Chapter Text
1 September 2032, Los Angeles
Wright-Edgeworth Household, 11am
RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNG!
Phoenix reaches out with his left arm and blindly swings at the direction of his bed's side table.
RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNG!
“For fuck’s sake,” he grumbles into the sheets. He unwillingly opens a bleary eye, snarls at the annoying clock, and hits it with a vengeance. The ringing stills to a stop.
Ha. Take that!
Absentmindedly he turns to the left side of his bed and places his palm on it, frowning when it is cold to the touch. Chief Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth has gone to work. The sheets smells like the orchid shower gel Trucy bought for them when she was on tour in France. Phoenix cannot help but smile to himself. He rolls to his back and stretches.
Life is good. Amazingly good. 10 years ago he would never have imagined having a life like this, owning an office of his own, having regular clients and cases, going home to Miles and sharing a bed with him. Miles, his beautiful, brilliant, one and only soulmate. Trucy, his joy and light, is a world renown super magician at age 22, in another continent performing sold out shows. Apollo was made Khura’in's special diplomat after leading successful legal reforms, and he flies back and forth LA and Khura’in when he is called. Athena leads high profile cases on behalf of Wright Anything, and sometimes Phoenix wonders if she would leave to start her own firm. And Kay Faraday is doing well as an intern in Wright Anything Agency. She’s still in law school, and Phoenix was surprised that she chose the defense route instead of well, the better paid Prosecutor's Office. She will make a fine defence attorney, grabbing evidence faster than everyone else, to Miles’ pinched frown and Athena’s delight. Her Little Thief tool gives her an edge too. Everyone from the Ace Attorney has their own gimmick now - his borrowed Magatama, Apollo’s bracelet, Athena’s widget...
(“Say Mr Edgeworth,” Athena had asked once, “how do you solve cases if you can’t tell if the witnesses are lying?”
“We use our brains, Ms Cykes.”)
Kay will be finishing her studies soon to take the Bar Exam.
Maybe then, maybe, he will retire. Pass the office to Trucy. Retirement. He runs the word in his mouth. It is unfamiliar. It is unsettling. It tastes amazing.
Nah. Miles will probably still be running the Prosecutor’s Office. “Until the office can stand on its own,” Miles said in that the one time Phoenix brought up the issue of retiring. (“And we haven’t reach 40, Wright. Don’t tell me you are retiring when you haven’t reached your prime?” “Ouch.”)
The Prosecutor’s Office is going to take a while to fix itself, with the amount of red tape and hidden secrets surrounding it. Even if the Dark Age of the law has ended, there are still years of accumulated darkness and secret masterminds that have yet to be fully uncovered. The early days of being Chief Prosecutor had taken a toll on Miles, a secret he hides behind the close door of their bedroom. Things are better, but it is going to take time. Well, it’s only right that Phoenix is there with him along the way. They keep each other sharp, after all. What is he going to do if he retires, lie in the big apartment of theirs, having nothing to be preoccupied with, missing Miles and his daughter and all the family and friends they have made over the years? Play casual poker for the rest of his life?
RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNGGGFGG
Argh. Phoenix gets out of bed, away from the silk sheets and soft quilts and specially tailored memory foam mattress. Kneels on the floor to grab the clock and shuts the alarm for good. He looks at the time - 11.10am.
Wait. Does he need to be in the office? No, because Athena and Kay specifically told him to take a rest day. He is meeting them after lunch for the final case preparations before the hearing tomorrow. It's nice they still respect him enough to ask for his opinions even though he knows they have got the case covered.
Next to the spot of the ground where he picked up the clock, there is a note.
Remember lunch. In beautiful, cursive handwriting. Miles.
MILES!
It’s their anniversary, and they were meeting at the the restaurant of their first proper date for lunch. 12pm.
Crap, crap, crap. He rushes to the toilet, brushes his teeth and showers in record time. Wears his court attire because, what the hell, that’s Miles’ gift to him when he got his badge back. And Miles is going to be wearing his burgundy suit. Phoenix’ sentimental like that.
He checks himself in the mirror, breathes out, and takes the step towards door.
The step misses, because just then, an unusually strong earthquake hits Los Angeles.
Wright-Edgeworth Household, 11.35am
The apartment that Phoenix and Miles share was Miles’ apartment originally - Phoenix and Trucy visited so often that Miles passed him a set of keys; a few months after they started dating officially, Miles handed him a joint tenancy to sign.
(“Most people would verbally ask them to move in first you know,” Phoenix had said.
“Implication by conduct, Wright. You literally live here, Trucy has her own room,” Miles retorted, then characteristically awkward when his courtroom resolve cracked, “I’m not forcing you to sign it, it’s just that if something happens I want the two of you—“
“-I know,” Phoenix smiled gently, “this is my home. Our home. You don’t need a document to prove it.”
“It’s not just- it’s not about that,” Miles would have protested more, but he froze when Phoenix picked up a pen.
“Take that!” Phoenix slammed the signed document on their dinner table. He wore the same obnoxious smirk Miles secretly missed, not being able to fight him in court now that he was delegated to managerial roles in the Prosecutor's Office.
“You are a clown, Wright.” Miles rolled his eyes, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.)
Being an official joint tenant means that he has some responsibility in dealing with property ownership. The actual value of the property (“Holy shit Miles!”) had shaken him to the core then, but the fact is that Miles has chosen an apartment located in the city with the perfect balance of peaceful seclusion, security, and convenience. It is also particularly earthquake-proof - a feature that everyone in the house appreciates since the structure of the building is steady enough to prevent a pyramid of cards from collapsing during an earthquake.
The fact that this earthquake is strong enough to make Phoenix lose his balance is highly worrying.
Once the earthquake settles, Phoenix grabs his phone and dials Miles’ number.
Miles does not pick up the phone.
That’s okay, Phoenix calms himself down. Miles will need time to calm down and collect himself. But what if he fainted?
Phoenix calls Miles’ secretary instead. No answer. Shit.
He calls another number.
“Mr Wright?”
“Gumshoe!”
“Hey pal,” Phoenix could hear Gumshoe smiling, “haven’t heard from you in awhile. Are you okay? That earthquake just now hit real hard, didn’t it?”
“I’m fine. Was trying to get hold of Mi-Edgeworth, actually. Is there something wrong with the Prosecutor’s Office landline?”
“Hm? Let me check…. Huh?”
Phoenix furrows his brows, “What?”
“I can’t reach them through my personal phone either,” he says, then knowingly, “I can check on Mr Edgeworth for you, pal.”
“Thank you. I owe you.”
“Not a problem,” Gumshoe says, and he hangs up.
Good old Gumshoe.
Phoenix thinks about the fastest route to the Prosecutor’s Office as he grabs his shoes and his wallet. His bike rests by the door - momentarily, he regrets not being able to drive.
He flags down a cab.
Somewhere in LA, 11.55am
“Is there no other way?” Phoenix leans forward from the backseat, asking a little desperately.
“I can run over the car behind us, or the ones next to us,” the taxi driver is feeling snappy too, trapped in a jam and having to spend more than fifteen minutes with Phoenix in a car. She turns to her phone and resumes watching Moozilla: The King of Monsters.
Phoenix narrows his eyes, “This isn't very professional.”
She ignores him.
Sighing, he looks out of the window. The sound of sirens indicates an accident nearby, which is probably responsible for the jam.
The Prosecutor’s Office is just another two streets away. He makes the decision.
“Here,” he throws the cab fees onto the seat next to the driver. Her startle gives him a small petty satisfaction.
He opens the door, and dashes across the road to the pedestrian sidewalk.
15 minutes, Miles. 8, if he sprints. But he maintains a brisk speed. He doesn’t want to meet Miles sweating through his suit.
On route the sirens grow louder. The unsettling feeling in his gut curls. He turns the corner.
Parked in front of the Prosecutor’s Building are police cars that left a sliver of the main road for the rest of traffic to pass through. Detective Dick Gumshoe stands at the gate to the office, a phone pressed to his right ear, a deep frown set to his face.
Phoenix’s face pales.
“Gumshoe!” He shouts, breaking into a run. He rushes past the police personnel, the red tapes, the blood donation drive banner, and stops in front of the detective. Gumshoe startles, almost dropping his phone.
“Oh pal, I was trying to call you!”
“You did?” Phoenix pats his pockets. “Shit. Must have let it at home.”
“It’s-“ Gumshoe hesitates, throwing furtive glances at everyone else then him, “-look, let's talk inside of the office okay?”
“Huh? Did someone get murdered in the office or something?” Phoenix says with a nervous laugh. This won’t be the first time it happened. He read about it in the news - Miles had solved the case, recounted the story with a sigh when Phoenix asked about it over drinks. Gumshoe winces. “It’s-“
Then, Phoenix really notices. The pitying looks from the other policemen when they think Phoenix isn’t looking, the way they stop their conversations and turn their gazes away when Phoenix catches them staring. The sheer number of police force on scene at the short amount of time.
“Gumshoe.”
Phoenix looks at Gumshoe straight in the eye. Under the weight of his glare, Gumshoe shuffles his feet. The guilty and sad look on his face confirms it.
Phoenix asks slowly, his voice as cold as the blood that has chilled in his veins, “What happened to the Chief Prosecutor?”