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Plot Bunny

Maya’s eye is twitching. She is rapidly developing a tension headache from clenching her jaw. She is sitting on the couch in Nick’s apartment, willing her heart rate to level out while Phoenix and Pearl are folding dumplings in the kitchen. Has she ever felt this way before? This level of deep, primal, rage? This level of intense, all-consuming annoyance?? The emotional equivalent of a broken blister on the sole of her foot and a two mile walk back home???

This is it. This is the end for her. She can’t take it anymore. 

“Phoenix Wright,” she says, attempting to keep her voice steady in spite of her rapidly increasing blood pressure. “Platonic love of my life, my best friend, my sweet, sweet, precious, darling, dearest pal whom I hold so close to my heart.” 

“Yes, Maya?” he asks innocently from the kitchen. 

“My brother from another mother, my light in the darkness, my rock, my platonic soulmate…” 

“This is getting weird, should I be worried?” 

“My guardian angel. The man who has not only saved me from a life of incarceration but who has so graciously allowed me to live rent-free, NAY! not only in his house,” she clutches a hand to her chest, waving the other in the air, “but in his heart .” 

Pearl tugs on Nick’s sleeve, infecting it with a fair amount of dumpling filling, gesturing for him to bend down. He stoops his ear to her level and she whispers in it, “Mr. Nick, what is Mystic Maya talking about?” 

“I have no idea.” 

“ THE ANOINTED HARBINGER OF MY SISTER’S LEGACY --” 

“Maya, please stop, you’re scaring Pearls,” he gestures to Pearl, whose eyes are big and wobbly at this point. 

“D-Did we do something wrong?” she asks. 

Maya shakes her head, holding out her hand, “ You’re perfect, Pearly, never change.”  

“Uh-oh,” Nick winces.  

“ YOU on the other hand,” she points at the now-anxious attorney. 

“ Uh-oh ,” he repeats, this time with more feeling. 

“I love you to pieces and I know that you are recovering from a concussion and only really capable of focusing on one thing at a time in the best circumstances--” 

“I-I am?”  

“-- But we have been listening to The Monster Mash for the last HOUR on LOOP --” 

“W-We have ??”

 As soon as he says this, he vaguely registers the speaker on the counter blaring several do-wops followed by: “ They did the mash! It was a graveyard smash !” 

“Oh, I guess I did turn it on before.” 

“YOU GUESS ??” Maya cries, “I SWEAR IF I HAVE TO HEAR ‘DRACULA AND HIS SON’ ONE MORE TIME .”

“... the guest list included the wolfman, Dracula, and his son …” the speaker says, as though it were eavesdropping on the conversation and wished to cause Maya pain. 

Her eye gives a final, definitive twitch and she screams, rushing from her place on the couch to the counter, grabbing the speaker, then shoving it angrily into the fridge. Even with the insulated door shut, she can still hear the muffled sounds of “ Igor on chains, backed by his baying hounds ” radiating from amongst the wilting lettuce. She makes a miserable sound, planting her forehead against the cool chrome finish of the door. 

Phoenix watches this display with a look caught between concern, amusement, and guilt. Pearl, likewise, blinks briefly at her cousin, but returns dutifully to her dumpling making, satisfied to see Maya acting not necessarily any stranger than usual. 

“Y’know, Myes, you could have just asked me to change the song.” 

“ YOU HAVE BEEN SINGING ALONG !” 

“I have ?” He turns to the other girl, “Pearls, why didn’t you tell me I’ve been singing this whole time?” 

She smiles, engrossed in her dumpling folding, “I liked it! Especially the parts with Igor. You were doing all the funny voices.”

“HORRIBLE ANNOYING VOICES” Maya corrects, “FOR OVER AN HOUR .” She throws her arms in the air, “WHY ARE WE EVEN LISTENING TO THE MONSTER MASH IN JUNE ??”   

Nick frowns, cocking his head,  “‘What do you mean ‘why are we listening to The Monster Mash ?’ It’s Pride-oween???” 

The girls turn to look at him, blankly. 

“Come on, you know, the beloved Japanifornian holiday??” he adds. 

“Pride- oween ?” Pearls asks. 

Maya crosses her arms.  “Okay, this definitely sounds like something you just made up.” 

“Mr. Nick, are you making up holidays again?” 

“What?! No!!! Have You guys seriously never heard about Pride-oween?? They don’t celebrate that where you’re from??” 

“I mean, we celebrate Pride Month and we celebrate Halloween but they’re, like, totally separate things,” Maya tilts her head thoughtfully,  “though I guess you couldn’t really say we celebrate Halloween.” 

“It’s more like a work day! It’s very serious business, keeping away evil spirits.” 

“Hold it-- so you guys have never done the whole costumes and trick-or-treating thing?” 

Maya shakes her head, “Nah, it’s mostly a lot of, like, vigilant meditation and what not. Something-something,” she makes air-quotes, “‘the barrier between the living and the dead is thinner on the 31st’ or what have you.” 

“Huh. Well, in the rest of the world, it’s basically a fun costume day--” 

“I’ve watched Hocus Pocus , Nick. I know what Halloween is,” Maya interrupts, “What I know nothing about is the ENTIRELY FICTIONAL holiday you ABSOLUTELY just made up--” 

“No!! It’s a real thing, I swear!! I’ve celebrated it my whole life!! It’s June 9th! A-And it’s--” he looks at the completely incredulous looks on both girl’s faces, “WAIT WAIT WAIT, didn’t you guys notice all the rainbow ghost displays at the grocery store? And all the candy displays??” 

“Yeah?” Maya seems unimpressed, “So?” 

“Well, don’t you think that’s a little weird ?” 

Maya frowns. “Don’t be homophobic Nick. Are you saying dead people can’t be gay?” 

“It’s because the G in LGBT stands for ghost,” Pearl explains thoughtfully. 

“No!! It’s-- It’s a real holiday !! I--” he stops when he notices how profoundly concerned Maya and Pearl are looking at him. 

Pearl tugs at his sleeve again, compelling him to stoop down. She places her hand against his forehead, “Mr. Nick, is your head hurting again?” 

Maya walks over and shines her phone’s flashlight into his eyes, “Lemme see your pupils.” 

“Ahkkk!! Hey! Stop!” He stumbles back, shielding his eyes, “I’m fine! I’M normal!! You guys are the weirdos!!” 

“I dunno man, we have you outnumbered. Majority rules say you’re nuts,” Maya shrugs, “That’s how juries work.” 

“GUILTY VERDICT!” Pearls cries, imitating a gavel with her hand.  

“No it’s-- O-Okay, hold on a second, I have the right to a lawyer,” Phoenix moves over to the sink, washes the dumpling filling off his hands, and picks up his phone. “I’m gonna get a second opinion here. 

Miles Edgeworth is sitting at his desk, his hands already stained with a fair amount of ink, a tension headache forming as he looks over the small mountain of papers on his desk in a tide of anxiety and regret. It has been a rough couple of days as, unsurprisingly, taking an impromptu several-month existential-crisis break from his already busy job had consequences and he is absolutely drowning in work. While normally, he should have flexible deadlines with which to complete said work, in a move Edgeworth can only assume was motivated by a fair amount of spite, his secretary, Ms. Marion Etta, “ accidentally ” arranged for almost three months worth of papers to be due within the next week and a half. 

The difficulty of this task combined with the extent to which it’s all his own damn fault has left him quite pissy and more than a little volatile. Sure, he could always ask her to reschedule everything, but that would only provoke her fury in a multitude of other avenues. Additionally, he has always been somewhat of a glutton for punishment, and so the discomfort of his current situation seems just fitting enough to keep him from changing anything. 

When the phone on his desk begins ringing, a surge of panic and rage rises in his throat. It must be Ms. Etta calling yet again “just to check on his progress,” and to “regretfully” trouble him with yet another document that needs sorting. Either that, or it's one of his assine coworkers calling to complain about Blackquill’s damn parrot wreaking havoc in the break room again. No matter what, he is certain the voice on the other end of the phone is someone he would rather not hear from. 

“ What ?! What is it?! SPEAK !” Miles says harshly into the phone. He sounds irritated, hostile, and exhausted because that is precisely what he is.

“Woah, okay ,” Phoenix’s voice says on the other line, “Sorry, is this a bad time?” 

Miles’s heart skips a small beat and blood rushes to his face, the tension headache that had accumulated over the day dissipating almost immediately. It’s that man . This changes everything. 

“Oh, Phoenix!” he says, his voice brightening into a tone that could almost be read as cheerful, something adjacent to a smile growing across his features, “No, no, it’s not a bad time at all! What can I help you with? How are you recovering, how are your injuries-- how’s your head?” He leans forward his chair, checking the small clock on his desk. 5:30. “Are you hungry? Have you eaten? I was just about to call and see if you had dinner plans--”  

(This is a lie. Before that exact moment, his dinner plans were to stay at his desk and work through paperwork with perhaps a bag of pretzels from the office vending machine. If that man , however, has not eaten, these plans can be unquestioningly thrown out the window.)

Phoenix laughs, a little taken aback by the onslaught of questions.

“Uhhhhhh, I’m fine. Still a little weird up there, I guess, but fine . Thanks for asking. Pearly and I are making some dumplings for dinner, so if you and Franziska would--” 

“We would love to!” he says, perhaps a little over-eager. He clears his throat, “Or well, I shall have to enquire with my sister, but pending her acceptance, I suppose we could make the time, as we are not priorly engaged…” 

He begins rising from his seat at the desk, gathering the papers to complete at a later date, perhaps even later that evening. Surely, whatever he’s working on can wait. He can’t possibly expect himself to keep working on an empty stomach-- surely, he will be more productive after a break…. 

GOD, what is he doing? He’s PATHETIC . 

Ever since his return, his… feelings for Wright have reached an almost hysterical peak. In spite of his best intentions and usually cool exterior, every time he’s spoken to-- or in all honesty, even thought about -- Wright, he has emotionally regressed into a middle-schooler experiencing their first crush. There is an anxious, happy, fluttering feeling that seems to be perpetually caught in his chest, growing in intensity with increased proximity to Phoenix like some sort of internal metal detector. 

At first, he thought he was experiencing heart palpitations and sought immediate medical attention. On the way to the hospital, however, Franziska informed him (quite viciously) that he was not sick but he was, in fact, pining . Much to his horror and disdain, she was correct, especially in light of his other symptoms: not only is there a constant tightening in his chest, but he has been sighing more frequently than usual and even doodling little hearts into the margins of his paperwork. 

It is all very embarrassing. Here he is, drowning in work, and agreeing without a second thought to abandon it all for an evening of awkward closeness. 

Phoenix laughs, oblivious to the frantic machinations whirring in Miles’s head.  

“Okay, perfect!” he says, grinning and looking across the kitchen counter, the entire surface of which is covered with neatly-assembled dumplings, “We’ve, uhhhh, gotten a little carried away with the dumpling-making over here, so we definitely have enough for both of you.” 

Pearl lets out a small snort and Maya rolls her eyes, both overhearing this blatant lie. ‘A little carried away’ he says, as though he did not VERY INTENTIONALLY make enough so he could innocently ‘swing by’ later with leftovers. God, he’s pathetic. 

Maya gingerly nudges him in the gut-- intentionally avoiding any of his still-recovering ribs-- to remind him about why he called in the first place. 

“O-Oh right! Sorry, I was calling for another reason!! Uhhh, Pride-oween! That’s definitely a VERY REAL and ESTABLISHED holiday that we celebrate, right??” 

Miles furrows his brow, his voice growing concerned, “Wright, are you sure your head is alright?” 

“Yes! Yes, I’m fine ! Well-- okay wait. You’re saying that because it’s so obviously a real holiday, right?? Because now I’m starting to question reality because the girls are telling me this is not a real thing when--” 

“Yes, of course it’s a real thing! It’s an established holiday I--” he sighs, bringing his hand to his forehead, “Will you please pass the phone to Maya?” 

“Uhhh,” he looks to Maya who violently shakes her head NO and makes an X with her arms. “Yeah, sure.” 

He holds out the phone and Maya groans, accepting it with one hand and shaking the other in a fist. 

“Hello, asshole, ” she says flatly into the receiver. Phoenix and Miles wince in unison at this greeting. 

“H-Hello, Miss Fey. I am aware that you are still, justifiably, quite upset at me--” 

Maya brings a hand to her mouth in mock shock, gasping, “What ever gave you that idea?” 

“ Intuition . Now, listen, I understand that you and my sister find it funny to gaslight people, but I would appreciate it if you would leave Wright alone— especially while he is recovering from a head wound. He is in a fragile enough state already and--” 

“Oh , no way ,” Maya interrupts, “you are NOT telling me there is an ENTIRE, INCREDIBLY COOL HOLIDAY that Pearls and I have just NOT HEARD ABOUT!” 

“While I apologize for your ignorance, I’m afraid that is correct. Pride-oween is a universally-beloved national holiday.” 

“What!?!” 

“It was established on June 9, 1420. Legend has it that members of the Ashikaga shōgunate met early with the European settlers and, in a historical debate between both group’s most brilliant philosophers, they determined that all homophobia was the result of evil spirits influencing our world.” 

“ What ????!!!?” 

 “In an attempt to scare away these malignant forces, the early Japanifornians dressed up in campy costumes, carved out various summer gourds in the shapes of spooky faces, shared sweets, and generally celebrated goodwill not only to affirm queer rights but to banish the evil spirits of homophobia from the great nation forever.” 

“ WHAT!!!!???!?!? ?” 

“And now, every June, we celebrate not only Pride month and the amazing contributions that members of the LGBTQIA community have made to wider society, but we remember the early festivities that exorcized homophobia from our great nation in the first place. We dress in costumes and carve melon-o-lanterns, just in case the evil spirits should ever decide to return.” 

“ Oh my god ,” Maya holds the phone away from her face for a moment, turning to Nick. “Oh my GOD!!” she reiterates, this time with more feeling. 

“HA! HA!!” Nick points triumphantly, “SEE, I TOLD YOU!!”

“NOOOOOOO,” She drops theatrically to her knees, “HOW HAS THIS ALWAYS BEEN A THING!?!? NINETEEN YEARS!! WASTED !! RUINED !!! SOILED !!!” She brings the phone back to her mouth, “WHY MUST YOU ALWAYS BE THE BEARER OF BAD NEWS?!” 

“M-Me!?! Miss Fey, I apologize for being the one to bring this grievous gap in your upbringing to light, but how is this my fault?!” 

“I DUNNO! IT JUST IS OKAY!?” 

“Aw, come on, Maya,” Phoenix interjects, “Don’t blame him. I’m the one who brought it up—“ 

Maya silences him with an upheld hand. 

“No, no. I am unconvinced there’s anything that isn’t his fault. Miles Edgeworth caused WWI! He didn’t pay his taxes! He faked the moon landing—”  

“Miss Fey, I am still on the line and I can fully hear you insult me.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I completely forgot you were there.” Something about her tone gives Miles the sense that she is not telling the truth. 

He sighs, the tension headache returning.

“Maya—“ 

“It’s Master Maya.” 

 “ Master Maya, if you’re only going to be outwardly hostile towards me, would you mind giving the phone back to Phoenix?” 

“Ah, so you’re running away from the consequences of your actions again, eh?” 

“I’m--” 

“Har har, just kidding,” she says in the same flat, disingenuous tone, “There is nothing I’d love more than the prospect of not talking to you anymore.” 

She tosses the phone in the general direction of Nick (who, impressively, manages to catch it) and then stalks back off to her position on the couch, the brief interaction with Miles putting her into an even more sour mood than before. At least Franziska is coming over too. Franziska always makes her feel better. 

Phoenix kisses the top of Pearl’s head to signal his exit, takes the phone, and maneuvers through the kitchen window leading out onto the fire escape so he may complete the call with a bit more privacy. He winces a little at the sunlight, as following his head injury he has been keeping the apartment quite dark, but hopefully a mere phone call shouldn’t be enough to stoke the dull pain in his head into an actual headache. 

“Hey, sorry about that,” he says, tenderly taking a seat against the windowsill-- a position that was much more comfortable without several broken ribs. “She’s been in kind of a bitter mood ever since, uh, you know…” 

There is a brief silence as the last several weeks linger in the air between them: the plot on her life, her mother’s murder, Godot’s arrest, and Phoenix’s near-death in a frozen river. A series of events that would reasonably put anyone in a slump. 

“I wouldn’t take it too personally,” he offers.  

“Of course. I am intimately acquainted with such a pattern of behavior. I grew up with a whip-happy little sister who took the term ‘lashing out’ perhaps a touch too literally…” 

Phoenix laughs, and even though he wasn’t trying to be funny, Miles feels a profound warmth growing in his chest, as though this laughter were some grand award he’d just won. 

 “I simply wish I weren’t so consistently the object of our sisters’ wraths. I-I mean, I hold a public office! Of course I pay my taxes!! A-And I had NOTHING to do with the assassination of Franz Ferdinand! I wasn’t even BORN !”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Nick sighs, “I think she’s just angry . If she weren’t so angry with you, she would have to be angry with her mom, or Godot , or Pearls, or— or ME! I mean, she kinda is angry at me, but I’m injured so the anger is moreso directed towards fretting. It’s all--” he makes his voice a higher pitch and assumes her intonation, “‘Oh Nick, go back to bed, you’re concussed;’ ‘oh Nick, put down the crossword, your brain hurts;’ ‘oh Nick, stop having a panic attack at the Piggly Wiggly--’” 

“You had a panic attack at the Piggly Wiggly?” 

Phoenix ignores the question, “You, on the other hand, are an easy target. You’re infinitely more get-angry-at-able than me!” 

Miles makes a series of exasperated huffs, though doesn’t refute this claim. Phoenix finds it incredibly adorable and laughs warmly,  “Hey, should I be concerned that you refuted all of her accusations except for the moon landing? Is there something you’re not telling me?” 

Miles becomes instantly more anxious and sweaty, pushing his signed photograph of Stanley Kurbick so it is laying face-down against his desk.  

“Ha ha what no wh-why would you e-even think that??” he gives off a nervous laugh, “A-Anyway, to change the subject… I imagine things must be very difficult for your family at the moment. How are she and Pearl holding up, all things considered?” 

“I mean, all things considered, they’re great . We’re coping,” he looks through the window at Pearl, who is still folding dumplings dutifully as ever, cheerfully absorbed in the task, “Pearly is doing okay, I think , but I can tell she’s more torn up than she’s letting on. She hasn’t been sleeping well.” 

“That is… understandable. How are you holding up? This whole ordeal hasn’t been easy on you either.” 

“I’m fine, Miles,” he smiles, shaking his head, “I swear, it’s like you came back from Europe and now all you do is worry about me.” 

“I-In my defense, I came back from Europe because you were on your deathbed !”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, I was fine!” 

Miles makes a series of increasingly incredulous sputtering noises on the other end and Phoenix laughs again. 

 “I am fine. Really, I’m fine. I appreciate your concern. It’s… nice . But I really am okay, I don’t want you to worry about me.” 

“Are you really ? Because if I’m not mistaken you did just call me to confirm whether or not your favorite holiday actually exists. I hope you can understand some of my cause for concern.” 

“I do. I am. Really . Thank you. How have you been? Still getting the silent treatment from your secretary?” 

Miles winces. 

“Indeed. It’s like I returned back home only to find every woman in my life remarkably irate with me. When they said ‘hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,’ I had perhaps underestimated the heat of that rage. I am positively drowning in paperwork with seemingly no end in sight.” 

“ Yikes . Is there anything I can help with? Pearls learned how to forge your signature ages ago, so I’m sure between the three of us we could really make a dent in whatever you’re working on.” 

“No, no, it’s fine, I’ll manage, I-- hold it. Why does Pearl know how to forge my signature?” 

Nick shrugs. “I dunno, man. I think it was something her mom asked her to do. She can forge mine too. And Maya’s. And Gumshoe’s… She can learn any signature in, like, just a few minutes too. I think it’s more of a fun party trick now than anything else.” 

“O-Oh. Well, that is… concerning.” 

“I guess . I’m not too worried though. She’s a good kid, and we’ve had a long talk about when subterfuge is and isn’t okay.”

“Ah, yes. As any good father is wont to do,” Miles shuffles through some of the papers on his desk and produces his densely-packed planner, prepping to write in his dinner plans that evening just for the sake of prosperity. As he is writing, his eyes land on a circled date, the red ink coming in as almost an afterthought amidst the anxiety-inducing sea of deadlines. He pauses, looking between the circled date and the pile of paperwork, biting down on his lip in thought. 

“Say, speaking of Pride-oween,” he says after a moment, “Do you have any plans for the holiday?” 

“Me? Oh, um, not yet. I mean, considering the girls haven’t even heard of it, we’ll probably have to go all out with costumes and trick-or-treating and all that. Nothing specific. Why, wanna join us?” 

“I-- Yes, of course, but also…” he sighs, flipping through a couple of documents, “I believe it is yet another attempt to punish me, but my secretary has graciously volunteered me to help organize this year’s costume party in honor of the holiday.” 

Nick can’t help but laugh, struggling to even imagine Miles and streamers in the same room. “ You ? Party planning?”

“ Indeed . I am in charge of booking and decorating the venue. Rest assured, however, it will be Gumshoe who does most of the physical decorating. I am more so in charge of the logistics. I was going to leave before the party actually started but… Perhaps, instead, you and the girls would wish to join me?” 

Phoenix hesitates, “Miles, you hate parties…” 

Yes. It is true that Miles hates parties. But Phoenix doesn’t. Phoenix loves parties. And the girls love parties. And they need this. They need something they love. Something to get their minds off things. They need something good to happen to them, and maybe he can help provide it for once-- even if it means (he shudders at the thought) human interaction . 

“I-I don’t mind them,” he says, attempting to keep his voice light in the face of such a blatant lie, “I-If I am in good company, that is.” 

Phoenix doesn’t buy it. 

“I dunno…” he says skeptically, “Maybe it’s not a very good idea. I don’t wanna make you do something you’re not--” 

“I want to,” Miles interjects, perhaps a little more desperately than he had hoped. “I-I mean, it would be… good. It would mean a lot to me if you came. And I’m sure Maya and Pearl will enjoy it. We are organizing a series of carnival games, and I know how competitive they can be. A-And unlike the holiday party, this is supposed to be a family event, so perhaps it would be nice for me to--” he clears his throat “-- it would be nice to have family there.” 

Phoenix is quiet on the other end for a moment, his face growing warm. Miles just called them his family . They’re his family . He wants his family there and that family is Phoenix. 

 Miles, unaware of the sappy, overly sentimental, and repetitive nature of Wright’s thoughts, grows more and more uneasy with every passing second. 

“You’re right,” he stammers, caving, “forget it, let’s just--” 

“No no no!!” Nick cries, “No, sorry, I was just thinking! I’d love to come, and I’m sure the girls will love it too.”

“Oh! Lovely,” Miles smiles, that tight feeling in his chest growing in intensity once more. He latches the lid of his briefcase shut, walking towards the door of his office. “We shall work out logistics over dinner? I am leaving now, and should be there soon.” 

“Perfect, yeah, I’ll see ya,” Phoenix beams, hanging up. He crawls back into the kitchen and the girls turn to look at him, his complexion now rosier and his step considerably lighter than before. Pearls smiles back and Maya rolls her eyes. 

“We’re going to a party!” he announces triumphantly. At this, in spite of her couch-bound grumpiness, even Maya perks up. 

“A party?” the girls say in unison, an edge of excitement apparent in the upturn of their voices. Pearl’s eyes are the size of saucers, and while Maya’s are once in the same, excited state, she quickly remembers herself and narrows them suspiciously. 

“And this party is being thrown by…?” she prompts.

“Prosecutor’s office.” 

“Ah, so Edgeworth invited you,” her face falls cooly, her voice coming out with biting sarcasm, “Perfect, cool, wow.” 

Nick holds out his hands defensively, “I understand your concern--”

“What concern? No no, this is a great idea, especially considering that the last time Edgeworth invited us to a party, everything worked out so great and no one got hurt.”  

“Look, I see where you’re coming from, I really do,” Nick reasons, “But also, how is Miles supposed to be able to redeem himself if we never give him a chance, yeah? Sure, last time we went to a party he got super drunk and then fled the country--” 

“Like an asshole .” 

Nick nods, “Like an asshole,” he agrees, “But I’ve forgiven him, and part of that forgiveness means giving him a second shot too, right?” 

Maya is quiet for a moment, mulling this over. She supposes that maybe he has a point or whatever. And she also figures that maybe the thing she loves most about Nick is the way he doesn’t hold grudges, believes in people, gives them a second chance, et cetera… Qualities that are good and nice and wonderful for all ends except his own self-preservation. And this is, maybe, where she comes in, and where she sees the necessity in doubling down on her assault against Edgeworth. If Phoenix is going to keep trusting him, but he hasn’t necessarily proven himself to be trustworthy, then maybe this only makes her need to not trust him even more intense… But then again, how can he prove himself to be trustworthy, as Nick is saying, if they don’t give him a fair shot. 

“It’s a costume party,” Nick offers, looking at her hopefully, knowing with full certainty that she cannot resist the bait. She attempts-- and fails miserably-- to bite down on a smile. She loves both costumes and parties, and Nick knows the prospect of having both at once is enough to completely crumble her resolve. They hold each other’s gaze for a few more tense seconds before Maya sighs. 

“Fine, okay, I’m excited,” she says, shaking her head and allowing herself a full smile, “We can go, if you two promise to be on your best behavior.” 

“Yay!” Pearls and Nick cheer. Maya points accusingly at Nick. 

“And make sure Edgeworth doesn’t have any liquor!” she warns. 

Phoenix laughs, “Oh don’t worry, I think he learned his lesson last time and I’m more than happy to avoid another night of cleaning up vomit. It’s a family party, so I’ll make sure he gets one of those ‘under 21’ hand stamps of shame.” 

“Good! He deserves it! Now enough about him , let’s talk costumes!” Maya rubs her hands together. 

“I wanna be a bunny!” Pearl announces, beaming with excitement. Maya laughs. 

“Pearly, you’re always a bunny,” she reminds her, “You were a bunny for halloween last year, and the year before that and the year before--” 

“I love bunnies.” 

“Who doesn’t? But don’t you want to try something new? Like, I dunno, another cute thing? A kitten?” 

Pearl shakes her head, “I would like to be a bunny.” 

“Pearls, would you like to match costumes with me ?” Nick offers, “I’m sure we could come up with something fun together.” 

“ We should be bunnies!” 

Phoenix winces, “Eh, we could also be--” 

“ BUNNIES! ” 

“Okay,” Phoenix gives in immediately, “we can be bunnies.” 

“Hey! You’re not even going to ask to coordinate with me!!!”  

Pearl gasps, getting stars in her eyes, “Mystic Maya!!! Do you want to be a bunny too??” 

“Er…” Maya looks uncomfortably to the side, “Not… really. Nick, you should do something with me! We can do one of those costumes where like--” 

“Objection!” Nick interrupts, “I’m sorry, Maya, but you LOST all costume-coordinating privileges when you left me high and dry in a HO sweater at Christmas! You traitor !” 

“What!? That’s not fair!!” 

“Actions have consequences, Mystic Maya.” 

Maya gasps, scandalized, “Et Tu, Pearly!!?” 

Pearl nods, and Maya flops backward into the couch, clutching her side as though she’d just been stabbed, “Awwwww come ooooooooon!! You didn’t even HEAR my idea!!” 

“I’ll hear it if you can look me in the eye and swear before the Magatama that you will not suggest some ridiculous costume just to turn around and coordinate with Franziska to make me look like an asshole.” 

“I… definitely… won’t….” she attempts through gritted teeth. As she says this, however, there is a bright flash and a single, pathetic psychelock appears over her heart. 

“ HA! ” Nick slams his hand on the counter and points, “Caught red-handed!” 

“Scorned!! Rejected!! Betrayed!!! Woe is me!! I should have never given you that damn rock!!” 

“SWEAR JAR!” Pearl cries, pointing to the jar by the TV which, at this point, is quite full of coins and bills. 

“ UUUUGGGGHHH!! ” Maya groans, standing up and angrily shoving a few pennies from between couch cushions into the jar. 

Phoenix laughs and together, he and Pearl clean up some of the materials so they can start steaming the dumplings. The cleaning and folding process complete, Pearl steps aside and fetches some papers and her crayons, beginning to draw while Maya flips to her side and texts Franziska that she better get here soon. 

Almost like clockwork, as soon as the message is marked as ‘read,’ there is a polite knock on the door. 

“I’LL GET IT!” Maya cries, jumping up from the couch and swinging the door open to reveal, much to her dismay, exactly who she doesn’t want to see. 

“Ah, hello Mystic Maya,” Edgeworth says, holding a wrapped bouquet of sunflowers and wearing a somewhat stunned expression from the voraciousness with which Maya swung the door open. Maya’s face drops immediately from an excited smile into a flat grimace. 

“Miles!!” Nick smiles, waving from the kitchen, “Good to see you! Come on in!”  

“It’s Master Maya .” Maya crosses her arms, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. “How the hell did you get here so fast?” She takes a somewhat threatening step forward, “Did you break traffic safety laws? God, I should have known you would pull something like that. I bet you didn’t even take the time to double check there wasn’t a body in your trunk.”  

“I-I just drove here??? Legally???” Miles takes a slight step back, his jabot ruffling like the feathers of a distraught bird, “A-And I’ll have you know, I always check my trunk for unintentional passengers, thank you very much.” 

“Suuuure you do,” Maya levels,  “Paranoia is very unbecoming, you know.” 

Miles sputters for a moment before being rescued by Pearls, who is tugging on his sleeve. 

“Hi, Mr. Miles!” Pearls offers up a crayon drawing, “This is for you!” 

“Ah, thank you, Mystic Pearl,” he accepts the drawing, grateful for the buffer between himself and Maya’s wrath. He inspects the drawing, which is of a frowning grey-haired man wearing bunny ears, a magenta suit, and a ruffly jabot. He is standing underneath a rainbow, and holding hands with a smiling man with black, spikey hair and a blue suit. They are surrounded by pink, cartoony hearts. 

 Miles makes a somewhat confused, though not unhappy expression, his face reddening as Pearl raises her eyebrows knowingly. He feels the need to simultaneously frame the drawing and bury it. More importantly, however, he feels the need to maintain his relative good standing with Pearl. 

“This is very well drawn…” he observes, his voice a little strangled, “Is it Wright and I?” 

Pearl beams, nodding. Maya looks over his shoulder, inspecting the drawing as well. 

“Nice one, Pearly. You really captured his terrible personality.” 

“Mr. Larry told me to always draw things as they are.” 

Miles shoots a disapproving look at Maya, before turning back to Pearl. “May I ask why I am portrayed with bunny ears?” 

“I am an artist,” Pearl states proudly, “It is a symbolism.” 

“I see…” 

Curious about the drawing in question, Nick briefly sets down his cooking utensils and walks over. Miles’s entire demeanor brightens as Phoenix draws nearer: he straightens his back, color rushes to his face, and Maya can practically see cartoonish little hearts in his eyes. 

Hastily folding the drawing, Miles tucks it into his breast pocket and holds out the sunflowers to Wright a bit too forcefully, jutting them between Phoenix and himself. 

“I brought these for you,” he says, and then clears his throat, “I mean your house . Your apartment, not for you . A-As is dictated by social convention. Thank you for hosting,” he stutters, making accidental eye contact with Maya, who rolls her eyes and makes a pointed ‘I know what you are’ expression. 

Phoenix, who is oblivious to this, laughs warmly, accepting the flowers. “Thanks, man, they’re great.” He carries them over to the vase by the window, which at this point is almost overflowing with other bundles of sunflowers (also from Miles).

 He struggles for a moment, attempting to jam the flowers through the vase’s choked bottleneck with the others, but eventually has to give up, fetching a secondary mason jar from the kitchen and placing them in there. “Make yourself comfortable,” he offers, gesturing vaguely to the couch, “You got here faster than I thought, so it might be a second. I just put the dumplings in the steamer, and I’m about to start the veggies. You like carrots, right?”  

“Of course, I love carrots,” Miles lies, and Phoenix amusedly takes note of the sudden appearance of a Psychelock over his heart. He opens the fridge, hiding the carrots behind the milk, and frowns theatrically. 

 “Aw darn, looks like I actually forgot to get carrots. Hate to disappoint, but how does broccoli sound?”

Maya and Pearl, who were both present for the purchase of the carrots, exchange a knowing look. Pearl attempts to muffle a giggle while Maya rolls her eyes pantomimes barfing. 

“Oh, too bad,” Miles breaths a small breath of relief, “I suppose broccoli works just as well… Is there anything I can assist with? I can help… cut something?”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m scared you’ll set something on fire.” 

“Like last time,” Pearl offers. 

“You’re a fire hazard,” Maya reminds him. 

Miles is about to protest, but is interrupted by a secondary knock at the door. “I-I can get it,” he offers, desperate to make himself useful and change the subject from his dismal cooking skills. 

He opens it to reveal Franziska Von Karma. Her regular court regalia abandoned for more casual wear, she’s practically swallowed up by a black, oversized knit sweater with her hair braided into two short pleats. In spite of the frequency with which she has found herself at the Wright residence, she still feels the need to bring a housewarming gift of some sort with her each time-- a behavior Phoenix has only half-heartedly discouraged-- and so she is carrying a medium-sized picnic basket, the neck of a bottle of wine and a bouquet of flowers immediately visible. 

“Ah, Francie,” Miles smirks, “I see you took your dear time getting here.” 

Franziska scowls at him, “Miles Edgeworth, how did you get here before me? Did you violate the sacred laws of traffic safety? Forget to check your trunk for dead bodies again?” 

“No! Why does everyone seem to--” 

“Francis!!” Maya cries, pushing forcefully past Miles and rushing at her girlfriend in an enthusiastic hug, smothering both her cheeks with quick, enthusiastic kisses. Franziska accepts them with about as much grace as a house cat: scrunching up with a look of intense bewilderment. The blush across her cheeks, however, fully betray her true feelings regarding such affection. 

“Hey, Frank!” Nick calls from the kitchen, taking a brief break from washing the broccoli to wave at the once feared prosecutor. She crosses her arms haughtily, acknowledging his presence with a tight nod. 

“Phoenix Wright, I am going to assume the use of such a ridiculous pseudonym was a byproduct of residual brain damage and not, in fact, a genuine attempt at coining a nickname.”

She then produces the roses for Maya, curtseying and bringing the back of her hand into a reverent kiss. “Maya, it has been far too long since I was last blessed with your presence.” 

“Awwww,” Maya grins, fully smitten. She passes the flowers over to Edgeworth, gesturing to her own overflowing vase, “Put these in water,” she directs, then laces her fingers through the other girls’ “I missed you too. I feel like it’s been forever since we’ve seen each other. You’ve only grown more beautiful with age.” 

Pearl, who still has yet to forgive Franziska for her initial attempt at imprisoning Maya, watches this display with increasing agitation. She sharply intervenes. “You saw each other yesterday .” 

Franziska straightens her back immediately, jerking her hand out of Maya’s, clearing her throat, and assuming her best behavior. 

“Oh, hello, Pearl Fey,” she says, somewhat desperate for her approval. She produces from her basket a colorfully-wrapped box of chocolates, “Maya informed me that you particularly appreciated these candies and so I--” 

Pearl snatches them from her hands and squints at the label skeptically. She carries them over to Phoenix and gestures for him to let her whisper in his ear. 

“Is it safe?” 

Phoenix indulgently turns the candies in his hands, ensuring that the box’s plastic wrapping shows no signs of prior opening. He then opens the box and looks over the candies for any evidence of tampering. When it proves to be safe, he nods, handing the candy back over to Pearl. Maya watches this exchange with growing annoyance. 

“Oh my god you guys, she’s not trying to poison you! You’re being--” Franziska places her hand on the other girl’s shoulder, looking concerned though not exactly offended. 

“It’s fine, Maya,” she says, “I cannot fault your little cousin for her uneasiness… However, at this point in our relationship, I would have hoped that Phoenix Wright would trust me better than to suspect me of such murderous intent.” 

“F-For the r-record,” Nick stammers defensively, “I trust you Franziska. It’s just that you could potentially be a secret evil twin. How do we know there’s not an Aksiznarf Nov Amrak running around?? Huh?” 

He says this with such total seriousness that all conversation in the room is halted for a moment. The only sound is of Miles struggling to shove Maya’s flowers into the overfilled vase, a task he has been consumed with for an embarrassing period of time. 

“ I don’t trust you,” Pearl clarifies, and Franziska deflates a little. 

“Oh my god,” Maya makes a frustrated sound, “You guys are so embarrassing.” She grabs Francis by the hand and says under her breath so only she can hear, “They’ve been like this since the temple and it’s making me lose my fucking marbles.”

Franziska shifts sympathetically, running her thumb over the other girl’s hand, “Do you need to go somewhere else?” she asks, her voice equally low. Maya nods and ushers Franziska towards the door.  

She shouts back over her shoulder at Nick, “Hey! We’re gonna go take a walk! Text when food’s ready!” 

“Uh huh, yeah sure, ‘ a walk ’” Nick teases, “Is that what they’re calling it these days?” 

“UGH! Fine!We’re gonna go kiss on a park bench and talk about our FEELINGS ! Is that what you wanted to hear??” 

Phoenix laughs before his face drops, quickly overtaken with anxiety. 

“Are you girls gonna be okay?” He points at Franziska with the spoon, “You have your whip, right? You’ll keep her safe?” 

Franziska taps the whip in her holter, “I assure you, she is safe with me.” 

“Okay. And you’ll call if you need anything? And text when you’re on the way back? And you won’t take any phone calls from mysterious strangers? And--” 

“Yes, Dad ,” Maya rolls her eyes, dragging Franziska out the door, “We’re fine! ” 

“It’s still kinda cold!” Nick cries after them, “Maya! Maya, take a sweater!! MAYA!!” 

She ignores him, slamming the door behind her. As soon as they are on the other side of the door, she groans, burying her face in Franziska’s shoulder. 

“Please forgive my family for being weirdos,” she grumbles into the fabric, “I swear every day Nick develops a new neurosis only before seen in Italian Greyhounds…” she pauses for a moment, looking up, “And in Miles Edgeworth… Maybe we should get them matching ‘NERVOUS DO NOT PET’ vests for when they’re in public.”  

Franziska snorts, patting Maya’s back. They begin walking down the stairs, in the direction of the park. “It’s fine. I think we're all still a bit shaken up after all that happened. I understand that things have been… fraught lately.”  

“Ha! Yeah, ‘ fraught .’ Francie, it’s terrible! Nick and Pearls have been bullying me all day and I’m SICK of it!” 

Franziska frowns, her brow knitting in concern. Her hand jumps instinctively to the whip at her hip. 

“They’ve been bullying you? How so? Do you need me to teach him a lesson?” 

Maya shakes her head, taking Francis’s hand away from the weapon and into her own. 

“No, no, it’s fine. He’s fine. It’s fine. They’ve actually both been as nice and sweet and doting as ever.” 

Francis senses there’s more to this than Maya is letting on. 

“And yet…?” she prompts. 

 “Uh, fine, yes. And YET, I’m grumpy because I’m anxious. And I’m anxious because he’s anxious. And he’s anxious because I’m grumpy and it’s just a whole thing! Like, I thought he was a worrywart before , but now it’s a totally different level. He’s on the verge of making Pearly and me wear those little child vests with leashes when we’re in public! And even though he’s the one who is injured and needs to sleep, he keeps getting up in the middle of the night to check that we’re still there!” 

“That’s… concerning.” 

“It’s annoying! Like, I get why he’s like this, and I can’t really blame him, but at the same time he’s driving me nuts!! I wish there were something I could, like, distract him with. I just wanna,” she gestures vaguely with her hands, “throw a proverbial meat-filled pumpkin into his proverbial animal enclosure, you know?” 

“Unfortunately, I have no idea what that means.” 

“It’s like-- It’s like I wanna--” she continues to grasp the air vaguely for words, “Fix him,” she lands on lamely. “And don’t even get me started on Pearly! She’s got separation anxiety like no one’s business, and she’s started doing this whole ‘compulsive honesty’ thing where, like, she’s determined to always tell the truth all the time and never keep any secrets. Like, Gumshoe and I were gonna surprise Nick with a cake the other day, but Pearly ran off to tell him beforehand ‘just in case’ we were, like, actually in on a bigger scheme or something??” 

Francis frowns, “I suppose that’s only natural, after everything that happened with her mother…” 

“Yeah, but like, I want her to trust me! And trust you and trust herself , it’s just-- UGH!” Maya puts her face in her hands, “I just wish everything would go back to normal, but I feel like no one trusts me anymore! Pearl doesn’t trust anything anymore, Nick doesn’t trust me to take care of myself , and more importantly, he won’t let me prank him on Prideoween!” 

There was a lot to unpack there, and Francis decides to aim for the low hanging fruit. 

“Is it not in the nature of pranking that he should… not know about it beforehand?” 

“No no, a true prank requires willing-- albeit unwitting-- participation on behalf of the prankee. I was going to suggest we do one of those costumes where Nick is the head of the horse and I’m the legs, but only then I was gonna change into a pinstripe suit like the Godfather to make it look like he was actually the iconic decapitated horse head and it was going to be great !!” She pouts her lip out dramatically, “But noooooooooo, apparently, you ditch someone in a ‘HO’ sweater ONCE and then they never trust you again!” 

“Maya, my darling, you do realize he’s accusing you of doing literally the exact thing you were planning to do?” 

“Y-Yes-- but it’s a matter of principle!!!” Maya stammers, “He thinks he can outwit me? sidestep my shennanigans?! HA! Laughable !! He doesn’t stand a chance! It’s-- It’s the, uh, the arrogance of it all!” 

Maya stops in place, stamping her foot and hammering her fist into her other palm, attempting to mirror the approximate pose of a saucy radical delivering a manifesto. 

“Which is why I have resolved to only prank him back harder!” she raises her fist in the air wickedly, “He is Perseus and I am the Hydra! He tries to cut off one of my heads, and I shall only grow back two more!!” 

“I believe it is Hercules that kills the Hydra.” 

“Which is exactly why he’s Perceus!!! I wanna win!!” 

Maya laces her fingers more thoroughly through both her girlfriend’s hands, drawing them to her chest and lunging forward excitedly, her face lit up in an expression of excitement and familiar mischief. Francis can’t help the slight tightening in her chest. How is she expected to keep her composure when Maya looks at her like this ? 

“France, you gotta help,” she continues, making her voice earnest and desperate, “Help me Frank SkyKarma, you’re my only hope. With our forces combined, he doesn’t stand a chance! We shall, uh, grind him under the heel of our superior pranking prowess!!” 

“Of course,” Francis answers, because there is no reality in which she would possibly say no, “Of course, I’ll help.” 

Maya beams and Francis blushes, looking away. She isn’t able to hold Maya’s gaze, not without getting overwhelmed with sentimentality. Not when Maya is staring at her like that , talking about her literal favorite thing: crushing men with megalomaniacle intensity. It’s like Maya ripped a page out of her childhood diary describing precisely what she wanted out of a romantic partner, “helps me humiliate my enemies,” holding a key position at the top of her list. God, she’s perfect . How did she get so lucky? 

“If I may suggest we take things a step further,” Franziska continues, “Why stop with just Phoenix Wright? Especially when there are much more worthy recipients of our collective wraths readily available?” 

“Oh? Who do you have in mind?”

“My brother , for instance?” 

Maya’s grin widens at this suggestion, and she practically gets little hearts in her eyes. She laughs a somewhat evil laugh, which only endears her further to Franziska. It may have been Maya’s genuine kindness that drew them together, but her propensity for causing problems on purpose is perhaps what pushed Franziska over the edge to actual love . 

“Yes. YES. It is all coming together, we shall both make them taste the brunt of our wraths!” Maya rubs her hands together like a cartoonish villain for a moment before faltering, dropping her hands to her sides and looking at Franziska with a somewhat confused expression. 

“Hey wait. I know why Edgeworth must feel the sting of my wrath--” 

“You think he’s an asshole.” 

“He is an asshole. But why does he have to feel the sting of yours ? You’re not just dunking on him for my benefit, are you?” She frowns, “You know you don’t have to be mad at him just because I am, right?” 

“Rest assured, I have my own motives,” Francis pats Maya’s hand, “I believe you are well aware that Miles Edgeworth and I are on… good terms these days?” 

“Oh, are you talking about how you’re siblings and you love each other?”

“I-I…” Francis hesitates, “I-I suppose you could frame it that way, yes. If you are being gratuitous.”  

“Hmmm, sure, sure. You know me, endlessly gratuitous. What’s the problem here?” 

“I’m afraid he has gotten too… friendly lately.” 

“Because you guys are friends. He’s friendly because you are friends.” 

“Y-Yes, I-I suppose we are… B-But you don’t understand. He’s been acting so-- so foolishly lately! It’s-- I’m honestly starting to get worried. I think there might be something wrong with him. For instance, earlier, I was trying to inspect his head for any traumatic brain injuries, but he just blinked at me and asked why I was touching his hair!” 

“Uh-huh?” 

“Maya, are you listening to me?! He didn’t even recoil or snap at me! He just let me come up behind him and touch his hair!! Without flinching! Like-- Like he just trusted me not to hurt him!” 

“I’m struggling to see how this is a bad thing in your relationship. You know most healthy relationships come without the universal expectation of physical assault, right?” 

“Well, yes , but that isn’t even what’s been bothering me! He just isn’t afraid of me like he used to be!  Why, just the other day, I was cooking bacon, and as he was walking past me, he absconded a fresh piece of bacon right off the plate!! THEN, when I protested, he shrugged and put it in his mouth!! Without even a HINT of fear in his eyes!!” 

“So? I do that to Nick all the time. It’s called the ‘bacon tax,’ and it’s a pretty universal rule. I mean, I guess it’s kinda weird to imagine Edgeworth doing that, but I think he’s just doing normal sibling things.” 

“BUT WHY?? WHAT DO THEY MEAN ???” 

“What do you mean ‘what do they mean?’ I think they just mean he likes and trusts you??”

“No, no, no, you’re somehow missing the point! That’s not all!! After we consumed the bacon, he was helping me clean the kitchen, and we ran out of paper towels. Instead of just throwing away the empty paper towel roll like he used to, he took the empty roll and wacked me in the head with it! Saying ‘bonk’ like some-- some simple-minded simpleton!!” 

“Ah, yes, the Cain Instinct.” 

“THE CAIN INSTINCT??” 

“Yeah, you know, it’s the impulse you get to just, like, pummel your sibling for no reason? Really, Francis, I’d have thought that you of all people would have known about the Cain Instinct.” 

“But wasn’t Cain the first born?? So, as the younger sibling, it makes no sense for him to be bonking me ! As the first born, he should respect that only I get bonking privileges!” 

“Alright, I’m not sure if I’m ready to unpack all that. I thought you guys were past the whole ‘little brother’ thing?” 

“Why ever would we be past it? I am the first born, he is the later addition to the family, what is there to contest?” 

“But he is older than you. We both agree he is older than you, right?” 

Francis is silent for a moment. 

“...We have strayed too far from my original point. I am simply trying to say that Miles Edgeworth doesn’t seem to fear the consequences of my wrath anymore, and quite frankly, I do not like it!! I worry he even finds me-- cute !! Endearing ! LOVABLE !”  

“Okay, but you are all those things.” 

Francis stops in place, her face growing several shades redder. 

“W-Well, you may think that. That is… acceptable. But other people?? I have a reputation to uphold! If my foolish brother thinks that about me, who’s next? Phoenix Wright? That Scruffy Detective?? The JUDGE???” 

Maya laughs to herself, putting her hand over her mouth, attempting to muffle the sound. The truth of the matter is that all three of those people already find Franziska quite endearing, but if Maya informed her of that fact, she would likely have a full-blown existential crisis.

“Awww, don’t worry, babe. You’re soooo scary and intimidating,” she assures, “Plenty of people are still afraid of you.”   

 “You’re just saying that because you love me,” she places her hands on the other girl’s shoulders, “Maya, my career is falling into shambles before my very eyes, and I need to do something to reclaim my tyrannical chokehold on the court system or no one will take me seriously ever again! If I am not petty and vindictive, who am I??” 

“Oh, I know the answer to that one. You’re smart and pretty and an excellent investigator. You’re very very very good at your job--” 

“BUT I WANT TO BE FEARED ! And MILES EDGEWORTH NO LONGER FEARS ME!” 

Maya laughs, “Yeah, you know what?! Me too! I, too, wish to crush my enemies under my heel! But nooooo , I’m just sweet precious-wecious little Maya, the ditsy little sister who can’t defend herself and needs to be reminded to wear a sweater! Nick thinks he can just-- just play whatever music he wants because I love him and he’s my best friend and it’s his house and I don’t pay rent! That is unacceptable !!” 

“Completely unacceptable!” 

“Dahlia never had to deal with this crap! Everyone accepted that she was a girl boss! I mean sure, she committed several murders, but I’ve been FRAMED for several murders! I can be a girl boss, too, right??” 

“You’re such a girl boss, baby,” Franziska assures, “and I will CRUSH anyone who makes you feel otherwise!” 

“It is PRIDE MONTH, and I think we should be allowed to commit some crimes!! ‘Gay acceptance’ this, ‘overcoming adversity’ that-- I think that, as a society, we have progressed TOO FAR from the TRUE SPIRIT of pride month!” 

“Love?”

 “ CRIME !” 

“Now, Maya. You know my stance on crime--” 

“Yes, yes, you are vehemently anti-crime…” 

“ However. ” 

“Oooh?” 

“Perhaps… sowing a little bit of havoc would not be a terrible thing. Especially if we are lumping our collective siblings together… We have the potential of knocking out two fools with one whip. Now, I am not attempting to fully shift the blame here… However, the current, somewhat unhinged state of my brother, I believe, is the direct fault of yours .” 

Maya rolls her eyes in immediate understanding, taking on a somewhat distasteful expression, “Because he’s in love .”  

Francis nods. “ Irreparably so, I’m afraid. It’s terrible, really. At Least when we  were in our pining stage, we were respectable about it, but I had to talk the foolish fool down from going to the hospital because he mistook his excitement at seeing Phoenix Wright for a cardiatric episode!” 

Maya snorts and Francis shoots her a look, “It’s not funny , Maya. He is driving me insane. I had always hoped he would go on to marry some political leader, or perhaps some great academic… But I suppose Phoenix Wright is as foolish of a match as any.” 

“Hey, Nick’s a catch ! Your brother is the one who is so weird he needs someone with something kind of Wrong with him to make a love connection!!”

Franziska smirks, “Yes, well. They are both the worst. What they foolishly partake in in their own foolish personal lives is none of my business and so it shouldn’t really bother me, but unfortunately their over-the-top mutual pining foolishness has begun to affect my work life as well. Now that our brothers have finally figured out how they feel about each other, the whole office has been watching them like-- like--” Francis huffs-- “Maya, what was the name of that office couple in that dreadful show Phoenix Wright forced us to watch?” 

“Uhhhhhh… Jim and Pam? 

“Yes!! Those two!! I swear, the whole office perks up when Phoenix Wright shows up as though he and my brother were the leads in a romantic comedy, forgetting that we are clearly the romantic leads of the universe! Why, just yesterday, I overheard one of the Paynes advising a new addition to the office that there is a 15-minute window immediately following Wright’s departure wherein Miles Edgeworth is so giggly and lovesick, he is more likely to approve whatever inane time-off request one throws his way! And when I went to collect some evidence from the police department, I was pulled aside by the chief detective who discretely asked about their relationship status! Apparently , there is a small betting pool over whether or not they are officially an item yet. I told him that if he deserved his position at all, he should be able to figure it out himself!!” 

“Ugh, PLEASE!” Maya agrees, “It’s all that the ‘framed for murder’ groupchat ever seems to want to talk about. I swear if I get one more message from Lotta about when she can publish her ‘love wins’ article, I’m gonna throw my phone out the window.” Maya sighs, “And Nick, too. He’s pining like a cat who’s favorite toy has just been tossed. I mean, it could also just be some sustained brain damage from falling off a bridge--” 

“Ah, yes, how are his physical injuries?” 

“I--” she halts completely, that question throwing off her train of thought completely and leaving her with a panicked look that she immediately tries to bury with a sarcastic tone and eye roll. 

“Fine, fine,” she waves her hand flippantly, “the man is a tank-- I mean, I can’t punch him as much as I used to and he sleeps a lot and he doesn’t like bright lights and he gets winded just from a power walk and I can tell his back is really bad, but he’s fine .” 

“You sound worried.” 

Maya hesitates, crossing her arms with an expression somewhere between defiance and a pout. Franiska raises her eyebrows skeptically. Maya throws her arms in the air, cracking immediately.  

“Ugggh fine! Yes, I’m very worried. He’s just been so spacey lately! Being in large groups of people kinda makes him freak out -- and, like, just going to the supermarket is enough to totally exhaust him. He doesn’t-- ” 

“He’s such a fool, attempting to do those things at all! Does he not realize how terrible of a fall he took?” 

“Try telling him that. Like literally, please actually try to tell him that, he won’t admit it, but he totally views you as an authority of some sort…” 

“As he should.” 

“As he should,” Maya agrees, somewhat half-heartedly. She sighs, and Francis can sense her defenses falling, her usual facade of good humor falling away completely to reveal the genuine concern beneath the surface. Francis places a comforting hand against Maya’s back, and the other girl leans into her.

 “It’s just, like, he’s trying so hard to make Pearls and me not worry that he’s trying to ‘power through.’ But, like, that makes me worry even more! And-- And it’s like his mind is totally somewhere else. He’s so distracted, like, all the time. And yeah, I think he’s concussed, but I also think your stupid brother is at least partially to blame for all this! And I just!!” 

She makes a frustrated sound, “I love Nick a lot, okay? And I want him to be happy and healthy and I want good things to happen to him! And, like, damn, that last case was brutal! I know he’s downplaying the crazy extent to which he almost died, but oh my God, Francis, he really really really almost died! A-And then-- it’s not even like we won in the end, you know? It’s not like we put the bad guy away and justice prevailed! Like, the only ‘bad guys’ in the case were either already in jail, already DEAD, or just trying to help and it’s like-- it’s like--” 

“It was truly dreadful.”

“Absolutely fucking terrible! It’s like we won, but also, literally no one won that case! And what I’m saying is, I think the guy just really needs a win, you know? Like, I think about how much having you has helped me cope with everything…” Francis squeezes Maya’s hand at this, and she squeezes back, “A-And I think, yeah , Edgeworth makes him happy and so part of me just wants to lock them into a closet--” 

“Miles hates enclosed spaces.” 

“-- Lock them in a… an open-air botanical garden and force them to just-- I dunno! Kiss or something to make him feel better! Distract him from always worrying about Pearly and me, give him some new change in his life that’s, like, a change for the better.” 

“Perhaps Miles Edgeworth is that illusive ‘meat filled pumpkin’ you were searching for earlier?” 

 “Maybe…” Maya bites down on her thumb, looking gravely conflicted, “UGGGGHHHHH! I just don’t TRUST him with Nick anymore!!! Not after fleeing the country and breaking his heart TWICE! Like, fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me, you know? I just-- I just think your brother is an ass and I’m really scared he’s gonna leave and mess things up and hurt Nick all over again, this time even worse than before!” 

“‘For what it’s worth…” Francis hesitantly offers, “My little brother does seem genuinely remorseful. And I believe his intentions towards Phoenix Wright are noble. He spent a lot of time baking bread over it.” 

“Oh trust me, I have eaten more sourdough in the past week or so than maybe in my whole life,” Maya sighs, her shoulders dropping, “But, you’re right. I can tell he’s different these days. I just-- I just wanna feel like something GOOD actually came out of all that bullshit! And as much as it pains me to say it, maybe, like, the path to a romantic relationship for them is something good that happened during the case? Like, yeah, he shouldn’t have left in the first place, but the whole ‘booking a private jet in a thunderstorm’ thing was pretty romantic… And they had homoerotic forbidden hospital scene time, and like, they seem a lot closer than they ever were before… Maybe we, like, should try to help them along, right? Would that be the right thing to do? Like… morally?” 

“Well, they certainly are foolish and pathetic, so I doubt they’d manage getting together on their own. Miles Edgeworth, at least, certainly needs a lot of help.” 

“Nick, too… I mean, I think he can be smooth when he wants to be, but he’s so cautious with Edgeworth. He’s probably waiting for him to make the first move or whatever,” Maya groans, “It would probably take some sort of crazy freak accident to, like, spur them into action.” 

The girls are silent for a moment, thinking through potential options. At this point in their walk, they are just entering the park. They locate their favorite parkbench: a wooden one, pleasantly shadowed beneath a stooping, flowered tree, taking a seat. Maya snuggles into Franziska’s side, and Fraziska rests her head atop Maya’s. 

“Perhaps we should hospitalize Phoenix Wright again, except in a romantic soap opera way. Miles Edgeworth can be quite forthcoming with his feelings when under pressure.” 

“Nahhhhh, I think Nick’s had enough of hospitals for the next decade. We’re trying to fix them, not traumatize them… Or like, maybe a little trauma for Edgeworth. As a treat.”

Maya thinks for a moment, biting down on her thumb, the gears in her head churning with almost audible intensity. Franziska chews her bottom lip, likewise deep in concentration, passively tapping the handle of her whip against the palm of her hand. There are a lot of moving pieces to consider here. 

They need something that will draw Edgeworth and Wright together; something that will stop their infernal dancing around each other and spur them into a consummate relationship. They also need something that will outwardly mark the extent to which they are the superior couple, something to prove their dominant pranking prowess. While not necessary, per-say, it would also be nice if their plot could also equally entertain and delight Pearl, while also keeping her out of the loop, as she is almost certain to notify Nick of their scheme beforehand. 

 An idea dawns on Maya, her eyes widening and an almost malicious grin creeping across her features. Franziska can’t decide if it is cute or a little terrifying and settles for both. 

“Okay okay okay, hear me out,” she says, rubbing her hands together, “We’re gonna need a crap ton of sequins, some scissors, Edgeworth’s measurements, and a naval captain’s hat…” 

And with this, the girls set a devious plot into motion: a plot executed with truly frightening and almost miliaristic precision. Watches are synchronized, strings are pulled, favors are called in from a wide-ranging scope of influence, all while Phoenix and Edgeworth move naively through their week, blissfully unaware of the unfolding scheme that will irrevocably alter the course of their lives. 

Sure, Phoenix notices that Maya is a bit distracted and more or less constantly texting Franziska, but marks any strange behavior up to young love and shrugs it off. Miles, however, is so consumed with the work of organizing the Pride-oween party, that he is practically dead to the world. He initially was going to half-ass the whole affair, but now that Phoenix will be attending, he is decidedly full-assing it. It has to be PERFECT, every detail clicking in place like a meticulous music box: the gears tuned to specific nodes down to the micrometer to ensure the song flows out smoothly. 

 He is so involved in making it so that  he doesn’t even notice when Franziska discretely lifts his briefcase from his office, only returning it hours later with the contents subtly altered. He, on multiple occasions, walks obliviously past Maya as she darts around the prosecutor's office, going from door to door with a clipboard, her presence not registering as out of the ordinary at all. He doesn’t even notice that, as he tirelessly chews out the event’s caterer for running out of shrimp puffs, his sister wraps a tape measure around his bust, waist, and inseam, scribbling the numbers down on a notepad before strolling casually out of the room.  

Yes, Miles Edgeworth hates parties, and as much as a pain it has been to plan one himself, he must admit that the experience has come with some benefits. One such benefit is harm reduction. Of course, many of the things he hates most about parties are completely unavoidable: his own social awkwardness, his hatred of small talk, and its status as an overall objective waste of time. However, there are some other, smaller, uncomfortable features that he may seek to mitigate. He considered the following: he hates dark, enclosed spaces; he finds loud music deeply unsettling; he panics when someone else’s body accidentally collides with his, and he truly despises any unexpected human contact (except, perhaps, from that man … But then again, Phoenix is so touchy-feely, that perhaps in his case, Miles always knows to expect it, and that’s why it doesn’t bother him as much). All of which are major factors to be dealt with in a typical crowded, indoor party. 

Therefore, he has planned the event with reducing these unpleasant, sensory experiences in mind. Instead of hosting the event at a bar or a conference center, as it typically has been in past years, he instead opted for an outdoor venue at the local botanical gardens. This way, everyone will have space to move about freely without bumbling into each other; there will always be consistent, pleasant ventilation; the music will be kept at a manageable volume; and there is enough space for both raucous and tentative partygoers to segregate themselves to varying corners of the venue in accordance to their preferred party experience. Knowing his own tendency to occasionally get overwhelmed by social situations, he sprung specifically for the garden package that included a small, secluded side garden he could retreat to, should he need to retreat at any point. 

The day of the event, he arrives at the venue hours early to oversee everything, directing Gumshoe on how to perfectly hang the decorations, the exact shade of green the ghosts painted on the banner must be; barking out this command and that. Much like in court and in the office, he takes his role as party planner very seriously, and rules with a tyrannical fist. 

“So, uh, what is your costume gonna be, Sir?” Gumshoe asks, sweating after attempting to suspend several brightly-colored lanterns from wire rigging over the gardens.  

“What do you mean, ‘what is my costume going to be?’ Is it not obvious that I am already wearing it?” 

“I--” Gumshoe stares at his employer, his eyes darting wildly across his body, desperately searching for anything on his person that’s even remotely different from his everyday attire. “O-Oh, silly me, you’re right, sir. I see it now,” he lies. 

Edgeworth huffs, straightening his cravat, “And you call yourself a detective , you didn’t even notice that I am wearing a completely different shade of red!” 

“O-Of course I did! In fact, sir, I hardly even recognized you when you walked in!” 

The truth is, Edgeworth is not, in fact, wearing a completely different shade of red. With all of the party planning and paperwork, he quite frankly could not be bothered to come up with a costume. At the suggestion of Simon Blackwell-- who always pulls this kind of shit-- he instead opted for a psychological costume of sorts: the emperor’s clothes, so to say. He trusted that, between his foreboding reputation and sinister aura, if he were to simply suggest firmly enough that he was, in fact, wearing a costume, his coworkers would be either too intimidated to question him, or too polite to argue. Gumshoe’s reaction suggests that the costume was working just as well as he’d intended it to. 

 Edgeworth steps back, surveying the scene, and feels profoundly proud of himself. It looks good . The gardens themselves are beautiful, and they are in an open event space: the ground consists of natural brick, generous plant displays, and delightful, trickling fountains. The airspace is thick with precisely-strung string lights and lit, rainbow paper lanterns, giving the whole area a warm, pleasantly lit hue. Flanking the outer perimeter of the gardens are various stations with themed carnival games and activities, like the “SLAY!” vampire game, where one may attempt to toss a rainbow-colored wooden stake into the chest of a mounted stuffed dracula labeled ‘BIGOTRY.’ All about the venue are traditional Pride-oween decorations: multicolored bats and frankensteins holding various pride flags; banners toting phrases like ‘love is love’ and ‘trick or treat;’ two plastic skeletons holding hands, flanked by a small sign reading ‘ and we’re both men !’; carved watermelons lit from the inside with small candles; et cetera. 

Everything is perfect , and Edgeworth checks his watch. 6 o’clock: an hour before the party begins, and they are running ahead of schedule. He feels another swell of pride at the efficiency and quality of his work: they have already finished with all their decorations and ordered those running the games to their proper places with time to spare. All that he has to do now is wait for the caterers to arrive, direct them, and everything will be ready for Phoenix. And his coworkers. Whatever. 

“Everything is going according to plan,” Miles thinks, smiling to himself, “Why, everything is going to be perfect. Once Wright arrives, I may even find myself enjoying this event!”  

This feeling, however, is destined not to last. The second that the van pulls up, towing behind a heavy-duty platform with a giant, mounted LED screen, Miles feels deep in his gut that something is about to go horribly, horribly wrong. 

 The side of the van avertizes, in bright red and green letters in bubbling font: “‘ James ‘Jimbo’ Tron’s Jumbotron Rentals: ’ Your One Stop Go-To Shop for All Jumbotron Rentals Since 1989,” and a stout man with a graying mustache, baseball cap, and bowling shirt steps out of the driver's seat, quickly flanked by several other men in similar outfits who begin unloading black plastic milk cartons overladen with wires and other technical equipment. Edgeworth quickly notices that everyone, much like the side of the van, has‘‘ James ‘Jimbo’ Tron’s Jumbotron Rentals:’ Your One Stop Go-To Shop for All Jumbotron Rentals Since 1998” embroidered across the backs of their shirts and the brims of their hats.  

Edgeworth frowns, looking down at his watch. 6:21. The party starts in less than an hour and he really doesn’t have time for whatever nonsense this inevitably will be. 

Grumbling, he clips across the garden, approaching the mustached man with his arms crossed, “You are?” 

“Jimbo Tron. Founder, president, and CEO of ‘James ‘Jimbo’ Tron’s Jumbotron Rentals: ’ Your One Stop Go-To Shop for All Jumbotron Rentals since 2003” the man recites matter of factly, holding his hand out for a tip as he looks down at his clipboard. Edgeworth reluctantly shakes it, and the man frowns at the missed social cue. 

“Excuse me, J ames ,” Miles points to the men who begin to unload crates of film equipment from the truck, “But what is the meaning of this?” 

Jimbo looks between the rented jumbotron; the van that says ‘Jumbotron rentals;’ the order form on his clipboard that says ‘Jumbotron rental for 6/9/2018 at San Fransokyo Botanical Gardens;’ and the flustered man before him. He frowns. 

“Is that a trick question?” 

Seeing Edgeworth’s bewildered expression, he clarifies, “I’m here with the Jumbotron Rental? For your private event?” 

“I did not order a jumbotron for this event!” 

“Ooooh, right,” Jimbo flips through a few papers on his clipboard, “She did say that you likely would say that.” 

“She? Who is ‘ She ’? 

“She told me not to tell you.” 

Edgeworth huffs, crossing his arms, “Well, I’m sorry, but I am the one organizing this party and not your mysterious employer! I’m afraid you’ll have to leave. We have no need of your services and, in fact, you are completely throwing off the event’s entire aesthetic!”  

Jimbo doesn’t look up from his clipboard and clicks his pen, “She said you would say that, too, and told us to ignore you.” 

“ Ignore me ! You-- You can’t just ignore me!” 

Jimbo, can, in fact, just ignore him, and looks right past him, barking orders over his shoulder to the men continuing to set up the screen. “Hey! Joe!! Careful with that speaker, yeah?”

“Got it, Jimbo!” 

“And John! Make sure you get the camera ready, don’t want the same hiccups as last time!” 

“Yessir!” 

“And Jack--!!” 

“Do all your employees have J names?!!” Edgeworth interjects, but Jimbo just walks off, moving to help Jack untangle a mess of wires, “H-Hold it! Objection! I’m--!!” He chases after him, running about the various J-named men, waving his arms and attempting to scare them off like particularly stubborn pigeons. 

After several minutes of this, he eventually gives up, frustrated to say the least. He has a vague idea in mind of who, exactly, might be behind all this and pulls out his phone to call his sister. 

His call is forwarded directly to voicemail. 

He calls her again. And then calls her again and then calls her again, agitation mounting with each neglected ring. In a huff, he opts to texting. 

“Care to explain what the jumbotron is doing here and why they refused to listen to me?” 

“What?” Franziska texts back almost immediately, confirming his suspicion that she missed those calls on purpose. 

“JIMBO TRON. DID YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO DO WITH THIS??”

“What??” 

“FRANZISKA”

“I’m sorry, I’m driving through a tunnel, I can’t hear you.” 

“WE’RE TEXTING.”

Franziska leaves him on read and he snaps his phone shut in a huff. This is already turning into a much bigger nightmare than anticipated, and the party hasn’t even started yet. He is about to renew his efforts at chasing off the rental team, when Gumshoe taps him on the shoulder. 

“WHAT?! WHAT COULD YOU POSSIBLY WANT?!” 

“S-Sorry, Sir! It’s the caterers. They want to know where you want the tteokbokki stand?” 

“I--” Edgeworth huffs, pinching the bridge of his nose. That’s right, he still has a lot of work to get done, and he can’t waste any more of his precious time on whatever nonsense this is. Franziska’s avoidance of his question was all the confirmation he needed to prove her involvement, and so while whatever she is planning is likely malicious, it will only be so in her own, loveable brand of malice. And he supposed he can handle that, she is his sister after all. 

“F-Fine, I’ll go direct them,” he grits, begrudgingly turning his back on the rapidly-constructed jumbotron. He scurries off to the caterers, watching hawkishly over them to ensure they do not disrupt any of his meticulously-placed decorations, every once and a while peeking anxiously over his shoulder to James “Jimbo” Tron and his entourage. 

It’s fine. It’ll be fine. It’s ruining everything, but it’s fine, he’s fine, he’s FINE . 

“Mr. Edgeworth,” Gumshoe says, tapping the internally-melting prosecutor on the shoulder. 

“I’M FINE!!!!!” he shouts, his voice cracking. He swings to face Gumshoe, his eyes bulging somewhat out of his head. “ WHAT ?” 

“It’s-- It’s just guests are starting to arrive.” 

“GUESTS ARE WHAT?!” 

No no no, that can’t be right. He looks down at his watch. 6:55. He still has 5 minutes, why are people getting here early !? You’re never supposed to arrive at a party early, don’t any of his coworkers know anything about basic etiquette?!!? He looks to the entrance of the garden, and once again his blood runs cold. 

Winston and Gaspen Payne are standing underneath the Pride-oween-themed balloon arch in matching costumes. Their costumes match each other, that’s not the problem. The two weasels are similar enough in stature and appearance that such a gimmick normally would not worry him. 

No, what worries Edgeworth is that the men are also matching HIM . 

They are both wearing burgundy suits in HIS signature cut and color, black waistcoats in HIS unique silk; sharp dress shoes with HIS peculiar toe cap. They are wearing jabots. Jabots!!! That’s his thing!!! That could not more clearly be HIS thing!!!! 

How-- How DARE they?!!?! 

At first he thinks it’s just the Paynes being pains, and when the third prosecutor dressed as him walks in, he thinks (perhaps a bit too hopefully) that it is a mere coincidence. By the fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh person, he feels on the verge of an aneurysm. By 7:00, he is looking into a sea of Edgeworths, laughing, getting punched, and patting him happily on the back as he sputters angrily. 

In spite of the kind, amused looks on their faces, they’re obviously all making fun of him. This is terrible. Everyone hates him, and now they are seeking to punish him, kick him down and rub it in where it hurts the most: his aesthetic sense. He always knew he was unpopular, but to be hated THIS much? To be reduced to a mere punchline for a joke Miles has never been able to get?! 

Goddamn it!! What will Phoenix think? He’ll probably think it’s funny too! He’ll laugh along, and realize for himself how ridiculous, unoriginal, pathetic and petty Miles is! He’ll see he’s nothing special! He’ll see some other man-- or god-forbid a woman -- in a burgundy suit and jabot and realize they cut a much more pleasing silhouette than Miles does!! Now that they have controlled for the factor of attire, Phoenix will be able to empirically surmise that Miles is relatively unattractive, or at least has a much less impressive physique than, say, Dick Gumshoe or Bobby Fullbright!! Phoenix will-- he’ll--

Okay. No. Calm down. He is spiraling. This is a downward spiral, and he doesn’t have time for that. He’s not gonna go there, he knows better by now. It is 7:08 pm, the party has only started and, knowing Wright’s chronically late condition, he is unlikely to arrive any time before 8. He’s sure he’ll be able to fix this by then. He can fix this. He has to fix this. 

… Fuck. He has no idea how to fix this. 

He scans the venue, searching desperately for Gumshoe (who, doubtlessly, will be of help. In spite of his perpetual bumblingliness, there is realistically no one he trusts more) in the growing sea of Edgeworths. His eyes land first, however, on an all-too-familiar face standing by the snackbar. The second he sees her smugly grinning face, a million logical postulates click into place, and he feels a hot surge of rage prickle at the back of his neck. 

Miles stomps over to the refreshments, giggling prosecutors in burgundy blazers and frilly neck pieces parting to make way for him like some ridiculous retelling of Moses parting the Red Sea. 

He approaches, with somewhat murderous intent, the familiar woman with her frizzy, brown hair half up in a tight bun and small catty glasses balanced on the edge of her nose. She is wearing, unsurprisingly at this point, an all too familiar suit and jabot, and standing beside a shorter, blonde woman in the same outfit. They watch his approach, appearing somewhat amused by his flustered state.  

“Ms. Etta!” Miles shouts, his jaw clenched so tightly that his eyes are bulging out of his head like a chihuahua’s. “Just what , exactly, is the meaning of this??” 

“Ah, Prosecutor Edgeworth. Happy Pride-oween.” His secretary smiles innocently, smugly avoiding the question, “I must say, you did an excellent job with the party. The venue is lovely .” 

“ WHA T DO YOU THINK YOU’RE WEARING?” 

Marion looks down at her outfit (which is also technically his outfit) and twists her face into a look of confusion. 

“Is that a trick question, sir?” 

Edgeworth malfunctions for a second, frustrated enough to almost be rendered unintelligible. He takes a shaky breath and attempts to speak clearly and rationally. 

“...Ms. Etta… Why are… you wearing… my clothes…” he heaves out through gritted teeth. 

Marion frowns, keeping that same innocent blankness on her face as she tilts her head, “What do you mean, ‘your clothes,’ sir? As I’m sure you know, you are quite taller and leaner than me, so your clothes wouldn’t fit. I am wearing only clothes I, myself, purchased.” 

“NNhhgg!!! Don’t play dumb!! You know exactly what I was asking!” He gestures angrily at the room, waving his arms violently through the air, “Why is EVERYONE wearing MY SIGNATURE OUTFIT?!!?” 

Marion looks theatrically around the room, pretending to notice for the first time the venerable sea of jabots surrounding them. 

“Ohhh, that’s what you’re asking,” she brings her hand to her mouth in a look of surprise, “Why, it seems that everyone simply decided to come to the party as Austin Powers.”  

He flicks up her lapel accusingly, “THIS LAPEL SHAPE IS CUSTOM-MADE!!! FOR ME ! THEY ARE NOT AUSTIN POWERS!!!!!” 

“How bizarre,” she shrugs, “But an honest mistake.” 

“Do you really mean to tell me that this,” he is just waving his arms in wide, incoherent circles at this point, “is a mere COINCIDENCE?!” 

Marion grins cockily, holding her hands out at her sides in a vicious approximation of Edgeworth’s own confident shrug, “We cannot eliminate the possibility, no. Not unless you have some hard evidence to suggest otherwise? Can you prove it?” 

“N-No… I can’t… But-- Mathematically --”  

“Hm. Yes, well, mathematically, everyone independently deciding on the same color of suit does seem unlikely…” Marion concedes, smiling sweetly, “Your sister and her girlfriend, I believe, are quite notorious pranksters, are they not? I would suggest looking at them.” 

“Ah. You see, Ms. Etta, that was my initial impulse as well. However, just one thing bothers me about that theory.” 

“Oh? What’s that?” 

“I am just wondering how , exactly, Maya and Franziska were capable of pulling this off on their own. There is not much I don’t see my sister as capable of accomplishing, mind you, but contacting this many people about this evening’s choice costume? In such a coordinated effort? Why, even going so far as to ensure everyone is wearing the same shade of outwear-- not magenta, not red, but an entirely uniform sea of hexadecimal color code #b00b69 … Why, it all feels a bit militant for Maya.”

“But Miss Von Karma--” 

 “--is red/green colorblind,” Edgeworth finishes, “And therefore she would be incapable of coordinating such a feat.” 

Marion tenses almost imperceptibly at this point, but keeps her expression steady. 

“... You see,” Edgeworth continues, “I am simply struggling to believe they could have pulled this off without some degree of help . Say, from someone with a master’s degree in organizational management and an extensive contact list encompassing half the lawyers in Japanifornia? Someone who has personally scheduled every meeting with my tailor for the last half-decade, and therefore would be intimately aware with the inner workings of my exact fashion fingerprint?” 

Marion smiles, though this time it is considerably more tense than smug. “Though I am flattered that you view my skill set as so… encompassing, I’m afraid that the level of competence you are presuming here is somewhat beyond my current range.” 

“But Ms. Etta--”

“Prosecutor Edgeworth,” she interrupts, feeling the need to shift the conversation's tide back into her favor. She gestures to the woman beside her, who is similarly dressed in his clothes, “Have you met my wife, Hannah?”

The blonde woman beside her smiles and extends her hand, which Miles realizes has a thin golden band around the ring finger. He blinks for a moment, looking between the two women, noticing for the first time a similar band on Ms.-- no, Mrs. Etta’s hand as well. 

“I’ve heard so much about you,” Hannah says, holding out her hand with more insistence. 

“You’re married ?!?” Miles dumbly asks, turning to Marion. “I-- Is-- Is this a recent development?!” 

Marion frowns and her wife drops the offered hand, wrapping it around Marion’s waist, drawing her nearer, “We actually just celebrated our eighth anniversary.” 

“ Seven years I’ve worked for you, sir,” Marion brings her hand to her chest, “I’m a little hurt you’ve simply ignored me every time I’ve brought up the love of my life. I have wedding pictures framed on my desk-- have you really never noticed??” 

“I--” Miles stammers, feeling like such an ass that he drops his accusations completely, “N-No I--” 

Marion sniffles theatrically, “All this time, I thought I had an employer who cared but--” 

Hannah pats her back reassuringly, “Aw, babe, don’t cry. We talked about this. Some people will just never be satisfied, no matter how much work you pour into them.” 

“I know, I know,” She pats at her eyes with her jabot, “I had just hoped--” she allows tears to flow over, “I had just hoped he would grow up to be a better man than his mentor!!” 

Edgeworth watches this exchange with mounting horror, unsure of how he got here, and terrified by how quickly things spiraled out of control. He feels mortified, jarred, ashamed, and embarrassed all at once. He has no idea how to fix the situation. 

“I-- I--” he stammers as Marion cries harder into her wife’s shoulder, “Nghgg- uhh-- Take the week off!” He cries, trying to come up with the opposite of what Von Karma would do in this situation, “You-- You’ve been working too hard, take a vacation! I-- uh-- I appreciate the work you put in!”   

Marion looks up expectantly, “With full pay and benefits?” 

Edgeworth waves his hand distractedly, not even noticing her shift in demeanor, “Yes yes, whatever!! I-If you’ll excuse me--” He turns around and storms off, desperate to be free of the conversation. As soon as his back is turned, Marion straightens up, drying off her face. She looks over to her wife and grins wickedly. 

“He’s such a pushover, he almost makes it too easy. You booked those tickets to Bermuda, right?”  

Hannah grins back, kissing Marion’s cheek, “Of course. Sun and sand, here we come.”

Edgeworth storms off, tearing through the crowd blindly, attempting to locate the exit. 

This is a nightmare, this is a literal nightmare. What should he do?? Should he just cut his losses and go home?? He checks his watch. 7:19. Wright still isn’t here, maybe he should call and get his ETA, then he’d know how much time he has to compose himself. Maybe he should send everyone home, force them all to change and come back later? What if he calls the local Party City and asks them to deliver, in bulk, new costumes for the office? 

No, that’s ridiculous, this is ridiculous, this is a nightmare!! Think! What if he hires a gang of Go-Go girls? Get some tie-dye and play 60s music, just to complete the illusion that everyone is, in fact, actually dressed as Austin Powers? No, he hates the 60s, and where would he even get that many Go-Go girls on such short noti--

“H-HEY PAL, WATCH OUT!” Gumshoe cries as Edgeworth slams into him at full force, knocking several buckets of paint and an industrial tub of glitter out of the detective’s arms and across his clothes. Edgeworth teeters backwards, falling on his ass with a strangled cry. 

“OH MY GOD, ARE YOU OKAY, SIR!?” Gumshoe immediately drops down to his knees, looking down at the fallen attorney, covered head to toe in neon green paint and fine, pink glitter. Edgeworth blinks for a second on the ground, jaw open, too stunned to process everything all at once. Gumshoe makes a worried sound, and removes the jabot from around his own neck (when did he change into an Edgeworth costume too????) and gingerly attempts to wipe some of the sparkling paint off of Miles’s face. “H-Here, let me--” 

Edgeworth aggressively bats his hand away,  “WHAT THE FUCK, DICK!!” he shrieks, attracting a fair amount of attention, “WHY ARE YOU EVEN CARRYING THIS, WE STOPPED PAINTING HOURS AGO?!!” 

Gumshoe winces, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! It was an accident! I didn’t mean to--”  

“WhAT dO yOu MEAN YOU--” Edgeworth begins, but noticing the gathering audience of officers and prosecutors gathering around them, he holds his tongue. He needs to calm down. He is causing a scene. He does not want to cause a scene. He needs to disengage and de-escalate. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, attempting to think of happy, grounding things. A fresh loaf of bread. A guilty verdict. Phoenix laughing at game night. A rough collie puppy in a bowtie. A warm cup of tea. 

He opens his eyes slowly and looks evenly at the groveling detective. 

“It’s fine , Detective,” he says through gritted teeth, his tone chillingly even. “Your salary shall not recover, but I certainly will.” He stomps off, retrieving his briefcase from the corner, “Ever since a young girl misappropriated my caveat as a handkerchief, I have always made sure to carry with me a back-up set of clothes. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am going to go change while you clean up this mess.” 

“Y-Yes, sir!” Gumshoe salutes, stooping down and beginning to mop up some of the spilled paint with the corner of his shirt. As soon as Edgeworth is out of earshot, however, he straightens up, producing a walkie-talkie from his back pocket. 

“Alright, Sir, phase one is down. He’s headed to the bathroom now. Over.” 

“Affirmative, Scruffy,” Franziska radios back, “Over.” 

Gumshoe looks after his angrily fleeing boss with a guilty expression. “Say, pal, he looks pretty upset. Are you sure we’re doing the right thing? Over.” 

 “10-4, officer,” Maya says into her own radio, “Foxtrot- Tango- Golf. Over!” 

“ What ??? Over.” 

“Don’t worry about that part, Scuffy. Over.” Franziska clarifies, “As promised, your next three months of rent are covered. That should be your only concern. Over and out.” 

Gumshoe sighs, swallowing some of his conscience and thinking about all the money he’s saving on rent because of this. He’ll maybe even be able to afford fancy tuna this month. He  shakes his head in determination and begins to help execute Phase Two. 

Meanwhile, muttering things to himself like “Unbelievable,” “Why me,” and “What a nightmare,” Edgeworth shoots through the garden, pushing industriously past his coworkers, making a beeline to the indoor lobby where the bathroom is hosted. His top priority is getting rid of all this damn glitter , everything else can wait. 

Burting through the door of the single-stall, unisex bathroom, he immediately dunks his head in the sink, allowing the cold water to cascade over his hair, rinsing out some of the accumulated paint and glitter in a cloudy, swirling whirlpool. Unfortunately, the accumulated glitter with hair gel quickly clogs the drain, and the water stagnates for a moment in a greenish grey pool. Groaning, he attempts to pat his hair down with some paper towels, but finding the dispenser empty, shamefully uses fists full of toilet paper to get the job done. 

He then opens his briefcase, digging furiously through its contents, throwing papers, pens and files to the tiled floor. As hoped, his spare linen shirt is present, but much to dismay, his spare blazer is nowhere to be found. He huffs, unsure of how he could have possibly misplaced an entire blazer , especially considering it never is supposed to leave his bag. Perhaps he has been a bit distracted these last few days…

Figuring he may as well cut his losses, he hastily puts on his spare shirt, whipped into such a frenzy of emotion and unsettlement that he doesn’t even realize there is something wrong with it until being hit with an unfamiliar coolness against his chest. He looks at his harried reflection in the mirror: his hair still wet and clinging to his face, untidy and sparkling with surviving flecks of glitter; his face red with embarrassment and exertion; sweat across his brow and bags under his eyes from late nights of catch-up work.

Worst of all, his eyes land on two perfectly round, quarter-sized holes cut precisely over his nipples, exposing them raw to the night hair. 

He blinks, stunned, furious, his mouth hanging open. He thumbs over the holes, finding that not only has the fabric been removed, but the edges have been meticulously-- lovingly-- hand stitched to prevent fraying.

 This is no casual prank. This is the work of a seasoned veteran. 

He paces back and forth in the stall, attempting to think of a way out of this. Should he just put back on his other shirt? He moves to retrieve it from its crumpled place on the ground, only to find the paint has already dried into a hardened shell, making it impossible to straighten out. Maybe he should  just stay here. Live in the bathroom. Become a miserable toilet goblin and stake out his new kingdom. Yes, that’s what he’ll do, all hail the bathroom goblin ki-- 

He is startled by a knock at the door. 

Damn, that’s right, this is an event with other people and there is only one restroom. If he hogs it indefinitely, he will be actively denying toilet privileges to other people and that is just unforgivable. 

He needs to hurry up. Think! Think! What should he do?!?!?! 

He should call Phoenix. 

He should tell him he wants to go home. Phoenix will understand. He would be more than happy to oblige. He would never force him to stay at a party he didn’t want to attend. Arguably, the whole Holiday Party fiasco was not a consequence of attending a party, but the result of staying for too long . He should just-- he fumbles for his phone-- he should just chicken out and go home. They should just watch a movie, they can always just watch a movie. 

His thumb lingers on the #1 key-- the speed dial button for Phoenix-- when he hesitates. 

No, he can’t do this to him. How could he be so selfish?! He’s just thinking about himself and his own feelings again!! This whole party, inviting Nick in the first place, it wasn’t for himself , it was for Phoenix and the girls! Phoenix loves parties!!  Of course, he would forgo the party for Miles. He would do so without hesitation-- but he shouldn't have to. 

Phoenix has no problem giving things up for Miles, but can Miles say the same for Phoenix? 

No, he can’t leave. He needs to stick it out. He can’t bail now. He promised Wright a good night and he needs to follow through. 

New plan. He’ll sneak out, find Gumshoe, and ask for assistance in procuring a new shirt. He will then wait for Phoenix to arrive, and then start enjoying himself, because Phoenix has arrived. It’s a foolproof plan. 

He pokes his head out the bathroom cautiously, holding his blazer protectively against his chest to cover the mortifyingly omitted circles of fabric. As soon as he looks into the hall, not necessarily to his surprise, he sees Maya and Franziska waiting patiently in the hall. 

Miles immediately notices two things: the mischievous, smiles across their faces, and their coordinated costumes. Franziska is toting a red silk robe with black lapels, black silk slacks, and naval captain's hat; Maya is in a long, blonde wig; a red turtleneck; bell-bottomed jeans; and a pair of slightly tinted aviator glasses. 

“Hello, dear little brother,” Franziska preens, “What a coincidence, seeing you here. We were just on our way to powder our noses, but some foolish fool has been hogging the restroom for most of the evening.” 

Edgeworth glares at them from the door, stepping out fully to reveal his dissheveled state, his blazer still held tight to his chest. Maya gives him a long, slow look over, her grin widening the more and more she drinks in his appearance. 

“Seems you’ve gotten yourself in quite a predicament here.” 

“ I’ve gotten myself in--!! You say this as though this is not all transparently YOUR doing!!” 

“Woah, that’s a pretty drastic claim there, Prosecutor Edgeworth,” Maya holds out her hands innocently, “Do you have any evidence to support your claim, or is it all circumstantial flights of fancy?” 

“Tisk tisk,” Franziska wags her finger, “I thought our mentor raised you better than that.” 

“And I thought you had grown out of your megalomaniacle bullying phase!!!” 

“That’s no way to talk to the people who are about to rescue you,” Maya offers, producing from a small bag at her feet a bundle of clothing. “We were so worried for you, decorating a party in your costume, that we decided to bring you a backup just in case like, I dunno, Gumshoe spilled paint on you or something. Aren’t you lucky to have such nice, considerate girls in your life?” 

Edgeworth takes a cold glance at the clothes before him. A leather corset. Shimmery shorts with “Objection” written out in sequins on the ass. Fishnet stockings. Six-inch heels. A bow tie choker. Bunny ears. He looks between the clothes and the girls who are blinking innocently before him. 

“Oh, I understand,” he says, “Whatever punishment I shall receive from God upon my death is not enough. You wish to see me suffer while I’m still alive.” 

“It’s a bunny suit, Miles,” Francie says flatly, “Why can’t you be normal about this?” 

“No no, he’s right” Maya interjects, “I definitely want him to suffer at least a little bit.” 

“Well, I’m sorry to deny you your fun but there is no way in hell that I am wearing this. I would say that you’d have to hold a gun to my head, but even then, I may still find death more fitting.” 

Maya rolls her eyes, “Barf. What a drama queen.” 

“You should not be so fast to make such bold statements, brother, they will force you to contradict yourself. Did you know that there are approximately 39,000 children in orphanages across Japanifornia, many of whom are living in dismal conditions? 16% of orphanages do not even have access to hot running water, nor the emotional welfare services those children desperately need.” 

Edgeworth is unimpressed. 

“I don’t follow your logic here, dear sister .”  

Franziska efficiently produces from her bag a clipboard bearing several sheets of printed excel sheets. Wordlessly, she passes it to Edgeworth, who grasps it awkwardly in one hand, still using the other to conceal his nipless shirt. 

The papers are filled with the names of his various coworkers-- everyone in the office from the Chief Prosecutor to the lowly janitor. Beside each name are various dollar amounts, most individual donations being in the $500-800 range. Even Dick Gumshoe has contributed $100, which --thanks to Edgeworth-- is over half his monthly salary. Flipping through to the end, he sees that the total cash amount from each person is some $15,043 . 

 Edgeworth frowns. 

“Are you… soliciting donations? I’ll have you know I already pledge a generous portion of my salary to the JFCDEI.” 

(The Japanifornia Fund for Children Displaced by Elevator Incidents)

“No no, nothing that simple. We are uninterested in your money.” 

“We want your SOUL .”

“I don’t HAVE a soul.” 

“Oh, whatever!” Maya rolls her eyes, “Of course you’d say that, Edgelord.”  

Franziska wags her finger, “You may be wondering: how were we capable of compelling everyone in the office to give-- and not only that-- but to give so generously.” 

“How should I know! You two can be very convincing when you want to be!” he crosses his arms, “And by ‘convincing’ I mean ‘manipulative’ and ‘terrible.’” 

“It’s all for a good cause! WE’RE doing this for the children ,” Maya points to the clipboard, “Your coworkers, however, are doing this to see you in a bunny costume.” 

The statement lingers in the air for a moment, Edgeworth almost not catching that last detail. 

“THey WHAT ?!!”  

“Oh come now, Miles Edgeworth, did you really think people would give money to orphans because it’s the right thing to do?” Franziska laughs, “HA! If only. We told them that if they raised enough money, you would agree to dress as a playboy bunny at the office Pride-oween party. You can see how motivated that made people.” Her finger lands on a $1,500 donation from Winston Payne alone. 

“This-- I-- THis--” Edgeworth stutters “-- And they BELIEVED YOU ?!! I would NEVER AGREE TO--” 

“ Never is a very bitter word, especially when you shall certainly be eating it later this evening.”

“If you ever wanted to know how much people would pay to see you in a bunny suit, we now know the answer is give or take ‘$15,000.’”

“I LITERALLY NEVER WONDERED THAT.” 

Maya pouts out her lip, “Do it for the kids! The poor widdle orphans without hot running water and get kicked instead of kissed and are-- uh--  forced to eat stinky gym socks for dinner!”  

Franziska shakes the ears,“You’re doing it for the children .”

“Fuck the children!!! I’m sorry, but I am NOT wearing that!!!” 

“Oh, come ooooooooooooon, Edgeworth!!!!!” Maya smiles knowingly, arching her brow, “Don’t you wanna match with Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiick?” 

“ M-Match? With Wright ??” 

Maya nods. “He is also dressed as a bunny.” 

“W-Wright is dressed like this ???” He gestures at the scant clothes before him. The mere thought of seeing Wright in such a display makes his whole body run hot in a way he can’t decide is from arousal or a legitimate cardicactic episode, “Y-You managed to strongarm him into this as well??” 

“I’m sure he will be delighted to have company,” Francis cuts in, pouting out her lip mockingly, “A widdle bunny-wunny shouldn’t be awone in the world.” 

Maya elbows her slightly and she frowns. “Did I oversell it?” 

Maya makes a “so-so” gesture with her hand. 

“I still struggle to see how any of this is necessary,” Miles stammers, “I-I don’t see how my own debasement in any way shall relieve any of Wright’s-- i-if anything, I could only see it making things worse ! I-- I’m sorry, but I adamantly REFUSE to play any role in this! Let me just suffer with my vandalized shirt in peace!” 

Maya groans, burying her face in her hands, “Oh my GOD, you’re impossible!!!” 

Francis pats her back consolingly as she continues to grumble swears under her breath. She stays in that position for a moment, and when she removes her hands, her face is set in a new, determined expression. Miles feels a small chill of recognition down his spine. That look in her eye-- he recognizes it from facing her sister in court: that competitive flair and consuming desire to win.

“Look, man,” she says, her voice taking on an almost utilitarian edge, “I’m gonna level with you. You’re in love with my brother.” 

“I--” Miles bristles, his face growing somehow even redder than before. He considers for a split moment denying it, but seeing the serious look on Maya’s face, he drops it immediately. 

“Yes,” he admits, “Okay, yes. Is it that obvious?” 

“We have eyes , little brother,” Franziska crosses her arms, a bit offended at the insinuation she could have missed something so glaringly obvious. 

“ You’re in love with him ,” Maya repeats, “ he’s crazy about you, and I just can’t help but feel very bitter and skeptical and ambivalent about the whole thing!! Because he’s a goddamn delight , and you’re an asshole !” 

Miles and Franziska wince slightly at this assessment but don’t object.

“Is Wright really--” he clears his throat, feeling once again like a gushy schoolgirl and attempting to keep his tone casual “-- crazy about me?” 

The girls stare at him for a moment: Maya squinting in a look of annoyed skepticism, Franziska dully unimpressed. Maya puts her face in her hands once more, “ Oh my fucking god ,” she mutters under her breath. She looks up, throwing her arms up, “YES! YES! THE ANSWER COULD NOT MORE CLEARLY BE YES, YOU-- YOU--” 

“Foolishly foolish fool?” Francis offers. 

“YEAH! THAT ! Was ‘Wright likes me’ seriously your one takeaway from what I was saying??” 

“Of course not, you also lectured me on…” only then does it occur to Miles that he really had only taken one thing away from her tirade. He sighs. 

“Maya--” he attempts.

“ Master Maya.”

“ Master Maya,” he corrects, “would you mind proceeding to your point? Ideally with less venom? Yes, I am in love with Phoenix; yes, it may very well be mutual. However, I struggle to see what business this is of yours!” 

Francis flinches at such a tonedeaf assessment and Maya gapes at him for a moment. Stammering in a series of increasingly frustrated noises, she throws her arms in the air, biting down on her lip and walking around in a small, enraged circle before she can come up with words. 

“Oh my god, it is SO my business!” she eventually rounds on him, “It could not be more my business!!Who do you think is looking out for him, huh? Who do you think is in charge of protecting him, keeping him out of trouble, keeping him from doing stupid shit like-- like eating glass and running off burning bridges?! I’m, like, eighty percent of his impulse control!! And Pearly makes up at least another fifteen!” 

A new wave of understanding impacts Miles, a sense of sympathy following quickly upon its heels as this whole episode clicks into the wider context of the past few weeks. He tilts his head in concern, frowning. 

“Maya--” 

“ Master Maya,” Franziska corrects with a sharp crack of her whip. 

“ Master Maya… I can understand after Wright’s-- erm-- accident , that you have every right to be more wary of his well being. However, I must remind you that Phoenix is his own man--” 

She crosses her arms across her chest in a huff.

“Nuh-uh, no,” she interrupts, “You’ve got the wrong idea here, man. Everyone has an idea of our dynamic and everyone’s got it wrong, okay? I’m not Nick’s weird little girl. Nick is my weird little guy, okay? Mia didn’t put me in his care, she put him in mine. Yeah, yeah, he protects me-- but I protect him too. And you’ve made me feel like I need to protect him from you. You hurt him so much. You hurt him SO MUCH! MORE THAN ONCE!” 

“I know. And I’ve been trying to make it right--” 

Maya rolls her eyes and dismisses him with a wave of her hand, “ Yeah, yeah, you chartered a jet from Europe; sure, sure, you helped him while he was in the hospital-- whatever. I don’t care that you apparently excel at grand, romantic gestures. I don’t care that you’re willing to come running back home for him the second you find out he’s in mortal peril or whatever. I want proof that you’re not going to leave in the first place. I want proof that you’re not going to pull some Cassio-Oh-Reputation-Oh-Reputation-Boo-Hoo-Woe-Is-Me MELTDOWN every time you do something embarrassing!” She juts out her hand and pokes him the chest, punctuating each sentence with a light jab. She is gracious enough, at least, to avoid jabbing at his bare nips. 

“To be alive is to be in a perpetual state of embarrassment. Caring for someone makes that even WORSE. And caring for Phoenix, of all people? There are going to be an awful lot of just-- just downright stupid and gross and deeply deeply embarrassing things you’re probably going to do with him and for him because that’s the deal. Being in love is just kinda stupid and lame and embarassing. And THOSE things need to balance out whatever grand, romantic overtures you seem to be more comfortable with. You need to be comfortable with your own incredible uncoolness if you wanna be with someone as dorky and lame as Phoenix.” 

“Which is why,” Franziska offers, presenting the bundle of clothes to her brother once more, “We have devised this ingenious little test of ours.” 

“It’s like a Saw trap but you don’t have to eat your own arm or whatever. We’re just asking you to recreate the last thing that made you flip the fuck out and flee the country--”

 “Embarrassing yourself at an office function,” Franziska clarifies. 

“--but this time, without the flipping out bit. We’re literally just asking you, for the love of god, to be normal about this.” 

“Oh,” Miles frowns, “So you’re hazing me.” 

Maya shakes her head, “You don’t have to think of it as hazing . Reframe it in your mind as, like, a medieval courtship ritual. If you want Nick’s hand in marriage, you have to pay an impressive dowry. In my infinite generosity,” she grabs the bunny ears and waves them gloatingly in his face, “I’ve decided that it can be covered by the money everyone raised to see you as a bun bun.” 

Miles goes pale. “You’ve valued his dowry at $15,000 ?!” He closes his eyes for a moment and summons the image of his checkbook in his mind. He is well off-- certainly better off than most of the general population-- but $15,000 is beyond even his range of easily disposable income. To weasel himself out of this situation he would likely have to liquidate a portion of his stock portfolio, which is something he tries to avoid if at all possible. 

Franziska, as though watching his mental financial computations, grins the grin she only grins when she’s fully cornered a foe: an expression that, even since they were children, has reminded Miles of a cat poised over a half-dead bird.

“We knew if the sum were any lower, you would simply front the money yourself.” 

 Maya grins along with an eerily similar expression. 

“We didn’t want you to take the COWARD’S route. All we’re asking for is a wee little bit of public humiliation.” 

“Surely you recall our studies on British history?” Franziska says haughtily, “Do you recall that, after King Henry II killed Saint Thomas Becket, he had to crawl, shirtless and groveling, across the floor of Canterbury Cathedral while monks whipped and insulted him?” 

Miles grows even paler, anxiously eyeing his sister’s whip. “Y-Your point being ?”

Maya rolls her eyes, “We’re saying that you’re getting off easy here. We’re not even asking you to be whipped shirtless,” she gestures at the corset with a flourish, “We are asking you to briefly appear before your coworkers in the tasteful attire we have so lovingly selected for you.”

“You’re punitively forcing me to debase myself,” Miles summarizes. 

“We’re not forcing you to do anything,” Francis clarifies, “You have free will, a clear mind, and all the rights and privileges afforded to adult men in our society. You have a plethora of options before you, dear brother. Think them over yourself to see how thoroughly we’ve pinned you in checkmate.” 

She begins to gloatingly list things, counting them don’t on her fingers matter-of-factly. “You may always turn around and go home--” 

“--But then you’d be abandoning Nick and leaving him all alone at the party you invited him to,” Maya adds, shaking her head, “Kinda a dick move.”  

“You may attend the party dressed as you are now,” Franziska continues, gesturing to his nipless shirt and paint-ruined blazer, “but something tells me that would be even worse than the clothes we have so graciously provided.” 

“I’m not sure if these technically qualify as clothes ,” Miles objects, eyeing the fishnets. 

Maya rolls her eyes, “You can, like, tell everyone in the office who put forth money that their $15,000 was totally in vain because of your stupid pride… We, like, already donated the sum, by the way, so there’s no ‘refund’ option.”

“This is, unless you literally wish to call the orphanage and tell them to give the money back.” 

“Then you’d be taking bread literally, directly out of the mouths of orphans,” Maya reiterates, taking perhaps a bit too much delight in the thought. 

“Think of the orphans, dear brother,” Franziska pretends to wipe a tear from her eye, “Need I remind you that you, yourself, are an orphan.” 

“Nick’s an orphan too. And I’m an orphan. Hell, I’m a RECENT orphan,” (at this Franziska and Edgeworth both flinch, though Maya pretends not to notice) “And Pearl’s practically an orphan!! Gumshoe--” Maya frowns, “Holy shit, is everyone we know a fucking orphan? This is bad writing, what does the author of this universe have against mothers??” 

“ My mother is alive,” Franziska sniffs, “she is just living in Bermuda, living the high life off Von Karma’s alimony.”

“Wright is an orphan??”

“Huh. Good for her,” Maya shrugs, ignoring Miles’s legitimate question, “Anyway, SERIOUSLY, think of the children , Edgeworth!! Who knows, maybe your bunny costume will sponsor the future of the next Chief Prosecutor or something.” 

“That is a flimsy logical leap.” 

“Whatever. Look, do you really wanna call Nick and tell him that you’re unwilling to surrender just a wee teeny tiny, itty bitty bit of your dignity for something as crucial and important as his BEATING HUMAN HEART !?!”  

“He’ll be so sad. He’ll be so sad and disappointed. He may even CRY. What if you make him CRY?!!” 

“HE ALMOST DIED ! HE IS STILL SO HURT! JUST A POOR, HURT BUN BUN WITHOUT A MATE IN THE WOR--” 

“NNNRGGOOOOOO!!! Fine! Fine! I get the point!” Edgeworth cries, his heart strings finally tugged, ripping the clothes out of Franziska’s hands, “I’ll do it! I’ll wear the damn costume!!” 

Franziska and Maya grin wickedly. 

“Good choice,” Maya nods. 

“An excellent decision,” Franziska adds, “Truly the best out of all available options.” 

Miles looks down at the corset. It’s leather and he can already tell that this is going to be a terrible sensory experience. 

“A-And if I do this…” In spite of how much of a literal nightmare this is, Miles feels a small twist of hope stirring in his chest, “Wright will… appreciate it? He’ll be… happy?” 

“He’ll love you forever, ” Franziska assures and Maya nods in agreement. 

“He has a huge thing for bunnies,” Maya makes up on the spot. 

Miles sighs. The things, apparently, he’ll do for love. If you had asked him two years ago if there was any amount of coercion that would lead him to wear a playboy bunny suit in front of his coworkers he would have recommended you to a mental hospital. But now, not only is he actively considering it, he is actually following through.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he says miserably.

“Oh one more thing,” Maya says, producing from her bag a thick white binder, “We’ve scrounged up an additional $5000 that people are willing to contribute if and only if your appearance is accompanied by a small musical number.” 

“We knew the unlikeliness of your participation, and felt that tidbit would be better served as a stretch goal.” 

“How insightful .” 

Maya piles the binder on top of the clothes in his arms, “Here’s the song list and lyrics for your browsing pleasure,” she grins, “Make sure whatever song you pick, it comes from the heart.” 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he repeats, even more miserably.  

“We’ll give you some time to change,” Franziska smiles, practically shoving him back into the bathroom stall and slamming the door behind him. Alone in the bathroom, Miles holds up the corset and silky pink ears, not relishing the thought of actually putting them on.  

“This better not awaken anything in me,” he sighs. 

Meanwhile, at 6:15 across town, Nick is attempting to get ready for the party with Pearls. Unsurprisingly to everyone but themselves, they are running behind schedule. Now, in the best of circumstances, Phoenix and the Fey Gang running behind schedule is pretty par for the course-- especially considering that normally, they do not have a schedule and (excluding court), their timed entrances and exits to and from events are characterized by “winging it.” 

This time, however, Phoenix wants to be punctual-- he knows Miles appreciates and prioritizes such things, and he has been chewed out more times than he can name for arriving late to lunch and dinner dates. In an attempt to get there on time for once in his life (and hopefully impress Miles in the process), Phoenix drafted a detailed timetable to ensure they could arrive perfectly at 7. The schedule is as follows: 

9:00 am: Wake up 

9:30 am: Breakfast and Coffee

10:00 am: Light Yoga / Physical Therapy Exercises for Injuries

12:00 pm: Cook / Eat lunch

1:00 pm: Complete Bunny Costumes (adhere pom-poms; apply glitter; allow to dry; etc.) 

2:00 pm: Miscellaneous Office Work; Correspond With Potential Client

5:00 pm: Light Dinner 

6:00 pm: Leave House, allowing time for public transportation and delays

7:00 pm: Arrive on time, Impressing Miles and Winning His Approval / Affection

It’s a perfect plan: succinct, brilliant, complete with a generous margin of error. With this degree of forethought, things will definitely work without a hitch. 

Things hitch almost immediately. 

First of all, mysteriously in spite of setting multiple safe guards, Phoenix’s alarm doesn’t go off. Normally, this would not be a problem, as in addition to the alarm on his phone, he has the secondary, human alarm clocks of Maya and Pearl who consistently stir him awake to demand bacon and eggs by 9:05 sharp. 

He sleeps until noon. 

When he stumbles, bleary-eyed and somewhat dazed, into the kitchen, the girls are already eating lunch. They blink innocently at him when he asks why the hell they didn’t wake him up, and then he gets a tag-teamed earful about how he is RECOVERING and DELICATE and he NEEDS REST. 

Secondly, when he attempts to speed through yoga and physical therapy to make up for the lost time he tragically slept through, he gets another tag-teamed earful about how he is INJURED and his joints are STIFF and how if he doesn’t stretch, he will have CHRONIC PAIN FOREVER. They even guilt him into an extra half-hour of yoga, where he accidentally falls back asleep in child’s pose, and sleeps until 2. Franziska arrives at this point, and leaves with Maya so they can go “help Edgeworth with decorations.”

Thirdly, Phoenix is concussed. Not only is he concussed, but he is still suffering from multiple broken ribs, a fractured skull and spine, and various bruises, scrapes, and burns. The cumulative effect of all these injuries mean he is still medicated. Heavily medicated. He’s fine, it’s fine, he’s functional, but things like “focusing,” and “experiencing the flow of time in a normal, uninterrupted way” are considerably more difficult than usual-- especially considering that some of the medication prescribed for pain interferes with his normal ADHD meds, meaning he hasn’t been able to take them in a while. And so what was SUPPOSED to be “finish up the costumes in about an hour, get some office work done,” became “Phoenix and Pearl hyperfixate on precise pom-pom and glitter placement, and in the blink of an eye, it has been 4 hours.” 

Furiously realizing how much time has passed from the sun’s low position in the sky, Phoenix and Pearls rush to get into their costumes and out of the house. This, unfortunately, takes much longer than expected, especially when they find that all of their shoes seem to have, mysteriously, disappeared. It is not until Pearls checks the top of the fridge (after 15 minutes of searching) that she finds them. 

At that point however, Phoenix realizes he can’t find his wallet. He normally keeps it stored in his blazer pocket and it includes crucial items such as money and public transport passes so he literally can’t leave home without it. Much to his dismay, when he checks his blazer pocket, it has been replaced with a pink sticky-note reading: “Borrowed your wallet, hope you don’t mind. Love, Maya.”

Phoenix does, very much, mind. He checks his watch-- wait no, he doesn’t have his watch. Maya must have stolen that too at some point, which is why it’s been so difficult to keep track of time! He checks the clock on the microwave (which, unbeknownst to him, Maya has set an hour earlier than the actual time), and sees it says 5:59. Okay, he can salvage this, he still has an hour until the party starts, he can still make it on time if they call a taxi and pay with swear jar money. 

He realizes that he can’t find his phone. 

He looks to where it should be-- plugged into its charger by the wall, but instead finds another sticky note reading: “Borrowed your phone too. Love, Maya.” He frowns. This is rapidly becoming a nightmare. 

“Pearls, it looks like we’re in a pickle here,” he announces, producing the note from his room while she waits patiently by the door. “We’re gonna have to bike.” 

Pearls frowns, shuffling uncertainly. 

“Mr. Nick, the doctor said you shouldn’t be biking until your ribs are better.” 

“Awwww, it’s fine , Pearly-Girly. Come on.” 

Perhaps predictably at this point, when they arrive downstairs, Nick’s bike doesn’t have a chain or a seat. Placed, instead, between the spokes of the bike’s wheel is a note that reads: “The doctor said you shouldn’t be biking until your ribs are better. Love, Maya.” 

Nick groans. This is a nightmare. 

“Well,” he sighs, “Looks like we’re walking.” 

They make it two blocks down the road when they are flanked by the sound of a siren and blue and red flashing lights as a cop car pulls up. Phoenix resists his immediate impulse to run, and is only stopped when a familiar face reveals itself from behind the tinted windows. 

“Hey, Pal! Seems you’ve gotten yourself in quite a pickle here. Need a ride?” 

“GUMSHOE!” Pearl cries in delight and Phoenix cries in relief. He was starting to get exhausted just from the two blocks and the mere thought of walking another 4 miles was causing him physical pain. They excitedly scramble into the back of the car, and within minutes, are delivered to the party exactly an hour and a half later than intended. 

When he first steps through the gates of the garden, the first thing he thinks is something along the lines of “What the fuck, how are there so many Edgeworths?!!?” 

His heart seizes in his chest, and he immediately feels a bit lightheaded with shock. Pearl squeezes his hand worriedly as he staggers backwards for a moment. 

The second thing he thinks is “Oh no, am I running a fever again?” 

He notices a slight tug on his sleeve, and bends down to Pearl’s level, where-- as if reading his mind, she presses the back of her hand to his forehead and shakes her head ‘no.’

The third thing he thinks is “Oh wait, false alarm, it's just everyone is DRESSED like Edgeworth. This is much more manageable.” 

He and Pearls are then approached, almost immediately, by Franziska and Maya. 

“You’re late,” Franzika announces, crossing her arms vindictively over her red, silk robe, her captain’s hat shielding her eyes in an almost menacing light, “I understand punctuality has never been your strong suit, but over an HOUR is unforgivable .” 

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Phoenix is panting slightly, sweat still on his brow, his bunny ears askew. He makes pointed eye contact at Maya, “For some reason , I had a really hard time getting here.” 

“How bizarre” Maya shrugs innocently, then gestures to him and Pearl, “Your costumes turned out great, by the way. Totally worth all the extra time.” 

“Ah, yes,” Franziska’s grin widens to cheshire cat proportions, “What, exactly, are you two supposed to be?” 

“I’m Peter Rabbit!!!” Pearls announces, bouncing bunny-like for emphasis. She is wearing an adorable pair of brown bunny ears, a matching brown sweater, a fluffy brown pom-pommed skirt; topped off perfectly with Peter Rabbit’s signature light blue, oversized jacket. 

Phoenix sighs, “And, at Maya’s suggestion, I’m the White Rabbit from Alice in Wonderland. ” He gestures vaguely with the large clock Pearl painted for him on cardboard. In spite of his seemingly begrudging attitude about the whole thing, Nick must admit that he looks quite dapper in his costume-- going for more of a gentleman-rabbit look than something downright bunnyish-- he is wearing some fluffy white ears; a long, finely cut, red coat; a deep red bowtie; and a warm yellow waistcoat over a white dress shirt; dark, corduroy slacks; and polished white dress shoes. 

Seeing Maya’s grin go from innocent amusement to a look of pure mischief, his eyes widen, suddenly realizing why Maya was so insistent he should dress as THIS rabbit, specifically, and NOT the Velveteen Rabbit as he had initially wanted. 

“So… you could say you were late --” she begins.

“ No way .” 

She breaks out into song: “to a very important date! No time to say ‘hello,’ goodbye, I’m late! I’m late! I’m late!!” 

Nick buries his face in his hands. 

 “NOOOOOOOOOO!” He cries, “I WALKED RIGHT INTO YOUR TRAP!!!” 

Maya and Pearl laugh delightedly at Nick’s expense, while Franziska smirks. When the laughter subsides, Pearl points at Maya’s glasses, wig, and bell-bottoms. 

“Who are you supposed to be, Mystic Maya?” 

“Oh,” she adjusts her glasses proudly, “I’m feminist icon Gloria Steinem.” 

“And I’m Hugh Hefner,” Franziska nods, tipping her captain’s hat. 

Phoenix looks up for a moment, his eyes darting between them, before groaning again, burying his face deeper into his hands. 

“And we’re both your bunnies ,” he observes, all the pieces finally clicking together. He laughs, somewhat hysterically, into his hands, his ears coming slightly off-kilter. He walked directly into TWO TRAPS.

  TWICE . 

“Mr. Nick, what’s so funny?” 

“I’ll explain it to you later, Pearly. Long story short, they pranked us pretty bad.” 

“Dressed as a… sailor?” 

“We’ll tell you when you’re older,” Maya promises. 

There is a small bleep from her back pocket as Marion’s muffled voice sounds through. 

“Eagle Two, come in Eagle Two, over.” 

Nick raises his eyebrows as Maya produces the walkie talkie from her pocket. 

“Maya, what--” 

She ignores him, radioing back, “Eagle One here, over.” 

“The rabbit has left the warren. Phase Four is go. Over.” 

“Affirmative. On the move now. Over and out,” Maya gives Nick a quick hug, then kisses Pearl’s forehead, “BRB!” 

“Maya, WHAT?!” 

“Everything I do, I do for loooooove, bye!!!” she shouts over her shoulder as she runs off into the crowd. 

As soon as she’s gone, Nick turns to Franziska. 

“So I’m guessing you had something to do with all this,” he waves his arms around the room to denote “the sea of Edgeworth costumes.” 

“I wish ,” Franziska shakes her head, “Unfortunately, that part was just as much a surprise to me as I’m sure it was to you.” 

“I’m impressed,” Maya observes, looking Bunworth over, “You’ve gone farther than I thought you would.” 

“Let’s just get this over with,” he grumbles, holding his hand out expectantly for the mic. 

Maya frowns, holding it protectively to her chest. 

“Hold it,” she says, face shifting from its usual position of smug amusement to something more earnest. She levels such intense eye contact that Miles’s heart immediately leaps into his throat. He feels like he is being slowly unraveled by her gaze as she narrows her eyes, and is suddenly reminded that, for all her silliness, Maya is the master and spiritual authority of an entire community. She cradles the microphone protectively. 

“Before I let you have it, I just gotta ask,” she says, “Do you really love him?” 

“I--” 

“I get that we bullied and coerced you,” she continues, “but, like, I want this to actually come from your heart, okay? If you’re just doing this to get us off your back, don’t do it.” She gestures at his shimmery corset and floppy silk ears, “You’ve done enough to regain my respect, or whatever. I’m giving you an out, okay? You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to and if you do it, you have to mean it. B-Because Nick’ll think you mean it and--” 

“ Maya ,” he holds out his hand for the mic with more insistence, “I do.” 

“Okay,” she relinquishes the mic. She looks at him for a second before surging forward and crushing his ribs in a tight hug, “You’re still an asshole.” 

Edgeworth awkwardly pats her back, “Yes, well. There’s no real changing one’s true nature, is there? Now, where is Wright? It’s quite a large venue, so I want to make sure he has a good vantage point for--” 

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” she smiles, pulling away and producing her walkie talkie. “Alright, Jimbo, we’re ready for you.”

“Wait, what.” 

“Gotcha, Eagle Two,” Jimbo, CEO, Founder and President of “James ‘Jimbo’ Tron’s Jumbo Tron Rentals” radios back, and the jumbotron surges to life as Miles finally notices the two camera men flanking their position draw in closer. He barely has time to blink before the image of himself is projected 20 feet tall behind his back, giving everyone in the garden a crystal-clear image of even the most subtle details of his attire, from the sweat on his brow to the glittery objection punctuating his butt. 

Across the garden, Pearl and Phoenix are attempting to toss plastic rings around the necks of bottles when there is the sudden surge of light behind them, followed by the screeching of poor mic feedback. 

Phoenix immediately feels a deep pit of dread and a surge of anxiety bubbles in his stomach, his heart leaping into his throat. He checked the weather before they left, and it didn’t say there was any chance of a storm in the forecast-- but in spite of this, the light combined with sound immediately makes his mind scream “thunder! lightening!!” And then “thunder! lightening!!” makes his mind scream, “bridge on fire!!!” which, furthermore, makes his mind scream, “DANGER!!! DANGER!!!!” He doesn’t even register the raucous cacophony of cheers, woops, whistles and applause around him. 

Instinctively, he reaches down and scoops Pearls into his arms, before swinging around to look for Maya. 

“Mr. Nick!!” Pearl squeaks, dropping the plastic rings in surprise. 

He needs to find Maya and they need to get out of here. Why? He doesn’t know for sure, he just needs to get the girls and go. They just need to go, this place suddenly feels very very unsafe. Where is Maya?!?! He scans the crowd desperately for her. They need to--

 All of his thoughts-- good or bad-- come to a screeching halt, however when his eyes land on the source of the light and sound: the massive jumbotron that is now projecting the image of Maya and-- and-- is that Miles ????? 

Oh sweet Jesus, what is he wearing??? Phoenix’s eyes aren’t sure where to land: jumping from the floppy silk ears; to the exposed collarbone from the low-cut corset; to the gratuitously tight pants; to his fishnetted, toned legs from years of taking the stairs. When coherent thought returns to him, the first thing he thinks is “LOOK RESPECTFULLY .” The next thing he thinks is “oh no, is Miles drunk AGAIN?”

When Miles opens his mouth, however, his voice is clear and unslurred as he draws the microphone near to his lips, his eyes scanning the crowd for the one person he cares to find. 

“T-Thank you for supporting our local orphanages,” he says, somewhat shakily into the mic, “I sincerely hate all of you.” 

That earns him a new wave of cheers, applause, and suggestive whistles. Standing up there, he looks pale-- if not a little green-- vaguely as though he’s about to throw up. When he makes eye contact with Phoenix, however, his back straightens and he rapidly goes from horribly pale to vibrantly red. 

“This--” he clears his throat-- “This song is, erhm, dedicated to That Man. ” 

Suddenly everyone in the party’s necks snap to face Phoenix, who is holding an increasingly wiggly Pearl with his jaw hanging open. Their eyes land on him with the force of a harsh gut punch. Suddenly their hands are on him too, as they usher him (and the held Pearl) up to the front so he is standing nearest to the stage. Once he gets close enough, Maya presses play on that evening’s musical selection, and the speakers roar to life with skull-rattling volume with thumbling guitars and the rhythmic ting of a drum. 

In spite of the upbeat tune and the catchiness of the lyrics, the song comes from the heart. Miles poured over the lyrics, jumping from song to song until landing on the perfect one: the song that would show Phoenix how thoroughly he had changed, how sincere his feelings were. 

When Miles left the first time, Phoenix hated him. He thought it was because of petty pride, the loss of a win record, and said just about as much as his fist made contact with Miles’s face (an event that definitely, canonically happened). And maybe he was right. There were other factors, of course, but his initial flight was at least catalyzed by the crumbling of his over-inflated pride. His first loss forced him to reckon with himself in ways he never had before: it forced him to question his very humanity. 

Who was he if he wasn’t perfect? Who was he if he couldn’t win? What did he build his life around if not victory? 

And knowing Phoenix-- loving Phoenix-- has been letting go of all that. 

“My My,” Miles sings, “At Waterloo, Napoleon did surrender. Oh yeah! and I have met my destiny in quite a similar way. The history book on the shelf is always repeating itseeeeeelf.” 

His singing is unsure, a little choppy and anxious as his eyes flicker from person to person in the crowd. He was expecting to see mean-spirited smirks, the haughty amusement of a group desperate to see him at his worst and relish in his embarrassment.  

Much to his surprise, however, everyone in the crowd just seems… happy . Joyous-- Proud even. They seem not to be delighting in his downfall and debasement, but rather, in him . His performance and the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. Could-- could this whole thing, the whole fundraiser, the costumes, the jumbotron… Is it possible that it was not malicious? But rather, it was all in ‘good fun?’ Could his coworkers… like him? 

“ Waterloo , I was defeated, you won the war! Waterloo , promise to love you forever more!” 

He grows in confidence, even punctuating the line with a slight saunter, a deliberate sway of his hips. 

“ Waterloo ! Couldn’t escape if I wanted to! Waterloo ! Knowing my fate is to be with you!” 

The crowd goes crazy: the movement and volume in the garden reach glass-shattering decibels as prosecutors cheer and throw their jabots to the stage. In the middle of it all, he makes direct eye contact with Phoenix, who is looking up at him in a look of pure shock and wonder. His eyes are wide, his jaw hanging slightly open. When they’re eyes meet, Phoenix pulls his face into a small smile, lifting up a somewhat shaky thumbs up. 

Miles’s heart throbs, and he performs with new vigor, making direct eye contact as he sings, “My, my! I tried to hold you back, but you were stronger! Oh, yeah! And now it seems my only chance is giving up the fight!” 

Yes, fight. They fight each other for a living in a court of law. Yet, that’s the whole transformation, isn’t it? It’s not about winning or losing anymore. It’s about doing the right thing. He thinks back to his string of losses-- Will Powers, Engarde, Maya-- and these were also some of his greatest victories. Those were the beginning of his new life. His new, better self: this new man who is capable of surrendering some of his ego to both give and receive love. 

“And how could I ever refuse?” he sings, with all earnestness, looking directly at Phoenix. He allows the words to pass fully between them like an electric current, “I feel like I win when I lose.”

Phoenix is happy.

Of course he is happy, this-- it doesn’t even feel real. Miles Edgworth is singing. To him. Throwing around words like “I” and “love” and “you,” all while maintaining eye contact and wearing goddamn lingerie. There is no reality in which Phoenix could perceive this as a bad thing.  

But Phoenix is in pain . His head hurts, and he can feel his skull throbbing from the inside out like his eyes are overinflated balloons squishing against his orbital bones. The sounds of the speakers and the enthusiastic crowd are hitting him like solid, physical objects, and he feels his mind reverberating in dazing discomfort with each note. 

He wants to get some distance, cover his ears, maybe close his eyes, but he knows what that would look like. It would be cruel. It would look like a total rejection of Miles’s vulnerability, of this incredible gift. He only has one choice, and that’s to grin and bear it to the end of the song. If he can make it to the end of the song, he can calm down. He’ll be fine. The song will end, this too shall pass, and he’ll be fine. 

The song does end, and it ends in such a searing pitch of applause and cheers that Phoenix’s vision goes white around the edges and Pearls, less inhibited by social norms, holds her hands over her ears at the sheer noise. 

Then things happen very quickly. Miles takes his bows while prosecutors cough up wads of cash onto the stage-- a generous sum that will doubtlessly make some orphan somewhere very happy-- and as he leaves the stage, he is bombarded with pats on the back, hugs, and more incessant cheering. Some of his coworkers even take the liberty of shoving cash right down his corset as he walks by, to which he gives them such a murderous look, that they find Maya later and double their donation out of guilt for objectifying Bunworth so brutally. 

Miles, however, is largely oblivious to most of this. He is filled, instead, with single-minded determination to find the one person he wants to see. The person he did it all for. He finally sees Phoenix in the parting crowd, who is standing in place, almost despondently staring down at his feet. He doesn’t look up as Miles approaches, and Miles’s love-high of excitement and anticipation is suddenly replaced by an overwhelming sense that Something Is Very Wrong. 

“Wright!” he cries, his face redding when it fully dawns on him how handsome and dapper Phoenix looks in his waistcoat and tails, all while he is dressed as a novice bunny bimbo.  

“I--I apologize for all this. I-- I was told you would also be dressed as a… different kind of bunny, otherwise I never would have--”  

Phoenix keeps his head down, his gaze planted firmly on his shoes, biting down on his lower lip. His own bunny ears fall at a slightly odd angle and his face is bright red. He wordlessly holds out his coat, very intensely avoiding any sort of contact between his gaze and Edgeworth’s body. Miles looks at the article for a moment. 

“Is that for me--?” 

Nick stammers for a moment, turning his head to the side and continuing to pointedly avoid eye contact. He holds out the coat with more insistence.

 “I-It’s rather cold in here, a-and the girls played a rather mean t-trick on you. I… I don’t w-want you to be uncomfortable…” 

“Ah… Thank you,” Miles accepts the coat and slings it around his shoulders. It’s still warm from having been attached to Phoenix, and he feels the additional warmth rush to his cheeks. 

“Mr. Miles, you look like a stripper.” 

“I suppose I do, Miss Pearl.” 

She takes his hand in hers and pats it reassuringly, “There isn’t anything wrong with that, as long as you feel beautiful. Do you feel beautiful?” 

“I-I…” Miles has no idea how to respond, “I… suppose I… do?” 

“Well, as long as you think so,” she nods sagely. 

“I, erm…Yes. Well, how are you enjoying the party so far?” 

“I’m--” Nick begins, but chokes off awkwardly when he is hit with a sudden surge of panic and pain. 

Everything is suddenly too much. The lights are too bright, the music is too loud. Everything feels too real, too close, too intense, and too all at once. He wants to be able to filter through, to separate and focus. Only listen to Miles and Pearls, only focus on what is in front of him. But instead he can hear Miles and Pearls and every single word of “Born this Way'' playing in the background. He can hear the conversations of all the prosecutors milling around them and the arhythmic thwack thwack thwack of Gumshoe aiming darts at one of the carnival games. He can feel the sensation of the light in his eyes and the feeling of the bunny ears hugging against his head; he feels the dull ache in his back and ribs, the background headache that’s been ever-present since his initial injury searing up as his heart rate doubles in panic. All of these sensations are bombarding him all at once, and he feels completely unable to filter through it all. 

On top of all that, Miles’s presence itself is-- it’s just-- it’s too much. The exposed skin, the earnest expression, his performance. The sea of Edgeworth’s around him. His undivided attention. His song-- promise to love you forever more-- it all feels simultaneously too real and sharp and completely unreal all at once. There’s no way-- there’s no way this is actually happening. He must still be in the hospital. This must be a fever dream. Maybe, all those years back when he swallowed that necklace, he too fell into a coma and his dream is finally dissolving into unreality and wish-fulfillment before his eyes. 

“Wright? Wright! Phoenix!!” Miles’s arms are around him, shaking him slightly, “Phoenix are you okay, what’s wrong?!?” 

“I-I’m s-s-sorry,” he gasps out, his knees quivering beneath him, “I-I’ll be r-right back--” 

He pushes Miles away and spins around in a lurching pivot. Before Miles can react, he is shooting through the gardens, clutching his head, hyperventilating as he shoves through the crowd. He rockets past a concerned looking Maya and Franziska. 

“Phoenix Wright what--” Francis shouts after him as he shoots past, and Maya grimaces.

“Oh dear,” she says, suddenly overwhelmed with guilt, “we may have overshot the ‘gay panic’ into ‘panic-panic.’” 

“Should we--” Franziska is about to suggest they go chasing after him when they see that Miles is already on it. They make brief eye contact as he runs through the crowd, and the girls helpfully point him into Nick’s direction. 

When Miles finally catches up to him, they have found themselves in the small side garden, dimly lit only by warm fairy lights, away from all the sounds and crowds of the party at large. Phoenix is hunched over with his head between his knees, his whole form quaking as he takes in sharp, terrified breaths. He is sitting on a fine wooden bench underneath a weeping willow tree, the drooping leaves punctuated by beautiful pinpricks of suspended lights. If he weren’t actively having a panic attack, both men would find the scene quite romantic. 

“Phoenix!” Miles cries, running to close the space between them. 

“I-It’s fi-ne!” he chokes out between ragged gasps, “I-I’m f-fi-ne, d-don’t wo-wo-worry, I-I’m o-o-ok-ay!” 

“ Phoenix ,” he inches closer, his hands hovering between wanting to touch Phoenix and being scared to make things worse. 

“G-Go b-back to the par-party, I-I’m fi-ne!!” 

“I--” he draws closer. 

“GO AWAY!” Phoenix shouts, looking up from his hands, his face red, desperate, almost on the verge of tears. There’s a beat as he hyperventilates before collapsing back to his curled position. He says, softer, “I-I’m s-sorry. I’m s-sorry.” 

“Shhh, no, it’s okay,” Miles assures, taking a seat beside Phoenix. His hands hover hesitantly over the other man’s hunched shape.  “... May I touch you?” 

Phoenix gasps for a moment, struggling for breath. After a few tense seconds, he weakly nods his head yes. Gingerly, Miles draws closer so that their legs are touching. He takes one arm and begins carefully rubbing small circles into Phoenix’s quaking back. They sit in silence for a while, the only sound Phoenix’s sputtering, uneven breath, and the faint music of the party in the farthest distance. They sit like that, Miles maintaining contact and presence, until Phoenix’s breathing steadies somewhat. 

At that point, Miles reaches into his corset, producing from between the leather and his bare chest a small blister pack of ibuprofen. A man of perfect preparation, even in such scant clothes, he made sure to bring some for Wright just in case something like this should happen. He pops the pills out and offers them to Nick, who takes them and dry swallows. 

“T-Thanks,” he mumbles, leading into Miles’s shoulder with his full weight, closing his eyes, and attempting to reorder some of his thoughts. He doesn’t notice the sound of Edgeworth’s heart thumping unsubtly through his almost completely bare chest. 

They sit for another span of silence, how long exactly neither man can be sure. Phoenix’s breathing grows more and more even, the pain in his head and back ebbs away into a more manageable dullness, and he realizes (with a slight blush) that he is sitting with his head practically pressed into Miles’s titties, and has been for quite an extended duration. He hastily pulls away, the blush growing more profound. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. 

“ You’re sorry?!!?” Miles cries, “Whatever for?! You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about! If anything I should be apologizing to you !” He leans back bringing his hands to his forehead in frustration, “What was I thinking , inviting you to a party!? I could not have picked a more brain-damage-unfriendly situation!!” 

“No, stop! I-- I wanted to come! I’m… I’m so glad you invited me!” Phoenix reaches out, grabbing Miles’s hands in his own, his eyes huge and pleading, “And the girls-- planning for her pranks was the happiest I’ve seen Maya and weeks ! S-Same with the costumes and Pearly, and I just-- I’m trying to be fun, and--” 

“For the love of--” Miles cries, “For christ’s sake, Phoenix, you don’t have to be fun! You’re hurt !! You almost DIED!!” 

Miles is expecting Phoenix to deny it as he always has, to shrug it off or argue back. But instead Phoenix is just quiet for a moment, staring back into his hands, both of which are wrapped in thin gauze. 

“Yeah,” he says quietly, “I really did.” 

They sit for another span of silence, this one more tense, yet not uncomfortable as that acknowledgement lingers between them. The intimacy of Wright admitting such a thing is not lost on Miles. In some strange way, they realize, they’ve both died and come back, surviving through the most extraordinary circumstances: fates that have only entwined their paths closer together where they should have ended. 

“Did you…” Phoenix eventually says, “Did you really mean what you said? In that song? Do you,” he swallows nervously, his mouth suddenly very dry, a new separate panic rising in his chest, “uh…. D-Do you--” 

“Yes,” Miles interrupts, placing one hand on the back of Phoenix’s neck and taking his hand in the other, “I do. I mean it.” 

“Oh.” 

They are silent for another span, the confession echoing through the air like a heavy stone in water. Miles is about to say more, to equivocate, to explain how it’s fine if Phoenix doesn’t return such feelings-- why should he-- and that he hopes this doesn’t impact their friendship. That he is sorry for dumping all this on him while he is still hurt, that he’s sorry he’s hurt and sorry he left and sorry he--

And then Phoenix is kissing him. His lips are soft but firm, and Miles tenses for a split second before accepting and returning the kiss: drinking him in, taking in his breath, his closeness, his gentleness and honesty in the gesture. Phoenix takes his bandaged hand and runs his fingers through the cropped hair at the back of Miles’s head, careful not to disrupt the precarious silk bunny ears. Miles responds by gripping his hand more firmly against Phoenix’s neck, similarly careful to avoid the tender spot at the base of his skull where he collided with a burning plank. He feels thrilled and calmed, intoxicated yet sobered, excited yet cautious all at once. 

And flanking these juxtaposing emotions is something else. Panic. Embarrassment. Anxiety. Shame. What is he doing ?! Is he really doing this?! Here?! NOW?! Just meters away from his coworkers, making out with his revival ?! What if someone sees them, walks in on them? What will they say? What will they think?! Miles is happy, he wants this-- he wants Phoenix-- but is he really allowed to have this? Is he allowed to have something so good he clearly does not deserve? 

He pushes Phoenix away, gasping for breath, trying to avoid the other man’s eyes, which are quickly turning from content to hurt, certain to confused. 

“ We-We can't!” he stutters, scooting away on the bench, “Y-You and me… It’s wrong! It’s perverted! It’s--” 

“Miles,” Nick replies softly, running his thumb across Miles’s cheek, “Did Von Karma tell you that?” 

Edgeworth looks away with a sad look that proves he’s hit his mark.

 “Oh, Miles, I am so sorry. There is nothing wrong with being gay,” he says, pulling the other man into a warm, comforting hug. Miles can’t help but accept, leaning into the warm embrace before his eyes snap poem in realization. 

“Wait. Wait, NO!” Miles protests, pulling away, “Wright, I have no problem with you being a man! Whatever gave you that idea!?” 

“...”

“...” 

“...Wait…” Nick blinks, “WHAT?” 

“ Obviously , it’s that I am a prosecutor and you are a defense attorney! A-And you are hurt and in no condition to be--” Miles crosses his arms, “Wha-- H-Have you thought that I was closet-case this whole time?” 

Nick stares back blankly, a clear 404 ERROR halting all mental functions as he processes this new information. 

“ WHAAAT? ” 

“Wright, I have been publicly out since 2012. I was on the front page of The Advocate magazine just a few weeks ago. They were doing a special edition on queer men in the legal world and they interviewed me as an unapologetically out, high power prosecutor.” 

“ WHAAAAAAT?!!?? ” 

“Additionally, both my father and Manfred Von Karma were also out and proud homosexuals. Von Karma and Damon Gant were in a public relationship! I-- Wait, I thought you already knew all this! You met my father’s boyfriend that one time when we were children and you came over to my house for a sleepover! Don’t you remember?”

“ WHAAAAAAAAAT ?!!??” 

“He baked us cookies and drove you home afterward? I-- Seriously, Phoenix, I thought you knew all this!!” 

“I- I thought you only had one dad…” Phoenix chokes out, although as he’s saying this, he does vaguely remember Miles introducing him to his father, and then finding it strange how the man he met at Miles’s house looked completely different from the one he’d seen picking him up from school. 

“Well, now I have no dads.” Miles replies, crossing his arms impatiently, “Did you seriously know none of this??” 

“I-- Well-- I--”

 “Phoenix! Wright!! This is all information you could have obtained just by typing ‘Edgeworth’ into google! Have you actually never googled me??” 

“I-- I am not great with computers…” 

“Apparently!” Miles huffs. Phoenix has steam coming out of his ears and he feels vaguely dizzy just trying to cope with these earth-shattering revelations. 

“But- But what about your ‘Unnecessary Feelings??” 

“Yes-- unease and uncertainty-- what of them?” 

“I thought it was unease and uncertainty… about being gay…” 

“No, it was obviously in reaction to the way you conduct yourself in the courtroom! I mean have you seen yourself, Wright?? Your courtside manner doesn’t necessarily inspire confidence! Your constant internal monologues about how you actually have no idea what you’re doing are not nearly as internal as you think!” 

“I am NOT that transparent ,” Phoenix thinks to himself. 

“You see, right now you are thinking that you are NOT that transparent!” Miles observes.  

“NO WAAAAY!” 

“Furthermore,” Miles continues, “I can’t believe that you have the audacity to call me a closet case, when you’re the one I’ve been convinced is straight until just recently!” 

“Wait… WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT ??!?” 

“Oh please, Phoenix, can you stop saying that!! What was I supposed to think, what with Miranda hanging on your arm all night at the holiday party. I called Larry up and he said you two were quite the item in high school. And that’s not even accounting for that wretched Dahlia woman! Need I remind you that you literally ate glass for her?” 

“Ugh, you eat glass once and all of a sudden it’s all that anyone ever wants to talk about! Do you think this is how Van Gogh felt about the ear?” 

“-- Additionally, what about you and Iris ? I understand you were sick, but I seem to remember you quite desperately pleading for me to save her while you were in the hospital.”

“That was because I knew she was innocent! I’m a defense attorney-- I defend the innocent!” 

“But you were also insistent upon wearing that stupid hood she gave you like you were some medieval archetype of courtly love and that was the maidenlty token bestowed upon you!”

“NO, it was to protect me from EVIL SPIRITS, which at the time-- with a fever of 107, mind you-- I THOROUGHLY BELIEVED EXISTED!”  

“But what of after that? I seem to remember you and her making plenty of loaded eye contact following the trial… and all those times you’ve visited her at the detention center-- what was I supposed to think??” 

“Okay, okay. HOLD IT!” Phoenix stands, pointing his finger, “FIRST OF ALL, MILES EDGEWORTH , bisexuals exist, so write that down!” He stands, moving to the back of the bench so he can have something to slam his hand upon. “SECONDLY,” he declares, slamming his hand on the table. This was a mistake, as he still very much has several broken ribs. Pain shoots up the whole right side of his body, “Ow! Fuck!!” 

“ Wright ! Are you okay?” Miles shoots up, and Phoenix shoos him away. 

“Miranda and I are FRIENDS ,” he grits through the pain, composing himself. “I was going through a hard time in high school, and she really helped me out, okay? Are you really going to be all ‘boys and girls can’t just be friends’ on me, because that’s just stupid!” 

“But, Larry said--” 

“Oh, please tell me what Larry said, because obviously everything that comes out of his mouth, especially in regards to gender and sexuality, is the objective truth. Come on, man! Evaluate your freakin’ sources here!!”

Miles harrumphs, crossing his arms grumpily, “... Point taken.”  

“ THIRDLY --” 

“Uggggghhhhh, just break out a powerpoint already!”

 Phoenix shoots him an annoyed glance, “--I’ve visited Iris so much because we had a lot to talk about! I mean, I just found out that in some Shakespearean Twelfth-Night twin-swap-type -bullshit that the girl who tried to poison me and frame me for murder and the girl I dated in college were somehow not the same girl? Of course, I needed to talk to her! I just found out that someone I thought was one person was actually two people!!” 

“Ah, yes, well apparently that happens to you a lot,” Miles interrupts, rolling his eyes.  

“I am never going to live the dad thing down, am I?”

“Probably about as much as you’ll live down eating glass. So no.” 

“ARARRRRRGGGGGHhhHHOKAY, whatever!! Stop distracting me, I’m still concussed, you asshole!! FOURTHLY !”  Phoenix continues, slamming his hand on the table again, “The person I’ve been ‘ making loaded eye contact’ with this whole time has been you !” he announces, pointing at Miles with all the lawyerly conviction he can muster. 

“ME?”

“YES, YOU! I mean come on ! Maya is making fun of me constantly for being too obvious about my feelings! Even Gumshoe knows and he always seems to be the last person who finds out about anything around here!”

“Oh come now, I can hardly say you’ve been obvious .” 

“We go to Saturday Drag Brunch like EVERY WEEKEND and share heart-shaped croissants!! I invited you over to my apartment on Valentine's day to ‘ go over case files, ’” Phoenix over-enunciated, making large, exaggerated air quotes, “and you showed up with actual case files! ”  

“But you said you wanted to look over case files!! How could I have possibly known that you meant anything different! Is ‘looking over case files’ some universally understood innuendo that I alone am unaware of?” 

“I had wine and candles!” 

“No, Wright, you had merlot , and as I explained then, you cannot have red wine with case files! Looking over case-files is to be paired only with a Sauvignon Blanc or maybe Montee de Tonnerre if you’re feeling particularly unorthodox, but never a red and certainly not a merlot !”

“Ugh! You are incorrigible! Not the merlot again! What’s wrong with merlot?!!” 

“ Nothing is wrong with merlot, it’s pairing merlot with anything other than maybe a mild or medium-hard cheese!” 

“What, are you EATING the case files?” 

“No, Wright, we’ve been over this! There are some wines you can pair with activities and others you can pair with food, but both are legitimate means of pairing and must be adhered to the same degree of seriousness! I swear, sometimes it’s like you were raised in a barn!” 

“OBJECTION! This isn’t about wine! It’s about the fact that I have been transparently in love with you for, like, three years now, and you-- Mr. Logical Genius Deductive Reasoning-- had no idea !” 

“I-I’ll have you know I figured it out perfectly well on my own! While you were in the hospital…” he anxiously hopes to brush past this point, not wanting to confess that he snooped in Nick’s journal. “B-But you truly mean to tell me that there was nothing going on between you and Iris? Or Miranda?? Or-- or you and Mia?” 

“Me and Mia??? Ew!!!” Phoenix jumps in the air slightly, “ No ! GOD, NO! She was like my sister!! Or-or my mom or something! EW! EW! EW!! Have you really thought I was with her this whole time!?” 

“Well, I don’t know ! You’re always talking about how much you loved her and cherished her and you miss her and I just figured--” 

“Yeah, as like, family ! As FAMILY !! God , Miles, really? That’s like me saying you have a thing for hot pink clown girls!!!” 

Miles gasps, deeply scandalized, clutching his hand to his chest like some damsel, “I would NEVER!!  And don’t ‘God, Miles, really’ me! I feel as though every conclusion I’ve jumped to has had a perfectly rational antecedent!!” Miles is making the face that he often makes in court after Phoenix has presented old evidence in a new light, turning the whole case around. It is not a happy face.

 “This whole time I’ve thought that you were grieving the loss of your lover… and then that you were getting back together with your old flame… I just can’t believe I was wrong !” 

“Did-- Did I just hear you admit to being wrong? Verbally? Willingly?” 

“Shut up , Wright!!” Miles snaps, his whole face becoming a shade of pink Phoenix has only seen on his suits. His bunny ears are tilting awkwardly to the side. He pauses, thinking.

 “I’m-- is this a recent development?” he finally asks, gesturing to Phoenix’s whole body. 

“Is what? Me? The broken ribs?? What ??” 

“No, I mean these… feelings for me. Am I the first… man you’ve been infatuated with?” 

“Oh, you’re asking if you made me gay?” Phoenix laughs.

“Wha-- stop laughing! It’s a perfectly reasonable inquiry! I want to know how wrong I was about you!!”  Phoenix only laughs harder, “Stop it! Pray tell, what is so hilarious?” 

“It’s just-- it’s just that yeah, you did. It was you--” 

“Ah ha! You see, so it was recent. Relatively. So I was hardly wrong at all!” 

“-- It was you when I was nine ! Miles, you were, like, my first crush!! I knew I liked you before I even knew what being gay was!” 

“WHAT?!!!” 

“I have these vivid memories of going to a wedding when I was a kid and telling some aunt or whatever that when I got older I was going to marry my best friend, Miles. She just laughed at me and said that I didn’t know what I was talking about and that it wasn’t allowed!” Phoenix laughs, “I remember sitting there in these stupid, uncomfortable clothes, and thinking she was the most stupid and wrong woman in the whole world! I got so angry that I poured grape juice on her dress.” Phoenix looks off nostalgically, “Oh, I was in so much trouble!” 

“... Now that you mention it, I do believe I remember there being a few weeks back then when you weren’t allowed to play. I had no idea that it had to do with me.” 

“I mean indirectly, yeah. I was also just a little shit, but that’s neither here nor there,” Phoenix shrugs, “Anyway, it definitely isn’t a recent development for me. In fact, the biggest identity freak-out I had wasn’t over you, but realizing I was bi over Dahlia-slash-Iris in college. Up until that point, I thought I was only into guys!” 

“No… No way…” Miles looks down at his hands, dramatically questioning his reality. 

“My, my, my.” Phoenix begins, smugly, “My, how the tables turnabout.” 

“So-- so you have been with a man before?” Miles asks from where his face is firmly planted in his hands, attempting to hide all the ridiculous shades of pink he’s turning. This, combined with the playboy bunny suit only serves to make him look even sillier. Phoenix smirks. 

“Why, are you jeeeeealous?” he asks, walking back over to where Miles is sitting and playfully poking him on the shoulder. 

“Wha- NO! NO!!” he responds, jerking his neck up and swatting away Nick’s attacks. “God, you’re such a child ! I am just trying to learn all of the facts because apparently, I don’t have them!” Phoenix chuckles. 

“Yeah, yeah okay. Full disclosure, I’ve been with guys before. I had a brief thing in high school with the flutist in my band, and then art school was… art school,” Phoenix shrugs, perfectly nonchalant. “But not very many. I’ve never been really interested in… casual dating.” 

Miles nods. “Yes, I have… gathered that about you. You are very…” his mind flashes, again, to the fierceness with which Phoenix had begged him to defend ‘Dahlia,’ “ committed .”  

“Yeah, that’s one way to put it. Mia always described me as ‘ride-or-die’: emphasis on the die . What about you?” 

“There were several… illuminating relationships with men that occurred in college,” Miles admits, nodding, “Nothing serious, of course. Just, you know. To get my bearings.” 

Phoenix smiles, nudging Miles with his elbow and wiggling his eyebrows, “To ‘get your bearings,’ eh??” 

“Oh shut up, Wright! What are you, twelve ?” 

Phoenix laughs until the pain in his ribs grows intense enough to stop him. Miles frowns, seeing his pained expression. 

“Are sure you’re feeling okay?” 

“I’m great,” Phoenix wheezes, “Just… You know,” he gestures vaguely around his whole body as if to say, “two weeks ago, I fell off a bridge.” 

“This was a mistake. I was a fool. You are still recovering from a traumatic brain injury and I invited you into a room full of people, all of whom are wearing various, distracting costumes with loud music and flashing lights. The only worse thing to do while concussed is, say, dig around for murder weapons in the snow.” 

“Brain injury- shmain shminjury , you know nothing can keep me from a good time.” 

“Sensory overload suggests otherwise.” 

“Sensory overload- shmensory shmoverload , it’s fine.” 

“You know, ‘shmish-shmashing’ legitimate health concerns is not nearly as charming of a conversational checkmate as you think it is.” 

“Yes, yes. You were right and I was wrong. Yet again, we should have just stayed home and watched a movie,” Nick replies, wrapping his arm around the other man, planting a kiss on the top of his head before resting his own against it. Shutting his eyes, they relax into each other in a warm, comfortable silence. 

“...” 

“...” 

“Wait.” Nick says, his eyes snapping open. Miles’s eyes snap open as well and the two pull away, looking at each other. “I think we buried the lead here.” 

“I believe we have.” 

“Do you seriously think that you being a prosecutor and m e being a defense attorney is a legitimate barrier to, like, a relationship?” 

Phoenix blushes, “I- I mean if you want a relationship that is!” he hastily amends, recognizing that one awkward kiss and potentially shared feelings are not the same things as consensually agreeing to date. (Just as, he supposes, the gifting of a necklace isn’t.)

“... Do you want a relationship?” He asks. 

Edgeworth is quiet for a moment, pensively closing his eyes and tapping his foot in a way that signals he’s performing some grand, logical overture in that head of his. Phoenix shifts uncomfortably, not enjoying the fact that the verdict to enter a relationship with him is something that requires such a lengthy mental court battle. 

“... I suppose,” Miles eventually begins, “that one of the conclusions we have reached via this conversation is that there are some things that we do not yet know about each other.” 

Phoenix’s heart sinks, his throat constricting at this apparent rejection. He totally blew it with the dad thing. 

“Y-yeah, totally. I completely agree, I was just thinking the exact same thing,” he says, transparently disagreeing and having thought something exactly the opposite. 

“Which is why,” Miles patiently continues, looking over, “I think we should take things slowly.” 

He turns to face Nick fully, getting on one knee in a formal address. His expression is serious and profound, undermined only slightly by the bunny ears and lingerie.  

“Phoenix Wright, would you perhaps like to go on a date with me?” 

Nick just stares back at him, still buffering. His mind is a muddle of “YES YES YES”; “MAKE SURE YOU ARE LOOKING RESPECTFULLY” and “OH MY GOD I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS ACTUALLY HAPPENING.” 

 “Phoenix?” Miles prompts, growing nervous himself. 

“YES! I, uhh, I mean--” Nick leans back, holding his shoulders back and cocking his chin up at an angle, emulating Godot-- the coolest guy he can think of at the moment, “Uhhh yeah, I guess, if like, that’s what you want. I’m, like, totally cool with it,” he says, totally uncooly.  

Miles, for some completely ineffable reason, finds that astoundingly uncool display remarkably attractive. He reddens, planting his face in his hands somewhat miserably. 

“Oh, God . This was a mistake. You’re such an idiot.” 

“Yeah, but like. I’m… your idiot?” 

“No. I am nipping it in the bud now, this is not going to be our cutesy couple thing,” Miles grimaces, “We will not have a cutesy couples thing. We will not be cutesy. I would rather die that succumb to cutesiness.” 

Nick laughs, running his hand through Miles’s hair, then straightening out his ears. Miles’s heart rate skyrockets. Phoenix touched his hair. He touched his hair. HE TOUCHED HIS HAIR.  

Phoenix smirks, “Bold words from the man who confesses in a Playboy bunny costume.” 

“Must I remind you that you, too, are dressed as a rabbit at the moment?” 

Phoenix sniffs, readjusting his bowtie, “Yes, but I’m a classic, dignified rabbit from beloved children’s literature. You are wearing lingerie in front of your coworkers. We are not the same.” 

“It was for CHARITY!! I--” he grumbles, “I changed my mind, nope, this was a mistake. I take it all back. I feel nothing.” 

“Nothing?” Phoenix says in mock horror. He leans forward, holding his face mere centimeters away from Miles’s, their noses almost touching. He makes deliberate eye contact, raising his eyebrows in a movement that has no right to be so smooth. When he speaks, Miles can feel Phoenix’s breath on his own mouth. 

“ Nothing ??” he repeats, smiling and running his free hand through the back of Mile’s hair, “You feel nothing , you say?” 

Miles feels many many many things all at once. He feels a chill run down his spine, he feels his heart rate peaking into his throat as he looks down at Phoenix’s lips-- which are very very very close to his. He feels his whole body burn in feverish intensity. He feels unease, uncertainty, but also affection and anticipation. 

“O-Objection,” he says, his voice coming out as little more than a breath, “W-Witness testimony made under coercion has n-no p-place in a c-court of law.” 

Phoenix laughs. 

“Good thing we’re not in a court of law, huh?” 

“I-I suppose we aren’t,” Miles whispers, closing both his eyes and the distance between them, meeting his lips to Phoenix’s in another kiss.

This one is slower, more deliberate. Surer of itself, more generous. Miles allows himself to let go, to sink into the sensation of Phoenix. Phoenix’s hands in his hair. Phoenix’s lips against his own, Phoenix’s breath in his mouth. The way Phoenix lightly runs his thumb along his jawline, tilting his head up as if he were attempting to draw him in the moment, to capture and pin down just the right shape. As though to remind him not to hide, to remind him to stand tall and accept this. Accept being seen and known and loved. 

Phoenix is tender and careful, lush and deliberate. It’s the kiss of someone who has waited patiently for almost a lifetime to reach this moment. Now that the moment has arrived, rather than rushing in-- all vibrant and overeager-- he is intentionally slowing down, relishing the feeling, taking his time, and moving as though attempting to burn the sensation into his memory for years to come. Phoenix burns and Miles is overwhelmed by the loveliness of being kindling. 

Eventually, Miles pulls away, somewhat out of breath, looking a little dazed. As has become almost habit at this point, he places the back of his hand against Phoenix’s forehead as though to check for fever. Nick is flushed and warm, though fever likely isn’t to blame. He leans into the touch, closing his eyes and smiling. 

“I’m just so happy,” he says softly, honest and gentle and earnest enough that Miles feels almost strangled with emotion. Wright, however, has to ruin it by pulling away with a look of mock bravado, shaking his fist in the air, “Everyone who called me ‘stupid’ and ‘irresponsible’ for getting a law degree to impress my crush has officially been PROVEN WRONG! Take that , Bar Association!”

Miles laughs. He never used to laugh this much before, and now it seems to happen all the time. Now it comes easily. Now there is more on the horizon. 

“Yes, yes,” he says, “I am glad we got that matter cleared away. Taking things slowly is the only logical and responsible decision, which we shall perform with utmost maturity.” 

He produces, once again from the front of his corset, a small planner and pencil, flipping through the pages, “So, I’ll pencil you in for a date on Thursday? 6 o’clock? We are to take it slow and steady, however, if we work with optimum efficiency, we should be able to have a summer wedding… Perhaps I shall look into venues, as there are some locations where you must reserve seven months in advance…” he looks off to the side with a look of intense concentration, mumbling mostly to himself. He blinks, looking back to the other man, “Have you been to Germany, Wright?”

“Hold it. Woah, okay . I mean, I don’t have any real objections,” Nick’s face reddens, “B-But let’s just start with Thursday at 6.”

Miles sighs. 

“I suppose ,” he says, rising to his feet and looking down at Wright who smiles back up at him. Between the vest and the ears, the bow tie, the… him . He looks adorable . Miles blushes. He is ruined. He is never going to recover from this. This man has-- has altered his brain chemistry or something. He can’t decide if he wants to laugh or cry or kiss him again or tell him to leave him or lay face down on the carpet or flee the country or settle down in a little house with a dog and two kids. He feels the urge to do all of these things at once. Phoenix must have picked up on his blatantly conflicted expression because he laughs. 

“Hey, Ground Control to Major Tom?” His voice is both goading and gentle, “Don’t overthink it, okay? Feel your feelings, but keep it light. No pressure, easy-breezy, alright?” 

Miles clears his throat, holding out his hand to Phoenix, who accepts it. 

“Y-Yes, of course. I am the epitome of ‘ easy-breezy ,’” he clears his throat once more and Phoenix laughs again. He’s such a nerd. 

“A-Anyway, we likely should return to the party. A-As long as we take it slow, I should be--” 

“Objection!” Miles wags his finger, “No no no. We are going home , and we are going to watch Hocus Pocus with the girls in a dark, sensory-friendly environment. We are going to be in sweatpants, with tea and hot coco, sans bunny ears and corsets.” 

“I dunno man,” Phoenix smirks, allowing himself to (perhaps disrespectfully) look at Mile’s getup, “Maybe I like Miles Bunworth. Maybe it’s awakened something in me.” 

“God, I hope not. This get-up cost the prosecutor’s office $20,000.” 

“Wait. What.” 

Miles sighs, “It’s a long story, one I’m sure our sisters will be more than happy to regale you with on the way home.” 

He helps Phoenix to his feet and, hand in hand, they make their way back to the full venue, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to them as Phoenix allows his head to sag slightly against Miles’s shoulder as they walk. As soon as they enter the main venue, Nick is bombarded with a hug as Pearl comes rushing towards him at full-speed. She is shortly followed by Maya and Franziska, whose looks of concern are immediately transmuted into smug grins as they notice the held hands, the mused hair, and the brightness of their lips and cheeks.  

“Mr. Nick!!!! Are you okay!?? I was so scared!!” Pearls cries into the legs she has so thoroughly wrapped herself around, “I wanted to come find you, but Maya told me not to!” 

Phoenix drops down to his knees, pulling Pearl fully into his arms, then carefully wiping off her tears with his thumb, “Sorry, Pearly. I’m okay now, I just got a little overwhelmed. I think some people ,” he looks up to Maya and Franzika who clear their throats and glance away awkwardly, “got a little carried away in their pranking.” 

Miles crosses his arms, looking between the two girls, “You certainly seemed to have caused an awful lot of trouble this evening.” 

“Yeah, yeah, guilty as charged,” Maya says, and in spite of the flippancy of her word choice, it’s clear she really means it. She drops down to her knees as well, joining Pearl and Nick in their hug, “Sorry for taking things too far, I’ve been a little bit of an asshole lately.” 

As she is curled into the hug, however, she takes the opportunity to whisper into Nick’s ear, “oh you dirty dog, you totally kissed him, didn’t you?!” 

He pulls slightly away with a grin, “Well, you know I can’t stay mad at you. Apparently, all of the people I love the most also happen to be assholes.” 

“Except for me!” Pearl contributes, “I’m a delight.” 

“Yes, you are,” Nick nods. 

“ And Gumshoe,” Maya adds, “He’s pure gold.” 

“Okay. And Gumshoe. But as a general rule, lot of assholes in this family.” 

“I believe I am no exception,” Franizska acknowledges, kneeling down to join the hug on Maya’s side, leaning her head against her girlfriend’s back, and looking up at her brother, “I am sorry for bullying you. It was my Cain Instinct.” 

They all look up to Miles, and Phoenix raises his eyebrows in a ‘get in here, you’ expression. Miles hesitates for a moment, looking around at the growing sea of eyes and knowing smiles around them (excluding Marion Etta, who looks downright murderous), and sighs. He drops to his knees as well, joining the cluster in their inopportune and deeply humiliating little cuddle puddle. 

“Y-Yes well…” he mutters, resting his head against Phoenix, “I suppose I forgive you, considering the pleasant outcome of the whole debacle. Just never do anything even remotely like this again.” 

Maya and Franziska make no promises.