Chapter Text
Springtime in Kurain is pretty close to heaven on Earth, as far as Phoenix can tell. It’s perfectly warm, the wildflowers are blooming, and a gentle breeze whispers through the trees and ripples across a pond. He’s sitting on a bench in the shade with Maya, enjoying the comfortable silence, sharing a moment in nature.
He comes up to Kurain every month or so now, carving out time to see his best friend and bringing Trucy along when she’s not working on her next show. She loves visiting Pearls and her Auntie Maya and petting all the village’s stray cats.
Maya’s munching on a bag of sunflower seeds when Phoenix remembers that thing he keeps forgetting to ask her in person that he only remembers when he’s already on the train back to the city.
“Hey Maya.”
“Yeah?”
“Remember that tarot thing you did for me a while ago?”
“Kinda, why?” She tosses a few seeds into the pond for the ducks.
“Well… Hm. Uh. Okay before we get to that. The magatama only works when you actively ask something, right?”
She pauses her seed throwing. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure. I don’t know where you’re going with this though.”
“So, hypothetically… let’s say I had a really long dream the night of that reading, oh and also another time now that I think about it, but not for as long, and there were psychelocks and stuff — on my own heart I think? — that I had to break which was really hard, and the locks were basically directly based on your reading. Er, except for the motorcycles part.” His nervous rambling peters out into a mumble.
“... Nick, what the fuck are you talking about? Ugh, okay, give me a moment.” Maya resumes her snacking, chewing thoughtfully. “Well, I’d definitely say that’s not normal,” she says through half a mouthful.
“Cool, great start.”
“I mean, you’ve had the magatama so long that it’s probably pretty in tune with you. Or maybe you were suppressing a bunch of big important emotions so hard that a spirit rock had to force you into thinking about your own baggage for once.”
Phoenix winces, because that’s exactly what he suspected. “... So is this gonna be a regular thing it does now?”
“I don’t know, are you going to keep not dealing with your problems?” Maya turns to give him a look.
He faces her, a show of gracefully accepting the concern couched in the bullying affection of a sibling.
“Don’t make me come down there and help you, Nick. Don’t think I won’t buy you takeout from that awesome Indian place and binge whatever new trashy show is on Netflix until you’re all ‘Maya, I’m an old fart who’ll turn into a pumpkin if I don’t go to sleep before midnight.’ I will tuck you in.”
Phoenix snorts a laugh. “Relax, Maya. I don’t… want to live like that again.” His gaze drifts to the pond, and his voice goes quiet. Hesitant. “I’m actually thinking about finding somebody to talk to. Uh, professionally, I mean.”
Maya could easily make another joke, saying it’s about time, but the shift to serious mode holds her back. “Wow, really? That’s really good to hear. You want me to hook you up with my psych?”
He looks back at her, taken a bit by surprise. Not at the idea that she’s been seeing a therapist; she’s needed it since the day they met. “You’d do that for me?”
“Hell yeah man, you deserve it.”
“Wait, is… do they work with family or uh younger clients? I can’t— Trucy…”
“Yup, she helped me and Pearls individually and also together to sort through… well, you know.”
The corner of his mouth presses into a small sympathetic grimace. “That’s good. Anyway yeah, uh, I’ll take you up on that offer, if you don’t mind.”
“Already on it,” Maya says, pulling out her phone.
“Hey Maya?”
She makes a short questioning hum while she’s typing away.
“Thanks,” he says.
It’s different, sitting here in his office again — a reminder of how some things change and some things stay the same. The decor is still questionable, but the man’s staunch dedication to a single family of red-pink colors is impressive.
Phoenix never really got to see much of Edgeworth’s old office, let alone lounge on the couch the same way he does at the agency. Today, he’s sitting upright, a bit too upright, leg bouncing while Miles’ attention is on the tea he’s brewing. It’s a testament to how much Phoenix has reopened himself, with the help of his friends, family, and therapist, that he allows these physical signs of his emotions to show again. Or maybe he’s just that nervous.
It’s time, he thinks. This time he’s gonna do it. Phoenix wants to say it. Needs to say it, or something resembling complex thought. Anything intelligible.
In recent years, Phoenix has amassed a handful of bumbling attempts that no doubt only drew suspicion. There were countless other times he didn’t voice it at all, backing out at the last second or just forgetting about it to let himself properly enjoy the moment. Like late nights on the phone — partly due to time zones, partly because they just didn’t notice how long they’d been talking — when they teased each other to go to sleep and yet got caught in some other thread of conversation before finally ending the call.
The first try was in Europe. He can’t remember where, exactly, because he’d been jetlagged out of his mind. Phoenix tried to get it out quickly before something inevitably wedged between them, like his own pressing need for rest.
“Hey, can I tell you something?”
His throat promptly went dry, unused to seeing Edgeworth this open and willing to listen. Like many times after, he chickened out, diverting his feelings into a sincere thank-you for inviting him abroad. He was mortified Miles would catch on and think he’s an idiot, but Phoenix liked to think his distraction worked well enough to outweigh that, or at least to keep Miles from pressing further.
Every time after that, in whatever place they were, Phoenix would try saying something again, and then trip over his tongue before giving up halfway through. Words were just impossible to find, let alone speak into existence.
There was Paris. “Do you think—” Wait a sec.
Berlin. “I think you—” That’s not it.
Airports. “Would you be—”
Home. “Um, never mind…”
He’s brought out of his thoughts by teaware softly clinking on the table. Phoenix reaches for his cup, glad for something to occupy his hands, while Miles sits on the opposite couch, crossing his legs.
“So Wright, are you finally going to say whatever it is that’s been on your mind for quite some time?”
“Huh?”
Miles stirs his tea. “You’ve got that look again.”
“What look?” Phoenix asks, stalling.
“The one you get when you’re about to eloquently flounder through half a sentence, maybe two, before thanking me for my hospitality. Except we’re no longer in Europe, so it must be about something else.”
“Well,” Phoenix sips his tea to fill the pause and disguise his shaky hands. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. Ask you.”
Miles gives a small nod, silent permission to continue.
“Um, so I’ve been thinking...”
“A novel concept.” He smirks.
“Har har.” Phoenix stares down into his teacup for a while. “I’m…”
He pauses, looks down, around, anywhere but Miles’ face. God, he still can’t do this. Phoenix grimaces, takes a breath, and switches tracks to his similarly weighty backup topic.
“I want to retake the Bar.”
Miles raises his eyebrows and sets down his tea. “Ph— Wright, that’s wonderful. Have you thought about which test date?”
"Uh. Not really. It took me a while to admit to myself I actually wanted to take it again, and then even longer to think I’ll even stand a chance.” Phoenix meets Miles’ gaze with a sheepish smile. “I’m not sure how long it’ll take to get me up to speed. Could you help me study…?”
“Of course,” Miles replies. “I’d love to. Wait one moment.”
He gets up, walks to his desk, and opens one of the drawers to pull out a thick binder. Phoenix gawks as Miles motions him to scoot over, sitting next to him and firmly putting the binder on the table. They share a look of relief, excitement, and affection before Miles starts laying out his study plan.
“Now first, I think we’ll need to…”
Phoenix paces his living room floor. It’s early. So early. Why are these things so damn early? He’s nothing but nerves and caffeine mashed together like lukewarm Sculpey clay in a shape vaguely resembling a functional adult.
“Daddy, you’re gonna wear a hole in the carpet like that.”
The creases in his forehead ease up at his daughter’s groggy voice. “I know. I’m just ... a little scared, you know?”
“Yeah.” Trucy shuffles over to give him a hug. “But you’ve got this! Polly and Uncle Miles have been helping you for months, and Pearly texted me a minute ago to wish you luck from her and Auntie Maya. And you’re super smart, so don’t let Mean Brain lie to you about that!”
Phoenix squeezes her even closer. “I know, Truce. Your magician’s intuition is never wrong. It’s just a bit of stage fright, that’s all.”
She grins up at him. “You know what that means! Time to trade hats!”
“Trucy, we’re not even wearing—” Phoenix’s amused protest is cut off by a blue top hat appearing on his head, but it’s so big the rim slips down to his nose, covering his eyes.
“Come on Daddy, keep up.”
It’s no surprise that she was able to do it, he’s just never had their stage fright ritual used on him. He can’t help but smile as they start the rapid-fire back and forth.
“Feels funny right?”
“Yeah.”
“Different?”
“Yeah.”
Trucy lightly taps the rim of the hat. “Look you can’t even see your problems!”
Phoenix laughs.
“Okay, now I’m gonna magic them back!” She waves her hand, and then he sees her wearing her Trucy-sized hat. “All right, you got your hat, Daddy?”
“Yup.” He grins and adjusts the beanie now on his head.
“Fits right still?”
“Yeah.”
“Feels normal?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Wrong!” Trucy beams. “'Cause while you weren’t looking, I did some extra magic on your hat.”
“And what’s that?”
She leans in with a cheeky look that reminds him of Maya. “Well, you know I can’t give it away, but I can tell you it’s gonna make you do great. Know why?”
He hasn’t stopped smiling, and he dutifully follows their little script and puts his hands on his hips. “'Cause I’m the great Phoenix Wright!”
“Oh, and I got you something, too.” Trucy procures a strawberry mochi, his favorite flavor, from thin air and hands it to him.
Phoenix gapes. He definitely doesn’t remember buying them or seeing any in the freezer. Magic or not, he’s delighted that she got it for him.
“Thanks, Truce.” He takes a bite. “I can’t bring the hat with me, though.”
“I know! That’s why I put the magic in your spiky hair.” There’s a half-eaten green tea mochi in her hand.
He laughs and puts his unoccupied arm around her for a side hug. “You’re the best.”
“I know,” she repeats.
Phoenix’s phone buzzes as he pops the rest of the mochi in his mouth. “Ah, Miles is here.”
He scoops up his bag and bear hugs Trucy one more time for good luck, not even noticing the beanie has disappeared from his head.
“Knock ’em dead, Daddy!”
It’s been two months. Eight weeks and three-and-a-half days, to be precise, meaning the admission packet is due to show up in the mail within a week and six days. Not that he’s counting.
Phoenix texts Maya to complain about how long it’s been. She replies 42 seconds later, telling him to chill. She’s got a point.
He sighs and sets his phone down. He should be used to waiting by now, but it’s something else entirely to wait on good news that isn’t life or death. It’s nowhere near as painful. He could’ve made it painful; he easily could have driven himself mad thinking about all the what ifs. It’s not useful though, and he’s getting better at recognizing these trains of thought and stopping them before they get out of control.
Realistically, the worst thing that happens is he fails and has to take it again. He’s pretty sure he can pass it within a few more tries. It’ll still suck having to go through the whole rigamarole again, but it’s nothing Phoenix can’t handle.
Twelve days later, he enters his apartment with a pout while bringing in the mail, sorting through the bills and credit card offers and coupon flyers for tire changes that he’s really not sure why he’s receiving. He tosses the important mail on the table and drops the junk on the floor to flop onto the couch face first.
It’s Thursday, so Trucy’s doing final set-up for her show tonight, meaning he’ll be able to take his mind off it for at least a little while. Plus Maya and Pearls will be here any minute so they can all carpool with Miles.
There’s a polite knock before the door is thrown open.
“What is up gamers!” Maya shouts. She takes in his mopey appearance and sits on his lower legs. “Ah, still no news yet?”
“No,” he whines into the cushion.
“It’s supposed to be here any day now, right Mr. Nick?” Pearl calls from the kitchen where she’s putting the floor mail in the recycling.
“Ugh, Maya, get off me.”
She snickers while Phoenix uses his freed legs to turn onto his back. He drapes an arm over his eyes like the dramatic bitch he is.
“Tomorrow’s the last day,” he says.
Maya pokes him. “Which means there’s still a chance it’ll show up tomorrow. Now quit being such a drama queen and go get ready. Don’t you wanna look nice for Edge—”
“No,” Phoenix says, getting up anyway, but only to spite her, “because this isn’t different from any other time we’ve gone to one of Trucy’s shows as… Not whatever you’re implying.”
“I dunnooooo, sounds pretty gay to me.”
“Sorry, can’t hear you! ” He says from down the hall, where he can absolutely hear her as well as Pearls excitedly whispering questions.
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, smiling at her antics. He grabs a random flannel shirt from a closet hanger to change into, pulling it over his head because he keeps them half buttoned for efficiency, and definitely not laziness. He almost finishes buttoning up the rest as he walks back into the living room.
“There, are you happy now, Maya?” Phoenix freezes and forgets the remaining top few buttons when he sees the final guest in the room. “Oh, hey Miles. I, uh, didn’t hear you come in.”
Miles’ eyes flicker to Phoenix’s chest before pointedly focusing on Maya. “Yes, well, that would be because the door was wide open.”
“Wh— Maya!”
“Hey, you were the one too busy moping to even notice! And Pearly was cleaning up the mail you scattered all over the floor.”
“It wasn’t all over the floor,” Phoenix grumbles in the tone of a sibling who knows they’ve lost. “Let’s get going.”
The Feys jump up and holler their excitement while Phoenix herds them out the door, exchanging a fond little smile with Miles before locking up and following them outside.
After the show and the after-show dinner and the after-after-show-dinner goodbyes, Phoenix and Trucy are finally home and more than ready for bed, yawning and saying goodnight. Phoenix blearily goes through his routine, worn out by the stress of waiting for the exam results, the thrill of the show — there were some new risky-looking tricks he hadn’t seen before — and the pleasant aftereffects of a night in great company.
In his tiredness, Phoenix gently tosses the magatama onto his nightstand instead of setting it down like a normal person, and it predictably skitters off, landing on the bed somewhere near his pillows.
“Oh shit, sorry,” he mumbles. He’ll put it back after he’s changed.
Phoenix does not put it back after he’s changed, too wrapped up in the comfort of the blankets he’s wormed under. The magatama gives off the tiniest bit of light, but there are no specters of psychelocks as he slips into an easy slumber.
He’s surrounded by a soothing darkness, with stars and constellations glimmering throughout the space. It’s just him here. Nothing fancy, nothing extra. He doesn’t need to be.
Phoenix is enough as is. For too long he had spiraled through sadness and anger, and he’d experienced too many close calls to decide what could possibly count as the lowest point beyond those. He’s glad he never had to find out. Somewhere along the way he’d fallen back onto his feet.
Light seeps into the environment, warm and gradual like a watercolor sunrise. Phoenix looks around to take in the spectacle and faces the growing light. The colors coalesce and swirl in one area, a painting coming to life — brushstrokes flourishing into wings and feathers and iridescent plumage.
The massive bird spreads its flaming wings in a resplendent halo, turning its radiance his way. It dives toward him, and Phoenix feels no fear, only wonderment. It draws closer yet grows smaller, its brightness condensing into a ball of feathery petals of light sticking every which way. The wings shift and contract into magatamas.
Phoenix is drawn to what is now a fairy-like being, mesmerized, and reaches out. The creature flits just far enough away for his grab to miss. He steps forward and grabs for it again, and the cheeky thing dodges. With the same enthusiasm and determination of a child chasing fireflies, Phoenix pounces, then celebrates his little catch, admiring it as it hovers in his cupped hands.
The sprite bounces up and flies a quick circuit around him before stopping in front of him, glowing and morphing once more, then darting right into Phoenix’s chest. He starts as fizzling warm energy pulses through him from the epicenter of its impact.
He looks down, and the sprite-thing is gone, leaving him in another stylish outfit. A variation, rather; there’s no mask, and there’s a suitcoat to go with his deep blue slacks and complement that same light blue waistcoat. His eye catches on a metallic gleam.
His attorney’s badge rests in its home on his lapel.
Phoenix takes an unsteady breath — pride, hope and joy blossoming in his heart. That feeling carries him through the dream’s fadeout, easing him back into regular sleep.
The next day, he stands in front of the mailbox. Phoenix has been there for about 10 minutes, occasionally shuffling out of the way for other tenants to get to their mailboxes. He’s in a terrifying limbo. He could look inside and be done with it. Or he could keep standing there, maybe leave it for tomorrow, try to forget how whatever is in there will determine at least the next several months of his life.
“Boo!”
Phoenix jumps and whirls around. Trucy shoots him an impish smile.
“Thought I might find you here,” she says.
“Don’t startle me like that.” He clutches at his chest melodramatically. “My heart can’t take it right now.”
“You’re silly. Tell you what, why don’t you take this and head up, and I’ll bring in the mail for you?”
Trucy hands him her backpack. She must’ve come right from school and looked for him in the mailroom rather than going straight to their apartment like usual. Phoenix takes it, glad for the simple instructions to snap him out of his indecision.
“Thanks, Truce.” He follows her directions and goes ahead without her.
Once she hears him enter the stairway — and looks just to make sure he’s not hanging around — she unlocks the mailbox. Trucy tosses out the junk and sorts through the rest while she waits for the elevator.
Phoenix enters the apartment, setting down Trucy’s backpack and promptly pacing about the living room while he waits for her. She dawdles a little outside their door to add a little dramatic tension, then takes mercy on him for now and steps in.
“Daddy, what did I tell you about wearing out the carpet like that?” She teases.
He snaps his head in her direction, searching desperately for any sign or indication of what she found. Trucy’s hands are behind her back, her face unreadable. Phoenix’s face twists in apprehension.
“Trucy, please…”
She holds out her hat. “I put aaaaalll the mail in here, so I can’t tell you.”
Phoenix groans. “You’re killing your poor old dad, you know that?”
He reaches into the hat, somehow arm deep in it, and grabs hold of the first thing he feels. Standard envelope size. Thin. He pulls it out. It’s a letter from the apartment management. Nothing important by the look of it.
He frowns and gently bops her on the head with the flimsy envelope.
“Sorry. It’s kinda tricky keeping it all separate in there for someone else to grab. Lemme…” Trucy tips her head and holds the hat near her ear and shakes it, as if listening to the contents shift, until she’s satisfied.
Phoenix eyes her warily, but closes his eyes and reaches in the hat again, quickly snatching the contents so he can find out all at once. He’s holding unfolded pieces of paper. Trucy, the little rascal, had taken it out of the envelope for her trick.
He takes in the State Bar of California letterhead and seal, and then very little else. His vision blurs with tears soon after he reads a single word.
Congratulations
He clamps a hand over his mouth in joy and disbelief. Trucy gently takes the papers from his hand and giddily embraces him.
“I told you you’d do great, Daddy,” she tearfully says while walking him over to the couch, still hugging. She sits down next to Phoenix, tucked into his side, and magics up a box of tissues.
He gives a small wet laugh and pulls out a few, grateful for her foresight. “I know Truce,” is all he can get through because he did it, he really fucking did it, and no one doubted him for a second, and he’s gonna be a lawyer again.
The first number he calls belongs to one Maya Fey, who answers on the first ring.
“Nick! Hang on, lemme put it on speaker— Pearls c’mere!”
He hears sandals clomping on wood floors. “Okay Mr. Nick, I’m ready!”
“I passed!” A fresh round of tears starts up already, and Phoenix laughs as yelling erupts from the receiver.
“I knew you could do it Nick! ”
Pearl is uncharacteristically loud in her reaction, squealing and jumping up and down.
When all parties have settled a bit, Phoenix continues. “Okay, I can’t stay on the phone too long ’cause I’ve gotta call everyone else still. What’s your schedule look like for the next few weeks Maya?”
He takes note of her answer, tears up only a little when they congratulate him again, and ends the call. Phoenix goes down the admittedly short list of everyone else; he exchanges congratulations with Ema, who passed her recent forensics exam and just officially transferred to the department, Apollo rushes out his response to hide his own crying, and Gumshoe bellows his well wishes.
Phoenix has one call left to make, so he gets up for a snack break while Trucy skips off to her room — she really knows him too well. He stands in the kitchen, collecting his thoughts, trying to figure out what to say. He didn’t want to plan ahead too much in the off-chance he hadn’t passed.
He sits back on the couch. Takes a deep breath. Calls Miles.
“Wright, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Hey Miles. Sooooo… I did it.” Phoenix has said it enough times that it’s hard to carry the same high energy from that first call with Maya. He’s still getting used to the meaning, and he’s a little distracted about what else he needs to say soon.
“You passed?” Miles breathes.
“Yeah, I... goddammit I thought I was done crying for the day.”
“Phoenix, I’m so very proud of you. You worked hard for this, and it’s… the least you deserve.” There’s a gentleness, a soft smile in his words.
“C’mon Miles, you’re not helping!” Phoenix laughs through his fresh tears. “I also wanted to thank you. You helped me a lot, and I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“You’re more than welcome. I had utmost faith in your abilities.”
Phoenix smiles. “I also wanted to ask you something…”
A pause. “I’m listening,” Miles says.
“Okay, so. I was thinking about this for a little while, but I didn’t want to get too ahead of myself. But, um. I really don’t want to do the public swearing-in again. I don’t have any law school friends this time, and also it’s super long and boring, and I don’t want to draw too much attention to myself o-or end up taking attention away from the others there and I want everyone I care about to be able to be there and—”
“Phoenix,” Miles interrupts.
“Y-Yeah?”
“Your question?”
“Oh yeah. Um. Since you’re chief prosecutor now… could you help me do a private ceremony? Just, like, in my office so we don’t have to worry about scheduling and location and all that.”
“Of course,” Miles says. “Though I’m not sure what my job title has to do with it.”
“Right! Right,” Phoenix laughs nervously. “I wanted to ask you specifically because… I want you to administer the attorney oath.”
A soft gasp.
“Phoenix, I… Are you sure?”
“It wouldn’t feel the same if it were anyone else.”
Only you, Phoenix thinks. As their paths intersected at various points over the past 10 years, they challenged and changed each other subtly yet indelibly, learning what it meant to work together inside — and outside — the court. No one else alive had been so significant in shaping his beliefs when it came to law.
“I’d be honored.” Miles’ voice catches on the last word.
“Miles, is this really necessary? It’s just gonna be at my office, remember?”
“Phoenix, I am not reinstating you as an attorney in that dreadful suit of yours. Does it even fit you anymore?”
“I don’t think it fit Daddy properly back then either,” Trucy points out.
Phoenix pouts.
“Precisely,” Miles smirks and holds the door to the boutique open for them.
“You guys are so mean…”
Miles greets the owner like an old friend — or whatever the longtime client-relationship equivalent is for someone like Miles Edgeworth — while Phoenix and Trucy start wandering through the store.
There’s so much to choose from that he barely knows where to look first. He figures the coats and tops area is as good a place to start as any. Phoenix idly brushes his hand against the clothes on the racks as he walks around, occasionally pausing to look at something that mildly interests him.
Then something catches his eye. Really catches his eye, and he beelines it over there, whisking past Miles and the owner. Phoenix is so zeroed in on it that he misses whatever turn in their conversation caused Miles to pinken and stammer.
Trucy makes her way toward her daddy, giving Miles a wide berth so he hopefully won’t notice that she’d been purposefully lingering within eavesdropping range behind him. She marvels alongside her dad at the waistcoat made of very expensive feeling fabric in a shade of blue. A familiar, specific shade of light blue.
“Ooh, pretty. We could match, Daddy!”
Miles appears at his side, and Phoenix absentmindedly swats the back of his hand against his arm to get his attention.
“Miles, I want this one— no, I need this one. This exact one.”
“You seem quite adamant. Don’t tell me you want the whole suit in that color?”
“Like you’re one to talk, Mr. Fuchsia.”
Miles scoffs, predictably.
“Besides,” Phoenix continues, “my suit has to be my signature blue. Or something close to it. Otherwise I’d feel naked.”
“Don’t worry Daddy, we’ll be sure to find the perfect color, so you go find a dress shirt and try that on while we look.”
True to her word, she and Miles reach the fitting room some time later with a few options to choose from.
“Do you want me to hand them to you or toss them over the wall?” She asks.
“Trucy, no,” sounds out in unison.
Phoenix opens the door just enough to take them from Trucy, not wanting to spoil the surprise. He picks a rich blue on instinct and puts on the rest of the ensemble.
“Okay, I think I’m ready,” Phoenix says. Trucy claps excitedly.
He steps out of the room and spins around for them.
“So, whaddya think?” Phoenix beams and pops a hand on his hip.
“You look amazing, Daddy!”
“I agree...” Miles trails off, his hand on his chin thoughtfully while he looks Phoenix over. Miles signals to the owner to come over and assess the fit for alterations. After a moment, “What about you, Phoenix?”
He grins. “It’s exactly how I imagined it.”
Phoenix fidgets and checks his appearance in the office bathroom. Miles was right — this suit fits way better than anything he’d worn before. It makes him feel luxurious and important.
He steps out into the neat and tidy (for once) main area. He has a feeling it won’t be clean at the end of the day. He could’ve sworn he saw Trucy with a lone piece of confetti in her hair the other night. She’s currently out right now picking up some other surprise, which was all she would tell him. All that’s left is to wait for everyone to show up.
Apollo is first to arrive, since he’s a punctual little nerd. He gapes at Phoenix’s outfit. “Wow, you look like a completely different person, Mr. Wright.”
“The duality of man!” Trucy crows as she enters and sets her veiled surprise on the far end of Phoenix’s desk.
“Are you saying I didn’t look like a nice professional person before?” Phoenix jokes. He knows what Apollo means.
Apollo stammers. “Wh— No, I would never!”
“Relax, kid. I’m just messing with you as usual.” Phoenix laughs, and Apollo huffs.
Ema walks through the door. “Ooh, are we making fun of Apollo? I want in.”
Apollo grumbles and changes the topic, asking her how she’s doing in the forensics department. She’s happily chattering away about some new testing equipment they just got funding for while Gumshoe arrives and crushes Phoenix into a hug. Phoenix wheezes a bit when he’s released, and he strikes up easy conversation.
Next is Maya with Pearls in tow.
“Woooow, look at you Mr. Fancypants! You almost look like a real adult again.”
“Says the one in her late 20s who still watches kids’ shows,” Phoenix shoots back.
Maya puts her hands on her hips. “We’ve been over this Nick. Plus, I don’t have to justify my interests to an old grump like you.”
“Insulting me on this special occasion, I see how it is.”
“I think you look really fancy, Mr. Nick!”
“Why thank you, Pearls.” He fake glares at Maya. “At least someone is being nice to me.”
“Pff, whatever you big baby,” she says and hugs him anyway, and Pearl skips off to talk to Trucy.
For once, Miles is the last one to show up. “My apologies,” he says. “There was an accident that backed up traffic. Also, Franziska sends her regards.”
Phoenix raises his eyebrows. “Oh, that’s nice of her. But what did she really say?”
“I believe it was something to the effect of ‘You are lucky I no longer make court appearances in America, as I would have looked forward to facing you and making you look foolish.’”
“That sounds more like her. Glad to hear she’s well past her ‘winning is everything’ phase too. And tell her I said thanks.”
Miles softens at the mention of how much his sister has grown. “I’ll be sure to pass that along.”
Phoenix turns and addresses everyone else. “Well, now that everyone’s here, let’s uh, get ready I guess. Not that there’s much setup involved, really.”
It’s a little crowded with everyone all in the office area, so Trucy and Pearls end up sitting on Apollo’s desk to his (minor) annoyance. The others shuffle around to face the stage that is Phoenix’s desk, where he and Miles are standing. Miles procures the necessary paperwork and sets it on the desk along with a sleek fountain pen.
“I’d like to preface this by reminding you that everyone is proud of you, Phoenix. For all you endured over the last several years, what you’ve accomplished is no small feat. Even without your badge, you didn’t lose your compassion or your pursuit of the truth. However, I and many others are more than happy to see you return to your rightful place in the courts.”
With that, Miles moves on to the official ceremonial script. Phoenix replies when prompted; he’s already been through this fancy talk about constitutions or whatever. Not that he’s not taking it seriously. Phoenix is eager to serve the law again, to defend people and do what he can to nudge the system into the light.
They sign the document on his desk — Mia’s desk — after Phoenix fumbles with the fountain pen a bit, especially because of the way Miles looks at him and murmurs, “Congratulations, Phoenix,” in the tenderest tone he’s ever heard.
Phoenix is startled out of the moment by Trucy’s surprise being revealed with a blast of mini confetti cannons.
“Trucy, what did I tell you about giving me a heart attack!”
“Heehee, sorry Daddy,” she says, sticking out her tongue and not sounding sorry at all.
It’s a large round cake, somehow untouched by all the confetti, covered in light blue icing and adorned with frosting sunflowers on the edges. A miniature model of the scales of justice sits on top of the cake, and the final decorations steal his breath — elegant swirling script reads, “It’s a Lawyer!” The dot of the exclamation mark even has a little sugar attorney’s badge.
Phoenix splutters and bursts with laughter until he’s reduced to tears that aren’t just because of the choice of message. He’s overcome by all the joy and love that went into this short little celebration, by the mirth and delicious cake he’s sharing with friends and family who still have and want a place in his life after so much has changed.
He’s a lawyer again — well, he will be after more paperwork and a few more weeks of waiting — but more importantly he’s got support. He’s grateful for the people who helped him get to where he is. He hears a faint laugh, and a cold unseen hand rests gently on his shoulder where it did 10 years ago, a further reminder of how this all came about.
Phoenix is not alone. He never was.