What do you do if you're 101Obsessions with several multi-chapter stories you need to update and not enough time to do them in? Add to the workload by starting another! Genius.

But this idea was too fun to go to waste. What if, when clearing out Miles' dad's old house, Phoenix and Edgeworth discover that Gregory was in fact an agent of Warehouse 13? Because Gregory is so badass, he'd make the world's most awesome Warehouse agent.

Spoilers for most of Ace Attorney, but not many for Warehouse 13, because this is more from the AA background. I obviously don't own either the games or the TV series, kay?

Phoenix wiped the sweat from his brow, scowling down at the piles of boxes he still had to move. It was late evening, and he'd been working alongside Edgeworth since nine o'clock that morning to move all of the old cardboard boxes out of this dusty attic. It was slow work, and once or twice they'd very nearly had fatal accidents with Phoenix almost falling through the ceiling of the master bedroom and then losing his footing on the ladder whilst carrying a particularly heavy box. Since then, Miles had relegated him to the duty of passing the boxes down as opposed to trying to descend the ladder with the box in his arms himself.

Wincing at the pain shooting through his sore back, Phoenix lifted the nearest box and walked with difficulty over to the trapdoor, where Miles was waiting to receive it. He was somewhat glad when he saw the other man perspiring, having had to take off his jacket and cravat. At least he wasn't the only one tired and sore from this work. He carefully lowered the box through the opening into Edgeworth's waiting arms, then straightened up with relief as Miles went to move the box into the spare room they were using to store the things for now.

Phoenix waited for Miles to return, and as he did he looked slowly around the old attic. He'd only been in here once before, as a child, when playing with the young Miles. It hadn't been nearly so full and dusty then, but then again, Miles' father had still been alive and Gregory Edgeworth had often come up to this attic to store his old things.

As Edgeworth's footsteps came closer, Phoenix turned to call down to his friend.

"It's getting pretty empty, now. Just a few boxes left, and that old chest in the corner. Come and see."

He thought he heard Edgeworth mutter, but the next moment the ladder creaked as the prosecutor clambered up it. The magenta suited man emerged into the attic, brushing himself down before looking around the old room. Phoenix watched the man out of the corner of his eye.

He'd been surprised when Edgeworth had asked him for help clearing out the attic of the old house where Miles had lived with his father, those many years ago. Of course, Phoenix had known the house had belonged to Miles, that had been left in the old defence attorney's will, but never since they had been reunited had Miles even mentioned the place. It was common knowledge that Edgeworth now lived in an expensive condo out of town. Phoenix hadn't realised he'd ever come back.

He'd watched his friend unlock the door with a small, bright key that contrasted sharply with the rust on the lock. He'd watched Miles as the prosecutor had wandered slowly through the old, quiet rooms, everything covered in white tarp sheets that had been laid there nearly 18 years ago. He'd watched the man's face as he'd opened the first of the boxes in the attic to see photographs of himself as a child, smiling and playing with his father.

No one else would have noticed the slight tensing of the man's jaw, the pain in his expression, the tiniest hint of a tear in his eye.

Phoenix had asked, tentatively, if Edgeworth was sure he was ready for all this. He knew that memories of his father, stirred two years back, had resurfaced yet again what with Edgeworth finally resolving the case that had got his father killed. The newly-reinstated prosecutor had tensed, then turned to him, face unreadable.

"Wright, I've been running from this house and the memories of my father for seventeen years. I'm a grown man now. I can't just stand here and pretend this place no longer exists, I can't just let the whole thing rot. Not anymore."

He'd turned back to the box, his shoulders trembling slightly. Phoenix had wanted to comfort him, but knew the kindest thing to do would be to discreetly let the man weep on his own. He hadn't had enough time to mourn as it was.

Now, the pair stood, staring at the old attic, dark squares in the dust showing where the removed boxes had been. Only a few remained. When the defence attorney stepped over and knelt beside them, he saw all were marked with a label bearing the words 'For the Warehouse'.

"What's the Warehouse?" he asked, looking back at Edgeworth.

The other man shrugged.

"No idea. I heard Father mention it once or twice on the phone. I suppose it was somewhere for storing items for long term."

Phoenix looked back at the cardboard, interested.

"And these never got there."

Now he really looked, he saw these had been closed with more care and more security than any of the other packages, taped and taped over again, neat and strong. He was curious. His fingers hovered over the top of the box, and he glanced back at his friend.

"Want to open them?"

Edgeworth shook his head.

"These were my father's private things. He never mentioned the Warehouse directly to me, so these things aren't of my concern."

The spikey-haired man raised an eyebrow.

"What, at all?"

Miles merely strode over to lift one of the various boxes.

"Wright, just shut up and help me get these boxes downstairs. I'll find out where this Warehouse was and have the packages put there just like he intended."

He turned away, heading for the trapdoor, when two things happened. Firstly, the worn cardboard, having been sat in the semi-damp attic for so long, finally gave way – Murphy's Law stating that the bottom of the box, of course, was the part that fell out. Secondly, all manner of objects came tumbling out of the newly-made hole, bouncing off of the floor and Miles' legs.

The prosecutor swore, dropping the empty box and hopping a few seconds on one leg as a particularly heavy item had fallen onto his right foot. Phoenix stifled a snigger in his hand. Miles scowled back at him, gingerly placing his weight back onto his injured foot and wincing.

With a grin, the defence attorney got up to help clear up the mess. Interestingly, the objects that had fallen were all inside individual plastic bags that put him in mind of evidence bags, but these were all opaque silver. They came in infinitely varying sizes, the objects within of all and every shape. Phoenix picked one up, amazed at the feel of it – under the slick plastic, the item was knobbly and lopsided.

"Hey, Miles, are you sure you don't want to open these? I mean, what are they?"

Edgeworth was in the process of gathering the pieces up quickly. He shook his head, not looking at Phoenix as he worked.

"No, Phoenix. These are my father's things, and I have no wish to pry into his affairs."

The defence attorney tossed the object from one hand to the other.

"Aw, you sure? I mean, what if they're evidence for past cases?"

Miles paused at this, but then continued as if nothing had happened.

"Even so, they aren't my concern. My father might have passed on but I wish for him to have the dignity of keeping at least some of his affairs private."

Nodding in defeat, Phoenix helped his friend pick up the objects. There weren't that many of them, but they had scattered to all corners of the attic, annoyingly enough. And some times he tried to pick one up, Edgeworth seemed to get there first. When it happened the third time, he could've sworn he saw the prosecutor smirk.

So that's how you're playing it, huh?

He dived for one in the corner, but Miles' hand closed over it first. This time, the smirk was quite obvious as the prosecutor grinned up at his colleague. Phoenix shrugged, trying to be nonchalant but quite ruining the effect by poking his tongue out at the other lawyer.

Miles merely shook his head, picking the piece off of the floor. Something lay underneath it. His hand reached out automatically for it, then stopped in mid-air. Phoenix's eyes were drawn to the object, and he, too, froze. For a while, the two of them stared blankly at it.

Phoenix chuckled nervously.

"M-maybe it fell out of an evidence bag?"

Edgeworth swallowed, then shook his head.

"No, there aren't any empties. And the others are all sealed."

Phoenix licked his lips anxiously, eyes unable to stray from the gun.

It was a very unusual gun. Instead of the sleek black handguns that Phoenix was used to handling as evidence, or the revolvers that the detectives carried, it was smaller, and the barrel appeared to be a thin glass tube with copper wires running through it, a small coil on the end. A gauge was visible on the side of the gun, and the grip and trigger, too, were different.

Miles reached out carefully, then paused, dropping his sleeve over his hand before lifting the gun out of the dust. He stood, cradling it almost as though it would break at his mere touch. Phoenix giggled again, more nervous.

"Very steampunk, hehe. Maybe he, uh, did roleplay?"

Miles wasn't listening. He was muttering, in confusion and disbelief.

"Why did father have a gun? Why this gun?"

He stood still for a long time, staring at the weapon. When Phoenix coughed lightly, he didn't move. The defence attorney sighed. Maybe it would be best to leave the man a while. It wasn't every day you learned your father had been keeping a potentially deadly weapon up in your attic.

He glanced around the floor, trying to see if there were any more of the strange bags. No, no bags, but there was one small, leather wallet. As he lifted it, it flopped open, a sudden flash of silver in his face. He blinked, surprised, then focused.

Then froze.

Miles heard the other man's movement cease suddenly, but it took him a few seconds to look up from the strange weapon he still held. Phoenix was bent over at a strange angle, staring at something in his hands with incredulity. Edgeworth tried to speak, but at first all that came out was a croak.

He swallowed, then tried again, this time successful.

"What is it, Wright?"

Very slowly, the other man straightened, still staring at the object in his own hands. He swallowed, then looked up at Miles. The prosecutor couldn't quite work out if the man looked more amazed or scared. The attorney slowly turned the object around to reveal a five-pronged, silver star on the leather. Phoenix swallowed again.

"Miles…your dad…he…he was with the Secret Service."

Dun dun dun, drama! The appearance of the Tesla, and a mysterious Secret Service badge!