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Miles quickly froze, stringing Pess’s leash taut and tugging her close to his right side for maybe the twentieth time that night. A giddy band of witches flew by, too hopped up on candy to even notice the pretty doggie and beg to rub their sticky hands up and down her fur. He rolled his eyes as the two of them rejoined the path, continuing their journey to Wright and Co. Law Offices.
Miles hadn’t seen or heard from Phoenix since That Day. He had been out in Czechia at the time, giving a guest lecture on logic and crime, when his phone started furiously vibrating. His wasn’t alone; the cacophony of various notification sounds still haunted Miles to this day.
“Turnabout Terror Terrorizes Court with Forged Evidence!”
“Vanishing Acts: Courtroom or Cesspool?”
“Defense Attorney Phoenix Wright has been disbarred!”
Needless to say, Miles excused himself and tore down the streets of Prague back to his hotel room, all while gasping at Gumshoe to put in an immediate request for a private jet back to Japanifornia.
He’d been so rattled — what with balancing legal system reformation and cultural competency, traveling across Europe every couple of weeks, and now the disbarment — that he’d forgotten that the American children were celebrating Halloween.
They rounded one more corner and the old bank quickly came into view. Miles let out two sharp whistles, and Pess broke into a gallop. Their journey to suite 37 dissolved into a blur. Pushing against a pull door. Scrambling up two floors. Ignoring parental glowers in the hallway. Mouthing the words “Talent Agency” scratched on a scrap of cardboard taped hastily on top of what should most definitely say “Law Offices.”
He was certain Phoenix’s office was in suite 37. He had to be; Miles did not know any more addresses. He shut his eyes and with all of his might, Miles rapped on the door.
“Go away!”
His heart plummented into his chest.
He couldn’t recognize this man’s voice at all. His arm quickly fell to his side, his gaze dropped to the floor. He was just about to mutter a half-hearted apology when Pess did a deep inhale. Her tail quickly started wagging, and she shoved her trunk of a snout into the part of the door that met the wall.
“No, Pess, let’s go. We’ve…we’ve the wrong address.”
After a few moments of tugging, Miles was finally able to drag the borzoi away. He had reached the door to the stairwell when he heard the familiar creak of an office opening.
“…Edgeworth?”
The prosecutor quickly turned and found himself staring at a hobo slouched down the hall.
Miles opened his mouth to apologize, he had the wrong suite, when Pess yanked away from him and darted down the hall. She threw herself down at this man’s feet and he chuckled. “My dear programmable electronic safety system, how I missed you so,” he cooed.
Miles nearly dropped to his knees.
“Wow, Mr. Edgeworth,” Maya chirped, wagging a piece of her burger near the floor. The puppy immediately bounded over, despite Miles’s exasperated beckons. “I wouldn’t peg you for a dog person.”
Phoenix laughed. “Are you kidding? I remember this one, what was it? A pomeranian! We found him on the street one day and Edgeworth fell in love.” The prosecutor simply grunted and returned to his case files. He promised he would join the two of them at the table once he finished ironing out all of the chinks in his logic’s armour. “What made you get another dog now, Edgeworth?”
It was quiet for a long moment, and Phoenix wasn’t sure if Miles heard him. But when he looked over at the man on the couch, he noticed that he was now clutching his elbow.
“Pess was assigned to me. By a…therapist.”
Maya clasped her hands together and nodded, her smile taking up half of her face.
“She’s being trained for usage in psychiatric emergency screening services. How, I am not quite sure. I am still looking into the science and utility of service dogs for non-visible…ngoh...disabilities…”
Miles’s eyes flew open into a glare when he heard the two of them burst into laughter. He was an absolute fool for divulging that. He had stupidly figured that since Ms. Fey and Wright had witnessed his less-than-favorable reactions to earthquakes, or on more than one occasion had to force him to eat, or did not mention anything during the few times he had fallen asleep during one of their conversations, or…
Bah! It does not matter; none of it does. All of it is simply unnecessary. He was returning the dog tomorrow.
“You named her after an acronym?”
He blinked. “P-pardon?”
“Nothing, Mr. Edgeworth,” she chuckled, walking over to him and giving him a hug after brushing his bangs aside. He could almost hear Franziska snorting lightheartedly at the sentimentality. “We’re proud of you.”
Slowly, he allowed himself to grasp her back. She did not even complain about the wrinkles he was sure to leave in her robes. When he finally opened his eyes, he found Phoenix staring back at him, smiling and nodding.
After that day, whenever Maya or Phoenix greeted Pess, they (infuriatingly) had made sure to call her by whatever else P.E.S.S. happened to stand for.
Miles shyly stepped forward. “…Wright?”
Phoenix Wright usually carried himself around with a confidence in the goodness of humanity that shined as brightly as his name. Phoenix Wright was usually found in that stupid polyester suit that was too baggy around the shoulders and wasn’t cut properly, but the blue accented his honey brown eyes perfectly. Yes, and those eyes — Phoenix Wright possessed a set of eyes that could reach down into any soul and identify the good, no matter how deep under it was buried.
This man before him was crumpled, physically and mentally. Instead of sharp, he looked jagged, what with that week-old shadow, that steep and smug upturn in his lips. This man wore a dirty sweatsuit littered in holes. An atrocious beanie — it was the completely wrong shade of blue — was shoved over his face, barely allowing room for his eyes. And his EYES. They no longer were a set of spades, but rather an endless hole. They were shifty, like he might dive for cover or reach for a knife at a moment’s notice. Like trust itself had become a turnabout.
The prosecutor refrained from letting out a large “OOF” when this man tackled him into a hug and essentially started screaming into his chest. Miles awkwardly patted his shoulders a couple of times. “…Come, let us sit down.”
Miles guided this man back into the talent agency and gently set the both of them down on the settee. He attempted to reach into his coat to offer an handkerchief, but this man just squeezed tighter. Phoenix Wright has a grip stronger than a bear trap when it comes to hugs…but Miles still wasn’t convinced. The Phoenix Wright he knew always claimed that one does not cry until it was all over.
It must be all over.
But what did that mean? Had Phoenix himself reached those crossroads? Was he ready to choose —
“I know what’ll wipe those tears away!”
Miles jumped in shock at the giggle. He snatched his arms away from Phoenix, favoring instead to grip his elbow. In front of them stood a small girl, maybe about eight, dressed in her Halloween costume. A very pink magician, he supposes, although the symbols she dons are quite familiar. Slowly he turns to face Phoenix and ask how the hell did a trick-or-treater manage to sneak in here, when he sees a grin growing on his friend’s face.
Before he could voice his confusion, she started digging into her cape. With a flourish, the small girl whipped out an enormous pair of bloomers. The prosecutor let out a strangled gasp, and she winked at him.
“Hey Mister, didn’t you come in here with a dog?”
“…!”
“Oh, this will be great. Watch this, Edgeworth.”
The true Phoenix Wright slowly returned before Miles’s eyes. The tear tracks were rapidly drying, and his eyes began to shine in the same matter as when he resolved to take some poor sap’s case. Brighter, even. Miles felt his heart thunder in his chest. “Erm…?”
The girl stuck her arms through one of the legs of the panties and removed a wand. She used it to redirect that man’s — now understood to be the infamous Edgeworth — attention back to her. “What’s the magical word?”
“I haven’t the faintest.”
“Come on, Edgeworth. Just play along.”
Miles huffed. This was most certainly foolish. “Oh, I don’t know. Abracadabra, is it?”
“No, silly! It’s ‘please’!” Trucy stage-rolled her eyes at Phoenix, giving him a look that said “Kids. What are you going to do with them?” He chuckled louder. Fueled by his energy (and Mr. Edgeworth’s too — it was so very easy to pull his leg), Trucy gave her panties three taps. Suddenly, a white sheet popped out, panting and licking its lips.
Mr. Edgeworth rubbed his eyes (she had noticed that he squinted a lot) and glared again. Trucy could almost hear the gears turning in his head, but she managed to pull off the trick successfully; no matter how much of a genius her guardian claimed Mr. Edgeworth to be, he couldn’t figure out how she did it.
His golden borzoi took on the appearance of a cartoonish ghost, a white sheet draped over her body. Clumsily, she trotted over to the sofa. Unfortunately, when she jumped up to greet Miles with a kiss, her lanky legs got tangled in the blanket. Instinctively, Miles reached out to catch her and they both went crashing to the floor. Phoenix soon joined them, having literally laughed out of his seat, and Pess gave them multiple turns, running her long tongue through one of the choppy holes cut out in the sheet and up their faces.
Trucy grinned. This was the happiest Mr. Wright had been since That Day.
With her and Mr. Edgeworth at his side, she knows he’ll be alright.