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The first word of the entire shitshow that ended with Phoenix’s disbarment came to Miles in the wake of his own mess that had him nearly follow Phoenix’s steps in handing in the badge permanently. He still couldn’t look Sebastian properly in the eye, guilt a torch in his chest, but he swallowed all of his inadequacies and gave his best to be a good mentor to a lost child.
He would not be like Manfred von Karma, that he swore to himself. Not in any way shape or form. He would not toss a child in the deep without a buoy to hold onto. He would not make another Miles Edgeworth.
One of that miserable bastard was more than enough.
That being said, he was often so tired he found himself operating on autopilot, drifting between his office and apartment in a state of fugue. It was only his regiment, beaten into him early into his adoption, that got him through the day - though he did notice how awkwardly his suit was starting to hang off his shoulders. He was losing weight too fast. The jacket he had before Dahlia Hawthorne, Terry Fowles and Mia Fey nearly shattered him and set him and Phoenix on an inevitable collision path would’ve hid such a thing - it was designed with ample padding, after all - but he had discarded it for a reason. He was no longer an emotionless machine of von Karma legacy; no, he has found himself twice now, and he had no need for it.
However, he mused as he looked at his reflection in the mirror with a bitter smile, it sure would’ve made looking at himself less painful. He had to immediately start eating more, otherwise Phoenix would be on his case.
“Um, Mr. Edgeworth?”
Dick Gumshoe’s voice took him out of his thoughts: Miles opened his eyes to see his subordinate shift and scratch his neck at the door of his office.
“Gumshoe. Do you have a case for me?”
“Uh, not exactly. Have you watched the news?”
Miles narrowed his eyes. He and Gumshoe had a good working relationship exactly because the detective, as bumbling and mildly incompetent as he was, had both the heart and did not shy from speaking directly. This wasn’t like him.
“You know as well as I do that I do not watch that drivel - they oversensationalize everything.”
Gumshoe shifted in spot, and Miles bit back a snarl building in the back of his throat.
“Well? What is it?”
“They disbarred Phoenix Wright for forging evidence!”
They disbarred Phoenix Wright.
The sentence rang with damning finality of funeral bells, deafening Miles to everything said afterward.
Phoenix, disbarred? What a ludicrous thing. He had not been born for the courtroom, maybe, but he had remade himself to match him, Franziska, Godot, Payne brothers, Manfred and so many more prosecutors. He made himself a champion of the wrongly accused, of too-quickly accused, of the innocent; a cosmic counterbalance to Miles’ relentless search for the true culprit.
Also, disbarred for forging evidence? What nonsense, Many accused both him and Miles of illegal deals to prove the accused guilty or innocent, but Miles knew better to ever accuse Phoenix of such a thing. That ten-year-old boy who got accused with no evidence of stealing his classmate’s money, who would rather take on an unjust sentence in tears than utter a lie and admit to something he hadn’t done? He would not forge anything. He would deceive and perform logic leaps and put on an act worthy of Oscars, but never cheat and lie his way to victory.
His record was impeccable because he only took on clients he truly believed in, those who truly needed someone to believe in them; and if they betrayed that trust? Well.
Matt Engarde came to mind.
However, Miles knew Phoenix and all his flaws. If his client handed him something that was forged, and he had no time to check it out…
Without his conscious command, his phone was up at his ear, Phoenix’s number dialled and ringing shrilly. After five rings, Phoenix finally picked up.
“ You’re damn lucky I have a separate ringtone for you, Edgeworth, otherwise I’d have not answered. ”
Miles nearly dropped the phone. Phoenix sounded awful , almost as bad as when he got dropped by the ghost of Dahlia Hawthorne into the icy river from a burning bridge. This was not right. Phoenix should not sound like that: dead, defeated.
This required an intervention.
“Wright. Phoenix. Where are you.”
“ Home. ”
“I’m coming over.”
“ No! ” Phoenix’s voice sharpened with an edge that Miles fervently hoped was anger and not desperation. “ No, stay away from me, Edgeworth! You can’t be seen anywhere near me - you’re on thin ice as is! You’ll destroy yourself! ”
“With all due respect, Wright,” Miles all but snarled into the phone, waving away Gumshoe and storming through the building to the stairs, “ you still bloody well owe me for the bridge .”
Phoenix was quiet for a moment.
“ Alright. But be quiet when you come in - and don’t be seen, for fuck’s sake! You just got your prosecutor badge back! ”
“Don’t tell me what to do - I’m not stupid. See you.”
With that, he hung up and all but flew down twelve flights of stairs to the lobby, ignoring all the side looks and glances he got from the staff and fellow prosecutors.
“Herr Edgeworth!”
Miles froze at the German address, his brain instantly making a switch as he turned around, back to the exit door that was so close and yet so far away.
“ Ja ?”
The caller was a young blonde man in a rockband-worthy getup: all the dramatic chains, sunglasses, oversized metal pendants and dark purple shirt that could pass as black from a distance.
“Klavier Gavin,” the youngster introduced himself with a practiced smile of an idol.
Miles nodded, looking carefully at Klavier. He’d heard about him - younger brother of an up-and-coming defense attorney Kristoph Gavin. Phoenix had mentioned them both during one of their post-trial lunches, excitedly speculating about potential biases and dynamics they’d likely have if ever pitted against each other in the courtroom.
“Pleasure meeting you.”
“Ach, nein, it's a pleasure meeting you! After all, it’s always exciting to meet seniors you aspire to supersede.”
Miles’ lips twitched, but let the boy have a little boast. It didn’t hurt his status to let little prosecutors feel good about their beginnings. Sebastian was like that, too -
“Not that I need to work too much! After all, I did manage to defeat Phoenix Wright and prove he’s a forger and a liar.”
A fly could be heard in the silence that followed. Miles nailed Klavier with a look he had only used once before - when Manfred admitted to murdering his father.
Klavier, wisely, took a step back.
“... ah, ahaha, I didn’t mean to rub it in -”
“Phoenix Wright had no need to forge evidence to save his best friend from a death they wanted him to sentence them to,” Miles snapped, every word a needle. “And he was up against the man who made his career appear perfect for the last forty years by forging evidence.”
You have a thick face indeed, Klavier Gavin, to think yourself more challenging than Manfred von Karma.
No further words were needed; Miles departed the building with rage in his veins and ice in his eyes, leaving devastation and doubt in the hearts of those who heard his words.
After all, he had rarely spoken to the press after that trial, but he had made one thing abundantly clear -
- Phoenix believed in him, even if Miles didn't want him to believe. That was the sacred truth that bound them even now, when they transcended friendship and entered something close to lifelong partnership.
So, Miles would return that same unwavering belief. He would talk with Phoenix, get down to the bottom of his mess, and figure out what to do next.
Phoenix really, really, really wanted to kill Miles. Or at least break his stupid phone. That at least would give him some outlet for his rage.
However Trucy had just fallen into a deeper doze, and he couldn’t force himself to disturb her with any noise. So he sank further into the couch, arm around Trucy’s tiny body as she cuddled up to him, and watched the front door of his apartment.
About half an hour after the call, keys jingled and turned in the keyhole, and Miles quietly got in, locking the door behind himself.
“Phoenix.”
“Miles.”
They both spoke in a whisper, though Miles eyed Trucy with something close to apprehension. Phoenix’s rage subsided a bit, his soft heart melting at Miles’ awkwardness. He never was good with smaller kids. Teens he could handle - anything younger? Not a chance, unless they were Steel Samurai nerds.
“Can we talk?”
Phoenix pointed to the kitchen - not as intimate as the bedroom, but still with some level of noise cancellation. Miles shrugged off his jacket and hooked it, revealing his suit jacket that did not fit him as well. He was probably not eating well again -
Phoenix sighed. Did he even have the right to comment? He was disbarred, with no job and no way to make Miles lunches anymore.
“Phoenix?”
Well, time to face the music. Checking once again that Trucy did not wake up, he went into the kitchen. Miles had already commandeered his stove, a pot for both Phoenix’s coffee and Miles’ tea on and water happily burbling.
“So. You got disbarred.”
Phoenix snorted despite himself.
“Yeah. For forgery I never commissioned. I honestly thought the evidence was legit.”
Miles tilted his head, and motioned for him to continue. Phoenix bit his tongue. Could he tell it to Miles? He would certainly not blame Trucy for this…
“Trucy… she was handed a paper, which she gave to me.”
Miles immediately connected the dots, and a silent snarl distorted his face.
“Despicable. To use a child… and she can’t really testify, can she?”
Phoenix nodded silently.
“Particularly not against this guy.”
Miles tilted his head.
“Who?”
Phoenix’s lip curled upwards. Oh, how he hated the guy.
“She said, and I quote, ‘he looked a lot like the guy across you, but more evil’. Coincidentally, my client’s former lawyer.”
Kristoph Gavin, brother of Klavier Gavin.
“I see.” Miles’ voice put Arctic to shame. “What will you do?”
“Wait.”
Phoenix has been busy soothing Trucy and adopting her, but he had had more than enough time to plan.
“Zack is in the wind, but he’ll return. Kristoph will want to clean up after himself, and both I and Zack are loose ends.”
“And until then, prepare and make sure it never happens again,” Miles finished with a small grin.
Miles was definitely on the same wavelength, and a stone fell from Phoenix's heart. He wasn’t alone in this.
The first few months were the hardest to get through.
They had to play their parts perfectly to throw Kristoph off their scent, and anyone who was in the league with him. That meant no meetings, no lunches, no sendoff when Miles volunteered to go to Germany and research alternate justice systems, no nothing. Miles nearly broke down in the airport as he boarded the plane for Germany alone, with no kisses from Trucy and soft hugs from Phoenix at the security. He gritted his teeth though, got on, and took out his calendar with the holidays all marked in.
Phoenix’s cover story of visiting his family for the holidays had to match the reality, at least on the paper. However, when marking out all the possible dates, Miles suddenly realized something - something that nearly made him facepalm.
Which holidays Phoenix’s parents celebrated?
He was Japanese - his father’s family name before they Anglicized it was Naruhodou , something that never failed to crack Miles and Phoenix up, and his mother was part-Japanese, part Pacific islander. However, they also lived in a hellscape of California, so they would likely celebrate Thanksgiving at least.
Miles couldn’t remember: they were in the same class for only a few months, and only Thanksgiving fell into that timeframe, which Wrights did celebrate.
That made him call Phoenix the first thing off the plane.
“Holidays? ” Phoenix sounded confused. “I mean, Christmas, Thanksgiving? Nothing special?”
“Really?” Miles frowned at his notes. “No Golden Week, Obon, Shunbun-no-Hi? Shichigosan?”
He had given in to his curiosity and went to research Japanese holidays while he was traveling. Some of them he did know about - Obon in particular, thanks to Steel Samurai - but there were some that surprised him that were and weren't on the list.
Seriously, Tanabata wasn’t a holiday, but Seijin-no-Hi was? Miles long gave up understanding which days were holidays where - just the regional and state differences in Germany gave him headaches - and that one still managed to baffle him.
“Obon, yeah,” Phoenix said with a thoughtful pause. “Wouldn’t want ancestors to yell at us for not tending to their graves and whatnot. We also did Shichigosan for me, but Trucy is too big for that.”
“Pity.”
“ Miles. ” Phoenix’s voice lilted slightly. “ Did you just Google ‘Japan holidays’? ”
“Nngh!”
Phoenix’s laughter at Miles was echoed by Trucy, who was cackling in the background.
“Seriously, Miles, it doesn’t matter! Whichever holiday you can fit us in, we’ll come.”
“I will not have my daughter not have contact with her father’s culture,” Miles sniped.
“Ay, Miles, it’s not that serious!” Phoenix was still chuckling. “Please relax.”
“I will not.” Miles glared at the air. “If you won’t arrange her Seijin-no-Hi, I will!”
Trucy’s laughter only grew louder, and Phoenix chuckled good-naturedly.
“Ah-ah, Miles, will I have to pick a Japanese name for you too, to match me and Trucy? So we celebrate Seijin-no-Hi properly?”
Miles flushed at the suggestion.
“Ah, I have just one - Reiji!” Phoenix told him with glee. “Would fit nicely with my Ryuuichi - a dragon and a samurai warrior, mixing West and East!”
Miles had to halt the conversation there, for fear of exploding from embarrassment.
Later, Miles found out that Reiji could mean a lot of things, but Phoenix's suggestion, when written down as samurai, could also mean someone with strong moral compass.
“Stupid Wright.”
Always complimenting him. He carefully marked Obon week, Thanksgiving and Christmas in the calendar, and started planning for the next chance to bring Phoenix and Trucy to himself.
Phoenix honestly did not expect Miles to stick to their deal of biweekly calls.
Sure, the first few months Miles stuck to their scheduled calls, he expected. The scars were fresh, and calls as check-up were normal in those circumstances.
However, Miles would not stop calling. Like clockwork, every Monday and Friday, at exactly 10 AM California time and 7PM Germany time, his phone would ring with a Signal Samurai theme ringtone, and Phoenix would find himself chatting with Miles about everything and anything. Politics, weather, Miles’ research, Phoenix’s gig work, Trucy… they hopped from one topic to another without care in the world.
The only no-go topic was Kristoph and their plans. Miles would occasionally probe about the plans, a vague request for ‘check-in on private commision’, and Phoenix would reply just vaguely, ‘artist’s muse can’t be rushed, Miles!’. They didn’t know if they were being wiretapped, but Phoenix figured it was better safe than sorry. Besides, he was still establishing himself in the underground - the things were truly moving at a glacial speed, so he couldn’t give any updates to Miles.
Phoenix didn’t mind. He never thought he’d be a patient, vengeful shit to anyone, but Kristoph drew that out of him. One thing he never wanted to know about himself, really.
That being said, Phoenix’s patience had its limits - or rather, his moods inside four walls had their limits. Thankfully, Trucy was safely away in school that Thursday, so she didn’t have to witness her father descend into a fit of rage. At the end of it, he was breathing heavily, and shards of ceramics, metal and glass glittering like a myriad of stars on the floor, and was feeling both empty and happier - not perfectly happy, but good enough.
His phone had been one of the unfortunate casualties - Phoenix had noticed that only when he started attacking the glittering shards with a broom and a dustpan. Shrugging, he made a mental note to buy a new phone the next week after the gig at the piano bar, and didn’t think much of it.
Trucy hadn’t noticed anything, and barring a strange look at her father when Friday passed without a call from Miles, everything went well…
… until someone woke them up at an utterly ungodly hour of the morning the next day by hammering at their front door.
“What in flying fu-hell,” Phoenix quickly censored himself as Trucy yawned. “Go back to sleep, Truce, I’ll see what’s going on.”
It wouldn’t be the first time for some of his neighbors to slam on his doors, but they never did it at Saturday at ass crack o’clock.
Another set of thundering knocks came about, and Phoenix, fresh out of fucks to give, yanked open the door to -
“ Gumshoe?! ”
“Wright!” The detective all but chirped. “You’re alive! You worried Mr. Edgeworth, so he called me to check up on you, and of course I said I’ll do it pronto -”
Phoenix blinked as the pieces fell together.
“Miles… was worried?”
“Yes! He told me to call him the moment I make sure that, and I quote, ‘Wright hadn’t died in his sleep and little Trucy got shuffled into the system’.”
Phoenix winced. Right. Miles had had… experiences… with shuffling in the system, and things that happened when a guardian suddenly died.
Then, the rest of the sentence registered, and Phoenix made grabbing motion for Gumshoe’s phone.
“Can I call Miles myself? My phone got broken Thursday, and I was planning to replace it on Monday when I got gig money -”
“Sure, buddy!”
A few taps later - because of course Gumshoe had Miles on a speed dial - and Phoenix was calling Miles.
“Gumshoe.”
“Nope, it’s me!”
“Wright.”
Yikes, last name treatment. Miles was pissed.
“I’m so sorry Miles, my phone broke, and I was going to replace it next week, but I forgot you were going to call, thought it was okay, just one call missed -”
“Wright.” Phoenix shut up at Miles’ tone. “Did you honestly think I would not call? Check on you and Trucy? Break my promise?”
Phoenix gulped and looked down.
Yeah, he expected exactly that.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Miles told him, no amount of static able to disguise his commanding voice. “We promised, Phoenix. You take care of Trucy, I take care of you. Don’t make me a liar.”
“Sorry, Miles.”
The whisper was tiny. barely audible, but Miles somehow knew.
“... don’t. Besides, it’s not like you’re not entitled to a cold shoulder or two. What’s one missed call to a box of unanswered letters?”
Phoenix felt his ears burn at the reminder.
“Look, I was young and dumb -”
“-and incredibly dramatic,” Miles interrupted, humor entering his voice. “Dear Miles, the moon shines like a giant wheel above me, and all I can think of is -”
Oh no, he found the damn box. Phoenix was never living this down.
“Okay, okay, please, enough! I’ll go and buy a new phone, just stop reading those letters!”
“Mmm, why would I? They’re so interesting -”
Phoenix quickly ended the call, pushed the phone into grinning Gumshoe’s hands and slammed the door, ears and face completely red.
“Damn you, Miles!”
Always flustering him with the most random of things. And yet, despite all his complaints, some childish corner of his heart celebrated Miles reading his letters.
Things finally settled on Christmas.
Phoenix had spread dutifully the story of taking Trucy to meet her grandma, and Miles booked them first-class tickets for Munich with no layovers. Trucy nearly ruptured eardrums of half the airport when she finally spotted ‘Uncle Miles’ (their convenient cover story for the outsiders) waiting for them outside arrival area, a small yet elegant car idling behind him.
Munich itself was reveling in Christmas: Kristkindlmarkts were everywhere, selling alcohol, street food and tchotchkes. Tourists were taking pictures, mixing with locals who were doing their normal routines. It was a sweet setting; perfect for Miles’ plans.
If everything went well, the illusion of 'visiting family' Phoenix had uttered would become reality.
“She looks so happy,” Phoenix murmured, and Miles turned to look at him.
Wrapped in several layers to ward off late December Bavarian chill, red-cheeked and misty-eyed, Phoenix looked at his daughter as she charmed random passersby with her magic tricks, her smile and animated gestures neatly bypassing the language barrier. She was adorable, almost as much as her father.
“She does.”
“I don’t know why you indulge us so much.” Phoenix turned to him with a sad smile. “I’ll only feel even worse for not being able to afford a matching gift.”
Oh, silly Phoenix.
“Why would you need to match?” Miles grinned at Phoenix's flabbergasted expression. “You saddled me with unnecessary feelings, remember? What is mine is yours, and what is yours is hers.”
Phoenix spluttered, face going a deeper shade of red that was most definitely not the result of the chill.
“Miles, you can’t just - we’re not married!”
Miles tilted his head.
“Would you like us to be? Formally married.”
Phoenix immediately shook his head, and Miles only had a second to acknowledge a sharp pain in his chest before Phoenix spoke.
“Not-not yet. After we get rid of Kristoph, I’ll marry you. Deal?”
Miles grinned, and dragged Phoenix closer to himself.
He could live with that. What was a few more months, a few more years, to nearly two decades they waited for each other?