Chapter Text
“There’s someone in the detention center asking for representation.”
Phoenix groans, dropping his head forward onto the coffee table.
He’s jammed himself into the space between the couch and the table, trying to get his brain to focus on the dizzying amount of evidence he needs to understand before a trial begins tomorrow. It should be illegal for anyone to expect him to familiarize himself with a month’s worth of automobile repairs at a mechanic’s shop, especially on such short notice.
Since passing the bar exam a second time, his life has become what basically amounts to a zoo. Leaping back into this life after such a long time is taking a toll on him mentally, emotionally, physically, spiritually, psychologically…in every way, Phoenix is doing worse. He loves this work, but he’s no longer the young man he was in his twenties. Now he’s a decrepit thirty-five years old. Old enough to be the President, but too old to have nice things like working bones.
His schedule is jammed full. Already, he’s on two cases and he can sense the looming threat of disapproving gazes from Edgeworth, Maya, Apollo, and his own daughter for taking on anything else. Not to mention the disappointed and worried attention he’d get from the rest of his office. Phoenix wouldn’t be able to stand it.
“Why’re you calling me?” Phoenix asks, not succeeding at hiding his petulance.
He then squints, realizing that he hasn’t heard any sound from his office in several minutes, and that’s suspicious. Sitting up, fighting against his aching back, he leans forward to get a peek into his office and misses what Gumshoe says in return because he spots Athena bringing a pair of scissors far too close to Charley.
“Hey,” Phoenix calls, glaring, and Athena squeaks and drops her scissors, and Trucy covers her mouth with her hands to giggle at Athena’s surprise. “Trucy, you should be finishing your homework.”
“It’s for biology,” Athena defends.
“It’s for biology, Daddy!” Trucy echoes, eyes too wide and too innocent.
“Find an alternative solution, please.” Phoenix gives the two of them an unimpressed glare until both of the girls relent, and only then does he soften too.
This weekend, Trucy’s supposed to be getting on a train with Maya to go visit Pearl in Kurain, and that trip was supposed to have started with Maya picking Trucy up from the office after Trucy got out of school. Phoenix checks the clock, realizing he’s gotten caught up in his paperwork, and his worry grows when he sees that Athena should have been able to leave an hour ago.
Maya’s tardiness is something Phoenix will need to investigate right away, before he starts panicking, but--oh, right, he’s on the phone.
He rubs at his temples and refocuses on the call. “Sorry, Gumshoe. Um…go back. I told you our office isn’t taking cases right now.”
“I know, I remember. Just, uh, I wouldn’t be callin’ if I didn’t think it was important. I thought you’d at least want to talk to the gal. She asked for you specifically.”
No, no no no-- this is going to turn into something where Phoenix will show up trying to be resolute, and the defendant will win him over and he’ll have to add a new case to his workload. This tone of Gumshoe’s voice is so dangerous, because it’s basically designed to prey on Phoenix’s bleeding heart.
“...What’s she charged with?” Phoenix asks with both reluctance and dread.
“She’s been charged with attempted murder.” Gumshoe hesitates just a second before adding, “The victim is Prosecutor von Karma.”
Phoenix feels his blood thicken, turn to slush. He’s too cold and too hot as he asks, “Franziska’s…?!”
“She’s alive!” Gumshoe reassures him. Blood rushes back into Phoenix’s face, and he has to lean his forehead onto the table to mitigate the dizzying rush of relief. “She’s in the hospital, and they said she’ll be okay. But, the lady we arrested…she’s asking for you. I thought you’d want to hear about it, even if the answer’s no.”
“Does Edgeworth know?”
“I’m calling him next.”
“Okay.” This is…not ideally how this day should be going. Breathing carefully, realizing that he almost passed out at the bad news, Phoenix pulls his wits back about him. He begins to struggle to his feet, despite his aching skeleton. “I’ll be right over.”
“Okay. Thanks. See you soon.” Gumshoe hesitates, giving his words just a breath of space before adding, “Take it easy, pal.”
Phoenix says, “You too,” in a faint sort of way, and then he taps his screen to hang up.
The office is quiet again. Phoenix looks up to find that Athena and Trucy are both in the doorway of his office, watching him with identical apprehensive expressions. Athena must have been able to overhear the panic and discord in Phoenix’s voice.
“Hey,” Phoenix says, trying to pull a smile onto his face. “I have to run to the detention center.”
“I can drive Trucy home,” Athena volunteers right away.
Phoenix checks his watch. They’ve given Maya enough time to show up by now. Usually, she loves to update him on the kinds of misadventures that make her late for most of her engagements, but there are no new texts on Phoenix’s phone.
He takes a measured breath and looks back up at Athena. “If you could, I would really appreciate it.” Athena smiles and bobs her head, nearly hiding the nervous slant to her mouth. “Trucy, you have a house key, right, sweetheart?”
“Yeah, here.” Trucy brandishes the house key on the blue spring-coil bracelet that rarely leaves her wrist. Her eyebrows remain pinched with concern. “Is Aunt Franziska okay?”
Damn it, Phoenix should have been quieter about that. He nods, reminding himself that Gumshoe had promised Franziska was okay, and then he more firmly fixes his smile on his face and holds his arms out.
Trucy steps forward and hugs him around the middle. She’s getting so tall, the brim of her hat meets his chin.
“It’s all okay,” he promises, to reassure both of them. He adjusts her hat on her head so it won’t tip off onto the floor, and then pats her back. “I’m going to go figure things out, and then I’ll find out what’s up with Maya.”
Trucy nods, squeezing extra-tight before releasing him and going back into his office to retrieve her things. Phoenix looks to Athena, determined to remain positive. “Thank you for your help today. Have a safe drive home.”
“You got it, boss.” Athena twirls the end of her ponytail around one finger, and she gives him a thin-lipped smile. She isn’t fooled by Phoenix, not at all. “I’ll text when T-Bird’s home.”
Phoenix locks up the office and the three of them head down the stairs, unusually quiet. He waves Trucy and Athena off, watching Athena whip her car out of the lot before he begins to walk to the bus stop, dialing Maya’s number as he goes.
The phone rings. Phoenix’s dread mounts as each ring passes, and eventually the line clicks and Maya’s voicemail begins to speak to him.
“Hey, this is Maya Fey, Master of the Kurain Channeling Technique. Sorry I missed you! Leave a message and I’ll call you back. If this is about law stuff, call Nick instead, his number’s three two three, eight--”
Damn it--Phoenix told her to take his phone number out of her voicemail message a year ago.
He hangs up and begins to call again, pressing his phone to his ear as he gets to the bus stop and then pinning the phone there with his shoulder so he can look for his bus pass.
He finds it just as the bus pulls up, so he doesn’t have time to take proper hold of his phone and end the call as he boards and taps his pass. The voicemail starts up again, Maya’s cheery voice chirps the message in his ear and he finds a spot to stand, holding onto a handle and situating himself.
“Maya, hi,” he says, when the tone sounds, trying to keep his voice down because the bus is pretty quiet. “Change your damn voicemail. Okay, whatever. Just calling because I thought you were taking Trucy home with you this weekend, but we might’ve miscommunicated, just let me know. Uh, I won’t be at the office if you stop by now. I don’t know if anyone called you, but Franziska’s in the hospital, and I’m gonna go check things out and see what happened and make sure she’s okay and Edgeworth’s okay too, um. She’s stable and everything, at least Gumshoe said so. So…if I don’t answer my phone later I’m out figuring things out, and, uh…anyway, don’t worry about Trucy, we can reschedule. See you.”
Phoenix hangs up and spares a glance to someone sitting in the nearest seat, and finds that they’re giving him a sympathetic, maybe pitying look. Phoenix is too stressed to deal with the good-samaritan instinct he might be inspiring in strangers, so he just presses Edgeworth’s name in his recent calls list and holds the phone back up to his ear and looks away from his audience.
This time, the phone only rings one and a half times before Phoenix hears, “Wright.”
Just by the tone of Edgeworth’s single word, Phoenix can tell that Gumshoe has already delivered the news. Phoenix still asks, to be polite, “You heard?”
“Yes. I’m en route to the hospital.” Edgeworth’s voice is thready. “Gumshoe has informed me that she was poisoned.”
Phoenix feels another rush to his head, one that would’ve sent him to his knees if he hadn’t been holding onto the handle so tightly. The bus hits a pothole and Phoenix jolts, fumbling and nearly dropping his phone, but he manages to catch it and shove it back up by his ear to hear the tail end of the explanation. “--Not making much sense. It’s possible she hit her head.”
“She’ll be alright,” Phoenix says, though his tongue feels too big for his mouth. He must not have had enough water today. “Which hospital is she at?”
“Saint Hermias.”
That’s the one all the way across town. It’ll be at least an hour on the bus, though Phoenix doesn’t think he can afford the fifteen-minute cab ride either. He’ll figure that out later, when his stop isn’t coming up.
Phoenix is worried about leaving Edgeworth on his own, but keeping him on the line might be stressful to Edgeworth too. Phoenix feebly offers, “Call me if there are updates, okay?”
“I will,” Edgeworth says, though he already sounds like his mind is far away.
“I’ll come by as soon as I can.”
Edgeworth ends the call without a goodbye, and Phoenix feels his heart sinking as he puts his phone in his pocket to prepare to disembark.
The bus shudders to a stop, lurching forward until it finds its correct spot at the curb. Phoenix releases the handle he’s been clinging to and he half-tumbles out of the bus, sparing a brief wave to the driver as he goes.
The woman at the front desk of the detention center knows his face by now. She presses the correct button to buzz him in past the protective lobby doors, and she says, “Detective Gumshoe’s with her in room four.”
“Thanks a million,” Phoenix says, surprised by how breathless he sounds. He pushes through the swinging door without stopping to chat any more, and he keeps walking until he finds the correct visitor’s room.
Here, he spares just a moment to check his phone. Maya still hasn’t called him back. She could just be out of range, or her phone could be off due to her being on top of a mountain or something, but she’s not supposed to be back in Kurain yet. She was in town this week, and that leaves very few reasons why she wouldn’t have her phone with her and turned on.
Phoenix considers calling her again. She’s usually much better at keeping in touch.
Before he can make a decision, the door he’s standing in front of swings open. Phoenix looks up and finds Gumshoe standing there.
“Heya, pal,” Gumshoe says. Even his smile is exhausted. “Glad you could make it.”
Phoenix purses his lips. It’s the closest to a smile he can manage; he’s saving the best of his facade for the woman who’s been arrested. She’ll need the bravado more than Gumshoe. “Anything I can know about the case?”
“Not much, until you’re committed to representing the defendant,” Gumshoe says, wincing, but he says what he can. “The woman in there works at the Republic Hotel downtown, and was the one who brought Prosecutor von Karma’s lunch to her.” Gumshoe glances over his shoulder, towards the woman in custody who Phoenix can’t see from this angle, but when he looks back at Phoenix, he brings up something else entirely. “Are you good to do this right now? It could wait until the morning.”
Delaying this is tempting, but Phoenix remembers being suspected of murder and he wouldn’t prolong that experience for anyone who didn’t deserve it. “I’m fine.”
“You sure? You look ready to drop.”
“I’m sure.” Phoenix hoists his bag higher on his shoulder. “Thanks for the tip, Gumshoe.”
Gumshoe steps aside to give Phoenix room to enter. As Phoenix obliges, Gumshoe says, “I’ll go grab you a coffee.”
“You don’t have to,” Phoenix begins to protest, but Gumshoe’s already gone. Now alone, Phoenix takes a deep, steadying breath, and looks over to properly survey the person sitting on the other side of the glass.
She’s of sturdy build, with broad shoulders accentuated by the housekeeping uniform she’s wearing. The uniform consists of a dark blue polo shirt with red accents along the sides, and the Republic Hotel logo is embossed over the right breast pocket. Her unnaturally light hair is gathered into a bun at the base of her skull, all of it so fine that it almost looks transparent. Combined with her blonde, wispy eyebrows, she looks both constantly surprised and a bit ghostly.
Phoenix slowly lowers himself into the chair on the opposite side of the glass. His joints ache, and his body fights him the entire way until he finds a resting spot and stops moving around. He sets his bag down on the ground and then looks at the woman facing him.
“Hi,” Phoenix says. His smile is of a feeble persuasion. “I’m Phoenix Wright. I was told that you requested I represent you in court tomorrow.”
She nods. Her head tips to one side, and her pale eyes survey him in an unsettling way before she smiles, all pearly whites. “Yes. I did! Can you help me?”
Phoenix regards her. He asks, flat-out, “Did you poison Franziska von Karma?”
“No,” she says calmly. No psyche-locks appear.
“Do you know who did?”
“No.”
“Are you aware that keeping information from me will only increase the chance that you are convicted for this crime?”
“Yes.” The woman tips her head to the side, regarding him. Under her friendly mask, Phoenix is starting to see desperation growing. “I’m not going to answer more questions until you say you’re helping me.”
Phoenix supposes that’s fair. He can’t take another case right now, for so many reasons, and his head is starting to properly warn him that a major headache is coming on.
…She’s standing trial very soon. And she didn’t do it, so someone else hurt Franziska and they might get away with it if Phoenix doesn’t step in.
He sighs. Later, when he’s getting chewed out, he can just tell Maya he would have taken her advice if she’d bothered to answer her phone.
“Yes,” Phoenix says. “What’s your name?”
Her smile takes on a tinge of relief, though the new faint pink smudge to her cheeks does little to convince Phoenix she’s actually alive. “I’m Hema Lockart.”
Phoenix leans over to pull a notepad out of his bag, along with a pen that works after he scribbles it around in the margin of the page for a second. “How long have you worked at the hotel?”
“Since high school.” Hema taps her chin in thought. “So…five years, I guess.”
“And you saw…the victim,” Phoenix says with difficulty, his mouth dry, “right before it all happened?”
“Uh-huh, I delivered her lunch.”
“Okay.” Phoenix swallows. “Will you tell me what happened? As detailed as you can.”
“Um, sure.” Hema thinks about the question, and then takes a breath to steel herself and begins. “So, I knocked on the door and Ms. von Karma answered, and I-- ugh, I got all tongue-tied because I recognized her from TV and so I said something stupid about her dinner being ready even though it was lunch. Stupid.”
Phoenix frowns. “You’re…a fan of Fra--Prosecutor von Karma?”
“Yeah, a huge fan,” Hema says, flashing her pearly smile again. She hasn’t blinked yet, as far as Phoenix has seen. Maybe she’s just blinking at the same time he is, every time…?
It takes a moment for Phoenix to move on from this train of thought. She beams back at him, unperturbed.
“So, she answered the door,” Phoenix prompts, shaking off his momentary confusion.
“Yeah. She took the food and told me ‘Stop making a fool of yourself,’ so I stopped, um, stuttering I guess and shut the hell up.” Hema grimaces. “Um, and then she said her order was missing something, or…no, wait! I remember, I said I would go grab her some napkins because they weren’t on the tray.”
“So you needed to go back to the kitchen?”
“Yeah, that’s where I went right afterwards.”
“Was she alone when you saw her?”
“I only saw Ms. von Karma,” Hema says, her eyes darting sideways. Despite the tic, which Phoenix would normally take as a tell of some sort, no psyche-locks appear. Phoenix supposes her nerves are just the normal ones that come with talking to a lawyer.
He asks, “When you came back, did you see anything?”
“Um, the door was open and Ms. von Karma was going down the hall towards the elevator.”
On a personal level, Phoenix doesn’t want to know the answer to his next question, but he has to ask it. “When you saw her that second time, did she seem…?”
“She was swaying like she was really drunk, like, um, she couldn’t walk on her own.” If the subject matter of her words bothers her, it doesn’t show on her face. Hema continues on, businesslike. “Before she could get far, she fell and started having a seizure.”
Phoenix counts his next breath, in and out. Then he says, “Was anyone else in the hall?”
“Um, no.”
An echoing clang sounds in Phoenix’s head, sudden enough that he jumps a little.
A faint glow around Hema tells him that she’s just told him a lie. Several locks criss-cross her body, hovering in the air, slightly transparent.
He furrows his eyebrows.
Hema gazes back at him, unchanged except the new arch to one of her eyebrows. “Are you, um, okay?”
Phoenix nods, and avoids confronting her about the lie by moving on to an adjacent topic: “Who called 911?”
Hema begins picking at her cuticles. “Um…” She makes an indescribable noise that means something like ‘I dunno.’ “It wasn’t me.”
That’s the truth, according to the magatama. Phoenix’s frown deepens as he thinks about this. Franziska hadn’t been in a state to call emergency services, and it wasn’t Hema either. There must have been at least one other witness. He’ll have to do some more digging about the 911 call to get anywhere on that lead.
Phoenix scribbles down a note to ask Gumshoe about the call records before he can forget. As he scrawls the memo, he asks, “Is there anything else you can tell me about what happened? Such as anyone else who was in the room or in the hallway at the time?”
Hema shakes her head and says, placid as a still lake, “No. That’s all.”
The locks around her seem to get more solid, more firm in their conviction that she’s lying. Phoenix resists the urge to bang his head against the plexiglass dividing them.
Phoenix runs into Gumshoe again on his way out of the building. The floor is wobbly under Phoenix’s feet; he’s pushing his limits whilst on an empty stomach and little sleep. As he turns the corner and bumps into Gumshoe’s chest, Gumshoe exclaims in surprise and reaches out to help keep Phoenix steady, spilling half of the paper cup of coffee onto the floor in the process.
“Woah, sorry!” Gumshoe lets go of Phoenix’s arm, apologetically swiping drips of coffee from the lapel of his coat. Then, he holds out the now half-empty cup of coffee, frowning. “You don’t look so good, pal.”
Phoenix accepts the coffee. He takes a sip and it’s weirdly salty, so he spits the liquid right back into the cup and wipes his lips with the back of his hand. “What--?”
“Oh, is the coffee bad?” Gumshoe scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “I might’ve gotten the shakers mixed up, sorry.”
Phoenix looks down into the cup hopelessly.
“Is everything…?” Gumshoe half-asks.
Phoenix shakes himself and pastes his normal-person face back on, intending to fake it until he makes it. “Can you get me the recording of the 911 call about Franziska? Or at least a transcript?”
Gumshoe frowns in thought. After a moment, though, he nods. “I’ll track it down for you.”
“Thank you.”
“Sure. Hey, are you sure you’re good? I don’t want you to just wander out of here if you’re gonna pass out. Maya’ll kill me.”
“I’m good.” Phoenix rubs his eyes with his free hand, further overwhelmed by the reminder that Maya still hasn’t called him back. He considers drinking the salty coffee just to have something in his stomach, to give him the courage to figure this situation out, but ultimately decides it’s better not to make himself sick on homemade ipecac. “I’m good. Thank you. I’m going to leave now.”
“...Okay. Take it easy.”
Gumshoe’s quiet worry haunts him all the way out onto the sidewalk. Phoenix tosses his coffee into a garbage can and stops to rub at his temples, bargaining with his body to keep moving for just a little while longer.
He allows himself about seven seconds of this. Then he reorients himself with a tired sigh. Priorities. What are they?
He has two separate opening arguments to prepare, with the timeline on both his cases thrown into a weird purgatory state considering what’s just happened to Franziska. Speaking of Franziska--she’s in the hospital unconscious, with Edgeworth all alone in a waiting room. But he’s not the only one waiting, because Trucy’s at home and doesn’t like being left on her own for dinner, because she worries about Phoenix not eating enough and more importantly, she hates being alone in the house. Phoenix used to be better at keeping track of everything, when Maya was around all the time--but Maya isn’t here, and she hasn’t texted or called.
Priorities.
Food is a must. He needs it or he’ll keel over.
Phoenix starts to walk, not even sure where he’s going. Where he ends up in his daze turns out to be a deli. He goes up to the counter like a ghost, and emerges ten minutes later with two sandwiches and some chips in his bag. Edgeworth probably hasn’t eaten.
It’s starting to rain. Phoenix will have to choose between a bus and a cab--walking is out of the question.
The seemingly simple problem hits Phoenix like a brick wall. He stops in his tracks as his mind screams itself in circles. He’s utterly lost until a single word startles his catastrophizing thoughts into submission, feeling like a cool and calm hand on his shoulder.
Priorities.
Someone tried to murder one of his friends today. And Franziska’s condition hasn’t changed, and Edgeworth is alone. Phoenix just spent his cab money on sandwiches.
Phoenix walks two blocks to the correct bus stop and gets on the route that passes nearest Saint Hermias. The bus trundles up after twenty minutes of waiting, at which point the sun has basically set and Phoenix has begun to shiver.
He scans his pass. The machine beeps, accepting it.
“Only a couple more swipes on that,” the driver warns him, referencing their little screen.
“Thanks,” Phoenix says. He turns and finds the bus largely full, but there’s a row of seats open near the back. Phoenix takes two steps before the driver hits the gas, and he stumbles and flails and almost tumbles into someone’s lap.
After he gets settled in a seat, wedging his knees into the narrow row and trying not to bump the seats in front of him, Phoenix tips his head back against the seat and lets his eyes fall closed. It’s about eleven stops until he has to open his eyes again, which is plenty of time to catch a few Z’s.
His nap isn’t long enough. Phoenix wakes up as the bus shudders to a halt, and in his bleary haze he barely realizes it’s his stop. He lurches up and staggers off the bus with barely any time to spare.
The hospital is fairly busy, the lobby full of people waiting for their turn. Phoenix waits in line for a couple of minutes before he gets a chance to plead his case, at which point someone makes a phone call and another person hands Phoenix a stick-on paper VISITOR badge and tells him to follow her to the stairwell so she can point out where he needs to go.
He’s directed to an auxiliary waiting room on the second floor. Phoenix’s stomach is in knots as he pushes the door open and sees the sole occupant of the room.
“Edgeworth,” Phoenix says.
Edgeworth raises his chin. His face is stoic, but shiny near-invisible tracks show where tears have recently fallen down his cheeks. He’s holding a long white coat, one that must be Franziska’s. It’s clenched in both hands, maybe irrevocably wrinkled from the pressure he’s putting on it.
Edgeworth says, after a pause, “You’re here.”
“Yeah,” Phoenix says, frowning a bit. “I said I was coming--”
“Nick,” he hears from his left, a split-second before someone barrels into him at full speed. Phoenix is nearly knocked to the ground, but he steadies himself and his hands move up to brace his assailant. They’re a head shorter than him and they have familiar shiny black hair.
“Hey, shh,” Phoenix says once he recognizes her. He tightens his grip to try and make her feel safer. “Maya, hey. It’s me.”
Maya locks her arms around his waist even tighter than Trucy had earlier, and doesn’t look up at him.
For a moment, all Phoenix can feel is confusion. He’d known that Franziska and Maya were friendly--friendlier than Phoenix and Franziska are, certainly--but this is a level of emotion that Maya would only have for someone nearest and dearest to her.
Phoenix chances a look at Edgeworth, wondering if the latter holds any insight, but Edgeworth is looking down at Franziska’s coat again, giving Phoenix and Maya their space.
Maya’s face is pressed into his chest. She needs Phoenix to be strong right now, so he will be.
Pulling himself together, Phoenix smooths down Maya’s hair. “She’s going to be alright.” He takes a step further into the waiting room, gently pulling Maya along with him. “Let’s sit. I brought snacks for both of you.”
Really, the snacks had been for him and Edgeworth, but Maya’s in dire need of Phoenix’s portion. Phoenix doesn't have much of an appetite anymore, anyway.
They sit down by Edgeworth, so Phoenix is sandwiched between him and a still-crying Maya. Phoenix keeps an arm around Maya’s shoulders, trying to maintain the hug despite the armrest of the chair that now separates them as he fumbles in his bag to find the snacks.
Maya takes a steadying breath. It sounds congested and miserable. This isn’t her first time crying today. “What’d you bring?” she mumbles.
“I have a sandwich and Bugles.” Phoenix extracts a bag of Bugles and tosses them into her lap, shortly followed by a wrapped sandwich from the deli he’d stopped at.
Maya’s hands find the top of the bag and she rips it open. She sniffles and shoves a couple of Bugles into her mouth, crunching as tears still stream down her face. Something about the motion is reminiscent of when his girls were a lot younger and semi-frequently cried themselves into full exhaustion. She must have been through the wringer today.
Phoenix rests his hand on the crown of her head, resisting the urge to ruffle her hair up, and then he pulls his arm back into his own space so she can eat while he forces food on Edgeworth.
Edgeworth turns his nose up at the Bugles, but when Phoenix unwraps a second sandwich and holds it out, Edgeworth accepts it.
After a considerable amount of hesitation, Phoenix twists his torso to avoid elbowing Edgeworth in the face as he moves his arm to rest his palm on the center of Edgeworth’s back. It feels awkward and horrible for just a moment, but Phoenix stubbornly persists and rubs a light circle there until Edgeworth relaxes back into his touch.
“What’re you thinking?” Phoenix asks, voice low.
Edgeworth swallows. His eyes remain fixed on the ground. “I heard something about a poisoned cocktail. She doesn’t drink very often.”
“Is there a reason why she would do that today?”
Edgeworth hesitates, but then shakes his head. Phoenix narrows his eyes at this, nearly certain that it’s a lie, but Edgeworth moves on before Phoenix can properly challenge him. “She only has one case open,” Edgeworth says. “If this wasn’t done on an old grudge, it could be someone connected to that case.”
“Which case?”
It takes Edgeworth a moment to think. “Something about a man found dead in a car repair shop.”
“That’s my case, too,” Phoenix says, with dread chilling his stomach. That’s the trial that’s slated for tomorrow, though he doubts things will be going forward as planned, given that the prosecution is out of commission.
He looks down at the sandwich that he’s offered Edgeworth, and reaches out to smack it to the ground.
Edgeworth moves the food out of the way, and uses the back of his other hand to divert Phoenix from the intended target. His face creases with annoyance, the expression muted by his somber mood but still fairly sharp. “Control yourself, Wright,” he mumbles around a mouthful.
“If they targeted her because of the case,” Phoenix reasons, panic mounting, “then what if they’re after me, too--?”
“The poisoning occurred at Franziska’s hotel,” Edgeworth says. He’s lifted his gaze to meet Phoenix’s, and a hint of his normal resolve has reappeared. “I assure you that if this is connected to your case, they haven’t planned ahead enough to set up shop in your neighborhood deli, as well.”
This blunt logic is enough to curb Phoenix’s paranoia. He relents, and abandons his plan to try again to bat the sandwich out of Edgeworth’s hand.
“...Alright,” he says, though he’ll be keeping an eye on both Edgeworth and Maya for the next few hours to make sure they don’t start foaming at the mouth or anything.
With that visual now conjured into his brain, he shudders. The shitty coffee he had two sips of in the detention center is beginning to disagree with him.
Following this exchange, it becomes clear that that’s the extent of the knowledge Edgeworth has to share. The three of them sit in near-silence. Maya eats her food and also Edgeworth’s bag of Bugles. Edgeworth finishes his sandwich without keeling over, so Phoenix forces himself to stop white-knuckling the arm of his chair. After half an hour, Maya begins dozing off, her cheek finding Phoenix’s shoulder, and with that warm weight he begins to drift too. Phoenix rests his head against the wall behind him and trusts that Edgeworth will nudge him awake if any updates come to pass.
In the end, he’s roused by the waiting room door opening. Phoenix startles forward at the sound of the door creaking, and he dislodges Maya’s head from his shoulder.
Past the hands that rub at his eyes, Phoenix sees a nurse stick her head in through the crack in the door. Maya and Edgeworth, on either side of him, stiffen and snap to attention, needing and dreading an update all at once.
“Visiting hours are over now,” the nurse says. “Only family members can stay after eleven.”
Maya sags, defeated.
Phoenix checks his watch, startled to find that it is, in fact, fifteen minutes past eleven. He clears his throat and asks, fairly plaintively, “We’ve been waiting for a while for an update. Could we hear something about Franziska von Karma’s condition before we leave?”
The nurse hems and haws for a moment before nodding. “I’ll see what I can find out for you,” she says, and then ducks back out of sight.
They have a few moments of privacy to say goodbye, at least. Phoenix stands, and Maya follows like a shadow.
“Edgeworth,” Phoenix says, still trying to fully wake up as he pulls his coat on, “will you be alright here?”
Edgeworth passes a hand over his face. Every line in his face seems deeper than before. He might be dehydrated. Phoenix doubts the nurse will let them stay and fuss over him for much longer, but he begins to run the odds on getting a bottle of water into Edgeworth’s hand before Phoenix is kicked out.
“I’ll be fine,” Edgeworth says, then frowns. “How will you get home?”
Phoenix hasn’t thought that far ahead. He doesn’t think buses are running this late, and he doesn’t have enough money for a cab. Still, he makes sure he looks self-assured, not willing to worry Edgeworth about this. “We’ll get home. Call if there are any updates, okay?”
Edgeworth’s eyes move to Maya, and soften somehow. “She’ll be alright,” he tells her, as though Maya has just as much investment in Franziska’s well-being as Edgeworth does.
“Right as always, Edgy,” Maya agrees, her voice hoarse. She reaches out and pokes Edgeworth’s shoulder. “Drink some water. You look like a corpse.”
“Much appreciated,” Edgeworth says.
A light knock on the door pulls Phoenix’s attention back over to where the nurse has reappeared. She gives them a taut smile and says, “Ms. von Karma hasn’t woken up yet, but she’s stable.”
Edgeworth and Maya let out twin breaths. Phoenix feels a bit lightheaded as some of his worry evaporates, as well.
“Thank you,” Edgeworth says, which Phoenix and Maya echo.
“Of course. Now, I’m sorry, but visiting hours…”
“Right,” Phoenix says. “You got it.”
He and Maya walk past the nurse, obedient as lambs so she’ll stop hovering around them. Once they get to the stairwell and they’re left alone, though, Phoenix stops moving a couple steps down and looks up to Maya, finally having a moment to ask her a question in private.
“What’s going on?” he asks. It feels rude to outright ask why do you care so much about Franziska, but that’s really the underlying issue here. Usually, Phoenix is the first to know everything about the comings and goings of Maya’s friends. “How’d you get here so fast after it happened?”
Maya won’t look directly at him. She covers her mouth as a yawn leaves her, and then she slumps into herself and says, miserable, “I was…nearby, when it happened, so I hopped in the ambulance.”
“Why were you--?”
“Nick,” Maya cuts him off, voice rasping, pleading, “can we go home?”
Phoenix’s head pounds with the weight of all of the unknowns in this situation, but he acquiesces. Maya needs to get some rest in a real bed, and things will hopefully feel better tomorrow. He turns and resumes walking down the stairs. His headache overwhelms him, so he doesn’t quite pick up on the sound of raised voices in the lobby until he pushes out of the stairwell door and is directly confronted by the noise.
“Sir, I’m going to ask you again to keep your voice down.”
“I am keeping my voice down!”
Oh, those are undeniably the Chords of Steel. Phoenix lifts bleary eyes to find Apollo Justice at the front desk, Klavier Gavin standing to his left with a hand on his shoulder. It would be a touching sight, were the restraining hand on Apollo’s shoulder not solely for the protection of the woman behind the desk.
“If you aren’t directly a family member of a patient, like your…companion,” the receptionist begins to say, beleaguered, “we can’t--”
“I’m her attorney!” Apollo exclaims, hitting the counter with his fist.
“What’re they…?” Maya mumbles, pulling the stairwell door shut behind her, but Phoenix is already striding forward to save the poor receptionist from his junior partner.
Moving so quickly sends a dizzy, sickly feeling through his head, but Phoenix presses onward and says, “Apollo, hi, what’s the problem?”
Apollo whirls to face him. His shirt is wrinkled and untucked, and his hair’s drooping down into his face. Deep smudges under his eyes imply either old makeup or a severe lack of sleep--Phoenix recognizes this look, because it’s the exact same one Athena gets when her nerves are all frazzled.
As Apollo turns away, moving the pressure of the situation from the receptionist to Phoenix instead, the receptionist lets out a legitimate breath of relief.
“Mr. Wright!” Apollo squeaks, his voice getting much smaller, his face lighting up with embarrassment. “You--I didn’t mean to lose my patience! Trucy said you stopped answering calls, and that Prosecutor von Karma is--!”
“Trucy called you?” Phoenix asks.
“She said Maya went missing.”
“I didn’t say, Maya didn’t-- damn it.” When Phoenix tries to turn his phone on, it refuses to come to life. Phoenix doesn’t even know how long it’s been dead--he’d just sat down and started falling asleep in the waiting room instead of calling Trucy to reassure her that things are okay. Some father he is.
Phoenix pushes a hand through his hair and says, overwhelmed, “I’m so sorry to make you come all the way out here, I should’ve called.”
“No apologies necessary,” Klavier says, smoothly interjecting before Apollo and Phoenix can ratchet up each other’s anxiety any more. Klavier spares a brief look to the receptionist before using the hand on Apollo’s shoulder to not-so-subtly push him towards the exit. “Herr Wright, where is Herr Edgeworth waiting?”
“He’s…” Phoenix starts to answer, and then his brain catches up and he frowns. “Wait, why?”
“I’m here to wait for Franziska.” Klavier holds up a packet of papers. Phoenix’s eyes are too tired to read them. “She’s my sister, after all.”
This is a lie on so many levels. Phoenix is certain that Klavier’s plan to con his way to Edgeworth’s side consists solely of his German accent and a dashing smile, but Phoenix can’t even begin to want to dissuade him. It brings a great deal of relief to Phoenix that he’s not actually leaving Edgeworth to brave this night all on his own.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Maya says, appearing at Phoenix’s side.
“It’s no trouble.” Klavier gives her a soft, unexpectedly familiar look of sympathy. “I’ll text you with any updates, darling. Please get some rest.”
“I like the way you think, big shot,” Maya says. She then prods Phoenix with a sharp elbow. “We should get back to Trucy so she knows we’re okay.”
“I came to drive you two,” Apollo says, remembering his purpose. He brandishes a ring of keys. “Let me drive you home, boss!”
“Okay, okay…shh,” Phoenix says, gesturing as though tamping down earth. Apollo’s manic worry doesn’t match the silence of this late-night lobby. “Thank you for the offer. Bring it down a couple notches.”
Apollo shuts his mouth, burning impossibly redder.
There is a lot that Phoenix has to get done, but in regards to his cases, all he can access is the case file shoved into his bag for the Otto case connecting him and Franziska. That, and he has Maya with him, who’s connected to the crime scene of the other case somehow.
Maya, who’s shivering in the air-conditioned lobby, fine tremors running up across her shoulders and arms. She looks like she’s a teenager again, sitting alone in the detention center and too scared to process just how shitty everything is.
Self-directed frustration pounds away at the inside of Phoenix’s skull, a monkey with a bass drum marching through his brain. Priorities, he reminds himself with gritted teeth--his priorities right now are Trucy, and getting Maya a good night’s sleep, and charging his phone. All of those mean returning to his apartment.
Phoenix says aloud, “A ride would be great.”
Apollo nods before turning on his heel and heading for the door, not wasting a second. Klavier spares Maya and Phoenix a brief polite smile before pivoting to approach the desk with a much gentler touch than Apollo had tried.
Maya hooks her elbow in Phoenix’s and the two of them follow Apollo towards the exit. Phoenix wants to say he’s helping support her by walking arm-in-arm with her, but in reality they’re leaning on each other like two playing cards in a flimsy tower.
“Alright, that’s settled. I’m so sorry for the ruckus,” Phoenix hears Klavier begin to sweet-talk the receptionist, his accent thicker than normal. “We’re all just very worried…”
The rest of Klavier’s words are lost in the whoosh of air as Phoenix and Maya pass through the automatic doors, emerging into frigid night air.
Apollo jangles his keys as he flips through the ring to find the fob for his car. He clicks the button, and a car in the short-term front parking lot flashes its lights and unlocks.
“Are you going to be involved in Prosecutor von Karma’s case?” Apollo asks.
Phoenix’s headache throbs, pulsing in his ears. He wants to pass out on the ground and let ambulances run over him. Feebly, he rallies, and fixes a polite smile on his face to answer Apollo. “Yeah.”
“Isn’t that a conflict of interest?” Apollo asks, eye twitching.
“I don’t know,” Phoenix admits. They reach the car, and Phoenix and Maya open the two back doors while Apollo loops around to the front. “I’m defending the accused. I guess it would be more of a conflict if I was representing Franziska.”
“You’re representing the accused?” Apollo says.
Phoenix drops into the backseat. He waits for everyone else to get into the car before responding, “I’m a defense attorney.”
“I--ugh, I know,” Apollo says, frustrated. “I just meant--isn’t that--?”
“She didn’t do it.”
Maya asks sharply, “Are you sure?”
“...Yeah,” Phoenix says, bewildered. He looks over. Maya is tense and her facial expression is strange.
“I just think it’s important to know before you just start trusting her.”
“I know,” Phoenix says.
Maya is frowning, not reassured by Phoenix’s conviction.
“Buckle up,” Phoenix tells her.
Frowning deeper, Maya says, “You have to be sure.”
“Put your seatbelt on.”
“Nick--”
“I’m sure she didn’t do it.” Phoenix reaches around her and yanks her seatbelt forward, gesturing with it until she takes it in her hand and reluctantly clicks it into place. “We’ll talk more tomorrow. It’s late.”
Maya crosses her arms and looks away from him, annoyed. Apollo looks at them in the rearview mirror, eyes darting uncomfortably between their faces before refocusing on the task of driving.
“I want to make sure we get the right person,” Phoenix says, not liking the tense atmosphere that’s appeared out of nowhere. “That’s all.”
“I could take the case,” Apollo says. “You’re already on two right now.”
“I’m doing it,” Phoenix says, some of his impatience and exhaustion seeping into his voice. “Thanks.”
The rest of the drive is silent.
“Trucy, sweetheart?” Phoenix calls into the apartment as he nudges the door open. He hears a clatter from his daughter’s bedroom. “I found your Aunt Maya.”
Trucy appears, her door slamming into the wall as she rockets into the living room. Her face is streaked with tears, her expression absolutely devastated.
“Junebug, I’m so sorry,” Phoenix blurts, horrified, but that’s all he manages before Trucy says, louder than him, “Daddy, I’m sorry, I freaked out for no reason--”
The two of them meet in the middle. Trucy flings her arms around his neck in a vice grip. Phoenix pulls Trucy’s face towards the crook of his shoulder so he can kiss the side of her head, and he rocks back and forth just a little to try and sooth her hitching tears.
Back when she was younger, it was impossible for Phoenix to leave her on her own for more than an hour or so without her panicking like this. As she’s gotten older, Trucy’s anxiety around this particular sort of situation has become more subtle. Phoenix suspects that she’d already been a bit on-edge before Phoenix took a mysterious phone call and then vanished off the face of the earth for several hours.
While they hug, Maya sneaks around the two of them and steps into Phoenix’s room, then reemerges with a pile of stolen clothes and disappears into the bathroom. Phoenix listens, powerless, as the shower turns on. Maya’s going to use all the hot water, and she’ll be unrepentant.
Phoenix holds his daughter for a long time, still gently rocking her, until he can hear that she’s breathing more evenly. While he does so, Phoenix says eventually, carding his fingers through his daughter’s hair, “I should have kept my phone charged. I’m sorry.”
“You told me you were going out to investigate something,” Trucy says, “it’s not your fault.” She pulls back. The sight of her puffy face and damp eyelashes make Phoenix want to roll her in a blanket burrito immediately. She mutters, avoiding his gaze, “I was being a baby.”
“No you weren’t,” Phoenix retorts firmly.
Trucy shrugs. She lets go of him to wipe at her nose with the back of one wrist.
“Would it make you feel better if I admitted that I had absolutely no way to get back from the hospital, so sending Apollo to pick us up was a stroke of genius?”
Trucy narrows her eyes a little, dubious.
“I mean it, Trucy-wucey.” Phoenix cups her face between his hands and kisses her forehead, which is overwarm in the aftermath of her panic attack. She emits a half-hearted squawk of protest. “You’re a lifesaver.”
It’s the right thing to say. Trucy’s smile appears on her face for a few seconds, breaking up the gray stormclouds that had taken up residence there before. Then the expression fades as she asks, “Did you find out what’s going on with Aunt Franziska?”
“Right.” Phoenix hears that the shower’s still going, so it’s safe to assume that Maya won’t overhear. “She’s stable now, she’s just getting some rest. It sounds like she was poisoned, but the ambulance got there in plenty of time. I found Maya at the hospital waiting for news, which is why she wasn’t checking her phone.”
“Oh,” Trucy says. “She’s gonna be okay, though?”
“Yeah, of course,” Phoenix promises, because there’s nothing else he can say to that face. “Franziska’s too tough to be taken out by something like that.”
Trucy goes to say something more, but then a massive yawn gets the better of her, despite an obvious attempt to stifle it.
“Sleepy,” Phoenix accuses, pointing. “I saw that.”
“Nuh-uh!” Trucy protests, still yawning wide enough for her eyes to be watering. “I’m not tired!”
“It’s a school night,” Phoenix says. He spins her around by the shoulders and gives her a gentle nudge towards the hallway. “Get all ready for bed, and maybe I’ll send Maya in to say goodnight if she’s up for it.”
“Ugh, fine.” Trucy leans back on Phoenix’s hands and tips her head back, looking at him upside-down. With a cherubic smile, as though Phoenix hasn’t triggered an entire anxiety episode for her tonight, she says, “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Phoenix says, feeling it with his entire chest, momentarily forgetting how his body is gradually shutting down the longer he stays awake. He wants to sit by the side of her bed until she falls asleep, just so she doesn’t have a split-second of feeling abandoned for the rest of the night, but it’s time to take care of Maya. He gives Trucy a smile, not letting his rapid thoughts show. “Make sure you brush your teeth.”
“I will,” Trucy promises. She accepts a kiss on the top of her head, and then stands up straight and heads towards her bedroom.
Phoenix takes a long breath in, then lets it out through his nose. He gets ten seconds to himself--short enough that he can’t get deep into his own head, but long enough to stay stable--and then he gets back to what matters: making sure his family is okay.
Maya showers long enough to triple Phoenix’s water bill for the month. Phoenix gives her a solid buffer of time to get changed and settled, after which he knocks cautiously on his bedroom door and waits for a grunt of acknowledgement before nudging the door open.
She’s hunched over, sitting with her knees pulled up to her chin, wearing sleep shorts and a t-shirt that have both been scavenged from Phoenix’s dresser. The shirt is paint-stained and worn but advertises a production of Romeo and Juliet that Phoenix played Benvolio in. Maya’s shins and knees have a couple of scrapes and bruises that betray she hasn’t given up on her new dream of learning to skateboard. Her hair is damp and heavy around her shoulders, enough so that it’s causing little shivers up and down her body.
She doesn’t look up at him as he takes a few steps into the room to join her.
Phoenix sits on the edge of the bed and lifts an arm to rest around Maya’s shoulders. She leans into his side, the crown of her head tucking into the juncture of his neck and shoulder, and just slumps there like there’s not a spark of life left in her body. Her wet hair soaks into the shoulder of Phoenix’s shirt immediately.
“Do you think you’re gonna be able to sleep?” Phoenix asks, voice as low as he can make it.
Maya shrugs.
Phoenix slowly rubs his hand up and down her arm. “Do you want some tea?”
“You make bad tea,” she tells him.
“Okay,” Phoenix says. “Is that a yes?”
“Yes.”
He smiles despite himself. He hopes Maya can feel it. He pats her upper arm, trying to be gentle, and then stands to walk towards the kitchen.
A few seconds elapse, and then Phoenix hears her light footsteps, a ghost trailing him down the hallway.
Phoenix boils water and finds a couple near-empty boxes of tea that only see use when he or Trucy falls sick. Maya decisively rejects the throat-coat tea, but accepts the peppermint blend he offers up next. She bows her head over the top of the cup when Phoenix finally slides it over to her. He can imagine that the steam must feel good on her tired eyes. He stays standing and keeps his attention on her like a lifeguard so that she doesn’t fall asleep into the scalding-hot water.
She goes a long while without taking a sip or moving at all, but Phoenix waits her out. He doesn’t want to be the one to break the silence.
Maya listlessly pushes the spoon around the inside of her mug, even though her scoops of sugar are already dissolved by now. She says, finally, “She’ll be okay.”
Phoenix blinks hard, catching on to the topic as quickly as he can. “Franziska?”
“Yeah.” Maya pulls out the spoon and taps it on the rim of the ceramic mug before setting it on the counter in a puddle of amber liquid. She rubs at her nose with the back of her wrist, sniffling.
“Yeah. She’ll be fine,” Phoenix agrees.
Maya doesn’t move her eyes from her drink. She blinks hard, and then her lip wobbles and she buries her face in her hands. It only takes a second for her to crumple, not even long enough for Phoenix to make it around the counter to hug her in time.
Phoenix reaches her side and pulls her into a hug, and Maya drops her hands to press her face into the stomach of Phoenix’s shirt. Her arms wrap around his waist and she sobs. This really isn’t going to help her sleep comfortably; Phoenix adds an eightieth thing to his mental list of reminders--he needs to find some extra pillow or something else to prop her up when she goes to sleep.
“She’ll be fine,” Phoenix repeats. He rubs her back lightly, up and down until Maya stops shuddering. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
Maya is actively using his dress shirt to wipe tears and snot off of her face, but Phoenix has already reached the “acceptance” phase of grieving this. He’s gotten better at letting go of personal belongings since he adopted Trucy; there are no objects more important than making sure someone can cry everything out to help them sleep peacefully.
Maya’s breaths start to calm. Phoenix picks up her mug and hands it to her, supervising a few tentative sips before letting her set it back down.
“Sorry I’m a mess,” Maya says. She pushes the heels of her palms into her eyes and hiccups.
“The two of us can’t start apologizing for being messes around each other.”
“Ha,” Maya says halfheartedly. She pokes his ribs, eyes still downcast. “Good point.” After lifting the hem of her borrowed t-shirt to scrub her face dry. “I don’t apologize, then. Um. I’m gonna pass out, I think. Is it really okay that I’m using your room?”
“It’s fine,” Phoenix says. “I have some case work to do, anyway.”
Maya nods glumly, though it doesn’t seem like she’s paying much attention to his individual words. “Wake me up if anything changes?”
“You got it.” Phoenix pats the top of her head. Then he watches in envy as she shuffles towards his room and shuts the door, probably to get some of the heaviest, most needed sleep she’s ever gotten in her life.
As soon as the sliver of light under the bedroom door turns dark, Phoenix rolls his head around to stretch out a crick in his neck and gets back to work. He has two cases to prepare, and only so long before his mind gives out.