I swore to stop reading fanfic till I had finished this one, and it's my first multi-chaptered fic, so God help me, I'm going to post it.
It's supposed to take place in the night Phoenix is arrested by the murder of one Shadi Smith. As to why this exists at all, it's sort of a headcanon-exploring exercise - one concerning Miles' place in GS4, his relationship with Phoenix, Hobo!Phoenix's birth and Kristoph's feelings towards Phoenix. It's probably ridiculous, but maybe someone will like it?
I have it finished, so I'll just post one chapter each week till the end of January. It's going to have six chapters in total.
WARNING: This fic contains potentially triggering content (graphic description of DUB-CON, namely, someone coercing someone else into sex). Please, be careful.
Sleepless Night
One
It was a testimony to how much Miles owed Phoenix Wright that he did not throw his cell phone off the window the moment the female voice spoke:
"Mr. Edgeworth, Mr. Wright's in trouble."
The room was dark, the only source of light being the sickly lampposts filtered through the window, casting whitish reflections on the patterns of his comforter. The display of the cell phone hurt his eyes; it said 3:00 a.m., and the caller's identification was plastered across the screen in big letters. Reading it didn't make the cold inside go away.
At least it's not Larry, he thought, sitting up. "Detective Skye?" he spoke through a yawn.
"Yeah, sir – sorry to wake you up." She sounded more distracted than sorry; already running through his mental inventory of suits, he could not blame her. "I just – I thought you'd like to know."
He breathed in, breathed out, braced himself. "What sort of trouble?"
"Mr. Wright – the lights are red, you son of a bitch! – sorry, sir – Mr. Wright's been arrested."
A pause – and he had put the phone on speaker before he even finished processing the information, undressing silently. "Any details?"
"Not many, no." the detective's voice was all business, irritation and caffeine. "I wanted to see him, but they said visit time is over, yadda yadda, you have your own work to do, detective, and I can't find that idiot Fulbright to ask him about the damn investigation. They're saying Mr. Wright killed a guy over a game of poker—"
"That's—"
"—ridiculous, I know, and the worst thing is, they don't even know who the f—heck was the guy. The fop's brother told me not to worry, he's got it covered, but I don't trust that guy as far as I can throw him… scientifically speaking."
Miles paused in the act of perusing his cravats. "I beg your pardon, who were you talking to?"
"The fop's brother – Kristoph Gavin. You know, Coolest Defense in the West and all that shit."
The dread that had been threatening to consume him the moment the ringtone tore him off his dreams chose this moment to overtake him in full, cold and choking like ice water in his lungs.
It didn't have to mean anything, he told himself firmly. Gavin was the only licensed defense attorney in Wright's circle of "friends"… and the pianist of a seedy Russian restaurant could only afford a friend as an attorney. That he had been in the Detention Center was a logical development – not a sign that Gavin was involved in the crime itself.
He bit his lip while buttoning his vest. Somehow, he couldn't believe his own train of thought.
"Goddamnit, it's three in the morning, why are you out on a stroll?! Get out of the way! I'm sorry, Mr. Edgeworth, are you still there?"
"Oh – ah – yes, Detective Skye. I'm sorry, I was lost in thought. Did – did Gavin say anything else?"
"Not reall—oh, yeah. Apparently they're going to pass the case to Payne, the fop wouldn't touch it with a ten foot pole. One less thing to worry about, huh?"
Indeed. Miles was not well-acquainted with Kristoph Gavin's younger brother, but he thought some vindictiveness against Wright on his part was to be expected. Payne was also vindictive against Wright, but less smart… And, Miles reasoned, fastening the cravat around his neck, he certainly wouldn't collaborate with Gavin.
Not willingly.
"I know," Detective Skye sighed on the phone, as if she'd heard his musings. "Still doesn't look good, does it? They said Mr. Wright's pleaded the fifth about the murder, and I wonder – I wonder—"
She went quiet all of a sudden – a different sort of quiet – and Miles was unsure of what was going through her head. Somewhere along the way, she had become bitter and even more cynic than the old him, but she did know Phoenix Wright… if even she believed he had—
"…Detective Skye, you cannot possibly be thinking—"
"—He's going to be all right, isn't he, Mr. Edgeworth?"
The question caught him off-guard.
"Detective, I—"
"Please." And suddenly she sounded a lot more like the naïve adolescent who simply could not believe her sister had done anything wrong. "Please tell me he'll be all right. I know he didn't do it – but – but Mr. Edgeworth—"
It was childish of her to put all her hopes on him. She was a detective, and knew better than most that prosecutors could not weave miracles. Miles was no savior, no knight in shining armor out to defend Wright.
"…I'm going there," he sighed, trying to make his voice sound somewhat soothing. "I'll do everything I can to see him out."
"…Thank you, Mr. Edgeworth." The relieved sound that came through the phone was small, as if she had tried to suppress it; it carved an impression on Miles' chest. "Sir, I'll – I'll be on the lookout for more information. If anything new comes up—"
"—Please call me at once."
"Of course – use the fucking blinker, dumbass! – of course I will." Her voice had acquired some of her detective steeliness. "Call me if you need anything – if I don't answer right away, text me and I'll call you back as soon as I can. And – and Mr. Edgeworth …good luck."
"…Thank you, detective."
He turned the phone off and started fastening his cufflinks, taking care to look his best lest any prison guard think he was some disreputable sort of attorney. He would need every ounce of his prestige to get through to Wright – there was no need to make his any job any more difficult by looking disheveled. Once ready, he moved to get up; without the detective talking, the sound of the creaking bed brushed across him like a knife.
As he opened the door to the bedroom, stopping Pess from going in with one foot, he spared a moment to feel surprised at his swiftness – he was usually a lazy riser, only regaining any semblance of reason after his first cup of tea, and he prided himself on taking some time to choose his outfits each morning. To be up and about so speedily – he'd done it before, of course, but it had never been that easy a transition.
He took a moment to wonder why and didn't like the answer at all – the thought that, maybe, he'd always been expecting something like that to happen.
In my head, Ema drives like crazy, hehehe.
Please let me know what you think!
