Chapter Text
When Edgeworth arrived at the emergency room, his hands soaked in Phoenix Wright’s blood, there had been some suspicion that the Chief Prosecutor had finally succumbed to his former mentor’s influence and killed his most notorious professional rival. Once his hands were cleaned thoroughly — although they now stank of antiseptic instead of blood, which wasn’t much of an improvement — he had set about speaking with the police. It was all he could do not to sit in the waiting room and stew helplessly in a cocktail of fear, despair, guilt, and all the worst possible hypotheticals his overactive brain could conjure to torment him with.
Edgeworth wasn’t a doctor, and he was of little help to a wounded Phoenix beyond applying some basic first-aid and transporting him to the hospital. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to go home while his friend was being poked and prodded and drugged up. His chest had begun to pound so hard he could feel himself beginning to hyperventilate, and so he had taken a brisk walk about the perimeter of the hospital building to regain control of his nerves. The words ‘my fault’ bounced off the walls of his mind for hours. If he hadn’t shown up unannounced at such an hour, if he had listened to Phoenix and waited downstairs for him, if he had just recognised the man a few minutes earlier…
Even if the blame wasn’t entirely on him, Edgeworth was certain his mind was deteriorating. Hadn’t he read some study somewhere, about individuals with higher IQs losing their minds faster than others? Did he even believe in this notion of IQs and measuring intelligence in units? His head throbbed under the combined assaults of these racing thoughts and the oppressive fluorescent hospital lights. There were still spots of Phoenix’s blood on the sleeves of his tweed jacket. Wright wouldn’t die from this — he had never succumbed to normally fatal injuries in the past — but what if this was the thing that killed him? Some low-brow, half-baked felon who waved his sword around about as indiscriminately as the average circuit party frequenter. It wasn’t a death becoming of a man like Phoenix Wright. He deserved to die in an equal-footed duel, or — seeing as Wright was not especially the duelling sort — in a large bed at the end of his natural life, surrounded by all the people who loved him. He would need a very big room.
The doctors had permitted Edgeworth to see him once he was in stable condition, although the visit had to be brief as they were preparing him for surgery. Phoenix was somewhat sedated but surprisingly talkative all the same, although he couldn’t hold a conversation for very long. Edgeworth held himself as he always did — detached but sensitive, grave in tone but dryly humorous when appropriate to lighten the mood. He left the room wanting to hit himself. After all these years, he couldn’t so much as peel back a layer for someone he had known longer than perhaps anyone else, someone he respected and admired, even…
Edgeworth felt weak. Worse still, he was powerless. He could not talk his way into saving Phoenix’s life. He could not throw money at this problem, and while he could run from it, he refused to. His running days were behind him. There was a bomb ticking down in front of him and the door to the windowless room he resided in was locked and barricaded from the inside. Whatever the outcome, he would be there. If Phoenix died — he could hardly bear to think of it — but if that were to happen, he could not leave all the admin up to poor Trucy. He would be there for her, in any way he could. He would manage the funeral arrangements and help sort through his things so that she would not have to bear the brunt of the pain. That was what friends did. At least, he was fairly certain it was. Some small, selfish, deranged part of him imagined that there could perhaps be a silver lining in the tragedy, that they might heal together over Phoenix’s death like two pieces of broken bone — missing a fragment, but ultimately stronger for it.
The thought sickened him. He had no right to presume guardianship of Trucy, not least because she was an adult now and hardly needed his support in the first place. Phoenix was always talking about her entourage of friends, how they were akin to a little family that went everywhere together and planned weddings and baptisms and birthday parties around everyone’s schedules and needs so that no one was excluded. Edgeworth might have been able to provide some legal advice pertaining to the affairs of the deceased but beyond that, he would surely only get in the way. After all, what emotional support could he of all people provide? No, if Phoenix died, he would just have to make himself useful in court by putting the bastard who stabbed him in prison for life.
When Edgeworth caught word that Musqué had been apprehended at the hospital, this fear had gripped him all over again. He was incandescent, demanding that every doctor who had been on shift at the time be dismissed immediately for letting a known criminal walk brazenly into his most recent victim’s ward. Gumshoe, who had been first on the scene, had pulled him away into a private room to calm down, after which he found the trainee doctor he had yelled at earlier and apologised profusely. She had seemed to forgive him, although it was evident that she wanted to get as far away from him as possible.
Phoenix Wright had ultimately lived, of course, and today he would be discharged — provided his final check-up yielded no concerns from his doctor. Edgeworth thought about having Cook make him something to bring as a gift, such as a batch of cookies or a small cake to satisfy Phoenix’s sweet tooth, but ultimately he decided that such an occasion called for something rather more momentous.
Phoenix had moved from his old room to the clinic, where he was receiving his final exams. Knowing from experience how overwhelming it could be for one to be examined while people hovered around in the waiting room, Edgeworth timed his arrival precisely to ensure he would catch Phoenix at the end of his appointment. Already in the waiting room when he arrived were Trucy, Maya Fey and Pearl Fey.
“Miles!” Maya cried out when she saw him, attracting glances from the smattering of other visitors in the waiting room. This private hospital mainly drew in higher-profile patients of the surrounding platinum triangle neighbourhoods, so neither the doctors nor the patrons were the sort to ogle celebrities. Nevertheless, between the prior scandal around their disastrous dinner date and the past month’s news cycle revolving quite so heavily around Wright’s stabbing, it was difficult for Edgeworth not to draw attention to himself.
Maya ran over to him and flung her arms around his neck, startling him out of the slight trance he had been in for his entire journey to the hospital. Trucy and Pearl trailed behind her, Trucy looking drawn and airy and Pearl looking serious.
Edgeworth put his arms tentatively around Maya’s waist and nodded politely to Trucy and Pearl. “Not out yet, is he?”
“He’s been in there an awfully long time,” said Pearl. She glanced at the clock on the wall. “I asked a nurse if she would let Mystic Maya and I inside for support, but we were very rudely dismissed.”
“He’s fine.” Trucy yawned. Maya broke the embrace but kept one arm draped over Edgeworth’s shoulder. Trucy smiled sleepily at him. “How’ve you been, cuz?”
Edgeworth chuckled awkwardly. “I’ve been demoted from ‘uncle’, have I?”
“That’s just what they say in New Yawk,” said Maya, “isn’t it, Truce?”
“Yeah,” said Trucy, suddenly perking up as she put on a very wonky East Coast affectation, “Lemmegetaaa baconeggandcheese.”
Maya snorted. “Ya got any raw fish? Any caw-fee?”
“Forgetaboutit.”
They both exploded in laughter. Pearl glowered at them. “There are people here to see their dying relatives,” she said. “Show some respect.”
“No, they’re not,” said Trucy. “This is a clinic. Most of these people are probably here for some sort of rash.”
That earned them a few more hard glares from the room, including Pearl.
Edgeworth clasped his hands together. “Miss Fey does have a point,” he said, “as much as I do enjoy your truly flawless impressions.”
“The Godfather extends his deepest appreciation,” Trucy whispered.
Maya gestured excitedly at her. “I know that one. Is that from The Sopranos?”
“No.” Trucy pulled a funny face. “It’s from The Godfather. I mean — it’s not, actually, I made it up just now.”
“But I swear I know that from somewhere.” Maya frowned and tapped her mouth as she thought. “Goodfellas? Reservoir Dogs?”
Trucy blinked incredulously at her. “Have you never seen The Godfather?”
“No. Is it scary? I don’t do well with scary films,” said Maya. “I mean, I can basically handle the Steel Samurai at its worst, but that’s it.”
Pearl crossed her arms and turned away reproachfully.
“It’s not scary,” said Trucy. “I mean — there’s shooting and blood and stuff, but if you’ve seen Goodfellas it’s like, probably a lot less gruesome than that.”
“I was pretty scared during the scene in the restaurant,” said Phoenix, who was now standing between them.
Trucy gasped, then broke out into a beam. “Daddy!” She wrapped her arms tightly around his middle, nearly toppling him over.
Maya and Pearl followed suit, engulfing Phoenix in a thicket of arms and long, flowing sleeves. Edgeworth met his eye, and they stared at each other for a long moment before Phoenix inclined his head slightly and Edgeworth responded in kind, eyes flicking to the floor.
“You got the all clear?” asked Maya.
Phoenix nodded, and both Trucy and Maya hugged him again. Pearl stepped back shyly, holding her hands folded neatly in front of her.
“Will you be attending the deposition this week, now that you’re better?” she asked.
Phoenix glanced from Pearl to Edgeworth, then averted his eyes to the floor. “Eh, I think I’ll have to see how I feel. Obviously, I gave them my testimony already in writing. They have more than enough evidence to convict.”
“If I may—” Edgeworth began, and instantly he felt a sinking in his chest. He was so out of place here, surrounded by Phoenix’s family. He felt as though he were interrupting a private reunion with his own impersonal interjections. “Musqué’s counsel has persuaded him to plead insanity. As someone who — knew him,” Edgeworth disguised his wavering with a small cough, “you can attest to his state of mind prior to the incident. I think it would have a greater impact on the jury if you gave the testimony in person rather than having it read out.” There was a short silence that followed this, so Edgeworth added, “of course, you mustn’t over-exert yourself…”
Phoenix nodded slightly, meeting Edgeworth’s gaze once again. His eyes looked very gray under the hospital lighting. “Yeah. Well, right now, all I can think about is sleeping in my own bed again. And vibing with my gals.” He slung an arm each around Trucy and Maya’s shoulders. Pearl stared down at her hands, becoming more withdrawn by the second.
“Ew. You are such a millennial,” Trucy said, wrinkling her nose but grinning uncontrollably at the same time, as if she were struggling to stay in character as a mortified child.
Maya shrugged his arm away. “I’m with Truce on this one, Nick. That was unforgivable.”
“Hey,” Phoenix whined, although there was a wicked twinkle in his eye now. God, he was exquisite. “You’re a millennial too. You don’t get a pass just ‘cause you look younger.”
“Actually, she does,” said Trucy. “’Cause she’s in the faaamily.”
“Forgetaboutit.” The two women fell about in giggles.
“God, not this again,” Edgeworth quipped. Phoenix met his eye again now, but there was something much softer in his gaze. Edgeworth glanced away uncomfortably at Pearl, who exchanged with him a commiserating look. For a moment, he felt a profound kinship with the young woman. You’re just like me, he thought. We’re not like them. But we love them all the more for it.
Trucy and Maya’s giggling was beginning to provoke the surrounding people in the waiting room to lift their heads and give passive aggressive huffs. Pearl finally raised her chin and spoke, saying, “I think we ought to be leaving, now, if Mr. Wright has the all-clear.”
“Yes,” Edgeworth cut in before the others could say anything. He had been rehearsing the following speech on the way over. “I’ve spoken to Wright — ah, Phoenix, about this briefly, but I wanted to extend the invitation to you three also.” He noticed his hands wringing themselves idly and so he stuffed them in his pockets. “I’d like to treat you all to dinner this evening, at my residence in Bel-Air. My driver is just outside, so he can take us all back to my place now, if you like. Or — if you’d like to get changed, he can drop you off at Wright’s — Phoenix’s — apartment.”
For a moment, Phoenix and the three women stared at him blankly. Edgeworth suddenly felt as though he had committed an egregious social faux pas, although he could not conceive of what this transgression might be. Then, the women all broke out into beams: Trucy’s toothy grin, which scrunched up her face as if she’d just sucked on a lemon; Maya’s knowing smirk, which Phoenix had at times described as ‘conspiratorial’; and Pearl’s girlish simper.
Phoenix raised his eyebrows and smiled very faintly. “I’m down. What about you guys?”
“He made us an offer we couldn’t refuse,” Trucy intoned.
Maya suppressed a laugh. “What are you making for us?”
“Oh — well,” said Edgeworth, “actually my ch—my chef will be making an old favourite of Phoenix’s, to commemorate his recovery.”
“And what would that be?” asked Phoenix. He seemed genuinely curious.
“You said once that your favourite food was chicken tacos,” Edgeworth replied, doubting his own memory as he said it. “So I asked my chef to make them tonight. With premium ingredients, of course.”
Phoenix frowned. “Huh. I haven’t had a chicken taco in a hot minute. When did I tell you they were my favourite?”
“In fourth grade,” said Edgeworth quietly.
Phoenix blinked. Before he could say anything further, Maya’s eyes went wide and she said, “can I have my chicken taco in burger form? With mayonnaise and lettuce and pepper jack cheese?’
“Maya,” Phoenix admonished her half-heartedly. “You’re asking Miles — or, his chef, anyway — to make you a whole different meal.”
Edgeworth chuckled. “You can have whatever you like, Maya. Cook keeps a very well-stocked kitchen, and he would much rather make something you’ll enjoy than insist everyone stays on-menu.”
“I’m vegetarian,” Pearl chimed in, almost mournfully.
“Cook will more than happily accommodate that,” said Edgeworth. “Do you like mushrooms?”
As they walked to the car, Edgeworth took down a series of requests from the women while Phoenix walked leisurely in front of them, imploring the other four to ‘hurry up, already’ in a whimsically shoddy approximation of a New York accent identical to his daughter’s in its amusing terribleness.
It was a bit of a squash to fit all five of them in the car, as Edgeworth had stupidly taken the relatively smaller Rolls and not the limo. He insisted that Phoenix sit up front, as he didn’t want him risking any damage to his ostomy bag, meanwhile he, Maya, Pearl and Trucy navigated the back seats. Eventually, they settled on having Trucy in the middle (where she could most easily stretch out her long legs), Edgeworth on one side and Maya with Pearl in her lap on the other.
Edgeworth signalled to the driver to go and said, “drive slowly. I don’t want anyone getting whiplash. Especially Phoenix.”
“Lemme ask you something — how long before you stop treating me like I’m made of fine china?” Phoenix asked Edgeworth as the driver set off, his head turned slightly to the side.
Edgeworth scoffed. “Please. As if you weren’t hovering over me 24/7 after my stabbing,” he said.
“It was not 24/7,” said Phoenix indignantly. “Maybe it was for Gumshoe. I gotta say, I’m a little offended he hasn’t grilled me for all my medical information. Guess he still likes you more.”
“Ladies, please,” Maya interjected, “you’re both pretty, and full of holes. It’s not a competition.”
Pearl let out a yelp. She covered her mouth, but the look on her face said it all.
“Knife holes! As in, stab wounds? Oh, my God.” Maya groaned.
Trucy covered her face in equal parts mortification and hysterics. “Not the full of holes.” She let her hands fall away, revealing that she was almost in tears, seemingly of laughter. “Can we even joke about that? Isn’t it too soon?”
Phoenix glanced behind him at Edgeworth. They smiled at each other.
“Phoenix has never taken his mortality very seriously,” said Edgeworth. “Why start now?”
“That’s pretty rich coming from Mr. ‘Scenic Late Night Stroll Through the Red Light District’,” Phoenix replied.
Edgeworth smirked. “Really, now, there’s no need to be so formal. That was my father’s name.”
There was a deafening silence in the car. The air felt very thin, as if everyone was holding their breaths.
Then all of them, including the driver, broke out into fits of laughter.
The housekeeper, a septuagenarian called Mrs. Shooster, let them in and ushered the guests into the sitting room before pulling Edgeworth away to one side in the unlit alcove between the stairs and the wall.
“Miss Petite called on you earlier, sir,” she said. “Forgive me for not texting, but she said to keep it discreet. No digital trail.”
Edgeworth frowned. “I can’t help her brother, if that’s what she wants. I’m not the prosecution. I have a conflict of interest.”
“Well, that’s just it, sir. She wanted to speak to Mr. Wright.”
“What? Why on earth would she come here, then?”
Mrs. Shooster shrugged slightly, feigning ignorance. “I dont know. I suppose she thought he might be staying with you, sir.”
“I see.” Edgeworth glanced at the door to the sitting room, which was radiating with light from within. “Give her a call tomorrow. Tell her not to darken my doorstep again.”
“Are you sure?” Shooster gave him a hard look. She had been in his employment for over twenty years and knew well enough how to put the fear of God in him. “That woman’s been very good to you. I’ve spoken to her every time she came round to do your cups. She’s only trying to take care of her family — we’d all do the same if it was our brother.”
Edgeworth stared at her silently in the darkness for a moment. “And what would I know about that?” he said slowly, already walking away. “Send her packing. I don’t want her or her kin anywhere near here again.”
He strode into the warm glow of the sitting room as Mrs. Shooster gave a slight, “hmph!”
Phoenix was already situated comfortably in the large armchair in the corner of the room, where Edgeworth had sat during his spirit channelling session with Maya. He looked perfectly at home with the rest of the furniture, as though he were just another piece in the set.
Maya and Trucy were perched on the floor, Maya with a pillow under her knees for comfort, while Trucy dealt everyone a hand of cards. Her shuffling technique had improved greatly from the last time Edgeworth played poker with her; she threw the cards about with a familiar boastful exuberance.
Phoenix and Edgeworth met each other’s gaze for a moment, and Phoenix tilted his head somewhat apologetically, as if to say, “if you can’t beat ‘em.” Edgeworth quirked an eyebrow in response, saying, “are you certain you want to accept that challenge?”
Edgeworth got down to the floor unsteadily, finding a comfortable position before picking up his hand. “Are we playing for keeps?”
“You betcha,” said Trucy.
Phoenix leant forward. “No—”
“Oh, come on. How else are we gonna steal all of Miles’ money?” Maya asked.
“Yeah,” said Trucy. “I’m not holding out for you two to get married.”
Maya cackled. The two men simultaneously recoiled in surprise, but Trucy and Maya didn’t seem to notice. Pearl sighed quietly, looking forlorn. She probably thought Trucy was talking about Maya and Phoenix. Was she—? It had obviously been nothing more than a joke. Edgeworth and Phoenix looked away from each other. Certainly, only they had taken it any other way.
The five of them played for about forty-five minutes, by which time the pot was sizeable. Maya and Pearl bowed out fairly quick, after a typically aggressive campaign from Maya and Pearl holding her own remarkably well for a beginner. And then there were three. Phoenix checked. Edgeworth raised the stakes. Trucy called. The final hand was dealt.
His poker face was still flawless, even now. Edgeworth wondered what else Phoenix had picked up in those seven years he spent away from the law. They never spoke about it. Even at the time — when they called, as infrequent as that was, they only talked about cases, and music, and Trucy. Did Phoenix have any lovers, during that time? Had he taken any since? Were there people from his past only he knew of and might still think about, whom he could call up at a moment’s notice to rekindle things? He had always claimed to be perpetually single, but right here was evidence that he could lie to Edgeworth’s face with no qualms.
Phoenix would certainly have no trouble finding someone, if he wanted to. How could it possibly be fair that he should be able to get more handsome with age? He was all shiny and smooth when he was young, but now he had this attractively weathered look about him, like an artfully worn leather jacket or a pair of stylishly faded blue jeans. Not to mention his perfectly tousled hair — which had grown out slightly over the previous two weeks but retained the shape and weight Edgeworth had given it. I did that, he thought. I had a hand in crafting his beauty. That piece of him belongs to me.
This last thought terrified him. When had he let himself become so possessive of someone he had no rightful claim to? Moreover, he had been utterly distracted from the game.
Trucy went in all in. Edgeworth called, once he had regained his bearings. After some hesitation, Phoenix went all in too, thus matching the bet. Trucy revealed her flush. Edgeworth dropped his pathetic three of a kind on the table in front of him. They both looked at Phoenix, who was still stone-faced. With a flourish, he threw down a full house.
“What?!” Trucy exclaimed. “Cheater!”
Maya, who had migrated onto the couch, leapt up, startling Pearl. “I demand a rematch,” she yelled. “Truce? Pearly? Come on, we gotta team up to defeat this bastard.”
“An insult! On the day of my commemorative dinner,” he said indignantly, that ridiculous impression creeping back into his voice.
Trucy picked up the pillow that Maya had been kneeling on earlier and brought it over to him. “It’s nothin’ personal, Dad,” she said, jokingly holding it over his face. “Just business.”
He let out a yelp as she batted him with it before swiftly wrestling the pillow from her. “Hey — hey,” he said light-heartedly, “not with Miles’ nice pillows.”
“It’s quite alright,” said Edgeworth, who had been watching them both with a kind of glowing fascination. “They’re not exactly family heirlooms.”
At that moment, Mrs. Shooster opened the door to the sitting room. They all meerkatted in her direction. “Dinner is served. If you’d all like to make your way to the dining room, now…”
They all got up and began to leave, Edgeworth standing aside to hold the door for the three women. Phoenix lingered in the doorway, bridling slightly at the uncompromising gaze of the housekeeper as he drew closer.
He gave Edgeworth a little smile. “Thank you for doing this. I’ll give you back the money after dinner.”
“Not necessary,” Edgeworth replied, his tone stern but his expression playful.
They sat around the table comfortably, although Edgeworth felt rather distant from the others sitting at the foot. Not least because Phoenix was all the way on the other end, at the head. The dishes had already been set down for them; at his, Phoenix and Trucy’s places respectively was a plate each piled high with soft tortillas stuffed to bursting with salsa, guacamole, sour cream and beautifully grilled, shredded chicken breast. At Pearl’s place was a similar dish, with the chicken breast replaced by sauteéd portobello mushrooms topped with fresh cilantro and cheese. Maya’s plate was the main attraction, with perhaps the sluttiest chicken burger Edgeworth had ever laid eyes on perched upon it. It was a towering thing dripping with melted cheese and practically sparkling from its expertly fried skin. He looked down at his own plate a little dolefully, his stomach letting out a great growl.
“I feel like King Arthur in his court,” said Phoenix, shifting around in his tall chair at the head of the table. He smirked at Edgeworth, his eyes sliding down over his foppish white shirt and deep mauve dining jacket. “Does that make you Merlin?”
Edgeworth chuckled. “I think I’ll leave the magic up to Trucy. You can be King Phoenix for tonight, though, if you like.”
“I could get used to this,” Phoenix replied, sitting back in his chair with an air of stateliness.
“If you want some entertainment,” said Maya, “I could do a little dance. Like a court jester.”
“God, please, no,” Phoenix replied. He shook his head warily as if recounting a traumatic event. “We don’t need any more people in this room getting hospitalised."
Maya pursed her lips in mock-petulance. “It was only a few dozen sprained ankles. And I’ve been practicing.”
“If Dad wants dinner and a show, he knows I have a whole two-hour magic act up my sleeve,” Trucy chimed in.
Phoenix grinned at her. “That’s right. Trucy’s my jester. Maya, you can be my guard.”
“Hell yeah!” Maya flexed an arm proudly and kissed the bicep. “Forsooth! Nothing gets past Mystic Maya, motherfuckerrr.”
Trucy rolled her eyes. “Ugh. Dad was right. You’re both so millennial.”
“Hey!” said Maya, rolling up her sleeves. “Careful. That’s the king you’re talking about.”
“Jester’s privilege,” Trucy shot back.
They went back and forth like this for a few minutes while Edgeworth, Phoenix and Pearl ate and listened. Pearl seemed to be poking at her mushrooms with little enthusiasm, so Edgeworth leaned over and whispered to her, “I’ve been reliably informed that you enjoy strawberry sponge cake. I’ve had my chef prepare some for dessert.”
Pearl glanced up at him and smiled slightly. Then her face fell. “I’m on a no-sugar diet.”
“Sounds miserable,” Edgeworth said sincerely. “How long are you on that for?”
“Forever.” Pearl sighed with all the heavy lament of a woman at the end of her life. “I’m only supposed to eat organic, ‘pure’ foods, to facilitate better channelling. Some of the elders think processed food might affect your powers, but Mystic Maya eats spam and canned pineapple with almost every meal and she’s the best spirit medium there is.”
Edgeworth nodded thoughtfully. “I see. Well, in my house, it’s considered extremely disrespectful not to eat dessert if you aren’t allergic.”
Pearl gasped. “It is?” Edgeworth nodded. “Oh, but I don’t want to be rude,” she said. “Not when you’ve been so hospitable.”
“Well,” Edgeworth replied, shaking his head, “you’re an adult. You don’t have to do what other adults tell you, including me. Only you can know for certain what’s right for you.”
“Do you learn that at law school?” Pearl asked. Her eyes were wide and misty.
Edgeworth nodded. “Yes. But you can learn it without getting a degree as well. You feel it in your gut when something is wrong or right, then you use your brain to rationalise it and work out what you’re going to do about it. Mystic Maya has been making difficult decisions for herself since she was just sixteen.”
For a while, Pearl seemed to be considering this very deeply. Then, she turned back to him and said, “can I have some cake, please, Mr. Edgeworth?”
“Sure,” said Edgeworth. “Would you like it now?”
Pearl nodded, her lips curving into a smile.
“Pearly, would you rather be a princess or a wizard?” Maya asked from across the table.
Pearl startled, as if from a dream. “Oh! Um…”
While they mulled that one over, Edgeworth took his phone out to ask Mrs. Shooster if she could bring out a slice of cake for Pearl. He glanced up briefly to catch some of the conversation as he typed and caught Phoenix staring at him before he quickly looked away. Edgeworth’s face grew hot. It was rude to look at one’s phone at the dining table, he knew that. He quickly delivered the message and put his phone away.
Maya and Trucy ate with gusto as Mrs. Shooster brought out the cake for Pearl, meanwhile Phoenix picked at his tacos with considerably more discernment. After a month of living on half-portions and smoothies, he was no doubt overly conscious that a big meal like this could wreak havoc on his insides. A flash of anger rose up in the base of Edgeworth’s chest. Phoenix shouldn’t have to think about his food. He should be able to enjoy it without a second thought, as he always had before. He should be sitting there because Edgeworth had invited them all round as a gesture of friendship, not as consolation for nearly getting him killed.
Besides his methodical eating, Phoenix was anything but morose. Winning the poker game had visibly lifted his spirits and rendered him especially laid-back and self-assured. He wore a permanent, vaguely smug, smile on his face throughout the evening and endured twice the teasing and pestering from Maya and Trucy as usual. It was about as cocky as Phoenix Wright could get, and this was also unfortunately (for Edgeworth, anyway) him at his most irresistible. As much as Edgeworth professed to hate arrogance — unless he was the one being arrogant, in which case it was merely confidence in one’s abilities — he found it wretchedly endearing in Phoenix, particularly when it was well-earned. And it often was, though he didn’t like to admit it.
Phoenix was making it increasingly hard to concentrate on the other three, who were now debating in gradually rising voices the outcome of a fight between a wizard and a knight. Every time Edgeworth’s eyes settled on Phoenix for too long, he would eventually be caught and have to turn his gaze back on one of the women. He was only just listening in to the conversation, his thoughts already so far away and proving more and more difficult to retrieve.
“You’re gonna look real stupid if you show up to a duel with a sorcerer who can manipulate the laws of physics armed with a Goddamn broadsword,” said Maya.
Trucy brandished a butterknife at her, only somewhat in jest. “Not if you get in the first blow. Say I slice off your spellcasting hand—”
“Alright, alright,” said Phoenix, his tone suddenly a shade firmer. “That’s enough. No more violent discussions at the dinner table.” He shot Edgeworth a sympathetic look. “I have a feeling this is the last time our esteemed host will be having us, otherwise.”
Edgeworth pressed his lips into what he hoped was a smirk, but something in the pit of his stomach seemed to be pulling down all his joy and warmth from just a moment prior into a big black hole. “Not at all.” He inclined his head toward Maya, fighting past whatever this sinking feeling was. “I rather think you have a point. Not even the greatest swordsman can measure up to fantastical magical powers.”
“Not even the Steel Samurai?” Trucy teased.
“Well,” said Edgeworth, “that’s a different question entirely. The Steel Samurai is not only the greatest warrior in the universe, he is also an android made of metal, and as such rather impervious to things such as mind control, fire and ice.”
“What about lightning?” asked Maya.
Edgeworth waggled his finger dismissively. “Metal conducts electricity. His exterior shell would protect his inner circuitry from being overwhelmed by directing the current to his boots and then into the ground.”
“Water?” said Pearl.
“Again, the shell—”
“What if the wizard says, ‘I cast Trojan Horse’,” Phoenix chimed in.
Edgeworth blinked. Trucy, Maya and Pearl looked to him curiously. “Well, then,” said Edgeworth slowly, “I suppose that would do it.”
Maya and Phoenix giggled, while Pearl and Trucy looked slightly lost.
“Have you watched the show recently?” Trucy asked Pearl. Pearl shook her head. “Me either. The Plumed Punisher is better.”
“Now that, I can’t abide!” Edgeworth cut in with zeal. And thus a new debate was ignited.
They finished dinner, and then dessert and all of a sudden it was pitch black outside. Edgeworth received a text from Cook he had missed, timestamped at nearly half an hour ago, which read: Family emergency. Will clean kitchen thoroughly tomorrow morning. This was not unusual, as Edgeworth’s chef had a young chronically ill child who frequently required short-notice runs to the hospital. He had learnt this during his time recovering from his stabbing, when he had been confined to his home with only the staff for company.
“We ought to be on our way to the station,” said Pearl, in a happy sort of cake-induced daze, “or we’ll miss the last train.”
Maya groaned. “Ugh. You’re right.” She got up from the table and the others quickly followed suit, and soon everyone had filed out into the hall.
“We can stay and help Edgeworth clean up, right, Dad?” Trucy asked.
Phoenix shook his head. “Nah, he’s got people for that,” he replied, looking up at Edgeworth with an unreadable expression. “Haven’t you?”
“Well — as it happens, my cook had to leave early, and the rest of my staff have gone home for the night. Except for my driver,” said Edgeworth, “though I’m not confident in his pot-washing abilities.”
Trucy clapped her hands together in delight. “Yay! So we get to help you wash up?”
“You really needn’t go to the trouble. You’re guests in my home, I wouldn’t dream of asking you to—”
“Nonsense,” Trucy interrupted. “We love doing dishes. Don’t we, Daddy?” Phoenix looked unconvinced.
Maya tapped Pearl’s shoulder hurriedly. “We’d better get going or we’ll be forced to join the assembly line. Miles—” she threw her arms out and enveloped him in another of her tight, suffocating hugs. This time, he responded in kind. Maya broke the embrace after a long moment and held both his hands in her own. “Thank you for the wonderful evening. Ugh! I needed this.” She kissed his knuckles and pulled away.
“Forget about it,” Edgeworth intoned back to her, albeit in a rather half-hearted attempt at the accent.
Pearl looked down at her shoes shyly and said, “yes, thank you, Mr. Edgeworth. I really enjoyed the cake.” He nodded at her, and with that the two women absconded to catch their train.
And then there were three.
“So, where’s your kitchen?” asked Trucy, already wandering further into the house. “I can’t believe you didn’t give us a tour when we got here. Some host you are! I’m kidding, I’m kidding.”
Her voice grew distant as she strolled into an adjacent room curiously, and Phoenix once again shot Edgeworth an apologetic look. Edgeworth wanted to tell him to never apologise for Trucy, who by all accounts was as good as his own child. He could never say this, of course, because the implication in it was far too dangerous for both of them.
Edgeworth showed them both to the kitchen, which was accessible only through a secret passageway concealed by a dusty trophy shelf that had been designated as such because it was so out-of-the-way that no one would be forced to ogle any of Edgeworth’s self-professedly pointless awards. Trucy adored this feature of the house, that had always struck Edgeworth (and now, evidently, Phoenix) as rather archaic. The house had clearly been built for people who believed servants were an unseemly asset warranting of a smokescreen, which gave the impression that food and drinks merely materialised from thin air. This was decidedly not Edgeworth’s view — although, now that he thought about it, his insistence on relegating all communication to text might have come off a similar way. He made a mental note to do away with this stipulation, or at least to encourage his staff in the future to come and speak to him personally if they wished.
The trio soon set up a kind of assembly line, just as Maya had predicted, with Phoenix scrubbing the pots, pans, plates and cutlery, Trucy drying, and Edgeworth putting things away. Edgeworth began to regret his acquiescence to all this as soon as Phoenix rolled up the sleeves of his baggy grey sweatshirt. His forearms were toned and slightly paler than usual due to his prolonged stint in the hospital, but the light golden colour of his skin was nonetheless there, under a thin layer of marginally curly black hairs. This was without even acknowledging his hands. Edgeworth had to stare rather forcefully at the kitchen counter while he dried to keep from unduly staring at Phoenix’s arms as they scrubbed the dirty dishes and — why was this affecting him so deeply? His mind really must have been deteriorating.
As a young man, Edgeworth would never have been so psychically disarmed by another person’s aesthetics. Of course, he had felt a whirlwind of emotions after seeing Phoenix in court for the first time all those years ago, but he had ultimately chalked this up to the amalgam of other big shifts occurring in his personal life at the time. Phoenix was just another blip on his enormous map of miseries. It didn’t matter, back then, how much their sparring excited him. How even the threat of further tarnishing his almost perfect record wasn’t enough to deter him from facing Phoenix again, and again and again, and — oh, God, he could have had him then, when he was in peak physical condition, and he didn’t. Now what did he have to offer? Phoenix was only clinging to the past with his talk of love. If he got any closer, if he saw Miles naked, if he had to sleep in the same bed with him when he had a night terror, he would change his mind. He would run for the hills. He would—
Trucy’s hand was on his shoulder. “Are you okay?” she mouthed. He nodded, then did his best to tune into what Phoenix had been saying for the last two minutes.
“So I don’t know whether to keep the apartment until I retire and just make the down payment on the house in Malibu for now, or sell the apartment and buy the beach house outright. You know, I’m thinking, do I even need a place that big?” He paused, glancing at Edgeworth furtively. “I mean, like — do I even have enough stuff to fill it with?”
Trucy yawned. “The commute would be a nightmare from Malibu,” she said.
“Well, I figure I would retire early, if I moved.”
Edgeworth frowned. “You’re — forgive me, I must have… zoned out. You’re buying a house?”
“Yeah,” Phoenix looked at him funnily. “I thought I mentioned. I have these savings and I’ll start getting my pension in a couple years, so I figured I should start thinking about my retirement plan.”
“But—” Edgeworth stammered foolishly, “surely… You’re not thinking of retiring in the next few years, are you?”
Phoenix shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. This is what I’ve been trying to figure out.”
“You could always move to New York!” Trucy chirped. “No one opens the doooor…”
“As much I’d love to live in the same city as you again,” Phoenix interjected, chuckling as Trucy continued to sing over him, “that whole East Coast country club vibe isn’t really for me. Even if I lived out on Long Island or somewhere upstate, I’d hate it. Bunch of WASPs in their houses in the Hamptons? I’d rather live in Maine.”
“I think the Edgeworths had an apartment in Manhattan, once upon a time,” said Edgeworth. “On the Upper West Side.” Von Karma had sold it, no doubt, likely using the money to fund his vineyards in Wine Country.
“Anyway,” said Phoenix, “I haven’t decided what I’m going to do, yet.” He levelled his gaze at Edgeworth now, with an air of examination. There was a pregnant pause. “What do you think?”
Edgeworth held his breath, going over in his mind all the implications of Phoenix moving away. He wouldn’t be too far, of course — Malibu was a mere hour away from his residence in Bel-Air, and little more than that from the city centre. Nevertheless, it would be yet another link in the chain fence that separated them. Retirement meant no longer seeing him at the courthouse, no more trials, none of the major things that connected them. Had Phoenix simply grown weary of his profession? Or was this all because of Edgeworth? Was it perhaps the combined effects of their recent difficulties with each other, the latest assault and the once-tolerable stress of the job wearing thin on a man who had only recently had to reckon with his own mortality?
Phoenix and Trucy stared at Edgeworth expectantly. It was as if they were waiting for a verdict from the Judge that would either sentence them both to death or set them free.
“You don’t want to retire,” said Edgeworth, almost as though he were trying to convince himself. “You’re like me. You need this job. And sure, you could do it anywhere, in theory — but if you wanted a change, you would have left years ago.” He swallowed thickly. “There’s something keeping you here. And only you know what that is, but I suppose it’s a question of whether that something is making you happy, or…” He trailed off.
Phoenix pursed his lips and looked down thoughtfully. “Hm. I think you’re right. Food for thought, I guess.”
“Well, I wanna move to Paris, one day,” Trucy announced, gesturing theatrically with the bowl she was holding and inadvertently pouring a bowlful of dishwater down Phoenix’s front. In the ensuing collective gasp of shock, Trucy dropped the bowl on the floor, where it broke into several pieces. “Oh, shit! I’m so sorry!”
“It’s okay! It’s okay!” Phoenix pinched the damp fabric of his sweatshirt and held it out in front of him gingerly. “Jesus. It’s soaked through.” He looked at Edgeworth beseechingly. “I don’t suppose you have shirt I could borrow?”
Edgeworth ushered Phoenix back through the secret passage and over to the foot of the stairs. “Up on the right, first door,” he said. “You can raid my dresser.” Then, as an afterthought, “excuse the mess.” He knew very well the maid had turned over his room that morning, but he liked to set expectations low.
“Wow,” said Phoenix, a little bewildered. “Thanks.” And he ran up the stairs.
Edgeworth returned to the kitchen, where Trucy was picking up the ceramic shards off the nice hardwood floor. “Don’t worry about that,” said Edgeworth, stooping down to seize the dishcloth from her. He flashed her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
“I’m so sorry,” Trucy whispered, cringing. “I’m not used to handling fine china.”
“Please,” said Edgeworth. “This is certainly not fine china.” He inspected the bowl. “In fact, I’m fairly sure this was a homemade present from Gumshoe, hence the unconventional shape. Oh, well. I’m sure he’d be happy to make another just like it.”
Trucy stood and followed Edgeworth as he went to dispose of the ceramic shards carefully into the trash can by the door. “Have you thought about retiring?” she asked him.
He scoffed. “What on earth would I do with my time if I retired?”
“I don’t know,” said Trucy, oddly timid. “Did you ever want to start a family?”
A heavy silence fell upon them. Edgeworth cleared his throat to break it. “I’ve never…” he fought to find the most appropriate words. “I suppose I’ve never given it much thought. I didn’t exactly grow up with a great example,” he said finally.
“Sure,” Trucy replied, “but… don’t you feel like there’s this... pressure? Like everyone expects it from you?”
Edgeworth let out a half-hearted chuckled, which came out more like an exasperated sigh. “I… Yes.” He looked at her squarely. “All the time. But that’s hardly a reason to do it. There are enough bad parents in the world as it is without those who have merely succumbed to peer pressure joining the club.”
“I don’t think you’d be a bad dad,” said Trucy, and the earnestness in her tone made Edgeworth’s heart rend. “But… I think it’s unfair that people just expect it of you. I mean, I don’t think I ever wanna be a mother.” She looked suddenly very shy. It was extremely un-Trucy-like. “I don’t think I even want a husband, or a wife, either. It just doesn’t appeal to me.”
Edgeworth raised his eyebrows. “I see. I can’t imagine Phoenix has made you feel that’s something you need to have.”
She shook her head. “No. He’s really supportive. But… I think he worries that I do want it, I just can’t have it, you know? Because of my career? And he’s worried that means I’m lonely. When in reality, I have the best friends a girl could ask for. Seriously, we’re like — family.” She sighed. “But until I start living with one of them, or sleeping with them, I don’t think he’ll ever believe that I am truly happy.”
“He’s a father. It’s his job to agonise over his children,” Edgeworth quipped. “Which is probably why I never had any. I have enough to agonise over as it is. That, and…” He was getting dangerously close to being too honest. “Well, it wasn’t in the cards, let’s say.”
Trucy made a funny face. “I know what gay people are, if that’s what you’re getting at. I do live in New York. It’s like, gay country, I fear.”
“That would be San Francisco, no?”
“Well, anyway,” Trucy continued, “I think he’s kind of obsessed with this idea of having a someone. And for people like me,” she said slowly, gesturing first to herself then more hesitantly to him, “that’s — not really a priority. Or even a thought that crosses our minds.”
Edgeworth closed his eyes in comprehension and nodded slightly, then opened them again. “I understand. That’s not how I… personally feel, but I do understand. And I’m sure he will too, in time. Perhaps when he finds someone else to worry at.”
“Like you,” said Trucy.
Before he could protest, the sound of Phoenix’s footsteps echoing through the hidden passageway snapped them both from their secretive tones.
“Excuse the mess,” Phoenix echoed teasingly. “There wasn’t a spot of dust on that dresser. You’re such a prick.” It was the most affectionate he had been towards Edgeworth since before their restaurant debacle months prior. He was wearing one of Edgeworth’s night shirts, a sleek navy blue silk number that made him look faintly like a contestant on Dancing With the Stars.
“You’re welcome,” said Edgeworth. He sniffed. “Suits you. You can keep it.”
Phoenix shot him a withering look. “Ha-ha.” Although Phoenix had evidently taken this as a dig, Edgeworth was in fact struggling not to fixate on the way the fabric clung flatteringly to his waist. “Alright, Truce, let’s kick these dishes’ collective ass and head home. I’m sure Miles needs his beauty sleep.”
Once the dishes were finished, it was finally time to say farewell. Edgeworth led them to the front door, now almost half-asleep, and began arranging a car when Phoenix gently pushed the phone in his hand away.
“We’ll take the subway. It’s okay,” he said. “Musqué’s under arrest, and we’ve got each other. Right, Truce?”
Trucy nodded, her eyes barely opening. How she had lasted this long with her jet lag was beyond him. Phoenix slung an arm round her shoulders and squeezed her tight. The black hole in Edgeworth’s middle reopened, sucking all the leftover mirth from the evening into its hungry eye.
“It was lovely to see you both,” he said.
Suddenly, Trucy was wrapping her arms around him, and he reciprocated as he had with Maya. Then, perhaps more surprisingly, Phoenix stepped forward and joined the embrace. Now Trucy was cradled in his arms, and he in Phoenix’s, so that they made a kind of life-sized Matryoshka doll. Phoenix’s breath was warm against his neck, and he could feel the ebb and flow of Trucy’s slow breathing against his ribcage. A great sense of calm washed over him such as he had not felt in a very, very long time. They stood like that for much longer than was necessary, much longer than your average goodbye. It was only after they had seemingly rusted into their respective positions that Phoenix finally broke away, as did Trucy in quick succession.
They looked at each silently for a while before Edgeworth ducked around them to open the door. They muttered awkward final goodbyes to each other as Phoenix and Trucy walked out of the door, and Edgeworth knew the second he closed it behind them that the house had transformed back to whatever it had been before his guests had entered it.