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When the oven timer dings Kristoph finds it hard to keep a self-satisfied smile off his face. So far, everything was going perfectly.
“Smells good, Kris.”
He can feel the heat of the man behind him, competing with the heat of the oven.
Oh yes, oh so perfectly.
Kristoph hums.
“Thanks for doing this for my birthday.”
Kristoph’s smile tightens, just for a moment. “Of course.”
Because it wasn’t really his birthday, no. That had passed just days before. Along with Phoenix’s notions of I’m spending the day with my daughter and no I’m not sending her away. But now, the young Wright was spending the weekend in some backwater mountain village, and Kristoph did not have to care any more than that.
Regardless, while he would have liked to do this on the actual day, he’ll sacrifice symbolism and thematics for everything proceeding to plan.
“You should go sit down. This’ll be ready in a moment.” He says, putting the finishing touches on the roast.
It’d been a family recipe, something their grandmother had passed down to Klavier around the time he went to flounce around the world. But it was no matter, Kristoph took up the mantle. As he always did.
“Aye aye, Captain,” Phoenix says, making his way to the dining room, but not before swiping a bottle of white from the rack. Kristoph rolls his eyes, he could almost swear Phoenix does it on purpose. Masquerading as an uncultured brute.
The moment he’s alone again his excitement threatens to boil over once more, taking a sharp turn into giddiness. He tries to quell it, not to show his hand so early in the evening when the main course hasn’t even been served. Both figuratively and literally.
And yet the rubbing of his hands and the smile on his lips stay even as he walks to get the plates.
Conveniently, the most important part of the plan had also been the easiest. Almost pathetically so.
Kristoph puts down his finest table settings with a flourish.
“Um, Kris?” Phoenix looks at the table. “Why three placemats?”
“Oh, for the surprise.”
Like clockwork, there’s a knock at the door.
“I’ll get it!” Kristoph stops himself from rushing to the door. Walking purposefully, calmly.
When he opens the door it’s almost too good to be true.
Miles Edgeworth, in the flesh, half turned as though he was about to leave so soon after announcing his presence.
Excellent.
“Wonderful for you to make it,” Kristoph says, freezing the man in his tracks.
The man at the door straightens, nods in greeting. “Thank you for inviting me, Mr. Gavin.”
“Oh, Kristoph is fine. No need to be so formal, Miles.”
“I would prefer you didn’t call me that.”
Kristoph blinks at him.
Never one to be left out of the loop, Kristoph hears Phoenix’s footsteps as he walks towards the entry.
“Kris, who’s-” He stops in his tracks, and for a moment Kristoph is blindingly furious he didn’t turn around in time to see it. But he resigns himself for second place, getting to see Edgeworth stiffen once more.
“Wright.” He says, voice filled with something akin to wonder. Again, pathetically easy.
“Edgeworth.”
They all stand like that for a moment. In silence.
“Wright.” Edgeworth repeats.
Kristoph lets out a short exhale.
“Alright, I didn’t slave away in the kitchen all day just to have us stand around here. Dinner is meant to be eaten and admired! I’m a great cook, isn’t that right, Phoenix?”
His gaze doesn’t leave Edgeworth. “Yeah, sure.”
Kristoph resists the urge to frown. He turns to Edgeworth, “come in. There’s a seat just for you.”
Dinner, in Kristoph’s opinion, is a resounding success.
There’s stilted conversation, aborted glances, and fidgeting to boot. Kristoph pretends to be oblivious to it all while mentally cataloging each interaction. It’s something he’ll think about on slow days at the office.
“And how has work been, Mr. Edgeworth?”
“It’s been busy. But very rewarding.” Says Edgeworth, ever the professional. “And how is yours?”
“It’s always gratifying to help those falsely accused. I find myself satisfied after a job well done,” Kristoph says, exhausting his synonyms of rewarding. “And Phoenix has really excelled in his new profession.” He continues, cutting through the meat with his knife. “Much more than his old one.”
Phoenix stays silent, poking at the vegetable side Kristoph diligently prepared to be everything he hated.
“That’s… good to hear.” Edgeworth starts stiffly, slowly. He’d been sat directly across from Phoenix by design. If he wants to look away he’ll have to tilt his head either to Kristoph or to the Gavin generational family portrait. He can pick his poison. “Though the legal world dearly misses him. And awaits his return.”
Phoenix snorts. Edgeworth looks over at him.
“Is something funny?”
“Huh? Oh, no.” Phoenix shakes his head, a bit too theatrical. “Except maybe the idea I'll ever step foot in court again.”
“Why would you not?”
“Oh, don’t make him relive it,” Kristoph says, desperately hoping he’ll make him relive it.
“You know why, Edgeworth.”
“Then you know I don’t believe it, Wright. If you just fight it instead of giving up. There’s no evidence to suggest you even had time to for-”
Phoenix presses his fork to the table. “Don’t.”
The room falls silent once more.
It’s the first time Kristoph has seen Miles Edgeworth in action, and he has to say he’s disappointed.
Phoenix stares at his plate. Kristoph stares at Phoenix, with the occasional glance at Edgeworth who has chosen the same target.
“Wright… Can we… talk?” Edgeworth finally says. “Alone?”
Phoenix shrugs. “Sure.”
And then Edgeworth turns to Kristoph. “I hope you don’t find this terribly rude.”
He did, actually. But it’s not like this wasn’t going better than his wildest dreams.
Kristoph almost can’t stop his eyes from widening. “Oh, don’t stop on my account. You can talk in the bedroom.” He waves his hand flippantly.
He waits until he hears the door click shut to jump up from his chair. He toes off his dress shoes to slip down the hall in his socks.
“Why did you come, Edgeworth,” is what he hears first.
Kristoph presses his tongue between his teeth.
“Would you not? If you were invited to see your oldest friend?”
“Gumshoe’s older than me-”
“Be serious, Wright! You’ve cut me off, and I cannot for the life of me figure out why…”
Kristoph admittedly tunes the next bits out, thinking about the newest sale at Beyond Polish until the voices start to rise once more.
“Really, Edgeworth-”
“-You’re impossible! A brash fool! Always rushing into things on your own like other people don’t-”
There’s a resounding thump that echoes out into the hall. Kristoph thinks it sounds a bit like the mirror on the dresser hitting the wall. Kristoph always thought he should get it affixed to the wall for times such as these.
So, Phoenix must have pushed their guest, effectively cutting off his speech. Which means they were fighting in earnest.
He debates bursting in to see the show firsthand, but opts to let it play out until the end.
Kristoph allows a smirk to grace his features. He leans in closer.
He can only hear hushed tones then, like they’re so angry they can barely speak.
There’s some loud fumbling that he can’t quite decipher, largely focused on the disappointment he cannot hear the juiciest bits of speech.
He’s not sure how long he stands there, waiting to hear something other than a sporadic groan.
“Fuck, Miles.”
He hears a weak moan in response, possibly of pain. Kristoph agrees.
Fuck him.
“Fuck!” He hears Phoenix yell, and Kristoph can only wonder what happened. The image of Edgeworth taking him by surprise, uppercutting him, comes to mind, and he smiles again.
He notices the handle fumbling and runs as fast as his socked feet will allow, just clearing the entryway to the dining room by the time it opens.
He looks up when the two men come in, from where he sits with his legs crossed at the table and the financial news section of the paper spread open.
He had intended a quick glance up at them, but their state makes him do a double take. Both are red-faced, panting slightly. They stand apart, deliberately so. Edgeworth has traces of tear tracks on his cheeks that were hastily wiped away.
Did they fight so vigorously that he burst into tears?
Not for the first time he lamented not having them go into the living room. Or putting a camera in his bedroom. Anything.
“Are you both alright?” He asks sweetly.
“Ye-” Edgeworth clears his throat, voice raspy. “Yes. Perfectly adequate. I’ll be taking my leave. Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Gavin.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Edgeworth.”
With one last fleeting glance at Phoenix, he’s off. Showing himself to the door.
He wastes no time.
Kristoph can almost imagine an Edgeworth-shaped smoke trail.
“You must be used to that, hmm?” Kristoph says, anything but absentmindedly.
“Nice present, Kris.”
“I try. I think it would be beneficial for you to get reacquainted.” He lies.
“Yeah, maybe you’re right.”
“I usually am.” Kristoph smirks, bringing the newspaper up to hide his face.
It’s two weeks old.