me a chance to slip in some little headcanons here and there without worrying about connecting it to the actual plot. For some reason, I have this really vivid image in my mind of Jove holding Apollo on his back while singing along to the radio and working in the kitchen; I think it would be adorable (and a little heartbreaking).

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Likes and reblogs would be much appreciated. Hoping you’re all safe and healthy and doing well ❤️

[grievingauthor]

NaruMitsu Week Day 3: Anniversary

Read on Ao3

Winter has always been difficult for Miles Edgeworth. December in particular had it's fair share of difficulties and annoyances; holidays, the flu, the cold. Nightmares, unbearable sadness, and an anniversary Miles would often rather forget.

It's good then, that his family always seems to know the best ways to cheer him up.

Miles jerked awake, breathing hard. He groaned, running a hand across his face, and sat up. That stupid dream again. Would he ever be free of it? It had been almost thirty years. Three decades! He'd known the truth for nearly as long as he'd believed the idiotic lie his mind kept telling him! And yet the dream continued to haunt him every December.

Miles felt the bed shift beside him and looked down. Phoenix had one sleepy eye open, a hand on his thigh.

"You ok?" he asked, stifling a yawn. His hair was sticking up at all sorts of odd angles, and he had a small pool of drool at the corner of his mouth. Miles couldn't help but smile.

"Just a bad dream, love. Winter and all that," he said softly. "You go back to sleep."

Phoenix hummed, eyes closing for a moment as Miles leaned down to press a kiss to his temple. He rolled onto his back and sat up, hands pressing against the small of his back in a vain attempt to get it to pop. He didn't manage to suppress the second yawn this time, instead taking a moment to blink tiredly at his husband.

"I'm not the one with a trial coming up, babe. I can stand a few hours of lost sleep. Pancakes?" he offered. Miles bit his lip, glancing at the alarm clock to his other side. 2:47 am. That was a decent enough time for breakfast, wasn't it? Miles sighed, looking back at Phoenix.

"Alright. I'll start coffee. Try not to wake the children, alright?" he said, tugging the blanket off his lap and sliding on a pair of slippers. He heard Phoenix snort at his request.

Together they tiptoed their way out of their room and down the hallway towards the stairs. Phoenix lingered outside Trucy's door for a moment, just listening to her breathe. Miles wouldn't admit it, but he did the same outside Kay's. She'd been bouncing off the walls since they'd picked her up from the airport that morning, apparently anxious about some sort of announcement. Miles would put good money on it being related to Detective Skye's own anxieties. He'd been getting complaints from more than one prosecutor about being "snackoo'd" by her.

They moved downstairs and into the kitchen, pausing a moment to share a brief kiss under the mistletoe Pearl had insisted they hang above the entry. Christmas was...well, today, technically speaking. The tree sat in one corner of the living room, all red and blue lights and multicolored baubles. He'd helped Trucy put up the (truly ridiculous) star just the day before, when everyone had been opening their gifts from Phoenix's gaggle of friends and former clients (how he'd maintained contact with Will Powers over the last ten years, Miles would never know. At least he was never in want of rare Steel Samurai merchandise).

Miles changed out the grounds and set the coffee pot to brew, then dragged out a chair and sat at the kitchen island, watching Phoenix hum as he set about gathering bowls and pans and all manner of ingredients. He let the peace of the moment wash over him, eyes drifting closed for a fraction of a second before snapping them open again. Right. The dream. He sighed, slumping against the counter and burying his face in his arms.

"We can put off seeing him, Miles."

He looked up, catching Phoenix studying him. Miles shook his head. "You say that every year, and every year I agree, and we never end up going. It's been twenty-eight years, Phoenix. I need to visit my father. Whether I want to or not."

Phoenix frowned, and turned back to the bowl of batter he was preparing. "You know," he said, "you could always ask Maya or Pearls to channel him. It might give you some kind of closure."

"I've told you before, I don't want to. The man deserves his rest, especially this close to…to…"

"The anniversary of his death," Phoenix finished. Miles sighed.

"Yes. That. I know it's unbecoming of me, really I do, but I just...I can't, Phoenix. So instead I am going to pick up the flowers we ordered, and I am going to see him, and you -" he pointed a finger at Phoenix, "-are going to join me while I do. Franziska has already agreed to keep an eye on Trucy for us, and Apollo is due to return to Khura'in for that case he's working on. I imagine Kay is going to be quite busy with Ema, if I've guessed right about why she's been so nervous."

"And Sebastian has that concert to prepare for," Phoenix sighed, "I know. I just…you don't have to go if you aren't ready to, Miles."

Miles sighed again. He'd been doing that a lot the last hour, hadn't he? So rather than respond he stared into the middle distance and let the sound of sizzling pancake batter drown out every thought his brain tried to form.

A plate of fresh pancakes slid into place in front of him a few minutes later, drawing him out of his dissociative state. Phoenix had made a smiley face out of the blueberries he'd put into them, and as silly as it was, it made Miles smile. His father had done that, before everything had gone wrong. Saturday morning cartoons and smiley face pancakes. He looked up at Phoenix, a sad smile tugging at his lips.

"I don't think I'll ever really be ready, darling. So I should just go, hm? You'll be there with me after all, and we'll visit Mia too."

Phoenix smiled softly and leaned forward to press a kiss to his forehead.

"You two are so gross," came a voice near the stairs. Kay stood in the kitchen entry, leaning against the wall. She pushed off of it, moving to hop up onto the island counter, attempting to steal Miles' pancakes.

"And just why aren't you asleep, Kay?" he asked, pushing them out of her reach. She pouted at him, then turned her ridiculous puppy dog eyes on Phoenix. He sighed and started fixing another plate for her.

"I could smell the pancakes, duh. You old men having a party without me? I'm hurt," she said. Miles rolled his eyes.

"Sit in a chair like a normal human being please, Kay. And we weren't having a party, we were...talking about Friday," Miles said.

Kay's eyes widened, letting out a quiet "oh". She obediently moved to one of the chairs, pulling it closer to Miles so she could lean against him. He welcomed the contact, wrapping an arm around her. They fell silent again, Phoenix continuing to make pancakes for a while. Finally, Kay spoke.

"I'm gonna ask Ema to marry me."

Miles smiled, catching his husband's eye. Phoenix rolled his in response.

"I'm happy for you," he said.

Kay sat up so she could look him in the eye.

"September or December?" she asked.

"Pardon?"

"The wedding. Should we hold it in September, or in December? If it's okay with you I mean."

Miles blinked, then shared a look with Phoenix. Was...was she asking if…

"The 28th should be a happier day for you, Miles. I'm sure Ema would agree. Is it ok with you if we get married then?"

Miles meant to respond, truly he did, but all that came out was a soft sob. He closed his mouth, nodding instead. Kay broke into a grin and flung her arms around his neck in a bone crushing hug. He returned it, tears rolling slowly down his cheeks as he looked up at Phoenix, lost.

He'd like to celebrate another kind of anniversary on the 28th. Why not his daughter's wedding anniversary? His father would have liked that, watching Miles walk Kay down the aisle.

Phoenix grinned, walking up behind Kay to press another kiss to Miles' forehead.

"Merry Christmas, Miles," he said, and well. Merry Christmas indeed.

[browniefox]

Waking from the Long Winter

Ace Attorney - 5K Words

Phoenix Wright and a few moments during the ten weeks it takes to receive results from the Bar Exam.

A one-shot written solely for the half-joke I make within the first couple paragraphs lol. Character exploration of Phoenix finding himself again. Hinted narumitsu but just hinted.

oOo

Phoenix is sure there’s a joke here, somewhere.

Something about a lawyer walking into a bar, and then knowing to duck the second time. Or maybe not ducking, but running into it at top speed. Or trying to vault over the bar and getting his feet caught on it and falling on his face instead. There’s something there, he’s sure of it. More than anything, however, Phoenix wishes his brain would focus on the Actual Bar Exam instead of trying to make this stupid joke work.

He took the bar once before, of course. His memory of having done so, however, is shaky at best. Trying to look back at it, it’s nothing more than two days of pure stress. If he tries to pin the experience down to a word, it's just a really long and drawn out scream.

Taking the bar the second time, ten years later, is… different.

Phoenix studied, of course. Apollo had still had his flashcards and big binder full of notes. Slow days in the office were often punctuated with spontaneous quizzing on terms and laws and procedures. He’d spent late nights reading big law books and then falling asleep on top of them like he was in college again. He sat in on a lot of trials, reviewing the roles of the people in the court.

Now that he’s finally actually taking the Bar, it’s like a math test.

Obvious not as far as subject matter went. But it reminds him strongly of what taking a math test back in middle/high school had been like. Going into it scared and then being surprised by how quickly and easily he seemed to go through the questions. Of course, that also always ended with him getting the test back with a million red marks that revealed the test hadn’t been easy, he’d just been dumb.

For the first five minutes, nerves making Phoenix fidgety, the Bar exam had been scary and the words had refused to form comprehensive sentences. He’s pretty sure he almost had a panic attack. But then the five minutes pass, and Phoenix takes a few deep breaths, and when he opens his eyes again, he realizes he actually does know this stuff.

He was a lawyer, once, seven years ago. It feels like that should be more than enough time for him to have forgotten what being one was like, for all of the words to have become greek to him once more. And yet, his previous cases stick out to him on the page. Yes, he remembers using evidence law for the Skye case, he knows this. Ah, yes, he remembers studying this case because it reminds him of the Powers one. There’s even a question about spirit mediums at one point and Phoenix almost laughs out loud.

It probably also doesn’t hurt that he’d kept his enemies close during his disbarment, as well as working on MASON.

Kristoph had often asked for Phoenix’s opinion on cases, setting out the evidence and asking for the ex-lawyer’s input and expertise. He wonders if it was supposed to sting, if Kristoph had been trying to rub salt into the wound. If so, he had succeeded, sometimes. Other times, it’d been nice to fall back into those familiar ways of thinking, of trying to piece together a story, of trying to find justice.

Phoenix would never ever thank Kristoph for anything ever, but he did admit there were unexpected rewards for having put up with him for so long.

oOo

Paying for a barber hasn’t exactly been in the budget for years.

Not that there weren’t places you could get a haircut at fairly cheap, but every single dollar and penny counted. Even the months where things looked alright, where there was a comfortable sum left over after rent and taxes and food, most of it was set aside for when the rough times would return. They always did.

“Just a trim?” Trucy asks. She wears the fake mustache she insists on wearing every time he asks her to cut his hair. Her own was just trimmed by him, the floor littered with split ends. There’s layers throughout it, and now that it’s started to dry back out he can see his handiwork and nods to himself. The days of terrible and uneven cuts while trying to watch a video tutorial are well behind both of them, years of practice instead showing through.

The swivel chair from the desk has been moved into the bathroom and Phoenix looks at himself in the mirror, his hair for once not bunched up inside of his beanie. It’s long enough to pull back with a hair tie. Trucy is already gearing up to cut off an inch, the same inch she cuts off every time to keep it from getting too long. For years, that’s been the only reason to cut his hair. He runs his fingers through it. It’s to his shoulders right now and he blinks when he realizes that he hates it.

He hates how the long strands get in his face. He hates how sometimes he pulls his beanie off and his hair is staticy. He hates how if he doesn’t pull it back while cooking, if he has something on his hands, he has to awkwardly flick his head in usually-futile attempts to get the hair out of the way.

He hates it and he’s hated it for a while. But for some reason, every time before now, it’s felt easier and safer to keep it long and annoying.

“Actually,” He says, and then hesitates. He’s had his hair like this for so long now, and shorter hair… He steels himself and straightens a bit, “Actually, Truce, could you go a little shorter this time? Just, you know, a little-”

“Don’t worry, daddy, leave it to me!”

There’s a mischievous little glint in her eyes and Phoenix almost changes his mind, but she’s already spun the chair around and started cutting. Phoenix closes his eyes and waits. Trucy hums as she cuts his hair, and usually she does little tricks with the scissors, but this time she’s just cutting. He tries not to think about how close to his head the scissors sound, how much she must be cutting off. He’d asked her to, and he hates how long it was, and yet now that it’s too late to change his mind he’s nervous.

“Alright!” Trucy chirps and spins him back around to face the mirror. Phoenix opens his eyes.

A young lawyer, full of hope and trust and pure stubbornness, stares back at him.

And then he blinks, and the man has little tired wrinkles around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth and prominently between his eyebrows. He still has the couple-day-old stubble that he had yet to shave. There’s dark shadows under his eyes. He runs a hand through his hair. It spikes up in the back, just like it used to, just like it always has, like how his mom used to hate and try in vain to flatten down.

“Well, what do you think?” Trucy beams at him.

“It’s perfect.” He says.

And it’s true.

oOo

Phoenix has never owned a perfectly tailored suit in his life. He never found an issue with this. Off the rack was just fine, and a lot cheaper, and you didn’t have to worry about anything happening to it.

Apparently Miles thought that this was an issue.

Two weeks after Phoenix took the bar, Miles drags him to get a new suit. Phoenix stresses that his old suit was perfectly fine. He at least assumes it's fine. It is shoved somewhere near the back of his closet and by now is probably made up of as much dust as fabric. But it should still looks like a suit, and he can probably send it to the dry cleaners or something if he ever needs it.

Still, Miles insists on dragging him to get a new suit.

The people there all recognize Miles right of the bat, greeting him as ‘Mr. Edgeworth’, with a lot of ‘So good to see you again’ and ‘Are you here for the usual’ and ‘How is dear Ms. Von Karma doing’. His answers are amicable enough: ‘It’s nice to be back in the country.’ ‘No, not today, I’m here for my friend.’ ‘Franziska is doing well, thank you.’

Phoenix sees how they look at him when they don’t think he can see them. They don’t know that Phoenix is well used to being on guard constantly, no matter the time or place. He cedes that maybe he should’ve worn something today other than his hoodie and beanie and flip flops, especially with how the ‘flip-flop-flip-flop’ is just shy of echoing throughout the large store. He knows they must look an interesting pair, prim and perfect well put together Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth next to disbarred pianist and poker player Phoenix Wright. He doesn’t let it bother him as Miles picks around the room, finding suits that he approves of.

There’s too many shades of blue. Half the time, Miles holds up two and asks which one Phoenix likes more, and they look exactly the same. Still, they eventually end up with a few different ones for Phoenix to try on, and Miles and one of the men - the tailor? Maybe? Or the owner of the store? - walk around Phoenix and critique how it looks on him and then send him back to try on another. It reminds Phoenix how much he hates shopping. The whole process of having to try things on and take them off and then repeat is just a bit too tedious for his sake.

Miles more than Phoenix decides on which suit is best out of the ones he’s picked out, and then Phoenix's measurements are taken so that it can be fixed to fit him just right.

They’re looking at the ties, the last thing to grab before they leave, when Phoenix finally says,

“I haven’t passed the Bar Exam yet.”

Miles pauses for a second, then hangs the white tie back up. He doesn’t turn to face Phoenix but his eyes do glance over.

“You took the test.” He says, and Phoenix can hear the unsaid in there. ‘You took the test, right? You didn’t lie about that? You didn’t purposely sabotage your own test? You haven’t done something incredibly stupid already, have you?’

“I did.” Phoenix nods, and means ‘I really did. I gave it my all. I tried my best, I swear it.’

“Then you’ll need a new suit.” Miles says.

“But I haven’t passed yet.”

“Mm,” Miles hums, grabbing a dark red tie and looking it over, comparing it to the swatch of fabric that matches the color of Phoenix’s new suit, “You’re not going to fail.”

“But-”

“If you fail, then you’ll still have a new suit. There’s more reasons than being an attorney to own a nice suit, you know. If you ever eat somewhere nicer than the Borsch Bowl, for one. Or I have a wide array of incessant events I’m expected to attend throughout the year. They’ll be more manageable if I have someone there with me, but there is usually a dress code. Or perhaps I’ll be in need of a co-council at some point. I could use your eyes, and lord knows they’ll let absolutely anybody co-council, qualifications be damned.”

Miles doesn’t say anything else, and neither does Phoenix. He does, however, pick a wine red tie and add it to the growing stack.

oOo

When he moves the items off of the piano, he’s careful to make sure he remembers where everything goes.

It’s his office, it’s his piano, and while maybe most of the things he takes off aren’t his they also haven’t been touched in weeks, and he doubts that Trucy or Apollo would notice anything different. Still, he feels oddly like a kid sneaking food out of the cupboards while his parents are out. Trucy is setting up for a show and Apollo is out looking at a crime scene. It’s the perfect chance.

He lifts up the covering from the keys of the piano. He sits down on the bench, and a chill rushes over him that isn’t there. He can almost hear the sound of the Borscht Bowl, the clamour of patrons. He’s played this piano so few times, he can count them on one hand. He’d given practice a couple tries when he first got hired, until it became clear that being paid not to play was probably just as lucrative - if not more so - than actually having the skill.

Phoenix rests his hands on the keys, cold ivory under his warm fingers. He’d taken classes, once, years and years ago, when he was small and young. His piano teacher then had been an old and nice woman, but she’d had to stop teaching after a few months due to health problems. He can still find middle C, and that is more or less where his skills end. Usually, when someone requests a song, he plays ‘hot cross buns’ or ‘heart and soul’ or any other classic of the sort.

This time, Phoenix lets himself bang around with wild abandon on the keys, like he had as a kid, caring little for melody or timing or anything at all. The piano is probably out of tune. Not that he can hear that sort of thing, but it's a fair and safe bet to make. The piano hasn’t been played in a long while.

He steps away for a moment and runs a finger over the spines of the books on the shelves until he came across a thin one, so thin that the spine didn’t have any kind of title, just staples holding the pages together. Some hot-shot customer had come into the Borscht Bowl, slapped the ‘Beginner’s Piano Lessons’ book on the top of the piano and declared that Phoenix was going to need it once he was beaten at poker that night.

Of course, Phoenix had won. He got to keep the book anyway. By ‘got to keep’, he meant the customer had punched Phoenix in a fit of rage after losing and had been kicked out, leaving the book behind. Phoenix had kept it.

He isn't any good at reading music, but he has the afternoon to himself. He gets out a pencil, writing the letters above the notes, counting the keys to make sure his fingers land on the right ones. It is slow, and tedious, and not something he has to do. It's something he's doing because he wants to.

oOo

Phoenix has a love-hate relationship with Parent-Teacher Conferences.

He loves to go when the teachers will tell him ‘oh, Trucy is a joy to have in class! Trucy brings such a brightness to the classroom! Trucy is brilliant, what an amazing daughter you have! She’s so talented!’ And then Phoenix gets to beam at Trucy, and Trucy gets to glow under the praise, and then he gets handed her report card that he can place on the fridge so he can look at it every morning and be filled with pride again.

He doesn’t so much like them when the teachers look at him funny.

Look, Phoenix is an adult, he can admit that his appearance took a pretty sharp decline after he was disbarred. But some days it was all he could do to put on the hoodie and beanie, and he had learned pretty early in how to rationalize it all away as ‘putting on an act’, as trying to get Kristoph to underestimate him. However, an adult man who adopted a daughter, and thus had had someone declare him fit to raise a kid, looking like he was one trip to McDonalds away from being completely broke wasn’t always the best way to present one’s self to other adults, especially ones on high alert make sure their students were in a stable living condition.

One time, Trucy had even had to warn him to clean up a bit. She’d picked up on the worried questions her teacher had been asking her, about how often she ate and what her dad did for a living. Phoenix had put on actual shoes and a button up for that PTC. The teacher had still looked at him suspiciously, but he’d done his best to exude confidence and ‘I’m perfectly capable of raising a child on my own’. He couldn’t risk losing Trucy. If he lost Trucy…

He can’t lose Trucy.

Of course, the days of those sorts of PTC’s are behind them. Now that Trucy’s in high school and has eight different teachers, PTC’s consist of going between the school’s cafeteria and library to find Trucy’s teachers, get told if she’s a good student or a distraction or doing well or doing poorly, and then heading right to the next teacher. Some teachers they just outright skip, like Trucy’s gym teachers.

“C’mon Daddy, you have to dress up too!”

Trucy spins around in her magician outfit. The straplessness of the dress made it against the school’s dress code, so she never got to wear it to classes. She’d been talking about showing it off during the PTC, when school wasn’t technically in session, and Phoenix knew that she was probably going to take the chance to dazzle her teachers with some of her smaller tricks as well.

Put that in the list of reasons why he did like PTC: getting to see people be amazed with Trucy’s close-up magic tricks.

“Trucy,” Phoenix sighs.

“No, please? I always get dressed up, and you never do.” She pouts, crossing her arms.

“That’s because you’re the star of the show tonight.”

“But you’re my assistant! Please, just this once? I know you don’t like getting dressed up, but...” And then Trucy hesitates, which is so unlike her it catches Phoenix’s attention right away, “But I’d like it.” She finishes. For a moment, the room is plunged into darkness that only Phoenix can see as chains shoot out of nowhere and a single psych-lock places itself in front of Trucy.

Phoenix sighs one more time. He’s not going to pry, not unless it becomes a big deal.

“Sure, can’t have you performing with a sub-par partner.” He relents and Trucy claps her hand excitedly.

He goes back into his room, reaching for a button down. Something simple, he figures. Just something a little nicer than usual.

And he sees the suit Miles had bought him.

It’s in a big black bag to keep it safe from dust or whatever. Almost without thinking to, he takes the hanger off the rack and sets it on his bed, unzipping the bag and looking at the suit. It’s so much like to his old one. He runs a hand over it and then almost puts it back. But if he can’t wear it to a PTC, how can he wear it to any of the myriad of events Miles had listed off? He used to wear a suit everywhere. It had been border-line mandatory.

“Hurry up, Daddy, or we’ll be late!”

Phoenix jumps at the banging on his door.

“Just a minute, sweetie!” He shouts back.

It feels… different. He blames that on the light blue waistcoat that Edgeworth had insisted on. That, and the fact that it was a suit that was made to fit him exactly. His old suit had been second-hand, all that he’d been able to afford at the time. The blue, what many people seemed to remember about him, had been due to lack of options rather than real choice.

He looks at himself in the mirror, running a wet hand through his hair to try and get it into some semblance of presentable. He still has his stubble. He hadn’t shaved this morning. It’s not too late to tear off the jacket and vest and go with his original plan of just a button up.

“Daddy!” Trucy calls again.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” He shouts back, and with one last look at himself, one last effort to convince himself he looks fine, leaves his apartment looking more like the Turnabout Terror than he has in years.

oOo

More of Miles’ things seem to come weekly.

Apparently Franziska is doing a deep and thorough cleaning of the Von Karma estate. She keeps finding more things, and so boxes and boxes turn up on Miles’ doorstep.

Phoenix finds himself spending a lot of his time in Miles’ office, and it means he ends up spending a lot of time helping Miles unpack boxes. Some of them are things that really shouldn’t have surprised Phoenix, like Steel Samurai manga and dvds that Franziska has unearthed from hidden corners of the estate. Miles had admitted he’d kept them anywhere he thought Manfred wouldn’t look. Other little things like that showed up - small mementos or notes, most of which seem innocuous, but that Miles insists would’ve been disapproved of.

There are also other things, like pens or books or pictures. Some of these do belong to Miles while others of them are items Franziska 'didn’t wish to hold on to any longer’. While that seemed to be the case with some, it only took looking at Miles face to confirm for Phoenix that a lot of them had secret sentimental value.

He never understood their relationship. He’d been an only child, and while there were people he was close to, he’d never grown up in the same building with them, nor under the harsh condition Miles and Franziska had. He's glad he doesn't have to jump through the weird hoops and unsaid rules that Miles and Franziska do when navigating anything to do with the other.

“Okay, you can’t tell me these are important.” Phoenix holds up a pair of scissors. They’re cold and pure metal, no plastic handle like the three pairs Phoenix himself owns. All three of them always go missing at the same time too, which completley defeatst he point of having so many pairs.

Miles sighs and rolls his eyes. He’s sitting on the ground in front of the bookshelf. With the most recent influx of books, alphabetizing them means that the previous books need to be pushed to the next shelf, and it has created a chain of necessary rearrangement to every subsequent shelf as well. Phoenix has seen Miles force the work onto some younger prosecutors or even unlucky detectives, but with Phoenix here he does it himself.

“Open them up.” He says and Phoenix does just that. There are initials welded into the metal, M.E.V.K. Phoenix raises his eyebrows.

“Miles Edgeworth… Von Karma?” He says, just to be sure, and Miles nods.

“Mm, yes. Those are my shears. Franziska insisted on the initials so that if I ruined my pair, she’d be able to tell they were mine right away, and I wouldn’t be able to try and steal hers. She took them to get initialed herself.”

He speaks of the event with the calm and cool that is so Edgeworth, but Phoenix has learned to read between lines. He runs a finger over the four initials. Von Karma. The household Edgeworth had lived in and belonged to in all but the official name change. The name that he was able to carry on these shears.

“I’ll put them in your desk.” Phoenix says instead of the millions of other responses running through his head. He’s standing in front of it anyway. He pulls open the first drawer as Miles says,

“No, I’ll be taking them home. They’re fabric scissors, Phoenix. Using them on paper will ruin them.”

Phoenix’s response to that completely leaves his head when he sees the small golden pin in the drawer.

“What’s this?” He says, more to himself than Miles. He knows what it is, and yet he asks anyway. It’s a defense attorney pin. He can see the petals, the image of scales in the center. It’s not as if he hasn’t seen one recently, he has defense attorneys working for him, after all. But it’s so out of place to see one in Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth’s office that it takes him completely by surprise. He picks it up, turning it this way and that.

“Is this... your dad’s?” He asks, the first answer that comes to mind.

“Is what- oh. No. It isn’t.” Miles is looking over now, and there’s something in his voice that makes Phoenix’s brow furrow. He sounds… hesitant? Scared? Nervous? None of those seemed quite right, but Miles didn’t seem completely at ease. Phoenix returned his focus to the pin.

There are teeth marks in it, like someone had bit into it at one point. The edges of it are worn slightly, softened with time. It’s nostalgic to look at.

It’s even more nostalgic to turn over and see the number 26381.

“Wait, this is…!” Phoenix stares at the number, the number that is burned into his memory. He’d memorized it soon after receiving the pin. It was his number, the number that meant he was really a lawyer, that he had done it.

“... yes. It is.” Phoenix looks back up. Miles is still looking at him, the odd expression still there. Not hesitance, not nervousness, not fear.

Anticipation. Miles is sitting there, watching in anticipation, as Phoenix finds his old defense attorney’s badge in Miles’ desk.

“You have my badge.” Phoenix says. He turns it back around to stare at the face. Yes, that bite mark… that was from Ema, wasn’t it?

“I do.” Miles confirms.

“Why?” Phoenix says. He weighs the small pin in his hand and then tosses it, catching it easily enough. It’s so light and small.

Miles considers both Phoenix and the pin, eyes tracking the movement of the pin as it goes up in the air again and then returns to Phoenix’s palm.

“I didn’t want anyone else to have it.” He says. He’s still anticipating something.

“I see,” Phoenix says. And… he thinks he does, “You never told me. Would’ve been a lot easier to have given it to you personally instead of having to take it off and give it to the board.” He gives Miles a half grin.

“They wouldn’t have accepted that. They’d be upset with you.”

“What would they do? Disbar me?” Phoenix jokes. Miles looks like he’s trying not to crack a smile at the joke. It’s a joke at Phoenix’s expense, but the pain of the event has been numbed by time, and the joke is made to Miles.

“I suppose there wasn’t much they could do at that point, no,” Miles agrees, “It would’ve been easier to have gotten it from you personally. I had to pull some strings to get it.”

“And you didn’t tell me.” Phoenix brings up again.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“I thought you’d want it back.” Miles answers honestly.

Phoenix looks back down at the pin, his pin. He can see himself, six or five or even three years ago, finding out that Miles had his pin and begging the man to give it back to him. It had meant so much to him. Its absence had meant even more. It wasn’t as if he would’ve been able to do anything more with it than Miles had been doing; he’d have stuck it in a drawer, and on his worse days he would’ve pulled it out and cried over the small piece of metal.

Maybe if he’d found out a few years earlier, he would’ve been upset at Miles for not telling him, for keeping this from him. It was his badge, after all.

But now, seeing it placed in the top drawer of Miles’ desk where he could quickly open it and look at it whenever he’d wanted to, it fills Phoenix with something warm. This whole time, it hadn’t been locked away somewhere, or handed off to some rookie, or tossed away. It had been with Miles, watched over, polished, kept safe.

“Thank you.” Phoenix puts it back into the shelf, closing the drawer. The anticipation finally leaves Miles to be replaced with relief.

“It was my pleasure.” Miles smiles, and Phoenix returns it.

oOo

A lawyer doesn’t cry until it’s over.

For seven long and painful years, through even terrible twist and turn in the road, Phoenix hadn’t cried. Oh, he’d come close several times. Times where everything had started to get to him, when his chest had shaken with the sobs he so desperately wanted to let out, when he was reminded that he wasn’t a lawyer anymore, that the rule wasn’t his rule anymore. And yet the tears never came. His face stayed dry. And he’d rise again to carry on.

The packet comes in the mail ten months after the test.

It’s thick and heavy. He’s home alone, Trucy at school and Apollo doing some last-minute preparation for a trial. Sometimes it seems like the kid has better luck getting clients than Phoenix ever did.

He knows what the packet is the moment he sees it in the mail slot. He feels numb as he carries it to his apartment. He considers waiting to open it, but that seems like putting himself through unnecessary cruelty.

There’s a knife in the kitchen and he grabs it so he can cleanly slice open the top. It feels wrong to rip into it like an animal.

His shoulders shake as he slips the knife under the flap, his eyesight becomes blurry as he cleanly cuts across the top.

Win or lose, pass or fail, Phoenix thinks he knows how Godot felt at that trial. He imagines that if someone was watching him with the magatama, they’d see a final psyche-lock, placed firmly there when Phoenix had first started to close himself off for the war against Gavin, break apart.

Alone, in his apartment, for the first time in seven years, Phoenix cries.

It finally feels like it’s over.

[snezfics-n-shit]

AA snzcanons nobody asked for

But I'm gonna tell you guys anyway

Also if the readmore doesn't work I'm so sorry but like I'm on the moon rn

Phoenix:

Friendly neighborhood sneezefucker

Not sick often but when he is, he is completely FLOORED

Terrible patient, disaster man

Has Fall allergies but it legit takes him to get disbarred before it clicks in his head

Also dust and cats bother him but by pure luck he doesn't really worry about either much (it helps dating a dog person with high standards of cleanliness)

He has godlike luck and endurance so he often just casually avoids illness by pure circumstance

Edgeworth:

Needless to say the man has canon hay fever like if it blooms it hecks him up

Used to be awful about missing work for illness but by DD era he's just rolling with it

That is unless some ridiculously important case comes up, then he's back to old habits

Has a surprisingly violent sneeze for a man so well put together

Will put his health on the line for Phoenix or Trucy, anytime or anywhere. Trucy wants fresh air on a day with a pollen count from hell? He's opening the window and you can't stop him

Diego Armando/Godot:

After his coma his immune system was completely trashed. He runs a high fever at the drop of a hat.

Before his coma tho he could just vibe with being sick until someone suggests he goes home for the day. He would take that suggestion like a champ like the good patient he was

Any animal that produces dander hecks this poor man up and it only got worse after his coma

Like Simon Blackquill just wanted to help him adjust to normal life outside prison but since Taka legit lives on his shoulder, Godot is fucked

Before his coma he was a habitual stifler. Once you attend a midnight mass with a bad cold, it sticks with you.

After the coma he just gave up stifling and honestly even covering entirely

Detective Dick Gumshoe:

I'm like 99% sure he has a canon dust allergy and dad sneeze so like, I'mma roll with that

World's worst culprit of pressing a tissue to his nose for hours and just making it more irritated when he's sick

Terrible at figuring out his threshold for when he should just go home and rest

Mia Fey:

She's done sneeze fetish domming more than once. May be a sneezefucker idk

Incapable of sneezing just once. A triple is her minimum

Handles getting sick like a champ and takes time off when she needs to

Franziska von Karma:

God help her gf Adrian if Franziska ever gets sick. She will climb through any window she can fine just to go to work

Despises germs and will whip anyone who doesn't cover their mouth adequately

Has like the softest, most delicate sneeze on Earth

Sensitive to artificial fragrances. She had a horrible time at Tres Bien

Apollo Justice:

When he's sick his voice is completely shot. Also every ten minutes or so he has to clear his throat like he's starting a car

Can be induced ridiculously easily, not even trying

Since he grew up in Khura'in, he's naturally sensitive to the poor air quality in LA

Klavier Gavin:

Despite being the resident german equivalent of a weeaboo, he hardly ever blesses with "gesundheit," he thinks it's corny

When he gets sick it's usually because he has the disgusting habit of just drinking from whatever water bottle is lying around. He picked this habit up from needing a swig of water backstage at concerts but that's really not an excuse

He's so done with being asked for feet pics he's honestly so grateful when he sees a sneeze comp bc hey at least it's not someone sliding into his DMs trying to buy his socks

He's allergic to his own Gavinners brand cologne and was never even consulted about it, so the year it was really popular he was a mess when surrounded by fans who were all wearing it

[youngbounty]

I was bored, so I decided to post a meme. I saw someone do this same kind of meme before, but I have a different opinion on the Narumitsu ship. Nothing against thinking differently, but I wanted to share my take. I will explain my reasons for choosing these from top to bottom. But first, I want to make it clear why I placed Asexual for Miles Edgeworth's sexuality instead of gay or bi. He has shown time and time again that he feels no sexual attractions towards the female masses or even males. I also consider sexuality more hormone based. I'm not going to expect Edgeworth to be going home and fantasizing about naked men or a naked man, even if he's in love with him. Also, I believe that you can fall in love with someone that would not fit your sexual preference. It might make the marriage difficult to stay together, but not impossible. Also, just because someone is asexual, that doesn't mean they'll never feel affectionate once in a while. Anyways, now for the choices/preferences for these two:

 1. Miles Edgeworth is not one for pet names and never has been. Even despite his relationship with Phoenix, he's always called him "Wright" professionally. The closest he may get to giving Phoenix a pet name is maybe "Nick" behind closed doors. Even then, he'd have to be in a really good or affectionate mood.

Phoenix Wright is the king of pet names. He called his ex girlfriend "Dollie" and loved it when she called him "Feenie." He even has called Trucy "sweetheart." If he was to ever date Edgeworth, he'd be going for any pet name he can get away with. Not to say he'll call Edgeworth one that he won't like or do so at times that may embarrass him, except maybe in front of friends that will keep it quiet, but if he can get away with it, Phoenix will do it.

As far as when either one of them call each other pet names, Phoenix will likely only use them often in private or in front of friends to tease Edgeworth. He won't do it in public, since he knows Edgeworth gets embarrassed about doing PDA or any affectionate stuff in public. Edgeworth will definitely feel embarrassed and awkward at first, but once he gets used to the pet names, he will enjoy them. He may decide to be affection ant to Phoenix and call him "Nick." He's trying.

 2. Miles Edgeworth has so much self-loathing and low self-esteem that he will not feel worthy of Phoenix's love. This especially doesn't help that he is asexual and does not have any desire to see him naked or have sex with him. As someone who is asexual, I know that it is disheartening to have feelings for someone without any desire to go to bed or do perverted things. There will always be the fear you will never give your loved one the romantic pleasure they deserve and I cannot see Edgeworth not feeling this way. He certainly has proven to feel disheartened by the fact he has no experience with falling in love, finding that special someone he'd spend the rest of his life with or do the impossible to save that loved one, unless it was his dog. Sometimes people wait to be confessed to, because they feel unworthy of their crush's affections and this is how I see Edgeworth feeling about Phoenix.

Phoenix Wright is the kind of person to proclaim his love to the world. He did that with Dahlia/Iris by wearing the necklace given to him on the first meeting, refusing to take it off and showing it to his friends. The only excuse I've heard about why Phoenix couldn't fit Confess First is because it's been 10 years and he hasn't. My argument is that Narumitsu isn't canon or shall not be treated as such by me and, who is to say there aren't any obstacles in the way? During the first three years, Edgeworth was avoiding Phoenix, then taking off to study abroad. By the time he got back, he was busy with the Yatagaratsu Case and dealing with the P.I.C. Afterwards, Phoenix was disbarred and had an extra mouth to feed. By the time Trucy was older and Phoenix was back being a Defense Attorney, he was still busy working on a major case and dealing with stuff in Khura'in. Even then, who is to say Phoenix has never confessed already? Perhaps he has confessed, but Edgeworth either has never responded, rejected his advances or they just never got around to setting up their relationship. Either way, I don't consider ten years of nothing happening being a reason for Phoenix not being the first confessor or the kind that wouldn't scream to the heavens that he's in love.

Now, I don't consider this to have anything to do with their relationship as much as maybe starting it. I'd argue that neither have to confess before starting a relationship. They could just naturally start becoming boyfriends without a single confession or kiss. Either way, as far as confessions go, I see Phoenix being the first confessor. As to if their relationship goes anywhere, I suppose it would depend on their situation and if both parties would be willing.

 3. Miles Edgeworth would certainly not care which spoon he is. He's not the most affectionate person on the planet, so if he is affectionate, he will go for either or. It may depend on his emotional state or if he's out and about, though it would not really matter and the idea of a preference would feel rather silly to him.

Phoenix Wright also doesn't care which spoon he is so long as he gets to love on his significant other. Though, if he had to choose, he'd prefer being big spoon, because he just loves giving affection.

Since Edgeworth would most certainly get embarrassed in showing affection and PDA in public, spooning would only be done behind closed doors, unless they're married. If married, Edgeworth will allow arms around the waist around family and friends, but that's it. As far as who will be the big or little spoon the most, it's a switch. Even if being big spoon is Phoenix's preference, neither man really care which spoon they are. Phoenix will equally love being the little spoon as much as he loves being the big spoon. Besides, spooning isn't Phoenix's preferred way of being affectionate to Edgeworth and he will likely not remember if he was the big or little spoon that day or if they did spoon.

 4. Miles Edgeworth often does favors when it comes to wanting to show his feelings about someone. Whether it would be helping Phoenix get back into law or Kay solving the Yatagaratsu Case, for Edgeworth, doing favors takes more effort and shows how much you're willing to do for this other person out of love. Because of how rich Edgeworth is, just giving gifts isn't enough. Though, it isn't to say he won't give gifts occasionally. Edgeworth also knows that gifts can show sentimentality. He'd just probably give gifts to his lover, if he feels obligated to, such as the holidays, birthdays or anniversaries.

Phoenix Wright will always do favors above all else. Not to say he'll never receive gifts or thinks it'd be too shallow to give gifts. After all, Dahlia gave him a heart-shaped necklace and he accepted it wholeheartedly. Though, Phoenix returned that love by keeping that necklace and showing it to his friends. For Phoenix, actions speak louder than words. If he does give anything to anyone, it would often be against his will such as Maya getting burgers off his tab or allowing Edgeworth to borrow his badge and magatama to defend Iris, because he's too sick and bedridden to do it himself. So, if Edgeworth is about to walk in the rain without a raincoat or umbrella, then he will lend one to him, but giving isn't Phoenix's forte. He'd much rather do favors for people than give them anything he owns or buys, and that would include giving gifts to his lover.

Neither Phoenix or Edgeworth would give gifts to each other, outside of necessity or special occasions. If they do, it won't be anything special. Maybe just cards, money or flowers. I think the most special gift Phoenix would give Edgeworth is a toy for Pess and for Edgeworth to Phoenix, a gift card to Eldoon's. Edgeworth would much rather take Phoenix out on a romantic getaway and Phoenix would rather throw a party or cook for Edgeworth. Both would rather do favors out of gift-giving, so it works for the both of them.

 5. Miles Edgeworth is a big time introvert, so he will prefer not going out in public or anywhere for a date. He'd rather not go out on a date at all. He'd much rather just spend time with his lover through shopping, walking his dog or just hanging out at home and ordering take-out. I will go more into that introvertedness later, but to Edgeworth, going out on a romantic getaway or fancy date would be too stressful and tiring. It isn't to say he wouldn't be willing, but that wouldn't be what would make him romantically affectionate and bubbly, if that was possible. Even going to a private resort or hotel would be stressful.

Phoenix Wright absolutely LOVES romantic dates and getaways. The more romantic and extravagant it is, the happier and wooed he will be. He will likely dream about candlelit dates under the stars and kissing behind fireworks. Of course, he will enjoy hangouts too, but they will feel too much like something he does with his friends. He will get bored after a while.

As far as how Phoenix's and Edgeworth's dates would go, it would depend on who the planner is. If Edgeworth wants to spend time with Phoenix, he will take him out on a romantic date with candle lights, rose petals and the whole shebang, because he knows that's what Phoenix loves. Though, it will be a matter of planning the date. If Phoenix misses Edgeworth and wants to spend time with him, he will ask what he's doing and just go off and join him. Phoenix knows Edgeworth doesn't like going out anywhere and it's much easier on his budget if he just drops by at Edgeworth's office during lunch, take a walk with him while he's walking his dog, help him with his shopping or just spend the night. Even though hangout dates seem boring and too much like something he does with his friends, if it's with Edgeworth, it is never boring and they are already friends anyways. Knowing that Phoenix can always hang out with Edgeworth like when they were kids gives him comfort to know that nothing has to change between them just because they're romantically involved. Even Edgeworth would prefer being the one to set up any romantic date, so him and Phoenix get the best out of their relationship. Phoenix's best dates he'd give Edgeworth would be a place that reminds them of their childhood like an old treehouse or the park they went to after school. Edgeworth's best dates he'd give Phoenix would likely be a cruise or experiencing a new place Phoenix has never been to.

 6. Miles Edgeworth is a big time introvert, just as I said before. Most people tend to think of introverts as people that love being alone and, while there is truth to it, that isn't what being an introvert is. It means that they prefer to not socialize. For every introvert, the idea of socializing and talking with people stresses or tires them out. Not to say they wouldn't, but it will likely be with friends or if it's part of their work, if any socialization was to occur. For Edgeworth, he's only ever been social with his colleagues or friends. Even just talking to witnesses would add another layer of stress. It's likely why he's much more stressed and tired as Chief Prosecutor than High Prosecutor. Edgeworth doesn't want to talk with anyone. He just wants to shut himself from everyone and the world, so he can finally relax and concentrate. He will socialize or plan a social gathering, but only if he feels like he must.

Phoenix Wright is the opposite. I've heard people consider him an introverted, because he isn't very good with socialization and that's not accurate. He doesn't feel weak, stressed or tired from socializing. If anything, he enjoys spending time with people and his friends. The reason Phoenix became a Defense Attorney was to help other people he didn't know. Does that sound like an introvert to you? It doesn't to me. Introverts would rather shut themselves out from strangers. He's an extrovert, which would be someone that gathers strength from socializing and only become stressed and tired from being alone. The moment Phoenix is alone, he falls into pieces. When Maya left during Turnabout Goodbyes, Phoenix was so drained that he couldn't take any clients and had almost declined Ema's offer. When Phoenix was disbarred, he said that Trucy was the only sunshine in his life and, even then, he showed signs of Depression and turned to alcohol, if you read pass the comical censorship. It was only once Apollo started joining that Phoenix started getting some of that valor back. In fact, he is much stronger with Apollo, Trucy and Athena working under him. It's clear that Phoenix is a big time extrovert.

Introverts and extroverts ironically attract like magnets. Phoenix and Edgeworth would do well with one being an introvert and the other being an extrovert. Phoenix will be the one to encourage Edgeworth to spend time with him and their friends, while Edgeworth will allow Phoenix the space he needs when needed. Even extroverts need some time to themselves once in a while, just like introverts need a little socializing to not feel alone. Of course, if Edgeworth feels overwhelmed, Phoenix will give him his space and if Phoenix feels the overwhelming need for company, Edgeworth will provide it. Neither one of them will ever want the other to be hurt by being too lonely or overwhelmed by socialization. They will give each other the right amount of balance for alone and social times.

 7. Miles Edgeworth is not one to be affectionate by words. He won't even use pet names. He shows his love through action alone. This goes from returning Phoenix back into law, to taking Kay to Jammin' Ninja Conventions, to paying for Maya's bail when she was arrested for Contempt of Court, to helping Phoenix save Maya from De Killer, to helping out Blackquill, to helping Raymond Shields solve the IS-7 Case. It isn't to say he won't use words to express his feelings, but will only do so if they're the only things he has. He expresses Phoenix's actions and how they affect him in AAI 1 and 2, because Phoenix had affected him to the point where no action he did could express how grateful he is to Phoenix. When Edgeworth expresses love for someone through words, he means them 100%. Edgeworth knows words effect people greatly, so he chooses to use them when he needs to.

Phoenix Wright will go either or when it comes to showing affection through action or words. He had changed his career to save Edgeworth, so it's clear actions mean a lot to Phoenix. Though, words mean just as much. When he says he will protect Maya with his life, he means it from his mouth and actions. When he said he believed in Edgeworth and Larry, never including Maya in the group, he meant it with his whole heart. He trusts Maya, but he trusts his friends much greater. His actions prove it just as much. Speaking of words. Phoenix also said that he considered Kristoph a friend in Turnabout Trump and often dined with him. Kristoph's biggest mistake, in my opinion, was mistaking Phoenix's words and actions for lies. When it comes to the heart, Phoenix is not one to lie about his heart towards someone through action or words. It's not to say he's never lied before, but when it comes to love, it's always going to be truthful through his actions and words.

Affectionate actions will certainly be the core of Phoenix's and Edgeworth's romantic affections, but Phoenix will be the one to include affectionate words. Because it is Phoenix, Edgeworth knows that he means it. Phoenix is fine with Edgeworth not being affectionate with words, because his actions will always do the talking. It isn't to say Edgeworth will never tell Phoenix "I love you" or "you're beautiful," but will use those words sparingly. Like all the other times, Edgeworth will only use words to describe his feelings if there is no other way to show them through action. Words will be the ones that Edgeworth and Phoenix will cherish the most out of each other, because they are a rarity in their relationship.

 8. Miles Edgeworth is always serious and being in a relationship will be no different, especially since he's asexual. He doesn't want the relationship to end in failure. Once it starts, he wants it to grow and mature. He expects responsibility on both ends. Of course, experience will teach Edgeworth to not have too high of expectations, but there will be expectations. The longer Edgeworth stays in the relationship, the more mellow he will become, but will still expect himself and Phoenix to be responsible. This includes dating, keeping contact and getting married. Even saving his virginity for marriage may be part of the deal.

Phoenix Wright also wants a serious relationship, but wants to enjoy it too. He may even consider moving in with Edgeworth or starting a relationship right away without considering how this would affect Conflict of Interest. Phoenix thrives off of affection, but also knows that it comes with responsibility. If Larry Butz has taught Phoenix anything, it's that chasing after love without considering the consequences can lead to disaster. Phoenix also experienced getting his heart broken, because of his reckless actions. Phoenix will still want to enjoy his romantic relationship, but will know that with great love comes great responsibility.

Both Phoenix and Edgeworth will want a serious relationship, but Phoenix will be the one to encourage the fun that comes with it. Of course, Edgeworth will have too high of expectations for Phoenix in the relationship, at first, and that will annoy him greatly. It may even make Edgeworth jealous at how carefree Phoenix will act about their relationship, since he worries about it all the time. Though, after some time of Edgeworth mellowing down, he will enjoy Phoenix being carefree and enjoying their romantic times together. Edgeworth may even find himself enjoying it too and seeing that even enjoying their romantic times together is part of their responsibility of loving each other. The care-free vs serious part will be the rockiest part of their relationship, but not one that can't be worked out. This will just take some time and experience together.

 9. Miles Edgeworth would rather be affectionate when no one is looking. This is because he cares too much about what other people think of him and the fact he gets overwhelmed by people looking at him. It's part of his introverted nature. If he does get publicly affectionate, the most he will do is handholding and, once married, maybe a hug, a peck and a kiss on the hand. Even so, it's only because that was how far his former mentor, Manfred Von Karma, was towards his wife. Manfred Von Karma and his wife are the only examples of a married couple Edgeworth has had in his life. Even if his father was affectionate towards his mother, since they both passed away when he was young, he will barely remember their affectionate times. Of course, when alone, Edgeworth will be more open and affectionate and that will only increase as time passes.

Phoenix Wright is the king of public affection. He was very affectionate towards Dahlia/Iris when in public. To Phoenix, if he is to show his love to his lover, it will be out in public whether his lover likes it or not. Phoenix is an open book when it comes to his feelings. He's not one to hide, at least not all the time. It's not to say he isn't capable of keeping things behind closed doors. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Phoenix will certainly not talk about his sex life and he understands the idea of keeping things personal. Though, when it comes to showing how much he loves and cares about his lover, he will hug, kiss and say sweet nothings in front of the whole world. Of course, that won't keep his colleagues, especially Apollo, from shouting, "get a room!"

As far as affections go, most of them will be done in private and Phoenix will spend the first of the longest time without being allowed to be as close and affectionate as he wants. This is because Phoenix understands that Edgeworth is very self-conscious and believes that respecting your lover's space is more important than his own personal needs. Edgeworth will also know that Phoenix would much prefer using PDA to show his love. He will eventually allow a few displays of affection such as holding hands and maybe a kiss on his hand or cheek, but anything more than that will have to be saved for marriage. Even during marriage, he may allow a few more things to slip by such as lip or neck kissing (no hickeys or tongues touching), long hugs and spooning. Most of Edgeworth's limited affections were because of Von Karma's influence and, if Phoenix could change Edgeworth's thinking from his mentor's teachings, Phoenix can do the same for Edgeworth on romantic affections.

 10. Miles Edgeworth being a slow burn is obvious, but that is mostly because of his asexual nature. He feels no desire to be with anyone sexually, even his lover. He may eventually grow to want that, but not out of pleasure and even the sexual pleasure will only be to make his lover happy. At the same time, he did like and befriended Phoenix from the first time they met and, even though they had known each other for less than a year as children, Edgeworth still cared about him so strongly that he wanted to protect Phoenix from DL-6. Arguably, Edgeworth may've tried to save Phoenix in his own way when he was arrested for murder, thanks to Redd White. I can't say if it's love at first sight, but Edgeworth is capable of feeling love and care for someone within the span of a single moment such as with Phoenix and even Kay Faraday. Though, those moments are saved in small doses.

Phoenix Wright is definitely a love-at-first-sight type of guy, if his romance with Dahlia/Iris isn't proof of anything. He often will grow very close with people in the span of a moment to a day. Him and Kristoph were already hitting it off literally after he voted Phoenix innocent at the Bar Association. Phoenix and Apollo also hit it off pretty quickly, including with Trucy, Larry, Maya, Mia, Pearl, Athena and every client he's ever had. That being said, it isn't to say Phoenix won't start peddling back, if the ball isn't rolling. He's not stupid and he has been hurt, because of his quickness to trust and love someone. If Dahlia and Kristoph had taught Phoenix anything, it's that you don't always know someone in the span of a day or moment. He didn't even know Larry was the one that stole Edgeworth's lunch money during school, which became what started their friendship, for 15 years. So, even if Phoenix may feel love towards someone in the span of a moment, he also knows to not leave himself completely open. After all, it did take time for him to completely trust Maya and, even after knowing her for a full year, he said he trusted Larry and Miles without including Maya. So, for Phoenix, trust is more along the lines of something earned rather than given in a single moment or day.

Some people have theorized that Phoenix had fallen for Edgeworth first, while Edgeworth would've fallen for Phoenix after they reunited. For me, I believe their love for each other, platonic or romantically, were always on an equal spectrum. Phoenix was one of the few people in Miles' life that he grew to love and care for in a single moment. Even when Phoenix was angry at Edgeworth, he still trusted and cared about him. Unlike with Dahlia, that trust and love never left him. Even though Phoenix had claimed in Justice For All that Edgeworth was already dead, it was clear he was lying to himself. He was even shocked by the fact he trusted Edgeworth in Farewell my Turnabout, while Mia said, "yes, you do," like it was the most obvious thing in the world. The reason is because Edgeworth had already earned that trust. Even with Iris, you could argue that Phoenix's trust towards her was already earned too, because he knew that the Dahlia he was in a relationship with and the one in court couldn't have been the same person. Even if Edgeworth is more of a slow-burner and Phoenix is more of a love-at-first-sight guy, their love and trust will always remain the same on equal par from beginning to end.

 11. I think this speaks for itself and I don't need one separately for these two. Both use cheap flip-phones and prefer talking, calling or writing letters to each other. Neither Edgeworth or Phoenix are the most well versed in the latest smart phone the world has to offer. Even if they used a smartphone, it would only be for work purposes. If they did text, it would be short, simple and straight forward. Of course, it isn't to say Phoenix won't shorten the words of his texts, but that's only because his phone is so cheap and it would hurt his thumb to just press the same number three to four times to get his text. Edgeworth may be pickier with using the right words with the right spelling. Though, in truth, both would rather just not text at all and, if they do, it will be straight forward.

 12. Miles Edgeworth was the most difficult to decide if he was a lender or borrower of people's clothes. The only time he's ever given any piece of clothing is when Kay cried on his cravat and he gave it to her. With borrowing, the only time he borrowed anything from anyone was Phoenix's badge and magatama. Edgeworth is not a free lender or borrower. So, for this one, I had to think outside the box or turn my thinking around. Perhaps instead of looking at when he borrowed or lend someone's clothes, I should focus on what could be considered borrow or lending and what would keep him from doing so normally. One of the things I do notice about Edgeworth is that, while he doesn't borrow anyone's clothes, he does borrow their style or gestures. As a child, Edgeworth dressed very similar to his father with the gray suit and shorts with his red bow matching the color of his father's tie. When he first became a prosecutor, his uniform and gestures matched perfectly with his mentor, Manfred Von Karma. Even when he grew older five years later, his suit and gestures were closely based off his mentor's, including the theme song. After AAI2, as a Chief Prosecutor, he began adding some stylistic choices that resembled his father, such as the glasses and longer tail to his coat. Even the ways he solved cases in his spin-off games were based off Phoenix Wright. None of the attorney characters I knew base their style of clothing from their mentors. It occurred to me that maybe Edgeworth was a borrower and seemed to not be borrowing anything from anyone in canon, because he's rich and wouldn't see the point in it. If he was dating or married, he'd likely borrow clothes, since their belongings would belong to the both of them equally. He may even be seen one day on the couch in his lover's house pants and night shirt. Though, he will also lend someone a piece of clothing, especially his lover, if he has extras such as a dress shirt.

Phoenix Wright is 100% a lender of clothing. Unlike with Edgeworth, this one wasn't hard to figure out. Phoenix's stuff gets jacked all the time. Maya's always like "buy me burgers" and he will do it, even though it's milking his money for all his worth. He doesn't often like it, but he'll do it. If one of his friends, especially lover, is seen with one of his shirts or pants, it'll just be another day in paradise. For Phoenix, lending his stuff isn't anything new and it happens to him every single day. It's because of this, he loathes the idea of borrowing someone else's clothes or stuff. He will, if he has to, but the fact he lived seven years caring for a child without stopping by at Edgeworth's place and saying, "hey, think I can crash in at your place and live here, since you'll be going to Europe most of the days anyways?" shows he's not one to freeload off of his friends or anyone.

While Edgeworth isn't someone that will take or borrow someone else's clothing, if it's his husband, it's possible he may. Phoenix may wake up one day and find Edgeworth in the living room with a piece of his clothing watching Steel Samurai. Though, for Phoenix, it will just be another day, another loved one jacking stuff from him. I doubt Phoenix will be all lovey-dovey over it, but he won't object to it either. On the same note, if Phoenix doesn't have enough white dress shirts, Edgeworth would not object to lending one to him, if he has a ton of them. This goes for socks, briefs and what-nots. Lending or borrowing the other's clothing won't be considered romantic to either of them. Not everything in the romantic cliche list won't always be considered romantic to these two and I think it makes their relationship more unique. Lending and borrowing clothing would just be considered one of those.

 This is my interpretation of the ship. I don't consider it to match anyone else's interpretation. Feel free to give your thoughts.

EDIT: blank template - https://twitter.com/SouOrtizArt/status/1157721908470800384

[unnecessarygayfeelings]

Finished my Farafey fanficton! Here’s a link to it on ao3, but I know not everyone uses that, so I’ll post it here under the read more. No content warnings (there’s a small mention of alcohol, but no one is intoxicated), just 2k words of fluff. This is for the Farafey micronation especially @aquilamage because she has epic content that inspires me a lot.

Lavender Lip Gloss

It was new year's eve and Kay was going to be late to the party because her roommate was hogging the bathroom.

Kay should be used to this, really. Ever since she and Sebastian decided to rent an apartment together at the ripe old age of nineteen, she became well aware of her friend's quirks. But she could handle the misplaced pens, loud classical music, and endless pacing at ungodly hours of the night. She would be a hypocrite if she judged him, though. Half of the pens they owned were probably on her desk, and in the early mornings she liked to sing her favourite pop songs in the shower. They argued about who was the cause of their the noise complaints every time they received one.

They've been roommates for years now. Kay was used to Sebastian's habits... except for one.

"Seb, leave the goddamn door open when you're just fixing your hair! I need the hairspray!"

It took a long time for Sebastian to break the habit of placing barriers between them when it wasn't necessary (Kay had grown up in a home with open doors and open hearts; she wants the same for Sebastian), and eventually he stopped locking the door behind him every time he entered a room. Kay respected Sebastian's need for privacy. But she also respected their friendship, and that's why she knew that what she was about to do was not only expected, but acceptable in their tiny apartment. She took a step back, lifted her leg and opened the door with one swift kick.

There was a high-pitched yelp from Sebastian, who had styling gel on his hands, a strand of hair sticking up on his head, and an unimpressed expression on his face as he saw Kay's triumphant smile. "I-I was almost done!"

"You always say that, and then you end up taking another thirty minutes," Kay replied, grabbing her hair spray and securing her high ponytail right there. Sebastian's face scrunched at the smell. She sprayed a little bit of the product in his hair, too. They both laughed, doing the finishing touches on both of their party looks together.

After a final once-over from each of them ("The green button-up was a good choice, right, Kay?" "Yeah, but what about this silver skirt?"), they were ready to go to the new year's party. It was at Miles's house this year, and if they both weren't used to bothering him at every location possible, it might have felt a bit weird to party at the boss's place.

When they arrived at Miles's house, the host himself greets them. Although he does look genuinely pleased to see them, his smile turns strained when Kay tells him to "prepare for trouble, and make it double". While Sebastian is making small talk with Edgeworth, Kay lets her mind trail elsewhere— to the reason she was so eager to get to the party in the first place.

Maya Fey had been in Kura'in for a while now. Despite their friendship being long-distance, they were still very close. Their bond was just as strong as Kay's with Sebastian, although she felt very different about Maya than him. Kay's heart soared every time her phone dinged with a new message. She circled dates on the calendar with a violet marker whenever they planned to video chat. The time difference was brutal, but Kay would gladly stay up late just to hear Maya's voice.

"Waiting for s-someone special?" Sebastian's teasing voice broke Kay out of her thoughts. She hadn't even realized that Miles was long gone. The only one next to her was her best friend, who was looking extra smug. Of course Sebastian knew about her crush. He was the one Kay would go to at one in the morning, bombarding him with texts and asking him if he thought there was a deeper meaning to them. The deeper meaning, he would tell her, is that you both like each other and it's only a matter of time before one of you make a move. He was being ridiculous, of course. Just because Maya called her pretty and laughed a little too loud at her jokes and had a purple heart emoji next to her contact name didn't mean anything.

Okay, it definitely meant something, but Kay wasn't going to take the first step and confess or anything because... she was shy. Ugh. She wasn't used to being shy. Sebastian was the shy one, not her. But Kay hadn't seen Maya in person in what felt like forever (it had been six months), so who knows. Maybe she would make a move.

"Hey, there she is!"

Kay's head shot up, pure enthusiasm with a twinge of anxiousness filling her whole body. She looked to where Sebastian was pointing, and there she was.

Maya Fey was here. Maya Fey was looking around the room. Maya Fey was making eye contact with her. Maya Fey was walking towards her.

"Hey!" Maya Fey's voice sounded so much more real when it wasn't through a speakerphone, all light and chipper. Kay wasn't sure how she'd survive the night, let alone make a move.

"Hi, Maya!" Sebastian greeted, holding out his arms and allowing a brief hug. Maya showed her affection through touch: high fives, hair ruffles, and hand holding. Kay was the same which was one of the reasons why their long distance communication was difficult. You couldn't embrace someone through a screen.

Then Maya turned towards her, arms outstretched, and Kay found herself being pulled in like a magnet. Maya's hugs were warm and welcoming. She didn't miss how they both lingered, the hug lasting many seconds longer than a hug Kay would have with any other friend, even Sebastian. But eventually they had to (slowly) pull away.

"It seems like forever since I've seen you!" Maya exclaimed, looking up at Kay with a big grin. "You look great! I love your skirt!"

Kay's brain seemed to short-circuit. Maya was wearing a cute pink party dress and her long hair was in its usual style, decorated with sparkly hair clips. Her lips were shiny with a purple gloss. It was a light shade, like lavender. Was this weird, just staring at her lips? She needed to respond before it got weird. "Thanks! I love your lip gloss!"

Okay, so now Maya had solid proof that she was staring at her lips. Oops. But Maya just smiled at her. "Haha, thanks! Do you guys want a drink? I saw Miles bought the good champagne."

Had he? Kay didn't even notice. Sebastian nods and then a minute later Maya is offering her a drink. Kay takes the glass, and tries not to think about the brush of Maya's fingers against hers too much.

Conversation is easy. Maya asks what they've been up to since the last time they talked. Kay feels like this question is more for Sebastian, since her and Maya just talked this morning on the phone. Sebastian tells her about his latest case (not a murder, thankfully), and Kay includes details from her perspective as the detective assigned. She's sure she had mentioned this case to Maya before, but Maya seems very interested anyways.

When they ask what news Maya has, she perks up tremendously. "I've finally mastered the bowl without falling on my face!"

Recently, Maya has taken up skateboarding while in Kura'in. Pearl has been the one teaching her; she was very talented, and had a cool skateboard with a flame design on the sides. Kay had been blessed with many cute selfies of Maya in her skating gear (lavender knee and elbow pads, and a florescent pink helmet that could probably blind a person if they stared too long at it) and ten second clips of her skating around in sunglasses, striking poses at the camera. Maya was a beginner but she refused to give up, despite the constant complaining of bumps and bruises from falling all the time.

"Really?" Kay gasps. She's received many texts about the bowl, and according to Maya it was one of the most difficult things to master in her life. ("It's harder than channeling spirits, Kay! Stop laughing, it's the truth!") Kay had never skateboarded before so she felt like she couldn't judge but it certainly didn't look easy.

Maya quickly pulls her phone out of her dress pocket. "Let me show you. Pearly got it on tape! Proof that I'm not making it up to sound cool or anything."

Kay believed her. Maya wouldn't need to make stuff up to sound cool. She unlocked her phone (Kay felt herself blush at the lockscreen— it's a selfie that they had taken the last time Kay was in Kura'in, a trip that was impulsive and expensive but she didn't regret it one bit) and pulled up a video of Maya on top of the bowl. Pearl can be heard off-camera shouting encouragement. Then Maya adjusts her helmet, balances herself on her board, and slides down the bowl in one swift movement. She skids to a stop once she's on the ground. The last thing they hear before the video cuts out is Maya and Pearl screaming with excitement.

"That's so cool!" Kay exclaims, genuinely impressed.

Sebastian's eyes are nearly bugging out of his head. "Whoa! You look like a pro-professional skateboarder!"

"Yeah, this makes all the times I fell down on my butt worth it," Maya says, grinning from ear to ear. They talk some more before Maya goes to mingle with an old friend.

"Hey, do either of you know where Nick is? I want to bug him before the year ends."

Sebastian points Phoenix out across the room, where he is currently distracted by his daughter Trucy pulling an comically long scarf out of the tiny pocket on her blouse. A mischievous smile, a wave of her hand, and Maya's off.

There's a brief silence as they watch Maya leave. Sebastian turns to Kay with the same shit-eating grin he has when he's about to say something clever. "Kay? I diagnose you with gay. Lesbianism, if you want to be specific."

Kay groans. "I know, I know."

"Well, it's clear that she likes you, too, so I don't see what the con-conundrum is."

Kay believed that she was a relatively logical person. Her field of work made use of that trait, tested it. And now she was being presented with more evidence and a restless witness. The pieces fit together perfectly— Maya Fey liked her. The only question was what she going to do with this information.

"Was I... obvious about it?"

Sebastian raises his eyebrow. Takes a long sip of of his drink. "Is that a trick question?"

Not everyone Mr. Edgeworth invited was at the party, but the house is noisy regardless. Friends and acquaintances are talking in groups, there's music coming from an unknown source, the television is playing a new year's special, and Kay's heart is beating up a storm. Despite all of the activity, Kay thinks her heart is the loudest thing in this place.

Sebastian is tapping his fingers against the table next to them. Another noise, although it's muffled by the black gloves he's wearing. "Well, I know you don't like champagne."

Kay looks down at the drink Maya gave her, still full. The condensation from the glass mixes with the sweat on her palm. The feeling of Maya's hand brushing against hers lingers.

In the distance, Maya nudges Phoenix roughly in the side, and his drink splashes on his shirt. Maya laughs and then points at the stain, exclaiming loudly that it kind of looks like the Blue Badger. Phoenix seems to push his annoyance aside to carefully examine his sleeve. Maya calls other people over to look, a light yet determined expression on her face, and Kay can feel herself fall a little more in love.

...

The flashy countdown screen on the TV lights up, signaling the last minute of the year. Kay smiles and swirls the untouched champagne in her glass. She's lost in the way the tiny bubbles cling onto the sides of the cup until something distracts her. Or more accurately, someone.

"Hey," Maya says, placing her own glass on the table in front of them.

"Hey," Kay echoes back intelligently. She places her glass next to Maya's as her friend (she ignores the tightening in her chest when she calls her that; she's not sure there's a single word in this world to describe what Maya is to her) sits down next to her.

There's a moment of silence between them. Maya smells like jasmine and nostalgia. Kay wants to look but she's glowing like the sun, so she decides to play it safe and stare ahead. She sees Sebastian and Klavier talking about something, but she can't concentrate enough on their voices to know the topic.

Maya's voice snaps Kay out of her trance. "Happy new year."

For a split second, Kay thinks she miscounted the seconds, and missed the celebration. She checks the television quickly, and sighs with relief. "You're about thirty seconds too early, but I appreciate your enthusiasm." Then she had to use all of her strength to resist the urge to kick herself for sounding so weird.

"Oh." Cheeks flushed red for sure, Kay risks a glance at Maya. She doesn't regret it. She doesn't think she'll ever get tired of seeing Maya smile. "Happy new year's eve, then?"

She barely pulls herself together before responding in a passably-normal-although-probably-too-eager tone. "Yeah! Happy new year's eve!"

Maya laughs at that, and Kay can physically feel her heart soar. She knows it's bad to look at the sun but she can't help it, and within seconds she's pretty sure she could map out all the freckles on Maya's face. Kay stares too long to pass as normal and she knows it. But Maya is staring, too.

"TEN SECONDS!" Kay doesn't recognizes whose enthusiastic yelling the voice belongs to, but she doesn't even bother tearing her eyes away from Maya.

Ten.

Maya is sitting so close to her that their thighs are touching. How did Kay not notice that until now?

Nine.

Maya hesitantly reaches over and touches Kay's hand with her own.

Eight.

Her hand is shaking slightly. It's sweaty, too. Kay doesn't complain. She's probably the same.

Seven.

Kay curls their fingers together. She can't seem to stop smiling.

Six.

There's no denying it. The walls between them tumble down to reveal something a bit more than friendship, a bit more than just simple attraction.

Five.

Kay wants to say something, anything, but she's been rendered speechless. She's pretty sure she looks ridiculous. Ridiculously lovestruck.

Four.

Maya's other hand reaches over to brush Kay's hair out of her face, and her touch lingers near her cheek.

Three.

There's a line that they haven't neared, trying to maintain their friendship. Maya is standing at the edge of it, threatening to cross over.

Two.

Maya tilts her head, leans in, and closes her eyes. Kay can't hear the music over her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

One.

Kay closes her eyes, leans in, and unconsciously holds her breath.

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

Their lips met, and Kay smudges Maya's lavender lip gloss.

[nijiirorhyme]

NaruMitsu/WrightWorth Fic: Lights, Camera, Action! Chapter 3

NaruMitsu/WrightWorth Fic: Lights, Camera, Action!

Fandom: Ace Attorney

Ship: Mitsurugi Reiji | Miles Edgeworth/Naruhodou Ryuuichi | Phoenix Wright, Ayasato Mayoi | Maya Fey/Karuma Mei | Franziska von Karma

Warnings: None

Tags:Alternate Universe - Actors, Other Additional Tags to be Added, More characters to be added

Description: Rookie actor Phoenix Wright can not believe his luck as he  scores his first major acting role in one of the most anticipated movies  of the year. But, what was better than starring in one of the most  anticipated films of the year? Starring in one of the most anticipated  films of this year with famous actor Miles Edgeworth.

A Wrightworth acting au where two dorks (eventually) fall in love!  

Chapter 3/?

Alternatively, it can be read here!

Text below cut!

 October 5th 1:05pm

Cafe Aroma  

It finally made sense to Phoenix. As he was staring at the two of them chatting in their own little world along with the light blush that appeared on Franziska’s face, the strings that Maya pulled were actually the heart strings of the young manager.

‘Who would have thought…’ Phoenix brought his hot cup of coffee to his mouth, gingerly taking a sip before setting it back down. Phoenix casted his gaze at the man that sat across from him. He wished that the two of them could talk as animatedly as the other pair did.

The cafe Maya chose for the four of them to meet at was one she often frequented, Cafe Aroma. In fact, she went there so often that the majority of the employees would recognize Maya’s vibrant voice the moment she walked through the door with the little jingle of the overhead bell. It was a short distance away from the studio-- about a ten minute walk from the front gate. And it was because of this distance that it would be no uncommon feat if one saw a celebrity here. The first thing one would notice when opening the door was the warm and rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air. The entire cafe gave off a very intimate atmosphere, further accentuated by the warm, cozy array of colours that painted the entire place; the dark cocoa brown wooden panels that hugged the bottom portion of the walls paired with a lighter-- almost beige shade that filled in the space above it. Above each black stained table with the exception of the widow seats that faced outward towards the street, several abstract paintings aligned the walls, most of them too abstract for Phoenix to even tell what they were. From the dim lighting, to the warm comforting atmosphere, one could stay here for hours while listening to the soft piano they played over the speakers.

All of that was nice and all, but what really got Phoenix’s attention were their cinnamon sugar donuts. Seriously, paired with their signature blend, they were amazing.

Taking a bite of the fried pastry, Phoenix dusted his crumbs off on his pants before trying to engage in small talk with the man. “So,” he awkwardly laughed, scratching the back of his head like he usually did when he was nervous. “This cafe’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Quite.” Edgeworth responded in a deadpanned tone, taking a sip from his own mug, one filled with tea instead of coffee.

Phoenix took another sip in hopes that it would dispel the awkward atmosphere from the two before attempting to strike up a conversation once more, “So… How long have you been acting?” He asked, which he instantly regretted right after because he already knew the answer. He inwardly cringed at himself, ‘Nice going, Phoenix. You just had to ask.’

Edgeworth paused momentarily, giving his answer a thought before he spoke. “I can’t quite remember, but I started sometime when I was six.”

Phoenix was pleasantly surprised at the honest response. It seemed that Edgeworth truly had a passion for the art that he put the majority of his life into. He couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes softened as it looked like he was reminiscing upon the several memories he had created throughout his career. Phoenix made a mental note, talking about acting was the way to get Edgeworth to speak to him. After all, they both had it in common seeing how it was both of their livelihoods (though one was more successful than the other).

“Wow, you must’ve acted in a lot of movies, huh…” Phoenix trailed off, when suddenly another question popped into his head. He wanted to keep the conversation going as much as he could, even if it meant he sounded a little bit like an interviewer. “What was your favourite movie to work on?”

A pause once more, followed by an answer. “There are several movies that I’ve enjoyed working on, but the one I particularly liked working on was The School of Dreams.”

“Oh! That’s one of my favourite movies! An oldie, but a classic. But funny you should say that because…”  Phoenix stroked his chin. “I don’t remember you being in it…”

Edgeworth paused mid-motion as he was taking a sip from his mug. He set it down, pointing his eyes into one of the glares he had shot at Phoenix the moment they first met. Phoenix seemed to have offended him. “I was one of the main characters, Wright.”

Suddenly, it all came back to him. The grey hair, those stone grey eyes… How did he blank on such an important detail? It was one of the first movies he ever remembered watching. In fact, he could even recall the exact time in his life he watched it…

It was a Saturday afternoon in his sophomore year of high school. A sleepy Phoenix who had not a single clue what he was going to do after high school found himself alone at home that day. Sitting on the couch as he cradled a bowl of cereal and milk with one arm and held the TV remote in his other hand, he flipped it to any random channel he found, stopping when he saw the title of the movie pop up on the screen. Sure, he missed the opening of the movie, but there was at least the rest of the movie to enjoy-- and enjoy he did. As a young Phoenix continued to watch, he couldn’t help but notice how phenomenal the actor who looked to be the same age as him was. His eyes gravitated towards him, as if the young man on the screen shined the brightest in the movie. He knew nothing about acting and once it was done, all he could do was remain awestruck.

This movie revolved around a delinquent—played by the young Miles Edgeworth—who continues to get mixed up with the wrong crowds at school. Without telling his parents anything, he continues to live a life where he receives blow by blow and delivers blow by blow to those who seek to challenge him until he is the most feared high schooler among his peers. One day, he meets a boy who transfers into his class and changes his life for the better. By the end of the movie, the two of them are the best friends and plan on attending the same university together. Not only did the transfer student teach the delinquent boy how warm it was to have a friend that understands you, but more importantly, the feeling of belonging he had always dreamed of having with someone. It was a beautiful and touching story of how the two helped each other grow individually, as well as together.

Phoenix recalled trying to blink the tears that pricked his eyes away. He had never felt so moved by a movie before. At that moment, something in his soul had ignited, as if he had finally found what he truly wanted to do. So, he wanted to follow the footsteps of the young man portraying the delinquent and become an actor of the same caliber.

‘Who would have thought that same actor that inspired you would become your co-worker…’ He was a bit shocked at how fate had a funny way of playing tricks on people.

It took a moment for him to recollect his thoughts before he spoke again, “Oh… That’s right that’s right-- heh, no pun intended. How could I have forgotten?” He let out an awkward chuckle to mask the heat he felt creeping up onto his face, dusting his cheeks a rosy pink. It would feel a bit embarrassing to admit that watching a movie that Edgeworth starred in when he was younger was the reason as to why he became an actor after that blunder, so he decided it was best to stay quiet on the matter.

He saw Edgeworth roll his eyes at the pun he made with his own last name. Get it, “right”, “Wright”? It was the oldest joke in Phoenix’s book. Usually, this elicited two reactions from the people he told it to: they either chuckled a little bit because the realization dawned upon them that they sounded the same, or they awkwardly chuckled alongside him in order not to make him feel bad at such a lousy pun. This man surely was neither of those people.

“Though honestly, I don’t know how you do it,” Phoenix looked down at the table at his hands clasped together. He was about to say something sort of embarrassing, but he might as well. It wasn’t like he didn’t make himself look out to be a fool already or anything. “You’ve brought so many characters to life over the years, but I’m still having trouble trying to figure out what I should do to make Ruth Liss believable.”

Edgeworth cleared his throat, “Well, it certainly isn’t an easy task, Wright. After all, there are a lot of eyes on us to make sure we do it right.”

“Yeah, there are.” Phoenix agreed. In the end, that was the goal for all actors once they picked up a script. It was their job to bring a character to life. But that was something he definitely needed to work on. Just then, an idea popped into his mind. What Phoenix was about to say was indeed, a long shot, but at least he could say he tried. “So… since you know all the ropes… I was wondering if you could, you know… give me some advice maybe? Or maybe we could practice together some time?”

Ever so slightly, Edgeworth’s eyes widened. He seemed taken aback, which made Phoenix nervous. Would he decline? Accept? The man looked as if he had the response on the tip of his tongue, when an oddly familiar ringtone sounded from across the table.

Maya gasped, “Is that the Steel Samurai opening?!”

Then, the most unexpected thing happened. He witnessed Edgeworth fish his phone out from his pants pocket, then after checking the caller id with a tsk, set the phone on the table, completely disregarding the call he received on his personal cell phone a few seconds ago. The ringtone went silent, leaving Maya’s voice to be the only thing ringing in Phoenix’s ears.

“Mr. Edgeworth, you’re a Steel Samurai fan too?!” Maya’s eyes were practically sparkling. One glimpse at her could tell Phoenix that she was ecstatic.  

‘Here we go again…’ Every time Maya happened to meet another fellow Steel Samurai fan, she would lock them into conversing with her about it. This was not a hard task though, as Maya was the one who tended to carry the conversation when speaking about her favourite show. Usually when this occurred, Phoenix would be waiting for at least half an hour.

“Perhaps a little…” Edgeworth mumbled. Was it Phoenix, or did he look slightly embarrassed?

“A little?!” Maya scooted her chair closer to Phoenix, their shoulders touching as she reached over to point at the dangling charm that was attached to his cellphone. “You even have the limited edition steel Steel Samurai phone strap?! How did you even get one of those?! I tried to have Nick get me one, but they sold out just as he was about to get to the front of the line.” She looked at him, her eyebrows furrowed and cheeks puffed up.

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault someone couldn’t leave the house on time.” Phoenix retaliated.

“Yeah, it was you!” Maya accused. “You couldn’t find where you put your house keys!”

Phoenix paused, that was right. He was the one at fault. “... Oh, you’re right. Sorry, Maya.”

She crossed her arms, “When they release the steeler Steel Samurai limited edition keychain, you owe me one.”

‘... How could something be “steeler than steel”?!’

Phoenix sighed, “Alright, alright, I do. Next time, I’ll just ask Will instead.” Since he was close enough to the man at this point, he could at least ask him to do him a solid.

“So, Mr. Edgeworth, you like the Steel Samurai too?” Maya turned the conversation back to him with absolute delight evident on her face.

“It’s not like that-”

“Indeed he does.” Franziska interjected, cutting Edgeworth off. Her usual smug smirk remained plastered on her face as she rested her chin in her hand, the index finger on her other hand wagging pointedly. “Let’s not forget about the Steel Samurai statue that you have in your office-”

“Enough, Franziska.” Edgeworth snapped back, his face gradually turning redder and redder as the conversation continued.

Taking this new information into account, an idea popped into Phoenix’s mind. If he knew Will Powers, the man who played the Steel Samurai himself, then perhaps he could strike a deal… “Edgeworth, if I got you a Steel Samurai autograph, would you practice together with me?”

Not a single second passed when, “I don’t suppose I have a reason to refuse such an offer.” He answered, a bit too eagerly. “Franziska and Ms. Maya can work out the details later, but I believe I should have some time next week.”

“Great, I’ll see you then,” Phoenix couldn’t help the smile that seeped out onto his face from the satisfaction of success he felt on the inside. He outstretched his hand again. This was the ticket, the way he could finally get some hands-on experience. With Edgeworth’s guidance, he was going to make Ruth Liss the most nefarious man to exist.

Much to Phoenix’s surprise, he felt a warm, but firm hand grasp his own. “I, as well.”

As the conversation concluded, Franziska pushed herself up from her chair, “Well, our business here is done. Come now, we have a photoshoot to attend to. That foolish fool will be here any minute with the car.”

“Aw, leaving so soon, Franny?” Maya pouted.

“Unfortunately, I must. But next time, I will try to stay longer.” Franziska gave the girl a small, but gentle smile. “Oh, and Phoenix Wright…”

Phoenix’s ears picked up on his name being called. “Hm? Ow! Ouch! What was that for?!” A cool, leather whip thrashed at him, causing the skin underneath his suit to sting. He had just gotten a thrashing from Franziska’s whip and for no reason he could think of, at that.

“Just because you sport the face of a fool who deserves it. Now, the two of us will be off.” Grabbing her binder off the table, the two took their leave, leaving a satisfied Phoenix, and a satisfied Maya to their own devices.

“Well, what did you think, Nick? Isn’t Franny just the nicest person in the world?” She asked, her voice as sweet as honey. Phoenix could practically see the hearts in her eyes; she seemed quite smitten with one Franziska von Karma.

‘Nicest?! She just whipped me!’ “She was… something to say the least.” He opted to say instead. He downed the rest of his coffee, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. For some reason, this conversation renewed his spirits, his motivation to get better replenishing by the second.

 ‘A week from now. I have a week to show him what I’ve got!’

 October 5th, 11:00pm

 Edgeworth’s Penthouse

Miles Edgeworth was something of a busy man. No matter how many times his schedule had been packed to the brim, the tiredness he would feel after a day’s work was something that he would never get used to.

He unlocked the door to his place, greeted by the energetic dog he had meticulously raised since he had found the time to do so.

“Pess, it’s late. Why aren’t you asleep? Were you waiting for me?” Looking down at the dog with loving affection softening all of his facial features, a tender smile graced his face as he reached down to pet the pomeranian nuzzling against his leg. Edgeworth’s heart practically melted when he heard him bark back in response.

He set down his keys and scooped him up in his arms, to which he took the opportunity to lap at his face. He chuckled, “What did I do to deserve such a loyal dog?”

Miles gently set Pess back onto the floor, who darted from the front door to the slightly ajar bedroom door. He turned to look back at Miles, which Miles perceived to be his dog’s own way of telling him, “come here”.

Miles’ smile widened, “Alright, alright. I guess it’s time to get ready for bed.”

11:25PM

Miles slipped off his slippers and settled into bed, pulling the covers up over his entire body. At night right before he fell asleep, this was the time his brain was the most alert. Most of the nights where he had trouble falling asleep, for he was afraid of the nightmares that would plague his dreams, he would reflect on the day’s events, this one being no exception. All in all, talking to the man wasn’t such a bad experience in itself. Surely, he was a bit clumsy and awkward and just a little bit of an idiot, but what today’s conversation showed Miles was how dedicated he was. It truly seemed as if Wright wanted to improve and it made him feel a bit guilty for treating him so coldly the first time he met him. It had been a while since he had interacted with someone as inexperienced as Phoenix. After all, he had been taught that people of his stature shouldn’t interact with people like him.

“You don’t need to talk to any of these nobodies; you are leagues above them. Friends? Forget about such a notion. In this industry, you can never trust a single soul.” The words of his late mentor echoed in his mind.

He exhaled at the memory. Hopefully in a week from now, Miles could bestow upon him the advice he had been given throughout his years of being an actor. Would Wright succeed with his help? Miles wasn’t so sure, but did he want that Steel Samurai autograph?

Of course.

Hopefully, just hopefully, next week will be a good one.

[runningwolf62]

@wardencommanderrodimiss, @pachelbelsheadcanon

This chapter came out wildly different than how I originally planned it. For one Godot originally actually appeared in this chapter. Now it more sets up two things. One is the in story fanfiction chapter Larry writes. More importantly it sets up Ace Attorney Investigations.

---

Wolfman?

You awake?

- I was about to head to bed

Oh. Sorry.

- Hey if you need something just say so

Yeah I just… I had a morning.

- You okay Stripes?

I will be?

Mostly I wanted to talk to you but I didn’t want you to wake up to a wall of text from me and freak out.

- I appreciate that

- But I’m awake and ready to meme about Warrior Cats so what’s up

Hit me with those hot memes cat meme man.

- Ah one order for the dankest of memes

- Demon voice “Due to personal reasons I will be assisting SpiritClan through this crisis”

Okay that should not have made me laugh.

- Happy to provide services

- So what’s bothering you

I went to see the guy who killed Elise today.

- Why?

- Ah this is the wall of text part

Look there’s a lot to explain!

I went with a friend. She’s Elise’s daughter and wanted to talk things out with him because it turns out he’s her dead sister’s boyfriend who just got out of a coma and helped Elise do all this protect her from an inheritance fraud? Scheme? Her aunt, Elise’s sister, wanted to kill her.

- That was a lot to explain

Yeah.

- How did it go

I don’t know?

I feel better? I kind of yelled at him, because he put shit on me and my friend Nick about it was our job to protect Elise’s daughter like that’s some bullshit!

- Mmm Misogyny and Misplaced blame

Thank you! But yeah, he mostly hates himself and I think a lot of it was guilt about himself. My next fanfic chapter is going to be a mess.

- Oh?

Some people??? Write warrior cats fanfic??? To cope???

- And you’re valid Stripes

Thanks. Just, there’s a lot to work though.

- It’s not your fault

- I don’t know if you need to hear that but if you do none of it is your fault

I

I think I did. That means a lot to me.

- What I’m here for

Is it wrong to be angry?

- No

But at Elise?

- No

- Okay I’ll prompt you, why are you angry at Elise

Because she could’ve avoided all of this!

I get it, I do! She was ashamed to face her daughter or whatever! But she could’ve asked me, she could’ve called her, she could’ve done anything other than contact her not quite son-in-law to make this overly complicated scheme to protect her daughter without ever speaking to her!

- The pack that runs together, stays together

What?

- Just some wisdom, namely that she shouldn’t have tried to do this on her own

And he went along with it! Like hell he put the idea forward in some regards and Jesus dude! Go to therapy and call the cops! Work out your own damn issues about your murdered girlfriend don’t become a prosecutor just to be a massive dick!

- You can’t trust prosecuting attorneys

Hey! One of my friends is one!

- Stripes I’m not gonna fight you on this

I mean you might have a point though, he’s like the only not corrupt one in this city.

He’s trying!

- Okay okay maybe I should meet him

Maybe you should! He’d show you!

- Fired up aren’t you

I’m just upset and I don’t, fuck.

I might need a therapist.

- Not a bad plan

- Probably a better one than yelling at convicted murders

Hey he was in jail. There were guards. I was fine.

- You better be or he’d have felt my fangs

From whatever part of Europe you’re in?

- I’m allowed to bring my fangs on a plane

“And if you touch me my European werewolf friend will absolute kick your ass!”

- You are free to use me as a threat against people

You… you should probably be heading to bed.

- I’m in bed just on my phone

- So what did he say

Who?

Oh.

He spouted some bullshit like ‘life isn’t fair’ and I called him out on that because no, life isn’t fair but he doesn’t have to deal with the consequences.

-  …

Look I know going to jail is a consequence for murder but like-

We have to put our lives back together! They get to walk away, get put away, they don’t have to clean up the mess you know? I have to rebuild everything and Maya, she lost almost all her family and can’t even grieve ‘cause she’s basically had to adopt her ten year old cousin and I’m flailing wildly in in anger and bargaining and it fucking sucks! He gets to go to jail and like, feel very guilty which he was doing anyway! I have to figure out what it means to lose a mentor I hardly knew and have a life I was starting to build utterly destroyed as collateral to a plan that wasn’t necessary in the first place!

… Fuck I do need that therapist.

You still awake?

- Of course

Sorry to dump all this on you.

- You’re not dumping anything on me Stripes

-  I’d have told you no if I couldn’t handle it

-  Plus it looks like you just need to vent

Kind of? I also would love advice if you have any.

-  Grieve. Let yourself hurt. Wounds hurt, they heal and scar over and then fade but that takes years and months and treatment

-  Right now it hurts and that’s fine

-  You can both miss and be angry at Elise

That’s pretty wise.

-  I try

-   Now take what she taught you and use it

-   Publish that book, use those contacts, make something of yourself, she’s gone but you’re not

-   And get a damn therapist

Larry startles away from his computer by a knock at the door, he whirls to see Edgeworth standing in the doorway, Pess at his heels.

“Hey,” Larry’s voice is rough ‘cause he’s been crying as he types to WolfDragon but it’s helping to talk this out.

Edgeworth takes in everything and nods, “I wanted to be sure you were alright. Wright said the jail visit was hard on you and Maya.”

“Yeah.” Least of which because Larry remembered being in jail after Cindy’s death. He rubs at his face, “just kinda, writing things out.”

Edgeworth steps into the room and Larry tenses, that’s too much, he’s crossed a threshold and that means he wants to talk. Edgeworth sits on the edge of the guest bed and Larry glances over at his screen.

-   I’m sorry Stripes I have to go to sleep

He holds up one finger to Edgeworth and sends back a quick reply.

Good night! And thanks for everything!

Then he wipes his face again, takes a deep breath and turns around to face Edgeworth.

“So, what’s up, Edgy?”

Edgeworth makes a strange noise at that, “are you…”

“I’ll be fine,” he knows he looks like shit, he’s an ugly crier.

Edgeworth stares at him, Larry clicks his tongue and calls Pess over to rub the good girl’s ears.

“I mean it okay? Like yeah, it was rough and I might’ve yelled at Godot, Diego, whoever the hell he calls himself, and maybe Mia a little too for leaving me and Maya to clean all this up but I’m gonna be okay.” He swallows hard, “I promise.”

“Alright.” Edgeworth accepts that, “I came in to tell you that I have a trip coming up, I’m going to Europe for two weeks, I won’t be back until the twelfth of March.”

Larry can see where this is going and nods, “alright. I think I’ve got a lease set up-“

“If you don’t you can stay here,” Edgeworth cuts in, “in fact I’d rather appreciate if you did.”

Oh. Well Larry was wrong then, “you would?”

“Yes, you can apartment and dog sit for me while continuing to get back on your feet.” Edgeworth looks pointedly to where Pess is shoving her face into Larry’s leg. “The only rules would be that you take care of Pess and no having women over.”

“Oh, trust me I’m not planning on dating!” Larry holds his hands up and then goes back to petting Pess, and he’s got the social skills to not bring someone over to Edgeworth’s apartment even if he was, “uh, one thing though. Do you have a card for your therapist? Once I get a job and insurance, I’d kind of like to see them myself. Or if they know someone.”

Edgeworth pauses and nods, “I can get you a card for their office, if you need someone to help pay for sessions-“

“Dude you’ve done enough,” Larry cuts in and rubs Pess’s ears, “like seriously.”

Edgeworth considers it and nods slowly, “alright. Just don’t hesitate to text or call me if you need anything.”

“Oh, will you charter a private jet for me too?” Larry teases and Edgeworth shoots him such a dirty look that Larry can’t help but laugh. Pess gives a soft huff and trots back over to Edgeworth, who rubs her between the ears.

“I think I might get a cat or something,” Larry admits, Edgeworth looks to him and he shrugs, “Pess has made me want some kind of emotional support animal.”

“I do recommend it,” Edgeworth smiles down at the dog who wags her tail happily at him, “it’s harder to stay in bed when there’s someone depending on you.”

“And less responsibility than a kid.”

“Quite true.” Edgeworth gets to his feet, “good luck on your… writing then.”

“I think I need a glass of water, so I’ll just follow you out,” Larry admits, getting to his feet, “but then I’m gonna write some more.” He has a fanfic to update after all.

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

the thinker

A Fae AU side story. Phoenix and Larry, and an ever-present absence: reminiscing, and looking ahead.

[ao3]

“—and I mean, some of my old temp jobs I didn’t even get fired from, so I can totally hit up those guys and throw you their way.”

Phoenix draws a new card from the deck and frowns at it. Larry won’t play him in poker, not since high school, so all the card games they played through their early 20s didn’t involve acting. (Larry has the worst poker face.) And even then, Phoenix still won most of them, which he knows now is Luck, but lately Luck has been tangling with Misfortune and doesn’t have time to let Phoenix have a good hand of cards in games that don’t mean anything. He’s lost most of tonight’s games and wants to blame it on the fact that he’s drinking, but Larry is also drinking, and in fact has had more beers than Phoenix, so he’s just lying to himself now. Midnight is one of the best times for lying to himself, though he’s usually alone when he does it.

“Yeah,” he says, discarding his new card, “but they’re still gonna throw out the application when they see my name on it.” The Gramaryes were local celebrities, and the forgery scandal much bigger than that. Phoenix’s name is a black mark. Larry wouldn’t know how that is; Larry has a second name now, granting him Fortune, and maybe Butz is an unfortunate surname but it’s not Phoenix Wright, the corrupt attorney too clumsy to get away with it. “The poker thing is going fine, really.”

“Yeah but you’ve got a daughter now, Nick! You can’t just put her on the bachelor ramen diet too! Your savings are gonna run out sooner or later!” Larry, flighty, irresponsible Larry, is now the voice of reason, god forbid. He only now seems to realize that Phoenix has taken his turn and he draws a card, his eyes lighting up in further proof of the way he can’t play poker. “Very fortuitous,” he says, leaning over the cards played on the table and planning his move.

Phoenix sighs and flops back into the couch. He’ll be waiting a while. “Look at you and your vocab of the day calendar,” he says.

“Hey!” Larry points an objecting finger at him. “I am a writer, Nick! Words are my specialty!”

“A writer of children’s books—!”

Loud as they are, Phoenix only hears half of the sound from the next room over, the tail-end of the time: “—is twelve o’clock.”

Larry’s head jerks up. “What was that?” he asks.

“Mia,” Phoenix says. He told Larry all about Mia and her presence in the office not long after Elise died; he hasn’t told Edgeworth, because he thinks of Edgeworth as separate from all of the fae aspects of his life. Trucy and Larry jump the line, now, but even though Edgeworth has met Maya, Pearl, and Iris, been wrapped up nearly as much as Larry (except for Larry being a witch, briefly), Phoenix still keeps more of it from him. He’s sure Edgeworth wouldn’t appreciate it, if he knew, but that’s another day’s problem. “You gonna finish your turn?”

-

It’s a lull in the conversation the next time it happens; Phoenix is pondering over the least bad move he can make when the voice rings out, “I think the time is twelve-fifteen.”

“Wait,” Larry says, folding his cards together and setting them face-down on the coffee table. “Wait wait, that’s—”

“Your clock,” Phoenix says. “Yeah.” The dumbfounded expression on Larry’s face doesn’t go away and he turns the stare from the room the sound emanated from to Phoenix. He’s going to have to explain this one the full way, as much as he knows to explain. “Here, c’mon.” He puts his cards down and stands, going to the doorway to the back room. The lights are off but some of the city lights filter through the slats of blinds. (There’s about as much light as there was the night Mia died.) It’s enough to make out, on his desk, the shape of the foot-tall gray clock. He gives Larry a few seconds to take in the sight and then flips on the light switch. The room brightens immediately, and there is nothing on Phoenix’s desk.

“Okay that’s fucked,” Larry says. “What’s that about?”

“Mia harasses me with it if she thinks I’m staying too late,” Phoenix explains. “She’ll start at fifteen-minute intervals and then drop to ten or five if I really don’t take the hint.”

“Yeah,” Larry says, “but the clock’s kinda not there, Nick.”

“It should be solved case evidence buried in the seventh circle of the police department now,” Phoenix agrees. He turns the light off. It now sits in the strips of light cast through the window, and he could swear he sees blood on it and immediately flicks the lights back on. “But this is Mia, and fae magic, so it’s here enough to torment me. And, by the way, Mia,” he adds, raising his voice, even though he knows she can hear anything said in the office anyway, “Trucy’s at a friend’s sleepover right now, so it’s not like I’m leaving her at home alone. You can relax.”

Or maybe she wants him to get a healthy amount of sleep but he’s far past the point of no return on that for the rest of his life.

“But why…” Larry gestures helplessly into the room. “Why that?” he asks after a few more moments of sputtering for words. “Like, she could do anything to hassle you, like make the mirror bleed or throw books at you or break the lightbulbs or make the walls ooze—”

“—green slime,” Phoenix finishes in unison with him, and they both laugh. But Larry’s face quickly falls and he looks back in at Phoenix’s desk. He hasn’t asked the full question: why the clock I made, why the clock I gave her?

“And wasn’t that…” Larry’s hand twitches, its trajectory going towards his head, as though to mimic the location of the wound, the blood on Mia’s head as her body grew colder. He pulls his hand down before it gets there. “Y’know?”

The murder weapon?

Funny, for her to be so powerful, taken down so easily. She shouldn’t have been. (Maybe if not for Phoenix, she wouldn’t have been. Did she have to give up part of her own life to save him from Dahlia? Did Phoenix kill her? Godot eventually acquiesced that he’d made that accusation in pain and anger but Phoenix had asked himself the same long before then. Phoenix still asks himself that.)

“Yeah,” Phoenix says again. “It was. But she really liked it, you know?” Larry shakes his head. “It meant something, I think, especially to the fae. Since they so rarely give gifts – which I guess that wasn’t quite a gift because we defended you and you didn’t pay me – and they love artists a little too much sometimes…” He shrugs. He’s thought about it a lot over the years and the late nights.

“You’re still mad about that?” Larry asks, starting back for the couch.

Phoenix turns the lights out and doesn’t look back. “You paid Edgeworth back for stealing his lunch money! What, do I have to wait fifteen years for you to pay your legal fees?”

Larry snaps his fingers together. “Now you do!”

Phoenix snorts.

The grin falls from Larry’s face. “That just kinda makes me feel worse,” he says. “If she liked it so much, and then…” His hand twitches again, reaching for a wound never present on his own head.

Phoenix isn’t sure how to respond to that. He just keeps talking anyway, hoping his words won’t cut at his own heart. “She wouldn’t harass me with it if she was soured on it from that,” he says. Her death. From her death. “She really did appreciate it. That… that someone would give her something made with their own hands, all the work and time put into it – I mean, the fae go both ways, the deadly grudges for petty things, but little favors end up meaning the world. And she…” He closes his eyes, now regretting saying this much. “Even if you just gave it to her because she’s pretty—”

“Hey!”

“—it really did mean a lot to her.”

Larry stares down at his hands. “Back – back with Elise,” he says quietly, uncomfortably quietly for Larry, “I gave her some of my paintings. Like Christmas, the only Christmas of course, just the one, and then she had me do portfolio pieces and hung onto some of those, and a couple others I just gave her and…”

He trails off.

“But those were – I mean, she was teaching me how to paint, so of course I’d – she’d expect of course—”

It wasn’t even been half a year that Larry was her student (and a witch). When Phoenix had asked him, after, after the dust had settled as much as it could yet, Larry said it was part of his attempts to turn his life back around after being fired as a security guard. October to February. Four months. (He said it felt longer and sometimes Phoenix wonders if he wasn’t just saying that but slipped into the Twilight Realm for parts of it. It could be either. They’ll never know.)

But he’d loved her as a mentor enough that when he mentions her, the smile still cracks off his face.

“No, I’m sure it meant that much to her, too,” Phoenix says softly.

Larry’s shoulders slump. He picks up his beer. “I think sometimes I don’t even know what she looked like,” he says. “What she really did, beneath the glamour. Or that – I mean, how little did I know her that I didn’t realize she wasn’t human until you told me? Been a year and I just—” He takes a long draught and then stares sadly at the empty bottle in his hand.

Somehow they just end up here, even when not meaning to, once the sun goes down and the city lights are all they have against the endless black sky. “Sometimes, with the stupid clock,” Phoenix says, looking not at Larry but at their abandoned game, “I’m busy working and then I swear it’s Mia’s voice telling me the time. That it’s not just her hitting the thing and it’s weird voice going, but it’s her. She’s talking to me.” He’s out of beer, too. He shouldn’t have another. “And then I sit there attentively waiting and waiting and then the next time it goes off, it’s just the clock’s voice.”

Larry’s bottle taps against the coffee table. “This is why you won’t take Edgy up on his offer for you to come live in Europe, huh?”

Phoenix looks up. “You know about that?”

“Don’t sound surprised! He and I talk sometimes! And sometimes we worry about you, because you’re an idiot!”

Being called an idiot by Larry, god forbid. Two fae, Elise and Kristoph, Fortune and Misfortune, one to Larry, one to Phoenix, and the world turned on its head.

“Not to uh, insult you too much, and definitely no offense to Miss Mia Fey” – Larry holds up his empty bottle like he’s toasting the office – “who’s a wonderful lady who has saved our asses many a time, but Nick, you’re like, married – figuratively, like Edgy’s married to his work – married to a ghost.”

“This is the last time I try to empathize with you about grief,” Phoenix grumbles.

“Dude, I said no offense!”

“To Mia. You wanted to insult me a little.” Phoenix shakes his head. “I mean, bold words about living for the dead from Laurice Deauxnim.”

“Nick,” Larry says bitterly. They’re getting close to yelling at each other again, a way they’ve only done a few times. “That’s different. A name I get to carry with me is different than burying myself in an office I can’t use because I’m not a lawyer anymore and have no talents other than winning poker games, and you do that at a place that isn’t your office!”

“Right,” Phoenix says. “So I’m just supposed to leave Mia behind, that’s it?”

“You think she can’t go with you?”

“I don’t know.” There’s so much he doesn’t know. He doesn’t even know how she’s stayed here. It doesn’t make sense with any kind of magic Maya knows, just like the way their mother allegedly spoke to the dead Gregory Edgeworth also doesn’t make any sense. And magic doesn’t have the strictest rules, especially not for the royals, but it has limitations and they thought death was it. None of it makes sense and Phoenix is afraid if he questions it the spell will break. “I’d think she would have given me a sign if she could. She can probably move on, but…”

But then she’d be gone. She’d be gone and would the blessing blanketing the office go with her? Phoenix has watched, over the past year, a pale green mist slowly affix itself to Trucy and darken, looking like the way Maya described the blessing that surrounds Phoenix. Could that blessing, could Mia’s remaining presence, move with him, if he went to Europe with Edgeworth? He can’t take the chance, not with Death written on his chest, not when he could be forsaking the best chance Trucy has to survive him. He can’t gamble on Trucy’s life. She doesn’t deserve to have been caught up in this. The very least she deserves is the assurance of Mia’s protection.

Larry sighs and shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I know Mia meant – means – a lot to you – like I keep comparing her in my head to me and Elise but I know it’s way more than that – but also, dude, I hate seeing you like this. I feel like I’m watching you become a ghost.”

He can’t muster up anger anymore, not if Larry’s saying that, not when he’s thought the same, not when he less and less feels like picking up a razor and more and more feels surprised by how tired the face in the mirror looks. “I might take Edgeworth up on the offer for short trips, at some point,” he says, knowing that he’s avoiding Larry’s main point because he has no evidence to refute it. “Once Trucy’s more settled in here so that she’s not totally thrown when I drag her off to Europe for a couple weeks.” And once he’s in a more secure place with Kristoph, that he can figure out what excuse to make for disappear. “I know I’m not gonna be able to show her the world, so hey, if Edgeworth’s buying the plane tickets…”

Larry laughs hollowly. “Guess that’s a start.” He glances to his beer bottle and again appears surprised that it’s already empty. “Like I’m worried about your finances for the kid’s sake but shit, dude, I’d be worried as hell about your sake if you didn’t have her around.”

“She’s a good kid,” Phoenix says.

“And she’s someone you can’t push away.” Larry raises an eyebrow at Phoenix’s surprised look. “What, you think I don’t notice you do that? Like in cycles, after Edgy, uh, disappeared, and then after you lost your badge, and I think some times in between but those are the big ones, you just try and like, be more of a dick and stop talking so we’ll hate you and stop checking in on you. It’s not gonna work by the way, I’ve figured you out.”

“Surprisingly perceptive,” Phoenix says. It’s probably harsher than he meant it.

“I’m a writer,” Larry says. “I’ve gotta figure out empathizing with people if I want to write good characters!”

“You write children’s books.”

“And you’ve only been reading bad children’s literature with your daughter, apparently. I’ll get you my list of recommendations.”

“Will that consist solely of yours and Elise’s books?”

“Not solely.” Larry does not have the audacity to look ashamed. “But in large part.”

Phoenix snorts.

“You can stop doing that, y’know,” Larry adds. “You could like, talk to people. I’m sure Edgy can help with this badge thing. He’s already been looking into the littler Gavin.”

Larry apparently really does talk to Edgeworth, if he knows that. Phoenix frowns. “I told him to stop doing that.”

“He’s worries about you, dude, what can I say? And you’re not giving any hints on what you think happened with that evidence.”

“That’s the idea,” Phoenix says.

“Yeah, see, the pushing thing, like this, you do.” Larry sinks back into the couch. “Could you not?”

“No,” Phoenix says.

“I am gonna hit you with this bottle.”

“You try that.”

Larry pantomimes swinging it like a baseball bat. Phoenix wonders if that’s the most effective way to use a beer bottle as a weapon. “I’m gonna. Try and push me away now, motherfucker, I’ve got a – isn’t there a word for when you break off the bottom of the bottle and make it sharp? Like a shiv but a bottle, or wait, a shank is the makeshift one—?”

“That’s not children’s book vocabulary,” Phoenix says. Larry is still looking at him, somewhere between smug and determined, and Phoenix adds bitterly, “You want to know what’s nice about Mia compared to the rest of you?” He fan watch Larry’s expression collapse from mock anger to real pain. “At least her, I can’t get her killed again.”

“Yo, Nick, seriously, this is why we worry about you.” And it’s concern settled firmly now across Larry’s features. “‘Cause you say things like you don’t realize how fucked up they are.”

Phoenix rubs his hand across his eyes. Spoken stupid in exhaustion and frustration, and now he’s paying for it. “And forget I said that.”

“I will not.”

“I think the time is twelve-thirty.”

It’s still the clock’s voice.

“I guess Mia does really want us to have good sleeping habits,” Phoenix says.

“Probably mostly you,” Larry says. “Like once you’re saying things like this, the existential guilt and dread o’clock, that’s when I like to sleep for about a year.”

“We’ve still got a game to finish, at least,” Phoenix says. He glances over the cards. A game for him to lose, more like.

“Yo, yeah,” Larry says. “I was kicking your ass, right, because I’m also right in our arguments and I’m winning overall and that means that you need to talk to people more.” He picks up his hand of cards and surveys the table again.

“Then I’m gonna say right now we’re doing best seven out of nine,” Phoenix says. He’s been kicking the number up all night. Larry laughs.

“I think the time is twelve-thirty-one.”

“Duly noted, Chief.”

[farafeys]

instant karma

my third, most recent fic (written as a comic on dl-6 day adapted to prose the day after), and the beginning of an au i’m currently VERY focused on haha

Characters: Gregory Edgeworth, Miles Edgeworth, Manfred von Karma, Blaise Debeste, Raymond Shields, Bonnie Young, Franziska von Karma, and Sebastian Debeste, mentions of various other investigations characters

2,242 words; no romantic relationships; spoilers for aa1/turnabout goodbyes, spoilers for investigations 2 specifically the backstory mentioned in the inherited turnabout/aai2.4; not-super-graphic violence but violence nonetheless

on december 28, 2001, gregory and miles edgeworth go home safe and sound. about a year later, von karma finds his revenge in a different way. 

(link to ao3; fic under cut)

December 28, 2001

District Court 7:00 PM

The long long trial had finally reached an end. Miles could still hear the old judge declaring Mr. Masters guilty as he and his father walked into the elevator to go home.

Mr. Masters wasn't guilty. He knew, because his father said he didn't kill anyone, and he even proved that that mean loud old prosecutor man had forced Mr. Masters to say he did it. It was infuriating. His father had taken the loss with grace, elegantly accepting the unfair, incorrect verdict.

Miles glanced up at his father. He didn't look upset, his usual strong gaze watching the floor numbers tick lower on the elevator display. Miles watched it too, trying to mimic his stoic expression.

Then in an instant everything changed.

he couldn't see everything was dark

the elevator LURCHED        they stopped moving

he heard a yell that wasn't his father was it that man with the official-looking hat he'd forgotten he was there

what was going on—

And the lights turned back on.

They flickered, then stayed constant as the elevator smoothly began its descent again.

Miles found that he was clutching his father's arm. He felt somewhat embarrassed; it had only been a second or two, and he was too old for such things.

Gregory placed a strong hand on Miles’ shoulder. If he was frazzled by that incident, his face didn't show it. With a small smile, he asked, “Are you alright, Miles?”

He glanced between the ceiling lights and his father's kind face. “Y-yes, the light just— just went out, Father.”

The security guard sharing the elevator with them leveled a neutral look at the father and son. He seemed to be breathing almost as heavily as Miles.

Gregory squeezed his son's shoulder. “I know, dear, it's all alright. That was frightening, though, wasn't it?”

Miles nodded solemnly.

After several seconds of quiet, there was a gentle ding. The elevator doors opened onto the ground floor and the occupants all made their ways home.

About three minutes later, the same elevator let out a man holding an expensive cane, wearing expensive clothes, and thinking livid things.

January 15, 2003

Criminal Affairs Department- Morgue 2:00 PM

A simple slip of the tongue, a moment of forgetfulness, the vaguest implication, and multiple lives were instantly in danger.

Dr. Bonnie Young flinched as the tall man on the other side of the table roared, “FORGED? ”

“Did I hear you correctly, woman!?” Her face soured and she steeled herself against the cold eyes of the veteran prosecutor.

“I don't know what you're impl-”

von Karma cut her off, “Dover's autopsy was doctored and I was not informed.” His nostrils flared. Unflattering, she thought. “Correct?”

Dr. Young's denial stuck in her throat. Failure to keep the secret could easily cost her life but in the face of such an accurate deduction the lie she had prepared evaporated.

Too enraged to give her time to improvise, von Karma turned on his heel. “Enough.” He said nothing else as he strode out of the morgue, slamming the exterior door.

January 15

Chief Prosecutor's Office 2:30 PM

Blaise DeBeste was infuriatingly unruffled as von Karma burst into his office as if he were trying to tear the doors off their hinges. It was even more so as he leveled heated, snide accusations of his meddling in the Masters case.

The Chief leaned his cheek into his hand, grinning.

“REALLY, I got no clue what yer talkin’ bout, Manny. Are ya implying I'm at fault for that penalty last year?” His hands flapped lazily in rhythm with his words.

DeBeste reached up to adjust his ugly driving goggles. “Ohh, just the idea brings tears to m-”

“Do not condescend to me, DeBeste,” von Karma hissed. He leaned over onto the desk, getting into the other's space. By chance, his right hand brushed over a custom-made letter opener; the handle was custom engraved with a favorite phrase of Blaise's, 'previligium fori ’.

Manfred von Karma was not aware of this engraving. He was barely aware that there was an object in his hand, let alone a lethal one, as he gripped it unconsciously, fingers clenching as a means of sweating out desperate rage.

DeBeste, however, did notice this. His eyes narrowed, watching his hand as the other continued, “No one fools Manfred von Karma.” He was leaning far enough over the desk that spit flecked Debeste's face with every consonant.

DeBeste leaned back in his expensive swivel chair, glanced at the hand holding the letter opener, and took his favorite cigarette lighter out of his pocket.

“... Are ya threatening me, Manny? Cute.” He flicked the fire on and off, speaking to von Karma but not looking at him.

“What exactly are ya gonna do to the Chief, huh?” He glanced up once to smirk at von Karma's contorted expression. “Unless you wanna disappear?”

Several seconds of silence other than the subtle flick - whoosh - flicks of the lighter.

von Karma by now recognized that he was brandishing a small knife, and the idea of a simple and quick out to this problem was very enticing. He held onto perspective, the knowledge that they were in the Prosecutor's Office and that this man was more indestructible than even he himself, for a tense and chafing while.

The threat hanging in the air, inflamed by the nonchalant arrogance of its creator, felt like a string stretched taut over a quivering knife.

Somehow, something in the mind of that enraged man snapped.

In less than a minute’s time, Blaise DeBeste's assistant ran into the room at the sound of a pained shout. In less than ten minutes’ time, Manfred von Karma was handcuffed after being caught by a perfect witness with perfect evidence. In less than ten seconds’ time, and for the next five hours until all the evidence was documented, Blaise DeBeste's custom-made letter opener was lodged 4 inches into his heart, only previlig- visible over his bloodied chest.

January 15

Detention Center 7:30 PM

Ray stood nervous outside the visiting room door. He usually accompanied Mr. Edgeworth while talking to potential clients, but he had said that this visit was more a courtesy than anything, and he doubted they'd actually be hired. Knowing what he did about the man in question, Ray was glad both that they wouldn't be working with him and that he wasn't a part of this current conversation. Still, he was anxious for his mentor.

Inside, Gregory Edgeworth was enduring an unpleasant but, he thought, necessary conversation.

On the other side of the safety glass, Manfred von Karma sneered at him. “Don't make me laugh.”

His arms were crossed haughtily. “Defend me? Why not just spit in my face, Edgeworth?”

Gregory sighed and ran a thumb along his hat where it rested on the sill below the glass.

“Does the possibility of the death penalty not worry you?” von Karma's eyes flicked from his face to his extended arm. His glare deepened. “Everyone deserves an attorney, even you, Prosecutor von Karma.”

Gregory waited several seconds while the other glared at him, almost searchingly. Perhaps his words actually got through to him?

von Karma swallowed, then huffed a contemptuous sigh. “Leave now.”

His tone allowed no argument. Gregory stood, retrieved his hat, and bid the murderer farewell with a small nod.

January 16

District Court: Courtroom no. Three  10:21 AM

It was not a long trial. It made sense, what with how perfectly decisive the evidence was. The prosecutor called Dr. Young to explain the forgery of Isaac Dover's autopsy report, the subsequent reveal of which enraged von Karma to the point of attacking the man responsible for it. A perfectly precise motive.

Less than an hour and a half after the trial opened, with only three witnesses, the judge was ready to declare a verdict. There was no objection from the defense, as von Karma had refused the public defender offered to him, and had remained silent, glowering in the defendant's chair, the entire morning.

Despite how one-sided and clear-cut the proceedings had been, there was a tense anticipation in the moments before the verdict was called. As the judge's booming voice called out, “Guilty,” something just too sour to be relief filled the courtroom air.

Gregory and Raymond sat in the gallery a few moments past the time the rest of the audience had begun to make their way out. Just the two of them had come together, even though Katie Hall and Miles had both expressed strong interest in seeing the trial (Kate had a performance she couldn't cancel, although she asked Ray over the phone to tell her about the trial later; Gregory refused to let his son meet Manfred von Karma again, even at his murder trial, and even besides that pointed out that it was a school day.).

Just as the two of them got through the lobby into the main atrium of the courthouse, there was a quick tapping sound behind them, then a gentle hand on Gregory's shoulder.

“Excuse me, Mr. Edgeworth?”

“Hmm?” Gregory turned around. The person who had stopped him, her hand now again at her side, was the prosecutor who had just convicted von Karma, Ms. Werther.

She spoke again, “You were the lawyer that got a penalty against him, right?”

Gregory assumed that she meant von Karma. He nodded. Raymond hovered behind him, watching over his shoulder.

Prosecutor Werther smiled a bit and jiggled the papers in her hand. The wind from it ruffled her impressively large ascot and coiffed white hair.

“There's been an issue no one at the Prosecutor's Office could help me resolve. Both von Karma and DeBeste had small children- a three year old girl and a very little baby boy, just over a year.” Her glasses were too thick to see her eyes and her posture was neutral, but a tremble in her typically steady voice betrayed strong feeling.

“None of us want them to go into the foster care system, especially not when they're fathers were our co-workers (...however corrupt). But they don't seem to have willing relatives.”

“But!” her voice got several shades brighter, “I remembered that your son observes your trials! I've met him during recesses, he's a very polite child. I thought, since you're a parent and already connected to the case, you might know what to do.”

Ray looked between the two lawyers. It was a little odd hearing this lady ask his mentor for advice about kids, especially since she looked quite a bit older than Mr. Edgeworth. Her hair reminded Ray of his grandma.

Prosecutor Werther cleared her throat. “Regardless, do you have any advice about these children?”

Gregory stayed quiet a few moments, his hand on his chin. “Prosecutor Werther,” he began. “... What are these children's names?”

January 15

County Social Security Office  6:57 PM

“That's the last of the paperwork! All the best to your family!” The man behind the agency desk gave Gregory a tired smile and handed him carbon copies of the documents.

“Thank you,” Gregory replied, doing the best he could to give a farewell nod at the same time as tucking away the papers with the sleeping Sebastian in his arms.

As far as adoptions go, Gregory may have set a record for speed. Thanks to the thorough work of Prosecutor Werther, gaining the official approval of a judge for Gregory to take in both Franziska and Sebastian was very much painless. Most of the day had been spent speaking with the children themselves (who were not in attendance of the trial but had been supervised at the courthouse during it), then dealing with the many and varied tedious kinds of paperwork. The whole process would have taken much longer without Werther's help in the groundwork and legal aspects, and Raymond's youthful energy and support, as well as his attempts to entertain a stressed, bored three year old girl.

As Ray saw Mr. Edgeworth returning from the desk to the waiting room, he sprung up from his chair and offered Franziska a piggyback ride. After some barbed questions and several tiny slaps to his arm, she agreed and was on his back by the time her new father was ready to leave.

They made their way to Gregory's car. He had offered to drive Raymond home that morning well before all this, and reiterated it several times over the afternoon. He felt no need to repeat it again now.

“...Thank you for helping me all day, Raymond, it was entirely above and beyond the expectations of your position.”

Ray laughed and hopped a little to keep Franziska from sliding down his back. She whined tiredly but said nothing. “ 'Course, Mr. Edgeworth! Ha, Miles is in for a big surprise in a bit, isn't he?”

Gregory internally winced for a moment. Aside from not yet telling his son about this significant change to their lives, he hadn't called him after being out all day. It wasn't unusual for him to be out late and Miles was both very capable and used to this, but it still weighed on Gregory's mind. He certainly wouldn't be able to try that trick anymore; he well remembered how much attention toddlers need, not to mention a 16-month old like Sebastian. Perhaps he'd be spending more time at home with Miles now.

“... Yes. A good surprise, I hope.”

[trans-maedhros]

)Faves that don’t fit( )Tolkien( )Yuri!!! on Ice(

These are some of the great Ace Attorney fics out there♥

☆ - Not complete |  ★ - Complete 

★ The Art of Bluffing by @metatronis 

Narumitsu fake relationship fic, where they eventually get together, but it’s painful to read the pining. Like, good painful. Anyway. 

(This fic is great, and one of the fics I occasionally reread♥) 

★ Blue Eyes by TianShan 

Narumitsu. 

Naruhoudo Ryuuichi is the merchant son of a tea salesman, ostracized due to his blue eyes. Mitsurugi Reiji, a samurai, comes to shop the wares. Edo period, so hakama, swords, tatami, and bushido abound. 

(I’m always up for historical AU’s)

★ The Coffee Prince by Dienamic 

Narumitsu, Klapollo and LanaMia. 

Coffeeshop AU. (Stylistically it’s labeled with numbers for each scene written. I’ve reread this several times. It’s funny, cute and an all around nice fic.)

★ Damn It All by phoenix_risen 

Angel/Demon AU. This is hilarious tbh.

★ The Death of King Arthur by @lemonmintcoughdrops 

Narumitsu, FranMaya, LanaMia. 

When Phoenix Wright was nine years old, a boy named Miles rescued him from corrupt city guards and bought him a book. Ten years later, Phoenix meets that same boy while working as a servant in the king's castle. Only difference? Now Miles is crowned prince of the land, and he's very different from how Phoenix remembered him. 

(I stayed up until 4 am to finish reading this fic. One of the few 1st person fics I genuinely like. It deserves, like, five hearts. ♥♥♥♥♥)

★ Double Shots by kiyala 

Narumitsu. 

Coffeeshop AU. Miles Edgeworth, a defense attorney, gets his morning coffee from same café every morning. One day, he begins to notice that Phoenix, the barista, has extremely nice hands.

★ Everything Depends Upon How Near You Sit to Me by @dontkillbirds 

Narumitsu. 

Trucy is at a sleepover. With BOYS. Miles comes over to comfort a distressed Phoenix. 

(It’s a very sweet fic. All the kudos for ace and bi inclusion♥)

☆ Of Fake Fairytales and Faux Amour by @offafa (or LyricalRawr and ShivaSan) 

Narumitsu. 

Miles desperately needs a way to get rid of an unwanted admirer, and what better way is there than to pretend to date his very male, straight best friend and rival? It sounded so foolproof in his head... 

(I love this, and I’m waiting sort-of patiently on chapter 17.)

★ Flirting by TrinesRUs 

Klapollo. 

Klavier has this way of looking at Apollo, leaning down with his head slightly tilted and a soft smile on his lips. It's just another way of mocking him. It has to be.

★ A Haunted House by @chicago-poet 

Klapollo, Narumitsu. 

Apollo's house is visited by ghosts. Somehow, this is the least of his worries.

★ The Heart in the Hearth by @organicgold 

Narumitsu.  

Although it had so much love to give, Phoenix knew he had to be careful with his heart. 

(If a work includes ace characters, there’s a decent chance of me having read it. Also, this is cute♥)

★ Hot for Justice by @ikiiceland 

Klapollo

After the events of State v. Misham, Klavier finds himself in a slump, stressed at the prosecutor's office and unable to pen new songs. To his surprise, he finds creative inspiration—and unexpected feelings—spending time with Apollo and is able to write and record plenty of new material. Now if only he could release the new tracks without raising any suspicion as to whom his love songs are for.

(Red velvet cake. Also, I’ve reread this like 5 times)

★ i wanna hold your hand by apollosjustice

Klapollo

The Voice AU where Apollo Justice is a contestant and Klavier Gavin is a judge- and they're both talented idiots in love.

★ Landslide by @przeuszczski​ 

Narumitsu

When Klavier invites his co-librarian, Edgeworth, to a New Year's Eve party, the only reason that Miles agrees might have something to do with the theater major making a cameo in the Gavinners. 

(I cry every time)

★ Legal Partners by  Miggy

Narumitsu, Klapollo, Klema

Miles Edgeworth isn't totally sure how he ended up in this bet to demonstrate the strength of his and Phoenix Wright's (entirely professional and platonic! really!) relationship, but he knows it's Klavier's fault.

(Just, Klavier, no. But also misunderstandings. I’ve reread this.)

☆ Like Planets by Loreley

Klapollo, Narumitsu

Coffeeshop!AU

(space and coffeeshops are two of my favourite things)

☆ Klapollo Roadtrip AU by @popsicleofdeath and sleepcalls

Klapollo

Various stories revolving basicly around Klavier and Apollo stuck in a car together for an unspecified amount of time. Some angst. Some fluff. Some smut. Some of everything.

(Apollo is trans♥ Mentions of past abusive relationship and transphobia. I love this series because it’s so real and honest., and at times painful.)

★ The Man in Daddy’s Photo by Runawynd

Narumitsu

There's this picture by daddy's nightstand. A picture of daddy and some other guy. My daddy was wearing a suit and had his hair all nice and spikey like he used to. Like back when he was a defense attorney; before his job was taken away.

☆ NaruMitsu Fairy Tales by Tarma_Hartley

Narumitsu

Basically a fairy-tale AU, where Miles is an Emperor, and Phoenix is a Phoenix.

★ Only If For a Night by Jayveedee

FranMaya

She was there, all pink and gold and glittering

★ Phoenix by @fdwrites​

Narumitsu

Was he… that Phoenix?

(Soulmate AU)

★ School Daze by @nerdyskeleton​

Narumitsu, Klapollo

They say being a teacher is one of the most rewarding things you can do with your life. New art teacher Phoenix Wright isn't sure who "they" are and what kind of angelic students they must have had, because the Themis Middle School students are really something else altogether.

(This is so good?? But I haven’t had time to finish it yet:(((()

★ Tie A Ribbon ‘Round the Old Oak Tree by @awkwardnesstotherescue​

Narumitsu, LanaMia

It's been over a decade since Miles Edgeworth has left his hometown. In between trying to keep track of what's changed and what hasn't, he has to prepare for his arranged wedding to Mia Fey. But there's dark secrets hidden within the town, secrets surrounding both his family and his engagement.

Of course, due to a mishap, he ends up accidentally marrying one of these secrets. That's just his luck.

(Corpsebride AU)

★ Words, Words, Words by @littlebutfiery

Narumitsu

Soulmate AU. Everyone is born with a tattoo of the first words said after their soulmate realizes their love. Phoenix and Edgeworth have spent their lives feeling ashamed of the cruel words on their soulmate tattoos, until the day they finally hear the other person say the words.

★ Working in Watercolours by @milesphoenix

Narumitsu

In his university years, Phoenix goes on a school trip to Europe to study art and art history abroad. But for Phoenix, the trip is about more than discovering Monet's inspiration; it's about finding someone he hasn't seen since his childhood.

☆ Yesterday Upon the Stair AU by @leonawriter

Narumitsu

It started with a glimpse of spiky hair in the library, and then by not-so coincidentally being outside just the right courtroom at the right time, and things start to slip from there.

★ You and Me and My Ghost Roommate Makes Three by @chicago-poet

Miles Edgeworth has a ghost problem. Well, he has a lot of problems. But his apartment isn’t haunted. If you asked, he would look at you sourly as if you had told a particular distasteful joke and say: “No, of course not. The windows have always rattled ominously, and only sometimes do my tea cups float by themselves. It happens to everyone.”

[reaganwarren]

A/N: Custody Battle AU. 

Clay and Apollo returned with the bailiff. Clay sat in his new seat, and Apollo took the chair at the witness stand. He hung his head, dejected, and stared at the new paper with math problems on it. 

The bailiff went to Judge Courtney and whispered something to her. She nodded her head, then banged her gavel on the podium. 

“Please stand, Mr. Justice.” 

Apollo did as asked, head still bowed. 

“Mr. Justice, would you like to testify about your math skills instead of taking a test to prove them?” 

“… Yes, Your Honor.” 

Apollo lifted his head to actually look at her now. 

“Then please, tell the court about your learning before you joined Troupe Gramarye and how it changed, if at all, with Troupe Gramarye.” 

“Yes, Your Honor…. I’ve always been bad at math. As a result, I don’t like it much, and I avoid it whenever possible. I do find science interesting, but once math gets involved, it’s … difficult. I really don’t think Mr. Enigmar could do much to help with that or make it any worse…. But I’m very good at a lot of other things! I have a big vocabulary because I do a lot of reading - in our free time, Trucy likes it when I read to her and teach her new, big words she doesn’t know. And Nayuta and I grew up reading Dhurke’s law books. And I really like learning Arabic and Hebrew and Latin with Grandpa. Grandpa’s been teaching me a lot about our family history and how it fits into world history and all that. And when our troupe was in England, I got a lot of practice with puzzles thanks to this archaeology professor we met. I got a lot of book recommendations from him and a lot of different puzzles for me and Trucy to work on when we’re not doing school work or doing magic shows. Logic puzzles, y’know? Anyway, I really, really have learned a lot in the year and a half I’ve been with Grandpa! It’s just … not math.” 

Judge Courtney thought about his testimony for a moment, then smiled at him. 

“Then do not worry about being tested on it here. While youth should be well-rounded, everyone does have their own strengths and weaknesses. Have you ever been tested for a learning disability, Mr. Justice?” 

“No, Your Honor.” 

“Then Mr. Edgeworth has no evidence that any failing math grade is without a doubt the result of Mr. Enigmar’s tutelage. Making it not decisive evidence. Since it is causing you undue distress, we will cease the math testing.” 

“R-Really?” 

“Yes, really, Mr. Justice.” 

Apollo let out a relieved sigh, then broke out into a grin. 

“Th-thank you, Your Honor!” 

“Now, while we have not come to any conclusion as of yet, I am fully aware that lunch time has arrived,” Judge Courtney said. 

“Good, ‘cause I’m starving!” Trucy interjected. 

“Trucy, shhh,” Zak gently scolded. 

Judge Courtney kept her serene smile on her face. 

“My point exactly.” 

“Your Honor, is it at all possible to resume the trial after lunch? I am fully prepared to make my next argument in favor of Mr. Sahdmadhi,” Edgeworth said. 

“Is that all right with the defense?” 

Phoenix turned to talk to Magnifi for a moment, and they muttered to each other. Then Phoenix turned towards Judge Courtney and nodded. 

“Yes it is, Your Honor,” Phoenix said. 

“Then we shall have an hour-long recess and resume afterwards. Then Mr. Edgeworth will present his next case.” 

Judge Courtney banged her gavel. 

Trucy ran up to Apollo and grabbed onto his arm. 

“You and your friend did such a good job on the costumes! How’d you make your faces look so much alike in just ten minutes!? You gotta teach me how to do that! And when’d you get the wig!?” 

Clay didn’t bother to walk around the benches to get down to where Apollo and Trucy were. He simply jumped down and walked over. 

“So this is the little sister you kept telling me about,” Clay said, smiling at Apollo. 

“Yeah. Trucy, this is my other best friend, Clay Terran. He’s gonna be an astronaut.” 

Maximillion Galactica walked down from the gallery, Regina following, but Max walked up to Apollo, Trucy, and Clay while Regina hurried to Maya’s side. 

“That was quite the skill you showed, young man! I suppose Troupe Gramarye does have some talent,” Maximillion Galactica said. 

“Uh… Who’re you?” Apollo asked. 

“Why, I’m the great Maximillion Galactica of Big Berry Circus!” 

“… O…kay.” Apollo leaned towards Trucy. “Do you know who he is?” 

“No idea!” Trucy said. 

Clay shrugged. 

“I won first place at the Magician Grand Prix two years in a row!” Max said. “As magicians, you must have heard of me!” 

“Nope,” Valant said. 

“Can’t say we have,” Zak said, smirking. “Isn’t the Magician Grand Prix that thing Magnifi won decades in a row?” 

“Ah yes, that it is! He stopped attending the victory ceremony years ago and would send one of us in his place! I honestly thought the organization providing the prize had disbanded when we never heard from them again,” Valant said. 

“N-no way!” Max whined, looking incredibly disappointed. 

Phoenix sighed, coming to terms with the fact that on his side of the courtroom, it was nothing but magicians and performers. 

To Phoenix’s other side, Regina was clinging to Maya’s arm. 

“It looks like you and Mr. Wright might win!” Regina said. 

“Well, there’s no telling. It’s really strange that we haven’t had a hard time proving our case…. Like, really weird. Kinda suspicious, actually. I wonder what Mr. Edgeworth’s next move is gonna be…. Hey, let’s go get burgers at the burger joint next door!” 

“That sounds delicious. And I’ll have fun cleaning up your face when you get too much ketchup on your face.” 

“Regina!” 

Maya blushed, and Regina laughed and led the way, pulling Maya gently. 

Phoenix sighed. 

“There’s a sandwich shop and bakery across the street. Everything else is a bit too far of a walk,” he told Troupe Gramarye. 

There was the sound of the scuff of a shoe, and Phoenix looked up to see that Nayuta had approached Apollo. Hands behind his back, he stayed standing just far enough to not invade a personal space bubble. He looked nervous. 

“… Apollo. Could you … eat with us, please?” Nayuta asked. 

Apollo didn’t answer right away. He looked from Nayuta, to Dhurke, to Trucy, then to Magnifi. 

Magnifi took a deep breath. 

“I don’t see why we can’t all eat together. This may be the last time you’ll see them for a while. The tour here in Japanifornia is only a few months long, after all.” 

Edgeworth and Phoenix walked with them, not really having any where else to eat anyway and wanting to keep an eye on everyone involved. It wouldn’t do to have a situation where the focus of the case ended up being kidnapped by either side. 

The meal together was … awkward, but they were also joined by Aura, Solomon Starbuck, and Clay. And the kids seemed to be enjoying themselves. Clay and Trucy seemed to know just how to get Apollo’s and Nayuta’s minds off of the case, and once they started talking about space, Aura and Solomon had a lot to contribute. 

The adults were mostly silent, Phoenix and Edgeworth doing a lot of staring at the men present. 

Then Magnifi started having a coughing fit. It started small, then built up until Magnifi was pushing his chair away, covering his mouth with a napkin, and leaning over and away from the table, trying to cough effectively enough so that he wouldn’t have to cough anymore. 

“G-Grandpa?” Apollo said, moving to get up. 

Magnifi held up his hand, and for a moment, Apollo listened, but then he got up and moved to put a hand on Magnifi’s back to help keep him steady. Eventually, Magnifi stopped and took a moment to either spit what he had coughed up into the napkin or to wipe his mouth, then wadded the napkin up in his hand. 

“I’m all right, Apollo. Please go back to your seat.” 

Apollo however didn’t move from where he stood. Magnifi slowly moved his eyes to meet Apollo’s. 

“Did you check your blood sugar levels?” Apollo asked. 

“… I had not yet, no.” 

“I’ll see if they have bottled juice at the counter,” Apollo said. 

“Apollo -” Magnifi started, but the teenager was already halfway there and taking his wallet out. 

Magnifi simply sighed. 

“He may be wearing my suit, but he’s much like both his parents,” Magnifi said. 

“Suit? popped out of Dhurke’s mouth before he could consider whether talking to the man trying to take his son away was a good idea. 

“The symbol. Spades,” Magnifi clarified. 

“He certainly does have Jove’s stubbornness, doesn’t he?” Valant remarked. 

Zak merely grunted and continued to eat his sandwich. 

“… Wait, you guys knew his dad?” Clay asked. 

Magnifi snorted. 

“As though I wouldn’t know who my daughter’s first husband had been. The only reason they ever met was because I approved him to be our opening act once upon a time….” Magnifi answered, keeping the napkin tight in his curled-up fist. 

“… Did you not like Jove, Mr. Gramarye?” Dhurke asked. 

“You don’t have to answer that,” Phoenix said. 

“I’m aware, Mr. Wright,” Magnifi said. 

His eyes were on Apollo at the cash register, watching him exchange cash for a few bottles of juice, different flavors. 

“Trucy, be sure to thank your brother,” Magnifi said. 

“Huh?” Trucy said, looking up from the chips on her plate. 

Apollo returned to the table with not just orange juice for Magnifi, but also an apple juice for Trucy. 

“Yay! My favorite! Thank you, Polly!” 

Apollo smiled, then tossed a bottle of green tea at Nayuta. Nayuta caught it, despite being surprised to have it lobbed towards his head. 

“Ah - ! Thank you,” Nayuta said. 

“Don’t mention it.” 

Lunch ended soon after that, and they all returned to the courtroom. Maya and Regina weren’t late, but they returned a few minutes later than the rest of them. Phoenix rolled his eyes when he noticed Regina’s lipstick smudged against Maya’s neck. He didn’t say anything about it, though. 

Judge Courtney re-entered the courtroom and took her seat at the podium once more. Clay was sitting alone, closest to Judge Courtney’s podium, once again, assuming that was still required of him. (Which it was; it was a good assumption on Clay’s part.) 

She banged her gavel and resumed the court proceedings. 

“Now, Mr. Edgeworth, you said you had one more case to make against Troupe Gramarye?” Judge Courtney said. 

“Yes, I do. I’d like to present a very important witness,” Edgeworth said. “He’s waiting to be called in from the plaintiff lobby. Bailiff, if you could tell him to come in now.” 

It took a few moments, but in through the courtroom doors entered a man in a quite suit with a white fedora hat and sunglasses. 

“I present to you, Mr. Roger Retinez,” Edgeworth said. 

“Pleasure to meet the court, Your Honor,” Retinez said, stepping up to the witness stand. 

Zak, Valant, Magnifi, Phoenix, Trucy, and Apollo just stared at him. 

“… What does he have anything to do with this civil case?” Magnifi asked. “I have never met this man in my life.” 

“Me neither,” Zak said. 

“Alas, neither have I,” Valant said. 

“Heh. I figured you wouldn’t recognize me dressed like this. Behold!” Retinez said. 

He took a smoke bomb from the inside of his suit jacket, then threw it to the courtroom floor. A series of coughing bubbled as the smoke went everywhere. Then, as it died down, it looked like someone completely different was standing there. 

“It is I, Mr. Reus!” Retinez said. “Though that isn’t my legal name anymore. Now I go by Roger Retinez!” 

“Ohhh! Reus! Long time, no see!” Zak said. 

“Ugh, it’s you,” Magnifi grunted. 

“… Who is he?” Apollo and Trucy asked together. 

Reus’s shoulders slumped. 

“What do you mean, you don’t know who I am!? They didn’t tell you about me? Not even a little!?” 

“Nope,” Apollo and Trucy said in unison, Trucy with a little smile. 

Mr. Reus groaned. 

“I used to be part of the troupe! Before Magnifi kicked me out. I performed with your mom! Even after she came back from that weird third world country!” 

“Khura’in is not ‘weird’!” Nayuta protested from the plaintiff bench. 

Mr. Reus ignored Nayuta, though, as he took a closer look at Apollo’s magician outfit. 

“… Are you fucking kidding me?” Mr. Reus said. 

“M-Mr. Reus, please refrain from such language in front of a child!” Edgeworth said, gripping the desk for a moment. 

“It’s a perfectly appropriate reaction, have - have you seen what that kid’s wearing!? That’s the kid this whole civil case is about, right!? The one in the spades? He looks just like Jove, he has to be - fucking hell!” 

“Mr. Reus? What’s the matter?” Phoenix asked. 

“The spades! He’s wearing the spades! The spades are - are you telling me you all are having this damn trial without knowing something as basic as that!?” 

“Mr. Reus, I suggest you be quiet,” Magnifi said. 

“Oh, you do, do you? And how’re you gonna make me do that, huh? You got no power over me anymore, old man. You can’t make me do anything! And you two! Zak! Valant! You’re just letting him keep treating you like dogs even though he’s already made a decision?” 

“That’s none of your business, Reus,” Zak said, fists on his hips. Valant was avoiding eye contact with Reus. 

“What are you talking about, Mr. Reus? What’s the significance of the spades on Mr. Justice’s outfit?” Edgeworth asked. 

“I’ll tell you what it means! And no wonder Magnifi’s working so hard to keep him in the troupe! It means he’s the chosen one! If anything happens to Magnifi, he inherits everything! The money - and more importantly, the legal rights to his magic repertoire! Kid, are you even good at magic!?” 

Apollo hunched his shoulders, looking like he was shrinking the more Reus spoke. He didn’t respond. 

Judge Courtney banged her gavel and demanded that Reus get himself under control. 

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

the one where Trucy accidentally finds out

a fic I wrote start to finish today, based on this conversation yesterday and two very great comments from @anza-redstar and @runningwolf62​

--

It’s ten years, to the day, April 19, when Daddy and Uncle Miles come into the office with a box so big that Trucy has no idea how it fit into Uncle Miles’ sports car. “What is that?” she asks, tucking the book she was reading back onto the shelf so it doesn’t get lost in the mess, and scampering over to look at the box. “A new microwave?”

“No such luck, kiddo,” Daddy says. “We’re using this one until it explodes.”

Uncle Miles glowers, like he expects that the office microwave will indeed someday explode. (It’s not as old as Trucy, but it’s older than her time with Daddy. It’s older than his friendship with Aunt Maya. So is Charley. So are most of the things in the office that aren’t related to magic.) Then he fidgets, awkwardly -- Uncle Miles is a very awkward man, and when he isn’t in a courtroom or on a crime scene, most of his movements are awkward -- and holds his arm like it hurts, because that’s what he does when he’s uncomfortable enough to realize that he is being awkward. “These are items that the police held onto related to… to the case ten years ago. Your grandfather’s death.”

“Oh.”

“It’s mostly papers,” Uncle Miles continues, still awkward, and Trucy does him the favor of looking away from him and prying open the box. Whoever taped the top wasn’t trying very hard. “Anything the police hoped could help enlighten them on the case. Personally, I think it was unnecessary for them to seize all of this, but I was not on the case. I saw your parents’ wedding certificate, in there, for instance.”

“I wonder if this is where your birth certificate went,” Daddy says. “I had to pay a lot for a copy.”

Uncle Miles rolls his eyes. He almost smiles. Then the moment is gone and he is frowning. “Usually this wouldn’t be released for another five years -- the statute of limitations is fifteen years -- but considering that this case is… sort of solved, as best as it will ever be, I pulled a few strings.”

“Thanks for that, Edgeworth.”

There are two more smaller boxes inside the large box. Other papers are piled up haphazardly. It would give Uncle Miles a headache if he tried to sort through it for very long. At the top of the piles there is a small book that Trucy picks up and flips through. It’s handwritten -- a diary -- her grandfather’s handwriting, she recognizes from his book of tricks, the one that he left her father and he left her. She reads a page. Mundane, daily things. She’s glad for that. Life with the whole Troupe is fading from her memory, no matter how she tries to hold onto it. Maybe this will help refresh her memory. She flips through the pages and watches the words go by, until abruptly, the pages are blank. She runs her finger down the torn margin of a page. Something was ripped out, what might have been the last page.

She sets it aside. Daddy looks at it and his eyes widen. He looks a little sick.

“I don’t envy you having to decide what to keep,” Uncle Miles says. “Especially since you’re almost well-known enough to have cases, now.”

“Oh, come on.” Daddy shoves Uncle Miles in the shoulder. “One of these days, you’ve got to stop heckling me like I’m a newbie.”

“Hardly,” Uncle Miles says.

“Once I’ve had my badge again for as long as I did the first time, then you’ll be sorry.”

Trucy leaves them to argue and starts to shove the box out of the way. There’s almost a path clear enough on the floor for her to follow, and there’s space behind Polly’s desk for the box to sit. She picks up a stack of papers at random and plops them on the desk. There’s enough space on his desk and his chair for her to remove most of the loose papers from the box and get down to the other two, and a few folders. The first folder looks like insurance stuff. She gets up and walks over to Daddy’s desk and sets it down there. Hopefully it won’t disappear forever.

The smaller boxes look like they hold loose, non-paper memorabilia. Those will probably be the most fun to look through and so Trucy closes them and grabs some papers. She will save those as a treat for the end.

-

“Is that for a case?” Athena asks, absolute horror frozen on her face, stopped dead on the threshold. She would probably turn and sprint back through the office and out if Daddy weren’t standing right behind her.

He puts a hand on her shoulder to move her forward and aside. “Yep!” he says, cheerily.

Athena’s eyes are wide and she does not blink. She has not blinked for fifteen seconds. “You… you can take this one, Boss,” she says. “I’ve got, uh, another client, definitely -- Trucy looks like she’s got that covered as your co-counsel--”

“Athena. I’m kidding.”

The look she gives him, and then Trucy, is one of pure betrayal.

“It was from a case, a long time ago.” Daddy glances at Trucy, trying to gauge how much she’s okay with Athena knowing. Trucy shrugs. She likes Athena. She doesn’t care if Athena knows. She knows everything about Athena anyway. “When Trucy’s grandfather died, and when I adopted her.”

Died, not was killed, and while the latter is implied by it becoming a trial and a spectacle, Trucy always said died too because she never believed that either her father or Uncle Valant could ever have killed Grandfather. In her heart she knew that. And Daddy told her that was true, that Uncle Valant told him that was true.

Athena tilts her head. She must hear something. Trucy always knows if Daddy is lying but beyond that he is hard to read and that’s why he’s so good at poker. Athena has a better time figuring out what he is feeling. Sometimes Trucy asks her. “You had me scared for a minute there, Boss,” Athena says.

Trucy turns back to her papers, Athena sits down at her desk, and they both work in silence for a little while. Athena isn’t good at sitting still and eventually she is up on her feet, bouncing around the room to burn off some extra energy. “Anything interesting?” she asks.

“I’m looking at the boring stuff first,” Trucy replies. It isn’t boring, actually, not in her opinion. She’s a magician and a businesswoman and she knows now where she got it, her grandfather’s meticulous financial record-keeping. Maybe the police kept it because they thought he owed money to someone and that was why he was shot. There could be lots of reasons.

“Huh.” Athena stoops to examine the inside of the box and reaches in to poke at something. “Oh, boxes within boxes. Fun. That’s -- hey, who’s this?”

Trucy looks up. Athena is holding a small and rectangular page, a photo, examining it curiously. She must have pulled it out of one of the other boxes; Trucy doesn’t remember anything left lying in the bottom. “Let me see,” she says, extending a hand.

She knows the woman in the picture not by memory, but by the old Troupe memorabilia that she keeps carefully framed up on her walls, because she didn’t have photos her family together -- maybe this is where they all went -- and that was the best thing she had to remember all of them at once, Grandfather and Mommy and Daddy and Uncle Valant, because one was gone and then the other three were in quick succession. Athena should probably recognize her as well. She’s seen the old posters. “That’s my mom,” Trucy says.

Thalassa looks young, really young. How old was she when she had Trucy? How old was she when she disappeared? (Not died, because Trucy knows that disappeared can be a euphemism to shelter a little girl, but she also knows otherwise in her heart the way she knew that neither her father nor Uncle Valant killer her grandfather, and the way she knew that her father was only disappeared, not dead, until he was.) In the photo, she is more relaxed, posed naturally, than the posters, without any of the magician’s trappings. She has a smile like the sun, as bright as the bangle bracelets she has.

“Oh,” Athena says. Moms are a fraught subject for so many of them, Trucy (disappeared), Athena (dead), Apollo (gone), Pearl (jailed), Maya (dead).

“I don’t really remember her,” Trucy says. She turns the photo over in her hands looking for a date and finds the back is blank. “She’s been gone most of my life.” She avoids dead again, the way Daddy avoided was killed about her grandfather. “She was a magician. The brooch I have was hers. Blue was her color, too.”

“Oh, really?” Athena sits on the floor. She probably wanted an excuse not to do work and now she has one. “I thought it was blue like Mr Wright.”

“It’s blue for both of them,” Trucy says, because she can’t parse out what came first, looking again at the promotional material with her mother’s face or at the dusty suits in her new daddy’s closet. “You know, it’s funny, now. I’ve lived with Daddy longer than I ever did with my other daddy and the Troupe.”

She’s eighteen. It’s been a full decade. She grew up without any of the Gramaryes. It was why she was so excited to welcome Mr Reus to her performance, because she had dreamed of performing on stage with her family, and he was the closest thing left around. And then that went south, and she got Polly instead.

“Yeah,” Athena says softly, touching her earring. “It’ll be -- another year, year and a half, and then I’ll have lived half my life without my mother.” Her hand remains on her earring. “What was her name?”

“Thalassa.”

-

After a few days, bleary-eyed sorting through pages, more finances and ancient stage diagrams and bookings for performance venues that have been renamed and renovated, she sets the remaining stacks of papers aside and cracks open the box that Athena found the photo in. There are dozens of newspaper clippings of reviews of performances, some old TV Guides that mention the Troupe, and some more photos. There’s a few of the four of them, a few of five of them with Reus, and she quickly sets those aside beneath some papers to figure out what to do with. They’re valuable, important, but she can’t stand to look at his face, can’t stand to see him with them after what he did. She wonders why the police kept these, either -- maybe looking for other suspects. Maybe they just boxed up Magnifi’s life and didn’t bother to think about what might be important for his granddaughter to have.

She and Athena go out and buy frames for every picture of her family, her mother and her parents together and them and Uncle Valant and all of them, happy, smiling, and all of them and little baby Trucy. At the bottom there’s a photo of her mother and baby Trucy, but there’s a date written on the bottom and it’s years before Trucy was born. How did someone get the date so wrong? Was it thoughtlessly added later? There’s another picture of her mother, so young, so young, laughing with a man with brown hair and a guitar. Who is he? Another reject of the Troupe? Some friend outside of it? The Troupe was pretty insular, Trucy knows that much -- they had a lot of practice and performing to do. Of course it was always just them.

The two mysteries go in one of Apollo’s desk drawers.

The other box, at the top, has a certificate of marriage for Thalassa Gramarye and Shadi Enigmar. Trucy stares at it for a long, long time.

Beneath that, her birth certificate. She goes to wave it in her daddy’s face. “Look what was in there!” she announces.

He doesn’t look up. “A magic dove.”

“Daddy!”

He grins and takes the paper from her. “Now we’ve got an extra copy of it. Good to know.” His eyes travel over the mess on his desk. “As long as I don’t lose it here.”

Her grandfather has another diary, even older, some of the pen and pencil scratches starting to fade. She shelves that with the other one, intending to read them but not sure what she’ll find, almost afraid after Reus that there might be something dark in them. Or maybe she’ll learn for sure why he was kicked from the Troupe. What if it isn’t what she’s sure it was, that he didn’t have the attitude for it? What if it is like he thought? She doesn’t have the certainty that she does for other things.

When she comes back to the box, after standing in front of the shelves for a long time and then running off to Eldoon’s with Athena, she thinks for a moment that she for some reason put her parents’ marriage certificate back in. Why would she do that? She can’t afford to be absent-minded. She has a business to run. She has almost tossed it aside in annoyance when the name catches her eye.

It isn’t her father’s.

Her heart sits in her throat. Her mother was married before? No one ever said that. Is there anyone alive who knew that until Trucy found this? The name is Jove Justice. JJ. It’s a name Trucy has never heard before. There’s a wedding photo beneath it that looks like it was taken at a courthouse. The man in the photo is the brown-haired man. Her mother looks still so young. How young was she when she was married the first time? Would it be like if Athena got married now? If Trucy did? She hasn’t removed the photo from the box, just stared at it and stared, and beneath it she sees hints of another certificate, another birth certificate, probably, certainly, and she is ready to yell over to the next room where her daddy and Athena are working on a case, but first, she looks at it. She looks at the names.

That isn’t her father’s name either.

A sibling? An older sibling, going by the date on the marriage certificate, and she is afraid of what she will find next. A death certificate? That would explain why no one ever spoke of this, why she grew up with no one her age around her, why when all the adults were gone she was alone --

She looks at the names again, not just Thalassa Gramarye and Jove Justice, but the baby. Baby boy. Her brother. Baby, her older brother. Her brother --

She’s losing her mind. No, she lost it, completely, finally, and it’s been six months since she’s seen Apollo, she’s only seen him once since May when she was sure he would be a fixture in her life for the rest of it, when she was sure she would always have him around to tease and annoy, and it’s because she misses him that her mind is doing this, is putting that name there, and she touches the words printed on the certificate and wonders when her eyes will refocus and she will actually learn the name of the brother she lost, her half-brother, son of Thalassa Gramarye and Jove --

Jove --

Justice.

Not sure what else to do, not sure how to react -- how did Pearl react when she learned about Iris? She was young then and maybe it made more sense then, maybe this would have made more sense to Trucy when she was little -- she screams.

-

This is, to put it mildly, not the best idea when the two people she shares the office with are two twitchy people who have had loved ones murdered and are still paranoid or traumatized from it, two people who go together to crime scenes and see bodies and piece together murders and are doing that right now and are in the worst mind frame to hear screaming.

Her daddy’s face is bloodless, and Athena has her fists up, and they barrel into the room together and find Trucy sitting on the floor surrounded by loose papers and photos and boxes and holding one in her hands and screaming.

-

Athena does not have the time to parse out what exactly the emotions of the scream are, because that can wait until they are out of danger, so when she finds the danger is apparently the written word, she stops and listens. It isn’t pain, or fear -- there is no fear in Trucy’s scream. If she had Widget analyze this, they would be spinning out of control with shock, not fear. And no anger. Sadness, blue cold sorrow, and joy, too, something red and warm, butting up against each other and drowning together in shock.

“Trucy, what’s wrong?” Mr Wright asks, crouching down to her level. His voice holds pain, of a sympathetic sort, pain and sadness. It’s written on his face, too, plain enough that Athena doesn’t need Apollo to see it. (Mr Wright sort of can notice things like Apollo did, and Trucy a little better, but neither of them are like Apollo.)

“My -- my mom -- my brother my brother -- he’s my half-brother – he’s my brother!”

Mr Wright doesn’t ask. She can’t hear anything when he’s silent. Something Athena can’t name flits across his face.

“Trucy, you don’t have a brother,” Athena says gently, sitting down next to her, moving to put an arm around her shoulders, wondering what words written on a paper could turn bright, composed Trucy into a gibbering mess. Trucy pushes her away and shoves the paper she is holding at her instead.

“My brother!”

It’s a birth certificate, dated twenty-four years ago. Athena starts to read it off. “Born to Thalassa Gramarye” – that’s Trucy’s mother’s name, but this can’t be Trucy – “and Jove…”

Oh, god, she’s heard the name Jove before, and it was in Khura’in, and it was the story of a dead father and a lost child who was never returned to his mother–

“Jove Justice,” she says, her voice finally unsticking, and it trembles, and anyone without her ears could hear her shock. “And – Apollo Justice.”

That’s Apollo, that’s their Apollo, twenty-four years old and a father named Jove but that’s Trucy’s mother, their Trucy, Gramarye, and her mother, Thalassa.

“He’s my brother,” Trucy says softly. “Polly’s my brother – Polly’s my brother and that’s – that’s why – that’s--” She springs up, runs out of the room, comes back a moment later with a photo of her mother. “Bracelets!” she shouts. “Look, look, it’s like – like his!”

Golden bangle bracelets with a thin lined pattern encircling them. Athena’s head is spinning. She looks at Mr Wright, waiting for shock. Surprise. Anything. He has a good poker face but big surprises, he doesn’t quite hide. This, he’s hiding, and he’s still not saying anything, not moving, not reacting, and Athena can’t hear anything. Maybe Apollo could. Maybe Trucy could if she weren’t too torn up by her own shock to concentrate. Hers hasn’t faded; it still permeates her voice, entirely.

“Apollo’s your brother,” Athena says. “Apollo is – Mein Gott, Apollo’s your brother.” She laughs. She doesn’t know what to do but laugh. She looks back down at the names on the paper. They haven’t changed. “He’s not going to believe you when you tell him!”

“Can I see that?” Mr Wright asks, quietly, gesturing at the certificate. Athena hands it to him. “Thanks.” There’s only the barest amount of shock in his voice, buried deep, and there’s some other things, more complicated, a little too complicated for Widget. Some sadness that isn’t quite sad, not sorrow or grief, but something like regret. “Huh.”

He hands it back to her, and she runs for the scanner – it was a gift from Prosecutor Edgeworth that Mr Wright doesn’t know how to or want to use – so she can email proof to Apollo, while Trucy runs for a phone.

-

Apollo wakes to the buzzing of his cell phone beneath his head. It’s dark when he opens his eyes. What time is it, he wonders, knocking his phone to the floor with a thunk before he can manage to pick it up. Three am. Three am, and Trucy is calling. He fell asleep still fully dressed on top of the covers because he and Nahyuta were compiling their evidence for an overly complicated case until midnight, and when he went upstairs to the living quarters – after nearly a year, he still thinks of it as Dhurke’s, not his – and now, for whatever reason, he is being awoken by Trucy, who really should know what a time zone is at this point. “Hello? Trucy, what the hell--”

“Apollo you’re my brother!”

“Trucy, it’s three am.” Apollo sits up and regrets it. “I don’t know what conversations you��re having over there that – adopting people into your family -- but--”

“Apollo! I’m serious! Your mom is my mom! We’re half-siblings, Apollo!”

“What.” Maybe he’s still asleep. Does it really work to pinch yourself? Is that really a thing? “My – my mom--”

He doesn’t actually know what happened to his mother, just that Dhurke never found her. There are a thousand things that could mean in a country in turmoil.

“She’s my mom! Thalassa Gramarye! We’re siblings, Apollo!”

“Check your email!” That’s Athena’s voice, and some squeaks of a squabble. She probably ripped the phone from Trucy’s hands. “We sent you a copy of your birth certificate!”

“My – my birth certificate?” Apollo rolls onto his feet. There’s a little bit of moonlight spilling in through the windows. It had only recently, last year, occurred to him, after seeing Nahyuta again, that his birth certificate, all of his documentation, was forged. Dhurke didn’t even know his father’s first name. None of it could be real. He’s tried not to think about it since he came to Khura’in, about how he’s basically going to be immigrating back to his home country, the country of his birth, because his passport is built on a forged document, because all of it is, and he can’t in good conscience keep using it. He has a Khura’inese passport now. The birth date listed in it is still made up. “You’ve got to be kidding me with all of this -- if this is a joke -- it’s three am-- where’s my laptop?"

It’s downstairs. He isn’t good at taking these stairs in the dark. They’re slightly different heights halfway down.

“Apollo, we would not do this to you,” Athena says. He believes her. She was in the gallery last May as his family history was laid bare for everyone. She should know well what this means to him.

But then that means – and that’s stupid. Right?

He realizes too late that Nahyuta did not return to the palace and instead passed out at his kitchen table, and no matter how low Apollo keeps his voice, he has already woken his brother up. He remembers Nahyuta sleeping like a log when they were children, but there is so much about Nahyuta he remembers from when they were children that no longer applies, because even free of Ga’ran’s chains, the years apart, with the revolution, gave time for his brother to become someone else, someone who can personally help update prison security because he knows the best ways to break out of them, someone who can throw a knife almost as well as Datz. Someone who awakes at the slightest sound, because that might be the regime’s forces come to arrest them all.

Even if he lives in a palace now. Even if he rules the country now.

Apollo grabs his laptop off the couch. Nahyuta’s pale eyes are open. “What is going on?” he asks.

He lowers the phone from his mouth. “I have a sister.”

He says it automatically, even though he has no confirmation; he has only Trucy and Athena’s words at three am.

Nahyuta does not lift his head off his arms. Apollo can’t see his mouth but the skin around his eyes looks like he might be smiling. He definitely sounds like it. “I am glad you have finally accepted that you may call Rayfa such, but why at this time--”

“No, I mean, blood-related.” It can’t be -- she can’t be. But -- but this would be the cruelest joke to play -- and they wouldn’t. They aren’t like that. “A half-sister. My mother.”

Nahyuta raises his head.

“Apollo? You still there?”

He brings his laptop to the table, where Nahyuta has shifted aside crime scene photographs and copies of testimony to clear a space. He gestures at the lamp, giving Apollo enough time to brace himself for the light. “Okay, I’m checking my email now.” Sure enough, there is one from the main office email, with an attachment, and the subject line a keysmash. Either Athena or Trucy could have written that. “It’s loading… slowly…”

He helps Nahyuta reorganize their evidence while he waits. He wonders how long his brother was awake after Apollo went up at midnight. Maybe he wasn’t ever actually asleep. After about a minute, he returns, scanning what does indeed appear to be a birth certificate. And the names – Thalassa Gramarye, yes, Trucy’s mother – and – Jove Justice –

Apollo slumps down in his chair. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he says. “There’s no way – there’s no fucking way--”

“We found it in a box of my grandfather’s things,” Trucy says, breathlessly, but she isn’t shouting like she was. “With my birth certificate, and my parents’ marriage documentation, and yours – it’s got to be real, Polly, it’s got to be! Your bracelet! Your power! Mine’s like it – like how I taught you what to do – it’s a Gramarye thing – the bracelet is our mother’s! There’s a picture of her – I’ll send that – Athena--”

There are more sounds of distant scrambling. Apollo stares at the screen. Apollo Justice. His name is there, Apollo, and Jove, and Thalassa Gramarye –

Nahyuta leans over his shoulder. “Your birth certificate?” he asks. Apollo pushes him away until his hair isn’t falling in his face. “Yes, your father, Jove Justice” – he’s reading it the other way, right to left, because that is how Khura’inese is written – “and Thalassa…”

“Yeah.” Apollo says. He doesn’t hear anything on the other side of the phone now. They probably dropped it.

“Gramarye,” Nahyuta says. “Gramarye, as in…” He presses his hands over his eyes.

Gramarye, as in the trial where they met for the first time in fifteen years. Gramarye, the trial where Nahyuta tried to get Trucy – Apollo’s sister, his sister – convicted of murder.

“Yeah,” Apollo says.

It’s quiet, nothing but the sound of the wind and the creak of the house settling. Or maybe a rat. Probably a rat.

“Now we know your real birthday,” Nahyuta says quietly. He sits on the table, still leaning over the screen to look at it, like he still can’t believe it either. “We’ll have to tell Datz.”

“Now we have proof that I’m an American citizen,” Apollo says. Now he has a sister. That’s hardest to believe. He said it earlier just fine, but now, with proof, with something real, something with those names, Gramarye and Justice, side by side, his tongue freezes. “And my mother’s name -- I have names for both of them. I have…”

A sister. A sister. He had his sister for two years and then he left to help his brother. When Phoenix told him about Magnifi’s death, that was the death of Apollo’s grandfather. And when he told him about Trucy’s mother being shot -- that was Apollo’s mother’s death, too.

His heart sinks. She’s dead. He can’t meet either of them. He saw the last moments of life of his father by blood; he reunited with his father who raised him in time for him to die; he found his mother to know that she already died without having to look for that information.

A faint noise arises from somewhere to his right and a few seconds later he realizes it’s voices through the phone. “Polly! Polly! Did you just abandon us? Apollo!”

“Sorry,” he says. “I was talking to Nahyuta.”

“Oooh, three am, you sounded so mad like I woke you up, and now you’re like, nah, I was hanging out with my brother instead.”

“We were working on a case, and you did wake me up--”

“Oh! If he’s your brother then is he also my brother?”

“Maybe? You’d have to ask him. He says that his sister is my sister, so I guess it would work backwards…”

Nahyuta is frowning. He probably can piece together what Trucy’s question was by Apollo’s answer, and his expression might either mean that he doesn’t want Trucy as his sister (unlikely) or that he is once again remembering how harsh he was in her trial and grappling with the fact that she is not only his brother’s dear friend, but now his own sister (much more likely).

“Does Mr Wright know this?”

“Yeah, he was around when I found the stuff. He hasn’t really said much. Maybe he’s trying to figure out whether he’s your dad or not, since he’s my dad and I’m your sister so you’re sort of, like -- maybe?”

Apollo wants to say that historically, being his father is something like a curse, but he wouldn’t say it to Trucy, who also has a dead father, or in front of Nahyuta, when that shared wound has not yet closed. (Apollo got the closest thing to closure. Nahyuta’s last conversation with him was while they stood as enemies in the detention center. Rayfa never knew him.) “Maybe,” Apollo says, and his mouth is dry.

A second email pops up, again from the office address. “Just sent you a picture!” Athena chimes in. Apollo can picture her leaning over Trucy’s shoulder to shout into the phone, the same way that Nahyuta is leaning over his shoulder to look at the laptop screen.

“It’s our mom!” Trucy adds. Our. Our mother. Apollo doesn’t know what to do with that phrase.  

The picture that loads is of a woman with braided light brown hair, wearing a white dress. Her hands are visible in the image, and around her wrists, two golden bangle bracelets. Two bracelets just like one that sits on Apollo’s wrist. He tears his eyes from his mother’s face -- his mother, his mother -- and looks at Nahyuta, whose eyes are on Apollo’s bracelet as well. “Oh,” Apollo says. He tabs over to google for an old Troupe Gramarye poster, to compare the face of Magnifi’s daughter there, to the photo with the bracelets. Like he expects to see it’s a different person. Like he expects somewhere, this will fall apart, and it hasn’t. It doesn’t. Trucy is saying something and the words don’t make it from his ears to his brain.

“Trucy,” he says, and she falls silent. “Can you give me… like, an hour to process this, and then I’ll call you back?”

“O-okay.” She doesn’t sound happy. Apollo’s heart sinks further. He hopes she’ll understand that this isn’t anything against her.

“You know we have a trial in the morning,” Nahyuta says.

“Yeah, and our strategy from the start was already just ‘fuck it’.” Apollo uncovers the phone. Trucy and Athena both know that’s always their court strategy, but he doesn’t want them to rag on him some more. “All right. Talk to you in a bit, Trucy.”

“See ya, Polly.”

Apollo pushes the laptop away and rests his forehead on the table. “How can one family have so many secrets?”

“The Gramaryes?” Nahyuta asks. He knows the tangled web woven beneath the surface. He saw it in the trial. Apollo doesn’t know what additional else he knows, how much he researched -- knowing Nahyuta, back when Trucy was on trial, he looked up the transcript of the trial that’s ten years ago now, and the ones three years ago.

“The Gramaryes, and -- our family -- every family I’m a part of, murder and -- secret siblings and -- long-lost siblings, and -- more murder.” Even if Nahyuta read everything on-record, he wouldn’t know how Thalassa died. “I just wanted a normal life, I -- god, I couldn’t have been normal even if my father wasn’t killed, or even if Dhurke found my mother, if I grew up with her family I--”

“Would have been a magician, or a singer, perhaps,” Nahyuta said. “Could, perhaps, have grown up with your younger sister.”

Athena would be able to figure out what he is feeling when he says it, but Apollo doesn’t have much to go on. Nahyuta can keep his voice level too easily. Apollo can guess, though: sorrow, longing, regret.

“I wouldn’t be here now, though,” Apollo says. “Wouldn’t have known you, and Dhurke, and--”

Couldn’t have helped you. Couldn’t have saved you. Nahyuta glances away. He must be thinking the same.

“I wish Dhurke could’ve seen this, at least,” Apollo adds. “That sending me back would, eventually, let me find my family. And that--” He stops. Something has crawled its way back to the front of his memory, something that he blocked out that then disappeared behind more important things. “Oh, god.”

“What?”

He must sound horrified, because Nahyuta looks incredibly concerned. “Dhurke met Trucy, when he -- when he came over with Maya” -- if he phrases it like that it’s easier to not have to relive the moment the truth hit him -- “to get the Founder’s Orb, and -- god, he was like, ‘hey, son, nudge nudge, this girl would be good bride material’ -- eurgh.”

“Ugh.” Nahyuta puts his face in his hands. “Why did he have to be like--”

“Dhurke, why?”

It’s a question Apollo asked a lot -- it’s a question he still asks -- but it usually hurts more than this. Even if he does still sort of want to die.

“By the Holy Mother, there had better be an earthquake at the palace,” Nahyuta says, “from Father deservedly turning over in his tomb.” Nahyuta pauses. “Isn’t she seventeen?”

“Yeah.”

Nahyuta sighs. “Too young for that. And too young to be framed for murder.” He doesn’t say much about that trial, always gets a sick guilty look on his face whenever they skirt close to the topic. “Perhaps he meant she seemed a good kid and would be a welcome addition to our family, which is in itself a new sort of irony, that she already is, no marrying her off to one of us necessary.” He isn’t looking at Apollo, clearly pondering something else too. “You know,” he adds after a minute, “Mother was only nineteen when she had me. Ga’ran… used that against Dhurke, at the trial. She could claim that she was still young and naive and easily-duped, even though Dhurke was only twenty then. And twenty-two at the trial.” His eyes are vacant. “They were too young.”

Apollo hadn’t done the math on that. “She was only twenty-one when her sister tried to kill her.” When he was twenty-one, he was studying for the bar. When Nahyuta was twenty-one, he was already under Ga’ran’s thumb trying to protect his little sister. “I wonder how old my mother was. When she had me, and when -- when she lost her husband.” Too young to have lost so much, without question. “And when she died.”

Nahyuta doesn’t ask how Apollo knows that she’s dead. They sit in silence, looking at her picture. His mother. His half-sister. Sister.

“Apollo Gramarye,” he mutters. He shakes his head. “Doesn’t have quite the same ring.”

Nahyuta doesn’t respond, but after about a minute, he starts laughing. “What?” Apollo asks. Is he finally having the breakdown that probably, honestly, he probably needs to have? Is Apollo the one losing his mind? Did they both lose it?

“That damned murderer -- the magician, Retinz, Reus -- what karmic justice he faced.” Nahyuta shakes his head, still chuckling. “He was convinced that, though his plots were exposed, he had won against the Gramaryes, because he fooled Trucy and she needed you to save her. But you are a Gramarye by blood just as well as she. So he did, ultimately, lose to the Gramaryes.”

“Huh.” Apollo only vaguely remembers Reus saying that. He just remembers how relieved he was that Trucy was safe. He just remembers the sick feeling in his stomach listening to Nahyuta. His sister, and his brother. What a shitshow: the Gramaryes, the Khura’inese royals, and the two families together. “Man, what were the odds? That my law career would start like that, that I’d end up at the right place--”

“The Wright place.”

“It wasn’t a pun, Nahyuta, shut up. -- The place where I just… my sister’s there. I end up working for the man who adopted my sister. What are the odds?”

“I think the Holy Mother puts people where they need to be,” Nahyuta says. “You, to find them -- you, to find us again.”

“She was definitely putting me through some trials, there, at the start.”

“Perhaps this is another sign from Her.” Apollo shrugs when Nahyuta does not immediately elaborate on the thought. “That your sister has discovered this, now. It’s been nearly a year you have been in Khura’in, helping me, has it not? Perhaps this is a sign that you are due to return and spend time again with your other family.”

Maybe he’s right. Maybe it is.

His sister.

“Once you finish your current docket of cases,” Nahyuta adds.

Apollo punches him in the shin.

-

Please leave your message after the tone, and I will return your call.

“Hey, Thalassa, it’s Phoenix. So, funny story about the kids…”

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Seventeen (Once and Never Again)

The joke: a Themis graduate/rock star falls in with another alumnus whom he hated and a Great Thief. The punchline? Who better to understand how it is to be shaped by betrayal.

on ao3

A lot of the faces at the Prosecutors Office are familiar, even after years away, because the average age trends about two decades older than Klavier and at that point little changes other than the one Payne’s horrible hair. The most familiar face he absolutely does not want to see is two days after he gets back — he is coming out of the elevator, still puzzling over a conversation he had this morning with Prosecutor Edgeworth that felt like it had at least three hidden layers. And there in front of him is someone he remembers from school who he wishes he didn't.

Sebastian Debeste looks older, but not by much — not by seven years, with his round face and hair much the same — and wears glasses now, his eyes gone huge behind them as he recognizes Klavier. They stare at each other, Klavier struggling for something to say, anything, even just "Hello, Prosecutor Debeste," and he manages nothing before Debeste, who was probably going to the elevator, makes an undignified retreat toward the stairwell. He is barely out of Klavier's way before Klavier bolts for the main lobby, sure that Debeste’s eyes follow his flight.

He isn't assigned to a case that goes to trial for a month and a half after his return; it does not take him long to refamiliarize himself with the office, but it gives him time to come to know the people who have arrived since his departure. He ends up down at the precinct a lot, consulting with the detectives there, learning the faces he hasn't seen before. He wishes he could work with Daryan again — one of the things he likes about Daryan is that even if he has his moments in which he is an asshole, he is consistent in it, and Klavier knows what to expect from him.

Others, not so much.

The first time he realizes that he is going to have trouble is a week after he returns to the office and he is sent down to the precinct to seek out Detective Gumshoe. Klavier recognizes the name, remembers the detective from that damned Gramarye trial, and recalls him being amiable. This recollection ends up in pieces approximately ten seconds after encountering the detective. Klavier manages to say, "Herr Gumshoe, I have some files that were requested from the office. My name is—"

"Yeah, pal, I remember you. Gavin, the kid who made Mr. Wright lose his badge!"

Something in his chest flash-freezes, brittle frost clinging in between his bones. He thrusts the files into Gumshoe's hands without a warning. "Phoenix Wright," he says coldly, his throat beginning to lock and leaving every word clipped short, "lost his badge himself, for forging evidence."

"Tell yourself that all you want, pal," the detective says (and Klavier does tell himself that, often, every time that trial's ghost emerges from the grave to haunt him. He has to tell himself that, he can't have been wrong; it has to have been Phoenix Wright, all him, only him), "but I know Mr. Wright, I knew him for a long time, and he would never do something like that!" The detective is at eye-level with Klavier, seeming a little shorter when he hunches, his shoulders high, staring down Klavier, like a bull about to charge.  

"Then I'm sorry that he disappointed you," he says, and the lump in his throat has dissolved into a bitter-tasting bile, knew him for a long time and he would never, "but sometimes no matter how many years you've known someone, you don't actually at all."

Something must show on his face because for a moment the detective falters, something like pity flashing across his features, and even when he again appears as though he wants to charge Klavier down, something of his anger is gone. "Yeah, but not Mr. Wright."

What would it be like, he wonders, to have the detective's staunch, unreasoning loyalty; his is the faith of hundreds of witnesses Klavier spoke with in his time as prosecutor, every loved one, family member, friend, of a suspect who insisted again and again, they would never do this, they could never do this, I know them and there's no way—

Is everyone like that in some way? The thought flits across his mind and lodges itself in his heart which feels swollen too big for his chest, like it will soon suffocate him. Is it Klavier who is wrong, somehow, to think that the only thing that even seemed remotely implausible about the story is that Kris left behind enough evidence to be caught?

Much as he hates the tailspin into existential crisis, hates the reminder of the case that led him to flee the office, sometimes he thinks Gumshoe’s objection to him is better than the alternative. Gumshoe at least had a real, concrete problem with his real, concrete past actions, rather than, like other detectives and prosecutors he keeps knocking heads with, taking issue with a facsimile of Klavier Gavin constructed only on rumor and presumption. He’s used to people reading him wrong; he just expects it from the tabloids, not coworkers.

“You’re not on tour anymore, dude,” Daryan says to him one day at lunch, in the middle of May, three weeks after their return. “Nobody loves you here.”

“Quite rude of you to say,” Klavier says. “Not even you, Daryan?” He tries to put his chin on Daryan’s shoulder but is shoved away with a hand in his face before he can manage. “My own friend, betraying me like this? After everything we’ve been through?”

“I’m gonna hate you in a minute if I didn’t, dude.” Daryan rolls his eyes but is laughing.

“You’re also quite wrong. I’ve met a few fans down here at the precinct.” It’s the opposite side of the coin from those who dismiss him as a vapid rock star; these detectives, the fans, still only know him as a construct. But at least it is a kind of interaction at which he is well-practiced.

“Almost evens out the fact that Skye hates you extra.” Daryan shakes his head. “She’s a fuckin’ ice queen, hates everyone, but god, dude, what did you do?”

“I have never seen her before in my life.” Another virtue of Gumshoe: he aired his grievances, not like Skye, who told Klavier to fuck off without either preamble or a follow-up. “I suppose it is my natural effect on women, ja?”

“You mean the part where you instill in them an insatiable lust for murder?”

“Yes.”

“Cool; just wanted to be clear, so that we — oh my god not again.”

“What?”

Daryan is looking at something through the doorway to the hall, at an angle Klavier can’t see. He sits up and leans over Daryan’s shoulder to follow his same line of sight. “Vending machines,” Daryan says, gesturing to the machines, and the young woman sitting on the floor in front of them. “She’s always fucking doing this.”

“Who, and what?”

Daryan stands and motions for Klavier to follow. “Yo, Faraday,” he calls on approach.

The woman looks up. She has long beautiful glossy black hair that she swings over her shoulder with a toss of her head. “Hi, Daryan!” she chirps. Klavier can see now that she has her hands stuck through the flap of the vending machine, maneuvering what appears to be pliers duct-taped to two pieces of rubber tubing. He thinks he can see the concept behind it — the tubes as extensions of the handles to operate the pliers and grab a bag of chips — but in practice it does not seem to be working out that way.

“There’s other vending machines in this building, you know.” Daryan sounds like he has said this before. He sounds weary.

“Yeah, but none of them stock Snackoos, and I paid for my Snackoos, so I want my Snackoos!” The pliers clatter noisily against the inside of the glass pane as she attempts to extract her innovative mechanism. “Haven’t seen you around before,” she says to Klavier, apparently unconcerned with holding a conversation from the floor. “Are you new here? I’m Detective Kay Faraday!” She grins and extends a hand up to him.

“Prosecutor Klavier Gavin.” He has to awkwardly double over to shake her hand. “I worked here before but have spent several years on leave.”

“Oh, so like Daryan.” About five seconds pass in silence and then Faraday gasps. “Wait! Are you in his band too?”

His band? Klavier does not have to look at his friend to know the smug expression that must be on his face, but he chances a glance anyway and yes, Daryan looks very smug. “Ja, he is in my band.” Daryan shoulder-checks him right into the vending machine. With the collision, the bag of Snackoos is jarred loose.

“Thanks, guys!” Faraday says brightly, retrieving her snack from the machine and jumping to her feet. “Anyway that’s cool that you’re in a band. That sounds way more exciting than the average day around here.”

“It is,” Daryan says.

Faraday shoves a handful of chocolate into her mouth and her bright eyes dart between the two of them. Klavier can see the question, the obvious why did you come back to work, then? and he forces the detached mask of celebrity and its empty smile, back into its place. “Hey, you know what’s cool about here, though?” she asks. “Me!” She places a playful punch on Klavier’s chest. “Maybe we’ll get to work together!”

Klavier knows a genuine smile when he sees one; Faraday’s is. “Perhaps we will.”

“I’ve gotta get going,” she says through another mouthful of chocolate. “See you later, Daryan!”

She darts off down the hall with her hair swinging behind her like a cape. “That’s Faraday,” Daryan says, still sounding something between tired and bored. “The unstoppable force to” — he hits the vending machine — “this ol’ bastard of an immovable object.”

“I think I like her,” Klavier says.

Daryan rolls his eyes. “Always a sucker for a pretty face.”

“Blatantly untrue.”

Daryan looks at him.

“Maybe a little true.” But he has to admire the tenacity of someone who has improvised an invention that attempts to optimize her vending machine experience. Plus, she didn’t blow him off like more of his coworkers than not have.

And she is pretty. That is true.

He isn’t lucky enough to be assigned to work with her on his first case back out on investigation. He has to work with Skye instead, which is a miserable experience for both of them, and he is almost ready to wish he had never returned right until he meets the reason exactly why he returned. When the girl, pouting about not being allowed to investigate the crime scene, hands him the letter of defense request, he looks down and nearly drops it in shock, faced with the name Apollo Justice. That is the man who has been staring unabashedly at him, then.

He escorts them into the crime scene anyway, because he has looked it all over and will know if something has been changed. And Skye remains with her Snackoos and fury and he imagines if they touch anything she will tear them apart. If Justice is corrupt and tries anything, he and Skye will catch it, and he will nail him to the wall in court tomorrow and be done with it.

That isn’t how it happens and by the end of the case he thinks he has a little more measure of the man and no more perspective on Kristoph, which doesn’t really surprise him. Daryan heckles him for losing his first trial back. Faraday hears half of their conversation and, apparently having talked to Skye about the investigation at another point, demands to know who on earth if not the mafia prince was the murderer. Daryan wanders off back to work after getting tired of Faraday snickering like a child at the word panties as Klavier tells the abridged version of the trial. “Finally, an interesting case, and Ema doesn’t even appreciate it.” She pats Klavier on the shoulder. “It’s okay though; she doesn’t like anyone.” She pauses, her hand hovering in the air. “Except me, of course.”

The next three weeks of cases he continues to work with Skye. He is starting to grow used to hostility — from her, from other prosecutors, especially Edgeworth, and Klavier can see himself thrown out the door when the mantle of Chief Prosecutor falls to him as it looks wont to do sometime in the next year — and started to ignore it. It’s isolating, certainly, when the three nicest to him since he arrived back have been the dog he didn’t know Kristoph had that he is now responsible for, and at work Faraday, who he sees less frequently than the hawk that at some point took up residence in the courthouse. (And if he really wants to feel lonely, the only other two names he can add to the list of “most pleasant interactions with people I didn’t already know” are Justice, the man who put his brother in jail, and his assistant who Klavier took to be his little sister until he saw her name is Wright.) But he’s spending more time back with the band, prepping for a concert in their home city for the first time in years, and that takes a little bit of the sting away.

He does email Faraday, and Justice and Fraülein Junior Wright, inviting them all to the concert. He’s definitely not desperate for a social circle outside of his band. He’d invite the hawk too if it wasn’t a bird and thus probably unable to read, or have an email. Fraülein Wright emails back with no less than a dozen smiley faces and five less-than-three hearts. Faraday’s response is much less prompt and contains about seventeen frowny faces interspersed between phrases about how she already had plans and save a ticket for me for the next one!!

Sincerity is the hardest thing to gauge in text and Klavier has no way to know how genuinely Faraday means what she wrote until he runs into her at the Prosecutors Office two days before the concert. Or rather, she runs into him, with no more warning than a yell of “Yo! Klavier!” before he is knocked off-balance by a fast-moving humanoid shape.

“H-hello.” He manages to stabilize himself against a wall and Faraday is beaming at him.

“You know, Daryan mentioned the concert last week and like — Sunshine Coliseum is kinda a big deal — so I went and looked you guys up and shit, you guys are actually legit celebrities! And your music is actually really good!”

There is a moment during which what she says has not registered; and then it does, and Klavier doubles over wheezing.

“You thought we were bad?” he manages to gasp out.

Faraday throws her hands in the air. “Well, how was I supposed to know? The only pop culture I’ve been in tune with in the past decade are some eighteen new derivations of the Steel Samurai!” She wrinkles her nose but is still grinning.

“I preferred the Jammin’ Ninja, myself.”

She glances around as though she expects the Steel Samurai to materialize through one of the walls for the slander. “Word of warning,” she says in a voice dramatically hushed. “I might agree, but don’t say such things ‘round these parts.”

“What, that the original Steel Samurai was an overrated show with poor production values and—”

Faraday slaps her hand over his mouth with such force that his head bounces off the wall. “No!” she cries. “Sorry, that probably hurt.”

Klavier wonders what anyone else passing through the lobby thinks of whatever is happening here. “It did,” he says when she removes her hand and steps back, putting a little space between them again.

“I swear I didn’t come over here to beat you up,” she says with a grin that does not look very apologetic. “If I give you my schedule in advance, you’d pick the date of your next concert based on that, right? I would really love to go.”

In that, he can read her sincerity. “I have not a clue when our next show will be,” he says, because this concert is meant to be something of an end note, and an apology, but also mostly to rectify the fact that he didn’t get to perform with Lamiroir before he had to come running home, “but once a day is chosen, I will inform you immediately, ja?”

“It’s a date!” she exclaims. “Get me front-row tickets so I can heckle you.”

“Don’t push your luck, Fraülein.”

She sticks her tongue out at him. “Well, I think — oh, hey, Seb!” She bounces on her heels and waves across the lobby to flag someone down.

It’s just Klavier’s luck that she’s friends with Prosecutor Debeste.

“Kay, what are you — oh. H-hi, Prosecutor Gavin.”

“I had something to run by Mr Edgeworth. You two know each other?”

Debeste eyes Klavier with suspicion benefitting a stray alley cat. “We… were in the same year in the same school,” Klavier answers, when it looks like Debeste won’t.

“Oh.” Like a balloon sputtering out, Faraday deflates. She looks at Debeste and her mouth twitches into a frown, just momentarily, but long enough that it is clear something is unspokenly passing between them. “And you studied abroad, too, right?” she asks, and the chirp like a songbird is back in her voice, pushing aside whatever it was that made her falter. They talk about banal things, where in Europe he was, where in Europe she and Debeste assisted on Interpol cases — and if anything has Klavier reassessing his old impressions of Debeste, it is that — until Debeste nudges her in the shoulder and points at his watch.

She sprints out the door yelling her goodbyes across the lobby, receiving dirty looks from everyone else around, and leaves Klavier and Debeste with each other since they saw each other two months ago. “So you, uh, know Kay,” he says, twisting his hands together and toying with the fingertips of his gloves.

“Ja. You are friends?”

Klavier almost takes pity on him and goes for the stairs instead of the elevator, but instead they both wait there, Debeste’s foot tapping at the floor with impressive speed. “Yeah, we — we’ve worked together for a long time. Since — well.”

Since something he doesn’t want to talk about. Klavier can guess. He had been at the Prosecutors Office since January. He remembers the events that started off April.

When the elevator doors crawl open, Debeste almost looks like he wants to run. “Herr Debeste,” Klavier says, staring at the numbered buttons and wondering which floor Debeste’s office is on. Debeste stops on the threshold and the doors bounce open again off of him. “I find myself thinking, since our last encounter, that I am far from the man I was at seventeen, ja?” And better, too, he hopes.

Debeste keeps his face firmly turned forward, but his eyes dart toward Klavier. He takes that as a cue to continue. “And I should hate to be judged as who I was seven years ago.” And maybe that can’t be helped, maybe the Gramarye case will be his mantle for all time, but he at least can be less of an asshole than he was in that trial. He won’t let Kristoph decide how he should act toward anyone else. He decided that with Justice. “And I think then I should offer you that same courtesy as well, to not be judged as who you were.”

Because frankly, Klavier remembers him being an idiot.

(An Interpol consultant, really?)

“Ah, yeah.” Debeste chuckles somewhat nervously. “I was, um, insufferable when I was seventeen.”

“Ach, I was quite the douchebag myself.”

Debeste snorts. “I mean — Kay hated me at first. How hard to you have to work to get Kay to dislike you?”

Rather hard, Klavier thinks, considering that she likes Daryan, who is off-putting on first impression to most people. “Well, she never met me at seventeen.”

Debeste’s office is on the twelfth floor. He stops with his hand over the door, frowning like he has something difficult to say, but when he opens his mouth all that he says is, “See you around, Prosecutor Gavin.”

And Klavier doesn’t think more of it that day, but later, when the dust has not settled but is no longer being stirred up higher into the sky, he is staring at an email from his manager, cc’d to the publicist team, a charred guitar on the table behind him, and he thinks, at least he’s one more person I can add to the “pleasant interactions” list.

He didn’t know it was possible to be this tired.

He starts talking more to the hawk and to Vongole. He ignores an email from Professor Courte and three of deteriorating professionalism from Faraday. He chats about the weather with Debeste, ignores the look around his eyes that shows him struggling to figure out how to broach the topic. He lies to his bandmates and says that he was asleep when they send concerned texts checking in, even though he doesn’t sleep before one am most nights.

He doubted the accusation leveled against Daryan more than he ever doubted the initial news about Kris, right up until the reasoning started to line up too well, make too much sense; but the conversation of several months ago with Gumshoe still haunts him, the way the detective believed even in the face of evidence. I knew him for a long time, and he would never—

But he did, Wright did and Kris did and Daryan did. Sometimes no matter how many years you've known someone, you don't actually at all. Isn’t that what Klavier said? Isn’t that what he keeps discovering for himself? How could the detective still believe in Wright? It isn’t supposed to be like that, not after the verdict comes down. Not after the evidence is —

Evidence is everything.

At the end of July his attempts at work one morning are interrupted by a furious banging on his door. “Klavier Gavin!” The voice is surprisingly unmuffled by the solid wood in between them. “Yo! I know you’re in there! Seb says he sees your bike still here when he leaves and already in when he comes in. Do you sleep here? That’s kinda gross, like go home and shower, dude.” A different intonation of thump comes from lower on the door. Klavier assumes she kicked it. “I see the light on in there! I know you can’t be sleeping through this racket! Show yourself, villain!”

Klavier rests his head on his desk. His attempt to tell her to go away comes out of his throat a barely-audible croak.

The door handle rattles, then stops. When the silence has gone on for about a minute, he starts to think that he is free, only for the lock to click and the door to slowly swing inward. He springs to his feet, nearly overturning his chair, and Faraday appears on the threshold, kicking the door fully open. “Faraday, what the—”

“You weren’t answering your door,” she says. “Or your email.”

“Then take a hint!”

She steps into his office and pushes the door back closed behind her. “Nice guitars,” she says brightly, and as her eyes drift from the wall to Lamiroir’s still on the table, she frowns. “It’s a shame about that.”

“Faraday.”

“About everything,” she adds. “When you find out someone’s not who you thought they were.”

She’s trying to sympathize. Klavier can only half-swallow the anger that was brewing in the pit of his stomach. “I don’t want to talk about this,” he says. He’d already had to talk about it. He’d had to say something and then it had to be filtered and curated and caked in stage makeup to be acceptable to be read by the world. The statements released to social media were barely made of his words, by the end; because his words weren’t coherent and the feelings they conveyed couldn’t be sanitized and rather were quarantined.

They are celebrities, him and Daryan, and they never belonged to themselves. Their meteoric rise and the blazing place of glory from which they fell were never theirs.

“Then can I talk?” Faraday asks. She’s sitting on a precarious stack of binders that he hasn’t returned to their places. He starts to raise a hand to gesture her to the door and stops. He combs his bangs out of his face instead. He doesn’t say anything.

“I wondered what people were saying, like online and stuff,” she says, and Klavier looks back at her in alarm, trying to read from her face whether she has stumbled into that part of the fandom. Her expression doesn’t hint as to the presence of repressed horrors working back to the surface, so it seems she didn’t. “And it’s weird, that there’s all these people who never met you who are mourning this thing that happened, and that even me knowing him for a couple months means I knew someone different than they’re thinking.”

She leans toward him like she’s offering him the chance to follow that. He does not take it. “Because I actually knew him as a person, you know?” And still didn’t even realize that they were celebrities until they basically told her. “I split a pack of Swiss rolls with him that last day. He was pissed about not being on the case” — Klavier knows this — “and I told him not to worry, because the truth always comes to light and we always make sure the innocent get their due.” She frowns. Her perch wobbles beneath her and she plants her feet back firmly on the floor. “I meant that to be reassuring but I guess it didn’t work like that.”

“Nein. Not at all.”

Her dark eyes stay fixed on his face. “I’m sorry,” she says. “That’s all.” When she stands, the tower of binders slips apart to scatter across the floor. “Ah — shit.”

“I will arrange those,” Klavier says, waving his hand to dismiss her from the mess she has made. “Just try not to sit on anything else, ja?”

“I will sit on everything,” she says, looking and sounding very serious despite the actual words. Her eyes are wide like an owl’s when she stops on her way back out the door. “Everything.”

She sends him the culmination of the unprofessional emails the next day, consisting of seven emoticons, three words abbreviated and two misspelled, inviting him out to drinks with herself, Debeste, and Skye. He declines. Better not to push his relationship with Detective Skye from “workplace antagonism” to “off-hours hostility”, although some of the concert evening before the murder happened probably tripped them over that line. He can tell when he’s not wanted. It might not cause his behavior to change in any way, but he can tell, and this one isn’t a fight worth having.

Except Faraday keeps emailing him invitations, and then whether she convinced him or he made the step himself, Debeste starts asking him if he wants to join their outings. It’s harder to decline him, in person, when he’s making sad puppy eyes at Klavier over cheap sushi they grabbed for a quick lunch. The sudden sensation of guilt blindsides Klaiver; does he feel bad for disappointing Debeste? Is that what this is? How is one of his few friendly relationships with someone he knew just well enough to hate in school?

“Why does Kay like you?” Skye asks him.

“Why does she like you?”

Skye flips him off. He isn’t sure when she dropped the act of cool professional disdain but now at least they can be honest about where they stand: sweet sweet mutual antagonism.

“She doesn’t really like me either,” Debeste says. “She knows how to hold grudges.”

Klavier should know how to navigate that kind of person, but really, he doesn’t. His conversation with Debeste turns to the “secret project” that there have been rumors of since the start of the summer — some foundational plans for reform, Debeste says, which he has apparently learned from Edgeworth, though that is also all he has learned from Edgeworth — and an Interpol case that very likely will be pulling Debeste and Faraday off the continent for the month of September. Once they are gone, Faraday sends more emails that come at odd hours for both Los Angeles and France — and then Cohdopia, then Romania, then Germany. Klavier knows absolutely nothing about what the pair are up to besides their ever-changing locations. Their case keeps them away into October.

The winds are shifting back at home, too. He and Skye are told the morning of that they are the prosecutor and detective presiding over the (pardon the pun) trial run of those mentioned reforms. Klavier starts to say that he really would have liked to have had some advance warning as to his role in the Jurist System, and to know at least a little about the committee that has been working on this since — when, exactly?

And then he is told that Wright is involved and he throws his hands up. Of course there is no warning. Of course there is no preparation time. A man who has never once in his life thought ahead about anything would not offer others the courtesy. The only thing he and Skye can agree on is that they don’t like to be left scrambling but aren’t surprised that they have been.

It’s Wright. This is the best he will give.

The victim’s name is Drew Misham. Klavier tells himself he doesn’t know that name. He tells himself it’s coincidence. He tells himself it has nothing to do with that.

(But it’s Wright. He must have an extra ace up his sleeve. Why else would he want the man who disbarred him to stand as prosecutor for his pet project?)

And it’s not a simple case (of course not), and it’s not coincidence. Face the music, Gavin; there’s no way out but down through the dark.

When he gets home after the first day in court, after a second investigation that yields nothing but frustration, he passes out on his couch and ignores emails from Courte, Debeste, and Faraday, all asking about the Jurist System.

He ignores new ones the next day, too.

Instead of calling in sick, which he probably couldn’t be blamed for doing, he goes in to the office while the last vestiges of night still cling to the slowly-lightening sky. It could be inspiration for a song; it could be a metaphor. He lets it go without further acknowledgement. He doesn’t get any work done; instead he remembers when his brother came to visit him in this office seven years ago. He remembers his brother’s laugh, yesterday. He still leaves late and goes in early again the next day. It means he doesn’t have to talk to anyone but still almost feels useful for being there.

At nine am, still early enough that some of the less dedicated have not yet arrived, someone knocks on his door. He wants to ignore it.

“Prosecutor Gavin?”

He stares at the computer screen in front of him which has gone dark. His reflection — a hot fucking mess if he can say so himself — stares back. He can’t let anyone see him like this. He has a face to uphold, a reputation that has already been tarnished enough.

“Prosecutor Gavin? I saw your motorcycle in the garage. I know you’re here.”

When did Debeste get back?

Klavier opens the door.

Debeste doesn’t look much better than Klavier feels — clothes rumpled, hair a ruffled mess, eyes visibly bloodshot beneath his glasses. “When did you get back?” Klavier asks, because Debeste looks surprised at his appearance, as though he was prepared to keep knocking and had no plan in place for if Klavier were to answer. “You look terrible.”

“To the office? An hour ago. I had some things to clear with Prosecutor Edgeworth. To Los Angeles? Three hours ago.” He blinks for a whole second and shudders, shaking his head, trying to wake himself. “I wanted to know what your thoughts on the Jurist System are, from being there.”

It made me lose my brother.

As though he didn’t lose Kris long ago.

Klavier steps aside to let Debeste in. “I think it could be a very good thing,” he says.

They talk about other cases where they have been left scrambling for evidence, because evidence was everything; about how to possibly even begin implementing this system on a larger scale; about the kind of shifts in office culture that will need to happen; about how it would affect curriculum at Themis Academy. Klavier thinks he might escape having to talk about the cause of that look of pity that Debeste keeps shooting him. There’s so much else to discuss, and Klavier can skirt around the details of the case just enough that a certain name isn’t mentioned. Not by him.

But when there’s a lull, Debeste says, “I’m sorry.”

“I need to get back to work,” Klavier says.

He stands and gestures to the door. Debeste gets to his feet but does not move.

“I didn’t know what to do when my father was gone,” he continues. “I faced him and said what I wanted to but then I had no idea what to do after that. I knew who I wanted to be but how to get there seemed like an impassib—impassable wall. But I learned to accept help from other people. That’s what I had to do.”

Klavier had looked it up out of curiosity, some months ago. Blaise Debeste was executed last May, falling squarely in the middle of the average five-to-seven years from sentencing to conviction. “I’m quite fine on my own, Herr Debeste.”

But the question that Gumshoe left him with nearly half a year ago still hangs over him like a shroud. “When the charges were first raised against him, did you think, simply, there is no way he did this? Were you surprised?”

“Of course I was,” he replies, which is not really the response Klavier wants to hear. “Someone I trusted made the accusation and I couldn’t believe it.” And someone who Klavier was sure to be corrupt brought the charges, and Klavier barely doubted. “I thought my father could do no wrong, certainly not murder. And then — and then there was one piece of evidence, one detail that was so distinctly my father that I… I realized. Even I couldn’t miss that one.”

He fidgets nervously while he waits for Klavier to respond, but he does not say anything else, not even the question he must be thinking: Why do you ask?

Why does he ask? Maybe he needs more than a hawk or his brother’s dog to confide in. Maybe he needs to clean the skeletons from the closet he alone keeps. After the secrets he and Kristoph shared came to light, maybe it is time for this, too.

“I was… surprised, quite, to learn he had committed murder, but I did not doubt it. I did not question the veracity of the charges until I saw Wright’s name as a person involved and only then did I wonder, could my brother have been framed? And even then, I asked myself, is Kris capable of murder, and I figured, yes. Who believes that so easily, so readily, of their own family? What is wrong with me?” He stumbles back into his chair, sinking down in it, clutching his head with his hands. The silent screaming inside his skull has taken physical form, a pounding from the inside out. “And after all those years that I trusted Kris too much — I trusted him enough that I ruined an innocent man’s life! Unthinking! Unquestioned!”

Only later, only too late, did he question, and he did not allow himself to consider other answers. “I trusted him just as long as it took to fuck everything up! I should have asked more questions — I should have been more suspicious — how could I not even have questioned why he knew about the forgery! How could I have been such an idiot?” He hears from Debeste the sharp intake of air through gritted teeth at the word. “To not even ask! To think nothing was wrong when so much did not make sense! I was a prosecutor! It was my job to question! To never assume — to never simply believe!”

Klavier looks up. Debeste is quiet, his expression stricken and his eyes wide and teary and fixed on the window behind Klavier. He moves to sit on the table next to him, misses, and thuds down to the floor. Blinking fiercely, he says, “If you’d stayed at Themis and not gone off to study abroad, you should have been valedictorian.”

“You were valedictorian of our class,” Klavier says, head back in his hands. “Why should my presence make a difference in regards to your standing, ja?”

“No, I mean — you should have been. You wouldn’t have but you should have and I—” His breath shudders when he inhales and he holds it for a moment before his shoulders slump with his exhale. “My father bought my grades.”

Klavier blinks.

“I don’t know if it was with money, or influence, or threats, or the agge — aggregate, of the possibilities, but none of my accomplishments were mine. My class rank wasn’t mine, my badge wasn’t mine, and I didn’t notice. Not until he told me.” Sebastian fiddles with the badge on his lapel. “Everything was because he wanted a shining star of a son to crown his rule and even if he didn’t have that he could at least make people think he did. He made me think I was what he wanted. I didn’t question it. I never doubted.”

“He was your father,” Klavier says. “He was Chief Prosecutor, he was Chairman” — he had power of the likes that Kristoph could only dream — “and surely a man like that is trustworthy, ja? Surely you can trust your father, ja? Surely your father has no reason to lie to you, and you were seventeen.”

Sebastian is still blinking back tears but his lips curl into the tiniest smirk. “Yeah,” he says. “And surely you can trust your brother, yeah? Surely your brother has no reason to lie to you. You were seventeen.”

A turnabout worthy of any of the trials in which Apollo stands behind the bench.

Klavier rubs his eyes. “Perhaps we should not have been prosecutors at seventeen, ja?” But Klavier had a harder time facing down his brother at twenty-four than seventeen, while Sebastian at seventeen could still throw his father’s yoke from his shoulders.

“And maybe our families shouldn’t have been…” Sebastian makes a noncommittal noise and shrugs.

“Manipulative douchebags?”

Sebastian’s laugh is weak. “I don’t think that was what I was going for but it might be a synonym.” When he drags his fingers through his hair he doesn’t smooth it down but instead pushes strands up out of alignment. “It’s hard to face the truth but it’s always better once it’s done.”

And Klavier knows that. He’s always known that. But there’s something slightly comforting in someone else caring enough to make the reminder, like Apollo, almost adorable in his earnestness, try to remember what’s really important to you. “It is,” he agrees softly.

“I’ll let you get back to work,” Sebastian says, clambering back up to his feet. Klavier starts to tell him that was an excuse, a hollow pretense for Klavier to throw him out before he had to talk about the pain of the past six months; but Sebastian probably knows that, right? Knows that and has given them both a graceful way out. “And I need to go shower and sleep because I haven’t for thirty hours.”

“You didn’t sleep on the plane?” Klavier asks.

“Not with Kay around. She gets very excited finding out which of her favorite movies she can watch. And insist that I watch.”

Klavier does not know what Faraday’s tastes in film are, but he has a hunch that there is very little good about them. “Ach, perhaps you should deal with that,” he says.

“See you around, Prosecutor Gavin,” Sebastian says.

Klavier stares at the closed door long after he has left. Maybe he should get some sleep, too.

He deliberates it with eyes unfocused on the darkened screen of his computer and after some ten minutes he gathers himself together to call out. He goes home to Vongole’s tail thumping on the floor, no idea of his turmoil — just happy to see him again so soon. There’s something to consider there but hell if he knows what. For a moment, when he lets himself collapse into bed, there is no weight of anything his brother has saddled him with more than the dog who thinks him a more comfortable pillow than the three beds he has failed to convince her to use.

When he wakes up around dinnertime, it is to an email from Faraday inviting him out to drinks on Friday with Sebastian and Skye. His usual answer is already typed out, his finger hovering over the send button, before he really starts to think. Vongole is barking from her bowl and he deletes the message as he pours out some food for her. His new reply is one word: Sure.

Maybe he’ll regret it, but Skye throwing a drink in his face or him making Sebastian hate him again or whatever could happen will be no worse than the ever-growing stack of regrets from every other point in his life.

Skye doesn’t directly address him all night, which is about what Klavier expected, but the surprising thing is that she seems to tolerate Sebastian quite well, despite what he said once about her disliking him. She leaves early, to Faraday’s chagrin, saying that she’s taken a vacation “after that shitshow Mr. Wright dumped us into” (that “us” being the most neutral way she has ever acknowledged Klavier’s existence) and is flying out to see her sister in the morning.

“You’re gonna be getting drunk on the plane anyway!” Faraday whines, hanging halfway out of her chair with her arms around Skye’s waist. If Skye takes one more step, Faraday will hit the ground hard. “Why not just start hungover?”

“Your Interpol trips must be a blast,” Skye says over her shoulder to Sebastian as she pries Faraday’s arms apart. She looks more amused than Klavier has ever seen her. Faraday seems to have that effect on people.

“They are… something,” Sebastian says.

Faraday falls out of her chair.

When the three of them leave, later, Klavier intends to just go home, but then he is wedged between Faraday and Sebastian and somehow lets them drag him into a cab that they take back to Faraday’s apartment. “We do pizza and movie nights,” Sebastian explains as Faraday laments to no one in particular that she is craving mozzarella sticks. “Sometimes with Ema but usually just us and really awful movies.”

“Klav,” Faraday says. “Klav. Klav. Have you ever seen Giant Octopus Tsunami vs. MegaShark?”

“Why the hell would I have ever seen that?”

“Because it’s fuckin’ awesome and you are going to stay and watch it with us because Ema won’t. Like. It’s a tsunami full of giant octopuses...es and it’s gonna make landfall and destroy the city unless the scientists can engineer a giant shark to eat them all before it can—”

Klavier tips the cab driver extra.

Faraday’s apartment is a mess with the decor of a dorm room, Christmas lights strung up around the living room and pictures without frames taped up in a collage on one wall. Faraday goes into her kitchen and starts tossing bags of snacks in to Sebastian. Despite working with Skye for six months, Klavier had no idea there were this many flavors of Snackoos. He stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, unsure of where he should be while they argue about what kind of chips she needs to put on on her shopping list. The pictures draw his eye again.

A lot of them are selfies but rarely is she alone; by Klavier’s rough estimation, Sebastian is in over half of them. Most have a strip of masking tape stuck beneath them with the year and the location, and most are in Europe. Vacationing in between Interpol cases, perhaps. A woman who appears to be about their age with short grayish hair and a scowl appears in several, her expressions comical next to Faraday’s huge grins. Skye shows up a few times as well. Klavier recognizes Detective Gumshoe, of all people, in several of the photos that are unlabeled, but two include the dancing Blue Badger outside of Criminal Affairs. In one Faraday has her badge shoved toward the camera, Gumshoe beaming behind her.

In the center, in a place of honor, is a photo printed larger than the others, of Faraday, younger, and Gumshoe with, of all people, Prosecutor Edgeworth, who does not look happy to have been dragged by the neck by Faraday into frame.

He thinks of all of the curt conversations he has ever had with Edgeworth, both before he left and now that he has come back, and wonders if Faraday has lucked her way onto a barely-existent good side, or Klavier has for reasons unknown gotten on his bad side. Could it be as it was with Gumshoe — something about Wright?

Faraday and Sebastian are yelling at each other about pretzels.

On the TV stand, there stand four framed photographs. Three include Faraday: her a small child, beaming at the camera with a man with brown hair half pulled into a bun; her, slightly older, and a tall man with graying hair and a ratty gray trenchcoat; and her about the same age as prior with an older, white-haired couple. The last is of the two men together, without Faraday, the photo centered awkwardly in the frame and too small for it; the edge next to the brown-haired man is torn but the shoulder of someone else is visible.

“That’s my dad and Uncle Badd!”

Klavier jumps. He doesn’t know how Faraday got behind him without his noticing. “My dad was a prosecutor,” she says, pointing to the brown-haired man. “And Uncle Badd was the detective he always worked with, like me and Sebby now. Oh, and those are my grandparents. I lived with them after Dad was murdered.”

Klavier opens his mouth and closes it. He wouldn’t know what to say to that even if he were completely sober. “Oh,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“It was… it was just over fourteen years ago, now,” she says. “Sometimes still hard to believe.” She smiles but it’s a sad look. “I think he’d be proud, though. Uncle Badd says he would be, whenever I go see him — he’s in prison now,” she adds, casually, like she hasn’t just dropped the heaviest parts of her life on Klavier’s shoulders with no warning. “Seven years out of fifteen for covering up evidence of thefts he and Dad committed.”

Klavier turns to stare at her. “They felt the law was too limited for some things,” she says, tugging at her scarf and swaying a little on her feet, “and that some wrongs never got brought to court, convictions that should’ve didn’t, and a smuggling ring that they were chasing — there was never enough evidence, you know? The smugglers’d do whatever to get evidence back, or kill witnesses, or whatever underhanded. And in the law they felt, like, they couldn’t do it in the law. That it’s all about evidence and sometimes there’s no legal way to get permissible evidence.”

“And evidence is everything,” Klavier says.

Kay plops down on the floor. “So they’d steal it, all these corporations who dealt with the smugglers, they’d go in and steal it and release all their shady documents to the media, and then when the break-in was investigated, Uncle Badd would make sure there was no evidence for them to catch my dad. But then they caught on, and they killed Dad.” Her sad smile reappears. “We caught ‘em eventually. I helped. And Mr. Edgeworth did too. Us and Gummy.”

Sebastian drops a bag of Snackoos on her head and offers a bag of pretzels to Klavier. They are all sitting on the floor now. “I can’t wait to tell Uncle Badd about the Jurist System,” she continues. “I don’t think it would’ve helped for the smugglers but the rest, the limitations of the law that they saw…”

“The law isn’t absolute,” Klavier says. “It has to change.”

Kay nods. She misses her mouth when she tries to eat a Snackoo. “Change to better serve justice and the truth,” she says. “I bet Dad would be happy with it too. What’s the plan for uh… um… like doing the thing, all over—”

“Implementing it?” Sebastian asks.

Kay sticks her finger in his face. “That!”

“For now the talk is that a trial will have a jury when the prosecution requests it,” Klavier says. “Ease us into it, and the public too, ja?”

“Cool,” Kay says. “That’s cool.” She flops back to lean against Sebastian’s shoulder. “I wanted to be a prosecutor once. Be just like Dad. And then I helped out on some investigations, and then watched the trials, and I decided I’d rather be out there on the crime scene than standing in court. So I became a detective instead. But wouldn’t it’ve been funny if I was a prosecutor with you guys too? Or if I’d been then maybe you’d be different things.”

Klavier shakes his head. “I only wanted to be a prosecutor,” he says. “Music was a hobby and I went to Themis and didn’t have any other plan.”

Sebastian doesn’t say anything but Klavier remembers the conversation they had about his father and doubts that there was any other path for him, either. “Oh yeah,” Kay says. “You went to Themis, too.” She reaches over and grabs a handful of pretzels from the bag Klavier has. “What was it like? I wanna know, because I went to public high school and the only thing I learned about the law is whether it’s legal to grow weed beneath the bleachers; and the answer, my friends, is shockingly no.”

“Shockingly,” Sebastian deadpans. “I mean, it was, um… dubious, considering, you know, the grades thing.” She must know the story of his father because she nods without questioning the vaguery. Didn’t he once say that the two of them had been friends since then? “Is that more or less dubious than bleacher weed?”

“One time the school got evacuated because there was a kid setting toilet paper on fire and it got mistaken for a bomb,” Kay says, which is absolutely not an answer to the question that Sebastian asked. “But I guess Klav you left and went to wherever-the-fuck in Europe—”

“Deutschland.”

“Dutch-land, where’s that?”

“Germany.”

“Oh.” Kay considers that in silence for several seconds, her eyes going crossed. “I’m super drunk.”

“I am aware.” Her story about her father and uncle was surprisingly coherent, all things considered. Klavier tries to remember what she was saying to him about Themis. It’s more difficult than he thought. He might be drunk too. “I had always wanted to study abroad,” he says. “And I knew I could likely get my badge sooner there. It wasn���t a problem with Themis, ja, that I left, though the experience did… very much depend on the professors.” He remembers the head of the prosecution course to be entirely unexceptional — or rather, he doesn’t remember. “Herr Debeste, did you ever have Professor Courte?”

“Courte… Courte… no, doesn’t sound familiar.”

“She taught the judge course — was my favorite professor. Taught me there should be no truth but that found properly, that justice cannot come from unjust means.” And it had been that which brought him to a different conclusion than Kristoph: that the law cannot be static.

Sebastian shakes his head. “No wonder I didn’t have her,” he says. “My father wouldn’t let me take a class with someone he couldn’t buy.”

No; and Courte would rather die than let herself be bought. “She was a big inspiration for me,” Klavier says. Her, and his brother; so at odds with each other. “We stayed in touch while I was studying in Germany.” And now if he could just have the guts to push through the shroud of shame to reply to her emails. How did Sebastian grow from where they were at seventeen, but Klavier regress into a neurotic wreck?

“Most of my memories of Themis are kind of terrible,” Sebastian says, “but maybe we should go back sometime. Show Kay around—”

“Best bleachers to grow weed under,” she says.

“—Introduce me to your professor.” Sebastian continues like he hadn’t heard Kay. She pouts at being ignored.

“Ja; perhaps we’ll have to do that someday.”

Kay is watching him now, and even with her face pink, her eyes a little glassy and unfocused, he can still see that she is evaluating the expression on his face, deciding what needs to be done with his crestfallen look. “Did you guys even have bleachers?” she asks, prodding his leg with her foot and grinning at him, attempting to draw one back out from him. “Or do law nerds not know how to play sportball? Hand-eye coordination test, quick!”

She throws the whole bag of Snackoos at him.

After they have spent another ten minutes reminiscing on Themis and hearing Kay’s Public School Stories that they have no way of knowing if true, Kay stands up, stumbling and nearly falling over Klavier, to find her phone to order pizza. Klavier stops her to tell them that he has to go home to let the dog out, expecting a fight with Kay like Skye had earlier. What he does not expect is Kay to whirl around to stare at him, her eyes huge, looking at him like she has never seen him before. “You have a dog?” she asks. “Holy shit you have a dog! I want to meet your dog. Klav. I gotta meet your dog.” She tumbles onto the couch. “Party with your dog. Klav. Klav. I am inviting myself over to your house. Where do you live.”

Sebastian looks absolutely mortified. “Kay—”

Klavier had known he was lonely; he had figured that out easily for himself, even before losing Daryan. He just hadn’t realized how lonely until for this portion of the evening he wasn’t. “We can get pizza with my dog, ja? So long as you do not actually feed it to her; she is getting a bit round.”

Kay is already crowing something about sleepovers and Sebastian is saying something else and Klavier thinks for a moment that he is a teenager again, naivety gone but the rest — unselfconscious and surrounded with people for a movie or games in a dorm room—

He doesn’t want to ever again be who he was at seventeen, but there might be something to keep from then in spite of it.

His apartment looks nothing like Kay’s; her mess is obviously lived in, and cozy despite itself. After six months his is still barren, empty walls and boxes containing both his and Kris’ material lives stacked in the corners. But with the three of them sprawled on the floor, Kay with her face shoved into Vongole’s fur but still arguing with Sebastian over pizza toppings, Klavier almost feels like it could one day be a home worth staying in.