The Domesticated Lawyer

Okay! So, it's been more than a year. I'm throwing this at the end of SS because it interlocks with it. Originally it was going to be different, but it's been too long, and I wanted an actual ending to this story. So here we are, and now I'm officially back on FFnet. Hooray.

Writing style may seem different. It has been awhile. I tried to keep it fairly consistent. I even kept the same tense! Go me.

This sort of ret-cons the very last bit of the last chapter. I don't know if any of you read the original, but I did tweak the old ending a bit. If you don't remember, don't worry. :D

--

Phoenix had never been accused of being manly. He'd never had a problem with this. At the very least, he'd never been called effeminate, which sums up quite nicely the decorating style of Miles Edgeworth.

The place was frilly. And pink.

That's unfair. I'll give him maroon. But it's still frilly. In the embarrassing circumstances that led him to this point, he was thankful that at least he never had to question whether or not Miles was gay. You don't look at him and think so, but, I mean, look at this! He pet a velvet curtain with lace trimming. No straight man would ever put this in his home!

But that naturally lead to him thinking of gay men. Like himself. But he wasn't, not really - does one person define sexuality for another? He'd had girlfriends before, and he didn't like Edgeworth for his penis. What the heck am I thinking? He could feel his face turning red. This is ridiculous. Where did he go, anyway? I came to talk to him...

"You're right. I think the color of your face would match the chairs better than the color I originally chose. Thank you for the help." The dry comment made him jump guiltily, feeling like a teenager caught fantasizing about sex. Which was really unfair, because that wasn't what he had been thinking about at all. Well, sort of. "I never thought you'd have good taste in interior decorating."

"Careful, that was almost a joke," Phoenix said irritably, feeling irrationally angry that something decided he deserved to be caught during such an embarrassing train of thought. "I get it, my face is red!"

"Do you need medical attention, or is this just something I'll have to get used to?"

"Why did you choose now to grow a sense of humor?"

"It will pass," Miles assured him.

And then there was silence. Phoenix fidgeted with the curtain some more. Miles stared at him blankly. Finally, Phoenix clears his throat. "It's been awhile."

"... Three months, to be exact."

"I made a mistake," Phoenix said in a rush. As if he didn't say it now, he never would. Which was likely, seeing how last time went, and he never ended up saying anything at all. "I -"

"Save it," Miles interrupted. "You shouldn't have left, you want to start over, am I right?" He didn't wait for an answer. "I told you last time that you needed to leave. I had thought you understood that I meant you shouldn't come back as well, but you obviously didn't. So here it is: this won't work. You'll move on. But first you have to go."

"You haven't even given it a chance!"

"I don't have to. You can't even say what it is, you're so ashamed," Miles said with disdain. "If you really wanted this, wanted a relationship, you'd come out and say it. Something is holding you back. Someone, perhaps."

"Now don't start with that. I don't need to say anything, anyway! I've done plenty. I gave up everything for you," Phoenix said, and immediately regretted it. He figureed he ought to backtrack now, but it was too late, so he started to override Miles' arguement. "I gave up my old dream of being an artist - for you. I went back to school and changed my job, for you. Because you needed me. And I wanted to see you, and you wouldn't return my calls, so I just made it so you would have to see me. If that isn't -"

"I never asked you do do any of that!" Miles looked frazzled. Or embarrased. Or angry. It could be hard to tell with him. Whatever it was, it wasn't good.

"You didn't have to ask - that's my point!" Phoenix softened his tone. "I did it for you. Not because you asked. Because I had to see you again."

"This is utterly ridiculous," Miles said, turning away. Definitely angry, Phoenix decided. "All I see there is an extremely twisted - and perhaps stalker-like - friendship."

"I wanted you," Phoenix blurted out.

"... Say what?"

Frankly, Phoenix was surprised at himself, too. Well, I'll just do what I do best - run with it. Although his face felt red again, which took a certain respectablility from his words, but there wasn't anything he could do about that. "I wanted - I want you. I don't know how clearly I can say it. I've been thinking of you since I left two months ago, and I kept telling myself I did the wrong thing. I should have fought you on it. I know that if you didn't feel anything for me, you wouldn't have let me stay that long. You wouldn't be listening to me now. That's what brought me here - I care about you. Not in some twisted, creepy version of friendship, like you said, but... I - I love you."

And there it was. Phoenix didn't feel like he could say any more - there wasn't anything more to say. Everything was up to Miles now. He felt a clenching feeling in his stomach. This isn't going to end well. I just know it.

"Wright, I told you last time that this wouldn't work out. I meant it."

"Yeah, but you didn't tell me why," Phoenix countered, feeling disappointed in the response he got in return for his soul-bearing confession. Then again, I knew what I was getting into with him... Didn't I?

"Why - why this wouldn't work? Are you serious? You couldn't figure that out?" Miles rubbed his temple. "I hardly know you. We rarely ever meet outside of work-related scenarios. We -"

"That's easily fixable," Phoenix pointed out.

"Don't interrupt."

"I already know what your next problem will be: we're both men, right? And you couldn't allow the public to know that Miles Edgeworth took a male lover, especially now that you're planning on coming back someday. Right?"

"That's not - all right, that is exactly what I was going to say," Miles admitted grudgingly. "It's not as if the public finding this out would only be bad for me. You actually have a career here, not a hypothetical one."

"The difference between you and me, though, is that it's a risk I'm willing to take."

"Dare I say - again - that this is absurd? What do I have to do to make you drop this?"

"Give me a chance. Even if it - even if our relationship fails, that will just be your chance to say, 'I told you so.' Sure, it won't feel good if it doesn't work out, but you'll never know until you try."

At this Miles fell silent again, but this time it was pensive. This time, it was hopeful. "I can't just answer you right now. I need some time to get used to this."

"That's fine. You have my number. Call me whenever." Phoenix added softly, "And Miles?"

The man in question twitched at hearing his first name for a change. "Yes?"

"I meant what I said. Even if it took me awhile to come out and say it - " Bad choice of words there, Wright - "I love you."

He didn't get a reply, but he didn't expect one, either. After a moment, Phoenix leaves again. This time, it wouldn't be forever.

--

He should have known things would go wrong, especially because they had been going so well.

It wasn't even a week since Wright had left his house with 'I love you' instead of 'goodbye' like any normal, civilized person would say. He had thought about the conversation far too often, replaying it over and over, until he felt like he was making up parts because he couldn't quite remember the exact words. For some reason, that was what inspired him to give Wright a call. Dinner is a good place to start. Traditional.

Nothing about this whole ordeal had been traditional. Might as well start sometime.

Then he thought that something would go wrong, so he gave it another week, just to make sure that neither of them died, or spontaneously moved away, or anything else that would make a relationship more difficult than it already was. Just when he felt secure in calling Wright, he gave it a few more days. Just to make sure.

He was glad he waited, after all. The newspaper for the morning before he planned to call ruined it. The headlines read PHOENIX WRIGHT MAKES WRONG CHOICE. Forged evidence. The suspect on the run. Wright facing debarment.

Somewhere in his mind, he knew it couldn't be true. It was impossible to think that someone like him would ever knowingly use a piece of false evidence - he'd think that anyone would be able to see it. An attorney he'd never heard of was the only one who had stepped forward in his defense. Miles knows that if he tried to weigh in, it would mean nothing - he had too many marks against his own record to be defending anyone else of the same crime.

He felt completely useless. So he didn't call.

This time he thought to himself, I'll call once the media dies down. No, he probably needs someone there for him now. No, he's probably overwhelmed with people talking about this, no, no, no...

So he waited for a while to call. He waited and waited, and this time he regretted waiting, because bad things happen to those who wait. At this point, things really couldn't get worse, he decided, and dials the number.

The phone rang. And rang. And rang. And connected him to voicemail.

He tried again, with the same results. He couldn't find the words for a message. It didn't seem appropriate. Instead, he went straight to Wright's office, only to find all the relevant signs taken down. The lights were off - the place looked abandoned. Maybe he had let too much time pass.

He would try the phone a few more times, the office several more, but he couldn't find any sign of Phoenix anywhere he went. And while he waited, he accumulated several offers to work in Germany, Belgium, France - the longer he waited, the less patient these offers were.

Bad things came to those who waited, so he took the offer from the France. Before he left, he wrote a letter and sent it to the office. It was up to Phoenix, now.

--

By this time, Miles had given up keeping track of the time that passed. He did his job admirably, cleanly, made for himself a new reputation of being strict and hard to conquer but honest. The last part, after everything that had happened, was most important to him.

He may have given up keeping track of time, but he still knew that it had been far too long since he heard the voice was hearing on the other end of the phone. The voice that made his heart pound oddly in his chest, a feeling he thought must be like what they called 'skipping a beat' but he'd never really felt before so he didn't know.

"Miles. It's been awhile."

"... Wright. You think that - after all that happened - I tried to get a hold of you, and you think that you can just -"

"Calm down. I know. I was upset. I didn't want to face you, because I knew that you'd have found out all about what happened through the news. And then you left, and I didn't want to bother you again. I wanted to let you move on."

"And what changed your mind?" And what changed you, he wanted to ask. The Phoenix on the other end sounded so different. The voice was the same, but the tone felt old. Calmer. Tired. Not Phoenix at all.

"I wanted to tell you about Trucy."

"Oh," was all Miles could think to say.

"She has your cheekbones," Phoenix said, deadpan.

"That's - wait, what?"

"Your cheekbones. She has my hair color, your cheekbones. She has the most beautiful eyes, though. I don't know where she got them."

"What are you talking about? Do I even want to know?"

"My daughter," Phoenix finishes perfectly. "Trucy. She's my daughter."

"And she has my cheekbones," Miles finishes faintly.

"Good, you were paying attention." He can hear the smile in Phoenix' voice. It lifted some of the age. "I thought you might want to see her. She kind of thinks you're her mama."

"Wright, there is no way I can dignify that with a response."

"Well, I didn't know what to say, y'know? She saw a picture of you and started to ask questions. So I said, 'he's very special to me,' and she just made up the rest." He got the feeling that Phoenix was laughing at him now, laying back and twirling a cord. Which was ridiculous, because phones didn't have cords any more.

"Really. Why are you calling me?"

Phoenix sighed. "I don't know. I miss you."

"This needs to stop," Miles said plainly. "I can't take any more of this. I've moved on. It's time you did, too. I feel like we had this conversaion before - and we have, and it was three years ago. Let it go."

"I know. I wasn't trying to start anything again. I just missed you. I think I just wanted to finish this. You left me hanging."

"I was going to call."

"I know. But you didn't. So I called you. And here we are."

"Here we are," Miles echoed. "For the record, Wright, I loved you."

There was silence for a moment - the past tense did not go by unnoticed. "I know that, too. I'm glad to hear it, though. That's all I needed."

"I guess this would be goodbye, again."

"If we continue with this pattern, it'll be another, what, three decades until we talk to each other again?"

"Hopefully not," Miles let slip, but left it. He must have meant it. He did say it, after all.

"Yeah," Phoenix said wistfully. "I hope not."

"Well."

"Goodbye, Miles."

"Goodbye, Phoenix. And... say hi to Trucy for me."

"Will do," Phoenix said warmly before ending the call.

For some reason, Miles felt that he was extremely different from normal people. Perhaps it was the fact that a "bike lock" was what got him to admit his feelings in the first place. Or that his would-be boyfriend adopted a little girl and called three years after the fact to tell him that - and only that.

Either way, he couldn't bring himself to mind. Things don't always work themselves out well, or in the right ways, but they always work.

--

It's four years later when he saw Wright in the newspaper again. It brought up old thoughts of days gone by and Magatamas.

Perhaps I'll give him a call.

But I should probably give it another year or so, just to make sure, he thought with a smirk.

--

Yep, came around full circle. And yes, that is the actual ending now. Exactly the same as last time, but more drawn out! No, actually, the point of this chapter was to stress that, well, Edgeworth was right. Not working. I'll come clean and say that I've always kind of felt this way about P/E, like it'd never actually work out even if they are hot for each other. Or however you chose to describe it. So yeah.

And I'm glad it's done. Been on my mind for a while. Hope you enjoyed, and my next work will probably be some A/K, because I love me some A/K.