Work Text:
Miles Edgeworth awoke to the sound of a hollow “thud” echoing from the other room followed by a quiet yelp. His sleep had been light, as it so often was, so it was no surprise that such a subtle sound had roused him. Edgeworth turned on his side, fully expecting to see Phoenix Wright sleeping beside him. Instead, he was greeted with the realization that, despite Wright’s promise to be in bed within the hour, there was no one lying beside him. Glancing at the clock, it was clear that Wright had stayed up about an hour later than he had promised and, judging by the “thud” that had seemingly come from the kitchen, was in need of rest.
Edgeworth slowly got up from bed and crossed the room to the door, opening it very slightly and very quietly. Peering through the small crack he had made between the door and its frame, he could see Phoenix with his head in his hands, staring intently at a vast array of papers in front of him. Every so often, Phoenix’s eyes would droop shut and his head would fall forward a bit before he jerked back awake and adjusted the desk lamp in front of him to shine as much in his eyes as he could without fully blinding himself. His normally spiky hair hung limp around his ears. The suit that he made sure to press every morning before a trial was wrinkled so severely that it looked like he had balled it up, stepped on it, then put it back on (which was not completely out of the question). Edgeworth was surprised he didn’t see any empty coffee mugs or cans of energy drinks mixed in with the piles of papers that lay on the kitchen table.
Quietly, Edgeworth entered the kitchen and made his way over to Phoenix whose head was dangerously close to the table. He glanced down at the papers. A murder case, it seemed like. Homicide perhaps? The file containing the evidence was pretty lackluster sporting only a picture of the murder weapon (a steel bar) and the victim. It was no wonder Phoenix was late coming to bed. Edgeworth wasn’t sure that he could even pull something together, falsified evidence or not. The rest of the papers were either copies of the autopsy report, pages scanned from various law textbooks, or pieces of lined paper with notes that Phoenix had written down. As Edgeworth read the notes, he could see how his partner had gotten progressively more and more frustrated with the case. Thoughtful deductions had turned into rage-filled comments and angry scribbles. He could see places where the paper had been torn by violent swipes of an eraser. It was honestly a little heartbreaking.
Edgeworth looked back over to Phoenix whose head was now fully resting on the table, his arms positioned as if they were still holding up his head. His back rose and fell slowly. His brow was still creased from stress and frustration.
When Phoenix had gotten home that evening, it was clear how much of a toll that day’s trial had taken on him. He didn’t speak a word during dinner apart from a quiet “thank you” after Edgeworth set his plate down in front of him. When Edgeworth called for him to take a break from his work to watch The Steel Samurai with him, he got no reply. He said nothing when he was kissed “goodnight” and only grunted in agreement when Edgeworth demanded that he be in bed within the hour. It was hard seeing Phoenix that way, so unlike his usual loud and awkward self. It was especially hard seeing him asleep on top of the sea of papers in front of him, clearly having been so worn-down by his work.
With a soft hand, Edgeworth gently shook Phoenix's shoulder. The man awoke with a start, his eyes wide for a moment before squinting against the bright light of the desk lamp.
“Phoenix?” Edgeworth said, bending down slightly. “Are you alright?” Phoenix turned his head towards Edgeworth before letting out a long sigh.
“Yes, Miles. I’m fine. I just...I have a lot of things going on. Just...go back to bed.”
“You were asleep at the table. I believe that qualifies as ‘not fine’. If you would let me-”
“Just let me be, Miles!” Phoenix snapped. This made Edgeworth step back in shock, almost tripping over the chair sitting next to him. It seemed as though him yelling had startled Phoenix as well as he immediately clapped a hand to his mouth. It looked as if he were about to cry, but he quickly busied himself by going back to his work before he allowed himself to. Edgeworth felt his heart swell with sympathy towards Phoenix, but knew there wasn’t much he could do for him in this state. Edgeworth silently made a cup of coffee and set it beside Phoenix before giving him a light kiss on the check and returning to the bedroom, closing the door behind him. Before drifting off to sleep, Edgeworth found himself desperately hoping that the murder trial wasn’t tomorrow.
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When Edgeworth awoke the next morning, he found Phoenix asleep next to him, on top of the blankets with his clothes still on (and somehow way more wrinkly than they had been the night before). He was curled up along the edge of the other side of bed, clearly having tried his best not to disturb his partner before passing out. From what Edgeworth could see through the blinds, it was still relatively dark outside. A glance at his alarm clock confirmed this. Plenty of time before the trial, if there was one that day.
Just one glance at the full case file and list of evidence and Edgeworth understood why his partner had been so stressed over the case as both were essentially nonexistent. He even found a signed note from Detective Dick Gumshoe stating that the murder weapon and the body of the victim were the only things at the crime scene. No fingerprints. No footprints. The only blood found was on the murder weapon and around the victim. No sign of a struggle. The most that Gumshoe seemed to have deduced was that it was not a suicide.
The autopsy report found it likely that the victim had died from a single blow to the back of the head and that blood had been produced simply because of a small nick in the side of the metal pipe that had been used as the weapon. There were no bruises found on any other parts of the body. No broken limbs. No fingerprints. That was the real kicker. Edgeworth looked down at Phoenix’s notes. It seemed as though after conducting a search of the crime scene for the fourth time, he had found a piece of a leather glove inside the metal pipe (it seemed to have somehow fallen inside the pipe from the top and landed on the closed-off bottom of it). Edgeworth would have called “falsified evidence” if he hadn’t known Phoenix better. Even just conceptualizing such an event happening was ridiculous. It was worth taking a crack at, regardless.
Edgeworth turned when he heard the sound of the bedroom door squeaking open behind him. Standing at the door was a very disheveled-looking Phoenix with a very pathetic look on his face. He looked like a child whose ice cream had just fallen on the pavement. Phoenix rubbed the back of his head nervously as he approached the kitchen table and sat down next to Edgeworth.
“Hey, Miles?” he said, looking down at the papers on the table instead of Edgeworth himself. “Sorry about last night. I...may...I may have been burning the candle at both ends. Or...no...actually, I...oh God this isn’t coming out right,” he sighed, burying his face in his hands.
“It’s alright, Phoenix,” Edgeworth said, lightly placing his hand on his partner’s shoulder. “Will you let me help you? With this case, I mean.” Phoenix brought his head up and looked straight into Edgeworth’s eyes.
“Yes. Please, help.” Edgeworth smiled and slid some notes he had been writing down over to Phoenix.
“I’ve been mostly playing off of what you already deduced. When’s the trial, again?”
“...This afternoon. At 3.” Edgeworth looked at Phoenix and smiled even wider, putting his hand on Phoenix's.
“Plenty of time, then.” Phoenix looked down at the table sheepishly.
“Thanks, Miles,” he whispered before pulling Edgeworth into a tight hug.