Archive of Our Own

"Apollo!" Phoenix sticks his head out of his office, glancing down to where Apollo is trying to work around the house of cards on his desk. "Can you compile the last twelve months of earthquake statistics for me, please? Anything that's hit this area - where, when, how strong, that kind of thing. Thanks!" He ducks back into his own office, going back to his prized pastime of throwing a tennis ball directly into the old water stain on the ceiling. So far he's hit about 80% accuracy, but he's determined to hit 90% before the upstairs neighbors file another noise complaint.

Through the still-open door, he can hear Apollo sputtering at his request, before he takes a deep breath and repeats that indefatigable mantra - I'm Apollo Justice, and I'm fine. Then the telltale pattern of clicking and typing starts up, and Phoenix grins to himself. Poor, gullible Apollo. Even after everything they've been through together, he doesn't question Phoenix like he should.

He leans back in his chair, throwing the tennis ball at the same spot. Hit - hit - hit - miss. This restless energy reminds him of being a student, before everything went pear-shaped. Trying to stay on top of his assignments, his social life, his chores, never really knowing if he was in the right place at any given time. Ever since then, there's always been something. A case. Recovering from a case. Disbarment. Trucy. Kristoph. Keeping his head above water when everything in him was made of lead.

Now there's nothing to push himself for, and Phoenix is restless. Yet another side of him that—

"Mr. Wright!" Apollo calls, voice strained. "Could you please find something else to do!"

Apollo deserves a win, Phoenix decides, and puts his ball away. Instead, he picks up Trucy's new tambourine and tries to see how fast he can play it without losing his rhythm.

"Mr. Wright!"

"So," Maya says as soon as Phoenix answers the phone, "I hear Edgeworth is moving back to town."

"Not even a hello first?" Phoenix grumbles. "You've changed, Mystic Maya."

"Yes, yes, hello, good to speak to you," Maya says, laughing. "It hasn't been that long since I saw you! Congratulations again on setting everything right. I knew that guy was a creep."

Phoenix falls quiet for a moment, studying the picture of Zak Gramarye on the wall. The office is quiet around him. No one else comes in on a Sunday - he's a bad boss, but he's not a villain. "No need to rehash all that," he finally says, with a lightness that he's sure Maya doesn't buy for a second. "How'd you hear about Edgeworth, anyway?"

"I have my sources," Maya says. He can imagine the mischievous grin on her face. "Never underestimate the great intelligence network of the Fey clan—"

"Was it Gumshoe?"

"Yeah, it was Gumshoe," Maya admits easily. "He and Maggey brought the boys up for fall break last week, and Pearl and I hosted the four of them. They're so sweet!"

"Very," Phoenix agrees, who has not seen Gumshoe in years. "Little angels."

"Did you know Oliver's reading and writing already?"

"Of course I knew that, I talk to them too," Phoenix says, who did not know that. "It's very impressive."

"Oliver's two, Nick."

Phoenix shrugs. "Like I said, it's very impressive."

Maya laughs. "Anyway, I didn't call you to catch up about Gumshoe. Edgeworth! He's finally moving back for you, huh?"

Phoenix freezes and drops his phone, which bounces harmlessly a few feet away. He scrambles after it, blood pounding in his ears as he hisses out, "It's not for me, Maya. He's been offered the Chief Prosecutor position, and he'll be taking it. That's all."

"Uh-huh," says Maya.

"It's very prestigious," Phoenix adds weakly.

"Uh-huh," says Maya again. "How many times has he been offered it, again?"

"Three times… I guess this would be the fourth."

"Uh-huh," says Maya Fey, the traitor.

"But that doesn't mean—"

"Oh, Nick, relax! Isn't this a good thing? It's clearly for you.I mean, what else would LA possibly have to offer that he doesn't already have in Cohdopia or wherever he is now? There's only you, me and Gumshoe, and for some reason, I don't think me and ol' Dick are why he's moving back. Although it would be nice to see him more - I wonder if he'd consider coming up to Kurain in January… He's moving next month, right?"

"Early December," Phoenix says, and hurriedly follows it up with, "How's Pearls doing, anyway? Are you guys still coming down for Thanksgiving?"

"Yes, if you'll have us," Maya says, letting him change the subject. She, too, has softened as she's gotten older - becoming the Master of Kurain has given her a sense of calm and tempered her invasive curiosity. Edgeworth is the same, his youthful arrogance and dour hostility smoothed by the waters of time and very expensive therapy. Phoenix is the only one who has become more abrasive and intolerable as they get older.

His phone beeps while Maya is telling him about Pearl's new fascination with Korean skincare, something that will undoubtedly spread to Trucy by the end of the year, and he interrupts her with an apologetic noise. "Mi— Edgeworth is calling, I have to go."

"Oh, if Edgeworth is calling, then please," Maya says. "What's your old friend Maya to Edgeworth? I'm just chopped li—"

Phoenix hangs up on her to accept Edgeworth's call. "Hey," he says breathlessly.

"Hello," Edgeworth says. His voice curls like heady smoke in Phoenix's ear. "Are you alright? You sound out of breath."

"Just peachy," Phoenix replies, lifting the phone over his head and inhaling deeply to regulate his breathing. When he brings it back down, Edgeworth is speaking again.

"—viewings that are suitable."

"Sure, yeah," Phoenix says, focused on keeping his voice steady.

"Perfect," says Edgeworth. "I'll send you the times later. Bring Trucy, I'd like her opinion on the houses as well."

Phoenix drums his fingers on his desk. "You want me and Trucy," he says slowly, "to go to house viewings on your behalf?"

"That's what I said, yes," Edgeworth replies with amusement. The spark of it tingles all the way down Phoenix's spine. "After all, it would be sensible for you both to like it too."

"R-right," Phoenix says. "But, god, property prices have gotten so bad since you left, you know? Just like… horrendous."

"I think I'll be able to make ends meet," Edgeworth says dryly. "Thank you for your concern, Wright."

Phoenix lifts his phone up again so Edgeworth can't hear his sigh.

"I'm looking forward to it," Edgeworth says. "Being in the same city as you."

There's a tightness in his chest, but Phoenix manages to smile. "Me too," he replies, and he hopes to God he isn't lying. "Listen, I was on the phone to Maya when you rang, so I had to cut her off pretty rudely… Is it alright if I call her back?"

"Of course. Give her my regards."

"Speak soon, Edgeworth," Phoenix says and hangs up. He pulls his beanie low over his eyes and takes a deep breath. The acrylic yarn has been softened by years of wear, and the weight over his face is soothing.

He breathes in once more, deeply, and goes to find his daughter. Edgeworth will have taken her performances into account when planning the viewings, but he should give her a head's up anyway.

On his way out, Phoenix glances at the calendar. It's still October.

He has time.

"Mr. Wright," Apollo says, beaming when Phoenix comes into the office. Phoenix puts down the boxes of props he's been carrying inside, sacrificing some books on the coffee table and letting them fall to the floor as he makes space for the boxes.

"You look chipper, Apollo. What's up?"

Apollo shoots to his feet, gathering a stack of papers and handing them over. "The earthquake statistics you asked for - here. The computer crashed a few times while I was getting the data from SCSN, but here you go."

Phoenix takes the papers. He looks at them for a moment, flipping through a few pages before he shakes his head. "Sorry, this is way too granular - there's too many data points here, I can't make sense of it at all. I need only the ones over 4 magnitude, the ones you can feel." He weighs the stack of papers. "What is this, 60 pages?"

Apollo pales. "But... I made graphs..."

"Too bad," Phoenix says blithely and hands the papers back. "Put those back in the printer, we can still use the other side. Honestly, Apollo, you don't print double-sided? We're in a climate crisis, you know."

"Our printer doesn't do double-sided!" Apollo cries out.

"You just have to put them back in manually and send the commands in one at a time," Phoenix tells him. "It's how we used to have to do it. Kids these days, you're all too spoiled... Anyway, chop, chop! I sure hope you backed up those spreadsheets."

Apollo groans, sitting down and letting his cheek rest against the wood of his desk.

"You got this, champ," Phoenix says, grinning, and goes to his own office. His mirth lasts until he gets his own computer turned on and sees an email from Edgeworth. Five house listings are linked, along with the agreed-upon viewing times. In a concise list of bullet points, Edgeworth sets out his specifications for accommodation, and it doesn't escape Phoenix's notice that two of the bullet points are two guest rooms and in catchment area for a good school.

He takes a deep breath and looks down at his hand, shaking where it rests on his desk.

Nothing is final yet. He still has time.

Phoenix wonders if he was addicted to the performance even before he gained a magician for a daughter. Those days in the courtroom, bluffing his way to a decent defense - and even before that, performance arts in high school, the only place besides Larry's house where he wasn't immediately excluded from every joke. Back then, though, it was still easy to cast it off, to wear his heart on his sleeve and let sincerity pour out of his mouth. After the last seven years, his performance has taken so many turns that he finds himself in the middle of a maze, with no red thread to lead him out.

He stares at himself in the mirror. There is nothing appealing in what stares back at him.

"Daddy…?" Trucy says from behind him. Phoenix whirls around, banging his knee on the sink and groaning.

"Ah, fiddlesticks - hey, sweetie…! Sorry, did you need the bathroom? I'll scram." He makes to step out around her, but Trucy's big, blue eyes pin him in place.

"Daddy," she says again, "you know if something's wrong, you can tell me, right?"

"Nothing's wrong," he says immediately. "Did you see my message about the viewings? The first one is tomorrow."

Trucy nods. "I'll go straight from school, so we'll meet there. Are you excited for Mr. Edgeworth to move back?"

"Trucy," Phoenix says weakly. "Let's not go there."

She frowns at him. "Daddy!"

"You know how we're trying this new thing called boundaries?" Phoenix says. "This is a boundary."

Trucy crosses her arms, a cloud of honest anger flashing across her face before she hides it. "Fine," she says unhappily. "See if I tell you anything about school, then." She pushes him out of the bathroom and shuts the door loudly after him.

Phoenix sighs, shoulder resting against the door. "It's for your own good!" he calls through the wood, making Trucy let out a groan of frustration, and he listens to her stomp around on the fake tiles for a while until he walks away, sinking down onto the couch with his head in his hands. He has ten minutes until she's finished with her makeup and he has to affix another mask in place.

He can do this.

"So that's why I think none of them would work," Phoenix tells Edgeworth on the phone, apologetic. "Sorry."

"I'm surprised this mold problem didn't show up in any of the photos online," Edgeworth says mildly.

"Yeah, that is weird, 'cause it was… really bad. But I guess it makes sense, given how humid LA is. And hot. It's probably much worse than you remember."

"I did grow up there," Edgeworth reminds him.

"But it's gotten so much worse! You know, climate change…"

"And I've lived there for extended periods in the last ten years."

"Climate change," Phoenix repeats. He glances at the papers on his desk, newly printed by Apollo - double-sided charts and graphs detailing the recurrence of earthquakes in the Los Angeles area. It would be so easy to mention them, to give Edgeworth the average number of earthquakes a year by magnitude. He doesn't. "How come no one believes in this but me?"

"Phoenix," says Edgeworth. Phoenix shuts his eyes. "We don't need to talk about this right now, do we?"

"No," Phoenix says tightly. "We don't. I'm fine."

"Good." Edgeworth pauses. "We'll talk about it in person."

"I'd really rather we didn't." Phoenix's voice is weak. "Spare me some dignity, and all that."

"I doubt there's much left of it by now," Edgeworth says, and Phoenix forces a laugh.

"Less than you know, Edgeworth."

"Phoenix…" Edgeworth's voice is low. His first name is a weapon in this man's hands. "You will tell me, though, if this gets worse?"

"I…" Phoenix doesn't know how much worse it can get. Maybe it's his turn to flee the country. "'Course, Edgeworth. See you soon."

"In less than a month," Edgeworth says. "You won't be able to change the topic when I'm in front of you. I have a talent for making people squeal, after all, and I am not above using my talents on my loved ones."

That gets a genuine laugh out of Phoenix, and he hangs up with a smile on his face.

It doesn't surprise him, that Edgeworth knows what's going on, even if Phoenix can barely make sense of it himself. He always was the brighter one.

"It's eleven in the morning," Apollo tells him when he comes in a few days later, head pounding with a midweek hangover.

"I had work elsewhere," Phoenix mumbles. "What's up?"

"Just once, I wish I had a boss who gave a shit," Apollo mutters to himself. His volume regulation fails him, as usual, and he flinches when Phoenix levels him with a dead-eyed stare.

"Don't compare me to him."

Apollo swallows, looking up at him. "Mr. Wright," he stammers, eyes widening with fear at the expression on Phoenix's face. "S-sorry…"

"I'll be in my office," Phoenix grits out. He slams his door on the way in.

Fucking Kristoph. For seven years, Phoenix has been able to blame every misfortune and sharp edge of his personality on Kristoph, but now Kristoph is in prison, and Phoenix is still a piece of shit with nothing to show for it. He should be everyone's last resort. He's a cruel, conniving asshole. Whatever kindness he was capable of has been smoked out of him by seven years of burning the candle at both ends, wearing a disguise that grew more and more comfortable until he found he couldn't take it off.

Maybe Apollo is right. He does like to live up to his namesake, after all, while Phoenix has no idea how to rise up from these ashes. He can't.

Edgeworth will see that, too. It's just a matter of time.

On the first Saturday of November, Phoenix and Trucy trek halfway across the city for Edgeworth's seventh house viewing.

"I'm tired of going to viewings," Trucy admits on the footsteps of a quaint townhouse. It's beatiful, airy and open, with a recently renovated kitchen and two big guest rooms, a master bathroom with an en-suite that features a clawfoot tub. The neighbour's oak tree dapples the light where it comes into the living room, and Phoenix has already planned to tell Edgeworth that it's simply unsustainable to live somewhere with a brewing neighbour dispute. Neither of them are well-versed in property law, after all. "Why doesn't Mr. Edgeworth like any of them? They've been so nice."

Phoenix presses his lips together. "Maybe this will be the one," he says half-heartedly. "Hey, it's still early. I have a great idea!"

Trucy looks up at him, starting to smile. "What is it?"

"Let's go visit your father's grave."

Trucy's smile slides off her face like the blade of a guillotine. "I don't want to."

"Too bad, we're going," Phoenix tells her. He pushes off from where he's been leaning against a lamp post, holding out his hand. "We'll go buy flowers, too. It'll be nice."

He holds out his hand. It takes a moment, but Trucy stands up and takes it, walking down the street with him.

She stays quiet as Phoenix leads him to the cemetery, stopping at a florist on the way. She doesn't even engage when he does his silly joke about only knowing three kinds of flowers, which usually gets him a smile at the very least, but Phoenix doesn't blame her. They've only visited Zak's grave together once, when the headstone was erected a week after his death. Phoenix has come on his own, but that's neither here nor there. Even if Zak weren't dead, he probably wouldn't have the answers Phoenix seeks. A man like him never seemed to perform - instead, he just was, everything he was on-stage ringing just as true off-stage.

Shadi Enigmar 1979—2026, reads the headstone. Husband, magician, father. Lost but never forgotten.

The epitaph was Valant's idea. Phoenix doesn't know if Trucy likes it. He's never been able to bring himself to ask.

"Here we are," he says softly when they come to a stop in front of it, placing the white flowers carefully by the stone.

"Daddy," says Trucy. It is the first time she's spoken since she took his hand. "Why are we here?"

"I thought it would be good," Phoenix says. "To talk about it."

"I don't really want to," Trucy says, her voice small. Phoenix sighs and turns to her, pulling her into a hug.

"I'm sorry he wasn't able to come back for you," he says into her hair. "He could've given you so much more than I could."

Trucy starts to cry. Phoenix hasn't seen her actually cry in years, only learned her tells that means she would if she could, so the sound freezes him in place for a moment. He squeezes her tighter, stroking her back.

"Hey, hey, Trucy-baby, what's wrong? It's okay, I'm here."

"D-daddy," Trucy sobs into his shoulder, "please, let's leave, I don't want to be here anymore."

Phoenix strokes her hair, baffled. "Of course," he says, and presses his lips to her hair in a quick motion. Then he shifts and bends down so he can gather his hands under her butt, lifting her up to carry her on his hip like he used to when she was younger. Trucy keeps her arms around him, and Phoenix carries her out of the graveyard in silence.

There are benches by the exit, and he sets her down gently on one of them before collapsing onto the slats beside her. "My back won't thank me for that one in the morning," he sighs. He turns his head, watching his daughter, who has already dried her cheeks and her lashes - but her eyes are still red and swollen, and the corner of her cape is damp. "Truce, baby. It's okay. Do you want some ice cream?"

Perhaps taking her to her father's grave without any warning wasn't one of Phoenix's best ideas. In his defense, he thought she'd been coping well, and it wasn't like he'd planned this little outing. Most of his best ideas are spur-of-the-moment.

His bad ones are too, unfortunately.

Trucy shakes her head silently.

"Some coffee?" he tries. Even though she doesn't actually like it, she's been pretending to do so lately. High school is all about acting like what someone half your age would think someone twice your age acts like. It's almost as confusing watching it secondhand as it was to go through himself.

"No, thank you," Trucy says politely. Her lower lip wobbles. "Are you sad I'm a Wright?" she asks quietly.

"What?!" Phoenix sits up, shocked. "No, of course not! You're the best thing that ever happened to me. You know that, sweetheart."

"Then why—" Trucy's voice falters and she has to take a deep breath. "Why are you sad that my other daddy didn't come back for me?"

"No," Phoenix says softly, his heart breaking. "No, that's not it at all, Truce, I'm sorry…" He pulls her close again, ignoring the twinge in his back as he twists on the bench. "Trucy-baby, you deserve the world, and I'm so happy to have you. If anything, I'm the one who doesn't deserve a daughter as wonderful as you."

"Who cares about what anyone deserves," Trucy says into his shoulder. "We have what we have, daddy."

"You're so right," Phoenix replies softly, stroking her back.

They sit there for a long moment until Trucy pulls away, her performer's smile firmly fixed to her face. "Let's go home now and tell Mr. Edgeworth all about how nice the house was!"

"Great idea," Phoenix says, letting her pull him to his feet.

They make their usual mindless chatter on the way home, trading jokes and old observations they've made a hundred times. Phoenix keeps a careful eye on his daughter, but she doesn't let her performance slip for a second. Maybe he can do something nice for her over Thanksgiving break, he thinks, but the thought is aimless and vague. It's hard to make plans when his heart is still being squeezed in a vice by the sound of her voice in the graveyard, small and scared.

When they get home, Phoenix takes off his shoes and pulls out his phone. "I'm going to call Edgeworth about the house," he says. "Anything you want me to relay from you?"

"It was gorgeous and he should take it," Trucy says, already halfway to her room. "I'm going to watch something - later, daddy!"

"Later," says Phoenix and goes into his own room. He dials Edgeworth's number before calculating the time difference, and curses himself momentarily, but Edgeworth doesn't sound mad when he picks up.

"Wright."

"Sorry," Phoenix says, "I forgot to count - is it late?"

"Not too late, but I'll be turning in soon," Edgeworth says. "Is this about the viewing? Were there any issues?"

"No," Phoenix says finally. He sinks down on his bed, looks up at the ceiling. "No, it was… really nice."

"Pardon?" Edgeworth says.

"What?"

"Well, you usually make up some nonsensical excuse for why I shouldn't take it," Edgeworth says. "Something about the neighborhood, or some conspicuous feature that didn't appear on any of the images online, or the 'bad vibes' of the letting agent…"

"That one was true," Phoenix protests. "He was definitely a homophobe. Trucy thought so too. Whenever she asked me what Mr. Edgeworth would think of something, his eye twitched."

"You didn't correct him?" Edgeworth asks.

"Nah," Phoenix says softly. He cups his phone like it's precious, embarrassed. "Should I have?"

"You know that as far as I'm concerned, he was correct."

Phoenix swallows and closes his eyes. They so rarely put words to this thing between them that it still shocks him whenever Edgeworth does. It's been so many years of touches behind closed doors and bitten-back noises in European hotel rooms, but Phoenix had never thought Edgeworth could want more - could want Phoenix, walking red flag that he was.

But here they are. "Yeah," he says, can't help but sigh the word. Maybe this is how he remembers how to wear his heart on his sleeve. His love for Edgeworth will no longer be something he can contain to holidays and infrequent dinners - Edgeworth will be in the city, and everyone will know what a painfully lovestruck fool Phoenix Wright is.

They rest in comfortable silence for a moment. Then he says, quietly, "Miles, I fucked up with Trucy."

"What happened? Is she alright?"

"Yes - well. After the viewing, I had the bright idea that we should stop by Zak's grave."

"Phoenix," Edgeworth sighs, exasperated. "What on Earth prompted you to do that?"

"I-I've been," Phoenix starts, but the words dry up in his throat.

"Tell me," Edgeworth prompts him after a moment. Phoenix wishes he was still as impatient as he used to be. "Phoenix," he adds when Phoenix still doesn't speak.

"All I've been doing is disappointing people."

"That's not true."

"It fucking is, and it's not like you'd know what it's like here, you're in Europe!"

There's a moment of silence. Phoenix's words ring in the room, and he can see the nooks and crannies where they make themselves at home, curling up like sleepy cats ready to pounce on him again once he's trying to sleep. Why the fuck is he so intent on ruining this? Why can't he let himself have good things? Why does the idea of Edgeworth wanting him - really wanting him, not just for a few hours here and there while they both pretended they weren't in love - frighten him so much? "Not for long," Edgeworth says finally. "Is that what you're afraid of?"

"Don't," Phoenix says, and then he hangs up.

He takes a deep breath, calming his pounding heart. He's being an asshole, he knows, burning through the last of Edgeworth's goodwill like dollar-store matches.

In the background, he can hear the muffled noise of traffic and occasional unintelligible exclamations from Trucy's TV show. He focuses on that, listening to the sounds of the world until the room no longer feels like it's closing in on him.

Then, because he's almost thirty-five and not an idiot teenager, he calls Edgeworth back. "So that might be it," he says lightly. "Let's not talk about it, dear."

"Are you alright?" Edgeworth asks.

"Minor panic attack, maybe," Phoenix says in that same cheerful tone.

"Phoenix," Edgeworth says softly, tenderly. It's so much better than he deserves.

"Don't you think it's funny," he says, "that you got better, but I'm only getting worse?"

Edgeworth pauses. "It's easy to get better when you're starting from zero," he says wryly.

"Hey, don't talk about him like that," Phoenix says. "I loved that guy too. Maybe shouldn't have, but you know how it is."

"So you did," Edgeworth says softly. "So you see why my feelings are the way they are."

Phoenix sighs, rolling onto his stomach on the bed.

"You're not getting worse, Phoenix," says Edgeworth. "You were, perhaps, but not anymore."

"Invigorating as always, Miles," Phoenix responds, but he can't deny that the newborn chick running around in his chest feels a little more ready for the world. "I should go make some food for me and Truce."

"Give her my regards," Edgeworth says. He tries to stifle his yawn, but Phoenix catches the opening of his vowels at the very end of his sentence, and the sound warms him all the way to his core.

"I always do. Sleep well," he says, and waits for Edgeworth's sleepy goodbye before he hangs up.

In the middle of November, two weeks before Edgeworth's plane touches down at LAX, Apollo asks him:

"Mr. Wright, what were those earthquake statistics for?"

Apollo looks bright-eyed and hopeful. Looking at him hurts Phoenix a little bit. The kid wants to be useful to a fault, evidenced by the fact that he's still trying to be even though Phoenix has disappointed him seven ways to Sunday. "Sorry, bud," he says slowly. "I didn't end up needing them after all. Why are you asking?"

Apollo's face falls and he turns away, but not before Phoenix catches the flash of resentment. "I thought it might be related to the Miner case. That you'd thought of something."

Phoenix sighs. From where he's sitting, he can see Charley the plant, whose leaves are drooping slightly. He'll need to water him soon, Phoenix thinks absently, and then a thought hits him like a punch to the gut when his gaze slides back to Apollo - what would Mia do?

It's a painful thought and one he hasn't thought in years, but she always had a penchant for giving him advice at the eleventh hour.

"I'm not that forward-thinking, unfortunately," Phoenix says, drawing to his feet. "I know you worked really hard on them, though. Let me take you out for lunch to say thanks."

Apollo shifts his weight, looking towards the door. "I…"

"Don't worry, I won't run out and leave you with the bill."

"You've said that every time, Mr. Wright," Apollo says.

Phoenix grins sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, this time I mean it. I think Eldoon's still closed while he's visiting his family - where do you want to go?"

"I get to choose something besides dangerously salty noodles? Who are you and what have you done with Mr. Wright?"

"Hey, enough wise-cracks," Phoenix tells him. "That sarcasm is going to bite you in the butt one day."

"Hard to believe coming from you," Apollo replies, shrugging on his jacket as they head outside, and Phoenix gives him a grin.

Apollo knows a Mexican hole in the wall four blocks away from the office, which he leads Phoenix to unerringly. It's a nice place, with cozy booths and a bright red and green colour scheme. Phoenix eyes their margarita menu, but a stern look from Apollo leaves him sufficiently cowed. "My friend knows the owner, so I get a discount," Apollo explains, sliding into a booth. "I've been coming here since law school."

"I like it," Phoenix says, looking around. "It's friendly. So… the Miner case. Remind me which one that is again?"

Apollo sighs, but he gives Phoenix the rundown of his latest case - Justine Miner, from one of the few gold mines still in operation, has been charged with murder of one of her fellow workers and is alleged to have collapsed part of the mine to cover up her crime. According to the police, she's the only one who was nearby at the time.

Phoenix taps his chin. "Yeah, I see why those stats might come in handy," he says. "Good thinking."

Apollo smiles, wiping a stray bit of sauce off his chin.

Phoenix picks up a couple of the toothpicks from the holder in the middle of the table, beginning to build a little fort. "Listen, Apollo," he says, layering the toothpicks over each other. "I wanted to… apologise."

"Apologise?" Apollo repeats loudly. A couple on the next table over gives him a dirty look.

"I know the Wright Anything Agency isn't exactly what you signed up for." Phoenix's toothpick fort is finished, so he adds a small tower on the side for additional defense. "It must be disappointing."

Apollo leans back. His eyes sharpen like they do when he's behind the defense's bench - that scary perceptive glance that made Phoenix decide to put his life in the hands of this kid, all those months ago. He looks Phoenix over for a long time. Phoenix continues to fiddle with the toothpick structure. He has at least seventeen tells for Apollo to sink his teeth into, and he tries not to conceal any of them. "Yeah," Apollo says finally.

Phoenix lets out a long breath, shoulders slumping.

"You disappointed me a lot, Mr. Wright. But that doesn't mean you have to keep doing it."

The toothpick fort stands strong. Phoenix pushes his finger into it, making toothpicks rain down on the table. "I like having you around, Polly. But you have to know your career would be better spent elsewhere. Why are you wasting your time with me and Truce?"

Apollo's keen gaze is still on him. Phoenix fights the urge to bluff, to misdirect. After everything he's put Apollo through, he owes him this moment of sincerity - it's one of the few things he can give him. "What Kristoph Gavin did to you was pretty horrible," Apollo says. "I know you think you don't have anything left to teach, but that's not true. You know a lot, Mr. Wright. Your work on the jurist system and MASON was revolutionary." Apollo gestures, a sweeping motion identical to the one Trucy does on stage when she holds the audience's breath in the palm of her hand. Phoenix's heart hurts. "I respect you, even if you make it really difficult sometimes."

Phoenix is silent. The toothpicks, scattered across the tabletop, remind him of chips. All in.

Fold.

"Please don't cry, Mr. Wright," Apollo says awkwardly. "It'll make it really weird, and they know me here."

"I'm not crying!" Phoenix says. "I've got something in my eye, that's all." He shoots to his feet and goes to the counter to pay. The man behind the counter, a Latino gentleman with a stern brow that softens with a knowing smile, gives him Apollo's discount.

"I know he's young, but he's a damn good lawyer," the man says. "He'll keep you out of jail, you just have to trust him."

"I know," Phoenix says, dropping his change into the tip jar. "He saved my life."

The man grins at him approvingly.

When Phoenix gets back, he claps Apollo on the shoulder, making him drop all the toothpicks he was in the middle of picking up. "Mr. Wright!" Apollo cries.

Phoenix laughs.

"Happy Thanksgiving!" Maya shouts directly into his ear, making Phoenix wince and grip her by the shoulders.

"Yeah, you too," he says at a reasonable volume and steps back to admit her and Pearl into the apartment. Trucy pops her head out of the kitchen, beaming at their two guests.

"Welcome! How was the train ride?"

"We sat next to the stinkiest man in the world," Maya complains. "Isn't that right, Pearl?"

Pearl frowns and, after a moment of heavy deliberation, gives a small nod. "He was very smelly," she admits, guilt written all over her face.

"So I'm thankful that we've arrived, and to such a good-smelling house too! What are you cooking up for us, Trucy-cakes?"

"Daddy's making the chicken and veggies," Trucy tells her, "I'm in charge of the dessert. Pumpkin pie!"

"It smells delicious," Pearl says, going to help her.

"Cheapo!" Maya yells, pointing at Phoenix. "Chicken?"

"It's the new turkey," Phoenix says, deadpan. "If you've got a problem with it, feel free to go find somewhere else to buy dinner."

Maya groans and settles on the couch. "Next year, we're having real turkey and the fancy stuffing. You'll be living with Edgeworth by then, he wouldn't do me dirty like this."

Phoenix grimaces at her and goes to the kitchen, weaving around two energetic teenagers to grab a beer for himself and a hard cider for Maya. He brings them back to the couch and plops himself down next to her, handing her the can.

"Ooh, thanks," she says. "You still buy this brand just for me?"

"It's your favourite, isn't it?"

Maya thumbs over the label, smiling to herself. "Yeah. It's what we drank the night I turned twenty-one."

"I think I did irreparable damage to my teeth that day," Phoenix says, drinking from his own beer. "Or developed pre-diabetes. Those things are basically straight aspartame."

"Delicious, delicious aspartame," Maya sighs and drinks.

They sit in silence for a few moments, listening to Pearl and Trucy chatter on in the kitchen. Phoenix catches only stray words like collagen and seasonal palette, but Maya's weary look means this is part of the Korean beauty spiel she's been warning him about. "What on earth is slugging?" Phoenix asks.

"Vaseline on your face at night, which makes you feel like a slug," says Maya. "It's good for moisture retention, or… something."

Phoenix frowns and drinks from his beer. "I'm good," he says finally. "How's things in the life of Mystic Maya, anyway?"

"Ugh, I don't want to be Mystic Maya here," Maya says, slumping back into the couch. "It's good, but this season's been exhausting. We've got double the number of acolytes since that Oh! Cult! feature this summer, and I think I was a little too ambitious."

"Bit off more than you could chew?" Phoenix says sympathetically. "I'm struggling with just the one, I have no idea how you do it."

"Polly's a sweetheart," says Maya, like she's never even met Apollo before. "How is he?"

Phoenix drinks, taking a beat to listen to any suspicious noises from the kitchen, but Trucy and Pearl have just moved on to discussing one of Trucy's classmates. A quick look at Maya tells him she's doing the same thing, and Phoenix has to bite back a smile. When did they get so responsible? "I invited him tonight, but he couldn't make it. I'm trying to be less… You know."

"Self-sabotaging?" Maya suggests. Phoenix winces.

"That's one word for it, I guess."

She drinks, looking at him over her can. "It must be weird," she says. "Seven years of work, and it's finally done. It makes sense that you're kinda… all over the place."

"Thanks," Phoenix says dryly.

"Are you going to retake the bar?"

He sighs. "I don't know. Maybe, if there's a good enough reason. I've thought about it, but… what if I'm not that man anymore?"

"Sometimes," Maya says, "it's easier to keep disappointing people on purpose than face the fear of disappointing them by accident."

Phoenix snorts. "Yeah," he says. "Something like that. Apollo told me something similar the other day, actually."

"Oh?"

"He said, 'You disappointed me when we first met, but that doesn't mean you have to keep doing it.'" Phoenix falls quiet.

"Daddy, the timer's going off!" Trucy calls from the kitchen.

"Just turn the oven off and open the door," Phoenix calls back, "it needs to rest for a minute, then we'll sit down to eat."

"We can set the table, Mr. Nick!"

"Thank you! Pearls is so well-behaved," Phoenix sighs, turning back to Maya. "Any chance you want to swap?"

"She's only setting the table because she'd rearrange it if anyone else did it," Maya says fondly. "That girl is a menace."

"Sounds like someone else I used to know, then."

Maya smiles at him and shifts to lean her head on his shoulder. He wraps his arm around her, gaze softening to stare into the middle distance. "Apollo's line was good," she says finally. "But it's okay to disappoint people, too. Mother knows I don't always manage to live up to expectations. It used to really suck, actually, when I met people as the Master and I could see their face fall. But now I roll with it. I'm trying my best and I'm doing a good job, even if they can't see it immediately."

"You are," Phoenix says. "That's not really applicable to my situation, though, unless there's some other channeling clan I can become Master of…"

Maya punches his thigh lightly. "Not everything's about you and your complexes!"

Phoenix's shoulders shake as he starts to laugh, and he pulls her close in a sudden, reckless hug. "You're right. Thanks for coming down, Maya. I missed you."

"I missed you too," she says into his shoulder, squeezing him once before pulling away. "Come on, let's go eat. I'm starving!"

Phoenix's face mask itches against his freshly shaven cheek as he waits in the arrivals hub at LAX. He had to bribe Trucy with a week off chores to convince her to stay home, but he wants to meet Miles on his own. In the moment when their eyes meet, he wants to leave his performances behind. If he's going to disappoint Miles, let it at least be as Phoenix - nothing more, nothing less.

He waits for long minutes in the hub, watching people reunite and kiss and cry. There's an honesty at airports, impending distance or long-awaited reunion tearing down people's guards until all that's left is sincere emotion seeping through the cracks of their sunglasses and face masks, and Phoenix decides to find inspiration in it. When he sees Miles on the top of the escalator, he waves both hands in the air and calls, grin so wide it hurts his cheeks. "Miles! Here!"

Miles's answering smile is like the rising sun on a foggy day.

Phoenix darts forward through the crowd to help him with his suitcases - he's got three big ones and his briefcase, plus the two under his eyes. He looks gorgeous. Phoenix pulls his mask down and kisses him until someone shouts at them for holding up the exit to the escalator, and then Miles pulls him away with an exasperated huff.

"It's good to see you," Phoenix says, beaming. "How was the flight?"

"Not too disagreeable," Miles replies. He sighs, leaning into Phoenix. "But it's good to be here."

Phoenix takes his hand and one of the suitcases, pulling him towards the taxi rank. "Trucy's at home," he says. "She's excited to see you."

"I need to have words with her," Miles says, grimacing. "I watched that movie she recommended on the plane."

Phoenix laughs. "Not good?"

"Absolute garbage," Miles says darkly. "I thought she was more refined than that."

"Maybe it's just above your usual age bracket," Phoenix says. "She should've recommended something animated…"

Miles hooks his ankle over Phoenix's, almost making him trip and collapse on top of the suitcases.

"Hey!" Phoenix gets to his feet, laughing again. "You are a child. I can't believe the safety of our beautiful city's going into the hands of this bully…"

"I will be protecting the innocent by rooting out crime," Miles recites solemnly from the mayor's press release announcing the new Chief Prosecutor, and Phoenix has to stop on the tarmac to laugh and laugh. Miles lets go of his suitcases to turn to Phoenix, cupping his cheeks in his hands.

"Miles?" Phoenix says, eyes wide. Around them, the crowds move in waves.

Miles leans in, pressing their lips together. His murmur cuts through the noise of the airport. "Move in with me."

Phoenix's eyes are wet as he nods. "Yes. Yes, please, if you're sure."

Miles smirks, letting go of his cheeks. "Your arguments have been pathetic. Of course I'm sure." He picks up his suitcases again, hailing a taxi and getting inside. Phoenix gives his address to the taxi driver. The townhouse Miles is renting won't be ready until after Christmas, since the rest of his stuff still needs to arrive from his apartment in Berlin, so he's staying with Phoenix and Trucy until then.

"It's not too late to change your mind," Phoenix says, sitting next to him on the leather seats. The taxi pulls out onto the road and is immediately caught in traffic. "You know, the lack of public transport is a big hurdle. You'll be crying for your U-Bahn."

"I drive," Miles points out. "You're the one who would benefit from better public transport. Are you ever going to get your licence?"

"Not now that my personal chauffeur has moved to town," Phoenix says, grinning at Miles's grimace. "But you know, less public transport makes car crashes more likely, and there's no nationalised healthcare here…"

"I can afford it," Miles says. His mouth pinches. "And that's no joking matter, Phoenix. I'm still very unhappy with you."

"Oops." Miles had learned of Phoenix's summer hit-and-run incident several weeks after the fact, when Phoenix had off-handedly mentioned his weak ankle. "Well, you had other stuff going on."

"I would have liked to be told that my partner got hit by a car," Miles says.

Partner. The word makes Phoenix so dizzy it feels like he got hit by a car all over again. "You couldn't have done anything! I didn't want to bother you."

Miles sighs. Phoenix takes pity on him, kissing his cheek quickly. He's allowed that now, at least until Miles remembers how much he dislikes public displays of affection. And he's allowed to hold his hand and to talk about his 'significant other' to people who don't know him. His partner.

"The tourists," he says, a last-ditch effort. "Are you really sure you want to move back to LA?"

"They're a scourge," Miles agrees, shuddering. "But… I'm willing to tolerate them." His eyes slide closed, head tipping back against the headrest as they finally get on the highway and the car gains speed.

Phoenix smiles to himself, watching him. "For how long?" he asks quietly. If Miles wanted to, he could pretend to be asleep, but Miles left cowardice behind years ago.

He cracks an eye open, looking over at Phoenix. "You know the answer to that," he says simply.

Forever.

In January, Phoenix is putting some old sketchbooks in a box labelled BEDROOM when Miles lifts a sheaf of papers from Phoenix's makeshift desk. Phoenix hasn't seen the surface of that desk in years, buried as it has been under random papers and old leaflets for Trucy, playing cards and odd socks.

"Do you need these, or do they go in the shredder pile?"

"What are they?" Phoenix asks, putting the sketchbooks to the side.

"Statistics," Miles says with a frown, flipping through the papers, "for… earthquakes."

Phoenix winces and sits back on the bed. "Oh, right. I thought I'd gotten rid of those."

Miles raises an eyebrow and looks at him over his glasses. His suit jacket has been abandoned in another room, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. If Phoenix's bed wasn't covered in various piles and moving boxes, he would ask for a time-out and a quickie so fast. "What were they for?"

"It was, uh…" Phoenix trails off, hoping Miles will somehow drop it for the first time in his life - or that Trucy will set off a bomb in the other room, where she's packing up her costumes - but he has no such luck. "My final argument."

Miles hums, turning the double-sided papers over to study one of the graphs. "You didn't make these."

"No, I got Apollo to do it."

"You really do treat him like a dog's body," Miles says absently, gaze focused on the page.

Phoenix's hands curl into fists. "I'm trying to get better about that. Besides, I don't know if you have room to speak."

"Mm." Miles falls silent, reading. "This… It's a good argument."

"Aw, fuck, Miles, don't say that," Phoenix says, heart pounding in his chest.

"It is. It would've been your most successful, had you aired it." Miles takes off the paperclip holding the pages together and puts them on the pile of documents to shred. "But it still wouldn't have convinced me."

Phoenix swallows, watching him.

"I know I have not been a very reliable figure—"

"Hold it! You've been the most reliable person in my life," Phoenix protests. "I didn't let you help for a lot of this stuff, but that's not on you."

Miles pins him in place with nothing but his grey gaze. "You have low standards," he says. "I am trying to make you a promise, Phoenix."

"Oh?" Phoenix asks weakly.

"I do occasionally wish that we had settled elsewhere. There are parts of the world that I find more agreeable than this city, not least because of this." He taps the sheaf of papers, one of Apollo's graphs like a colourful threat on the front page. "But this is where your life is. This is where Trucy's life is. And I promise you that this wish of mine will never be stronger than my wish to stay at your side."

Phoenix's eyes sting and his throat hurts. It's a good thing they're moving out, because the air in here must be bad - it's aggravating allergies he didn't know he had. "Miles, you can't promise that."

"I can and I am," says Miles, as if it's that easy. Miles Edgeworth knows how the world should be, and he does not care to entertain the thought of it being any other way. It's an unshakeable worldview that Phoenix has found himself leaning on so many times over the last eight years.

"You're it for me, you know that?" Phoenix says around the lump in his throat. "For - for so long, it's been you."

Miles gives him a small smile, moving across the room. Phoenix pushes the boxes aside so there's room for him to sit down next to him, though Miles's smile wavers at the sound of several piles hitting the floor. "I know you love me, Phoenix. After all, it was the only plausible argument you didn't try at all."

Phoenix laughs wetly, covering his face. Miles's hand comes up to rest between his shoulderblades, a wordless permission, and Phoenix leans heavily into him, taking deep, shaky breaths.

"I love you too, of course," Miles says after a moment.

"Of course," Phoenix laughs, wiping his cheeks. "You know, I'm not the only one who's happy you're here."

"Trucy has told me many times how excited she is to move," Miles says with an exasperated huff. "She's showed me her stage designs for the lawn."

"Truce is stoked," Phoenix agrees, "but she's not the one I mean. There's Maya, she wants you to visit soon. And Gumshoe, he sent us four Christmas cards because he couldn't fit all his writing on just one of them. He's never done that before, you know. There's Ema, too. They're all happy you're here. I know you say my life is here, but… part of yours still is, too. It's been waiting for you."

He looks up to find Miles, startled and awkward with emotion. "Oh," he says, reaching up to adjust his glasses, but his trembling hand smudges the lens.

Phoenix reaches up, pulling the glasses off his face, and when their lips meet, he can't remember why he was ever scared of this at all.