Chapter Text
He had to say it, but he felt every possible reason not to.
Not that that was actually a bad thing. He simply didn’t want to disturb the profound stillness that had taken over the room, and from his armchair, Miles could see it all. On the couch lay Phoenix, limbs sprawled out haphazardly, beginning to stir awake. Samurai Summer , one of Jack Hammer’s masterpieces, had just finished, and now the television was silent, bathing Phoenix in a soft whitish light. Otherwise, the room was dark; by the time the film had ended, the sun had set. The apartment, in that brief moment, was completely at peace.
But Phoenix was starting to wake up, and no doubt he would turn in for the night after that. The man’s sleep schedule alternated from going to bed earlier than his grandmother to staying up until the sunrise. Tonight, Miles wagered, was going to be the former.
So he had to ask the question before his opportunity slipped away.
Phoenix gave a long yawn. After a thorough stretching of his limbs, he eyed his husband. “Slept through another one, huh?”
Miles huffed. “You did.” He turned his head to the side, muttering “ it seems that art like this is wasted on you ” under his breath.
Phoenix chuckled. “I guess so.”
Before his husband could inevitably state his intention to head to bed, Miles seized his chance.
“Phoenix.”
“Yeah?”
“…What do you want for your birthday?”
“Yeah, what do you want for your birthday?”
Both Miles and Phoenix looked up to see Trucy suddenly standing above the back of the couch, looking down upon her father with a look like a hawk eyeing its prey… though with a very Trucy-like grin.
Phoenix chuckled, reaching up. “I’ve already got everything I could ever ask for right here,” he answered, grabbing his daughter’s shoulder and yanking her onto the couch beside him in one fell swoop, eliciting a chorus of giggles.
“…I mean it, Phoenix,” Miles reiterated. “I… I’m not certain about what I should get you.” He felt a little pang of guilt; a better significant other would surely have had no problem at all determining what to get for their partner as a gift. It was a minor thing, but it made him feel rather… inadequate.
Phoenix looked away from the pandemonium he had created over to Miles, his smile going from playful to sentimental. “I meant it, too,” he answered. “I know what it’s like to have nothing.” He gestured to Trucy and Miles himself. “Now? I have everything .” His smile grew a little wider. “I can’t possibly think of a single thing I want for my birthday, but you’re unbelievably sweet for asking. Thank you.”
Miles huffed, unsatisfied. “You’re not making it any easier.”
“Don’t bother fighting him over it,” Trucy half-joked. “I know from experience; he’s impossible to get answers out of if he decides to be really stubborn about it, especially when it comes to presents.”
Phoenix said nothing for a moment, contemplating her words. “…Yeah, guilty as charged.”
Miles turned his attention to Trucy. “So I’m on my own, in this case?”
She gave a sympathetic nod. “Yep. Though, if you want, I could give you some advice about what to give him. I’ve got a lot of experience in that field.”
“Under no circumstances will there be any conspiring to finagle a birthday present for me,” Phoenix declared, also half-joking. He stood up from the couch, turning to Miles. “Welp, I’m headed to bed now. Goodnight, you two!”
As Trucy bade her father a good evening, Miles stood up to accompany his husband to the bedroom; he had a lot of work to do the following day, and he’d need the sleep.
Though that wasn’t the only thing that kept him up that night.
***
It was difficult to get any work done with a leaden guilt paralysing his hand. Miles had every intention of getting his husband a birthday present regardless of the latter’s wishes, but had absolutely no idea where to even begin contemplating what to do about it.
He’d jumped through all the basic options. A watch? It would make for a half-decent gift, but in the age of cell phones, Phoenix would almost certainly not begin making a habit of wearing the thing. The idea of getting him another locket to replace his old one was swiftly discarded; that he’d made a habit of wearing regularly and had grown quite attached to, and who would Miles be to insinuate he needed a new one?
Cash and/or gift cards were completely out of the question. Miles wanted this gift to be personal ; he most certainly did not want to send the message ‘I don’t care enough to figure out what you’d truly appreciate, so here’s some money’. There was the possibility of making his gift less corporeal; Miles could take them both out somewhere special for the day, or for dinner someplace appropriate, or something else equivalent. Not a bad idea, but it would not suffice on its own, though the prospect of engaging in such an activity was filed for later contemplation.
Ultimately, Miles continued to loop back to the same position he was in; with every promising idea, thinking about it for more than a femtosecond only brought him back to square one. A car? No, Phoenix didn’t have a driver’s licence and didn’t want to get one either (and how, exactly, would that even be personal in the first place?). A television? No, they had one of those and there was no demand for another, least of all from Phoenix, who was happy to acquiesce the TV (in other words, Steel Samurai -watching) privileges to Miles in favour of looking at his phone all bloody night.
A pair of earrings? No. A DVD of some movie he liked? No. A nice piece of art? No. Some more hair-product? …what?
Miles sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose between his thumb and fore-finger. None of it was meaningful, none of it was thoughtful. All stupid, foolish ideas.
Speaking of foolish…
In a characteristically abrupt fashion, the door to Miles’ office flew open and in stepped Franziska von Karma, marching across the floor without breaking eye contact with her brother. Within seconds, she was standing above him, slapping a folder onto his desk.
Miles picked it up and opened it. He knew exactly what it was and what he needed to do with it; she required an evidence transfer to INTERPOL, and he was merely indicating his approval as Chief Prosecutor. More mundane bureaucracy, the sort he’d become accustomed to at this point in his career. He withdrew his pen, signing page after page.
“…Ugh. Even back then, you had such awful tastes in fashion.”
Miles looked up, utterly nonplussed. She was looking to his right at something. Following her gaze, he saw exactly what it was.
His old jacket, hanging on the wall.
He chuckled a little. “I was a very different man, wasn’t I?” His meagre smile faded. “In more ways than one.”
“Hmph” was all Franziska seemed to have to say on that matter. “Why do you bother keeping this gaudy thing, anyway? It’s nothing more than an eyesore.”
“I first put it there as if displaying a trophy,” Miles explained. “A testament to the early age at which I obtained my prosecutor’s badge, and of what I saw at the time as a very successful first year of prosecuting.” He paused. “Now, I keep it as a reminder of who I once was, what I once stood for, and everything that I strive to fight against at my post as Chief Prosecutor.”
…
Hey…
Hey…
It didn’t happen completely instantaneously, but the idea quickly picked up speed, like a cold engine turning over.
“…Should I even bother asking what is rattling around in that hollow brain of yours?” Franziska asked, her voice flat.
It took a moment or two for him to snap out of the ravenous idea-cultivating now occurring in his mind. “…Hm? Oh, perhaps not.” He gave her a tiny hint of a smile. “But do accept my thanks. You’ve helped me greatly in a way you can’t possibly imagine.”
Franziska raised an eyebrow high. “…Does this have something to do with that man ?”
Miles' lips widened into a smirk. “As a matter of fact, it does.”
Her brow straightened out, and then furrowed her forehead in a deep frown. Silently, she shook her head, picked up her documents, and left the room.
Miles just watched her leave, an unbidden smile creeping onto his face.
The idea was simple, but nothing short of pure genius.
What was that old saying? ‘Clothes make the man’?
***
The little bell had never been rung by Miles for quite this purpose before. It tapped against the glass of the door a couple times as he stepped inside.
Before it had ceased to ring, old Mr. Burghoff had appeared from out of the depths of the shop. “Well, hello there, Mr. Edgeworth!”
He couldn’t help but grin ever so slightly. It was the same greeting he always gave, and the same smile. Very few things had remained constant in Miles Edgeworth’s life for any consistent amount of time, but this man was one of them. “Good day, Mr. Burghoff,” he replied; the same as always, too.
“Fine and dandy, thank you!” He leaned onto the front counter. “Now, let’s get right to it, shall we? What can I do for you today?”
“I have a somewhat unusual request for you, Mr. Burghoff,” said Miles.
“I do very much like unusual requests, particularly yours,” the old fellow quipped with a chuckle. “What might it be?”
“I would like a new suit, but not for me; I want it as a gift for my husband.”
Burghoff nodded, smiling. “Should I bother asking whether or not you want it off the rack?”
Both men shared a brief chuckle.
“Do you have his measurements?” Asked Burghoff, then.
Miles resisted the urge to sigh with frustration. He was very used to Burghoff having his own measurements, and had forgotten that he didn’t have Phoenix’s. Citing the cost, the man had outright refused to have his tuxedo tailor-made for their wedding . Phoenix Wright! What an infinitely lovable and yet equally infinitely infuriating man!
“…I do not,” Miles confessed. “I can’t exactly bring him in here to get it done, nor could I do it myself, as that would immediately reveal what I was doing, but I want this to be special. Something off the rack simply will not do.” He sighed. “Do you have any advice on this matter?”
“Hmm.” The old man stroked his chin for a moment. “You could take some photos of him. The more angles the better, and preferably with some kind of reference for his height and dimensions. I’m not half-bad at this job, I can extrapolate.”
Miles nodded. “Do you think it would be useful for me to measure his clothes, perhaps? He has a suit that fits him very well, and although it is not tailormade, it fits him rather well.”
“I don’t see why not!” Burghoff confirmed. “And at the end of the day, after you give it to him, you can always come on back here with him and I can alter it. No big deal.”
“You’re not wrong,” Miles concurred. “Thank you for your help in this matter.”
He gave a playfully dismissive wave of the hand. “Just doing my job! Oh, but before you leave and go get those pictures and whatnot, do you have any idea what you’d like the suit to look like? Just gotta know so I can order some things if I need to.”
“I know precisely what I want it to look like,” Miles confirmed. “I’ve thought about it extensively.”
“Excellent.” With that, Burghoff started walking into the back of the shop. “Come along, we’ve got work to do.”
Miles did as he was instructed. He’d probably seen more of the back of that shop than any other customer, and today, it was for a very good reason.
***
Working out the design of Phoenix’s suit was not difficult. Miles had worked with Burghoff for years, and had come to learn enough tailoring nomenclature to make the communication easy and straightforward.
Getting good photographs of Phoenix, on the other hand, was another matter entirely.
First of all, it didn’t take long to discover how stupidly difficult it is to take a photograph of someone without them noticing, particularly when in close proximity to them. This was compounded by the fact that Miles never took photographs with his phone, meaning that when he did take it out for that purpose, it was even more suspicious. All that, combined with the fact that Miles rarely saw Phoenix except at home (in quarters too close to be stealthy), meant that Miles only managed to take a handful of photographs over the course of about a week. At that rate, he’d run out of enough time before Phoenix’s birthday for Burghoff to tailor the suit.
And so Miles Edgeworth left work early for one of the only times in his life… to snoop through his husband’s clothing in their closet when the latter wasn’t home. Cloth tape-measure in hand and a pad and pen at the ready, he went at it.
It was not an easy task. For one thing, he did not have enough hands to do all the things he needed to do at one time: one to hold the end of the tape-measure in place at the start of the measurement, another to hold the rest of the tape-measure out to make the measurement, and one to hold the suit in the correct position. After developing a technique of grouping multiple tasks into one hand, he was eventually able to make some progress. First, the length of the sleeves, which Miles knew were ever so slightly too short for Phoenix’s arms. Next, the shoulder width. Then-
“Why don’t you just lay it flat on the bed?”
“NGAAAAAGH!”
Miles nearly leapt out of his skin at the sound of someone’s voice. All his tools came crashing to the floor as he jolted in surprise, whipping around to see…
“…Y-you’re home early,” Miles stuttered.
“Sure am!” Trucy confirmed. “And, apparently, so are you.”
“That… that is true.” He admitted, not really sure what else to say.
“Anyway, I’d ask you why you’re measuring Daddy’s clothes, but I think I’ve got a pretty good guess,” said Trucy then, followed by a knowing grin and a wink.
Well, that’s one other person in the household who knew about his scheme.
“…I won’t bother denying it,” Miles capitulated. “I want to buy him a tailor-made suit for his birthday.”
“That’s a great idea!” Trucy exclaimed. “Like, formal attire or another suit he can wear to work kinda thing?”
Well, it would technically be everyday-wear… by the standards of the 19th century, perhaps. “…He can choose to wear it however and whenever he likes, but I believe it would be appropriate for almost any occasion.”
Trucy nodded. “Is there any way that I can help? Do you want a hand with the measuring?”
…Actually, there was a way that she could help.
“…Actually, there is a way that you could help.” Miles untangled his petrified posture, facing her directly. “I need photographs of your father from numerous angles. I will provide these to the tailor along with the measurements of his clothing so the tailor can better estimate your father’s dimensions.”
“Ahhhhh so that’s why you’ve been sneaking around the house really poorly.”
Miles grumbled. “Yes, yes, laugh at the stupidity of it all,” he huffed.
“I wasn’t laughing at you,” Trucy said with a reassuring smile. “But it is kinda funny.”
“I suppose so,” Miles admitted. “You won’t tell your father about this, right?”
She raised one eyebrow. “What kind of traitor do you take me for?” She turned around, heading for the bedroom door. “I’ll have a picture of him from every angle by the end of the weekend,” she assured, closing it behind her, though not before turning around to flash one more cheeky grin. “Good luck with the measuring!” She whisper-shouted.
With that, she left, shutting the door behind her.
Miles felt himself left very confused.
Phoenix never really raised one eyebrow, much less in that way. Where on Earth had she picked that habit up from?