Chapter Text
Phoenix Wright sits at his desk, idly thumbing through a stack of postcards. He’s supposed to be testing out Ema’s latest prototype in his expert Phoenix way - mainly by trying his damndest to break it here in the office instead of out there in the field. He hasn’t been the best employee in general lately, slacking off and ducking out early most days. He doesn’t bother with apology donuts and Mia doesn’t bother with reprimands. They both know he’s halfway out the door. About the only reason he still shows up every day is on the off chance that another postcard shows up, stamped and mailed from any number of exotic locales. There’s never any message but a scrawled signature.
Phoenix’s watch beeps and he glances up at the clock. He stands and stretches, then grabs the rolled up blueprint on his desk. He knocks on the outside of Mia’s open doorway, then sets the cardboard tube before her.
“I went over the blueprints for the new HQ,” Phoenix says. “My notes are in the margins.”
“I take it you aren’t staying for the briefing then.” Mia sounds vaguely disapproving but Phoenix shrugs it off easily.
“Better not,” he says.
“You’ll have to interact with her when we integrate,” Mia reminds him. “The Fey-Karma Group will officially begin as soon as the building is finished and they’ve already broken ground.”
Phoenix smiles briefly, politely. He tucks his hands into his pockets. “That won’t be an issue.”
“If you’re tendering your resignation again-”
“The postcards only come here,” Phoenix interrupts softly. “And they haven’t come for three months now.”
Mia looks up at him, willing him to understand something through sheer personality. He shakes his head.
“I don’t know what you’re playing at, any of you. You know where he is and what he’s doing. This game with the postcards - you think it’s funny? You think I’m having a good time here?”
“Phoenix-”
“Forget it,” he says abruptly. “We’ve had this fight before. My answer stays the same. When you close the doors here, I’m gone too.”
“It’s a waste,” Mia says gently. “You’re meant to be working with us. Everything before made you who you are. You’re built for this. Look what you accomplished, it was an impossible task. You wanted to save your friend and your husband and everything you cared about, and you did.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” Phoenix quips, then heads for the exit.
When the smoke had cleared and the dust had settled, Miles Edgeworth was gone. Gone gone. Miles is perfect at nearly everything he does, disappearing most of all. Every photo, memento, fingerprint and trace DNA had been incinerated in the house fire. An EMP blast as the building came down scrambled Phoenix’s phone, triggering an auto-delete of personal data on backup servers. It hadn’t been until he made it back to the office that he realized the extent of it, that even their marriage certificate was wiped from city records. He’d lost his shit. Everyone from Mia to Franziska to fucking Gumshoe was in on it, it seemed, giving him those knowing faces ranging from pitiable to smug as he grew increasingly more desperate.
The postcards were maddening. What the hell did they mean? I’m alive? Thinking of you? Having a great time without you, never coming back? Phoenix didn’t know. He was too sad and too stupid. After the second time chasing backdated postmarks with nothing to show for it, he gave it up. Miles would come back or he wouldn’t. After a year long absence and a handful of blank postcards, it looked like he wouldn’t. Tough break. Better luck next marriage. Fucking misery.
Phoenix shrugs on his suit jacket and opens the door just as someone pulls from the other side. They meet in the middle, face to familiar face.
“...Dollie?” Phoenix asks, stunned. Even as he says it, it feels wrong. The hair, the face… she shakes her head no, but he knows that’s wrong.
“It’s Iris, actually.” She smiles up at him, guileless and sweet. “Nice to officially meet you, Feenie.”
~~
They go to the cafe down the street, Phoenix’s foot tapping restlessly underneath the table as she sketches out the other side of the missing equation from all those years ago.
“I always did wonder how Mia knew to come and save me. You were the tip off.”
Iris nods. “I went into hiding to avoid my sister’s enemies after. I would have been too ashamed to try and explain myself either way. I… had never done that kind of work before.” She blushes, looking to the side. “I broke the first rule.”
Don’t fall for the target.
“And now?” Phoenix asks, pulling the conversation back to solid ground.
“I’ve been recruited,” Iris says. “To put my skills to use for good this time.”
“World peace,” Phoenix echoes, a touch cynically. “It’s still running and gunning and blowing stuff up. Think you can handle it?”
Iris smiles gently. “I’m a Fey,” she says.
“You are. That’s probably why I liked you so much,” Phoenix agrees. They sit, just smiling at each other over their coffees for a long moment. Iris has grown into her own woman, soft waves of dark hair framing her heart shaped face. She’s beautiful and she’s interesting and she’s looking at Phoenix like he’s all she wants to look at for the rest of her life.
“Where is he?” Phoenix asks.
A flicker of surprise and then it smoothes out. Iris closes her eyes and sighs with a touch of regret. Then she straightens, opening her purse and drawing out a folder.
“I told him you’d catch on,” she says. “But I did think I might get to finish our date first.”
“What date? Just old friends getting coffee. I’m a married man, after all,” Phoenix says, flashing his ring at her. “Unless those are divorce papers, I guess.”
“You know they aren’t,” she chides. “And even if they were, you wouldn’t sign them.”
“Damn right I wouldn’t.” Phoenix takes the envelope, opens it, and begins to read.
“What gave it away?” Iris asks curiously.
“Sandals,” Phoenix says briefly as he skims the document. “They’re made out of carpet weaving and that pattern is unique to Cappadocia. He was your recruitment, right? His last postcard came from Turkey.”
“I meant it, you know.” Iris finishes her cafe au lait, gazing out the window. “I would have really tried properly if you wanted to.”
“I know.” Phoenix stands up, tossing a few dollars down for the check. “You’re a nice girl, it would have been a nice life. Turns out I don’t want nice, I want my asshole husband back. See you around the office, Iris. It was fun catching up.”
~~
Phoenix bursts into the office in a torrent of words that trickle off like a cut faucet. Mia and Franziska are waiting, expressions neutral. Phoenix’s suitcase sits in front of the desk, packed and ready to go.
“Two weeks vacation,” Mia says, half smiling as he registers the plane ticket in her hand. “Wasn’t that the deal?”
Phoenix scowls as he swipes his collection of postcards from the desk but it’s half hearted. He’s not good at grudges with people he cares about and she knows it. Mia tucks the ticket into the front pocket of his suit, unperturbed.
“I’m taking a month,” Phoenix says, aggravated. Then he rolls his suitcase away with all the dignity he can muster. The red eye flight is booked less than two hours from now. With LA traffic? He better haul ass.
On the flight, Phoenix looks through the envelope and spreads out the postcards a few at a time. It Never Bah-Rains But It Pours. Russian Round The Clock. You Better Belize It. He adds his latest acquisition to the pile. Then he pulls out the codex master key from Iris’ envelope and gets to work.
By the time he lands, gets through customs, and flags a cab down going in the right direction, the sun is coming up. Sweaty and sleepless, Phoenix trudges directly down the beach, suitcase in tow. He finds a likely spot and sits abruptly, almost collapsing in place. There’s sand in his suit now, and the wheels and cracks of his suitcase. He closes his eyes as the sun begins to warm the slightly chilly air, the orange gold of new light on a new day.
“You’re the worst,” he says a few minutes later without opening them.
The sand shifts slightly left as Miles sits down beside him.
“You could have just said.”
Miles stretches his legs out across the sand, their ankles just brushing.
“Okay, so I would have wanted to go too. Something wrong with that? I’m the one the rogue Kismet Agents were after.”
Miles trails a thumb down the inside of Phoenix’s arm where it props him up against the sand.
“Keeping the target stationary and unaware is procedure for civilians, not for other agents. I could handle myself in the field.”
Miles kisses him.
Phoenix opens his eyes and Miles is smiling his best smile, soft but still a little mocking. His magenta and white Hawaiin shirt is open over his bare chest and black board shorts. His hair is a little longer than it had been, tucked back a bit where he’s pushed a pair of designer sunglasses up high on his forehead. He looks settled with himself, well rested, oozing confidence. It’s the kind of Miles Phoenix dreams about sometimes, one who had figured out what he wanted out of his new life and that no part of it includes Phoenix.
Phoenix starts crying.
“I’m so pissed at you,” Phoenix snivels. “What the fuck was that? What the fuck is this?” He brandishes the last unmailed postcard, one decorated with palm trees and a Hawaiin sunset. On the back the pre-printed text reads I Can’t Wait To Maui You.
“I should think it would be obvious.”
Miles stands up, brushing the sand off his legs leisurely. He slides his glasses down onto his face and stretches his arms up and out. It’s a mundane, everyday thing but Phoenix hasn’t seen any of Miles’ mundane everyday things for a year now. It’s hypnotizing. Phoenix can’t look away from this handsome, happy stranger.
“We’re already married, though,” he says weakly.
“We’re not. I do actually apologize for that,” Miles adds, noticing Phoenix’s crushed expression. “I had to get rid of all my digital fingerprints. No divorce or annulment, neatly excised. So far as the world is concerned, we are strangers.”
“Aren’t we?” Phoenix asks darkly. “I didn’t think we were where it mattered, but I didn’t think you’d abandon me for a year either.”
“Maybe we are then,” Miles agrees and Phoenix huffs a pained little laugh, looking away.
“But you want to marry me.”
“You wanted to marry me first, didn’t you? And after I had hit you with a car, I suppose years of secretly pining for me behind my own back is equivalent exchange.”
Phoenix glares. “Are you making fun of me right now?”
“Yes.” Miles extends his hand, palm up. “Marry me anyway, Phoenix Wright.”
“Buy a guy breakfast first,” Phoenix grumbles, allowing himself to be hauled to his feet.
~~
Phoenix, who is always famished after a good cry, demolishes three orders of pina colada pancakes, coconut whipped cream piled up like fluffy white clouds. Miles sips a mimosa and tears a croissant to pieces.
“Feeling better?” He drawls when Phoenix slams his second iced coffee and side order of bacon.
“Yeah.” Phoenix grins a little crookedly.
“It came highly rated,” Miles says smugly.
“It wasn’t the food.” Phoenix tosses some bills down on the table before Miles has a chance to. “You didn’t eat.”
“I was hypnotized by your lack of table manners.”
“You never eat when you’re nervous.” Phoenix stands over Miles, still seated in the booth. “You nervous, Miles?”
“Yes,” he answers.
“Good. Take me to the room.” Phoenix is the one to offer his hand this time.
~~
Phoenix lays in the afterglow, the curtains open to the sea outside. The AC is off for the moment so the only sound is their own breathing and the lazy turn of the fan overhead.
“I thought it was bullshit,” Phoenix says suddenly. “The marry your best friend thing.”
“It’s trite,” Miles agrees.
“Isn’t it? Like one of those things couples say when they’re not allowed to have other friends.” Phoenix closes his eyes as Miles presses a cold bottle of water against the side of his cheek gently.
“But?” Miles prompts.
Phoenix rolls over, arms around Miles’ waist, face pressed against his husband’s naked thigh. “You know,” he says, muffled. “You asshole.”
“I missed you too.”
“You can’t do that again,” Phoenix says. “You can’t ever go away again.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Miles answers. “Of course I will.”
Phoenix sits up and snatches the bottle of water away from Miles mid-sip, draining it dry out out of sheer spite.
“I knew it,” he announces triumphantly. “I knew you were - so this whole time you were talking to Mia and Franziska? Setting up the foundation of the new agency? You just live your life and I’m supposed to fit myself in wherever I can squeeze? We almost died, Miles!”
“I know that,” Miles says mildly, only the slight twitch at the corner of his jaw betraying him. “That’s why occasional work abroad is vital, so that we never reach that point again.”
“Until you’re the one who goes no contact, and I get to worry if it’s because you got made, or captured, or killed or you just got tired of me again-”
“Is that what you think happened?” Miles interrupts.
Phoenix stands and walks over to the window, hiking up his boxer shorts. He shrugs, looking out over the ocean.
“You don’t trust me.”
“You don’t trust me either,” Phoenix points out. “Or you wouldn’t keep leaving me behind.”
“You can’t be suggesting that we partner up permanently? Infiltration and contact is a solitary endeavor-”
“But they aren’t all like that, right?” Phoenix presses. “Some of these missions are, I dunno. Intel. Extraction. Negotiation. You do need a team for that, even if it’s just one other person. I’m not asking you to give this up, I know it’s important to you. And you’re right, I’d miss Mia and Maya and working at base if I went into the field full time. But you’re going to want to come home sometimes and you’re going to need someone out there sometimes. Meet me halfway, okay?”
Miles considers this a moment, then opens his arms broadly and waits. Phoenix pretends not to understand for as long as he can hold out. A good thirty seconds go by before he sinks back into the bed, wrapped up tight with his face pressed against Miles’ firm chest.
“Okay,” Miles says, belatedly.
“I bet you really missed these fights, huh?” Phoenix mutters, voice muffled but pleased.
“I want to fight like this for the rest of my life,” Miles says calmly. Then he rolls over, dumping Phoenix onto the floor.
“H-Hey!”
“It’s past ten,” Miles notes, picking up his watch from the bedside table. “You’d better get dressed, our reservation is at eleven thirty.”
“What the hell, what’s so important you make a reservation before noon on a vacation?” Phoenix gripes, clawing at the mattress to get back to his feet.
“It’s the busy season,” Miles says apologetically. “It was the only time the wedding chapel had free.”