Walking On Eggshells
1. Prologue
June 11th, 2027
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When Phoenix first started working under Mia Fey, she used to lock herself away into her office for an hour each day without explanation. Phoenix had accepted it as a simple quirk, because he respected the woman who had cleared his name and unmasked Dahlia Hawthorne for the murderer she was. It wasn't until he set away an afternoon to sort through Mia's belongings with his new assistant, that they discovered a series of sealed letters to a man named Diego. It wasn't until three years later, and a trial that ended with tears of blood, that he realised that they were a bridge to a time when things had been simpler.
After the fateful trial, he had supported Maya's crusade to bury the man named Diego Armando next to the grave that held the once-heiress to a legacy of reaching between worlds. They'd celebrated their success in a visit to the headstones of the two former defense lawyers, standing side by side like steady, grey guardians of the hidden treasures buried beneath the surface of the earth. Beneath the achingly bare limbs of the oak tree that marked Mia and Diego's final resting places, Maya had given him the first hint of struggles about to come.
"Do you think she's happy now?" Maya had asked quietly, laying a trembling hand on Mia's gravestone.
"...I think so," Phoenix had said. Then, "Can you sense her?"
Maya had shivered, though it was no longer cold, with the warm rush of air that settled into frozen nooks and crannies with the coming of spring. "No. She's been fading since the trial... I guess you've moved on, sis."
Moving on.
Moving forward.
It was odd the hold the past could have on a person; man or woman, thrilling prodigy of a lawyer or emotionally tough spirit medium. Sometimes, it was much easier retracing the path one had taken to reach the present, agonizing eternally over the choices one had made, than to turn one's eyes to the future with new wisdom and face what was to come. Phoenix could understand that need; the letters, the quiet afternoons, the moments Mia gazed into a cup of dark coffee and seemed to be staring through time and space, at a point years into the past.
It was far easier to look back and try to push blame on the shoulders of involved parties than to use what one had gained to charter a course forward into the unknown.
When Iris had stalked out of the Wrights' apartment, Phoenix had not been able to bring himself to move for long minutes after the door closed with a strangely loud click behind her. Silence rang in the air, so heavy it felt like a solid weight across his chest. He'd been rooted to the spot, and might have stayed there longer had Trucy not rushed home soon after.
She burst into the room, breathless with exertion. "What happened, Daddy? I just saw Iris, and..."
She trailed off, catching the look on his face, and hadn't the heart to bring it up after that.
One week later, the badge that arrived within the mail to herald a triumphant return to a career he loved felt--foolishly, as Franziska would have said--like a gift bought with the promise of Iris's absence.
There were celebrations, breathless congratulations from the various friends and acquaintances he had gathered about him through the years; the loss of his attorney's badge hadn't discouraged colourful characters from sweeping into his life. Today, though--the evening of the eleventh of June, 2027--was the first time the various people who had shaped his life had gathered together again.
They were quite literally gathered together, squeezed like tinned sardines, for Phoenix had gradually found his way to the piano tucked in the corner of Borscht Bowls, and taken his familiar space in front of the KEYBOARD OF DOOM. They'd hurried to the other side of the restaurant.
One would think that this was enough to deter Phoenix from expressing his sadly dormant artistic instinct, but much to the dismay of several of his guests, well, it wasn't.
Phoenix's hand trailed down the plastic keys of the restaurant's shiny new piano. He pressed experimentally down on one of the black keys, wondering idly what note it represented, although he did not truly register the sound that vibrated through the half empty Borscht Bowl. They surface was smooth and unfamiliar beneath his fingers.
Sitting there made him think of how he had once promised Iris, in a joke that had been taken seriously, that he would play for her.
Quite a great deal had reminded Phoenix of Iris, and of their argument, over the last week. Her accusations rang in his mind despite his attempts to push away the conflict that arose when he thought of the woman he knew so well. Phoenix knew this was almost certainly due to lingering guilt--after State vs. Enigmar, eight years ago now, everything in the office had reminded him of Mia, of Maya, and of how the promises he had made to Miles Edgeworth to always find the truth had become stilted.
Phoenix had contemplated an apology--and he wasn't above making one, in order to reconcile, and THEN work through the issue of who was to blame--but he wasn't quite sure how to, in this case, or if he should. Some part of him wondered if he wanted to. It was far easier to keep procrastinating, lobbing excuses to himself and to the inquisitive stares of other people (wondering what he should have done differently).
(There had been nudges, yes, from concerned friends, especially when the party started and they moved off topic from Phoenix's successful bar test. There had been few variations. 'Figure it out,' had been the general gist of it, but no one made an effort to go further, and Trucy and Pearls had disappeared off somewhere that morning and weren't back yet.)
Of course, Larry Butz -- or, Laurice "Tact? What is tact?" Deauxnim -- had not been around in the week since the argument, so it was almost inevitable that he would say something now that he had the chance to.
Larry left the company of an exasperated-looking Miles Edgeworth in order to glide through the tables separating him from the piano corner. He left quite a stir in his wake, but, surprisingly, paused only once--to overwhelm a terrified Vera Misham with a loud, boisterous greeting. Larry looked every bit the scatterbrained artist he was, with his paint-dabbed pink sweater, and an ignorantly cheerful smile that served to make other people laugh at the expense of his dignity. It made Phoenix laugh too, quietly and absently. The past few years had given Phoenix more of an appreciation of the person his friend was.
"Niiiiick," Larry trilled, "why are you sulking in the corner like a loser?"
Amazingly, despite his volume, his words seemed to drown away in the ambient chatter of the restaurant.
Phoenix lifted his hands off the plastic keys, and turned to fully face his childhood friend. "I don't know what you're talking about, Larry."
If Larry was momentarily taken in by the outright lie, he moved past it quickly enough--sidetracked, instead. "It's LAURICE, not Larry. LAURICE."
"Do you need something?" Phoenix said pointedly. "Because I'm not spotting you any cash."
Larry actually looked insulted by this insinuation.
"Don't look at me like I'm a hobo," he begged melodramatically for a moment, as if tears were about to run down his face. Recovering quickly, he crossed his arms and tipped his head to one side in thought. "Right! Yeah, I have something to say to you, you--you--"
Sighing, Phoenix reached languidly below the piano stool. His fingers fumbled until they closed around the smooth, familiar top of a bottle of grape juice. The other hand snagged a glass.
It was going to be a long night.
"--you vow-breaker!"
The glass half-filled with juice, and the purple waterfall still pouring, Phoenix blinked. He had not expected that.
"What was that?" he asked, after a slight pause, setting down his bottle before the glass overflowed.
This time, Phoenix was certain that crocodile tears glinted at the corners of Larry's eyes, as he clutched his hands before his chin. "You forgot?"
"I... uh..." Phoenix faltered and, much to his mortification, was forced to admit defeat to Larry. "Yes."
The blooming flower that Larry Butz sought to impersonate seemed to droop at this unwelcome news.
"So... so you didn't plan with Iris to stay away from the party?" Larry pressed urgently.
Phoenix's hand stilled on the glass, but he wasn't sure why he was surprised. This was Larry after all.
"No," he said curtly, without looking up.
The surface of the glass was smooth and cold under his fingers.
His knuckles were turning white.
If he pressed any harder, he felt like it would shatter.
But this was Larry Butz, who was oblivious to little signs; he was the one person, too, who would barrel on even if he did notice.
As evidenced by the one-eighty change in demeanour once he realised he hadn't been forgotten once again. The poker player in Phoenix noted the changes. Oh, and the bold thumbs-up pointed in Phoenix's direction was a big clue as well, but he couldn't be certain.
It did not matter that Phoenix was curt, because Larry filled the silence for him. "I KNEW I could count on you, Nick! Edgey fell in love as well, but he won't say anything... just remember how you fell in love, and then tell me your innermost secrets. Easy!"
As suddenly as he had come, Larry turned abruptly and flounced off again--presumably to continue bugging Edgeworth for the illicit dealings of his love life.
A short laugh burst out of Phoenix, startling even himself.
Really?
"Remember how you fell in love?"
It was different from the other advice, but... How was it that everything at the party seemed to revolve around the theme of trying to give Phoenix love advice, even when it was for personal profit?
Phoenix had hoped, when Larry seemed so desperate to talk, that the conversation would head elsewhere, but Larry had always been a romantic at heart. His moderately successful picture book series had led to the conception of something new -- information for which he was bugging Phoenix and Iris, and, apparently, Edgeworth and his unknown suitor of dubious existence, to supply.
His uncharacteristic brooding was smothered by the sound of shifting skirts. There was a flicker of violet in the corner of his vision, which made him freeze for an instant before he realised it was not Iris.
He was up in an instant and striding across the room, nevertheless, when a chair slid out and its occupant shot up.
"Mr. Wright!"
Apollo's conversation partners broke off when the younger defense attorney spoke, looked up, then looked away so pointedly that Phoenix was convinced of a conspiracy.
From somewhere, Phoenix managed to pull up a relaxed smile. "Hm?"
He braced himself for another bout of advice, but as always, Apollo Justice startled him. The young man stared at him piercingly for a moment.
"Never mind," he muttered, sitting down again.
Phoenix watched for a moment as Apollo engaged Vera in conversation with surprising tact. He and Trucy had taken the lion's share of acclimating her to a world where her father had died. It brought back bittersweet memories of visiting Iris in prison, or even earlier, or showing his Dollie around campus.
Remember how you fell in love.
Phoenix kept walking until he reached the Spirit Medium's side and took a seat.
She barely looked up.
"I didn't think you were coming, Maya," he said, after a slight pause.
She did look up then, smiling half-heartedly. "You know me, Nick. Always busy until I'm not."
Phoenix frowned. "Kurain again? Is that why Pearls isn't here?"
Her eyes flicked down, and she clasped her hands before her. "Something like that." He had once counted her as the person who knew him best, and the one closest to him, but he couldn't read her at all. "Well, no, not exactly." Before Phoenix could press, she changed the subject. "I talked to Iris."
The mood changed.
"She's at Hazakura," Maya said unnecessarily, when it seemed Phoenix wouldn't reply. "You made her cry," she added. "I should be angry at you for making a pretty lady -- my cousin -- cry."
"But you're not?" Phoenix smiled humourlessly.
"I--" Something changed on Maya's face. She turned, dark eyes searching his face for something. Despite all this time, it still shocked Phoenix when he met the serious gaze; seven years had changed her, despite her continued enthusiasm about children's television. "She was crying, but you're not smiling either. You know, it's all right to cry, even if you are a man."
"That's got nothing to do with it!" Phoenix insisted.
One thing that hadn't changed about Maya was the way she thought; blowing this way and that, like a summer storm. "Do you love her, Nick?"
Her eyes were dead set on his.
Phoenix didn't answer out loud.
"I made a promise," Maya murmured, to herself. "But I need to hear your answer first."
"...What promise?" Phoenix had a bad feeling about it.
She fiddled with the bright red charm around her neck.
"Is it worth it?" she asked, instead of answering. "Falling in love? Chasing after the person you love for all this time?"
Had Maya been reading Maggey's romance novels again?
"Weigh up the pros and cons for each side, but use your heart to decide what's more important, and not your mind, for once. If it is... remember why you fell in love and try and resolve the argument. If not..." she shrugged.
He sat still, letting the advice flow over him, because it couldn't be as simple as that ('All that sulking for nothing?' the new, cynical part of him chuckled darkly) and yet it was.
Arguments, like battles at court, except there was no precedence for the wall-shaking argument. He could not rely on the past to provide an example of what to do. He had no knowledge.
But when had he ever, EVER let that stop him before?
Maya's voice was much more convincing than Larry's. "Remember why you fell in love," she had said. It was like opening the floodgates.
'I pray for your safety on this dark, cold night.'
'You were always too good for me.'
'I hope you can forgive me one day... Feenie.'
Phoenix did not have knowledge, but he could have wisdom.
He barely saw Maya trailing off, and the sigh when she saw the look on his face. She looked away.
'You really are the person I always thought you were.'
'When I really needed your help, and you knew it, you were there.'
'I won't let you fall.'
It was the first step: to look at the past and try and find a way to the future. He was so caught up, he didn't notice when Maya's eyes flitted to the entrance, where a woman was hesitating on the threshold.
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TBC