Sitting in my chair and staring at the wall had become something of a habit for me. Not willfully of course. I just found myself doing it more and more lately. I didn't really understand why, either. It's not like I was unhappy. I had a nice home, a lot of friends, a ton of clients, and a pet cat. I had no reason to feel so apathetic, especially considering that I was doing what I loved for a living.

And yet still I sat, staring at the wall next to my bookcase. I don't even know why I chose that particular place to stare. There was nothing special about it really. Well, there was a little scuff on the wall from when they had moved the bookcase in, but it was practically invisible. You had to really be looking for it to notice it. Which I was, and I did, every day for some time now.

...It sort of looks like Abraham Lincoln.

I forcefully tore my gaze away from the wall. This is idiotic. I have work to do. It's sitting on my desk. My clients are counting on me. I pick up my pen and start working on my paperwork.

"Mr. Justice?"

I sigh angrily and look up. One of the receptionists had stuck her head into my office. She shrunk back behind the door, away from my gaze. "Uh, Mr. Wright wanted to speak to you..."

I glare at her a moment longer before setting down my pen. "Tell him I'll be right there."

She nods quickly and shuts the door. As I stand and cross the room to the door, I hope whatever Phoenix wanted to talk about was important.

Maya is sitting at her desk outside Phoenix's office, humming a tune to herself as she examines a rather thick case file. She looks up when she sees me striding towards her. "Hey Polly," she says with a little wave.

I just nod curtly at her. I know I should say hi, that she's a friend and I'm being impolite, but for some reason I'm feeling pretty irritable. "Phoenix wanted to see me," I state simply.

She looks up at me when she hears the irritation in my voice and raises an eyebrow. "You okay?" She asks.

"Fine," I reply curtly, sticking my hands into my pockets. "Just a little busy."

She's looking directly into my eyes now. I find myself wanting to turn away, to avert my gaze. I find it rather odd that Maya is one of the only people who can get that kind of reaction out of me anymore.

"He's inside," she says, giving me an odd, almost concerned look.

I nod at her again and head past her through the large wooden double doors into Phoenix Wright's office.

"Ah, Apollo!" He says jovially, standing up from his wingback chair with the help of his cane. "Have a seat!"

I cross the large office and plop heavily into one of the almost too comfortable chairs in front of his desk. He seats himself after me and leans his cane against the side of his chair.

"What did you want to speak to me about?" I ask, getting straight to business.

He leafs through some files and charts on his desk, not bothering to look up as he speaks. "A few things. Firstly, I'd like an update on the Nack trial, secondly, I've heard that the evidence reexamination in the Coolidge case isn't going to be finished until Friday, thirdly, the request for dismissal regarding the Fleegman trial hasn't been filed yet, and finally," he looks up from his desk and grins at me through his salt and pepper beard, "are you busy this weekend?"

The last question takes me by surprise exactly as he intended it to, but I recover quickly. "We're fully prepared to defend Mr. Nack, the evidence being reexamined is hardly decisive in favor of Mr. Coolidge, I was working on the paperwork for it before you called me in here, and no, I suppose I'm not, why?"

"Maya's throwing a little get together at our house on Saturday," he explained. "Just friends, no clients."

"Who's going to be there?" I ask, peering at him.

"Oh, you know," he said, waving his hand as he looked up towards the ceiling. "Edgeworth, Trucy, Klavier, Dick and Maggey Gumshoe...I even heard Franziska might be in town."

"And?" I prompt, frowning slightly.

His beard twitches. "Well, I suppose Ema and her sister might be-"

"Pass," I interrupt, firmly crossing my arms.

He sighs and rests his cheek on his fist, staring across the desk at me. I know what he's about to say, and I know why he's going to say it. For a long time now, Phoenix has taken it upon himself to be my caretaker, my surrogate father. He thinks that he knows what's best in every situation, and he can tell me exactly what I'm supposed to do or think or feel. Most of the time it's just sort of annoying, but right now, it's infuriating.

"Apollo," he says, "you want to know what I think?"

"I don't need your opinion," I say gruffly.

"I think you're acting like a child," he continues, ignoring my protest. "Honestly, when are you two just going to get over each other?"

"She's the one who needs to get over herself," I retort quietly, averting my gaze and looking at one of the many pictures of his friends Phoenix hangs on the wall.

"Just because two people have a thing and it doesn't work out," he says with a shake of his head, "doesn't mean they have to hate each other for the rest of their lives."

"With all due respect sir," I say angrily, turning and glaring at him, "butt out. I don't need your advice, and I don't need your help. Now if that's all Mr. Wright, I'll excuse myself. I have to finish that request for dismissal."

He doesn't flinch, doesn't even blink as I stand and storm out the office. I close the double doors behind me with more force than is necessary and I can feel Maya staring at my back as I retreat to my office.

I was staring at the wall again.

I had managed to get some paperwork done, including that request for dismissal, but slowly my focus weakened and I lost concentration and now here I am again, staring at that scuff on the wall that looks sort of looks like a dead president.

Why was I doing this? What was making me do it? There had to be a reason. I began racking my brain, searching for anything that could be held responsible for my lack of focus. I kept hitting on the same thing, but I refused to consider it. It hadn't bothered me for years now, why should it be bothering me now?

...It even has a little stovepipe hat.

I clench my teeth and look away. "Screw this," I say aloud to the empty room as I push myself up from my desk. I stride across my office and pull open the door and point at the first person I see.

"You."

A young kid, early twenties maybe, with a strange hairdo. He turns and gives me a deer-in-the-headlights look. "Me?"

I point inside my office. "There's work in there that needs to get done by the end of the day. If you can't do it, find someone who can."

He nods quickly. "Uh, yes sir."

I pull my red jacket off the coathook next to my door and storm across the building, heading for the elevator. I wasn't going to get any more work done today, that much was clear, but I didn't want to head home yet either. I did the only thing I felt would help alleviate my troubles.

"Another round, bartender."

He makes a show of pouring the beer into a frosted glass and sliding it across the bar at me. I catch it in one of my hands and raise it to my lips. Third one in a row. Good thing I didn't have a car.

I hear the bell atop the front door jingle as someone enters the bar. I see a flash of blue out of the corner of my eye and I already know who it is. She walks behind me and plops herself on the stool next to me at the end of the bar. I see her pull a pair of underwear out of the little bag she wears at her side. She does a little flourish, then pulls out a bottle out of them and sets it in front of me. The label has been removed and replaced with a white piece of paper taped to the front. It says "To: Polly From: Trucy" on it.

I can't help but laugh a little. "Thanks," I say, finally turning to look at her.

Trucy still wore her magician's outfit most everywhere. The bright blue top hat and long cape with the diamond-shaped clasp, the black dress with the golden buttons, and the tall white boots. Her long, shoulder length hair was a deep brown and seemed to go exactly where she wanted it to. She always had a smile on her face. She looked a lot like our mother.

"How you feelin'?" She asks, pulling another bottle out of the magical pair of underwear she had in her hands.

"Pretty terrible," I say honestly, "thanks for asking."

"Anything I can do?" She asks, stuffing the blue panties with hearts on them back into the bag at her side.

"Don't think so, Trucy." I say with a sigh.

She grins a little wider. "What about-"

"No, there's nothing Mr. Hat can do either," I say firmly, cutting her off before she can bust out her wooden puppet friend. Her face falls a little, but she quickly recovers from the disappointment and begins attempting to unscrew the cap of her bottle.

"Dad says you've been acting a little oddly lately," she grunts as she wrestles with what I realize is a root beer. I reach over and take it from her, twisting off the cap. I hear her mumble something about loosening it for me as I hand it back to her.

"Did he send you over here?" I ask petulantly.

She looks a little shocked at my tone. "I came here on my own Apollo," she says firmly, crossing her arms.

I look over at her and instantly regret what I said. "I'm sorry. I've just been in a mood lately."

"What mood?"

'I don't know," I sigh. "Angry, I guess. Frustrated."

"Why?" She asks innocently.

"I don't know," I lie.

A brief pause. She leans forward into my field of vision. "I think you do."

"Oh come on, Trucy..." I protest weakly.

"Apollo, this can't go on forever. She's the head forensic analyst at the police department, you can't avoid her for the rest of your life."

"What, so I should just call her up and say 'hey, it's your ex, you wanna come over and talk old times?'"

"Well, why not?"

I sigh wearily. Trucy had always lacked a certain subtlety.

"Just call her, Polly," she says gently, taking her root beer and standing up. "It's not like it'll make things any worse."

"See you around!" She calls out brightly, the little bell atop the door jingling as she leaves the bar.

I sit there for a minute, nursing my beer and listening to the slow jazz piping in through the speakers. Slowly, I pull my cell phone out of my pocket. I still have her number in my contact list.

I'm seriously considering either calling her or deleting the number when it rings. I almost drop it. I look at the caller I.D.

Ema Skye.

A fierce battle wages in my mind for almost three rings before I screw up my resolve and answer it.

"Hello?"

I hear a deep breath on the other end of the line. "It's me."

"I was just thinking of calling you," I say for lack of anything better.

"Really?" She sounds a little shocked.

"Yeah."

A pause. "I think...maybe it's time that we talked."

I felt my stomach churn. I wasn't looking forward to it, but I figured it was something I had to do. "I can meet you at the park in a half hour."

"Alright..." Now she sounds taken aback, like she didn't expect me to agree. "I'll see you there, I guess."

I mumble a goodbye and hang up. I pay for my drinks and leave, making sure not to forget the bottle of beer Trucy had given me. It was a bit of a walk to the park. Hopefully the trip would sober me up a bit.

Gourd Lake is quite pretty in the summer, especially on days like this. The sun was getting lower on the horizon, the trees casting long shadows across the footpath. The lake seemed to sparkle as people floated out on boats or children swam and played in the water. There was a light breeze which felt cool on my face as I sat on the park bench. Occasionally someone would pass by, jogging or walking their dog. There was still quite a bit of activity in the park.

I lean back, throwing my arm over the back of the bench and staring out at the lake.

I hear her walk up, her heels clicking on the paved path and her bag clinking with test tubes and beakers. She must have just come from work. I find it very hard to turn my head and look at her, so I continue to stare at the lake as she sits next to me.

"Hey," she greeted quietly.

"Hey," I replied, my tone a little caustic.

There's a brief pause. "Are you even going to look at me?" She asks indignantly. I grit my teeth and turn towards her.

Thick brown hair, some of which is done up in a bushy sort of ponytail near the back of her head, some of which hangs down past her ears and shoulders, framing her face nicely. Her expression is still as grumpy as ever. She still has her pink-lensed glasses on top of her head. Still has her white labcoat, sleeves rolled up a little. Still wears that green vest and that pink neckerchief thing. Still has the brown capris and the black heels.

She's still as pretty as I remember her being.

"How do we start this?" I ask honestly.

Her expression softens. "I don't know. I'm a little new at this myself."

There's a long silence, broken only by the sound of children laughing in the distance and the wind rustling the leaves on the trees. She takes a small bag of chocolate Snackoos out of bag and starts munching on them. When she sees me staring she offers me some. I accept, despite my upset stomach. I hadn't liked Snackoos when we first met, but they had grown on me over the years.

"I'm not sorry for leaving," she says suddenly, her voice stern and resolute. I clench my jaw and look out at the lake.

"But I am sorry for the way I left," she finishes, staring at the path in front of the bench.

I felt like I needed to say something, but I was finding it hard to speak. "I...regret some of the things I said that day."

"Some?" She asks bitterly.

I sigh wearily. "All."

We stare out at the lake, not looking at one another. I lean forward, elbows on my thighs and fingers laced together.

"Was there any other way it could have turned out?" I ask quietly, not really speaking to her.

"I don't think so," she replies, almost sadly. "Some people just aren't meant to be together."

"Is that what you think?" I turn my head towards her, a curious look on my face.

She glances sidelong at me. "It's what I tell myself."

A family walks past us, a husband and wife and two kids, one with an inner tube around his waist. They're talking and laughing and eating ice cream cones from the vendor at the entrance of the park. They pass us without a glance in our direction.

"I need a drink," Ema says with a sigh.

I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out the beer Trucy gave me. I pull off the paper before Ema can see it and stuff it into my pocket, handing her the bottle. She gives me a weird look, but is grateful all the same. "Thanks."

She hands me her bag of Snackoos as she unscrews the cap and takes a sip. She smacks her lips and turns towards me. "You know this is root beer, right?"

I blink as I realize Trucy never told me what it was. "Uh, yeah. Of course."

She smiles a little, amused, and turns back to the lake. We sit in silence for a few minutes as she drinks her soda and I munch on a few Snackoos. Eventually she breaks the silence.

"What do you want?" She asks simply, setting her drink down next to her feet.

I give her the only answer I can. "I don't know."

"I guess..." She crosses her arms and leans back, looking up at the tree branches hanging over us. "I just want us to be friends again."

"That's a tall order," I grumble, scratching my head.

"For me, too," she retorts, looking off to the side and frowning.

In my head I count the years since the day she left. It's more than I thought. I consider my life since then, what I've said and thought and done, and how I've felt recently. I find that, more than anything, I'm disappointed in myself. Briefly, I wonder if she's the cause of it all, but the thought is gone as soon as it arrives. I know the blame lies with me. I'm not sure how to fix it, but I figure that a good first step is in order.

"I don't know how long it will be until things are normal between us. I'm not even sure they can be again." I turn towards her, running a hand through my hair. "But I'm willing to give it a shot."

She looks at me, more than a little surprised. I see a look in her eyes that's almost like relief, and she reaches over and puts her hand on mine.

"So am I."

I hum a little tune as I enter my office, setting my briefcase on my desk and opening it. I remove the tools I brought from home and walk over to the wall. I position the nail just above the scuff on the wall next to my bookcase and hammer away until I'm certain it's in solidly. I return to my briefcase and remove the memento I got from out of my closet and hang it on the wall.

It's a picture of Ema and I, taken by Trucy almost fifteen years ago. We're in a booth at a restaurant, I don't remember the name. She's grinning wickedly and throwing a Snackoo at the camera. I'm covering my eyes with my hand and laughing.

I brush a little dust off the frame that I must have missed when I cleaned it earlier, then step back and survey my handiwork. Honest Abe's head is covered entirely by the picture.

I smile and turn around, crossing the room and opening the door to my office, pointing at the first person I see.

"You."

The same young kid from yesterday. He jumps when hears my voice and gives me a nervous look. "Yes sir?"

"Tell Mr. Wright I'll be there on Saturday at one o'clock. He'll understand."

He sighs in relief and nods at me. "Yes sir."

I grin at him and duck back into my office. I have work to do. My clients are counting on me.

"Well, they're talking again," I say with a smile.

Ema and Apollo are standing over near the dining table. Ema is talking animatedly about work and Apollo is nodding, even smiling on occasion. Lana is with them too, piping up once in a while to correct her sister or expand on a particular anecdote.

"Indeed they are, Fraulein," he says with a grin, brushing his blonde hair out of his face. "Thank you for your assistance."

"Oh, it was nothing," I say, tipping my top hat. "I should have talked to him sooner."

Ema says something and Apollo starts laughing. I turn towards Klavier and put my hand up, palm forward. "Put it up."

He laughs and high fives me, and we do a little victory dance.