He hadn’t anticipated the call from Franziska a few days ago.

Really, how could he have? It had been a normal day, if a little dull, but that was to be expected in his line of work. There hadn’t been much going on; a meeting, paperwork, sorting through case files (as if it wasn’t bad enough that Payne has such limited prosecutorial skills, but also had extremely poor organisation), a review of Gumshoe’s salary, and, finally, the scheduled call with Franziska.

Since Edgeworth’s… ‘vacation’, the two had had an increasingly tense relationship. They barely spoke, spare from a few curt glares or sniggers in the break room. He had honestly expected worse from her; not only had he completely cut contact for a year, with no details except a note (that far too many people seemed to know about), following the worst case of his career, including the one prior, when her father and his mentor was found guilty. He expected anger, deserved it even. The only person that even somewhat resembled a support-system for Franziska had disappeared without a trace, and after taking her father away from her.

What he hadn’t expected were the tears.

It wasn’t like Franziska never cried, although it was hardly common. She was prone to tears of frustration, but this was different. Messy, drunken tears from their shared house in Dresden. Broken wails, chafing at him with every sob as she cried over their spoiled relationship. Begging for reconciliation, for things to go back to normal, and if not, to at least be given the chance to learn about this revived Miles Edgeworth, who saw hope for the future and took pride in his job. Pleading to know what Wright had that she didn’t, why he spoke to him upon returning, but hardly looked her in the eye, why she could never win to the man that had ruined their lives. Why wouldn't he speak to her at all, even.

She had asked to at least receive a call sometimes, anytime, to at least know that her brother (his throat had grown uncomfortably tight at that part) wasn’t dead.

And so he had promised.

And so proceeded the weekly calls.

He had no reason to think that he’d hear anything strange on this particular scheduled call. They usually just complained about their days, Franziska chuckling fondly about some ‘fool’ who had bared the wrath of her whip, whilst he chided her with barely concealed amusement. These calls had truly done wonders for the two’s relationship. He was barely paying attention to what she was saying, honestly. Something about evidence. Lazily, his eyes flicked down to his own badge, thumbing it idly as he hummed non-committably to her chatter.

“To believe this fool had the gall to accept the notion that he had presented forged evidence! After all that’s happened, how could he! How! Could! He! This fool! This miserable, pathetic fool-!”

“Yes, yes, Franziska. He is a foolish man, and an even more foolish fool.” It takes everything in Edgeworth not to roll his eyes (he has a feeling she’d be able to tell, even on the phone).

“Don’t you dare take that pedantic tone with me, Miles! You’re even more foolish than he is! Do you seriously believe that that foolish fool is guilty of such… foolish actions!?”

He’s not quite sure how to respond to that. Maybe if he’d been listening… but they never really spoke law like this; it was bound to end in argument. Still, he clears his throat.

“Well, you yourself said he presented forged evidence-”

“I did not! Shouldn’t you know better than anyone that Wright is far too foolish to do such a thing!? Miles, don’t be so… so…!”

Her voice fades out around him as his mind juggles her words around. Phoenix Wright.. Forged evidence? He can’t quite make the two words fit in his head. Wright; the pinnacle of devotion, of light, of hope, of everything in between. The man who blindly believes in his friends, who protects those closest to him with the fierceness of a tiger. The magical, revolutionary man, who somehow manages to fit all of that wonder inside of him, and still has room left to be bitter, to be sarcastic, to be scornful, to be obtuse, to be so, so very infuriating. The insightful, poetic man, who has so much heart, who gives, and gives, and gives, and never stops to question just how much left of him there is to give. The man who gets hung up on little details, like the angle of a camera, or the arrangement of flowers, or whether a stepladder, of all things, is a type of ladder. The man who loves- loves so much. Loves his assistant. Loves his mentor. Loves his clients. Loves his friend. Loves those who should be his foes. Loves him.

He doesn’t know when he hung up on Franziska. Doesn’t know when he called the Chief Prosecutor and requested time off. Doesn’t know when he got home. Doesn’t know when he packed his emergency suitcase into his car. Doesn’t know when he arrived at the airport.

He hadn’t anticipated going to California today.

His bones audibly creak as he shuffles out of the airport with a yawn. It was odd; for once, the 15 hour flight seemed to have, pun-not-intended, flown by. He had scarcely given thought to what he would say to Phoenix. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t had time, but… his mind would just not come together.

But he should still attempt to, right? Right.

First things first. He needed to find out what had happened. That was reasonable, and logical, and it made sense. How was he supposed to… what had he even come here to do? Comfort Phoenix, and tell him it was okay? Kill him, for letting this absolute idiocy get so far? Help him? Yes. That must be what he needs to do. Help Phoenix. He could do that, and dispel these accusations. Honestly, it was astonishing that they had managed to get so far. Didn’t they know Phoenix Wright? But he’d fix things. He’d help him for once. He was here to help, and he needed to find out what exactly occurred that day, so he could help him best. It shouldn’t be too hard; news like this was easy to find, especially with the name Phoenix had made for himself. He just had to get out his phone, and-

He barely finished reading the headline before everything felt wrong.

‘Phoenix Wright’.

‘Disbarred’.

‘Forged evidence’.

.

.

.

.

.

But he could help. He could! Phoenix has helped him so much, and he continued to take and take and take, but now was finally his chance to give. He could help. He had to be able to do something, anything. Having his badge taken was certainly… harder to come back from, but Edgeworth could help. He could talk to someone; a committee of some sorts, he couldn’t remember the name now. Yes, he’d talk to them, and explain that this was a misunderstanding, and they’d apologise before restoring Phoenix’s honour and badge.

But first he had to find Phoenix. That shouldn’t be too hard; he knows where his house is, and, chances are, that’s where he is. So.. he just needs to go there, really. And then he can fix things.

He’d let Phoenix know that he believes him (he even sounds a bit like him right now, hm?) and he’d tell him that everything is okay. That he can help. That Phoenix will get his badge back, and even if he doesn’t, it's okay, because Edgeworth can help. If things don/t work out, he can stay with him; Edgeworth has more than enough money for the both of them. They can stay in California, or if that’s too painful for Phoenix, he can show him to his house in Europe. He doesn’t need to worry. Even if things haven’t gone to plan, Edgeworth can ease the burden. He doesn’t need to be so stubbornly independent as always, because Edgeworth didn’t run away. He came back. He’s back.

(He tries to ignore the part of him that feels sick, that feels wrong)

He hears his breath hitch as the small house suddenly comes into view. It's weird, almost. Despite everything, it looks almost exactly the same as when he last saw it, although the overflowing bin is certainly new.

It's been so long since they last saw each other. They called sometimes, but not frequently. The differing time zones made things… difficult. At least he and Franziska were in the same country, but Phoenix was so far away, and it would be too expensive and time-consuming to see him regularly. But they spoke sometimes; spoke a few days ago, actually.

Spoke a few days ago, when Phoenix had already been disbarred. And Edgeworth knew nothing. When they called, they spoke about Phoenix’s case, though in limited detail. They talked about this new brand of tea that Edgeworth had found, and was deciding whether or not it was worth adding to his collection. Phoenix told him about Miss Bydre’s new dog, and how his phone had been acting up, and about potentially seeing Ms Fey again soon.

But he hadn’t mentioned being disbarred.

Because of course he didn’t. That stubborn man hardly accepts help from Edgeworth, never wants to accept that he might need saving too, sometimes. Should Edgeworth have known something was wrong? He’d been a bit quieter than usual on that call, but nothing was too out of the ordinary. Slight giggles in the background, some shuffling at times, but nothing explicitly odd. Still… maybe he should’ve just known. How could he be a true partner to Phoenix if he couldn’t pick up on things like this? If the situations were reversed, he had no doubt that Phoenix would know immediately, so why hadn’t he?

As he got closer to Phoenix’s apartment, he heard that same laughter as had been in the background of their last call. Did he have company, perhaps? Long-lasting company, no doubt. Perhaps Ms. Pearl Fey was staying with Phoenix? He didn’t remember her being quite so loud, but Phoenix did have the ability to draw out unusual sides of people.

Still, as he finally got up to Phoenix’s porch, he couldn’t shake the undeniable feeling of… wrongness.

But he knocks regardless.

The house goes eerily silent, and for a second, he thought he’d made up that laughter, but then there’s some faint shushing and shuffling. The chains on the door rattle as it unlocks, and he feels his nails press against his palms subconsciously as the door creaks open.

“Miles?”

And it’s Phoenix… but it's also not. He doesn’t look… horrible, all things considered, but he’s wearing a grey hoodie and blue beanie, and it just looks a bit odd.

“Phoenix. I see that you’re home.”

“Yeah. I’ve been home a lot lately, actually.”

“I know.”

Miles doesn’t know why he feels so angry all of a sudden. He really doesn’t.

“...Phoenix, can I come in?” There’s no reply, apart from a lazy nod before Phoenix turns around and skulks back into the house, not even checking if Miles is behind him.

He doesn’t know why that makes him even angrier.

He follows, of course. Entering the house is… unpleasant. It’s not terribly different from the last Miles saw it, just messier. There’s a lot of random stuff on the floor, like playing cards and a red cloak. Phoenix is already slumped on the couch that definitely has a lot more stains than he recalled.

They don’t say anything to each other, the air thrumming with awkward-energy. Miles clears his throat, looking for a place to sit so they’re at least level; the only other seating option is a chair that should be identical to the one Phoenix lays on, but is in considerably worse shape.

Miles decides to remain standing.

“So… you’re here.”

“Yes, I am.”

The silence continues.

He’s not quite sure how to proceed from here. Talking to Phoenix has never really been hard, but this time… it's different.

“Phoenix…”

“Hm?”

“How can you act so casually?” Phoenix doesn’t even look up. He simply shrugs, getting comfortable. Still, at least Miles now has confirmation that Phoenix knows he’s aware of the disbarral.

“Phoenix. You’ve been disbarred. You lost your badge-”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t ‘yeah’ me! Phoenix, what will you do for work? Being disbarred is hardly something employers love to see in a background check-”

“Miles. It’ll be fine. Actually, I have-”

“How can you say that? Phoenix, you need help.”

“Miles.”

“You don’t have to struggle, Phoenix. I am more than capable of providing some funds for you.”

“What? Miles-”

“It’s no trouble, Phoenix.” But Phoenix doesn’t look pleased. His lazy grin has tilted into a scowl, and his eyes have narrowed. It's been a while since that look has been aimed in his direction. He’d thought they were past it. That look was reserved for old Miles, but he’s aware that he’s come so far since then. So why is Phoenix looking at him like that?

“Really, Phoenix. Let me help,” he pushes. “I want to.”

“Yeah, no. That’s not gonna work.” Phoenix scoffs, sitting up on the sofa.

“What?” Phoenix glares at him again, though he kicks his feet slowly, almost appearing more bored with the situation than angry.

“Miles. I don’t need your money. If I needed help, I would’ve damn well asked for it. So thanks, but no thanks.” That can’t be right. That’s not… this isn’t how things should go. He lets out a chuckle of disbelief.

“Don’t need money, Phoenix? It’s okay, there’s no need to be… humble. Anyone can see that help is needed in this situation, and that’s perfectly alright-”

“And what’s that supposed to mean, huh?” Crap.

“Okay, I know how that sounded, but-”

“No, Miles. I don’t need your money. Hell, I don’t even want your money. I’m a grown man, I’ll figure it out. Sorry you’re feeling so philanthropic all of a sudden, but I’m not gonna be your money dump.” Is that what Phoenix really believes? That Miles just wants to use him to alleviate some sense of guilt? Has he made him feel that way?

“Phoenix-”

“Miles. It’s fine.”

Without thinking, he slams his hands against the coffee table in front of Phoenix. He has to bend over a bit awkwardly, as it's quite low to the ground, but the resulting slam is what he was after regardless.

“How could this possibly be fine! Look at you, Phoenix! So much has changed in such a short amount of time, and I can’t let you act like it's nothing! You lost your job, and in such a high profile case too! And now its like you’ve already given up on yourself! The bottles of who-knows-what filling your trash can, the beanie, the hoodie, the stains- Phoenix, this isn’t normal! And what’s worse is that you kept it from me! You kept it from me, because you knew I’d help, didn’t you? And your saviour complex could not handle letting someone try and help you, instead of the other way around.”

“Well, it’s not like you were exactly asking me about my life in all those calls-”

“And you never told me! Phoenix, I am not going to listen to you try and tell me that I should’ve, what, instinctively known such a drastic shift had happened to you? Especially when you make it so, so impossible to know what’s going on in your life-”

“Daddy? Can I go back to playing now? My legs hurt!” What.
.
.
.

Miles hadn’t anticipated meeting Phoenix’s adopted eight year old girl today. The girl, who’d been in the hallway, apparently, had been eager to get back to playing with a deck of cards. She was wearing a red cape and tophat, made of a suspiciously high-quality fabric, and with an even more suspiciously familiar look. He’d almost thought Phoenix had been harbouring a secret child for eight whole years, but no. He recently adopted her and refused to elaborate.

To say Miles was frustrated would be a drastic understatement.

This girl was just another thing that Phoenix hadn’t thought to inform him about. Another life-altering piece of information. This wasn’t even like the trial, where shame and pride might have come into play when hiding, deciding not to tell him; Phoenix was definitely proud of this child, if the soft smile that had spread across his face when he escorted her to the sofa beside him was anything to go by. He had no reason to hide this child, yet here he was, harbouring her away like she was bad news.

Like they weren’t lovers.

Why was Miles not trusted to know that his partner had adopted a child? And Phoenix had been refusing the money too, like he could afford to look after a child and himself at the same time.

It pissed Miles off, to be honest.

Phoenix strokes the child’s hair as she beams, shuffling through the deck. Her name was Trucy Gamarye, and she had been the fallout of the case that had cost Phoenix his job. Her father, Zac Gramyre, had disappeared on the stand, leaving her behind. Naturally, Phoenix had taken her in; Miles wouldn’t have expected any less from the man. He just.. Wishes he had taken larger consideration into how exactly he would provide for the two of them. If this is what the house looks like after less than a month of Phoenix being the jobless caretaker, what would it look like after a year? Miles had to intervene.

Phoenix just had to let him.

“Phoenix. I would like it if you would allow me to give you money. If not for yourself, then for your new child. It’s not fair for her to live like this.” Phoenix’s face tenses at the demand, but he continues soothing Trucy, like nothing was happening.

“You think I can’t take care of her?”

“I didn’t say that-”

“Well, you sure as hell implied it.” Miles huffs, eyebrows furrowing. Was Phoenix always this frustrating?

“Well, I didn’t mean that necessarily. You can take care of a child. You have been seen fit to care for her, and I won’t debate that. I just think that some money could help to make the situation more comfortable for you both; it would be so much less stressful, and she would be so much happier.”

“I’m not taking your money, Miles.”

“Phoenix. We’re just going back and forth now! Why can’t you just accept help for once in your life! You can’t afford to let your pride get in the way now! You’re raising a child. Like it or not, that comes with sacrifices!”

“Don’t talk to me about sacrifices, Miles. You don;t get to force me to take your money. I’m managing. I have an interview tomorrow, actually.” Something about the way Phoenix remains calm, when Miles feels so, so angry, just doesn’t sit right with him. Phoenix keeps a relaxed look on his face, despite everything. It's not fair.

“Phoenix. You can’t possibly be so- so reckless with another person’s life! You don’t need to be her sole provider! Are you so prideful that you can’t accept help? How can you do what’s best for this child if you can’t even do what’s best for yourself! Now is not the time to-”

“Would you like to see a card trick?” Trucy suddenly pipes up. He furrows his eyebrows, watching the girl carefully. The stack of cards seems to be thoroughly shuffled enough for her, and she watches him back, with large, round eyes, and an almost eerie joy, given the tenseness of the situation. Her smile feels out of place.

Perhaps she and Phoenix were more alike than he’d initially thought.

“Sweetheart, I think Mr. Miles was just about to leave.” Trucy frowns, grip tightening on the cards.

“But Daddy-”

“It’s alright, Phoenix. I think I’ll stay for a bit longer.. If just to see this card trick. Uh.. are you good with cards, Trucy?”

“The best!”

And so, Miles spends the rest of his evening with the two Wrights. Trucy shows him an array of card tricks, and even teaches him a few. She has other magic tricks too; she saws Phoenix in half, she makes a coin appear behind his ear, and she has this obscure ventriloquist act with an unusually large wooden puppet that she dubs ‘Mr Hat’.

Phoenix and Miles don’t address the awkward feeling, or the financial issue, or even Phoenix’s disbarral. Phoenix and Miles don’t actually talk at all, until it's time for him to leave. Despite Trucy’s protests, Phoenix had sent her to shower, and Miles naturally decided that it was an appropriate time for him to leave. Phoenix walks him to the door, but the tension that had been thrumming through the air earlier hasn’t decided to return just yet.

“Well,” How can it feel so weird to speak to his lover? “I suppose I’ll be going. I have a flight home to catch.”

“Yeah.” Phoenix hums non-commitally, leaning in the doorway, eyes trailing over him consideringly.

“Have a safe flight.”

“Thank you.”

The silence stretched uncomfortably for a moment, before Miles let out a sigh.

“Please, Phoenix. Just consider the money. Or if not, just… let me help. I want to help, Phoenix.”

Phoenix lets out a breathy chuckle.

“Yeah. I’m not taking your money, but… Trucy seems to like you. Okay, Miles.”

Miles’ head snaps up at the confirmation. Phoenix is looking directly at him, and for the first time today, he truly believes that everything will be okay.

For a second, that’s enough. To just stare with Phoenix, familiarise themselves with each other again.

“I’ll call you once I land.”

“Yeah.”

“Make sure to wear your suit for that interview tomorrow.” Phoenix grins at that.

“What? You don’t think they’ll like my hoodie?”

“Not even I like your hoodie.” Miles scoffs, tugging slightly on the worn drawstrings. Phoenix grabs his hands, lightly pulling them away from the drawstrings. He doesn’t let go.

They hold eye contact for a moment more, and he almost thinks Phoenix is going to kiss him, when there’s suddenly a scream from the bathroom.

“Daddy! The shampoo is in my eyes!”

“Shit- Uh, I need to go sort this out. See you, Miles!” He quickly pecks his cheek, before darting back into the house, the door slamming behind him, with a quiet finality.

Well.

That was.. It turned out better than he expected, although in typical Wright fashion, it was anything but. Edgeworth flagged down a taxi, murmuring a quick “airport” before slipping into his seat. The driver doesn’t look up from the wheel, but gives a curt nod in response, humming quietly along to the song that was playing on the radio.

Not a lot was cleared up in that meeting. He still hadn’t worked out the alleged story of events, he hadn’t really been able to help financially, and he was no closer to helping Phoenix get his job back. Now that he’s really had time to slow down, though… in retrospect, maybe he should have just finished reading the article. It definitely wasn’t his proudest moment, but at least he could look things over properly now. It’s almost embarrassing how panicked he had been. He’d abandoned everything at a minute’s notice, scarcely giving it a thought before dropping his work and flying to California.

But hadn’t Phoenix done the same for him too?

He lowers his brightness after pulling out his phone, wincing at the sudden beam of light that glows through the taxi. The article is still on his screen; apparently he hadn’t closed the tab after he finished reading. How annoying.

Edgeworth hadn’t anticipated anything that had happened today.

But at least now he could start working towards the future.