A/N: An attempt at humor, which probably fails. I also haven't played the game for a while, so I apologize for any mistakes.

Anyway, Phoenix Wright and other associated titles do not belong to me. Clearly.

Trucy hummed the opening theme of Pink Princess softly under her breath as she worked. Daddy could say what he liked about the Steel Samurai, but the Pink Princess was a classic! And how could he say that she was off-tune?

Though he was the piano player in their family, so maybe he'd know?

There! Her spaghetti had been boiling just about long enough. Now all she had to do – someone was ringing at this hour? Well, new additions to their talent agency were always welcome.

"Hello! Wright Talent Agency!" she beamed.

"Whoa there, Trucy-doll!"

"Sorry," she chirped, setting the boiling pot down on the floor next to the shoe-rack. (There was a gigantic pair of clown shoes on it. Apollo had called it an eyesore. Daddy retorted that it was the payment he'd gotten for an extraordinarily convoluted case. Polly had gone the most adorable shade of white after that.) "What do you think? I'm making Polly dinner!"

"Young boys need their energy, eh?" Mr. Eldoon grinned. "I'm sure he'll be grateful. Just remember –"

"Lots of salt?" Trucy glanced into her pot. Salt, check. And Apollo claimed that she didn't know how to cook!

Mr. Eldoon was practically an uncle; he was no less valuable than her two fathers or any of the other assorted members of their family. Why, without his reduced-price noodles just for them, she and Daddy probably would have starved before she'd started her magic shows. But still, he usually didn't come to visit so late.

"Daddy's not here, you know," she informed him.

"I know. He actually passed by my stand a while ago, telling me he was going to the police station about some prisoner he put in there escaping. He told me he'd be coming home late, and his apprentice is somewhere else, too, isn't he? So here I am, watching over you!"

"I don't need someone to protect me, Mr. Eldoon," Trucy huffed. "I'm old enough to take care of myself."

"That's what I told him, Trucy-doll. So he told me to tell you that he'd pay you five dollars to take care of me until someone else comes home."

Choices, choices… should she get a rubber haddock or a string of Magic Panties (bloomer version, half price~!)? She did need new props, after all.

"Which prisoner's escaped?" she wondered out loud.

"Don't worry, I'm sure they'll catch him soon," Mr. Eldoon assured her, eyeing the pot thoughtfully. "I think those are starting to look a bit limp now."

She spooned the slightly – slightly! – limp noodles into three bowls, then added a somewhat lacking amount into a fourth bowl. "Would you like some, Mr. Eldoon?"

"Nah, I've already ate my homemade noodles."

"Okay, then make yourself at home, just don't touch Daddy's piano or Polly's Chords of Steel."

What else – oh, right! The spaghetti sauce should be somewhere in the bathroom cabinets, if she remembered correctly. (They'd gotten it from a case where there'd been something about bloodstains actually being tomato sauce stains that proved the colorblind defendant couldn't have done it.) After dumping liberal amounts onto each helping, she piled the pots she'd used into the sink. Polly had dish washing for his chore this week, anyway.

She giggled to herself, imagining the look on their faces when they came back to see that, just for once, they didn't have to order out or eat noodles-in-a-cup. No, this was home-made noodles by yours truly, Trucy Wright – take that!

But it was difficult to just wait, so she cracked open one of her magic books.

After a while, she went to check on Mr. Eldoon. He was sleeping on the sofa and snoring sort of loudly.

The spaghetti was starting to get cold. Daddy probably wouldn't mind, but Polly definitely would. They'd have to heat it up later. Trucy stamped her feet impatiently – it was already nearing 9:00 and they still weren't home!

Maybe – oh, she still had Klavier's number. He always seemed to keep tabs on Apollo's movements. They really were good friends, weren't they? Just like Mr. Edgey and Daddy! (Only they didn't yell at each other as much. Did that mean they were closer or should she ask Klavier to insult Polly more?)

It was taking an unusually long time to connect to his cell phone; it was a glittery purple thing with the letter G shining across the back, and she wanted something just like that, only Daddy was too cheap.

"Klavier Gavin speaking. Who is this?" Finally! Except he didn't sound as princely as usual, and he was breathing somewhat hard.

Maybe he'd just been riding at the edge of the limit on his motorcycle?

"Hello, this is Trucy. Do you know where Polly is?"

"Ah, Fraulein! I believe he went to visit Vera Misham. I'm heading there right now."

"Could you tell him to hurry back? I have a surprise for him, but it's getting cold."

"I'll drag him back by his spikes for you, Fraulein. Don't worry, just stay inside."

Trucy sat back now to wait, certain that any moment the door would open and Klavier and Polly would come in with one of them bristling and the other teasing him, as usual.

Just wait, any moment now…

Any moment…

The spaghetti wasn't getting any fresher, you know!

Pouting the pout that always got people to tip her more after she pulled her panties out from behind someone's ear, Trucy decided to turn on the TV. She flipped past a few assorted shows, looking for anything entertaining, really.

"– Please don't leave me, John, think of the children –"

"– And soon, the world will be under my control –"

"– In further news, Kristoph Gavin, a convicted murderer, has escaped from the high-security prison –"

Trucy went back.

Kristoph Gavin.

Who had a gun, according to the news reporter.

Who was considered extremely dangerous.

She got up abruptly and went to the window of her room, where she could see anyone walking near their home. There were no signs of either of the men of her family. (But most people would probably agree that they were just boys. After all, they still needed her to take care of them.)

Wasn't there supposed to be cheese on spaghetti, to make it taste better? Trucy got some cheese slices, placing them artistically over now-less-appetizing spaghetti.

Well, it wasn't her fault that it had gotten so cold. She'd have to get Daddy to promise to arrange a curfew from now on, because 11:00 was too late for anyone to come home.

Mr. Eldoon was not only sleeping, but sleep-whistling. Should she try to recruit him?

There was a knock on the door. Really! See if she ever made dinner again – or better yet, she'd make Apollo make dinner when she had a late-night show. (But he was really, really bad at it. Who else could burn scrambled eggs?)

"You're late, Polly… Ema? Why are you here?"

She was wearing her tinted glasses, which was normal. The expression on her face… wasn't normal. Trucy had never seen Ema look pitying, and guilty, and almost… lost? (Though she'd seen something close to it, when Ema's fingerprint analysis thing was broken.)

"Would you like to come in?"

"No, I –."

"Daddy and Polly should be here soon."

"Trucy, I'm –"

"I've got some spaghetti, and I can't believe they're late!"

"Trucy –"

"It would serve them right if the two of us ate it all –"

"Trucy."

And Ema told her why she was there. But she didn't understand, because Apollo had promised never to abandon her, even if he'd never said it like that. Trucy didn't recognize the voice that screamed, afterwards, as she closed her eyes.

"You're lying! You're lying!"