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Apollo is elbow-deep in the Lovecraftian nightmare that is Mr. Wright’s filing cabinet when the door in the main room rattles open.
“Oh!” he hears Trucy chirp. “Uncle Miles! You weren’t supposed to be here until Tuesday!”
Something in Apollo’s foggy brain cottons onto that, like there’s an important detail he should be catching, but he’s trying desperately to understand why Mr. Wright would put Nailles after Nickerson so he shakes it off. With a triumphant huff, he finally finds the file he’s looking for, and shoves the drawer shut; the lamp on top wobbles ominously, and he glares until it settles. He heads back down the hall to the reception area and can hear Trucy chattering excitedly and, beneath, a deeper voice that he can almost swear he’s heard before. As he rounds the corner, several details coalesce at once: the fuchsia suit, the deep silver hair, the weird almost-transatlantic accent. He freezes.
“You’re!” he yells.
Trucy and the guest both turn, wearing twin expressions of bemusement.
“I’m?” the man asks expectantly.
“Oh,” Trucy says, and laughs. “This is Polly. He’s watched all of Daddy’s old trial tapes.”
Understanding dawns in the man’s eyes as Apollo recovers enough to yell, “You’re Miles Edgeworth!”
Mr. Edgeworth is clearly trying very hard not to smile. “Yes. And you’re Apollo Justice, I take it?”
“Daddy really wasn’t lying when he warned you about how loud Apollo is,” Trucy says cheerfully.
Mr. Edgeworth fakes a cough so he can pretend he’s not laughing. Apollo can feel a flush creeping up from under his collar, but he gamely steps forward and sticks a hand out.
“Right, um, yes. I’m Apollo Justice. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
Mr. Edgeworth gives his hand a firm shake. “You as well, Mr. Justice. Wright has told me about you. I understand that we have you to thank for his name being cleared.”
This is really not helping his blush situation. “That’s, um. I mean? Mr. Wright did a lot of the work, honestly.”
Trucy elbows him and stage-whispers, “Take the compliment, Polly. You’re making this weird.”
Mr. Edgeworth coughs again.
Finally, finally taking mercy on Apollo’s immortal soul, Trucy turns back to Mr. Edgeworth and says, “Anyway, Uncle Miles, Daddy should be back soon. He just went to buy juice.”
“In that case, I’ll have a seat.”
“Sure!” Trucy says. “I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t bully Polly too much!”
Apollo is trying frantically to scoop his thoughts off of the floor as Trucy departs for her room. This is Miles Edgeworth. The former Demon Prosecutor, who dragged himself out of scandal and corruption to build an impressive career of consultancies and professorships across two continents. Forget Phoenix Wright, who’s done nothing but be a monumental pain in Apollo’s ass since they met – his professional affections have swiftly transferred over to Mr. Edgeworth. Apollo Justice is ready to be hurt again.
He clears his throat too loudly and Mr. Edgeworth looks over from his spot on the couch.
“You’ve, um, been working in Europe for several years, right?” Apollo asks, determined to show how clever and well-informed he is.
Mr. Edgeworth inclines his head. “That’s correct. Part of my research there was a review of jury systems across much of the European Union. I believe you witnessed the fruits of that yourself, just recently.”
Well. Apollo hadn’t expected that. It seems Mr. Edgeworth is a bigger presence in Mr. Wright’s life than he had realized, though perhaps it shouldn’t be a surprise given that he’s here in the office. Apollo is just opening his mouth to ask something else – something devastatingly insightful, no doubt – when the door slams open again and the man of the hour trips over the threshold, nearly dropping his bag of groceries when his toe catches on the jamb.
Mr. Edgeworth folds his hands primly as he rotates towards the entrance.
“Trucy,” Mr. Wright calls, “did you take all the cash from my wallet earlier? I had to resort to my chequebook and –”
He cuts himself off as he catches Mr. Edgeworth’s eye, and really does drop the groceries then. Apollo is pretty sure he hears something crack within the paper bag.
“Miles?” Mr. Wright whispers. “I didn’t – you weren’t supposed to be here until next week.”
“So your daughter informs me,” Mr. Edgeworth replies wryly. “However, I heard back from the embassy earlier than I had anticipated, and it was simple enough to change my flight.”
Mr. Wright snorts. “Knowing you, you probably just bought the whole plane,” he mutters under his breath, and then adds at a normal volume: “I see you’ve met Apollo. Did your eardrums make it through intact?”
Apollo had only just recovered from the last round of humiliation, and feels his colour rise again.
Mr. Edgeworth swoops in to rescue him. “We were just discussing MASON,” he says. Apollo reckons that discussing is a rather optimistic way of describing a couple of sentences, but doesn’t bother correcting him.
“Ah, yeah,” Mr. Wright says, abandoning his groceries fully and coming forward to sit next to Mr. Edgeworth. “It was too bad you couldn’t be here for the grand debut.”
Mr. Edgeworth shrugs, something very Continental about the movement. “Well, one hopes there will be other chances to see it in action.”
Trucy returns then, having deposited her backpack in her room and grabbed a deck of cards and, improbably, three doves.
“Uncle Miles, check this out! I finally perfected that card trick I showed you last time.” Apollo wonders wildly what the birds have to do with a card trick.
Mr. Wright leans back, a proud smile on his face. “When she says perfected, she means it. I think I’ve seen it about eighty times, and I still have no idea how she does it.”
“That’s hardly unusual, Daddy! I don’t think you’ve ever figured out a single one of my tricks!”
Apollo, who hasn’t yet given up on asserting himself in this conversation, tries again. “Mr. Edgeworth, are you just here for work? Why would you stop by the office this late?”
Three pairs of eyes turn on him. Trucy and Mr. Wright are full-on smirking. He has the very distinct feeling that he’s missing something, like in eighth grade when he’d forgotten about his geology presentation and had to scrape together a “display” from the gravel in the school’s driveway.
“No, Apollo,” says Mr. Wright, “he actually just enjoys our company, shocking as that may sound.”
“Daddy and Uncle Miles have been friends since elementary school,” Trucy supplies helpfully.
“Well, for a certain definition of the word friends,” Mr. Wright says. “Anyway, Miles, Trucy’s tricks can wait until later. Since you’re back now, I’m bringing you to Eldoon’s. No, I don’t want to hear your excuses about jet lag, you’re coming with me.”
The forwardness of Mr. Wright calling Mr. Edgeworth by his first name is giving Apollo heart palpitations. Apollo is Mr. Wright’s coworker, sort of, right? Surely that grants him some of the same liberties with Mr. Edgeworth? Surely Apollo could eventually also call him –
His thoughts flatline as Mr. Wright shoves himself off of the couch, yanks Mr. Edgeworth to his feet, and loudly plants a kiss right on his lips.
“Uhh?” Apollo says loudly, then catches himself by clapping a hand over his mouth.
“Oops,” Mr. Wright says. “I had been planning on breaking this to him gently. Apollo has delicate maidenly sensibilities.”
Mr. Edgeworth tsks. “You’ve been working with Mr. Justice for how many months now? And he still doesn’t know?”
Trucy is laughing outright, the traitor.
“But I mean!” Apollo yells at Mr. Wright. “You were disbarred! And he’s, like, really important!”
“Careful, Apollo,” Mr. Wright says drily, “you’re going to hurt all two of my feelings.”
“He’s correct, though,” Mr. Edgeworth retorts. “I’m very important.”
“Bold words for a man with a Kleenex stuck in his collar.”
Oh, god, they’re flirting; this is getting worse by the second. Apollo needs to escape, like, ten minutes ago. He jerks to his feet. “I’ve just remembered! I have to go! Uh, Klavier needs, um. This file I have!”
“Ooh, dreamy Prosecutor Gavin,” Mr. Wright says. “Yes, I’m sure he needs that file at –” he glances at the clock “– six pm.”
Apollo doesn’t even try a comeback for that one. Is it too late to quit? Can he leave the country permanently? Maybe Klavier will take pity on him and whisk him away to a life of luxury in Germany. As he flees the office, forgetting, of course, his file on the coffee table, he can hear Mr. Wright cackling behind him.
This is a pure unmitigated nightmare. Yes, he’d been ready to get his heart broken by his new Completely Platonic Work Crush, but he hadn’t quite anticipated that it would happen so fast. This is a new record, right? A solid six minutes, or whatever it was? Well, upon reflection, maybe not a record at all; Mr. Wright had taken care of the last one with brutal swiftness. And so not only is he reeling from this fresh disappointment, but it’s happened in the worst way possible, because apparently Mr. Edgeworth is a legal genius but still has the worst taste in men imaginable. Apollo wonders, with no little despair, if there are any normal, sane lawyers left at all.
Mr. Wright may have mocked him, but Apollo really does intend to go see Klavier, file or no. Partly because he needs to debrief, and partly because Klavier has an interest in this as well, and it’s somehow actually a bigger deal than Apollo’s. To the Prosecutors’ Office it is, then.
Apollo crashes into Klavier’s office, slams the door, and slides theatrically down to the floor.
“...Forehead?” Klavier asks uncertainly.
“Klavier,” Apollo hisses, “this is a disaster.”
Klavier seems, obnoxiously, more amused than worried. “Ja? What is it?”
“Miles Edgeworth is back in LA.”
“Ah,” Klavier says, still unconcerned. “Ja, he is the new chief prosecutor. You really hadn’t heard?”
“Okay, save the insults for later, this is important. He just swung by the office. I didn’t realize how close he and Mr. Wright are.”
“Really, Forehead? You told me yourself that you have watched all of Herr Wright’s old trials. That includes many with Herr Edgeworth, does it not? They were quite well-known as rivals, if you will recall.”
Apollo laughs a little hysterically at that. Rivals, indeed. He’s almost positive that’s someone’s fetish. “No, Klavier. I mean they’re fucking.”
For a moment, it seems like Klavier doesn’t understand. Then, all at once, he really does, and Apollo watches him go through several stages of grief in the span of an instant. He’s frozen for a long moment, then gets out from behind his desk and walks over to flop down next to Apollo.
“Well,” Klavier jokes weakly, “I would make a comment about how this explains a lot of what goes on in those famous trial tapes, but I may need to focus more on how my career is probably over.”
Apollo shifts uncomfortably, because yeah, that had occurred to him. “I mean… he’s famous for being circumspect, right? So even if you got his, ah, partner disbarred –”
He stops when Klavier surges back up off the floor and stumbles over to one of the guitars suspended on the wall of his office.
“The music,” Klavier says, buzzing with frenetic energy, starting to tune the guitar. “If I cannot have the law, I will return to the music.”
“Klavier –”
“Hush, Apollo.”
Apollo hushes.
“It’s easy, ja?” Klavier mumbles, picking out a disjointed tune on the strings. “Just write a new best-selling album. What could be simpler? Maybe if I look on craigslist I can find a new guitarist within a week and then –” He stops and turns to Apollo. “Forehead, this is a disaster.”
Apollo laughs hollowly. “I warned you. You got his partner disbarred and I apparently have to spend the rest of my career watching them – watching them simper at each other in the office.” He slides further down the door, nearly horizontal now. “I vote we cut our losses and flee to your grand estate in Germany.”
“I have no grand estate in Germany, Apollo.”
“Then… you could buy one?”
Klavier manages to snort through his misery. “I do not believe there is a surfeit of such estates available at a moment’s notice. Perhaps we can think of a more reasonable solution.”
“What, like finding a new guitarist on craigslist?”
Klavier sighs and joins him back down on the floor. “I admit that is not likely. I think that –” he takes a deep breath and braces himself for his grand pronouncement “– I think that, perhaps, I will not quit my job after all.”
That’s the conclusion Apollo is coming to as well, as unfortunate as it is. “I kinda fled the office earlier. I’ll have to go back and… try to pretend everything is normal, I guess.”
Klavier nods. “And as you said, Herr Edgeworth is known for his love of privacy. Perhaps my lucky stars will align and he will say nothing.”
Apollo slides the last little bit down the door and sprawls fully on the floor. “Normalcy and discretion. Right. A pipe dream.”
Klavier smiles and leans over him, brushing a wayward strand from his face.
Apollo sighs. “Okay. We can do this. We’re Klavier and Apollo and we’re fine.”
“We’re fine,” Klavier murmurs.
Apollo thinks for a moment. “Okay, but what if – and hear me out on this one – what if you contact a realtor in Germany, just in case?”
Klavier laughs.
“Do we have a deal?” Apollo persists.
Klavier bends down, a breath away from his lips. “A deal,” he agrees.