Chapter Text
The townhouse felt lived in, just not by him. Depressions meant one could sink into the wooden floor, trip if a particular board was higher than the rest. All the old furniture had been emptied and replaced by his own, but it just didn't gel with the place yet. Such and such belonged on a windowsill, a chair should have been positioned closer to the door. Ghosts of the previous owners all left their little touches on the house, making it not quite his home. The feeling would pass soon enough.
His new residence was located in an older neighborhood, where there was less crime, and dog-friendly space. Pess was already appreciating the existence of a backyard, no matter how small and plain it might have been. A patch of grass to roll in was still a boon in her eyes. She could happily chase the neighborhood squirrels right up to a single, broad tree.
The townhouse was older, but it had nice bones. The character of its structure drew him towards it when he was house-hunting. The first floor was open-concept, with curving archways leading to each room. In the area where his study would be, the window stretched wide. He had a good view of the aforementioned backyard, and squirrel-chasing dog. There was plenty space for bookshelves and his desk, a couch.
"Maybe too much," he mused. "Despite all my furniture being in place, it feels rather empty."
Even with a large dog who savoured getting underfoot, there seemed to be excess area. He didn't yet have use for all the rooms available. It was truly a family-sized house, and he'd recently gone back to square one in that area.
"How about one last kiss for the road?"
With a mental sigh, he pushed that memory away. He was being pathetic and moping, reminiscing. It was a semi-public embrace in the airport. Good-natured, a little sloppier than usual as it ended abruptly. A droning voice over the intercom announced that the boarding for a flight to Zeng-Fa had opened, so the man turned away.
It wasn't as if they were ignorant to what was happening. Both of them had felt pulls in different directions for some time. It was mutual, placing career (the potential for legal reform with it) and family over each other.
He was offered the position of Chief Prosecutor. In the new year, the current one would retire. Until then, he would be back as a regular prosecutor, adjusting to his move.
Lang needed to go back to Zeng-Fa, and begin "raising pups." He did not literally mean having children, the man just loved his infuriating canine metaphors too much. He was given a missive to return, and teach some younger relatives about traditions. It was his duty as the foremost expert of Lang Zi's philosophy, and oldest living family member.
Miles decided this meant Interpol would see a staggering increase of wolf-obsessed agents in the future. But he was well aware he was being cynical and jealous. He didn't have Edgeworth family traditions to pass on. Any behaviours remotely similar to his father's had been systematically untaught. Logical thinking could have been a tradition, but he was not certain. It would still double as one for the von Karma family too.
"Raymond might remember something."
Yet even then, there was no one to pass them on to.
Miles forced his thoughts back to organizing his study. The furniture might have been in place, but the books were not. Boxes filled with them were stacked against his desk. Some were splitting at the seams, and others were held together with liberal amounts of masking tape. There were two full-sized shelves to fill, and then the floor-to-ceiling ones at his office the next day. But he didn't trust anyone to put them up in a way which was proper and organized. He had a system. It was just that no one else wanted to learn how to follow along.
Following his system, he worked his way through a good portion of the boxes. It was admittedly satisfying to see the shelves gradually fill up. The first had law texts he didn't want to keep around the office for one reason or another. Some were too specific for day-to-day use. Others were outdated, but composed what few physical remnants he had of his father. Ray had gifted them to him. The second shelf was filled with the "other" category.
The job was dusty and unforgiving. More than once he brushed a page the wrong way and received a stinging papercut in return. He worked until his shoulder protested and he couldn't ignore how hungry he was getting. Miles thought to stop for dinner, but then recalled the very empty cupboards, and barren refrigerator. Pess might have something to say about eating all her dog treats. Not that he would attempt such a thing. The solution was to go out.
"If I call Wright now I could arrange to meet with him and Trucy."
After a quiet day of just himself, he wouldn't mind some company. (He blamed Lang's near-constant presence for conditioning that.) It would be an excellent time to catch up as well. This decided, he called the man. He set his cell on speakerphone and resumed unpacking. There was no sense in wasting the time he had.
"Hello, you've reached the Wright Anything Agency. At least, the rent-payer's cellphone number."
"Good to hear from you as well, Wright."
"Edgeworth? Sorry, I couldn't see your name through all the duct tape."
Visualizing Wright's ancient flip-phone, he could only roll his eyes. The thing was old when Wright first got it, and now it was flat-out archaic. Somehow it was still functioning eleven years later.
"How's the jetlag?"
"Nothing a good rest can't fix. Speaking of which, would you be interested in an early dinner?"
He said early and meant it, because he and his stomach were not operating in the same timezone.
"Can't," Wright answered, not missing a beat.
"Alright," he paused, to place another volume. "How does Saturday sound then?"
"I'm busy," Wright quickly said, with not a little impatience.
He was somewhat put out by Wright's tone of voice, but also surprised at the rejection. Mutual or not, the breakup had clearly done little to bolster his confidence. Why else could he not stop thinking of it? He shouldn't have felt nearly this bothered, and brushed off the unwanted feeling.
"I'm in the middle of studying for my qualifying exam," Wright explained. "It's Sunday, so if you could call me back later-"
It took a shameful amount of time for him to make the logical connection.
"You mean for the bar, since you're not a recent law student?"
"Well it's not for the grape juice I'm drinking," Wright snapped. There was a definite edge to his voice, he clearly wanted the conversation to end.
"I didn't realize you were going for it so soon."
Miles fixed the dust jacket of a book, and then settled it on the shelf. After a moment's deliberation, he decided it was better-placed somewhere else.
"It's not like I have anything better to do."
Miles got the not-so-subtle hint. Today was a Friday, so he was pressed for time until Sunday. Wright would no doubt be surrounded by books, reading and memorizing as much content as he could for the qualifying test. After he passed that, there were the two exams which the bar was composed of.
The barrister's was first, and the solicitor's came around two weeks afterwards. Both were seven hours long. Last he'd heard, there were around fifteen hundred pages of content to understand. The pass rate of twenty percent hardly made the tests any more appealing. Entire law schools had seen years where none of their graduates passed.
Naturally, Wright would spend most of his time deep in study. This was not something which he could afford to take risks with. But the idea of Wright dedicatedly going through the approved material didn't fill Miles with as much pride as it should have. In fact, there was dread which he couldn't quash.
Miles pictured a dark-circled, glowering man, isolating himself in solitary until the exams came. During his time, plenty of students turned into that sort of hermit, driving people off and becoming obsessive. Already, he could tell Wright was heading down that path.
Strangely enough, his plans for the future didn't involve going months without seeing Wright. Not when they were living in the same city, and would soon be working together.
"I can help you prepare for the bar," he offered.
"Edgeworth, I took this country's bar before they had reforms. You know, when the pass rate was three percent in a good year?"
"It may be easier, but the content has changed with it," he pointed out. "And you might have been able to stay up all night and miss meals as a law student, but you have actual obligations now. Trucy, namely."
Mentioning his daughter was the way to go about things. Miles practically held his breath, knowing it should work, but still fearful he might say "no" anyway. The line was silent, as Wright drew out giving his final answer. Just as Miles' lungs were beginning to hurt, Wright said, "I'll take up your offer."
"I can get you all of the indices free of charge," Miles hurriedly added, so afraid Wright declined that he wasn't paying attention. "I've also tutored two students through it in the past!"
Kay had run off with Franziska to get in and out of international troubles. This was after a short time as an attorney under Raymond. Sebastian was now happy as a domestic prosecutor. Neither of them had been fully cooperative with the studying, and there had been plenty of tears, but both had passed.
"I already said I agree," he reminded. "But I'm sure you'll be the most overqualified study buddy I could ever want."
"Excellent! I'll call you after you've written the qualifier and gotten some rest!"
"See you."
And with that he hung up.
Miles was already drawing up a list of everything he would need to buy, and planning out study schedules.
"Depending on the number of pages in the indices this year, the time spent studying would be altered," he thought. "It wouldn't hurt to find the guidelines for the essay questions, either."
Working with Wright would be a serious improvement in comparison to the last two times he'd done this. There would be no teenage outbursts, and Wright would understand the value of being cooperative!
Miles willed himself to keep putting away books. He wound up leaning against the desk, never wondering if perhaps he was a little too happy for his own good.