DISCLAIMER: Capcom owns all the characters. Not fair; I want Edgeworth all to myself. Pffft. I do own the plot for this fic, though, so please enjoy!

Phoenix slammed his hand down on the keys of the baby grand piano in frustration, and winced immediately as the resultant discord reached his ears. Faithful to the promise he had made to his adopted daughter, he had been sitting at the piano ever since lunchtime, trying to make sense of the score in front of him. After all, what was the use of a pianist who could only play one song? No restaurant or bar was going to hire him to tinker out one miserable tune all evening! Therefore, with the determination that had seen him through al his past court cases, he had attacked Beethoven's piano sonata.

Now, however, the fiery enthusiasm had gone. In his own defense, though, he had finally managed to get the first movement of the sonata down with less than five mistakes. That was no mean feat, especially for someone who had last read a piano score when he was six or seven. On the downside, Grave - Allegro molto e con brio had taken so much of his energy that he had none left to attack the next movement, Adagio Cantabile. Even if tried, the clumsy, un-lyrical feel of the notes under his soft fingers made him feel sick with shame for himself, and sympathy for Beethoven. The old man must be turning in his grave, hearing his great work butchered so, he thought wryly.

Phoenix rubbed his eyes, took a deep breath, and started the second movement again. It was getting dark, but he wasn't about to quit yet. He had closed his eyes to find the feel of the piece when a soft sneer cut through the calm air. Phoenix's concentration slipped, and so did his hands. He could feel an embarrassed blush creeping up his neck. There was only one person who could scoff like that. And that was the man he least wanted to see him plunk on the piano like an untrained three-year old.

"I believe 'cantabile' means 'in a singing style', Wright." Miles Edgeworth laughed softly, leaning on the doorpost to the music room. Now Phoenix's ears were beginning to burn, and not just because of the woolen beanie he wore.

"E-edgeworth," he greeted his friend, fighting to keep his voice calm; any sign of weakness would be his undoing. "How did you get in?"

"Someone left the door open," Miles answered airily. "I pity your neighbours. They had to put up with your noise all afternoon." The word 'noise' cut Phoenix across the face like the whip Edgeworth's "sister" always carried with her, and brandished whenever the opportunity arose. Phoenix flinched involuntarily, and the sharp-eyed Miles did not miss the slight movement.

"Relax, Wright," he said, moving across the room to squeeze Phoenix's tense shoulder muscles. "If you play 'Pathétique' with stiff shoulders, the result is sure to be…" – he paused, smirking – "pathetic."



Something in Miles' voice made Phoenix stare up at the maroon-clad prosecutor. "Hold it… Do you play the piano?" he asked incredulously.

In answer, Miles spread out his large hands, shaking his head mockingly. "You know, these hands aren't just for banging the prosecutor's table… Or for massaging your knotted muscles, for that matter," he added as an afterthought. Leaning over Phoenix, so close that he could smell the dark, spicy Eau de Cologne in the prosecutor's frills, Miles hit out a chord on the piano. "It's been years since I last touched a piano, but I bet I can play 'Pathétique' better than you."

"Ha! Objection!" Phoenix yelled, a little more forcefully than he had intended. "If you've played the piece before, there is no reason why you should not be better than me. This is my first time reading the score."

Miles' gaze shifted from the keyboard to Phoenix's deep blue eyes, his smile bemused. Seven years after he had left the court, Phoenix Wright had not lost the glint in his eye that betrayed the ex-defence attorney's sometimes naïve conviction of his client's innocence. Having sat in the defendant's chair himself, and been subject to that selfsame conviction, Miles could not bring himself to fault it, nor crush the dreams of this man he had come to love and respect. Let the facts speak for themselves.

"So you're suggesting," Miles said slowly, "that if I were to play a piece that I had never seen before, I would fare as well – or as poorly – as you did." Phoenix nodded, his experience of bluffing in court lending him the air of confidence that he lacked. "Then what we need is evidence."

"That's easy to prove," Phoenix countered. "Just pick a score and go." He handed Miles his collection of scores, most of which had never been graced with the honour of being played before.

Miles accepted the pile and leafed through it, making a mental note to bring his messy friend a couple of clear folders from his office the next time he visited. Even if he could find a piece of the same difficulty as Beethoven's eighth sonata, it was going to be hard to judge who the better player was. The perfect mode of competition was to play a duo and declare the person who kept better timing the winner, but with only one piano…

His fingers paused in their search. He had found the perfect piece: Schubert's 'Fantasia in F Minor' – for four hands.



"This will be our challenge piece," he said, spreading the score out on the piano's score stand. "You can have the Primo part; unless, of course, you lack the confidence?" Miles resisted a smile at the mental image of his friend admitting to any sort of weakness.

Phoenix must have had the same thought, because a spasm of horror crossed face for a split-second. "I'll play the Primo part and prove I can keep up with you."

Well, of course you'll be able to keep up with me, idiot, Miles thought. Aren't both people in a duet supposed to listen out for the other? He did a mental shake of the head. If that was all it took to make his friend happy, then he, Miles Edgeworth, would play along. Years ago, when he had faced off with Phoenix in court, he would have done anything for a victory. Those times seemed so far away to him now. Victory or loss did not matter to him anymore, just his friend's wellbeing.

"And remember: relax." Miles gave Phoenix's shoulders one last squeeze, before moving to take his place by the spiky-haired man's left side. He felt Phoenix's eagerness radiate like the warmth from his body, and became acutely aware of his pulse quickening in anticipation matching his friend's. This would be his first time playing a duet for pleasure, and stranger still, it was with Phoenix Wright, of all people!

Miles caught Phoenix's eye, and raised an eyebrow in question. Understanding the unvoiced query, the latter gave a slight nod. Sweeping his peppery-grey hair back, Miles took a deep breath and set his hands on the keys in a ready position. He pressed down gently, first with his left hand, then his right, easing a chord, played in piano, from the baby grand.

Phoenix waited for the maroon-jacketed lawyer to finish the two chords that led to his own entrance, and took his cue anxiously. Almost as soon as he had started, he realised that this challenge had been a bad idea after all. Phoenix could barely sight-read; as far as he was concerned, he was stumbling blindly along the path to failure and embarrassment. But now that they had started, he could not stop; to do so was to admit defeat, and he could not give up yet – not without a fight!

Miles, too, was facing some problems of his own. It had been too long since he last touched those black-and-white keys, or read a music score. Even though his sight-reading had been near perfect when he was young, he could only rely on instinct now to press the right keys. It wasn't easy, either, to keep up someone who had such an unpredictable sense of timing. This was turning out to be the worst duet he had ever played.

No, but wait…



Miles forced the muscles in his forearms to relax. This is not like the duets I used to play, he reminded himself: he was not in the house of his mentor, Manfred von Karma, and his partner was not the perfect Franziska von Karma. He was with Phoenix Wright, who probably did not care if he, Miles, made a mistake. Heck, he probably would not notice them at all! After all, Phoenix's playing was as erratic and clumsy as his was. Thinking this, Miles nearly laughed out loud. The task at hand, he realised, was not to play the "perfect" piece that Franziska had always demanded of him, but to be the backdrop for Phoenix's piano, to match and blend with his music. That was the true beauty of a duet.

Miles shifted slightly in his seat, angling himself towards Phoenix, so he could see the latter's be-stubbled, ever-so-expressive face and read the non-verbal cues etched in it. Phoenix did not notice this slight movement. Sweat ran out from under his beanie and down his face; he was too lost and too busy reading his score to feel his partner's soft gaze.

Both of them reached the end of the page, and Miles reached his right hand across Phoenix to flip the page, giving the flustered man a reassuring smile as he did so. The gesture made the colour on Phoenix's already ruddy cheeks deepen a shade. Miles wondered if he had just made his partner more agitated, but when they resumed their playing, Phoenix did seem more at ease, and his fingers took on a lighter, yet more confident, touch as they drew the melody from the baby grand piano.

Phoenix finished his melody, and Miles took over, pouring more emotion into his playing than he had ever done before. Gracefully, his right hand slid over the keyboard, occasionally crossing over Phoenix's left whenever he had to hit an unusually high note. On those occasions, Phoenix's skin tingled where Miles' hand had brushed it, leaving behind a warm and slightly sweaty impression. The contact sent rushes of adrenaline through his body. He no longer regretted the duet, but relished every second, every chord, every note. And how easy it was now, to take his place in completing the picture Miles painted with his music, his fingers no longer fighting to stay ahead, but falling alongside his partner's. It was like dancing. The two had to move together, or one would trip the other.

It was only when Miles looked up to meet Phoenix's gaze, did the latter realise that he had been staring dazed at the prosecutor. Blushing again, he realised that the pair of grey eyes were waiting for his cue to end a fermata. With a slight nod, Phoenix lifted his fingers off the keyboard, and positioned them to begin the next phrase. Sight-reading came easier now that he was not glaring at the notes, demanding meaning from them. This was what music was supposed to be like, he realised, free and unbound. It wasn't about the notes; it was about the emotions behind the notes!



The duet ended in a succession of chords. Phoenix's fingers lingered lightly on the keys, not wanting to move, but to continue savouring the sweet joy he had just experienced. He closed his eyes and waited for a shifting along the piano chair which would indicate that Miles had gotten up, but the only movement the prosecutor made was to remove his jacket.

"It was a good duet," he murmured. Phoenix nodded in agreement, his eyes still closed, ears still full of the sweet melody. Reaching out, he caught Miles' hand.

"Let's play it again," he said.

"Now?" Miles glanced out of the window. Night had fallen and the stars were out. "Uhh… Sure, if you don't want any dinner that is… Actually, I only came to ask you out for dinner…" There was a hint of sheepishness in Miles' voice.

Phoenix opened his eyes. It was only then that he realised that the sun had long set, and the only light in the room was coming from a single lamp in the corner. Strange how time passes when you're having fun, he thought. The afternoon had crawled by as he tried to bully his fingers into learning Beethoven's eighth piano sonata, while just that one song with Miles, despite feeling like it had taken no time at all, had in fact lasted nearly half an hour. And now that Miles had mentioned dinner, he realised he did feel a little hungry. However, he wasn't willing to let the dream of the duet fade just yet. He hesitated, unsure of what to do.

Miles seemed to understand his partner's dilemma. "Well, if you have any food in the kitchen, I could cook something…" he said slowly, hoping Phoenix did not know enough about cooking to criticise about his sloppy culinary practices. "Then we can play Schubert's 'Fantasia' again. What do you say to grilled chicken sandwiches?"

"My favourite," Phoenix replied. And if I can find Trucy's apron, I think that would complete the taste of the sandwiches, he added privately. That pink apron will look perfect with his frills.

Footnotes:

1) The first movement of Beethoven's Piano Sonata no. 8, also known as 'Pathétique'. 'Grave' means 'solemn', and 'Allegro molto e con brio' means 'fast, with much vigour'. Both are translated from Italian.

2) The second movement of Beethoven's Piano Sonata no. 8, also known as 'Pathétique'. 'Adagio cantabile' means 'slowly, in a singing style', hence Edgeworth's comment.

3) Umm… 'Four hands' should be easy to understand. Obviously most humans do not have four hands, so this would refer to a piano duet – played by two people on the same piano. Quite a tight squeeze it is, fitting two fully-grown men on one piano chair.

4) In a duet, there's always someone playing the first part, and someone else playing the second part. 'Primo' simply refers to the first part. 'Secondo' would refer to the second.

5) 'Piano' here doesn't refer to the instrument, but the music dynamic (an "instruction", if you will). For the uninitiated, 'piano' is the Italian word for 'soft', hence the Edgeworth is playing softly here – just as the music score indicates he should.

6) Sight-reading is the skill to read the notes off a music score without having seen it before, and play it immediately.

7) A musical indication that a note should be held longer than its note value indicates. It should fall to one of the duettists to indicate when both should end the fermata, else they'll be holding the note indefinitely!