And I Say Yes
jibrailis

Summary:
Phoenix totally thinks Edgeworth and Blackquill are doing it.


Phoenix crumples his napkin absently and looks up at his lunch date. He's got to admit, the coffee shop two blocks from the prosecutors' office isn't quite the swank place he'd expect to go for a lunch with His Haughty Holiness, Miles Edgeworth. The place doesn't even have real cutlery — and don't think he didn't see that slight cringe of Edgeworth's shoulders when those manicured fingers of his were forced to grip a plastic spoon. Phoenix's smile tilts upwards.

"Glad you suggested lunch," he says cheerily.

"I suggested lunch?" Edgeworth replies. "I was under the impression it was a mutual agreement. In fact, if I were so pressed, I would suggest this lunch affair was your idea, since you wanted to discuss the Dinopa proceedings."

"Actually, I'd rather not," Phoenix says. "Discuss the Dinopa proceedings, I mean." He leans back in his chair. "It's pretty cut and dry, don't you think?"

"What I think is very different from what you think, Wright," Edgeworth replies. "Thank god."

Phoenix grins some more. "I really enjoy these chats." He glances at his latte. "The food too."

Edgeworth twitches again. Oh, this is so much fun, Phoenix thinks.

"I suffer this place merely because it is sufficiently distant from the prosecutors' office so that we may have some semblance of privacy," Edgeworth retorts, eyeing his tuna fish sandwich with the malevolent suspicion he affords teenagers hanging around his sports car. "The quality of the food is an unfortunate compromise for the privacy."

"If you're not going to eat that sandwich, I'll steal it from you," Phoenix says. In response, Edgeworth pushes the sandwich ever so slightly towards Phoenix' direction.

"Be my guest," Edgeworth says.

Truth is, Phoenix has been Edgeworth's guest for some time now, some time being defined as "the past eight years." It turns out that the secret of getting under Edgeworth's skin and making him treat you with some measure of human sympathy is being humiliated and disbarred. It's not a trick Phoenix plans to pull more than once — for tricks, he has Trucy, after all — but it's one of the less awful side effects of the whole fiasco. When Phoenix was down on his luck, Edgeworth reached out to him. Took him to lunches. Accompanied him to the occasional movie. Called for his help when Edgeworth was working in Europe, and took him sight-seeing when the court sessions were done.

Phoenix wouldn't hesitate to say that they're friends now. Real friends, who meet for drinks just to chat, who don't need to come up with convoluted excuses just to pick up the phone. It's nice. It is, Phoenix privately thinks, a long time coming.

He takes the time to watch Edgeworth finish the rest of his Earl Grey tea — noticing that even though Edgeworth compares it to the gunk off Gumshoe's boot, he still drinks it anyway. "You're a lot mellower these days," Phoenix observes, taking in Edgeworth's less than perfect posture in his chair and the slide of his glasses down his nose bridge.

Edgeworth smiles. Point made: he is a lot mellower. The old Edgeworth, wracked between frustration and ambition and self-hatred, would have never smiled like that, like the world was actually a decent place to be in today. Edgeworth clears his throat. "Well, that may be-"

A shadow falls over the table. A hawk cries out and drops a piece of paper onto the table.

"Um," Phoenix says.

Edgeworth picks up the paper and reads it. "Prosecutor Blackquill informs me the Gorgon case has a startling new development. I have to go." He pulls on his coat and pushes his glasses back up his nose.

"...see you later," Phoenix says to the air. Edgeworth is gone before he even finishes the sentence. Phoenix eats the untouched remains of Edgeworth's tuna sandwich, chewing slowly. He checks his watch. It's only half past twelve.

The artfully tousled college student sweeping the floors says, "Hey, no pets allowed."


They make another lunch date, this time to actually talk about the Dinopa case. It's not even a coffee shop this time, but a downtown Japanese restaurant of Edgeworth's choosing, and it's not even during their lunch hours but in that nebulous, fantastical concept known as after work. Trucy had snickered at Phoenix when he left the agency, saying something about his nice tie. What was wrong with that? he'd asked her. A man gainfully employed could afford a nice tie or two.

Look, even Edgeworth has a nice tie. Or ruffles. Whatever those frilly things he wears at his neck are — Phoenix has never been sure, and has always valued his own life too much to ask. It's fine, he thinks as Edgeworth stands up to greet him at their reserved table. They're men of a certain age now. Of a certain flair. They're allowed to develop fashion and preen a bit — for god's sake, didn't Phoenix wear a beanie for forever? He has a lot of ground to cover.

Edgeworth looks good in his… ruffles. Phoenix thinks he doesn't look too bad himself, not that this was his goal or anything. Edgeworth has already ordered the wine for both of them — obnoxious bastard, Phoenix thinks fondly, as he sits down. Edgeworth smooths his napkin over his lap. Phoenix immediately starts eating from the bread basket.

"Do your subordinates not feed you at the Wright Anything Agency?" Edgworth asks, lip curled.

"What's wrong with the bread?" Phoenix asks with his mouth full. It comes out sounding more like "watsongwbed." He swallows. "Oh wait, you're not on one of those gluten-free diets, are you? Or a diet period. To keep with your-" he waves his hands, "-girlish figure."

"My what?"

"Oh sure," Phoenix says easily. He reaches for the wine. "Haven't you read all those recent articles by Lotta? 'Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth cutting a swathe among women with his trim figure, almost heartbreakingly pretty except for the masculine glint in his-"

"Wright?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up," Edgeworth says.

Phoenix snickers. Edgeworth gives him a look of utter evil, and is about to browse the menu for their appetizers when his phone rings with the Steel Samurai theme song. "I thought you were trying not to bring work home with you," Phoenix says.

"What makes you think it's work?" Edgeworth asks.

Phoenix shrugs. If Edgeworth has a personal life outside of these occasional meals with his one friend — yours truly —, he has yet to know it.

Edgeworth picks up. The person on the other end speaks, and something happens to Edgeworth's face. It softens. There's a kindness to his expression, like he's watching a baby deer or seeing a beautiful sunset. "Simon," he says, and Phoenix goes still. "Yes. Yes. No, it wasn't a mistake to call. I'll be right there." He pauses. "I'm not doing anything important right now."

He hangs up. "My apologies, Wright. We'll have to do this some other time."

"Sure," Phoenix says nonchalantly. "Like you said, it's not important."

Edgeworth looks at him, a brief indecipherable glance. "That's right," he says, and then he takes his coat and is gone again.

Simon Blackquill, third wheel. The thought floats to the top of Phoenix's head before he can squash it back down.


"Do you think he wears nice ties?" he asks Athena.

"Who?" she wonders. She's sitting cross-legged on her desk, listening to music. It helps her concentrate and block out other people's distracting emotions, except for the part where she's removed one earbud to listen to Phoenix distracting her.

"Blackquill," he says.

"I don't think he even wears ties," she says.

Phoenix considers that. "Do you think he's handsome?"

Athena blushes.

"Objection!" Phoenix points. "He's not that handsome!" How can Blackquill be handsome? Yes, Phoenix respects his ability in court, but in terms of pure physique Blackquill is pale and smudge-eyed and weird-haired and he carries that damn bird with him everywhere he goes. Is that the sort of thing girls — and Edgeworth? — find appealing nowadays? Phoenix feels so old.

"Come on, boss," Athena chirps. "Who cares, right? So what if Simon Blackquill is handsomer than sin with eyes darker than midnight? We've got the Dinopa case to win!"

They do, and they do. They win so hard that Blackquill pounds his fist against the prosecutor's stand while Taka cries out in misery. Phoenix strikes a victorious pose that maybe lasts a second too long, when he notices Edgeworth in the stands. He waves. Edgeworth frowns and doesn't wave back.

Afterwards, in the lobby, Phoenix makes a beeline for Edgeworth, but Edgeworth slips past him, cool as an eel, and goes for Blackquill. "Don't worry, this case was only a formality," Phoenix hears Edgeworth say. "You did well."

"Thank you, sir," Blackquill says stiffly.

"Come," Edgeworth says. "We'll have a coffee and regroup." He glances over his shoulder at Phoenix, who is staring at them slack-jawed with Athena and Apollo orbiting uselessly around him. Edgeworth turns away while putting one hand on Blackquill's broad, manly shoulders. "There's a place not far from the courthouse," he notes.

Apollo follows Phoenix's gaze. "They are totally dating," he says. "I see them together all the time."

"Oh my god," Phoenix says. He feels a bit weak in the knees.


He begins to see it everywhere.

Everywhere.

It is not even possible for a man to be able to see that many… lewd suggestions, but once opened, the faucet keeps gushing. An IKEA furniture display suddenly looks like a streak of white, black, and grey — like Edgeworth and Blackquill's heads brushing against each other while whispering secret nothings. A car's engine sounds like Edgeworth's vehicle, squealing rubber on the road in his haste to get to his beloved. A romance novel in a bookstore looks like two men entwined in bed while the summary on the back reads: HE WAS HIS MENTOR… HE WAS HIS STUDENT… THE OLDER MAN SHOWS THE YOUNGER THE TRUE MEANING OF LUST.

Phoenix nearly has a nervous breakdown right in the aisle.

It's ludicrous, he thinks. So what if Edgeworth has taken an especial liking to Blackquill? It's not as if that's news — the man did ask Phoenix to keep an eye on Blackquill even when he was in jail, after all. But this sudden camaraderie, the lunches, the coffees… Phoenix worked eight years and had to get disbarred to earn those, while young strapping Simon Blackquill just gets to waltz up to his Chief Prosecutor and have Edgeworth put his hand on his shoulders?

Well, there was that whole jail thing, and that wasn't really much like waltzing. But still. Phoenix knows what Edgeworth looks like when he admires someone and has great affection for them. He's seen the look turned onto Franziska on occasion, and on those very, very rare moments, Phoenix as well. There's definitely a look when Edgeworth gazes at Blackquill.

Phoenix keeps seeing the romance novel images behind his eyes. He can just imagine it: Edgeworth luring young Blackquill into his office, Blackquill cool and proud, but inexperienced and skittish after so many years imprisoned. Edgeworth, imperial, closing the door behind him. Edgworth removing his cravat, and then pushing Blackquill onto his knees. Edgeworth looking down at him from behind those glasses — those stupid aristocratic glasses! — and Blackquill trembling in haste to get his mouth on Edgeworth's cock, already growing hard from beneath three layers of clothing. Blackquill divesting Edgeworth eagerly of those clothes…

Or it could go the other way around too. Blackquill hungry and predatory, too long denied the pleasures of the flesh. Edgeworth inviting him into his office for an impromptu spot of tea, growing flustered when Blackquill doesn't tear his eyes away from his face. Edgeworth in his seat, and Blackquill advancing on him, putting his hands on Edgeworth's knees. Sir, Blackquill would say in that silky voice of his, while Edgeworth makes token protests about workplace hierarchy and inappropriateness before Blackquill's mouth descends on his and all protests are driven away by the wet curl of Blackquill's tongue, while Edgeworth thinks, This is what I have wanted all along…

Phoenix sits bolt upright in horror. The imagination that has won him so many court cases has now turned brutally, traitorously against him.

He calls Edgeworth. It's ten o'clock at night, but he calls him anyway.

"Yes?" Blackquill picks up.

Phoenix's life is over.


"I'm Phoenix Wright and I'm fine!" Apollo shouts. "See, like that?"

"I'm Phoenix Wright… and I'm miserable," Phoenix says. He lies on the couch in his agency watching the flies gather on the ceiling. Those flies should probably not be there — but he doesn't have the energy to do anything so meaningless as household hygiene.

Apollo squints at him. "Man, where was that cool, mysterious hobo I used to be so impressed by?"

"Cross-examination indicates that the cool, mysterious hobo was entirely a figment of your imagination," Phoenix says. "He was just a man all along. A man weak to the highs and lows of life, a man thrown about on the tides of fate to—"

"Daddy, you're scaring me," Trucy says.


Okay. It's bad form to make your daughter's upper lip quiver like that. Phoenix gets off the couch, chases away the flies, changes his clothes, and shaves. Taking his life into his own hands, he scrolls through his phone's contact list, looking for someone to ask out on a Friday night date. He ends up frowning. "Why don't I have a single possible date?"

"Because you spend all your dating time with Mister Edgeworth," Trucy says.

"No!" Athena shouts. "Ixnay on the Edgeworth-ay!"

"Great, now you're going to make him cry," Apollo says crossly.

"Guys, I am not going to cry," Phoenix says. He tucks his phone into his pocket. "I may have had a moment of weakness—"

They shudder.

"-but the past few years have been tough for me, and I'm sure you are all gracious enough to understand." He turns to Trucy. "Daddy has been busy trying to overturn the dark age of the law, but now he needs to make new friends."

"Those kinds of friends?" she asks.

"Any kinds of friends," Phoenix says firmly. "Don't wait up for me tonight, kids." He takes two steps towards the door, returns to his desk to grab his bus pass, and then strides through the door with all the formidable weight and gait of a star attorney.

"I'll get the ice cream ready," he hears Athena whisper.

Children and strays are the most ungrateful, he thinks. He walks down to the bus stop at the edge of the street and boards the 412 when it arrives. It drops him off downtown where he heads into the first bar he sees. Jazz and smoky lights and whiskey — oh yeah, he can live with this. There are two women at the bar, and a sylph-like young man with a piercing through his nose. Phoenix walks up to him and smiles. "Hi," he says.


The sylph-like young man's name is Jared. His fingers are warm when they curl around Phoenix's wrist and pull him onto the hotel bed.

"...and then my girlfriend turned into a psychotic serial killer, except it wasn't her the entire time but her twin sister, who got put in jail, and I tried to visit, I really did, but jail was when she discovered she was a lesbian…"

"Dude," Jared says, "are you ever going to stop talking and fuck me?"

Phoenix thinks about it.

"Ugh." Jared rolls over. "This is the worst lay ever."

"...and I don't think their lunches are really lunches, if you get what I mean!" Phoenix says. "Oh wait, sorry, can I have my pants back? It's getting chilly in here."


Blackquill's office is on the third floor of the prosecutors' building. Phoenix visits him to wrap up the last few tangles of the Dinopa case, while Blackquill stares at him warily. "This is really unnecessary, Wright," he says. "You could have simply sent me an email. There was no need for you to come downtown just for this."

You know what's really unecessary? Phoenix very nearly says. Sleeping with your boss!

"I don't believe in email," is what he says instead. "I opt for the more personal touch. It seems like a long forgotten courtesy."

"Hmm," Blackquill says. "You aren't the only one. Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth is much like that as well."

"Well, we did grow up together," Phoenix brags.

"He's mentioned that," Blackquill replies. He reaches over to shuffle a few papers on his desk. Taka glares at them from the corner. "I imagine it's quite useful for a defense attorney to have such a bond with the Chief Prosecutor."

Phoenix narrows his eyes. Blackquill stares back at him, and Phoenix knows there is a moment when Blackquill understands — that what he sees isn't Phoenix Wright the affable attorney but Phoenix Wright, the man who lost everything and clawed his way back up again. Then Phoenix blinks. He doesn't try to be that man too often; just because you can't escape the darkness of your past doesn't mean you need to let it rule you.

"If you're suggesting I somehow influence Edgeworth in an undue way," Phoenix says, "let me tell you that is completely untrue. He doesn't listen to a single thing I say."

"Oh?" Blackquill says. "I think he listens to more than you think."

"Why are you telling me this?" Phoenix asks casually.

Blackquill snorts. "Because I read the bathroom graffiti in this building. Because I have eyes. Because the two of you are terrible at pretending you don't care. Because every time I pull the Chief Prosecutor away from his meetings with you, he is ill-tempered and nearly bites my head off for every inconsequential detail. I can't have him so distracted, like he's itching to be done so he can get back to what he was doing before; do something about it."

"Do what?" Phoenix asks.

"How did you pass the bar without passing fifth grade biology?" Blackquill asks. "It's astonishing."


This is what is astonishing: the lurid pinkness of Edgeworth's office.

This is what is astonishing: the curve of Edgeworth's jaw when he clenches it. "Wright," he says as he opens the door. "You don't have an appointment."

"Nope," Phoenix says, strolling in, "but here I am anyway."

"Hm," Edgeworth says. Phoenix reaches around him and shuts the door with two fingers. "What are you doing?" Edgeworth asks. "Is this about Gorgon?" There's a skein of hesitation in his voice — uncertainty, perhaps. It makes Phoenix brave, and Phoenix is a man who has run across a burning bridge to save someone he loves. Bravery is not something he normally needs more of, but he does right now.

"It's not about Gorgon," he says. "It's about-" He thinks of all the poetic ways to say this, of all the high flung rhetoric of opening statements and legal decrees. "Look, are you and Blackquill banging each other?"

"Pardon me?" Edgeworth's voice could impress an opera singer. "What are you — where in the world did you get that ridiculous notion in your mealy brain?"

Phoenix squirms. "You always look really happy to see him."

"As I am happy to see all of my young, successful prosecutors with half an intellect," Edgeworth shoots back. "Did you really think — dear lord, do other people think so too?" He looks frazzled, and furious, and Phoenix wants to kiss him so badly.

"No!" he says. "At least, I don't think so. Apollo might've made a comment, but wait, never mind, that's not what I wanted to say."

"You mean you didn't plan to barge into my office just to accuse me of abusing my power with my employees?" Edgeworth asks coldly. "You had another genius goal as well?"

"It's not a genius goal," Phoenix says.

"Colour me shocked."

"It's a bad idea, actually," Phoenix says. "It's a really bad idea. It's a horrible, idiotic, super bad idea, and I didn't even let myself think about it because I was so used to the way things were, and so grateful that you were being my friend again — I didn't let myself want anything more."

Edgeworth is pale. "Wright, this isn't—"

"Yeah," Phoenix says, "yeah it is." He leans forward — slowly, to give Edgeworth time to recoil if he wants to, to hit him, to say no this isn't what I want, get away you spiky-haired sexual harassment suit in the making. But that's not what Edgeworth does. When Phoenix leans forward, there's a sound in the office that's Edgeworth taking a breath — or maybe Edgeworth letting one go. Phoenix reaches for him and presses his knuckles against Edgeworth's tight jaw, and then kisses him softly, tenderly.

"A bad idea, right?" he murmurs when their mouths part.

"You have no conception of how bad an idea this is," Edgeworth says, but he swallows and grabs Phoenix by the shoulders, pulling him into a kiss that shakes the both of them. It's hot and needy and wet; Phoenix's tongue slides into Edgeworth's mouth, and Edgeworth makes what is a truly filthy moan that goes straight to Phoenix's cock. Eventually they have to break away for breath.

"I didn't want him to have you," Phoenix pants. "I wanted you to be mine to lose."

Edgeworth smirks. His mouth is wet. The tightness in his jaw lets go. "Do you ever lose? I thought that was part of your obnoxious charm. Bluffing and stumbling your way to unanimous victory."

"I lose sometimes," Phoenix says quietly.

"No," Edgeworth says, "not this time." He straightens and goes around his desk for his coat and wallet. "It's getting late. I have nothing else to do. Let's go for dinner. Somewhere where no one can find us."

Phoenix smiles. "I know a place. They serve good borscht."