Work Text:
1)
“This should wrap up all the documents for this week’s cases.” Edgeworth says, placing the last paper on the stack of paperwork. In front of him, Gumshoe picks up the tower of papers with no problem at all and smiles at him. Even with his newfound status as the Chief Prosecutor, Gumshoe still sticks beside him like a gum in a shoe –he inwardly snorts – and he feels a bit of calm working with the man whose loyalty is unwavering.
“You’re so amazing, sir! Then I shall bring this down then, thank you for your hard work!” He says, Edgeworth nods mutely, his mind wandering off on how he shall spend his weekend. With a good book and several batches of tea perhaps? Maybe he should do a marathon of Steel Samurai on his comfy couch. He could even do some additional works while watching.
Ah indeed, this Chief Prosecutor is looking forward to his glorious weekend –that is, if nothing happens of course, and if there was one thing he learned with his long years as an attorney, it was that anything, just anything can happen.
Still he hopes, and he packs his briefcase with a small, barely noticeable smile.
“I’ll see you next week, Detective Gumshoe. I’ll be at the home office if you ever need me.” He tells the other man as they both go out of his office. Gumshoe grins, then salutes at him, “Have a great weekend, sir!” And at the same time dropping all the papers he was carrying, sending pieces of paper flying all over the place and scattering on the floor.
Gumshoe just scratches his head, “Woops.”
‘Woops’ doesn’t even to begin with, Gumshoe. Those papers were arranged accordingly! Edgeworth is tempted to cut the man’s pay check, but refrains from doing so out of the goodness of his own heart.
2)
They spend a good hour or two rearranging the stack of papers, and Edgeworth is still amazed at how patient he was.
“Quite busy aren’t you, Mr. Edgeworth?” a voice says behind him, and he whips around to see a stranger hovering over their hunched backs. “Winston!” Gumshoe greets enthusiastically, this time, mindful of the papers he was holding –because heaven forbid if Gumshoe drops them again – but Winston, whoever he was, was frowning at them.
“Well you see, Chief Prosecutor, there’s been a situation outside.” Winston informs them, shaking his head. Edgeworth’s eyes narrow, situation? He stands up and is mentally assessing the level of threat, when Winston continues, “The paparazzi and fangirls have joined forces and are blocking the building’s exit areas.”
Wait, what? What? Beside him, the detective voices out his thoughts in the form of a yell.
“Do tell us more, Mister… uh, Mr. Winston.” He trails off, unsure. Of what to call him.
The man blinks at him, as if confused, “Prosecutor Winston Payne, sir.” The man tells him, flipping his hair off. Is that a new hairstyle? How come he’s never heard of this man before?
“Well, if you didn’t know, the paparazzi are here because of Prosecutor Gavin.” He says, as if it was obvious. “The fans are upset with his recent post on Twitter, outraged even.”
What did Prosecutor Gavin do on Twitter to elicit this kind of reaction from the fans? And why can’t the police just have them arrested? His eyes flickers to Gumshoe for a while, considers asking him to call some backup from the headquarters.
Said man in question brightens up, “Oh, I’ve seen that tweet! He finally publicized his relationship with Justice! That’s some great news, pal!” he says, eyes crinkling in laughter. Winston nods, but the frown is still on his face.
“Apparently not for the fans, I say. Geez, youngsters, always up to no good. And now the fans are camping out around the building until they see that Gavin boy and try to convince him otherwise.”
The detective’s jaw drops, “No way, then we’re stuck in here until then?”
Did he hear that right? Relationship with Apollo Justice?
3)
“You don’t know what a Twitter is? Which century are you living in, Edgeworth?” From the string of information Edgeworth just told him that was the only part Wright deemed necessary to ponder upon.
“Can you focus on the issue at hand, Wright? We’ve got a situation here, if you haven’t care to notice?” He grits out, irritated.
Phoenix scoffs on the other side, “And in case you haven’t noticed, Miles, I’m a defense attorney, not a prosecutor. Can’t you guys just call the cops on them? Where’s the security? You know, I’m getting disappointed with you guys. I mean, I’m just a single dad with teenage daughter, I don’t think I need any more drama in my life.”
“The police are on it, but I know for a fact that Prosecutor Gavin is hiding out in the agency as we speak, can you pass the phone to him?” Phoenix audibly gulps, and laughs nervously.
“How can you be so sure? You don’t have evidence.” He refutes, but the creak in his tone gave him away.
“Really, Wright?” he chastises, “Prosecutor Blackquill has some reliable sources. Now hand him the phone.” He eyes Blackquill in front of him, who smirks at him – Edgeworth then suddenly decides that he doesn’t want to get on this man’s bad side.
There was a curse, and collective hisses of, “Athena!” before Phoenix finally sighing in disdain, “Well Gavin, I tried.” and the sound of the phone being handed to another person.
Victory – a smirk is beginning to form on his face. But it turns into a frown, that was kind of a long pause.
Dial tone.
"Wright!!"
4)
"The Pink Princess is good idea. A feminine hero sets a good example to the viewers." Blackquill remarks, sipping their 34th batch of tea, eyes glued to the screen. They set up his office to get comfortable on the couch, and play Steel Samurai on his laptop. Gumshoe is snoring loudly at his swivel chair, who fell asleep two hours into the show.
Well he wanted a marathon, Edgeworth should really be careful of what he wishes for.
"If I remember correctly, the basis for her character design was inspired by Miss Fey."
Blackquill turns to Edgeworth in disbelief. "The Spirit Master?" to which Edgeworth nods, "She wasn't a Master yet at that time, and back then she assists Wright in his investigations and that's where they met the creator of the series."
"Ah, the Spiked Attorney.”
Edgeworth chuckles lightly at that, "Whatever happened to Wright-dono?"
Blackquill straightens up to smirk at his direction, "That's just for show."
They both chuckle, and the clock ticks to 4 AM.
5)
Edgeworth is now sitting in his apartment, sipping some tea. The police cleared up the fans – who even set up sleeping tents and camps – around the building by 7 AM, and all the prosecutors trapped inside quickly moved out to head home. Now he plans to read a good book, and finish up some leftover paperwork for the office – and “Edgeworth!”
That. Voice. Wright.
The door slams open, and two figures make their way inside. Edgeworth considers hiding under the table just so they would think he’s not home, but it was too late, for Maya has already entered the dining area.
“Mr. Edgeworth! Hello!” She greets, while she and Wright take a seat at his both sides. And did Edgeworth have a bad feeling about this.
“Miss Fey, Wright, good afternoon, what can I do for you? I’m afraid all I can offer you is some tea.” He tells them, but they looked like they weren’t listening that much, and they had mischievous smiles plastered on both their faces.
Which could only mean they are up to no good. There goes his peaceful weekend, he thinks with resignation.
“Well, Miles, Maya and I were wondering why you didn’t know what Twitter was, and we came into this conclusion that you might not even know what Facebook is!” Wright explains, and it didn’t make any sense to Edgeworth. He knew what Facebook was, but has never used one before, and he lived without it, so why learn about it?
“We came here to educate you, Mr. Edgeworth! We’ll make you social media famous!” Maya chimes in.
And that was how Edgeworth ended up with Facebook, Instagram, Twitter and even Snapchat accounts. He’s still wondering how he’ll use them and why so many? Maya says it’s only natural, but Edgeworth is quite content with living without them.
It’s quite handy though, he had to admit. Learning about the happenings of his friends and acquaintances without talking to them. It’s handy, but also time consuming. He finds out a lot of things, first is that Franziska rants in twitter a lot, and she writes every single word, “foolishly foolish fool” and the like, and she complains about a lot of things, from the Judge’s incapability to the hardness of airplane seats, which made her uncomfortable and restless for the whole duration of the trip.
And Prosecutor Shi-Long Lang is Instagram famous. His account was what people would describe as “feed goals” – this guy is always travelling and he always takes stunning pictures – and on Twitter he posts about Shifu’s sayings, but Edgeworth didn’t really bother checking that part. He drops Edgeworth a small message on how he’s stunned that he is catching up with the technology, and that Shifu says that “always adapt with the latest technology.”
He also finds that tweet where Prosecutor Gavin announced that he and Apollo were dating, a short tweet saying, “Achtung, ladies! But Forehead is off-limits, because he’s mine!” attached to a picture of them kissing – which was a bit too obscene. Think before you click, he guesses.
Checking Maya’s and Wright’s accounts, he finds pictures of their dates and some photos with the client on winning cases. The two are still bugging him to post and learn more about the internet, but Edgeworth digresses, maybe he’ll post pictures of his dog instead. Along the way, he finds Gumshoe’s account, filled with crime scene photos that shouldn’t be revealed to the public!! He’s going to have words with the kind detective about that later.
Many words.
And a salary cut.
5.1)
Bonus
“Nick, Nick!!” Maya practically squeals.
Phoenix sighs. Today was a good day, he’s proud that he’s been a helpful friend by introducing social media to Miles, who seems to be enjoying it. Weird though, that he has all those new gadgets and he only ever use them for work.
One good deed a day.
“Niiiiick!” she yells this time at his ear, making him jump and slap her away.
“Maya, stop that!”
The Master of the Kurain Technique pouts at him, “But Nick, I found some good Steel Samurai fanfics! It’s so realistic! You’ve got to read this!! This author is my fave!”
“What.”
Phoenix sighs, “Alright, let me see it.” Maya shoves her tablet in his face, and he scowls at her before reading the first few paragraphs.
“Oh hey, this actually looks good…”
(5.2)
Edgeworth closes the document he’s been working on for a while. He’ll send them later to Blackquill so he can proofread them. He can’t have his readers be exposed to subpar writings, oh no. Not when he’s writing Steel Samurai.
What he doesn’t know is that Maya is reading his works halfway across the town.
(6)
He is sipping some tea while typing some documents in his laptop when someone slams his office door open.
“Who is he?!” Klavier asks from the doorway, looking just a bit scandalized. On his phone, there is a picture of an auburn-haired guy accompanying the post, “Hunk opens bakery down the street!”
It’s a short news article about a handsome man running a bakery in the city who captured almost every girl’s heart within the 10 kilometer range. A wa
Edgeworth examines the guy on the picture, “Ah, Zacharias Barnham. Don’t you know him, Prosecutor Gavin? I heard he’s Blackquill’s sparring partner.” Edgeworth replies, eyes on his laptop. He’s heard Blackquill mention him a lot of times, who developed a friendship with the man and commending his swordsmanship (Barnham gifted him the name, Sir Mostly Black Knight, while Blackquill dubbed him as Badass Baker) and pastry making skills.
“Was, really? But Herr Blackquill is ruthless…” Klavier mumbled in disbelief, eyes wide. The man inwardly gulps, then leaves the room without another word.
Hmmm, odd. Back to work then.
And out of curiosity, he checks out the articles about Barnham. It seems that the girls aren’t just there to check him out, apparently, he makes delicious pastries as well. Food critics approve of him, and he’s also Instagram famous (is that a thing everybody does now?) where he’s known as Sir_Zach and posting his breadmaking adventures as well as romantic pictures of him and Eve, his girlfriend – much to the disdain of many maidens.
Edgeworth wonders about one thing though, how come everyone he knows is social media famous?
(7)
“Miles, you followed me on Instagram, I thank you.” Barnham says, petting his dog, a Pomeranian who is just a bit bigger than a basketball. Today he’s just wearing plain polo and some faded jeans, with his sunglasses on his head.
They were walking their dogs in the park – like they usually do at weekends, and after they would stop by his place for some tea – and a lot of people kept on throwing them looks – to be more specific, a lot of people were throwing Barnham looks – but they ignored them. It worked though, no one approached them, but he thinks that might be so because of his glares.
Edgeworth nods, “I am merely following you to be up to date with your career, but were you aware that you are well-known in the internet? I have seen articles contributing to your attractive masculinity.”
Zacharias turns to look at him grimly, “That is one of my biggest regrets, friend. One day I was just posting to let my friends from Labyrinthia know what’s happening with us and the bakery, because of the expansion, the next we were being flooded with girls who wants to see a glimpse of my face. Your community is weird, Edgeworth, never have I experienced this before in my long years in Labyrinthia.”
“That’s horrible,” and he means it, he completely understands, he’s seen what happened with Klavier.
The auburn-haired man groans, “I know, right? To be honest, I would prefer witches over these, insane maidens.”
Edgeworth kind of agrees with him.
(8)
Bonus
“I thought I’d find you here.” A voice says, and when Klavier looks up from his paper to see who it was, he was standing there at the doorway, looking like an apparition. Apollo Justice, his long-time rival and friend, standing there and holding a bag of takeaway.
He’s tired and hungry, but he doesn’t really feel like going home to his apartment tonight – or any night at all – not after that. He keeps telling himself that he’s okay now, but he’s not. It is past working hours, and he’s slightly wondering how the attorney got in – and he briefly remembers that Apollo is quite convincing, especially with his voice.
“Of course, Forehead, this is my office.” He replies, chuckling, but somehow, the crinkle doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
Justice ignores him, instead taking a seat on his receiving chairs and setting the takeaway on his desk. “I brought some soba, I heard from Prosecutor Blackquill that they were good. Rumor has it that the famous rock star prosecutor has been pulling late nights at the office.”
Klavier snorts while cleaning up his desk, gathering the cluttered mess. “You mean you heard from Fraulein Cykes who heard it from Prosecutor Blackquill, ja?”
“Nope, I heard it from Mr. Wright. Apparently, Prosecutor Edgeworth told him that you were acting weird. So here, have some soba. Trucy’s out with Pearls performing in Wonder Bar while Mr. Wright is on a date with Master Maya, I could use some company, any company.” The attorney complains, crossing his arms in irritation. Apollo looks so much like a little child who lost his toy.
The way he says that, the way he explains himself, this makes Klavier laugh out loud, and Apollo is left to stare at him, wondering why he’s laughing.
(8.1)
“You know, even though they’ve been friends for a long time, Mr. Wright admitted that he doesn’t even understood him.” Apollo says, taking a swig of the beer. Where did that come from? Ah, from his secret stash. Klavier isn’t really sober to think about the legalities of hiding liquor in his own office.
“Who?” he asks, dazedly. He’s not quite drunk, but he’s not so much sober. If he and Apollo were to get it on right now, he’d probably remember it in the morning.
“Your brother. I mean they were friends for a long time, weren’t they? He supported Mr. Wright in his lowest, but he didn’t understand why. He only uncovered one secret about him, and after that, Mr. Wright wasn’t so sure if he truly knew him all along.” Apollo babbles, slumping on his desk.
“Did you get to know him, Forehead? You were his student.” Klavier asks him, he doesn’t know why he’s asking that, but he has a feeling he already knows the answer.
“Yeah. I think I do. I mean, I don’t know why he took me in as his apprentice, but for some reason, I understand him. People says he’s cool, cold and always accurate, but the truth was he’s not. He’s not perfect with one great slip up, he’s a perfectionist, but he’s not perfect.”
If that made sense, Klavier agrees. Apollo Justice knew his brother better than anyone, but Klavier knew Kristoph better than him. Somehow, they are the only ones who can understand each other, the pain of losing him. He knew it hurt Apollo too, and he admires the man’s bravery.
“Ja. I know. We’re both perfectionists, Kris and me. He wasn’t perfect, but he tries so hard to be so, and he’s got so many slip-ups that you can count them on your fingers and toes, but to think that…” he trails off, because he’s got so much to say that he can’t voice them out.
Apollo puts a hand on his shoulder, “I know, I’ve seen him too. People believes he’s heartless, but they’ve never known him at all. Mr. Wright didn’t even come close, but I guess the thing was, he trusted him. Mr. Wright gave his trust, so I think he’s going through some shit too.”
Klavier smiles bitterly, “But he’s moved on.”
And he didn’t know why that sounded so utterly broken and miserable and bitter, it’s been too long after his death and longer since his imprisonment and yet he’s still haunted by memories of him and Daryan. But especially his brother, charming Kris who doesn’t know how to raise a teenage kid with issues while trying to pass the bar, Kris who had him put up with terrible cooking – which improved greatly over the years – his brother who moved heaven and earth just to show up in his first gig – and finding out he came in too early – his brother who bought him an acoustic guitar when he asked for an electric one – he still didn’t know if that was on purpose or not – and staying up at nights just to review cases, running around the city for investigations and forgetting to bring dinner upon going home – there’s too many memories that they shared and he holds dear, so many memories that makes him different from the monster they portray him to be.
He didn’t know he was crying until Apollo shoves a bundle of tissues to his face, wiping up the tears.
“Now, now, don’t be a drama queen,” Apollo says drunkenly, falling on his shoulders, he is heavy, Klavier notes. He scoops up the man and they both fall on the floor, leaning against his desk. The other man curls up to him sleepily.
“I still think about him a lot, you know.” The sleepy man whispers to him, “I dwell on what-ifs, but I’m not gonna be stuck in the past forever, and I’m not letting you too, we’re going to face this, you and I, together.”
Klavier blinks at him, then laughs.
“You say the weirdest things when you’re drunk, Forehead. But Danke, I appreciate that.”
“….What’s Danke?”
“You know, Forehead, I think we’re gonna be fine now.”
He snorts on Klavier’s shoulder,“Yeah, of course! I’m Apolllo Justice, and I’m fine! Say it with me!”
“Nein.”
The End