Chapter Text
After his disbarment, Phoenix ducks most of his incoming calls, deeply thankful for the invention of Caller ID. It's when his cell phone's screen reports UNAVAILABLE that he answers, assuming this is the phone call he's been waiting for.
"Edgeworth."
It is.
"Hello, Wright," the prosecutor responds hesitantly.
A weighted silence falls between them, making Phoenix shift uncomfortably in his chair, his skin crawling. He can't take much of this, so it's not long before he says, "You've heard the news, I'm sure."
A fair assumption, given that not once in the years they've known each other has Miles Edgeworth ever called Phoenix Wright.
There’s a crackle of static from the other end of the line, then, "Detective Gumshoe has been leaving frantic messages on my voicemail and mailing me newspaper clippings, most of them coffee-stained."
"He's not handling it very well," Phoenix concedes with a bitter mirth.
"How are you handling it?"
Phoenix is taken off guard by the question--not because he hasn't heard it nearly a hundred times in the last week, but because it's coming from Edgeworth. He is tempted to say, in a voice laced with sarcasm, I didn't know you cared. Instead, he says, "Surprisingly well."
"I see," Edgeworth says, clearly doubtful. But he doesn't press the issue, instead saying quietly, "You've adopted a child."
"Yeah," Phoenix replies, feeling suddenly bashful. He rakes a nervous hand through his hair and says, "Her name is Trucy. She's eight."
"I guess I shouldn't be surprised, considering it is you we're talking about. But I am. Surprised, that is."
"Me too, honestly," Phoenix says quietly. "I hope I'm doing the right thing."
"Phoenix," Edgeworth says, surprising Phoenix with both the use of his first name and the warmth in his voice. "If anyone is capable of making a loving, supportive home for an orphaned little girl, it is certainly you."
"I-- Thank you," he says, moved by Edgeworth's uncharacteristic sincerity.
Another silence falls between them--although less uncomfortable than the first--and although he feels a powerful desire to stay on the line--even if just to listen to the other man's low, rhythmic breathing--he is very aware that his cell phone plan does not cover long-distance calls.
"I really appreciate the call, Edgeworth. It means a lot to me," he says earnestly, surprised by the lump forming in his throat. He swallows audibly, then says, "But I can't really afford to spend too much time on calls to--" He stops, trying to remember if he has any idea where the other man actually is. "--wherever it is you are."
"Belgium." Another pause, and Phoenix is waiting for what will surely be an awkward goodbye, but Edgeworth says, "I know that you and I have not been exceptionally close--or even friends, a lot of the time--since reentering each other’s lives, but if you need anything at all, I am available."
He gives Phoenix his phone number and email address, adding, "If you don't want to write them down, that's fine, but I hope that you will, and that you'll make use of them." He pauses awkwardly, then says with significantly less confidence, "And if you want, I could come out to California for a while."
"No, no," Phoenix says immediately, feeling his cheeks burn. He gropes for an explanation that doesn't betray the inexplicable terror that suggestion evokes in him, managing a lame, "I don't think that's necessary."
"Very well," Edgeworth says, and Phoenix is sure he can hear relief in the other man's voice. And it hurts, even though he is equally relieved that Edgeworth isn't pursuing the issue.
Their goodbye is longer than it needs to be, neither party quite sure how to end the conversation. Edgeworth says again that Phoenix should keep in touch, and Phoenix promises that he will, surprised to realize that he probably means it.
And so it is that Miles Edgeworth and Phoenix Wright become penpals, of a sort.