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Christmas 2001
Christmas wasn’t like other days. It was a day spent with family, a day lived out always in the confines of your own home—Phoenix remembered one year where they had gone to celebrate at an aunt’s house instead, treading through the empty, snow-silent streets, quiet so as not to break the spell, and even seeing the outside world had seemed like some kind of taboo.
So it was funny to be here with Miles, in the before-dawn winter darkness. The sun was still hidden in folds of sky, but everything was illuminated by the snow that surrounded them. It was all a bit like a dream, but not a scary one.
“This is ridiculous.” Miles said, a little brusquely, but Phoenix just smiled as they walked.
“Here.” Eventually they came to a clearing in the trees. Phoenix brushed away the snow coating the log in front of them, hints of it clinging, sparkling, to the fabric of his gloves, and sat down, followed by his hesitant friend.
Ahead was a small stream, completely frozen over. In the distance, a dip in the trees. Everything was utterly still.
Christmas Eve was a child’s personal hell. Phoenix had tossed and turned all night, springing out of his room at six on the dot—his personally-designated ‘decent time'—only to be told big boys waited until eight to open their presents. He had sat with his chin resting in his palms for all of two minutes before setting off on the groggy journey to his friend’s house. His method of attack had been to throw snowballs at the window he knew to be Miles’ bedroom until the boy in question emerged in a dressing gown, unimpressed.
But soon he found out that Miles had been lying awake too, actually.
And Phoenix had whined and come on-ed and told his friend that the walk together would be their present to one another.
And he had actually seemed to be coming around when Phoenix had tackled him with a hug and a breathless, “Oh, Merry Christmas Miles! I was meant to say that first, oops,” and a sheepish grin, and something about that had finally sent the other boy off to get his boots and a mince pie each. They had set off.
It was just a little woods near home, the kind you never paid much attention when you lived nearby. But in the throes of winter it looked magical.
And it was when Miles asked him exactly what they were supposed to be doing that Phoenix had turned towards the space in the trees, where the sun was just peeking its head.
Some time had passed and some light had flooded the sky before either one of them spoke again. When Miles finally broke the silence, his voice was distant. “I’ve never spent Christmas... with a friend before.”
“Me neither.” A pause. “But we can do it every year from now on, if you want.”
Miles turned to face Phoenix, and if it had been the day before, or even an hour earlier, Phoenix wouldn’t have recognised the expression on his friend’s countenance, but somewhere in his hazy mind, he realised that it was the same way Miles had looked at the sun as it finally burst through the trees, spilling across the sky. “I’d like that.”
They helped each other back through the snow, clinging to one another so as not to slip on the ice, following their lone pair of footprints through the streets to home. Phoenix saw Miles off, and finally made it back just as daylight was embracing the roads. The lights were on now, the house waking up—he could hear the kettle brewing and smell something cooking. There was an echoey choir coming from the radio. He kicked off his shoes, leaving a spray of snow on the carpet. His cheeks burned from the sudden change in temperature. His mother popped her head into the hallway.
“Phoenix! You went to see Miles? I hope you didn’t disturb Mr. Edgeworth.” He had left a note.
“No, Mom!”
“Are you ready for your presents now, then?”
Presents. Phoenix had forgotten all about them.
When he moved into the lounge, Phoenix found Trucy drawing stars in the condensation on the window. Every so often, a harsh wind would blow, rattling the pane violently. The world was a black and white film.
“How’s it look out there, Truce?”
“I think the storm’s about to start. I hope they got to the airport okay.” He could hear the frown in her voice. “Polly isn’t answering my texts.”
“Well, I’m sure he’s got his hands full with that bunch.” He set the two steaming mugs he was carrying down on the coffee table, collapsing into the couch with his eyes pressed shut.
“You can’t sleep yet, Daddy!” Trucy was at his side in a second, hopping around him. “What about your promise?! Besides, Mr. Edgeworth will be here soon!”
“We’ll see with that storm.” He chuckled. When no response came, he opened an eye to find his daughter looking positively distraught. “Hey, hey, it was a joke! He’ll be fine. A storm wouldn’t stop Miles Edgeworth. You know he chartered a private jet in the middle of the night once because I fell into a river? And don’t even get me started on Franziska.”
She wasn’t paying attention. Trucy stared back at the window absently.
Phoenix tackled her from behind and lifted her up, spinning her in his arms like he had when she was smaller.
“Daddy! Put me down!”
When they fell into the chair, she tried looking indignant, which worked for about two seconds before she started giggling. “Jeez, who’s the adult here, anyway?” Still, she scrambled into his lap, grabbing her hot chocolate.
“I know our Christmases were quiet, but they weren’t that bad, were they?”
“It’s not that, Daddy!” Her thumb traced circles on the mug.
“I miss Apollo, too.”
Her shoulders drooped. The boy had been with them both Christmases since he’d joined the Agency, like some unspoken agreement. He'd fit in like the puzzle piece they had never known they were missing.
“But we can spend next Christmas in Khura'in, if you want—or invite them here; your call. And Miles will be here soon. Now, what exactly did I promise you?” Trucy often liked to coax him into things when he was half-asleep and then hold him to his word.
“I know, Daddy. Thank you.” She jumped up, and spun around, a triumphant look on her face, drink sloshing precariously in her hands. “We’re going to make cookies!” She thrust her arms towards him imploringly.
He looked at her for all of a second before cracking up. “And have you ever made cookies before? Because I sure haven’t.”
“Nope!” Her smile was 1000-watts. “But we’re gonna do it properly! And we have to start now so they’re ready for Mr. Edgeworth and his sister!”
Christmas 2005
“To Apollo.” Dhurke raised his glass. “When you’re back here, you won’t recognise the place, son!”
“I’ll see you soon, though, right, Dhurke? And you, Yuty?”
“Of course,” was the soft response. Nahyuta smiled gently at him, grabbing his hand under the table.
“What about me, huh, AJ?” Datz laughed raucously and slapped Dhurke on the back. “I’ll look after your old man while you’re gone, just don’t leave us hanging! You kids are the future of this place!"
Everybody had returned to their dinner by the time Apollo found the courage to open his mouth again.
“One day… One day I’ll come back here and defend people just like you did, Dhurke!” It was an exclamation born of a rush of emotion.
The wide smile Dhurke usually sported softened now, and he looked shocked. “You… would do that, Apollo?”
He nodded furiously.
“Well… You know I only want you to do whatever will make you happy. But...” He trailed off, looking at him with more emotion than Apollo knew how to read. “Ain’t I got the best boys, Datz?”
The festivities continued late into the night, the Khura’inese music and clinking of glasses drifting through the air indicating a much larger party than it was. It was just the four of them, and they were still on the run, really, but Dhurke made sure it never felt that way.
But he had a flight booked for the next week, back to the USA—his home.
He stood on the porch steps, light spilling out of the house behind him. It was cold, but not too cold. A stream was flowing nearby, and a light wind was tickling the chimes lining the doorframe. Home.
Apollo had long wondered what exactly that word meant. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go to the US, but the closer it got to his leaving date, the more he felt that it was here, with Dhurke, and Yuty, and even Datz. He puffed out his chest. So long as he had them, he’d be fine. And they’d never leave him.
“Apollo?”
Nahyuta had come up behind him, entirely silent.
“Oh, hi, Yuty.” Nahyuta sat down next to him with a sigh. “‘Sup?”
“It’s going to be so boring here without you, Apollo. And I’m going to miss you. I want to see the United States! I want to go.”
At this, Apollo sat down too. They looked out over the mountains together.
“Are you scared?” His brother asked quietly.
“About what?” Apollo laughed boldly. Nahyuta took one of his clenched fists in his hand—nothing got past him. His touch had always seemed to melt stress away.
“I’ve been thinking.” Nahyuta took a deep breath. “I want to become a prosecutor.”
“WHAT?”
“No— Not like that, wait. Like… I was thinking… I could take down the regime, from the inside. Then Dad wouldn’t have to work so hard. You could come home sooner.” He looked troubled.
“Is that what you want, Nahyuta…?”
When Nahyuta responded, his voice was absolute. “Yes.”
“Maybe one day we’ll go up against each other in court.” Apollo grinned. Nahyuta smiled at him.
“That would be fun.”
When they went back through the kitchen, the two men had a map spread out over the table. “Going to bed, kiddos?” Dhurke's voice boomed. Apollo nodded. He was about to continue on his way when they were beckoned over. Dhurke pulled them both into a strong embrace, his voice muffled by their hair. “I love you… Apollo, Nahyuta. My boys.”
Later, as they lay in their respective bunks, Nahyuta’s voice drifted up through the darkness. “Dad’s planning something big, you know. That’s why you have to go away—he wants you to be safe. I’m not meant to know, but I heard them talking about it.”
Apollo considered this.
“Be safe, Nahyuta.”
He made a noise in agreement. “Come home soon, Apollo."
“And that one, Rayfa, their food is simply exquisite. Did you know that in America they cut potatoes into long rectangles and cook them?”
“Why not just cook the whole potato? That seems foolish to me. Americans are such strange creatures.”
Apollo was near tears. “GUYS! Security is THIS WAY! Where’s Datz?!”
The man in question subsequently rode past on a luggage trolley.
“Calm down, Horn Head, did they not say our flight was delayed? I do not see the appeal of standing around waiting.”
Yes, and I’d like to see whether we’ll be getting back to Khura’in at all this century.
Apollo wondered whether a single day of his life would ever pass without him feeling some unhealthy level of stress. At that moment, he heard a vaguely familiar number filter through the sounds of Nahyuta and Rayfa discussing the merits of french fries. “Guys, shut up, SHUT UP!”
“Horn Head! I will have you know I am the Royal Priestess of Khura’in—”
“...Are cancelled. Again, we regret to inform you that flights KA0164, JA0854 and PT0962 have been cancelled. Please proceed to your nearest help desk for more information.”
“Uh, AJ, is that our flight? I think that’s our flight.”
“W-What do you mean, our flight? Cancelled? Absolutely impossible! We must inform them of our status at once.”
Apollo felt light-headed. Nahyuta was just doing that thing with his prayer beads.
Thirty minutes and all three of the men present having to drag a screaming Rayfa away from a member of staff who probably hadn’t been on a break in ten hours later, they flopped into a corner.
“The FLOOR? What are you DOING?”
“Do you have a better suggestion, Your Highness?”
The sarcasm went straight over Rayfa’s head. “Well… Well…” She looked around. Half of L.A. seemed compacted into the airport, a lot of the crowd looking decidedly more stressed than their group, and that was something. Even Rayfa didn’t have the heart to go and implore a hysterical businesswoman for a seat. After the entirety of one minute, she started whining about her feet being sore and settled for a bit of Nahyuta’s coat to sit on. Datz was playing a game on his new smartphone.
They had been told to "wait for more information", whatever that meant. Probably nothing. Apollo watched the darkness deepen across the runway with a small frown on his face. Snow had begun to flutter down.
“They may put us on another flight.” Nahyuta said calmly, to nobody in particular.
Apollo looked about him. There were families carting kids and people yelling into phones everywhere. A few of the calmer—or perhaps more pessimistic—parties had assumed positions similar to theirs. The large halls of LAX were strung with tinsel, artifical greenery and fairylights.
Rayfa had given up on throwing a tantrum and was looking despondent. Minutes trickled by, people rushed about, and they waited.
“Rayfa, would this not be the perfect opportunity to try another one of these American cuisines? They have so many options here.”
They skipped off together. A joke about Nahyuta being on babysitting duty drifted up from somewhere in Apollo’s brain about the same time he realised it was probably just as well someone had the energy and initiative to occupy her. It might have been called an unlikely friendship, but they had been inseparable after the events earlier that year—Rayfa was even decidedly nicer to Nahyuta than everyone else.
Apollo’s chest heaved with a sigh. “What’re we gonna do…?”
He’d almost forgotten Datz was there next to him, tongue stuck out in concentration. “I’ll tell you, AJ… I've been in some bad situations—and this ain’t one of them.”
“We can’t parachute across the Pacific, Datz!”
“Hey.” He finally looked up from his phone. “Who said we have to?”
Nahyuta and Rayfa arrived back with McDonalds some time later, arms laden with carrier bags.
“Glad someone’s having fun. Also, Nahyuta, McDonalds? Fine cuisine?”
He tossed his braid in Rayfa’s direction as if to say, “Her fault.”
Apollo lay his head back against the cool glass and closed his eyes. Near sleep, he yelled so loudly a few people turned to look when something brushed his ear some time later. He opened his eyes to Datz trying to get a pair of fuzzy antlers onto his head, himself adorned in a santa hat and beard.
“Will somebody at least have the decency to even pretend to be stressed with me?”
“Some things are out of our control. Let go, and move on.” Nahyuta used his meditations for just about everything, but this time they were actually pretty apt. It was at that moment that a sweaty young staff member assigned to traffic control came up to them to ask if they really had to be there and to say that if their flight was cancelled, well, that was unlikely to change, very sorry, before moving on to the next group. Apollo looked at his festively-adorned companions and was met with three shrugs. He sighed in defeat and pulled out his phone.
Christmas 2020
Simon Blackquill was still new to prison, so it probably didn’t seem too strange when he stayed alone in his cell, away from the festivities. He probably looked like a man gauging the situation. Prison was a lot of that. And he had a lot of years to learn for.
A single patch of grey sky was visible through the small, barred window. He had grown strangely attached to it. Every so often he would be afforded a sign of life: a bird swooping past, or a leaf fluttering down. It was enough to make his heart leap in his chest. He missed nature more than anything.
He had spent most of his time writing. He wasn’t so good at it before, but a dead man walking still afraid of his feelings would be ridiculous.
It wasn’t a diary he kept, though.
Dear Athena, he began.
Not many people got visitors in prison. And contrary to what you might think, even less did on Christmas Day. They held visiting hours during dinner.
It was just two other prisoners with Simon when he entered the allocated space—not that it was hard to spot his sister even in a full room, what with her strange lab get-up and stony expression. She looked as though she’d been crying.
“Merry Christmas, Aura.”
She snorted. “Yeah, you could call it that.” She was slouching in her chair, arms crossed over her chest and glaring at the floor. He vaguely recalled that she used to scare him when they were younger.
“Are you… spending it with anyone?” Her response was to outstretch her arms.
“I’m here, brother.”
“You’re angry.”
She looked at him. “I visited Metis’... grave, yesterday. The woman you murdered, apparently.”
She wouldn’t have let him hug her even if he were allowed.
“Everything will be okay.”
“Maybe for you, Simon.” He couldn’t read her expression. He wondered if that would be all. “Look... I got in touch with a few of her psychology buddies. Metis'. They wanted to do anything they could, and all that.
“There’s this research going around about animals being put in prisons and stuff. Helps the mood, or whatever. So, like, it’s just a bird, but they managed to wrangle it. She’ll be here soon." He took her hand from across the table.
“Merry Christmas, Simon.” And without a backwards glance, she got up and walked out, pulling her fingers from his grasp.
“I win!” Athena jumped up, hands clasped together in joy.
“Yes, well, it’s all luck, really.”
“Don’t be a sore loser, Simon, just because I was clever enough to see through you trying to read me and used it to my advantage.”
“Don’t bring psychology into board games; lesson learned. Though I still think, were I not a little rusty, I could have triumphed—” It was at this moment that the prosecutor’s phone started to play his Japanese traditional music of choice, notifying him of a call. Taka brought the mobile over from the table and dropped it dutifully in his lap. “It’s Aura.”
The divulgence was rendered useless a moment later when an unmistakable voice blared from the device right across the room. He held the phone away from his ear, displeased.
“KALE? Simon, we are NOT having KALE with our Christmas dinner. I sympathise with the whole vegan thing, but I can’t even find half this shit.”
“Aura, I did tell you which shop to go to.”
“Yeah, and it was fucking miles away! Have you seen the roads? I can’t drive in this! I just went to the local.”
He sighed, and turned his attention to his companion.
“Do you fancy a brisk walk, Cykes-dono?”
"Fucking miles away" was, in fact, a half-hour walk, not that Aura would know, or care to. Seeming more concerned with having been dumped with a chore all alone than anything else, she begrudgingly agreed to meet them at the originally-designated destination, seeing as she was halfway there already and wouldn’t be able to carry everything back alone without the car.
Aura and Athena’s relationship wasn’t exactly smooth—but then, nor were Aura's relationships with anyone. Still, Simon had put his foot down. They would spend Christmas together. His sister’s pride had taken some wearing down, but the anger was shedding off her like an old skin. Simon could tell—harsh tone though she might have, she wasn’t the bitter woman she had been. Athena was learning, too.
It wasn’t easy for her. Nothing had been easy, for any of them. But purely through his and Athena’s presence, she was thawing, and she was trying. And that was how she had ended up doing the shopping whilst they played Cluedo.
“Oh, geez, the weather really got worse, huh? Simon, aren’t you gonna be too cold?”
He had stepped out in nothing more than his usual attire. He smiled at her. “No, Cykes-dono. Feeling the cold is still a privilege to me.”
She only frowned her thoughtful frown at him. She had on some trainers rather than her usual boots, but she still had to steady herself on his arm to avoid sliding all over the place. Taka perched on his other shoulder.
Darkness was beginning to settle, and the snow was already inches deep, coming down faster by the second. There were a few cars still trundling home, and the blanketed ground was already dirty with rushed footsteps, but they were mostly alone as they made their way through the residential streets, breath visible in the air. After a time, Simon took Taka and wrapped him in his coat so that only his head poked out.
“Will it just be Wright-dono and his daughter this year?” He asked, voice settling in the air.
“Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth and his sister, too.”
“But no Justice-dono?”
“No Justice-dono—well, I hope he gets back to Khura’in okay.” Athena looked into the evening sky. No stars, no planes. Just snow, fluttering down, settling in their hair and on their clothes.
“And…” His voice was quiet. “...How do you feel about it all, Athena?” His question encompassed many things, but addressed none directly.
“If you mean, how do I feel spending Christmas with you and Aura, I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She smiled at him. He hadn’t been aware of the tension in his face until it now melted away.
“I am glad to hear it.”
The traffic grew thicker as they approached the shopping district, lights glinting at them through the night and debris. Voices buzzed in the distance. Taka cooed at nothing in particular. It was some time before either of them spoke again, and it took Simon a second to remember what the previous topic of conversation had been.
“I mean, there is one thing…” Athena started uncertainly. He cocked his head without looking her way. She continued. “Aura was showing me pictures of my mother the other day.”
He was so shocked he almost dropped Taka.
“She showed you…?”
“She has a photobook of them. Both of them, I mean.”
He had known such a thing existed, but had never been privy to it himself. Athena carried on.
“It wasn’t like I got on with her super well… Or even really knew her… And obviously, I’d like to have—better. But Aura talked to me a bit. And I felt closer—like, through her words. It felt like Mom… was still alive in them. I think she thinks about her a lot.”
They were entering the crowds of last-minute shoppers now, though it was as though they were in their own little bubble, unaffected by the hubbub. Athena had always been good at creating that atmosphere. Light of all colours from frosted shop windows spilled at their feet. She turned to him, and she was truly beaming.
“I’m happy. To be spending Christmas with Aura, too. I mean, you're a given.” She nudged him in the side playfully. “But she’s family, as well.”
She said it like it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Christmas 2006
Franziska didn’t let herself cry very often. In fact, if she had it her way, she would never. But sometimes her eyes would sting, and her throat would seize up, and she would know there was nothing for it but to excuse herself in time. Such had been the situation that Christmas dinner. She was only young, and all the adults were being raucous and drinking, and it was nearly her bedtime, so nobody really noticed or cared when she slipped away up to her bedroom. Nobody except for Miles Edgeworth.
She knew it was him because there was a knock on her door, and only Miles Edgeworth knocked before coming into her room. She rubbed her eyes furiously and sat stock-still as the tall trees outside swayed, sending shadows dancing across her room.
“Franziska… I brought you dessert. You didn’t have any.”
I know I didn’t, idiot. Besides, Father would never let me eat in my room. You would know that if you were a von Karma.
It was a feeble rebuke, and a cruel one. Franziska felt a pang in her chest. “What do you want, Miles Edgeworth?!” She blurted angrily, to get her head to shut up, to get her body to shut up—a redundant question, seeing as he had already explained himself. His feet shuffled and he turned the handle. The door opened slowly, as if he half-expected it to be slammed in his face. Finally, his face poked around the frame.
“I, uh… Dessert…” He held up a tissue full of profiteroles. Gross.
“And since when have been allowed to eat in our rooms, Miles Edgeworth?”
He sighed as if to admit defeat, placing them on a table in the hallway. “Are you okay, Franziska? You left dinner early. You looked… upset.”
I hate you.
“Was it Mr. von Karma? Did he do something?”
“How dare you talk about my father that way?!” She yelled, as fresh tears sprung to her eyes. Miles shut the door behind him. “Did I invite you into my room?”
He walked up to her bed, words glancing right off him, and sat himself down. She even hated that. She still had to do a jump to get up into the bed, but he was taller than her, older than her…
In the past, Miles Edgeworth would never have been so bold. In his first few years in the house, he had scuttled around like a frightened mouse. He would stutter every time they spoke, and his eyes would dart about. She liked that. It made her feel in control.
Nowadays, there was… this. Who did he think he was?
“Franziska.”
These days he looked at her straight on. More than that, his eyes seemed to say something his mouth didn’t. Every time they spoke, she got the distinct feeling there was something more to his words, something she closed all her senses to. Miles Edgeworth sat there in his stupid shorts and his stupid bowtie and his stupid shined shoes and he looked at her so patiently. And, to her horror, a single tear rolled down her cheek.
“I wanted the book…” Her voice was so soft, so weak, and she hated herself for speaking at all—but it was so dark she could hardly see his face, and she was tired, and tomorrow she could pretend it had never happened. She was so angry, but her father would never listen to her.
“Book…? Oh, the book Mr. von Karma gave me…? Franziska, if it’s that, you can have it.”
“NO!” She slammed her balled fists into the mattress. She still had her party dress on, even though she was only meant to sit very neatly in it, in the fancy chairs in the dining hall. Not like this, half-under her duvet, like a child.
“No?”
She hated how gentle his voice was. She hated the emotion bubbling up inside her. It felt wrong. She bit her lip, hard.
They were permitted to ask for one thing from Father each year. The rest would be chosen by him, for their personal development as young individuals. But they could tell him one gift they wished to receive, and if he approved, they might get it.
Franziska had started her research in October. When she was allowed on the computer in the library, she would search through listings of prestigious volumes on American law. She wanted to choose the perfect one.
It wasn’t that she was particularly excited to read the book itself. She couldn't even understand most of the words in the titles. But with the right choice...
“Franziska. Do you have something better for me?” Her father’s eyes were always piercing, even during a conversation like this. Miles had asked for a new toy for Pess. Her father had said he would think about it.
She had puffed out her chest, and tried to keep the excitement out of her voice—it was unsightly. “This, Papa!” She had written the name of the book down—she couldn’t really remember it all by herself. Her heart soared when the response was a smile, equal parts approving and shocked.
“Franziska, where did you learn about this book? I’m impressed.”
“Can I have it, Papa?” She blurted out. A mistake—the warmth drained from his expression.
“I’ll think about it. Back to your studies, both of you.”
He had brought the author and his teachings up with her a few times over the following weeks, though she had mostly had to pretend that she knew what he was talking about. She thought she did okay. She definitely thought that this meant she was getting the book.
Christmas morning came. Manfred von Karma did not see the point in wrapping paper. He thought it garish and silly, as were Christmas trees. Still, each year he would set out a few gifts for the two of them in the living room, atop the mantelpiece, so it was easy to see when Franziska rushed in that morning that a book was not one of them.
This in itself wasn’t so bad. She wondered as she crossed the room to her presents, having to have Miles help her get them down, whether the book had not been impressive enough. Her father’s beliefs about law were very selective—apparently they went beyond what people would write about. She worried that he had disapproved of that particular author for a second in the back of her sleepy mind, until she recalled their previous conversations. She sifted through her presents: writing materials; a letter about a new pony she would be receiving shortly; a commission for a new ball gown. It was when she was turning to leave the room that she saw Miles, squinting at a heavy, leather-bound title, muttering to himself.
“Who said I even wanted to be a lawyer anymore…? No toy for Pess, I suppose.” His shoulders sagged, and it was then that he had lifted his eyes to Franziska, arms falling limp at his sides. He was still holding the book in the tips of his fingers.
“You don’t look very happy. No luck with presents? Me neither.” He had ventured a smile. She had dashed from the room.
“Wait, was that… The book you asked Mr. von Karma for weeks ago? Did he put it in my pile by accident?”
“It was no accident, Miles Edgeworth.” Her voice was stiff as cardboard. She kept her head low.
“Look, Franziska, I… I don’t even want to be a lawyer. I’ve told him that.”
She gritted her teeth. “WHY?” She pulled her pillow out from behind her and threw it at him.
“Ouch.”
“Don’t act like that hurt!” Her face was burning. Of course he couldn’t even take this seriously…
“It’s dumb.” Miles Edgeworth spoke, and she looked at him. “I don’t— Ugh. You’re the one who wants to be a prosecutor. But it’s like he doesn’t—” His eyes widened for a second, and his mouth formed a small 'o'.
“Do you understand now, Miles Edgeworth? You’re right. He doesn’t care.” The words were spilling out of her now, thick and fast. “It’s YOU he wants to be a prosecutor, even though you haven’t done ANYTHING,” her voice was cracking, “apart from be the son of your stupid FATHER!”
The final sentence slipped out a little faster than her brain had time to consider it, and at the same time Miles’ neck went limp, like he was a puppet who’d had its strings cut.
“I— I didn’t mean to say that.” Her words were quiet, fierce, stubborn. But during her tirade, tears had finally begun to trickle down her cheeks, splattering all over the material of her dress.
Miles pushed himself up off the mattress, and for a second Franziska thought he was going to leave altogether. She was shocked to find herself biting back a, don't go. But he only walked to her door, opening it and leaning into the hallway, as if to say, don’t worry, I’m staying right here. When he returned, he was cradling the tissue from earlier in both hands, kicking the door shut behind him.
Don’t do that.
We’re not allowed those in here.
The words swam in Franziska’s clouded, tear-heavy mind, but were drowned out by another sensation.
Her brother stood by her bed and he took one of the pastries, shoving the thing in his mouth whole, staining his lips with chocolate.
“They’re good.” He offered her one.
She couldn't understand the feeling seizing her heart. There was so much pain, but this was different—like something rising up out of it all. She knew she wanted to cry, but not for the same reasons anymore. And all it took was one look at Miles Edgeworth’s earnest, silly, messy face, and his outstretched hand—this gesture that she couldn’t find a name for—for her shoulders to begin to shake. She took the tissue with both hands, shoving one after another of its contents into her mouth, the sweet and salt of her tears all together on her tongue. Miles climbed onto her bed now, shoes and all, and hugged her, leaning over his and her bent knees to do so. It was uncomfortable, and awkward, and in any other situation she would have hit him—but this time, she didn’t.
His arms around her head drowned out the remaining noise drifting up from downstairs, and there was a distant, abstract thought—what did people call this? The eye of the tornado. It felt like calm amongst the pain.
The chill of his palms seeped through the fabric against her back, and she wondered when Miles Edgeworth had last hugged anybody. As she cried silently into his chest, she felt a smile against her hair. She could almost hear the snow falling outside.
Franziska leaned her head against the glass. It had been a long journey. She closed her eyes.
“Well, at least we’re in Los Angeles now.”
“Yes, and making stunning progress.” Franziska was aware she had sounded like a whining child for the best part of an hour now. She didn’t particularly care.
Los Angeles was indeed visible from the window—static, and frozen. She felt her brother shift beside her, no doubt to frown at his watch. The train was pulling into the station at snail’s pace and an hour late—though, from the sounds of it, they had been lucky. Their flight from Germany had been one of the last to land earlier that day. There was a blizzard brewing fast beyond the window.
They had had business in Germany, but no desire to spend Christmas there. Their family home was sitting empty on its land, full of dusty rooms and sad memories. The very thought made Franziska’s skin crawl.
She didn’t tend to celebrate Christmas, but for the past few years, she had spent the day in comfortable companionship with Miles, which was certainly more agreeable than the solitude of times prior. She hadn’t been sure how to feel when he'd told her where he’d be spending it this year, as well as that she was welcome to join him.
“Who would have thought I’d ever spend a Christmas with Phoenix Wright?” She said, more to herself than anyone, staring out at the landscape. Everything was blurry from how close her eyes were to the glass. She couldn’t focus on anything in particular.
“Indeed.” The voice betrayed a smirk.
“And am I to understand you are... involved?”
The man beside her started. It was almost enough to make her laugh, before she heard the reply. “Ah, no, Franziska—”
She almost hurt her neck turning so quickly. “No? Miles Edgeworth, I don’t know what kind of a fool you take me for, but if you are going to try to tell me your affections for one another are purely platonic—”
The look he gave her was as effective as a hand clapped over her mouth. His face was nearly as pink as his suit. “It’s just— It’s complicated.”
She let out an exasperated sigh and collapsed back against the window, arms folded.
Winter never looked like night or day—though it was harder and harder to see anything outside beyond the thickening snow. When she shielded her eyes and pushed her forehead against the cold glass, she could just make out the lights of Los Angeles dancing past. At least they were moving again.
“Miles Edgeworth.”
He shuffled slightly.
“I don’t know what is happening with you and Phoenix Wright, but it had best be something. We are spending Christmas with him, yes? And loathe as I would be to see you cooing over one another...” She turned back towards him, brow furrowed. The sleepy carriage was decorated for the season, and there were but a few passengers. The sound of buskers playing ‘I’ll Be Home For Christmas’ drifted from further down the train. She opened her mouth, then shut it, then tried again. “...It is high time you were happy, little brother. And if you think... If this is something about not deserving—”
“Franziska…” He seemed shocked. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that. “I am… happy, Franziska.” The word sounded strange in his mouth. “It’s just slow going. But… it’s going.” He offered her a small smile. She settled back into her seat.
Miles Edgeworth and Franziska von Karma, the legal tycoons were not one and the same as Miles Edgeworth and Franziska von Karma, brother and sister. You never could entirely shake off that childish urge to tease your sibling, even if it had been decades since you were anything resembling children. Being around Miles was probably the closest thing to relaxation Franziska felt these days. Or had it always been that way?
“Well, let the record reflect that I consider you both fools.”
“Come, Franziska…” He responded softly, cleaning his glasses with the corner of his cravat, no doubt for something to do. She gave him a look.
“If this is the fault of that spine-headed imbecile—”
“No! No, it’s… I’ve only been back two years. I wasn’t… good… to him.” He struggled to get the words out.
“Well, you are perfectly good now.”
“What’s gotten into you? It's not like you to be so concerned for others.” She flinched a little. His look communicated a, Sorry. He spoke again. “Merry Christmas, Franziska. I’m glad you’re coming.” His face creased as he smiled at her. Aging suited a man with a childhood like his.
“Don’t you start being all fluffy. And no changing the subject. Now, tell me about this... Trucy.”
Miles seemed all too happy to oblige, until her added, “She may well be my niece soon enough, after all.”
“Franziska!”
She allowed herself a small smile. They hardly noticed the train pull into the station.
Christmas 2026
“Klavier, are you sure…? You’re more than welcome—”
“Ja, Apollo, ja. I know. Danke.” He flashed what he hoped was one of those 'brilliant' smiles the magazines liked to write about. Apparently, for now, it was enough to fool the defense attorney too. Either that, or he wasn’t sure what to do but pretend to be fooled.
It had been so long since Klavier had leant on any one, he didn’t even have the regret where it should’ve been, in the pit of his stomach. The voice saying, read between the lines, Herr Forehead. It struck him that he was like one of those people afflicted with the inability to feel pain. And wasn’t that dangerous? People who could put their hand to a stove and not know until they smelt their flesh burning.
Those were the thoughts that had floated through his head as he had walked back to his solitary apartment the day prior. There were a lot of things half-hidden in the shadows of his mind. He didn’t pay any of them much attention. Klavier could ignore smoke until it became a fire, and then some. If there was a way to get out of something without permanent burns, he didn’t know of it.
His mind was a pleasanter place these days, in the way vines curling around a decrepit house might be described as such. It was early days for him and Apollo, but the air between them hummed with a promise they were both aware of. These days, when Klavier awoke and pulled up the blinds, he saw a world in two halves: Schrödinger’s box. A life without Apollo. A life with Apollo. He was in the space between, neither here nor there, but he knew he was moving towards something.
Still, this Christmas was to be spent alone. There was still a way away. And he wasn’t sure he could manage a Christmas with anyone else anyway.
The walls and nothingness his apartment consisted of made him anxious, so he woke up bright and early, and turned on the radio to accompany him while he got ready. The building was full of winter light. Warm, festive music drifted through the steamy air as he showered and he sung along for all of two minutes before the brightness of the songs began to make him uncomfortable.
Fifteen minutes, a scarf and coat later, he was out of the front door.
The snow was old, dirty and pushed up in ridges along the edge of the street, leaving only a harsh layer of unshattered ice. Klavier stepped in that deliberate way you had to to avoid slipping, especially in his impractical, fashionable boots, though he had a couple close shaves all the same.
Los Angeles was a ghost town.
The cold sunk down to his very bones. His fingers were so numb they didn’t feel like his own.
Klavier seemed to have a permanent case of brainfreeze. His mind was full of nothing that could be made sense of and a loud ache that drained out everything else, and so he left it alone.
He snaked his way through grey streets, gaze careful to evade any lit windows. He finally made it to the park, and his chosen bench, and sunk into it with a sigh, not minding the cold already seeping through the seat of his jeans. He pulled his coat tighter around him.
He usually came here with the intention of bird-feeding, but today, there wasn’t another living thing in sight. He frowned at nothing in particular. There was a stream a little ways off which gave the impression of being frozen over—but upon closer inspection, you could see animation under the glass. Half the water flowed, half didn’t. Klavier chased a chunk of ice with the toe of his boot. The day passed by overhead, too slow.
It was some time and half-a-snowman later when Klavier was disrupted from his dreamlike reverie. He had begun constructing with his bare hands, like some kind of foolish, torturous version of a childhood pastime—his fingers were an angry red. The activity behind him was enough to make him start.
A little girl and her mother. Whispers, points. A sour expression, tugging. “They were bad men, Amelie!”
“Not Klavier!”
He smiled weakly to himself. He was wondering whether to go back to his constructing when the girl broke free of her mother’s grasp and ran over.
“You’re Mr. Klavier.”
“That would be me.”
They stood in silence for a second, though it wasn’t awkward. Children couldn't be awkward. Klavier liked them, more than most adults.
He was vaguely aware of how ridiculous he looked, clothes damp where parts of his body had been in contact with the snow too long. The girl just looked at him intently, like he was something behind glass at a museum.
“Don’t you celebrate Christmas, Mr. Klavier?”
“Ah, uh—” He gestured at the snowman, as if he might have an answer. He hadn’t been counting on human interaction today.
“He doesn’t have a face.”
“Yes, well…” He took a breath. The mother shifted impatiently in the background, arms folded. “I’m sorry—Amelie, was it? Where are my manners? I don’t know if there’s anything I can do for you—I would offer an autograph, but I don’t have a pen—” The little girl reached out and took his hand in both of her own.
“Your hands are cold, Mr. Klavier. Go home soon. Merry Christmas!” And with that, she ran off back to her mother. He stayed there, one knee in the snow, hand still hovering mid-air, watching the space the girl had occupied for a long time—until the snow had sunken right through his clothes and left his skin clammy and damp.
The nicest part of the day came when Klavier had gotten home, changed, and curled up under a blanket on the couch. Evening had already fallen. He lay in the fetal position for some time, shivering to warmth before switching on the TV and flicking to a channel playing cheesy Christmas movies. He fetched some day-old sushi, the only edible thing in his fridge.
He soon drifts into a fitful sleep. He wakes with his head rolled back, neck aching, and that strange taste in his mouth. He manages to drag himself to bed. He's still cold under the covers. Outside, snow has begun to fall again. This is comforting to him, somehow.
Somewhere in his mind, there's the vague sensation of a box being checked. Did it. Another Christmas day to be relegated to the pile of forgotten rejects.
He really hates Christmas.
He drifts off listening to the nothing outside, his head heavier and heavier on the pillow. Sleep swallows him like something pressing into his eyes and his parted lips. Everything would ache in the morning—it always did.
He sleeps with an arm outstretched. At least these days he has somebody to imagine beside him.
He only cries in his sleep. There's nobody to caress his sticky face in the morning, or to see the telltale strands of hair clinging to his cheeks. There is only his worn face in the mirror, and the harsh light of day. The splash of water, the smile.
Klavier would like to spend Christmas with someone else, but he isn't sure he knows how to.
“Ja, it is not so bad, is it, Detective Skye?”
“Dude, just call me Ema—we’re already here.”
Here was a bar—bustling, of course, in the settling darkness of Christmas Eve. It wasn’t unpleasant, though. Klavier had gained enough knowledge of Los Angeles’ social venues from his rockstar days to write a book. It was artfully lit, and jazz renditions of Christmas tunes drifted through the crowd.
It wasn’t every Christmas Eve that Detective Ema Skye and Prosecutor Klavier Gavin ended up in a bar together, but of course he had gotten her for the Prosecution Office and Police Department’s Secret Santa. She had asked for a date or something alcoholic—Ema wasn’t just going to enter something like this and take it seriously—and so he had presented himself to her on the day of the gift-giving, posing seductively against a doorframe. And what had at first been a joke—Ema had a little more patience these days, even for this fop—turned into a discussion about how neither of them had anything else to do, anyway, and, well, here they were.
“God, I hate Christmas.”
“I empathise, Ms. Skye.”
“Really? ...Oh, well, I guess. Yeah, probably.”
He raised an eyebrow, and his glass. “To… Shitty, shitty Christmases.”
She burst out laughing at this. “Since when were you so vulgar? Also, please, call me Ema—anything else is just weird. These are your leaving drinks, after all.”
She was referring to his impending move to Khura’in, with a one Apollo Justice.
“I’m sure I’ll see you plenty over there, though. Wait ‘til you get a load of Prosecutor Sahdmadhi. Your monopoly on shampoo ad deals will be no more.”
He listened to her, amused, head propped up on one fist. Ema didn’t have much of a filter, and he had always found her easy company for that reason. She fiddled with her bow, occasionally sipping her beer.
“But hey, look.” She furrowed her brow, and looked into space angrily long enough for a bartender to jump at her gaze and move down the row of customers. “You’re alright, Gavin. I was just a miserable bitch back in the day.” She spoke as though it were twenty years ago and not two. “Now I’m just... a less-miserable bitch.” She smiled at him brightly all of a sudden, like the sun emerging from between clouds. “You’re still a glimmerous fop... but you’re a good guy. Even if you always made me do all the work.” She thumped on his chest, gesturing to his heart, he supposed, because God forbid Ema ever give a compliment sincerely. He smiled guiltily.
“And you, Fräulein, are a great detective.”
“Hey, don’t compliment me, that’s weird.”
Klavier supposed that what he also liked about Ema was how she spoke to him like he were anyone else. It had always been refreshing to have someone look at him and see beyond all the glitter, at least a little.
“You’d better look after the little guy.”
“I'm certain it will be him looking after me.”
Ema stared into her glass, swishing the contents around. Any remaining tension seemed to have drained out of her body now that the necessary niceties had been exchanged. Klavier watched her as her gaze drifted to the crowds, eddying by outside. A troubled expression passed over her face like a shadow.
“And how will you be spending Christmas this year… Ema?”
She jumped as though she had forgotten he was there. “Eh. You know.” She avoided his gaze.
He knew.
“I hope… that if you might like, you will join me and Apollo next year?”
Ema's expression transformed into one of shock, as, all at once, whatever facade she had kept up for all these years fell away. Her mouth opened and closed a few times before she could speak.
“That’s, um, really nice… Fop.” She stumbled over the words. He smiled.
“Christmas isn't a day to be spent alone.”
She almost looked ready to retaliate, but the impulse sunk into the air between them, disappearing. “Hey, you're one to talk.” Her voice had gone ever so slightly limp.
“Let's hope it's the last year for the both of us.”
She looked at him with that absent-minded worry, but seemed comforted somehow. He hoped so.
They drank in companionable silence for some time, until Klavier’s phone began to buzz in his pocket. Upon seeing the caller, he frowned. “Excuse me, it’s Apollo.”
Simon put down the bags, exhaling slowly. His companions followed suit. They were in all but pitch-black darkness now, and the wind was so strong you could hear it.
“This had better be one fucking amazing vegan Christmas dinner, Simon.”
He simply stared back at her as they all huddled together in front of the Blackquill residence. The snow was coming down in ever-thicker sheets, leaving the now-empty streets a perfect blanket of white.
“Umm… Are we just gonna wait here ‘til we all freeze over or what?”
Simon looked at her blankly. “You have the key.”
“No, brother, I don’t— Fuck. Fuck. You’re not serious.”
Horror was dawning on both of the siblings’ faces in perfect unison.
“You guys were gonna let me back in!”
“Well, you assumed that, yes. And we assumed… that you had a key.” Simon slowly sunk into a crouching position, resting his head in his arms.
Aura looked sceptically at her heeled boots, as if mentally debating their ability to smash a window or two. Taka cawed and cocked his head.
“I can’t believe this. Should’ve just gotten a fucking turkey.”
“One, Aura, that wouldn’t have changed anything, and two, please mind your language while Taka is present—”
“Um, guys.”
“He’s a fucking bird!”
“Uhhh.”
“I mean, we can get someone to let us into the block, but not the apartment. And somehow I don’t think any service that’s gonna be able to help us with this will be available after-hours on Christmas Eve.”
“Guys.”
A defeated Simon and an indignant Aura turned to face the third member of the group.
“Did you say something, Athena?” The prosecutor asked wearily.
Athena blinked back at them. “We can always go to the Agency."
“Hey, come on, Pearly, there's no need to cry! Christmas in Kurain isn’t that exciting, is it?” Maya joked. Pearl never had quite managed to shake that habit of bursting into tears as soon as anything went wrong, even at eighteen years of age.
“B-But… what will...” She hiccuped, rubbing at her eyes with her sleeves, “...we do?”
They were just two of many passengers at Los Angeles’ biggest train station, the departure halls filling with more nervous energy and people by the minute. A blizzard was beginning outside and the tracks had been declared unsafe. Their train to Kurain Village, where Maya was due to spend her first Christmas as the Master, had just been cancelled.
Maya stood with her hands on her hips, deep in thought. She never had been very good at being stressed, even when the situation perhaps called for it. For now, she deigned to placate Pearl with a hot chocolate and pretzel from a nearby stand. They settled into a few seats after a couple had seen the smaller spirit medium and moved sympathetically.
“Look, it’ll all work out! We’ve been in far worse stitches than this, haven’t we?” She smiled at her cousin.
Still, the response she'd gotten after leaving Pearl to present her case to the nearest help desk hadn't been very hopeful.
“Sorry, Miss, but the blizzard’s started now. I’d say you give up on your train and get to safe quarters ASAP if you want my advice.” A sympathetic shrug.
She shook her head upon re-approaching Pearl, which nearly sent the younger girl into a fresh bout of tears. The real problem here was that Maya had just spent her last money on the snacks, so a taxi was out of the question.
It was as she was considering this conundrum that Pearl piped up with a shaky, “D-Do you think… if we really can’t get back… could we… go to Mr. Nick’s?”
Maya looked at her.
“Oh! Of course! You’re brilliant, Pearly!” Her cousin beamed up at her, wet face and all.
Of course, this had occurred to Maya about five minutes prior, but she had been hoping a better solution than hitching a ride with a stranger would come to her.
It was at this precise moment that Miles Edgeworth emerged from the crowds ahead of her like some burgundy, cravatted miracle.
“Rayfa, it’s the lap or the trunk, I’m afraid.”
“What is this ugly contraption anyway? And so small! Is it for people with no friends?”
It was probably for the best that Apollo’s long-suffering, “Since when did you have any?” was drowned out by a much snappier, “I know she’s a Princess, but tell her to watch it,” from Ema, whose Christmas Eve now consisted of a car populated by two prosecutors, a defense attorney, a rebel… something or other and a member of the Khura’in royal family. It sounded like the start of a bad joke.
“All strapped in, kids?”
Rayfa grumbled something from where she was perched on Nahyuta’s knees.
The fact that they had all managed to end up here a mere hour after Klavier had received Apollo's call was down to Ema using a squad car, sirens and all, to bypass traffic all the way to LAX. What? It would’ve taken, like, six times as long otherwise, and did Klavier really want to leave his poor darling alone in an airport on Christmas Eve?
It was only halfway through the journey back—Datz snapping pictures every two minutes out the window, Rayfa asleep and clinging onto Nahyuta’s braid—that Apollo actually bothered to ask, “Where are we going, exactly?”
Ema gave him a look in the overhead mirror. Klavier thought for a second. “Well… You are all more than welcome at my apartment, liebling, but I can’t say it will be very comfortable.”
“Why don’t we just go hang with PW?”
The cookies had indeed, by some miracle, eventually made it into the oven, but not without leaving devastation in their wake. “Clean as you go" was not a concept either Phoenix or Trucy Wright were familiar with, or cared to be familiar with, and their kitchen unit was cluttered with bowls piled high and had received its own dusting of flour and sprinkles. Phoenix’s Christmas tree jumper—made for him by Trucy in school years past—was similarly suffering. Trucy had a blob of bright blue icing on her forehead.
Still, the room was filling with the smell of baked goods, and the two were perhaps prouder than their achievements warranted as they waltzed around their living room. Trucy was giggling like a toddler. They were worlds away from the snow stacking up on the window sill—it was coming down full-force, making it hard to see anything beyond the glass.
Trucy had long since forgotten her phone in her room by the time she was icing top hat-shaped biscuits, tongue stuck out in concentration, so when their doorbell rang, ending the spell and reminding them of the outside world, she could only assume Mr. Edgeworth and his sister had arrived safely after all as she bounded towards the intercom.
Stepping back in from making a call, Phoenix found Miles still at the door, brushing snow off his trenchcoat onto the little welcome mat sitting at their apartment entrance.
“Well, don’t you look dashing?”
“Don’t patronise me, Wright.”
“I’m not!” Phoenix smiled. Their voices were soft under the surge of noise. “I’m glad you’re here, Miles, but you can’t stay on the doorstep evading social interaction forever.”
Phoenix melted back into the crowd populating the small living room before the prosecutor had the chance to offer a rebuttal.
A stroll around the room offered sights such as Gumshoe showing Athena his, um, gun, and Maggey practically crawling all over Klavier, who actually looked sort of flustered. The couple had been picking Miles and Franziska up from the airport—though their load had ended up two spirit mediums heavier than previously predicted.
Apollo was having what seemed to be an actual semi-serious conversation with Datz. His hand was resting on the couch beside him, over Klavier’s.
Nahyuta had become more of a centrepiece than the actual tree they had just managed to squeeze into the room, hair cascading down his back, occasionally catching the light and causing someone to look away from their conversation. He appeared to be meditating as Pearl knelt behind him, re-braiding it. Both were oblivious to Rayfa hovering about them like an angry bee.
Ema and Aura had already thrown themselves onto a couch, beers in hand, and seemed to be getting on like a house on fire.
Maya had now managed to pull Miles into the fold and was no doubt teasing him, if the grin on her face were anything to go by. She had hoisted herself up onto his kitchen unit—how many times had he told her not to do that?—and was swinging her legs playfully.
It was hard not to notice Blackquill making for the relative peace and quiet of the balcony—he was like some towering black mass, moving through the room—but when Athena only looked up briefly from whichever caliber bullet the detective was showing her now and appeared unconcerned, Phoenix figured she knew better than him if he just needed some space.
Lastly, and most hilariously, Trucy was leading Franziska through the room by the hand, introducing her to everyone—the prosecutor didn’t seem to know how to refuse. Fresh terror could be seen dawning on Apollo’s face as she now approached him.
“Nick, my man, you threw a whole party and I’m just the errand guy?!”
And that would be Larry Butz, positively slamming the front door open with his foot, toting all the bedding one man could carry. Dropping everything rather theatrically, he threw a hand to his chin, surveying the room. “Just how many more did you adopt since I last saw you?”
By nightfall, snow had obliterated the outside world and Christmas at the Wright Anything Agency was eighteen-strong. Most of them had drifted instinctively into a semi-circle on the seating that surrounded the tree, and the floor had become a sea of mattresses and blankets. The “kids” (Trucy, sure; Pearl, iffy; Maya...?) were playing a rather unchallenging game of 'the floor is lava' along with, incredibly, Franziska. The room was lit with about ten different scented candles thanks to Trucy’s overzealousness. Klavier was mucking about with an old keyboard of hers, sometimes playing Christmas tunes, sometimes interjecting the conversation with a horror movie scream sound effect, earning him regular kicks from Apollo.
Phoenix took advantage of the next lull in the conversation. “Well, that blizzard doesn’t look like it’s letting up, so I hope you’re all content with spending Christmas here.”
“I only hope we won’t be imposing on you, Wright-dono.”
“Sorry to ruin your first ever actual romantic Christmas—unless you count the one where he asked you to defend him.” Maya was quiet enough so that only he could hear, but his elbow into her side was still enough to cause an eggnog spillage.
“We’re forever indebted, Herr Wright,” came the sing-song voice of Klavier.
“There’s enough of us here to stage an impromptu trial—or five.” And that was Apollo.
“Don’t jinx it,” Phoenix chuckled. “Just when everything’s calmed down for two seconds.” It had been a joke, but his words settled in the air between them all, and even the keyboard stopped its electronic tunes for a moment.
Franziska sat down beside her brother, uncharacteristically breathless. “Long… may it continue.”
“Give your— Franziska a break, Trucy; what is this, an initiation?”
His daughter threw her arms around his neck for a second, grinning against his skin before disappearing down the hall. He could see Maya smiling slightly out of the corner of his eye.
“Anyway, you’re all more than welcome here.”
Phoenix waited for the conversation to bubble up again before getting up to leave the room.
His arms were beginning to tremble rather violently after five minutes had elapsed, so it was just as well when the, “So this is where you disappeared off to,” drifted from the darkness behind him. He managed to swivel his torso—about all the movement his barely-there balcony allowed—just as Miles came out to join him. “Do you want hypothermia, Wright?”
All the same, the prosecutor settled beside him. The snow drifted down slowly, though the streets below had already been positively buried. The moon shone, bright as anything above them.
A harsh brrrring came from beside Phoenix, slicing through the soft silence. When he looked, Miles was fiddling with his watch. A bright pink was settling onto the man’s skin.
“Midnight,” he said briskly. The laughter erupted from deep in Phoenix’s lungs.
“You have an alarm for Christmas? That’s so… you.”
“And?” Was the reply, only slightly annoyed.
Phoenix smiled up at Miles until he noticed and resorted to fiddling with his glasses. When he refused to look away, he was afforded a brief, “What?”
“So ineloquent!” Phoenix could feel his cheeks burning from the cold, and the size of his smile. “You haven’t noticed yet, have you?”
When Miles only looked at him, Phoenix allowed his eyes to direct the other’s to the space above their heads, even as his stomach did a small backflip.
The expression that dawned on the prosecutor’s face wasn’t unlike something from a cartoon, never mind his eyes darting to and fro as though the balcony might mercifully open up and let him run right off it.
“Did you plan this, you juvenile?” Miles spluttered.
This time, the laughing fit transformed into full-on coughing.
“Come on!” He wheezed. “I found it in the drawer the other day, it’s not even real, it’s just a joke—” He had settled back into position, arms resting on the balcony railing, watching the buildings ahead. It was his turn, now, to notice Miles’ eyes remaining on him. He turned. “Hey, look, I was just messing around—”
His brain didn’t really understand why the words stopped until he realised there were lips, on his lips, and cold fingers, cupping his chin, and cheeks. And it was kind of wet and dry both and then the visuals played back in his brain like they had been delayed and, oh, Miles had taken his face in his hands and kissed him. Miles was kissing him. Oh.
Phoenix’s eyes fluttered open and he didn’t remember closing them and the fish in his stomach was still thrashing about wildly when Miles pulled away and turned to look at the sky, arms folded, of all things.
“Wha—?”
“Honestly, Phoenix, you put out mistletoe; what did you want me to do?”
And he just kind of stood there, his mouth probably a perfect 'o'. Finally, Miles turned back towards him again rather awkwardly, and his face was definitely redder now.
“Wait, I wasn’t ready— Do I get, like, another go?” He found himself asking.
They looked at each other for a second, and Miles actually began to laugh. “We’re not very good at this, are we?”
“Well… I’ll see if Trucy’ll put one of her chapsticks in your stocking.” At the look on the prosecutor’s face, Phoenix threw his hands up. “Hey, hey, that was mean, sorry. Sorry.” He offered up a small smile. “Merry Christmas, Miles.”
The next kiss was only still, and warm.
And who knew how much time had passed when they came back in, because for all the excuses Phoenix had prepared in his head, when he pushed open the door to the living room, only two of Trucy’s little candle flames were left bobbing, and all their family and friends—draped over couch arms, in cuddling piles on mattresses, tangled in blankets with soft toys—were fast asleep.
“My bed?” Phoenix whispered across the room. Based on the look he got, it was probably only thanks to the five or so people sprawled across the floor between them that he didn’t get lunged at. And it was probably just as well he soon found Trucy there instead. There never had been a Christmas where she hadn’t crawled into his bed at some point, either for stories the night before or after breakfast in the morning, surrounded by cardboard boxes and plastic from her gifts. Miles had managed to squeeze into her bed, magic hat-printed covers and all—he had to take a picture of that before he woke up—and once Phoenix had made sure the other man was settled, he had collapsed, at last, next to his daughter.
Time passed, and Phoenix found himself watching the snow falling. His sleepy mind wondered at how cold it must be outside, and yet how he couldn’t feel any of it—only Trucy’s breath tickling his neck, and the warmth of the bed, and the apartment. He wondered at how full his heart felt, knowing not one of the people on one of his ratty old couches, or the floor of his living room, or in his daughter’s bed was troubled—how they all slept peacefully. He wondered distantly how he knew that to be true, and then he fell asleep before he could wonder any more.
When morning came, it took him a minute to remember when in his life he was as he felt his daughter’s fingers tracing the corners of his lips clumsily, childishly, her voice drifting up through the fog of sleep to say, “Daddy, you’re smiling.”