Phoenix walked to the Prosecutor's Office. This wasn't remarkable; he walked everywhere, or took public transportation, or a taxi. As he'd once explained to Maya, Los Angeles drivers were the reason he didn't drive in Los Angeles.

Today, he walked, not only because he didn't have a car, but because it made it easier for him to change his mind at any minute and head back to his office with no one the wiser, or to stop and visit Iris down at the Detention Center. And because if things went badly (although, really, could they get worse than they had been yesterday?) he could take out his feelings stomping on cement sidewalks, rather than driving aggressively and putting pedestrians at risk.

He didn't change his mind.

When he got to Edgeworth's office, Phoenix waited out in the hallway for a good fifteen minutes before knocking. This was not due to any uncertainty or internal struggle, but because Detective Gumshoe has disappeared through the door just as Phoenix had exited the elevator.

"Hey, pal!" Gumshoe greeted him as he exited Edgeworth's office. "Good to see you! Sorry I can't stay and chat, but Mr. Edgeworth's got me real busy today. I'm digging up all the records of unsolved muggings from the past year."

Phoenix rubbed his chin. So Edgeworth was hard at work the day after the trial "Any reason?"

"Well..." Gumshoe looked around, then leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, "I think he's trying to see if any of them were committed by Pete Thugg. I think Mr. Edgeworth figures that if he couldn't get him this time around, maybe he can catch him later."

"Pete Thugg? The defendant from yesterday's trial?"

Gumshoe's expression darkened. "Yeah. That one." He sighed. "Him and his friend, the one who said all those things to Mr. Edgeworth in court. Just between you and me, pal, I think Mr. Edgeworth's taking all of this pretty badly."

So I've discovered. "I'll keep that in mind. Thanks, Detective Gumshoe."

"No problem, pal. And," Gumshoe brightened. "I'm sure he'll be happy that a friend stopped by to visit him. He's not good at showing it, but I know he's always cheered up by visitors!"

Cheered up by visitors? Are we talking about the same Miles Edgeworth, Phoenix wondered, but smiled. He waved as the detective proceeded down the hall, leaving him alone staring at Edgeworth's door.

Might as well get this over with, he thought, and wrapped his knuckles on the warm, dark wood of the door. The sliding plate bearing the number "1202" rattled slightly.

"Come in," Edgeworth called, and Phoenix opened the door. "Gumshoe, did you forget som- Wright!" The prosecutor had been sitting at his desk, and stood up suddenly when he saw that the person entering his office was not the detective. He was wearing a lighter-colored suit than yesterday – closer to pink than yesterday's burgundy – although it was in the same style. As far as Phoenix could tell, the cravat was identical. "Why are you here?" the silver-haired prosecutor asked, carefully.

Phoenix froze in the doorway, jamming his hands into his pockets awkwardly. "I... wanted to talk, Edgeworth. About things from yesterday." He braced himself for the piercing insult and withering glare typical of an irate Edgeworth.

Instead he got a tired sigh. "You might as well come in." The prosecutor turned around and busied himself with something Phoenix couldn't see. "Have a seat on the sofa, if you like."

Phoenix took a few hesitant steps into the room, the tapping of the soles of his shoes painfully loud on the wooden floor of Edgeworth's office. He advanced far enough to close the door, and stayed there, leaning against it. The door was reassuringly solid, and unlike the plush pink upholstery of Edgeworth's sofa, offered a quick escape.

"How do you take your tea, Wright?" Edgeworth asked, awkwardly.

I prefer coffee, Phoenix thought, but recognized that Edgeworth, as bad as ever at interpersonal relations, was trying to be welcoming. "Three sugars, please."

Edgeworth made a disapproving noise – well, excuse me for not being classy enough – but from the faint clink of a stirring spoon against china, was making the tea to Phoenix's specifications. He turned around, teacup and saucer in hand, and his eyebrows pinched together worriedly when he saw Phoenix was still standing.

Oh, fine. Reluctantly Phoenix crossed over to the sofa, and sat. He'd sat on the sofa before, but even though the cushions were just the right balance between soft and firm, he had never found it comfortable. Sitting on the fine furniture made him feel awkward, like his suit was disheveled and ill-fitting.

But he sat anyway, taking the saucer and cup gingerly from Edgeworth, hoping he wouldn't break them. The prosecutor circled his desk and retrieved his own tea before joining Phoenix on the sofa. They sat side by side, a wide gap between them, looking straight ahead.

"Larry called me," Edgeworth said without preamble. "It took some work, but I gradually managed to extract the essential facts of the situation from him. I trust you understand better, now, why I was so certain the chef was mocking me?" His eyes flickered worriedly over at Phoenix.

Phoenix nodded. "Yeah." He sipped his tea, feeling like his hand was too large and clumsy to properly hold fine china. "I do."

Edgeworth sipped his tea, the cup graceful in his hand, and sighed. "I suppose... I owe you something of an apology," he continued in halting tones. "I should not have lost my temper, and explained the situation more clearly. I suppose at the time I thought it was abundantly clear, but I hadn't mentioned the troublesome witness, so how could I expect you to know about him? Certainly, if our positions had been reversed... Ha." The laugh was short, full of self-mockery. "I should have realized what was wrong when you accused me of being..." there was a long pause, as if Edgeworth had trouble saying the word. "Homophobic."

Phoenix took another sip of his tea, not really tasting it. "It wasn't just the... with the chef, you know."

Edgeworth looked away. "I'm aware. I said some things... well, I was furious with the entire world at that point. The chef, of course, and his brother; the defense attorney, for trying to dismiss a premeditated mugging just because the victim happened to be... the judge for buying such bilge-water..." He signed heavily. "And of course myself, for failing to obtain justice for Mr. Dough."

The victim. Right. Phoenix nodded and took a long swallow of tea. It was disgustingly sweet, and it was all he could do to keep a look of disgust off his face. A verbal expression of disgust, "urgh," he didn't quite manage to suppress.

Edgeworth raised an eyebrow. "It's your fault for asking for three sugars, you realize."

"I guess." Phoenix carefully put the poisonously sweet tea on the floor. He stayed leaning forward, resting his forearms across his knees. "I understand why you were upset. I think you should know something else, though. The chef who used to be at that restaurant, Jean Armstrong... he actually behaved like that."

Edgeworth blinked, taken aback. "The former chef? The one serving a prison term for obstruction of justice?"

Phoenix nodded. "Yeah, he was like that all the time, pretty much. It was a real pain to cross-examine him. But I don't think he was doing it to mock anyone, I think that's just the way he liked to present himself." He studied the floor. "I was a theatre arts major, you know. So I've seen a lot of people who were..." He searched for a better word. "Flamboyant. Some of my close friends liked to be 'out, loud and proud'. You know?"

Edgeworth nodded slowly.

"So those stereotypes you were mad about..." Phoenix shifted his weight just so and raised his arm, letting his hand hang limp. "I knew someone who decided to talk like this," he said, with a pronounced lisp. "For a whole year. Maybe it was dumb, maybe it fed the stereotypes, but... well, it made him happy." He dropped the affected speech. "So... yeah."

Edgeworth eyed him, lips pursed in mild disapproval. "You do that far too well."

Phoenix reddened slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I told you, I was a theatre major."

"Was..." Edgeworth hesitated for a long while. One could practically see him mulling over what he was going to say next, weighing each word carefully. "Was your... boyfriend also in theatre arts?"

Phoenix looked away, nodding slowly. He could feel the memory in the back of his mind, cold and hollow. "Yeah. He was. It made it pretty hard for us to avoid each other, once I started to date Dollie – er, Iris."

"Bad breakup?" Edgeworth asked, then apparently thought better of it. "My apologies. It's none of my business," he added quickly.

"No, that wasn't the trouble," Phoenix said, sighing. "The problem was that I was dating a woman." He let his voice turn hard on the last word, and saw Edgeworth flinch. Phoenix retrieved his disgusting tea, which had gone cold. He drank it anyway. "Guess he felt I was betraying him, or The Cause, or something." There was a lump in his throat that the tea wouldn't wash away. "A lot of our friends thought that."

There was a long silence, broken by a clink of china. Phoenix looked back; Edgeworth had set his teacup on its saucer, and was gazing reflectively up towards the ceiling.

"I believe I owe you a second apology, Wright," he said eventually. "For the... other things I said yesterday. And thought."

"I'd appreciate it," Phoenix said, a little sourly, "If you could be a little more specific about this apology."

Edgeworth flinched. All right, maybe that was a little much... no, actually, it wasn't.

The prosecutor ran a hand through his platinum hair. "It was... moderately amusing when Larry was teasing you about Ms. Hawthorne. But once he started talking about how you 'used to' be gay, all I could think was of how… of the victim, who doesn't have such a luxury of 'used to'."

"Oh, god, Larry." Phoenix buried his face in his hands. "Larry's mostly good about this sort of thing, actually. He's surprisingly nonjudgmental." That was one of the reasons they were still friends after all these years, after all. "Didn't matter to him whether I was straight or gay. He just doesn't get... well. I've given up trying to explain to him that bisexual doesn't mean bigamous," he finished with a sigh.

"That's Larry for you," Edgeworth said reasonably. "And to be fair to him... well, I know better, but I certainly wasn't letting that stop me from acting..."

"Like a prick?" Phoenix suggested.

Edgeworth rolled his eyes. "I'd put it less crudely, but yes. I let myself believe that you had it easy, that things shouldn't matter because you can pass for straight, but, as you have so clearly illustrated..." He looked to the side, one arm drawn across his chest to grasp the other in that familiar protective stance. "The reality is that it's not necessarily any easier for you than it is for me, is it? Just... different difficulties."

Phoenix blinked. "For you? Wait, Edgeworth, are you saying..."

"What you think I am? Yes." Edgeworth crossed his arms and leaned back, his embarrassment betrayed by the impatient tapping of the fingers of one hand on the opposite sleeve. "I never thought to tell you before, because frankly I didn't see it as important. And also, well," he cleared his throat. "I've been told that it's pretty obvious."

"Obvious?" Phoenix echoed.

Edgeworth gestured, the sweep of his arm encompassing the fastidiously tidy office, from the fine china tea set sitting shockingly white against deep rose curtains to the pink couch itself, and the whole of the man himself, in his neatly tailored rosy suit and immaculate white cravat.

"Oh. Oh." Phoenix found himself chuckling, and then laughing outright. It wasn't that funny, but after all of the misery of the past day, the lack of sleep, the long, tense conversation over bad tea... well it was a relief have anything at all to laugh about.

"I really don't see what's so funny, Wright," Edgeworth said dryly. "Really."

"It's just... you've been complaining about gay stereotypes, Edgeworth. While wearing a pink suit."

"It's dusky rose," Edgeworth retorted. "Your tie is pink."