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Phoenix Wright secretly hates Christmas.
…maybe hate is a strong word. Intensely dislike? Abhor? Detest?
He tries not to show it, but he’s a little bit of a Grinch. His family… well, the less said about them, the better. Point was, the holiday never had much family or togetherness or whatever kind of meaning to him, no matter what those happy claymation Rankin and Bass joints on TV might try and say. Then it had been all about couples being lovey-dovey and one sickeningly sweet Christmas with Dollie that put him off the idea altogether.
And… Miles had disappeared over Christmas.
Phoenix never quite got over that.
The worst Christmas by far, though, has to be this one. It has to be, Phoenix decides, because if there’s ever a worse one, he can’t bear the idea of living to see it. It’s been about a month since he lost his badge, living off his meagre savings, Trucy hiding in her room from his miasma of shame over Santa’s pitiful offerings. He’d half forgotten what day it was altogether until his phone rings close to midnight and he sees who is calling.
“Shit,” Phoenix says into the receiver.
“Happy holidays,” Edgeworth responds dryly.
Because Phoenix always calls on Christmas. It’s a thing he does, every year since DL-6, even the year that Edgeworth went missing, he’d called and listened to the number you are calling is no longer in service…
“I suspected that something was amiss when your unnecessary annual concern was not forthcoming.”
“You talked to Gumshoe?” Phoenix asks, to be sure.
“I talked to Gumshoe,” Edgeworth confirms. “Talk to me. Tell me what happened.”
“Your turn for unnecessary annual concern?” Phoenix asks bitterly.
“Yes.”
Fine. Fine. Maya had been all sympathy and it had been awful in every way; at least Phoenix can look forward to a cold, calm evisceration from someone who understands exactly why Phoenix ought to have known better.
He speaks for a long time, trying not to let the hurt and bewilderment color his words and being for the most part wholly unsuccessful. He’d lost and his client had run off, making him look complict as hell, and everyone hates him and oh god he can’t do the one thing he was sort of thinking he was any good at and-
“Where is the girl?” Edgeworth asks at last when Phoenix is quiet.
“Trucy? She’s with me.” Phoenix shrugs, though Edgeworth can’t see it.
“You took her in,” Edgeworth says quietly. “After all of that.”
“Yeah,” Phoenix says, reaching up to cover his eyes with one hand. “I sure did. No job, no prospects, barely any savings left, I know-”
“You are the best man that I have ever known,” Edgeworth interrupts, voice crisp and clear. “That girl is better off with you than anyone else in the world.”
And then Phoenix is crying, hand still pressed up tight against his eyes. He’s smiling, too, though, and hopes that’s all that Edgeworth can hear as the tears run down the sides of his face.
“You’re going to get through this. Wright, listen to me. It might take years- a decade, even, but you’re going to fix this.”
“How do you know that?” Phoenix croaks.
“Because I have to believe it.” Edgeworth sounds unshakable, confident- and it’s for him, he’s confident in Phoenix Wright, disbarred, broke and sobbing on his couch in his office where he lives, trying not to let his new daughter hear him losing it. “I have to believe that this is the kind of world where good men triumph. And if it isn’t, then I have to believe it can still be made so.”
Phoenix draws in a harsh, shaking breath. “Okay,” he says.
“Okay,” Edgeworth repeats.
The next day, there’s an extra large package with overnight delivery. It’s a giant stuffed bear, the same brand, Phoenix notes, as the one in the Corrida case. It’s addressed to Trucy and there isn’t a card. She loves it, putting it in the corner of her room where it casts a menacing shadow over her bed each night. What a weird, wonderful kid.
When Phoenix scrapes together January rent and heads down to the landlord’s office two days late with his tail between his legs, he finds out someone’s taken care of the rent for the next six months in advance. Overseas wire.
Edgeworth’s concern hovers at a safe distance, touching down briefly here or there and alighting again whenever Phoenix flinches. He calls monthly, has Phoenix run through theoreticals on cases he’s taken on and leaves just enough space after for Phoenix to Talk About Things. Mostly, he talks about Trucy. He doesn’t want to bore Edgeworth with the details about his terrible, sordid life or have him guess at how sharp and sly he’s had to become in order to try and take back what he’s lost. He wonders a lot if he’s still the best man Edgeworth has ever known- about what that might say about the kind of people Edgeworth knows, or the kinds of things Phoenix has to do to get by nowadays and how much lower he might possibly sink.
Phoenix isn’t even paying attention to what he’s saying when they talk in November near the anniversary of fucking up his life, some desperate, tired rambling about Trucy and her winter break coming up, and how the bars are closing for the holiday and-
“Would you like to come to Europe for Christmas?” Edgeworth asks abruptly.
Phoenix actually pulls the phone away from his ear to look down at it in surprise. Like he might have accidentally dialed someone else by mistake and only realized an hour and a half into the conversation.
“...what.” he manages, after a time.
“You’re not working,” Edgeworth points out. “The bars are closed. Trucy will be out of school. If you’d like to come, I’d like to have you.”
”Why?”
“Do you want the sentimental reasoning or the bloodless one?” Edgeworth asks, amused.
“Both,” Phoenix decides recklessly. “I mean, since obviously you’d be paying. I don’t have enough in the accounts to cover a lunch set at Tres Bien, much less an actual trip to France. I have got to know your reasoning behind dropping all that on some barely tolerable ex-defense attorney.”
“Bloodless, first, then. It simply does not matter to me if you have your badge or not. The cases I’m working right now have very nebulous jurisdiction, and I could use a fresh set of eyes. The phone calls help, but there are restrictions. Some things you would need to examine in person in order to grasp the full magnitude. Also, the financial constraints are quite justifiable and covered under the standard consultation reinbursement fee. I daresay you’d have a little left over at the end.”
“Ah.” It shouldn’t make Phoenix feel better to be neatly quantified as a tax deductible second opinion, but it sort of does. It’s low pressure- Phoenix can appreciate that kind of thing more now.
“And… the sentimental one?” He presses, a glutton for punishment.
“Mm.” Edgeworth sighs and the sound, pressed up against his ear, is strangely intimate. “This is a terrible time of year for me and I could use a friendly face.”
“Aw, do you miss me?” Phoenix asks, a little mocking to cover up that he’s a bit touched.
“Just your friendly face.”
“I’ll take it,” Phoenix smiles.
So they go to Europe. France, the first year- Germany twice. Belgium, Italy. They’re a reprieve in a grinding, punishing little life he’s carved out of the carcass of the old one. Two weeks every year where he’s useful, where someone listens to every word he says and takes it seriously. It’s two weeks where Trucy is spoiled and petted and indulged, and Phoenix looks at the wide, dazzling world and the man who lives in it and he wants. For two weeks, only. Then he goes home.
This year, Edgeworth calls him with unfortunate news.
“I’m afraid I’m not able to host you for a visit this season,” he says, stiff and sorry. “Do accept my condolences for this unfortunate circumstance.”
“Yeah, you’re gonna have to give me more than that,” Phoenix replies easily.
Armenia, it seems, has had a coup- and Edgeworth just so happened to be in the midst of things. Not to worry- there were only a few murders, one assasination and a moderately sized pipe bomb. Edgeworth is in a safe location. For now.
Jesus Christ.
“Hell of a Christmas,” Phoenix huffed. “Is it okay you called?”
“Certainly,” Edgeworth says immediately, which lets Phoenix know that it was both difficult and risky.
“Edgeworth…”
“I… didn’t want to disappear. Not without some kind of communication, at least.” Edgeworth sounds so genuinely sorry that Phoenix is at a loss.
“Hey, I know you’re a busy guy-”
“I won’t disappear on you again,” Edgeworth says, and it sounds like a promise.
Oh.
Oh!
….oh.
“This is about that year you went missing,” Phoenix says and he can hear the flinch in Edgeworth’s sharp breathing. “That was a long time ago, you know? You don’t owe me or anything.”
It’s quiet on the other line for a long time. Phoenix almost thinks the call dropped, but then-
“...it’s not about owing,” Edgeworth mutters, almost sullen.
“Okay,” Phoenix says, though he’s still a bit confused. “I’m glad you called. And it’s probably for the best. Things are… moving. On my end. I think.”
Edgeworth mulls this over. There’s a rumble and a shout, cut off in the distance.
“Edgeworth? What was-”
“It’s alright,” Edgeworth says firmly. “I’ll… I’ll call when I can. Phoenix?”
His breath catches in his throat.
“You’ve got this,” Edgeworth says, and hangs up.
“Merry Christmas,” Phoenix tells the dial tone.
The next year is a whirlwind.
He’d needed a couple of things: The MASON system, enough clout to get a trial run, an honest defense attorney who didn’t hate his guts and for Kristoph Gavin to make a mistake.
Check. Check. Check.
Checkmate.
He’s still buzzing from the contact high of Apollo’s success when Edgeworth calls.
“Yes,” Phoenix laughs into the phone before Edgeworth can even speak. “Whatever you’re calling to ask, the answer’s yes.”
“The trial went well, I take it.” Edgeworth’s smile comes through loud and clear.
“Yes!” Phoenix yells to the sky, feeling a little bit like Apollo and his Chords of Steel.
“I wanted to speak with you about… about Christmas.” Edgeworth sounds uncharacteristically hesitant.
“Hey, I already said yes,” Phoenix grins flippantly. “Just tell me what I’m doing.”
“Then I thank you for your hospitality.”
Phoenix stops walking. A short, angry tap of the horn reminds him that, oh yeah, he’d been crossing the road. He hurries the rest of the way across.
“Wright?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m here- you mean. You’re here. You’re here for Christmas?” Phoenix presses.
“I’m coming back into the country around then, yes. It seemed easier to schedule the transfer for the holidays.”
Phoenix drops his phone.
“Wright?” Edgeworth’s voice rises up from the ground, tinny and distant. But soon… soon he won’t be. Phoenix scrambles to pick it up.
“Transfer. You’re coming back to prosecute?”
“Rather one better.”
“No! Chief Prosecutor?” Phoenix whoops, and several passer-bys eye him with trepidation. Ah well, it’s nothing he’s not used to at this point, as slummy as he looks now. Fuck them. He’s won his trial, he’s got his revenge, he’s clawing back his reputation one bloody handful at a time, and Miles Edgeworth is coming back to L.A.
“I was calling to see if you’d be willing to put me up for a week until I get the house settled.”
“A house?” Phoenix whistles. “You’re really staying.”
“I’m really staying,” Edgeworth repeats.
“Mi casa, su casa,” Phoenix promises.
Phoenix trades the sweats for a suit and the poker for the courtroom. He’s happier than he’s ever been because now he knows each day how much he’s earned it- how much he has to be grateful for. He can go down the street whenever he’s got to be at the courthouse and stick his head into the Chief Prosecutor’s office and Edgeworth will be there and so he does, as often as he dares. Edgeworth still calls, sometimes daily, and he comes to Trucy’s shows and they don’t need Europe to have Christmases together. They’re usually noisy, troublesome affairs with too many people crammed into the Wright Office, but this year the kids wanted to party and Phoenix wanted quiet, food, and Edgeworth.
But that does have certain… implications.
“Huh,” Phoenix says when they hit, pushing his chair back away from the table. It’s quiet and a bit late, and Edgeworth looks at him mildly over the half-eaten Christmas cake.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Edgeworth inquires.
“I’d rather have your strawberry,” Phoenix says, and Edgeworth rolls his eyes. There are plenty of unclaimed strawberries still decorating the half eaten cake, but those strawberries are for later. Phoenix wants strawberries now.
“Payment as promised.” Edgeworth pushes the strawberry off his plate onto Phoenix’s and Phoenix grins off to the side, pleased with the fruit and the attention. He hides it by noisly eating the berry.
“Well,” he says, still swallowing, and enjoying the disgusted look on Edgeworth’s face. “Just- with Trucy, Apollo and Athena off to Klavier’s karaoke extravaganza, it’s kind of different this year.”
Edgeworth nods thoughtfully. “You could have joined them. I imagine they’ll continue for a good while yet.”
“No way. That’s for the youths, I can’t keep up. Why, you tempted to crash the party?”
Edgeworth permits an indulgent smile as the two of them imagine the utter fright and terror of of the Chief Prosecutor descending into the midst of their drunken holiday.
“No, this is nice. It’s just-” Phoenix shuts his mouth so quickly that his teeth actually click together, like some kind of cartoon character. Edgeworth raises an eyebrow. “Well. When it’s just two people on Christmas it’s a little, I dunno. Date-like.”
“Date-like,” Edgeworth repeats.
“Er.” Phoenix looks around the room, trying to refute his ridiculous earlier statement. But… he only finds more evidence. The half drunk bottle of wine, the remnants of a catered wagyu steak dinner, the cake. Edgeworth’s house is clean and atmospheric and the lights dimmed enough to be pleasant on the eyes; there’s a fire crackling in the hearth. Soft jazzy renditions of Christmas classics play through the stereo very faintly.
“Yeah,” he says finally. “Date-like. Date-ly. Date-ishly.”
“Please stop doing that to suffixes,” Edgeworth requests. “I suppose Christmas is inherently romantic to a certain extent. I assume you don’t take umbrage to anything that transpired?”
“I’ve had a good time,” Phoenix agrees. “I’m not upset or anything, it’s just… I never really thought about it. This year, sure, but I guess spending the last ten years together every Christmas might seem kind of… like that. In general.” He’s feeling less and less like he should have said anything in the first place. Edgeworth isn’t interested in that kind of thing, and even if he woke up one day and miraculously decided he was, Phoenix was hardly going to be his type.
“I’m being dumb, don’t worry about it. I’m sure you’re not trying to seduce me,” Phoenix jokes. Edgeworth pauses midway through closing the cake lid.
Phoenix sits up straight.
He’s not carrying the magatama- but he doesn’t need it. Edgeworth’s tells were always obvious to Phoenix, once he learned what to look for, and that side glance, huff of air, fingers briefly tightening on the lid-
“You’re not trying to seduce me,” Phoenix repeats, in a different tone of voice. “...right?”
Edgeworth shakes his head, taking the cake over to the fridge. He stays there with the door open, looking in over the neat contents- mostly just different kinds of drinks, Phoenix knows without seeing it himself.
“I’m not trying to,” Edgeworth says finally to the pitcher of filtered water.
“But you’re not against it,” Phoenix argues, getting to his feet. “You’ve thought about it.” He grips the back of his chair after he pushes it in under the table, keeping himself steady when his heart is in his throat. “That’s… new. Since when?”
Edgeworth closes the fridge. He turns to face Phoenix, expression determined. His hands, Phoenix can see, are shaking at his sides.
“It would be easier to say when I didn’t. Sometimes I think I spent my whole life wanting you.” Edgeworth confesses.
“What the shit,” Phoenix says charmingly. Edgeworth gives him a searching, intent sort of look and risks a step forward.
Toward Phoenix.
“I apologize for concealing it for so long. I had assumed you would not be interested-”
“Oh I’m interested,” Phoenix blurts. “I’m… I’m extremely interested. But, uh…” One hand gives up the death grip on the chair so that he can rub the back of his neck, self-conscious and uncertain. “You’re like… sure? I mean… you want me.”
“Yes.” Edgeworth takes another step closer.
“Like… now?” Phoenix feels himself flushing red and he’s… the way Edgeworth is looking at him, it’s… he wants to… but… “I mean ten years ago I was pretty fit, and I had that shiny happy Phoenix look, but now I’m kind of a bummer and I’m getting paunchy and my back’s all fucked-”
“Phoenix,” Edgeworth says in a voice that makes him shiver. “I want to destroy you. I want to take you to pieces. I want you to forget every word you’ve ever learned besides yes, more and my name.”
“Oh my fucking god,” Phoenix whimpers as he’s yanked forward by his tie into a searing kiss a decade overdue. “Miles- yes.”
~~
And Miles does.
~~
Afterward, curled in the soft hazy afterglow, Phoenix looks out the window. The faintest glow of red and green lights shine from somewhere in the distance, and it’s a record cold year- it might even snow. The soft sounds of the crackling fire are behind him, and curled in his arms, a dozing, sleep-soft prosecutor, tangled naked with him on a bearskin rug.
...maybe Christmas isn't so bad after all.