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March 11
Courtroom No. 4
13:07
"You already have all the evidence you need," murmured a voice at Phoenix's right shoulder. His shoulders sagged with relief -- Mia was here to help. Her arms were crossed; her hip was cocked; her lips were curved in a wry smile; her sister's soul was temporarily somewhere other than her body to allow for the presence of Mia's spirit.
"I know that," Phoenix whispered back, "but I can't figure out how to put the pieces together. The photograph Lotta took on opening night clearly shows Mr. Spears plunging a dagger into the victim's chest. Edgeworth's right: that's pretty irrefutable evidence."
Phoenix glanced up at the prosecutor across the courtroom. Edgeworth was adjusting the cuffs of his suit, looking altogether too smug. But when he made eye contact with Phoenix, he raised an eyebrow and adjusted his smirk to an almost earnest half-smile, turning one palm up as if to say can you believe, after everything, we're right back here again?
Phoenix chuckled under his breath, holding Edgeworth's gaze, and shook his head in disbelieving solidarity. No, Phoenix thought. I really can't.
"Phoenix," Mia hissed. "Don't let him distract you."
"I -- what? I'm not -- he's not -- I'm not distracted." A beat of silence filled the air between them. "What were we talking about again?"
Mia grimaced. "The photograph means nothing. Check the Court Record. What about the fingerprints on the dagger?"
"Mr. Spears was wearing gloves. There were no fingerprints."
Mia raised her eyebrows -- Maya's eyebrows -- a mysterious spiritual blend of both of their eyebrows. "So how do we know that the dagger in the photograph is the dagger that killed the victim?"
Phoenix turned back to the woman on the stand. Lotta Hart's cumulonimbus cloud of hair bounced as she tilted her chin up defiantly, although her trademark sunny I'm-way-too-happy-about-having-witnessed-a-murder grin didn't leave her face. "I've told ya everything I know," she said.
"I think you've told the court a little more than you know! Did you really photograph the moment when the defendant stabbed the victim with this dagger?" Phoenix held up a long, straight, black-handled dagger. The bottom half of its silver blade glistened in the overhead lights, but its top half was stained brown and sticky with dried blood.
"Yep! Uh-huh, that's it. The dagger ol' Shaky stabbed the victim with. That's the murder weapon in the photo, all right."
"Objection!" Edgeworth called. "Detective Gumshoe testified yesterday that John Fletcher was killed with a dagger. We have already established this as fact. I see no need to relitigate the issue."
"Hold it!" Phoenix retorted, unable to keep his own smirk off his face. Edgeworth's eyebrows shot up. "We know Mr. Fletcher was killed with a dagger. We don't know that it was this dagger."
He rummaged through the evidence for a moment before coming up with a long, straight, black-handled dagger. The bottom half of its silver blade glistened in the overhead lights, but its top half was stained brown and sticky with dried blood.
"Well, Lotta?" Phoenix said, presenting the second dagger to the woman on the witness stand. "Are you sure this isn't the dagger you saw onstage?"
"I -- well -- shoot, they look the same. What about the fingerprints?"
"There are no fingerprints on either knife. The defendant was wearing gloves for the entire performance. So, Lotta, which one is it? Which dagger did you see?"
"Aw, heck. Now I'm not sure. You've got me all twisted up!"
"But this is patently ridiculous," Edgeworth said. "Only one of those is a real dagger. The other is a prop knife. Wright, are you really suggesting that the victim was killed with a plastic dagger?"
"Of course not! What I am suggesting is that Lotta Hart cannot tell the difference between these two knives! The one in the photograph is the prop, meaning the victim's death scene went just as it did in rehearsal. The stabbing onstage was completely fake."
"But that means --"
"Exactly!" Phoenix's argument, and volume, were reaching a fever pitch now. "This photograph does not depict a murder at all! The victim was killed backstage with the real dagger afterwards!"
The observers in the gallery gasped and began to mutter in surprise. Phoenix leaned back, feeling Mia's approval radiating off of her, and took a deep breath. Edgeworth caught his eye again and nodded, slowly, just once. His meaning was clear: not bad, Wright.
Phoenix grinned. Don't I know it.
The judge slammed his gavel down once, twice, three times. "Order! Order! Well, it seems you're right, Mr. Wright. There's no way to tell which dagger is shown in that photograph, which means we don't know for sure that Miss Hart's camera captured the moment of the murder."
"The time of death in the autopsy report was based on that photograph," Edgeworth mused aloud. "Detective Gumshoe said the police were surprised at how fresh the body was, and how clean and smooth the stab wound was, considering what time the photograph of the murder was taken. The report will have to be updated to reflect this uncertainty."
"You're quite right, Mr. Edgeworth," the judge said. "In light of this development, the court will adjourn for the day. But I absolutely refuse to extend this trial beyond tomorrow, so you had better be ready, Mr. Edgeworth, Mr. Wright."
"I'll be ready," Phoenix said, only to realize that Edgeworth had said it at the same time. Their eyes met again, and Phoenix felt his grin widen. But this time Edgeworth glanced away, suddenly fixated on readjusting the suit jacket cuffs he had just adjusted minutes prior.
"Don't get distracted, Phoenix," murmured Mia from beside him.
"Mia, what do you mean --"
But as Phoenix turned, Mia had already been replaced with her younger sister, who squealed and threw her arms around him.
"Way to go, Nick!" Maya said. "Looks like we've got one more day to prove that Mr. Spears is innocent! You're the world's best lawyer!"
"Yeah," Phoenix said, his eyes tracking Edgeworth across the courtroom as the prosecutor strode out towards the lobby. "Something like that."
March 11
Defendant Lobby No. 2
14:25
"I can't thank you enough, Mr. Wright," said Bill Spears, clutching his heaving, bony chest with his trembling, bony fingers. "I really thought I was a goner in there. This whole trial has been havoc on my nerves."
"Just doing my job, Mr. Spears."
"Hey, Mr. Spears," Maya said. "I'm curious. When she was testifying, Lotta called you --" (and here Maya put on a cartoonish approximation of Lotta's deep-fried drawl) "-- ol' Shaky. And when the theater owner testified yesterday, she called you Shaky, too. What's up with that?"
"Oh," Bill said, rubbing the back of his neck. "When I get nervous, my hands start shaking pretty bad. It happens every time I get up onstage. And every time I go offstage. And... well, pretty much all the time. I'm surprised you didn't notice when we were in the courtroom. I was shaking so much, I bet it felt like an earthquake!"
"Well, I get pretty focused when I'm in court," Phoenix said. "It's no wonder I didn't notice."
Maya snorted.
"What? Something funny?" Phoenix demanded.
"No, no, it's nothing," Maya replied through a fit of giggles. "Nothing at all."
"Well clearly something is funny, or else you wouldn't be --"
"It's just that..." Maya took a deep breath, quelling her giggle fit enough to speak almost normally. "Well, Nick, you do get pretty focused in court, but... it's not always on the case."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"What did my big sis say to you before I stopped channeling her?"
"She mentioned the fact that there were no fingerprints on either of the daggers."
"And?"
"...And she told me not to get distracted."
Maya nodded. "I thought so. She's not the only one who's noticed. I don't mean to tell you how to do your job, Nick, but... sometimes it seems like you're more interested in the prosecution than you are in the defense."
Suddenly, Phoenix's throat seemed to have a rather large lump stuck in it. He cleared it once, twice. "Come on, Maya. That's -- I mean, that's --"
Before the final syllable had even left Phoenix's mouth, the doors to Defendant Lobby No. 2 swung open and Edgeworth strode in. "Wright," he said, "do you have a moment? I'd like to speak with you."
Maya burst into another fit of giggles, and this time even Bill let a few chuckles escape before he clapped a quivering hand over his mouth. "We'll give you two some privacy," Maya said. "Come on, Mr. Spears. We'll get you out of this, I promise."
A pair of guards escorted Maya and Bill out of the lobby, and the doors boomed shut behind them. Edgeworth raised an eyebrow at Phoenix. "What was that all about?"
"Search me. Mia and Maya both think I've been getting distracted in court. Paying more attention to the prosecution than to the defense, whatever that means."
"Hm. Interesting."
"Is it?"
Edgeworth fiddled with a cuff, not meeting Phoenix's eyes. "When I was speaking with Detective Gumshoe after yesterday's trial session, he mentioned that he's noticed I've been... off, lately. He said, 'I'm worried about you, pal. Don't get me wrong, Phoenix Wright's a great guy and all, but you've been hanging around him so much I think he's starting to distract you in the courtroom. I just don't want you to make us cops look bad, you know?'"
"Was that a direct quote?" Phoenix asked.
"Near enough to one, yes. Why?"
"I could tell. When you said it, I could almost hear it in his voice. But that's crazy! Our friends are worried about us spending time together?"
"Crazy, indeed. As difficult as it is for me to admit, you did save my life only a few months ago. I can hardly be expected to treat you like a stranger after an experience like that."
"And it's not like we've been spending all our time together," Phoenix said, his voice rising in a way that was disturbingly similar to the way it rose when he was defending alleged murderers. "We've been out for drinks, what, three or four times?"
"Five, at the very most. And sometimes we confer before and after our time in the courtroom. But that's only natural. We're lawyers."
"And since we're investigating the same crimes, it's totally normal that we bump into each other at crime scenes."
"It would be bizarre to ignore each other in those circumstances. Can we not exchange a few friendly words?"
"Right, yeah! Besides, we've been friends since grade school -- it would be crazy if we didn't hang out."
"We were friends in grade school," Edgeworth corrected.
"And now we're friends again." Phoenix paused. "I mean, we are, aren't we?"
"I... yes." Edgeworth fidgeted with his cuffs again. If anything, they were getting less neat with each subsequent adjustment. "You know I'm not good at this. But -- yes. We're... friends."
There was a peculiar downward pitch to this last word, as if Edgeworth had attached an anchor to it. Friends. Dropping off into the abyss, landing in the air between them with a thud, as though it were something to be disappointed about, or ashamed of, maybe. Phoenix grimaced.
I don't know what that's about. But knowing Edgeworth, I probably don't want to know.
"Great!" Phoenix said, voice full of sunshine. Too much sunshine. Overcompensating. Dial it back. "Great. Right. We're friends."
"Indeed."
An awkward beat passed. Phoenix raised a hand, felt it move through the air in slow motion, watched as it landed, deliberately, gently, on Edgeworth's shoulder. Edgeworth darted his eyes down toward it, looking just as surprised to see it there as Phoenix felt. Edgeworth's shoulder was warm beneath his suit jacket and shirt, a little bony, but broad and solid, confident, almost. It was the kind of shoulder that seemed to have been made according to exact specifications with no small amount of pride and craftsmanship. Phoenix's fingers tingled a little, and he flexed them, and ended up with half a handful of maroon jacket, and let go of the jacket, and didn't let go of the shoulder. Edgeworth cleared his throat delicately.
Oh, God, what am I doing?
"Hey," Phoenix said. He liked how purposeful it sounded. In an attempt to salvage the situation, he said it again. "Hey. Edgeworth. I don't know what's going on with everyone, but we're not gonna let them get to us, alright? We don't have to ignore each other, or go back to you hating me and me being terrified of you.”
“I never hated you.”
“Oh.” Phoenix swallowed. The lump in his throat had returned with a vengeance. “Well, uh, you know what I mean. We can be friends and still focus on our work. Right?"
Edgeworth nodded, sharply, once, twice. "Right."
"And besides --"
The door to the defendant lobby swung open with a creak and a triumphant "Ah-HA!" from whomever was behind it. Phoenix whipped his head toward the door -- Edgeworth did the same -- and both saw the mousy, unassuming figure of a balding, grey-suited prosecutor standing with his hands on his meager hips.
"Winston Payne?"
Edgeworth crossed his arms. "What are you doing here?"
"I knew something was going on between the two of you!" Winston announced, his reedy voice nearly breaking on the emphasis. "I just knew it! This is a massive ethical violation. You could both be disbarred for this!"
Phoenix gaped at him. "I -- what?"
"Payne, please," Edgeworth said, "be reasonable. There's nothing untoward going on, and even if there were, you'd have a hell of a time trying to prove it."
"You would say that," Winston retorted. "I may not have all the evidence I need yet, but everyone knows you two have been sneaking around together. And you can be sure that as soon as I can prove it, I'll be informing the judge that you're both in violation of the law of conflict of interest."
"Hey, wait --" Phoenix called, but Winston Payne was already banging the doors shut behind him. Phoenix looked at Edgeworth. And then Phoenix looked at Edgeworth's shoulder.
Oh, my God. I left my hand there that whole time. Why did I do that.
Phoenix pulled away as if scalded by a hot stove, and, completing the metaphor, Edgeworth reached up and, seemingly unconsciously, rubbed his own shoulder where Phoenix's hand had just been as if soothing a burn.
"Hang on a second," Phoenix said. "The law of conflict of interest?"
"Did they not teach you this in law school, Wright?"
"Look, the bar exam was a little while ago, okay? And clearly it's never been relevant to me before."
Edgeworth sighed and shook his head. His tone became annoyingly didactic as he said, "It's illegal for a prosecutor and a defense attorney who are... ah... personally involved... to operate in the same district. The idea is that they might collude to throw cases in each other's favor or otherwise undermine the outcomes of trials. Of course, they can petition their district judge for an exemption, but if it were discovered that they had been... personally involved... in secret, no judge would grant that petition. They'd both be disbarred."
"Let me get this straight. There's no rule against withholding key evidence. There's no rule against lying on the witness stand, about anything, including the details of murder cases. But somehow we do have a rule that prosecutors and defense attorneys can't sleep together?"
"That's correct, yes."
"Man, oh man. Why did I become a lawyer?"
To Phoenix's surprise, Edgeworth began to laugh. His shoulders shook, and his hair fell into his eyes, and he let out something that could only be described as a very polite guffaw. It wasn't loud, and yet the sound of it seemed to fill the entire defendant lobby, starting with Phoenix himself, filling him up from head to toe with a warm feeling. Like standing near a hot stove.
"It's not a very intuitive system, is it?" Edgeworth said through his laughter.
Phoenix snorted. "No. No, it's not. So what are we gonna do? Why does Winston Payne even want to take this to the judge?"
"Well, it would seem rather obvious to me. Payne of course has reason to want us both disbarred -- you've defeated him in every trial in which he's been your opponent, and I'm a much more highly respected prosecutor than he is. Were we no longer able to practice law, he would certainly receive a promotion in our absence. But there is nothing going on between us; as you've just confirmed, we're friends. Nothing more." That downward inflection again. "He can't prove a thing."
"That's true," Phoenix mused. "He's not exactly competent."
"So we haven't got anything to worry about. Let's focus on the case of Bill Spears, shall we? After all, you've only got one more day."
"I think you mean you've only got one more day. I've got this."
Edgeworth raised an eyebrow. "Do you?"
"Uh --"
"Not to say I wasn't impressed with your performance in the courtroom today. I always am. But just because the victim wasn't killed onstage doesn't mean Bill Spears didn't kill him. I might be upset enough to commit a murder if everyone insisted on calling me Shaky."
"He seems fine with it, actually. He is pretty shaky -- I don't think he could hold his hands steady if he... tried... hold it!"
"What?"
"You're always impressed with my performance in the courtroom?"
Edgeworth's eyes widened, and he reached up and rubbed his shoulder again, squeezing the fabric of his jacket between his fingers. "Well... yes, I... you're a very effective attorney, Wright. I... I respect your... ah... why do you insist on making me say --"
"Hold it!"
"What is it now?"
"Shaky! Shaky Spears! The autopsy report -- the wound -- Edgeworth, I gotta go. Don't worry about Payne. I'll see you tomorrow!"
"I just told you not to worry about Payne -- hold on -- Wright --"
Phoenix, filled with a renewed sense of purpose, was already dashing out of Defendant Lobby No. 2. But as he went, waving to Edgeworth over his shoulder, he turned over that little phrase in his mind, again and again. I always am.
March 11
Spherule Theater
16:10
"So, Nick, what are we looking for?"
“I’m not sure yet,” Phoenix admitted, “but I’ll know it when I see it. We know Spears couldn’t have killed the victim, but we don’t know who did, or why. Plus I want to talk to that stage manager again. I got the sense she wasn’t exactly telling us the whole truth.”
“So we need to find a motive and Crystal Cleary. Got it!” Maya skipped ahead of Phoenix, between the Spherule Theater’s rows of seats upholstered in dingy red velvet. “But wait. I know Mr. Spears didn’t do it, and I know you know, but how do you know?”
Phoenix turned around slowly, taking in the rickety catwalks above the dusty black stage, the stuffing oozing from a tear in one of the seat cushions, the crumpled playbills discarded in the aisles. “Something Edgeworth said earlier made me think that…” He trailed off, noticing a torn sheet of paper beneath one of the seats that didn’t look like a playbill.
“Something Edgeworth said, huh?” Maya repeated, a birdsong note of teasing creeping into her voice. “When you two were talking? Alone?”
“Yeah… hey, does that paper look weird to you?”
“Someone’s changing the subject!” Maya sing-songed.
Phoenix bent down and retrieved the paper from beneath the seat. He held it up, reading its typewritten contents aloud. “A Couple of Cousins. A new play by Bill Spears and John Fletcher.”
“John Fletcher?” Maya leaned closer, examining the torn sheet. “Isn’t that the victim’s name?”
“Yeah. It looks like he and Spears were writing a play together.”
“But why’s it torn off? And where’s the rest of the script?”
“I don’t know,” Phoenix said, folding up the paper and tucking it into the pocket of his suit jacket, “but I think it could be important.”
“Totally! So what did Edgeworth say that got you thinking?”
Phoenix looked down at Maya, whose dark round eyes were sparkling with the unmistakable light of mockery. “Not you too, Maya,” he grumbled.
“Me too? What do you mean?”
Phoenix edged his way out from between the seats into the center aisle, striding toward the empty, darkened stage. “Winston Payne, the prosecutor, thinks Edgeworth and I are having some kind of… affair, or -- or tryst, or something. He claimed he was going to tell the judge about it to try to get us disbarred and everything.”
Maya gasped, bouncing along behind Phoenix toward the stage. “He can’t do that! He can’t stop you from being a lawyer just because you’re in love!”
“There’s this thing called the conflict-of-interest law, so apparently he can. Or could,” Phoenix said, self-consciously correcting himself, “if it were true, but it’s not, so we have nothing to worry about.”
Maya screwed up her face in consternation. “I don’t know about that, Nick. I mean, I know it’s just Winston Payne, but… if everyone else thinks it’s true, then what if the judge does too?”
“What do you mean, ‘everyone else thinks it’s true?’ I just told you it’s not!”
“I know, I know! And for the record, I’m glad it’s not true, because you’re my best friend and I’d be so offended if you got a boyfriend without telling me. Or a girlfriend. Or anyone! If you fall in love, I’d better be the first to know.” Maya paused, tapping a finger to her lips, evidently trying to determine how to phrase her next thought. “But I mean… everyone’s been talking about it. How often you two are together. Getting food and drinks, having these little side conversations -- sometimes it’s like you’re the only two people in the world. Penny thinks it’s true. Lotta thinks it’s true. Gumshoe thinks it’s true. Even my big sis warned you about it.”
“Since when do you know what Penny thinks? Or Lotta? Or Gumshoe?”
“We hang out and watch the Pink Princess together,” Maya said, crossing her arms and giving Phoenix a mischievous smile.
“You watch TV with Detective Gumshoe?”
“You don’t know everything about me.”
“I guess not,” Phoenix grumbled, clambering up onto the stage. “Okay, look for anything unusual. We don’t have much time -- it’s do or die tomorrow.”
Maya nodded and began assiduously searching for clues. Phoenix wandered around the stage, sweeping his eyes over the bare wooden floor, his mind anywhere but on the case. Everyone thinks Edgeworth and I are -- are -- which is ridiculous -- but -- everyone? Penny? How does Penny even know what we’re like? I haven’t seen her since I defended Will Powers. The only way she would know what’s happening in court is if… someone told her. Which means everyone doesn’t just think we’re -- whatever -- but they’re talking about how they think we are. Which means if Payne interviews witnesses about us, they’re going to be on his side. Which means he might actually stand a chance of winning this case and having us both disbarred. Which means…
“Wright, we are in a very bad position,” said a voice from the center aisle.
Phoenix jumped about a mile. “Edgeworth!”
Edgeworth climbed up onto the stage, joining Phoenix and Maya, who had paused her search for clues and was staring owlishly across the stage at the two men like they were the newest episode of the Pink Princess.
“Maya,” Phoenix said, “why don’t you go look around backstage? See if you can find the stage manager, Crystal.”
“But, Nick --”
“Maya. Please.”
With one last open ogle at Edgeworth, Maya turned and disappeared beyond the curtains. Phoenix turned back to the man onstage beside him and asked, “What are you doing here, anyway?”
“I thought I’d come by and look around. It’s not important,” Edgeworth said dismissively, lowering his voice as he spoke. “But on my way over, I realized something: it doesn’t matter that Payne’s -- ah -- beliefs about our personal lives are untrue. If everyone thinks they’re true --”
“-- Then they’ll testify as if they’re true, and the judge will rule that they’re true, and then we’re screwed. But Payne’s never won a case in his life, right?”
“He’s also never had all of our friends and acquaintances on his side.”
Phoenix inclined his chin in acknowledgement. “Like I said. We’re screwed. It’s our word against everyone else’s. Unless we can somehow prove it’s not true? But how would we do that?” He scratched his head, his thoughts still boiling over. Everyone’s been talking about us -- everyone thinks we’re -- but we’re not -- but obviously we could be, or else everyone wouldn’t think -- so how do we prove --
“Or,” Edgeworth said. Phoenix looked up and made direct eye contact with Edgeworth, who was staring at him with the gleam in his eye and the smirk on his face that he ordinarily developed when he was tearing someone’s argument to shreds. Phoenix felt his cheeks redden, suddenly unable to shake the feeling that he was about to be, somehow, pinned down.
“Or,” Edgeworth said again, “we could prove to Payne, and only Payne, that it is true.”
What? Phoenix thought.
“What?” Phoenix said.
“The man’s entire case against us is based in nothing but rumors and speculation, which themselves have only spread due to their believability, yes?”
“You think they’re believable?”
The confident glint vanished from Edgeworth’s gaze, and he cleared his throat. “Well, you’ve got to think about it from an outside perspective, Wright,” he said, his tone sliding from excitement into sharp-edged condescension. Phoenix barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Of course, you couldn’t possibly imagine a world in which you and I are lovers, in which we’re in a happy, committed relationship, in which -- well. But from the point of view of someone else -- ah, someone outside the situation --”
“The drinks, the defense and the prosecution going off alone together, right, I get it. It looks bad.”
Edgeworth’s mouth twisted in a momentary grimace. “Bad,” he repeated.
“Right, yeah, that’s what I’m saying.”
In an instant, the grimace was gone and Edgeworth had composed himself, straightened his cravat, and gone right back to his smirk and his infuriatingly condescending tone. “So what do you do when you want to prove a client’s innocence, Wright? You discredit the witness. If Payne claimed to have seen something so outrageous, so beyond the pale, that nobody who knows us could possibly believe it…”
“Then nobody would believe the smaller rumors either! The judge would realize he’s making it all up, and we wouldn’t be disbarred!”
“Well done, Wright. You can keep up.” The smirk morphed into a sly smile, and Phoenix released a breath that, he now realized, had been trapped in his lungs for far too long. His chest felt tight and his heart was beating a rapid, uneasy staccato.
“In order for this plan to work,” Phoenix said slowly, “wouldn’t we have to, you know, actually do something so outrageous and beyond the pale that Payne will go running to the judge?”
“Well, yes, obviously,” Edgeworth replied tartly, “but even for you that’s got to be better than being disbarred, hasn’t it?”
“Even for me?”
“Never mind. What would be ideal is if we had someone who could vouch for us being elsewhere at the time Payne claims to have seen us together.”
Phoenix shook his head. “Absolutely not. It’s one thing for you and me to trick Winston Payne -- after all, he’s the one making up rumors about us. But asking someone else to lie on the stand for us? No way. It would be going against everything I stand for.”
“Even with your career as an attorney on the line?”
“Especially then.”
Edgeworth sighed. “I should have known. Well, the plan as it is now will have to do. Unless, that is, you can think of some way to be in two places at once.”
"If I knew how to do that, my job would be a lot easier. Some days I wish I could time-travel."
"I know what you mean."
"Wait. Edgeworth. What if we time-travel?"
Edgeworth's eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"
"Not actually. Obviously. But what if we make sure Winston Payne thinks it's a certain time, when it's not, and then we can prove we're somewhere else at that time? Reset his watch, or something?"
Slowly, Edgeworth nodded. "His office is in an awful little disused corner of the courthouse. I don't think there's a single working clock in that whole wing. If we could set his watch forward without him knowing, then set it back before he notices what's happened, we could give ourselves some time. Not a bad idea, Wright."
"Thanks, Edgeworth."
"We can discuss this further after the trial tomorrow, but I think we may just have a plan."
"Yeah, speaking of the trial tomorrow, why are you here?"
Edgeworth rubbed his shoulder with the palm of his hand. "It's nothing to get worked up about. It's just that -- well, I wanted to have another look around for myself. I'm rather beginning to doubt that Bill Spears actually did murder John Fletcher. Something you said... With those shaking hands of his, backstage, in the dark, it seems almost impossible that he could have committed such a swift, clean stabbing as this was."
Phoenix couldn't help but grin. "Am I dreaming right now? The great Edgeworth, admitting he was wrong?"
"I'm admitting nothing of the sort." For just a moment, like the sun coming out from behind a thundercloud, Edgeworth grinned back at him. "And even if I were, nobody would ever believe it if you told them."
Phoenix laughed, a bubbling laugh that rose up from his belly and built in volume and intensity until Edgeworth joined him with his own low chuckles and all at once the two men couldn't catch their breath, laughing, shoulders shaking, laughing, pitching forward, laughing, barely steadying themselves, laughing, leaning against each other, their foreheads just touching. Laughing. A strand of Edgeworth's hair fell into Phoenix's face and tickled his nose, but even as their laughter began to calm, he didn't brush it away. For half a breath -- what am I doing? -- they stood there, not laughing, still smiling -- Oh, my God, what am I doing, why am I not moving, why is he not moving -- foreheads just touching --
"Oh!" Maya's voice squeaked from the opposite side of the stage. "I'm sorry. I'm interrupting."
Phoenix jumped backward. "No! I mean -- no, Maya, you're fine. Did you find Crystal Cleary?"
"I did, but she's gone now." Maya gestured over her shoulder toward the backstage area. "She was in a real hurry, and she said something about having to meet with directors and producers for her new project, and how she's never going to have to be a stage manager again once her writing career takes off. She seemed pretty excited to get out of this place."
"I don't blame her. It's kind of a dump. Did you find anything else interesting back there?"
"No, but maybe you should take a look, Nick. After all, you said you'd know what you were looking for when you saw it, right?"
"I did say that. Uh, Edgeworth, do you want to..."
Edgeworth glanced back and forth between Phoenix and Maya, then shook his head. "No. No, I ought to go. I'll see you in court tomorrow, Wright. We can finalize the details then."
"Ooh, details of what? Your secret romance?" Maya asked, clinging to Phoenix's arm as Edgeworth strode back up the center aisle and out of the Spherule Theater.
"Our case against Winston Payne, so we don't lose our licenses over a nonexistent secret romance," Phoenix said sharply, watching Edgeworth's back receding until the doors swung shut behind him. "I'd better take a look around backstage."
To his great surprise, Phoenix had been right. He knew exactly what he was looking for when he saw it. A bound sheaf of typewritten papers -- dialogue, stage directions, entrances and exits -- with the words A Couple of Cousins, by Crystal Cleary scrawled in the upper margin in bold purple pen. And, running down the left side of the sheaf, a ragged, torn edge. Phoenix reached into his pocket and unfolded the paper he'd picked up in the aisles.
The torn edge fit perfectly.
"Nick!" Maya squealed. "Does this mean what I think it means?"
"I think we just found our motive."
March 12
Courtroom No. 4
10:47
Crystal Cleary's black turtleneck, black gloves, and black skirt made the violent violet of her long curly hair all the more shocking. Phoenix barely resisted the urge to squint at her during the cross-examination.
"Hold it!" he called, but Crystal barely flinched, still picking at a loose thread on one of her gloves like she didn't have a care in the world. "Was it always kept completely dark backstage?"
"Of course," Crystal replied. "The audience would be able to see it through those cheap curtains if anyone turned a light on backstage."
"So how did the actors see to move around?"
"The actors didn't have to move around -- they just had to wait in the wings for their next cue. I had to move, obviously, setting props and whatnot, but I have special night-vision glasses for that. See?"
Crystal pulled a pair of oversized spectacles from a pocket in her skirt. They looked like a cross between binoculars and reading glasses, and they were duly entered into the Court Record with the rest of the evidence.
"So the actors couldn't have seen each other?"
"Of course not. Poor John would never have seen Shaky coming."
"By Shaky, do you mean Mr. Spears?"
Crystal rolled her eyes. "Yeah, Shaky Spears. Duh. He's got that weird tremor."
"So the victim wouldn't have been able to see Mr. Spears. Does that mean Mr. Spears wouldn't have seen John Fletcher, either?"
"Obviously. It was completely dark."
Phoenix grinned and brandished the autopsy report. "Objection! This autopsy report clearly shows that, based on the accuracy of the stab wound to the victim's heart, the killer must have been able to see where he was aiming! And furthermore, Mr. Spears' 'weird tremor' means he would not have been able to make a stab wound this clean! His hands would have been shaking too much!"
The people in the gallery began to chatter. The judge banged his gavel. Phoenix, riding the high, kept going.
"Which means, your honor, that Bill Spears cannot be the murderer! But I think I know who can be. The person wearing night-vision glasses and gloves, who would have been able to see her target easily, and whose steady hands would have left no fingerprints on the weapon!"
"Objection!" Edgeworth called. "What motive could Miss Cleary possibly have for killing John Fletcher?"
"Exactly," Crystal said, although she had gone from picking at the loose thread on her glove to wringing her hands. "I have everything going for me. I'm at the start of a very promising writing career -- my new play, A Couple of Cousins, is going to be a huge hit. Why would I derail that by committing murder?"
"Hold it," Phoenix said, brandishing the sheaf of papers he and Maya had found at the Spherule Theater.
"What is that?" Edgeworth demanded.
"Miss Cleary, is this a copy of your play?"
"Duh. Look, it has my name on it."
"I notice that your name and the title of the play are handwritten, while everything else is typed. Why is that?"
Crystal twisted her hands together, her gloves bunching. "I, um, well, I -- I did type the name and title originally. But the title page must have been torn off somehow and gotten lost. Look, you can see the ripped edge."
The judge leaned closer. "Oh! Yes, I can see that. Well, that makes sense."
"Indeed it does, your honor," Phoenix said. "The title page was torn off. But it wasn't lost. In fact, I have it right here. Look -- see how the torn edge matches up perfectly?"
Phoenix brought the ripped title page and the ragged edge together, demonstrating the perfect fit for the court. The judge nodded sagely. Crystal balled her hands into fists.
"Miss Cleary, would you mind reading the title page of this play for the court?"
Crystal shook her head. "No. No, I won't do it!"
"Come on, Miss Cleary."
"No! You can't make me!"
"Miss Cleary," Edgeworth murmured. "Please read the title page aloud."
Phoenix shot Edgeworth a grateful smile, but Edgeworth was focused intently on Crystal Cleary as she swallowed hard and said, "A Couple of Cousins. A new play by -- by -- B-B-B--..."
"By Bill Spears and John Fletcher," Edgeworth finished, his voice hollow with disbelief. "You didn't write this play, did you?"
Crystal Cleary tore her gloves off, threw them to the ground, and tugged at her bright purple hair with her long, clawlike, bright purple nails.
"Do you know what it's like to be a stage manager at that awful theater?" she demanded. "None of those productions have any budget, and when something goes wrong, it's always my fault! I get blamed for every little thing!"
"You hated your dead-end position at the Spherule Theater," Phoenix said, "and writing a hit play seemed like the perfect ticket out. The only problem is that John Fletcher and Bill Spears did it first. So you killed John and framed Bill so you could steal their work, pass it off as your own, and gain the kind of fame and fortune you would never receive as a mere stage manager. Isn't that right, Crystal?"
Crystal screamed in frustration.
The rest of the trial went as it always did: the judge frantically banging his gavel, the verdict of Not Guilty, the confetti raining down from above as Maya jumped for joy and Bill Spears enfolded Phoenix in a tight, bony hug. Phoenix glanced over Bill's shoulder and watched as the bailiff led Crystal Cleary away in handcuffs. He made eye contact with Edgeworth, who nodded slowly, his lips pressed together. If Phoenix didn't know better, he'd say Edgeworth was trying not to smile.
Not to say I wasn't impressed with your performance in the courtroom today. I always am.
March 12
Defendant Lobby No. 1
12:12
"Way to go! You did it, Nick!" Maya crowed.
"I don't believe it," Bill said. "I'm a free man! Look, my hands aren't even shaking!"
"All in a day's work," Phoenix replied, not even trying to keep the triumph out of his voice. "But I want free tickets to the next play you're in."
Bill nodded vigorously. "Oh, yes, of course, anything. Actually, I'd better get to the theater. Now that I'm not in jail, I can get back to rehearsals again!"
As Bill Spears all but skipped out of the defendant lobby, he narrowly avoided colliding with Edgeworth, who was halfway through the door when Bill blew past him. "Have you got a moment, Wright?"
"I'm all yours. At least until someone else gets accused of murder, that is."
"You might want to avoid saying things like 'I'm all yours' if you don't want anyone to think we're together," Edgeworth said sharply.
"Isn't the point of the plan to make Payne think we are together?"
Maya giggled. "I'll leave you to it. But we're getting burgers later to celebrate, right, Nick?"
"Of course we are. Say, 6:30?"
"I'll be there!"
And then Phoenix and Edgeworth were alone.
"Well done today, Wright," Edgeworth said. "I won't lie, I was impressed."
"I hear you always are."
"Ah -- yes, well, I -- hm."
"I can't believe you're not more upset about losing."
Edgeworth shook his head, palms upward. "I can't believe it either. Except... I became a prosecutor because..."
"Because you thought you killed your father, even though you didn't, and I proved it?"
"Well, yes, Wright, there's no need to remind me," Edgeworth grumbled. "But I also wanted to see justice done in the world. I wanted to make sure killers can't get away with murder. And I'm beginning to see that... if I get a guilty verdict, but the defendant isn't guilty, it doesn't matter that I've won. Someone has still gotten away with murder. So when you're able to prove who the real killer was... in an odd way, Wright, we make a good team."
"Huh." Phoenix paused, considering. "I guess I never thought of it like that before."
"I know," Edgeworth muttered.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"We should talk about the plan, right?"
"Yes," Edgeworth said, "but not here, where people might overhear."
"Oh, right, yeah." At Edgeworth's expectant look, Phoenix continued. "We could, uh, go to my office?"
March 12
Wright & Co. Law Offices
12:49
Phoenix had to admit that Edgeworth was right: they did make a pretty good team. Most of the plan came together seamlessly: that night around 6:00, Phoenix would slip into the storage closet directly beside Winston Payne's office at the courthouse. According to Edgeworth, Payne had already mentioned at that morning's prosecutors' meeting that he would be working late. Edgeworth would stop by Payne's office with a trivial question about a case, then ask to see Payne's watch under the pretense of wanting one of his own. (Payne wore a digital calculator watch that he was inordinately proud of and frequently flashed at coworkers, opposing counsel, and witnesses, despite its general lack of either aesthetic or functional appeal.) Edgeworth would surreptitiously reset the time on the watch to 6:30, then join Phoenix in the storage closet.
Once both men were inside, they'd make enough noise of a suggestive nature near the shared wall that Payne would have to leave his office to discover its source. And then...
"He'll find us," Edgeworth finished.
"Find us doing what, though?" Phoenix asked. "Something physical, right?”
”Something incriminating, yes, that’s the idea.”
”It'll have to be bad enough to be unbelievable when he tells the story. Something that would put our jobs at risk if it came out for real."
"Precisely. It's a difficult balance to strike -- although it has to sound unbelievable to anyone else, it has to look believable to Payne. He's already predisposed to believing it, of course, but it would be an awful lot worse for us if he suspected otherwise."
Edgeworth turned to gaze out the window at the Gatewater Hotel across the way. Phoenix took a long swig from his mug of coffee. It was beginning to go cold, but he was in desperate need of the extra caffeine. He watched Edgeworth watching the world go by outside, saw the straight lines of his shoulders doubled in the glass. The reflected Edgeworth was translucent, hazy, muted -- the window could really use a cleaning. By contrast, the real Edgeworth was sharp, vibrant, steady. Competent, capable. Warm.
“I believe we’ll have to remove some of our clothes,” the real Edgeworth said to the Edgeworth in the window.
Phoenix sputtered and coughed, nearly choking on his coffee. “What? But -- in the courthouse? That’s -- Edgeworth, we can’t -- we can’t just -- in the courthouse!“
Phoenix couldn’t see Edgeworth’s face, but the reflection narrowed its eyes and frowned. “Wright, could you at least pretend to be pleased for one minute that you’re not going to be disbarred? I understand that you’re not happy about this plan, but at a certain point, your displeasure becomes an obstacle for both of us. If we’ve both got all our clothes on, it won’t be properly shocking to Payne or unbelievable to everyone else. The fact that you would never do this in the courthouse, or anywhere, for that matter, is the very point. Understood?”
I could have just choked and died and you’re mad that I’m not jumping for joy, but sure, I’m the one with the attitude problem, Phoenix thought, setting the mug down on the edge of his desk.
“Of course I’m happy we won’t be disbarred,” he said. “You just startled me, that’s all. You’ve gotta admit, it’s pretty extreme.”
“Have you got a better idea?” Edgeworth demanded, his voice as flat and glassy as his reflection. He reached up and adjusted his cravat, his large, long-fingered hands and his reflection’s moving in tandem.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen him without that cravat, Phoenix thought suddenly. Isn’t that funny?
“No,” he said aloud. “No, I don’t. Have a better idea, I mean. And you’re right. It’s the only way to make sure everyone thinks Payne is a liar. Yeah?”
With one last tug at his cravat, Edgeworth turned away from the window and took a step forward, toward the desk. “Yes. Yes, it’s the only way.”
“Which means we’ve gotta do it.”
“Unless we’d both like to lose our licenses.”
“We’ve got no choice.”
“None whatsoever.”
“It’s a good plan.” Phoenix patted the desk twice, feeling, without knowing why, the sudden need to touch something solid. “It’ll work.”
“As long as we can sell it, it will,” Edgeworth agreed.
“Well, I’m no Bill Spears or anything, but I think I’m a pretty good actor.” Phoenix took another swig of his coffee. “Should we, uh… rehearse? Is that -- you don’t think we need to -- uh, do you?”
An expression flitted across Edgeworth’s face, softening the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, tugging his eyebrows up, pressing his lips together. But it was gone before Phoenix could identify it, and Edgeworth was fidgeting with his cuffs. Again.
“No,” he said quietly. “No, I’m sure you’re perfectly up to the task without me subjecting you to… rehearsal.” Edgeworth straightened, shook his head. “Look here, Wright, I’d better go. But I’ll see you at the courthouse at 6:00 sharp. Don’t be late.”
Edgeworth swept out of the office; Phoenix’s goodbye was met with the soft click of the door shutting. Phoenix reached for his mug, drained the last of the cold coffee. It was thin and bitter, and he grimaced as he wiped the dregs from his lips. There was an astringent aftertaste coating his tongue.
I’d better brush my teeth before tonight. I don’t want to have bad breath if I’m going to be kissing Edgeworth. Wait. Am I going to be kissing him? Or just making it look like we’re kissing? Either way I guess we’ll have to have our faces pretty close together, but still, it makes a difference. And who’s taking their clothes off? Both of us? How many clothes?
Phoenix groaned and moved to brew another pot of coffee. “I think I could’ve used a rehearsal.”
March 12
Storage Closet
18:02
Phoenix eased the door of the storage closet closed behind him. It was warm, stuffy, and surprisingly spacious -- it almost could have been an office of its own. For a paralegal or an assistant, anyway. No self-respecting attorney would be willing to work in this cramped, dusty, disused corner of the courthouse.
Which explains why Winston Payne's office is right next door.
Despite how large the closet itself was, Phoenix didn't even have the room to stretch his arms out. There was a narrow aisle of floor space down the center of the room, from the door all the way to the back wall, but every other inch of available space was crammed with filing cabinets, broken swivel chairs, an overturned desk, and even a few broken gavels scattered across the tops of the furniture. One corner was entirely filled with large plastic sacks of confetti.
So that's where they keep it.
Phoenix heard three sharp raps and jumped before he realized that the knocking was coming not from the storage closet, but from next door. The walls were impressively thin; Phoenix could hear Edgeworth and Payne's conversation almost as well as if he were in the room with them. Although, judging by the volume and careful enunciation of Edgeworth's words, Phoenix suspected that might be by design.
"Good evening, Mr. Payne. I'm glad I caught you. I had a question about a case. I'd like your advice."
"You... want my advice?"
"Of course. You're a very experienced prosecutor, after all. I was wondering -- I'm sorry, is that a new watch?"
"You like it? I've had it for months now. It's a watch and a calculator."
"How novel. May I see it? I think I might like to get one of my own."
"Please, be my guest! But be careful with it -- watches like this don't come cheap."
And I'm guessing it's too late to get your money back, Phoenix thought, idly trying the drawers of the filing cabinets. Most were locked, some were empty, and all were covered in a thick layer of pale, soft dust. Phoenix sniffled, trying not to sneeze. Through the wall, he heard Edgeworth making wordless noises and exclamations of appreciation, and a few robotic beeps from the watch.
"My goodness, is it 6:30 already? I have... an important appointment. I must be going."
"But wait, didn't you want to ask my advice on a case?"
"Oh, that. It wasn't important. I'm sure you're very busy, and I wouldn't want to keep you from your work. Good night, Mr. Payne."
The sound of a door shutting. A few moments later, the storage closet door swung open, and Edgeworth slipped in, pressing a finger to his lips to preemptively shush Phoenix.
"That sounded like it went well," Phoenix whispered.
"Yes," Edgeworth whispered back, picking his way across the narrow stretch of floor, "I thought so too. The watch has a reset button on the side -- if either one of us can press it after he catches us, it should reset to the correct time with him none the wiser."
"Great. So now what?"
By way of answer, Edgeworth tugged at the left cuff of his jacket, pulling his arm out of the sleeve, twisting awkwardly to avoid the splayed legs of the broken desk, then repeated the process with the other sleeve. He folded the jacket neatly, following its existing creases, then laid it carefully atop one of the filing cabinets. Phoenix stared at him in disbelief.
"What is it, Wright?" Edgeworth hissed. "I thought we agreed that --"
"People don't fold their jackets when they hook up with people in storage closets."
"What?"
"That's -- Edgeworth, that's not a thing people do."
"I would."
"No, you wouldn't. Nobody would. Nobody hooks up in a storage closet unless it's, like, a wild, spur-of-the-moment thing."
A sharp edge crept into Edgeworth's voice. "And you're the expert, Wright? Hooked up in a lot of storage closets, have you?"
Phoenix grimaced. "Of course not. But I don't need to have hooked up in a storage closet to know that looks suspicious."
"What do you suggest doing instead?"
Phoenix shrugged off his own jacket, held it by the lapel, and, waving it around a bit to make sure Edgeworth was paying attention, dropped it unceremoniously on the floor. He fought back a wince when it kicked up a small cloud of dust.
It's fine. I'll get it dry-cleaned.
"I'm not leaving my jacket on the floor, Wright. I'm not an animal."
"So leave it on top of my jacket. We don't have much time."
Edgeworth paused. "Your shirt and tie, too."
"What?"
"I don't want to get my waistcoat dirty either, do I?"
Phoenix rolled his eyes so hard he feared they might pop out of his head. "Fine."
Edgeworth turned away and began unfastening his waistcoat and untying his cravat. Phoenix tugged at the knot of his tie until it unraveled, pulled it from his collar, and let it drop to the floor with his jacket. He began working on the buttons of his shirt, which were annoyingly tight and dug into his fingertips as he worked them open. He felt his heart beginning to race the way it did when he'd had too much coffee -- oh man, maybe I shouldn't have made that extra pot -- and, although he had thought the closet was stuffy just moments ago, goosebumps rose on his forearms as he finally shimmied out of his shirt and tossed it onto the growing pile of clothes on the floor.
"There," Phoenix whispered sharply. "Satisfied? Because I'm... uh..."
Whatever Phoenix had been about to say died on his tongue, forgotten the instant Edgeworth turned around. His waistcoat and cravat were draped over his forearm, and the first few buttons of his dress shirt were undone so the collar flopped open loosely at the base of his throat. His dark eyes were wide, his lips slightly parted. His Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed. I guess that's what he looks like without the cravat. So now I know that. Right. Cool. Okay.
"It's fine," Edgeworth muttered.
"Huh?"
Edgeworth blinked rapidly and swallowed again. "I, ah, yes, right. I meant -- the clothes. On the floor. They're fine. Yes." He deposited his own clothing atop Phoenix's, taking care that none of the fabric touched the ground, then straightened up, face to face with Phoenix. The two men were hemmed in by filing cabinets and broken furniture. The door was to Phoenix's right, the back wall of the closet to his left, and Edgeworth maybe six inches in front of him, if that. Phoenix shivered, his back pressed against the cool metal of one of the cabinets. Like an echo, Edgeworth shivered too.
"So, uh," Phoenix started, having no idea where the sentence was going to end up, "now we... make noise."
"Right. Yes. Ah - hm."
The most excruciatingly awkward silence Phoenix had ever suffered in his life descended. And remained.
I guess I'm doing this.
"Don't worry about it," Phoenix announced stagily, tossing the words over his shoulder toward Payne's office. "There's nobody here this late. And besides, I just couldn't wait."
To his credit, Edgeworth sucked in a sharp breath and caught on immediately. "But aren't you worried about being caught?" he called over Phoenix's shoulder.
"It'll be fine. Who's going to catch us? You worry too much, Edgeworth."
"First name," Edgeworth hissed under his breath.
"What?"
"If you're so concerned about realism," Edgeworth whispered, gesturing to the pile of clothes on the floor, "you can't call me by my surname."
"Oh. Right." Phoenix's mouth suddenly felt as dusty as the floor and the filing cabinets. He licked his lips, swallowed, swallowed again. There was a lump in his throat. Why is this so difficult? My badge is on the line. I've gotta get ahold of myself.
"You, uh, you worry too much, Miles," Phoenix said.
"Or you don't worry enough," Edgeworth replied seamlessly. "You're too bold."
"But isn't that what you love about me?"
Edgeworth's eyes widened, and he coughed quietly into his fist. "You're right," he said, his volume slipping as he let out another cough, no longer projecting his voice toward the next room. "I do love that about you -- Phoenix."
Phoenix Wright's stomach clenched like he had been punched. Hard.
And then the second-most excruciatingly awkward silence Phoenix had ever suffered in his life descended. It might have remained, and become the most awkward, had there not been the distinct sound of a chair scraping back from a desk in Winston Payne's office.
"He's coming!" Phoenix whispered.
Edgeworth swallowed. Phoenix watched his bare throat as his Adam's apple bobbed. "Well, don't just stand there, Wright," he whispered. "Do something!"
Phoenix's heart was beating double-time now. His chest was tight, and his stomach felt like it was in free fall. The few inches of air between him and Edgeworth were hot and humid with their breath, but his arms were still covered in goosebumps. There was a shadow, cast by the undone collar of Edgeworth's dress shirt, that pooled in the hollow of his collarbone like water. Footsteps crossed the floor of the office next door. Phoenix's mouth was dry. His hands were clammy. Edgeworth's dark eyes were wide, frantic, wild with something that could have been panic if the rest of him weren't so still and stiff, the only motion he made coming from the rise and fall of his chest, the dark hairs of which just barely emerged above the undone buttons.
Later, if anyone had asked him about it, Phoenix might have said he thought about saving his job, or about the discussion he and Edgeworth had had in his office about making things look convincing, or about the very first client he ever defended, standing across from Winston Payne and hearing that reedy little voice try its best to tear him apart. Luckily, nobody asked him about it later, so Phoenix didn't have to lie.
He took a half-step forward, that being all he could manage in the confined space, placed a hand on Edgeworth's shoulder, pushed him gently backwards until his back touched the filing cabinets behind him, slipped his other hand around the back of Edgeworth's neck, under that loose, open shirt collar, and pressed their lips together. At once, the wooden stillness went out of Edgeworth's body, and he seemed to come to life beneath Phoenix's hands and Phoenix's mouth, his shoulders loosening, his arms relaxing, his hands finding their places as if they'd done this a thousand times before: one cupping Phoenix's jawbone, long fingers stretching up towards his ear and down towards his throat, and one warm and firm against the small of Phoenix's back.
This, Phoenix thought, in absolute, searing clarity, even though he wasn't quite sure what it meant. This. Oh, my God, this. Only this. This forever.
The hand on his jaw and the hand on his back pressed and pulled him forward, and Phoenix obliged, couldn't help but oblige, wouldn't have done anything but oblige even if he could have, until the two of them were pressed so close together it seemed like they must be melting into each other. Edgeworth's chest was warm through his dress shirt, and Phoenix slid his hand down from Edgeworth's shoulder to undo the remaining buttons, his fingers working frantically, the hand on his back sliding up and down his spine in a way that comforted him and made his heart race and raised goosebumps in its wake, and Edgeworth's mouth opened under his. "Miles," Phoenix murmured against his lips.
"Phoenix," came the soft reply.
"Edgeworth and Wright! I can't believe it!" shrieked a shrill voice from the doorway. Phoenix hadn't even heard the door open. He sprang backwards, bumping painfully against a filing cabinet. The jolt and sudden ache between his shoulder blades brought him back to his senses. Edgeworth hadn't even glanced at the door, didn't seem to notice that Payne was here and it was time for the next part of the plan. He was just looking at Phoenix, an oddly familiar expression on his face: a softness around his eyes, his lips pressed together.
He's really not going to do anything? Man. I have to do everything around here myself.
"Payne," Phoenix said. "I -- uh -- we can explain -- it's not what it looks like --"
"It's exactly what it looks like!" Payne crowed. "The judge is going to hear about this! I'll have you two disbarred first thing in the morning! Enjoy your last --" Payne checked his watch. "Fourteen hours of practicing law!"
Edgeworth cleared his throat. "Out of curiosity," he said smoothly, "what time is it?"
"Six thirty-eight p.m.," Payne said, checking his watch. "I'm going to go start writing up my report right away. You're not going to get away with this!"
Edgeworth stepped forward, past Phoenix, past the pile of clothes, and caught Payne by the wrist, wrapping his fingers around Payne's watch. "Please," he said, "you don't have to do this. There's no need for such extreme --"
"Of course I have to do this! This is a blatant violation of conflict-of-interest law! I'll see you in court tomorrow." Payne stormed out of the room, leaving the door ajar behind him. Beyond it, the half-darkened hallway of the courthouse yawned. A moment later, Payne's door slammed with a bang that made both Phoenix and Edgeworth jump.
"You reset his watch?" Phoenix whispered.
"Yes. It's done." Edgeworth began to collect his clothing from the pile. "You can go now."
Phoenix swallowed. His mouth felt dry again. "Hold it. That was -- I mean -- Miles, that --"
"We're done with that part of the plan," Edgeworth snapped. "You don't need to call me by my first name anymore."
"Whoa, hey, sorry. I didn't mean to -- Edgeworth, then -- I -- can we..."
Can we what? Phoenix asked, his inner monologue sounding just as sharp as Edgeworth did. Can we do that again, because I'm pretty sure nothing in my life has felt better than those thirty seconds or so, except maybe passing the bar exam, and even that's too close to call, and also remember how I kinda-sorta-definitely became a lawyer because I thought it meant there was a chance I might see you again, and I can't imagine a version of my life, my work, my career, my passion that don't involve standing opposite you, so even though the entire point of this plan was to make sure nobody ever believes that it happened, can we do it again?
Yeah right, Wright.
"Get dressed," Edgeworth hissed. "You haven't got much time to get to your dinner with Maya, and I can't have you ruining the alibi we just worked so hard to establish."
"Edgeworth, come on," Phoenix pleaded. "You can't tell me that wasn't -- that you didn't feel --"
Edgeworth's head snapped up. "What is your problem, Wright? I can't tell if you're monumentally stupid or monumentally cruel, and I can't tell which is worse. I don't know why you insist on pushing me to say things I struggle so much to say, particularly when you've made it abundantly clear that -- no. No, I'm not going to do this with you. I'm not going to play your game, Wright. Get dressed. Go on."
"Hey, hey, what's going on? I thought we were friends --"
"Have you ever considered that I might be sick of being your friend?"
The awkward silence that descended over the storage closet left the previous two awkward silences in the dust. Edgeworth turned away to re-button his waistcoat and re-tie his cravat. Phoenix pulled on his shirt and jacket with numb fingers. He decided against even trying to tie his tie, tucking it into his front pocket instead, where it spilled out over his thigh like an open wound.
"I'll see you in court tomorrow," Edgeworth said stiffly.
"Yeah. I guess so."
Edgeworth showed no sign of moving, so Phoenix scooted awkwardly around him, between the cabinets and the desk, past the bags of confetti, and out the door.
March 12
Burger Joint
18:31
"Hey, Nick! I was just about to order! How was your afternoon? Excited about your big win?"
Maya's smile was so wide, her eyes so bright, that Phoenix didn't have the heart to lie to her. "It wasn't great, actually. Let's order and then I'll tell you about it."
They ordered at the counter, paid, got their receipts, and after an impressively short wait, a harried employee produced two trays loaded with burgers, fries, and milkshakes. Phoenix and Maya carried their food to a corner booth, where Maya began slurping her milkshake. Phoenix glanced down at the receipt: order for Phoenix W., placed at 6:32 p.m. He tucked it into his pocket.
"So what's wrong?" Maya asked between sips.
"It's... well, it's Payne," Phoenix said. I can't tell her what happened or that undermines the entire plan. "He's taking me and Edgeworth to court tomorrow to try to get us disbarred. And... I don't know what it is I said, but Edgeworth's mad at me."
"How do you know? Are you sure? He can be a little standoffish, but that doesn't mean he's mad, right?"
"No, he's mad." Phoenix munched contemplatively on a few fries. "He said he's sick of being my friend. I don't think we're even on speaking terms at the moment. Which is going to make defending ourselves in court tomorrow pretty tough."
"Nick, that's awful! I'm so sorry. I don't know how much this helps, but on the plus side, if he's not even speaking to you, nobody's ever going to believe you two are in love."
"Yeah," Phoenix said, staring down at the food on his tray. "Something like that."
March 13
Courtroom No. 2
09:14
"Ahem," Winston Payne said. He wasn't clearing his throat -- he actually said ahem aloud.
Oh, man. I really hate this guy.
Phoenix and Edgeworth were standing shoulder to shoulder, not touching -- carefully not touching -- conspicuously not touching -- on the defense side of the courtroom. Winston Payne occupied Edgeworth's usual spot, and he was reading from a handwritten prepared statement with all the gravitas and stage presence of a raw parsnip.
"As you have already heard from Detective Gumshoe and Lotta Hart, Phoenix Wright and Miles Edgeworth have been seen together numerous times both in and out of the workplace. That they are unusually close for a prosecutor and a defense attorney is not in doubt. That everyone who knows them believes that there is something romantic between them is well established. But now, your honor, I will prove once and for all that they are in a secret relationship and have been regularly violating the law of conflict of interest. Last night I was working late in my office, which, as you know, your honor, is in the furthest wing of the courthouse. I thought I was the only person in the building. But Prosecutor Edgeworth was there too. He stopped by my office to ask my advice on a case, since I'm such a senior and experienced prosecutor."
"Objection!" Edgeworth called out. "What case do you allege I wanted your advice on?"
"Well, I, um, uh, I can't remember. I don't think you ever actually asked your question."
"Why would Edgeworth come by your office late at night to ask your advice and then not actually ask for it?" Phoenix asked. "It doesn't add up."
"Probably because he wasn't there to see me," Payne retorted, brandishing his statement and pushing his glasses up his nose. "After he left my office, I began to hear unusual noises from the storage closet next door."
"What kind of unusual?" the judge asked.
"Ah. Suggestive, your honor. And very distracting. I couldn't get any work done, so I went to investigate the storage closet. Lo and behold, Phoenix Wright and Miles Edgeworth were in there... in flagrante delicto."
The judge furrowed his eyebrows and scratched his beard. "They were in what? What's a flagrante delicto?"
Winston Payne's cheeks flared red. "They were, ah, fooling around, your honor."
"Like clowns?"
Edgeworth sighed. "I believe Mr. Payne is trying to insinuate that Wright and myself were engaged in inappropriately sexual workplace conduct, your honor."
"Oh. Oh!" The judge, almost reflexively, banged his gavel. "Well, this is a very serious charge. Multiple credible witnesses believe that you two are romantically involved, and this court's longest-serving prosecutor actually saw you two together in the courthouse. All this is more than enough reason to disbar you. What do you have to say for yourselves?"
"Just one thing, your honor," Phoenix said. "What time do you claim this incident occurred, Mr. Payne?"
"Just after six-thirty p.m. Actually, it was six thirty-eight. I made a note of it in my report."
"How can you be so certain of the time?" Edgeworth asked.
"You asked me what time it was," Payne said. "So I looked at my watch, and it was right there. Six thirty-eight. You really should get one of these watches."
"I'll consider it," Edgeworth said, in a tone that made very clear that he would not, in fact, consider it. "So you're absolutely certain that was the time you saw us together in the storage closet?"
"I'd bet my life on it."
"Hold it -- I wouldn't do that if I were you," Phoenix said, pulling a receipt from his pocket. "Your honor, take a look at this receipt. It's dated yesterday at six thirty-two p.m., and it shows that I paid for a burger, fries, and a milkshake with my credit card."
"Wh-what?" Payne stammered.
The judge peered at the receipt. "Why, yes, that's exactly what it says."
"I was getting dinner with Maya Fey, and she can confirm that I was still there with her, eating my burger, at six thirty-eight. Even if I'd paid for my burger and immediately left the restaurant, I still couldn't have arrived at the courthouse and undressed in a storage closet in just six minutes. It's impossible!"
"So, Mr. Payne?" Edgeworth said. "How could Wright possibly have been in two places at once?"
"Well -- I -- no, it can't be --"
"Furthermore!" Edgeworth pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. "I'd also like to add this receipt to the court record, your honor. I, too, got dinner last night at a restaurant downtown. You'll note that the time on the receipt is seven oh-nine p.m. If I were in the storage closet at six thirty-eight, I never could have made it all the way downtown, ordered and eaten a meal, and paid for it in just thirty-one minutes."
"My goodness," the judge said, "you're right. I've been to that restaurant, and their service is terrible! I'd be surprised if it took less than an hour."
Winston Payne was shaking his head rapidly. "They're lying, your honor! I saw them! I swear!"
"Mr. Payne," Edgeworth said. "How many cases have you tried opposite Wright here?"
"Well -- um -- a few."
"And how many have you won?" Phoenix asked.
"Well -- um -- none."
"Are you aware, Mr. Payne, that you are the only prosecutor in the district whose office is in that wing of the courthouse?"
"Um -- yes."
"And if Edgeworth were disbarred," Phoenix said, "which prosecutor would inherit his office?"
"Um -- me -- but --"
"Your honor, I believe we've heard enough," Edgeworth announced. "Mr. Payne's attempt to hold us in violation of the law of conflict of interest is predicated on nothing more than baseless speculation and his own self-serving lies."
"Edgeworth and I have spotless records in this district," Phoenix added. "I've never lost a case, and he's an exceptional prosecutor with a gift for finding the truth. Together, we've saved innocent people and ensured murderers are behind bars. The only person who would benefit if we could no longer practice law is Winston Payne."
"After all, your honor, do you honestly believe lawyers as committed to our work as Wright and I are would risk our careers by being intimate in a storage closet?"
"Especially since we have proof that we were both elsewhere at six thirty-eight p.m.?"
"It strains credulity beyond belief."
"Which can mean only one thing: we are not, and never have been, in a secret relationship. Winston Payne made the whole thing up!"
The judge banged his gavel. "Mr. Payne, I expected better of you. As for you, Mr. Wright and Mr. Edgeworth, it's obvious to me that you're... not guilty."
As Winston Payne dropped his head into his hands and confetti rained down and Maya cheered Phoenix's name from somewhere up in the gallery, Phoenix turned to look at the man beside him. Edgeworth was already staring at him, his dark eyes burning.
"Together," Edgeworth said slowly, low under the noise of the crowd, so only Phoenix could hear him, "we've saved innocent people and ensured murderers are behind bars."
"That's what I said. You were right, Edgeworth. We make a good team."
Edgeworth paused, rubbing his shoulder. "We should talk."
Oh, thank God.
"Yeah, I'd love that!" Too much. Don't be weird, Phoenix. "I mean, yeah. Yes. That would be cool."
"Not here."
"My office again?"
Edgeworth nodded. "I've got some things to finish up here first. I'll meet you there."
"Wait, but --"
But then Maya was hugging him, and Gumshoe was slapping him on the back and saying how he never believed those rumors anyway, pal, not really, and Phoenix was brushing the confetti out of his hair and thanking his friends, and Edgeworth was gone.
March 13
Wright & Co. Law Offices
10:35
Phoenix had been pacing around the office for long enough that his shoes had scuffed a wide, irregular oval into the carpet and his thoughts had worn his mind down in similar loops by the time Edgeworth arrived.
"Look," Phoenix said the moment he opened the door, "I'm sorry. I don't know what I said that bothered you so much yesterday, but I don't want to fight with you. If we really can't be friends anymore... I won't try to force you to stick around. But I never wanted to upset you."
"I know you didn't," Edgeworth said heavily, crossing the office to lean against Phoenix's desk like he couldn't hold himself upright. "It was wrong of me to be upset with you for something that wasn't your fault. I ought to have considered how many... feelings... our plan would bring up for me. I'm glad that it worked, of course, but it's also taken a toll on me. But you couldn't have been expected to know that. Not if I never told you."
I don't know why you insist on pushing me to say things I struggle so much to say.
"You didn't have to tell me," Phoenix said quickly. "Or you don't. If you don't want to."
"You don't want me to?"
"I didn't say that."
"So you do want me to."
"I don't want to push you." Phoenix paused. "Also, I don't think I know exactly what we're talking about."
Edgeworth let out a rueful little chuckle. "Well, it's good to know you were just being dense rather than intentionally cruel, anyway. You never intended to toy with me. I can't blame you for not having any feelings for me beyond friendship. I shouldn't have gotten upset, and I'm sorry." He pushed himself up off the desk and started for the door. "That's all I came here to say. I should be going now."
How many feelings our plan would bring up for me.
Not having any feelings for me beyond friendship.
Oh.
Oh, shit.
"Edgeworth, wait!" Edgeworth stopped by the door, but didn't turn around, the straight lines of his shoulders so stiff and still they almost seemed to hum with tension. Phoenix swallowed, opened his mouth again. "Miles. Wait."
Now he turned, shoulders still stiff, mouth half-open in a little O of surprise.
"I was being dense," Phoenix said. "Really, really dense. I had no idea until we were in the storage closet that you wanted to -- that I wanted to -- but I think, even before that, if you had just asked... I would have said yes."
"You would have?"
"I mean, there's no way to know for sure now, but... yeah. I think I would have."
Edgeworth took a step forward. "Are you going to make me ask now?"
"Do you want to ask?"
"I certainly don't want to have to."
"But if you didn't have to. Would you want to?"
"I -- well, now I've rather lost track of what exactly we're talking about."
Phoenix snorted. "Alright, alright, just this once, I'll make it easy for you. But don't get used to it, Miles."
Edgeworth grinned, and Phoenix felt his whole body fill with warmth. "I wouldn't dream of it, Phoenix."
And Phoenix stepped forward, and Edgeworth stepped forward, and their hands found their places as if they'd done this a thousand and one times before, and they kissed.
This. This forever.
Many minutes, a break to neatly hang a jacket on the coatrack, several more minutes, an awkward shuffle to the couch, and yet more minutes later, Phoenix paused with his mouth hovering somewhere above Edgeworth's hip.
"What is it?" Edgeworth asked.
"The other day, you mentioned something about being able to petition the judge for an exemption to the conflict-of-interest law." Phoenix pushed himself up on his elbows to look Edgeworth -- flushed cheeks, hair in disarray, dark eyes gleaming -- in the face. "How do those petitions work? I think we're gonna need one."
Edgeworth laughed, a low chuckle that began in his throat and spread through his shoulders and chest, and then Phoenix joined him with his own guffaws, and all at once the two men couldn't catch their breath, laughing, shoulders shaking, laughing, pitching toward each other, laughing, making the whole couch quiver with the force of it, laughing, collapsing against each other, their foreheads and hands and chests and legs and lips touching.
Laughing.