Hello, Thegoh here! This is my first attempt at an Ace Attorney fiction, so please go easy on me! I've written mainly for anime, but it did not seem right to not try to write one for what could be my favourite game series.

This particular story was planned almost a year ago, but was left to sit in my hard drive unfinished for many many months. But now, it is time to try and revive this.

Enjoy.

Miles tossed his briefcase onto the couch as he passed it and lowered his back into the comfort of his armchair, sighing as his legs relaxed, no longer needing to bear his weight. It was a welcome relief after having had to stand and move around for hours on end. The last of the evening rays shone through his windows, bathing his office with a dirty, hot orange, a sharp clash against the cream walls. His fingers found his cravat – still white and immaculate as ever despite having been worn a whole day – and he quickly tugged it loose, not quite caring to properly unfasten the clasp. His other hand pushed back his stray strands of hair. He briefly noted that his coat had already been crumpled and still had traces of dirt on it.

He must have looked so unceremoniously dishevelled. But he could not care at the moment.

The day's investigation and trial had been long. Too long and too tedious. He rubbed his temples to quell the oncoming migraine, knocking his glasses askew in the process. It was bad enough that the witness, his own witness, had been found tampering with evidence regarding the ongoing fraud trial yesterday. Then, just a few hours after trying the man today – the stubborn, lying bastard he was – in court for his tampering, he was found dead within the grounds of the detention centre. First speculation was suicide, since the body was found smashed on the ground floor with an open window four storeys above him with no murder weapon nor signs of a struggle. At least, according to Gumshoe's initial report.

But Miles felt that it could not have been suicide. Not when it looks like an arrested person had apparently managed to escape his cell and proceeded to throw himself out of the detention centre's office window of all places. Yet even after hours of investigating, nothing new was yielded. Every guard that was on patrol at the time seemed to have an alibi, and somehow during the period of the supposed suicide the building experienced a blackout, leaving almost no evidence to be gleaned from the camera feeds.

It all seemed too airtight and convenient. But it could not be helped; the situation was too messy, and he had barely anymore energy to conduct a proper investigation after the trial. He decided to leave the overnight investigation to Gumshoe and retreat to the safety of his office.

Don't worry Mr Edgeworth sir! I'll get to the bottom of this, I swear on it! Gumshoe swiftly turned on his heels, only to crash directly into the cabinets of the detention centre office. Miles quietly groaned as the papers flew out of the opened drawers.

He sighed again. Today has not been a good day. Why couldn't he just have a nice, innocent, obedient witness for once? Why were all his recent trials so complicated? Or was he really just a magnet for disturbed, deranged people who all happen to have murderous or fraudulent streaks in them? Miles shook his head to clear his mind, it was better to not know the answer to that. He stared at his desk, irritation still freshly roiling in his chest.

What is it with today? It's not like it's the first time I've faced such a circumstance… Damn it…He shifted his attention to the massive bookshelves next to him, studying the rows of books and neat filing as his thoughts continued their racing. They were loaded with numerous reference books and court transcripts, with newspaper clippings and personal notes; all labelled and arranged in alphabetical order. It had taken quite a fair bit of work to move all of these back from Germany when he returned as the Chief Prosecutor just over a year ago, but Miles felt it was worth the work. This degree of carefulness was what helped him stay ahead of the game in every trial; rarely had he ever been caught off guard thanks to this. The few times that he was, it was because the people he was dealing with turned out to be more problematic than they seemed. Handling problematic people was part of the job, but Miles never liked to have to do it.

I wonder if this is how he always felt like... The sounds of table-slamming and overly loud protests against stuttering witnesses resonated in his mind. Pictures of stubborn eyes, dramatic poses, nervous grins and obvious bluffs flitted through his memory, albeit quite hazy ones. But that feeling, that burning determination and that rush of adrenaline as they mentally battled for the truth through intense games of tug-of-war and cat and mouse alongside one another; even through his immense annoyance Miles still could feel and remember that pulsing energy in his chest.

It feels so long ago… how many years has it been…? His mind came to a pause as he noticed a familiar blue file amongst the books.

"Attorney Exposed!" was the first thing that caught his eye. He had heard the reports even before this, but had passed them off as exaggerated rumours. He refused to believe it, for it was impossible for the man to do such a thing. But now, he found himself no longer as sure as he stared at the papers on the stand, eyes wide and mind a complete blank. And he must have been staring long, as he heard the cashier gruffly telling him to get lost if he wasn't buying anything. Miles grabbed the paper, threw his money on the counter and left.

The following day was the only time he was ever late for work.

Miles tore his eyes away from the shelf. Of all the bloody things to recall… Pushing himself off the chair, he picked up his briefcase and locked up his office. He was completely not in the mood to work tonight.

As he rolled past street after street, he let the quiet environment lull his mind away from the day's events, feeling his shoulders relax as he smoothed through the turns and slipped past slower traffic, the firm and sturdy feel of the steering wheel in his fingers, all to the soft purring of the engine. The sun had already completely set by the time he left the office, allowing him to relish in the sight of street lights flitting past his windscreen one after the other and imagining his polished ride cruising through the darkened roads against the backdrop of a brightly lit city. Traffic was flowing smoothly tonight, and there were few people on the street.

Probably due to the recent string of murders… Miles noted grimly, his features tensing into a frown at the thought. Thanks to the triggering of a murderous streak in several people who happen to live here, activity in this part of the city had been dampened greatly. The sudden reduction of the crowd over the past few months was beginning to take its toll: every few blocks you would see an empty lot that used to house either a tiny restaurant, a bar or some small store. The ones that were still open had few customers within, especially at night time. Just the other day, Miles had read – to his great irritation – about the closing of one of his favourite bookstores. It was a real shame, but life still had to go on. He groaned as a dark cloud settled over his mind again, feeling his gut sink. Angling his right foot down, he brought the engine up to a dull rumble and quickly took the last few turns.

Soon, he found himself back in his home on his bed staring at the ceiling, Pess nestled in the corner of the room. The sheets felt pleasantly cool against his skin, which was still warm from the long, hot shower he took. But he still could not shake that dark irritation away from him. Grumbling, he sat up. Pess trotted over, ears perked and eyes wide.

I won't be able to sleep in this state… I should… do… something. But what? Work? That would just make him feel worse. Reading did not seem like a good idea either; he did not want to take in new information.

Something mindless. Something that doesn't require me to think. Looking out his window, he scanned the street outside. There were few people, but everything was still quite brightly lit. A street lamp flickered in the distance. The occasional car drove by. Somewhere, he heard the distinct barking of some spoiled house dog. His eyes eventually fell on a modest neon sign at the far end of the next block.

Hmm. That shape. It's… a piano? A neon blue piano? Never noticed it before… Miles stood at the window, unmoving, for several more minutes as he continued studying what little he could see of the sign. Despite having moved back for almost a year, Miles rarely explored the areas surrounding his apartment; his new position made him busier than he previously was. Shrugging his shoulders, he left the window and proceeded to change into a pair of jeans and a button down shirt.

Why not?

The place was small, very small. It was smaller than the average bar you saw on the street, only having a single bartender and only a couple of tables around. Oddly enough, the air inside was free of the rancid stench that was common in many bars; a result of having too many customers who had too much to drink or patrons who absolutely must smoke. The maroon walls were dimly lit by soft, yellow lights; bright enough to see where you're going but dim enough to fit the lowered, slow mood. Most of the space was, unsurprisingly, taken up by a piano at the far end, humbly standing on a raised platform under a small spotlight. The marble bar counter glowed slightly as it reflected the light from the mini stage. Silently, Miles took the last seat at the end of the bar counter that was against the wall and closest to the door, and surveyed the place in greater detail. He faintly noted the lack of any particularly dark corners within the place and the interesting gold trimmings on the walls around him. There wasn't any of that obnoxious club music – just how do people even listen to that crap? – blasting over the sound systems, instead it was a slow jazz that wafted through the air.

It felt so oddly cosy for a place that people visited to drown their sorrows.

"Hey there, can I get you anything?" The bartender asked, grinning. He looked quite young, almost like a college student under the dim light, but definitely no older than Miles. Dark, styled hair and a pair of strong, yet friendly eyes on a clean face. An average build and overall there was nothing really noteworthy about him.

Well, perhaps except for that rather lopsided grin he was wearing on his face at the moment.

"Mm." Miles' mind drew a blank. He had not planned on entering the place and getting a drink after all. Resting his arms on the counter, he raced to make a decision. "Maybe… a cider then."

"Cider? You got it sir. Although," Miles cocked an eyebrow. "I mean, not that I know anything, but you seem like a fancy wine kind of guy. Or at least a very nice, aged whiskey in a smoked barrel." The bartender gave Miles a sheepish smile as he pushed a glass over the countertop. Miles shrugged as he accepted the drink, letting his shoulders loosen as he listened to the music. Yet, there was a small nagging feeling creeping from the back of his mind when he saw that guy's grin.

It looked too familiar. It was an expression he had not seen in years, one that haunted the recesses of his memories and would swirl around his mind in whispered tones. Miles cursed under his breath as he threw the thoughts out of his head. The bartender barely noticed the scowl that crossed Miles' face.

"We've opened for a few months now. Had real good business then. But suddenly a whole string of killings appear…" he picked up a glass and wiped it as he spoke sullenly, bright eyes now slightly downcast. "I mean, they didn't even happen in this district but people just suddenly stopped coming at night."

"I see." Miles replied robotically. Great, I come here to get away from work and he reminds me. His scowl deepened.

"See, it's gone to the point where even our pianist has begun ditching his night shifts…" He gestured to the empty piano, brows pulled into a saddened grimace. Miles took a deep breath against the rising steam pressurizing in his chest.

"That's a shame." Really, did this guy not get the message?

"So uh, where do you stay? Haven't ever seen you before." The guy was now leaning away from the bar, arms crossed over his chest and eyes directed at Miles. He pointedly looked away, pretending to inspect the piano as he brought the glass to his lips.

"Nearby." He really didn't feel like making small talk with this person any longer.

"Ah okay okay. Well…" The bartender paused as he noticed the front door open. "Hey! It's you!" he exclaimed, a wide smile growing across his face. Miles took a quick glance behind.

It was a man, seemingly nearing his thirties, in a loose grey hoodie and a pair of old jeans standing at the door, shoulders hunched and hands in the pockets of his jacket. Miles could not make out the exact features of his face, it was too dark and the man was too far away. He seemed to be around his height at least, but for some reason kept his head low. However, the single most noticeable thing had to be that bright, neon blue beanie on his head with a ridiculous button at the side that he pulled low over his brow. It looked so new and clean compared to the rest of his apparel. Not that it added any points to his look though.

"Yeah yeah it's me…" the man sounded tired, almost bored in contrast to the quippy bartender.

"Why aren't you working at Borscht's tonight? Freelancing again?" the welcoming smile turned into a playful grin as the man approached the other end of bar counter. There was something eerily familiar about the way he walked, but Miles could not quite point it out. The bartender moved closer to the counter, readying himself to fix a drink for the new arrival.

Borscht's? Isn't that the criminal bar? Who the hell is this guy?

"You wish, Jake. Heh, unless you're telling me you're willing to play." The man was now leaning on the bar counter six seats from Miles, giving Jake an evil-looking smirk.

"No way, Mr 'Piano Man', I'd like my money to stay in my own pockets this time, thank you very much." Jake raised his arms in mock surrender, chortling as he replied. The man's smirk faded into a kinder looking grin as he chuckled. Miles kept sipping his drink, trying to keep his eyes fixed on the counter and wall and away from the two men next to him. His grip on the glass was tightening slowly, and the tension in his shoulders was returning with every word that left that guy's mouth.

"Heh. I can still remember that look on your face back then." The man chuckles some more, this time louder than the last.

"Oh please, don't remind me…"

"It was priceless!" the chuckles grew steadily louder. Jake groaned.

"Hey, I swear man, you had to be cheating! There's no way-"

"And as usual, you're being a sore loser." The chuckling smoothed into light snickers. The man in the beanie shook his head and Jake raised his arms, deciding to let the matter drop.

Ignore them. Ignore him. Ignore…

"So, grape juice again man?" The man gave a small nod and settled onto the bar stool, arms still resting on the counter. "I don't know why you like this stuff honestly," Jake chuckled as he poured a glass of clear purple liquid and pushed it across the countertop. "It seems quite nasty to me."

Taking the glass, the man took a gulped the all its contents down in a single move. "You're one to talk, always drinking whiskey. Keep that habit of yours and it'll whisk your liver away for sure!" The man laughed as he shook his head, shooting Jake yet another smirk. Miles resisted the urge to turn around, and suppressed a frustrated sigh.

This guy… He laughs too much. So much for a quiet time… Miles downed the last of his cider and reached for his wallet.

Suddenly, he hears the clatter of the stool and the shuffling of feet as the man pushed himself off the stool and strolled to the piano onstage, back towards Miles. He brushed his fingers over the varnished wood as he stood by it, seemingly deep in thought. Miles' hand froze in his pocket.

"Hey Jake…" the man's voice was now low and serious, losing all the cheery life it had moments ago. "You don't mind right?"

"Go ahead. But don't expect me to pay you, yeah?"

The man merely sat down at the keys, not bothering to reply Jake as he fixed his eyes on the instrument before him. He didn't raise a finger, nor did play a single note; he simply sat there and stared, a distant, exhausted look in his eyes. Now that he was under the spotlight, Miles was able to get a better look at the man's face. He had a strong jawline, and it didn't seem like he had shaved in days. His tired eyes had dark shadows around it, almost as if the man hadn't slept properly for a long time. The beanie was still pulled low over his brows, and Miles could see no traces of any hair sticking out from the neon blue. The word "Papa" was stitched on the side of the beanie in pink, but it was on backwards. However, the nagging in his mind intensified as he continued studying the man's features. A burning feeling spread through his gut and his mind raced; Miles had seen this guy somewhere before, he had known this person once.

But who?

Suddenly, the man placed his fingers on the keys. He pushed them down, one after another, and played. An awkward tune pierced the air. The melody was a mess, the chords weren't even played right and there was absolutely no discernable tempo or rhythm. The sound was jarring; it was clashing in all the wrong ways. His fingers weren't curved, but stiff as they crossed over the keys and his overall posture was atrocious. Worse, his face was contorted into a frown as he played, further ruining his song… if one dared to call it that.

Normally, Miles would have been outraged at such a performance.

This… what the? The tune, awkward and messy as it was, rung deeply in him. Fragmented images of a dingy music room, a dusty piano and a little spikey haired boy flashed in his head. Hastily scribbled sheets of music that were sprawled over his desk during lunch breaks. A man in a blue suit, groaning at the piano seat during a party after a long trial…

The tune stopped, and the man slouched even more at the seat, his eyes distant once again.

"Damn Nicholas, what on earth was that?" Jake's eyes were wide open in disbelief.

Nicholas?

"Ahaha… I'm still not familiar with this tune see… And I'm quite out of it today…" the man's hand went behind his head, and his mouth curled into a sheepish, apologetic grin. Miles' brain went into overdrive.

Holy shit. Holy shit.

"Wright…?" the words left Miles' lips before he had a chance to stop himself. The man's eyes darted up to him and met his own, studying Miles intently. The next moment, his eyes widened.

"E-Edgeworth? I-I didn't…." the colour drained from his face.

Of all the bars in this city, I just had to pick this one didn't I?

Thanks for reading, and do leave a review!

I admit, this kind of story where Edgeworth and Wright meet up somewhere within the timeline of Apollo Justice is fairly common in FF, but is always the most fun to write and read because there is so much you can use to construct the story.

That being said, I am open to hear how you feel things should go from here with regard to the plot. Input and ideas are always nice!

Once again, thank you for reading!

Thegoh