Would you believe that I actually went and checked to see if the criminal affairs department could be accessed in game from the Prosecutor's office? The things I do for a story.

And Jacqui, I know how long you've been waiting for this: yes, he's in this one. You're welcome. :3

By some brilliant stroke of good fortune, Apollo had found some change in the pocket of Dustin's pants. It was not enough for a bus ride, but it was enough to make a call from a public phone. He felt a little guilty for using it, but it was sort of for an emergency. The dial tone resounded in the space of his aching head before he heard the click of someone picking up.

"Wright Anything Agency, Phoenix Wright speaking."

Apollo paused, hesitant, "…It's me, Mr. Wright."

"Apollo? I thought you went home early."

"Well, I would have, but I kind of, sort of…" his voice dropped to an inaudible mumble.

"What was that last part?"

"I'm stuck downtown without my wallet or transportation, alright?"

Phoenix let out a hearty laugh, "Well, I hope you're in the mood for a long walk home. You know I can't drive."

Apollo rubbed at the throbbing veins in his forehead, "Yeah…see, I might've also left the key to my apartment at the agency."

Phoenix chuckled, still as jovial as ever, "Where are you right now?"

"Down town near the prosecutorial building."

There was a moment of silence as only God knew what thoughts went through Phoenix's head—Apollo certainly didn't care to take a guess.

Phoenix's voice came crackling over the line, methodical and inquisitive, "Do you like chicken, Apollo?"

In the small space of the phone booth, Apollo blinked, "…Hah?"

"Go to the criminal affairs department across the street and stay there. Don't move."

Phoenix immediately punctuated the sentence with a click, and the sound of a dial tone alerted Apollo to the fact that his boss—his one shot at getting home that day—had hung up on him. He jammed his hand into his pocket to fish out more change, only to come out with nothing but a handful of expletives rising up the back of his throat. With a vigor, he slammed the receiver onto its cradle and exclaimed the one curse that pretty much summed up his entire mood towards Phoenix Wright's cocky-ass attitude, because really, everything bad that had happened today was all. His. FAULT.

"Objection!"

This was the fourth time that same man with the trench coat had come and poked his head out of the station. He was looking for something, or possibly someone, but each time his shoulders would slump and he'd retreat back inside. On this occasion however, he slowly made his way over to the young defense attorney and placed a hand on his shoulder, startling him.

"Hey, no loitering around the station, pal, you know that, right?"

"I—" Apollo paused, not entirely sure if what he was about to say was actually true, "I'm waiting for someone."

"Oh, um…" the man looked torn between wanting to do his job properly and not wanting to look like a jerk, "Are they coming soon? You've been out here for awhile, pal."

(I have absolutely no idea if they're coming at all).

"…yes."

"Th-then…just pick another place to meet up next time, okay?"

Apollo made a show of nodding eagerly, hoping that would be enough to satisfy the man and get him to leave him alone. The man smiled, obviously satiated, and began walking back towards the building. After a few steps however, he stopped and looked back at Apollo.

"Hey, while you were out here, did you happen to see a man walking around in a red cape?"

Only half listening at this point, Apollo shook his head, and the man sighed in a dejected sort of manner and continued walking.

But then it dawned on him.

(Wait a minute…)

"Sir!"

The man stopped in his tracks and looked back again, confused.

"Um—!" Apollo felt around for something more appropriate to call this man, but then realized he hadn't even caught his name yet, "…sir. You wouldn't happen to be looking for Apollo Justice, would you?"

The man's face lit up like a light bulb, "Yeah! Do you know him, pal?!"

"…I'm Apollo Justice."

The light bulb dimmed down a few watts, "…but Mr. Wright said you'd be wearing…"

Apollo inwardly groaned—it figured that Phoenix had actively let him walk out the door knowing full well how ridiculous he looked. Apollo didn't let himself get too mad about it though, because really, what was the payoff at this point? This was clearly just one of those days, and he figured he might as well just ride it out—less painful that way, he supposed.

After spending a good ten minutes trying to convince the man that he was, in fact, Apollo Justice (I'm going to need to see some identification, pal!), the defense attorney found himself sitting in the back of a small, run down car, made only smaller by how the other man—Gumshoe, he learned—seemed to take up all the space upfront. He was crouched over the wheel, so as not to bump his head on the ceiling, broad-shouldered, and generally…well, big. The overall effect was that of a bear—a docile one though if you factored in his seemingly permanent goofy and enthusiastic demeanor, the kind that teddy bears were fashioned after.

"How do you know Mr. Wright?" Apollo ventured, trying to make polite conversation as they made their way out of the parking lot.

"Oh, we go pretty far back," he turned his head around to converse, and (oh dear lord he just passed that stop sign without stopping)—"I knew him when he was still a lawyer."

Apollo was about to say something conversational when the car lurched to the right as Gumshoe changed lanes suddenly. His stomach muscles automatically tightened in the attempt to keep himself perpendicular to the flow of gravity. The sound of an angry car horn sounded several times from the vehicle immediately behind them (a little too closely behind for Apollo's tastes).

"Well that's not very nice," was all Gumshoe had to say about it.

Apollo suddenly felt very concerned for his well-being.

"Um…Mr. Gumshoe?"

"Just Gumshoe, pal."

"Gumshoe," he repeated, "Don't take this the wrong way, um…just curious is all, but…have you ever been in any accidents?"

"Of course not! I'm a very good driver! Although," and here Apollo swallowed very hard, "there was this one time…but that was only because I was running all the red lights, pal!"

Because there was nothing better around him, Apollo gripped the seat belt strapped across his chest like his life depended on it, comforted only by a single thought—

(If I die, at least I'm not wearing that ridiculous cape.)

Trucy wasn't even all that mad that Apollo had left the costume behind at the prosecutorial building—or at least, she wasn't after he stumbled in through the door and slumped onto the couch, completely white-faced. Phoenix had never let Trucy ride with Gumshoe before, despite all his constant assertions of, "C'mon, pal! It's the least I owe you—Trucy shouldn't have to walk that far to school."

After Apollo's harrowing account of the ride over, she now knew why.

Still, she couldn't help but feel a little miffed about the costume.

"Pollyyyyyy, I worked so hard on it!"

And he really did feel bad, because despite how loathe he was to actually wear it, she really had put all her effort into it. Currently he was standing in the Wright house kitchen, shuffling back and forth between the chicken in the oven and the mash potatoes on the stove to make it up to her. Trucy was sitting on the counter peeling carrots.

(So this is what Mr. Wright meant when he asked if I liked chicken.)

Apollo glanced into the dining area where Gumshoe and Phoenix were busy setting the table, laughing about something he was too far away to hear properly. Old memories, he surmised.

His gaze lowered to where Phoenix laid down a fifth plate—was he expecting one more person?

"Hey Trucy, who else is coming to dinner?"

She puffed her cheeks and continued peeling the carrots in an admonishing way, "I'm still mad at you."

He kneeled down in front of the oven window, "I told you I was sorry!"

"Then next time keep your pants on when you're at Klavier's office."

Apollo immediately sprang up, hitting his head on the oven handle on the way. For a moment he was too busy spouting exclamations of pain and clutching at his head to say anything else.

But as soon as the sting lessened, he wasted no time in saying, "That is not what happened."

Her puffed cheeks morphed into a smile he swore could only have been inherited from Phoenix, despite the fact that they shared no genetic information, "Then what were you doing at his office?"

"N-nothing," he could already feel his cheeks beginning to color, and he busied himself with hiding it by straightening the dish towel hanging on the oven handle, "I wasn't even at his office—I was visiting Ema."

She watched him for what felt like the longest few seconds ever, then resumed peeling, that same smile never leaving her face. With one hand still nursing the bump on his head, Apollo silently stirred the potatoes, alone with the re-surfacing memories of earlier that day.

The Prosecutor's Office. Riiiiiight.

Really, it wasn't like he'd meant to be a jerk. So alright, sometimes he had a bit of a problem with being blunt—but wasn't honesty supposed to be a good thing?

But then he closed his eyes and saw the image of Klavier's pained expression painted on the backs of his lids, and something in his chest squeezed, knowing that he was the cause of it. Apollo did not like knowing he had this kind of influence over the prosecutor—the thought of having this sort of power over anyone made him feel uneasy, especially when he knew he couldn't reciprocate the person's feelings.

Then suddenly the expression changed, blurred and twisted until it was the image of Klavier advancing on him, eyes set and heavy-lidded, and knowing that he was also the cause of that made something in Apollo's stomach twist. He mentally took in the sight of Klavier, the memory of him smiling suggestively—it made him feel a lot of things that he couldn't quite place, but he was certain that the most prominent of them was guilt.

"Apollo…?"

His eyes snapped open to a cloud of steam. Almost immediately his eyes gazed down the bridge of his nose to find that at some point his fingers had traveled from the crown of his head to rest tentatively on his mouth. He withdrew it instantly, as if burned by some memory, one he tried to quell by biting down on his lower lip. He glanced to his side to find Trucy looking at him with blinking, concerned eyes. She had stopped peeling the carrots.

"…I think the potatoes are done…" she said carefully.

It took him a moment to realize what she was referring to, "…potatoes. Of course."

With fumbling hands, he moved the pot off the stove and turned off the heat. When he stood there, hand still gripping the heat nozzle and staring into some far thought, Trucy gently put the carrot and peeler she was holding down on the counter beside her.

"Are you okay? You look a little flushed…"

Apollo breathed, "I think I need some fresh air," and sharply turned towards the backyard patio.

He was otherwise too preoccupied with exiting through the glass doors to notice that the last guest of the night had finally arrived.

Miles Edgeworth was partial to certain things. He was partial to perfectly stacked files and a sharp sense of style and a good cup of hand-brewed tea (because lord knew that it was a dying skill).

He could afford to be partial about these things.

He was a well respected prosecutor and—let's face it—that paid well.

There was also factoring in his upbringing. Miles had tired of the von Karma view of ethics long ago, but certain habits never truly died, like the way he preferred his tea, classic and refined.

Apollo, he knew, did not have the same fortunes as he did, and his upbringing was a far cry from his own. From what little he had heard from Phoenix, he came from a background of little wealth and culture, parentless and penniless, and yet, when it came to law, still chose the less glamorous side of justice, choosing to defend the helpless despite the low income.

And that, he decided, was something to be respected.

"So you're Apollo?"

The aforementioned attorney lifted his head up in surprise and saw who was addressing him, "You're—!"

"As Wright refers to me, Mr. Uptight, yes."

Apollo was still wide-eyed, "You're Mr. Wright's other guest?"

"I take it you've heard of me then, other than from Wright?"

Apollo was at a loss for words—who hadn't heard of Miles Edgeworth? He silently nodded.

"That's nice to know—I'll have you know that whatever he says about me isn't true."

Apollo swallowed, "You have a…," it suddenly occurred to him how little about Miles he actually knew, other than what he'd heard about in the media, "…impressive case record."

All the prosecutor said to that was, "Mmm."

The fact that Miles Edgeworth, a high profile prosecutor, was standing next to him having casual conversation struck him as odd. Apollo figured he would have crossed paths with him eventually, as an occupational necessity, but having him over for dinner had never once been a possibility he considered. But then again, he thought, in a way it sort of made sense. Phoenix and he did have extensive court room history together, and Phoenix did mention him from time to time in a manner that suggested that they personally knew each other outside the legal house.

"He calls you Edgey." Apollo couldn't help saying.

This elicited a long sigh, "Of course he does."

"Are you two close?" Apollo couldn't help but feel curious.

Miles found his way to the railing and leaned against it, staring out into the scenery, into some far-off memory, "We met in fourth grade."

Apollo's brow rose, "That sure is a long time to know someone!"

Miles shook his head, "I disappeared from his life a few months later. It wasn't until he became a defense attorney that I saw him again, nearly fifteen years later. In court, no less."

Something perked up in Apollo's mind, memories of a case he'd read about in some newspaper years ago—'Corrupted Prosecutor: Bites the bullet after carrying one for fifteen years', or something equally ridiculous along those lines.

"The von Karma case, right?" the way Miles shifted his gaze in his direction without moving a muscle prompted Apollo to add, "Er…it was all over the papers, if I remember. Something about a prosecutor manipulating people and orchestrating a murder…"

Miles was silent for awhile, before simply stating, "Both Wright and I were involved in that case, yes. But the case I was referring to actually happened about a few months before that."

"You were the defendant for that case though, weren't you? The one with von Karma?"

Miles merely nodded, but otherwise revealed no specific emotion.

"And Mr. Wright, he was…"

"My attorney," Miles finished, and there was a certain undertone in his voice that let Apollo know he was treading on sensitive territory.

Before he could think of something safe and appropriate to say, Miles continued on, "That case…has from that point of my life completely defined who I am. I watched Wright drag up my inner demons—against my own wishes, mind you, he never did learn how to listen—and somehow he managed to overcome them in a way I never could."

Apollo wondered briefly, silently, why Miles was telling him all this.

" I…owe him my life, in every aspect of the concept," the prosecutor then flashed him a look that practically sent shivers down his spine, "Not that I'd ever admit it to him."

Apollo took this look to mean that it was probably in his best interests to not mention it to Phoenix either.

He coughed to ease the tension, "Uh…no offense Mr. Edgeworth, but…I have no idea why you're telling me this…"

Miles' face softened, and in that second Apollo couldn't help but note how different he was from what he had expected. The Miles Edgeworth he had seen in pictures always seemed so exact and calculated, unreachable and distant. But the man standing before him seemed almost…warm, in a weathered sort of way, as if it was the result of years of rigid defrosting, and for a moment Apollo found it a little easier to believe that maybe him and Phoenix were in fact long-time friends.

A small, knowing smile graced Miles' lips, "It's not unlike you and Prosecutor Gavin, is it not?"

Apollo sputtered something unintelligible and Miles thoroughly noticed how the defense attorney straightened and became stiff, "How do you even know about that?"

Miles gestured towards the glass door, "Trucy's worrying about you in there, you know—she told me."

"…It's complicated," Apollo felt like a child caught red-handed in the act of trying to hide something they'd broken.

"He's attracted to you."

And Apollo blanched at this statement, because geez, just how much had Trucy told him?

Miles paused, looking thoughtful, "All I'm saying is that you should perhaps try being a little more understanding—Prosecutor Gavin appreciates what you've done for him, and his feelings for you are simply the shape that appreciation has decided to take."

Apollo stood silent, eyes downcast, feeling just a little bit guilty.

(Well, when you put it that way…)

Miles made to move for the door, apparently satisfied with their conversation, but something tugged at the back of Apollo's mind.

Before he knew it, he was voicing the thought aloud, "Sir!"

Miles stopped his fingers on the catch of the door, "Hm?"

"When you said…what you said about Klavier's feelings being because he appreciates me and all, and…how you can relate to him…does that mean that you and Mr. Wright…?"

It took a moment for the subtext to make itself clear to Miles, but when it did it sparked an immediate reaction, and although Apollo knew he probably shouldn't have, he relished in the fact that for once it wasn't his face filling with color. Miles' face practically glowed like a beacon at this time of night.

"That's—! You're completely mistaken, I—our friendship is merely professional, I assure you."

Apollo had to bite down a laugh as Miles nearly walked into the glass door before remembering he had yet to open it. Apollo followed him inside, watching in amusement as the prosecutor sat down at his seat, clearly still flustered. Phoenix made his way over, looking positively amazed.

"What did you say to him?"

"…nothing."

"Oh come on, I've been trying all night to get a reaction out of him, and I've had years of practice at it. It can't have been 'nothing.'"

"Wright. Dinner is getting cold."

And with that, it was quite clear that the matter was unquestionably closed.

Apollo hadn't expected it, but then again, he wasn't surprised by it either. The way Trucy and Gumshoe took to each other was like magic; as far as Gumshoe was concerned, Trucy was magic.

"How'd you make that card go all funny?!"

Trucy merely giggled, flipped the card back over, gave it a three-quarter spin, and finally flipped it face-up again, "And now the queen is facing the other way."

Gumshoe eagerly pressed his back into his seat and brought his hands together, applause like thunder sounding between his broad palms.

"Sir. Sir, did you see that? How does she do it?!"

Miles pointed a finger in Gumshoe's general direction, a gesture he'd used many times before in court, only this time it was accentuated by his dinner fork, "It's just a sleight of hand."

"Mr. Edgeworth!" a familiar confidence crossed Trucy's face, and both Apollo and Phoenix recognized the glint in her eyes as the same sparkle she got whenever she talked about magic, "I assure you these are cheap party tricks compared to my real performances."

"Hmm. You certainly seem…zealous about it."

"I'm gonna be the next Gramarye sensation, just you wait and see!"

Trucy practically radiated enthusiasm. It made Miles have to squint to look at her. Gumshoe was of course acting as if it were contagious.

"I'll make sure to go to all your shows, if I can! Imagine, I'll know the next Gra-mah-mer-ie! Ha!"

"That's Gramarye!" Trucy gave a firm, but still clearly enthusiastic nod.

"Ah. Sorry. Gra-man-o-war."

At least he'd given it a shot.

"Geez, who'd have thought someone as cute as you could be Wright's daughter."

Phoenix immediately had a response to this, mouth still full of potato, "Wha's tha' supposta mean?" he took a moment to swallow, "Besides, Trucy's adopted anyway, so her cuteness has nothing to do with me. So there."

Apollo caught Miles' eye and realized that he was just as embarrassed by this as Apollo was.

In some way though, this felt…nice. Apollo looked around the table and took in the smiling faces, watched as Miles countered Phoenix's latest less-than-stellar argument with a swiftness that indicated that this was the accustomed norm.

All throughout dinner, he frequently stole glances back and forth between the two, looking for signs of…well, he wasn't quite sure what, really. Here was Miles Edgeworth, a prolific law official trading witty banter with a washed out has-been who could barely make ends meet. Sure, Phoenix had been considered the best of the best in his hey-day, and there was also the fact that his name had recently been cleared, but something had to have kept them in contact during the in-between.

Various memories of Phoenix swam into Apollo's focus, of the Phoenix Wright of his youth, the one he had fashioned in his mind as a hero for himself when he was still living at the orphanage. Like Miles, the real deal had been so much more different than what he had expected. For one, the actual Phoenix was much less straightforward, more aloof and just a little full of himself—the cynicism had also been a surprise.

Apollo looked back over at Miles and saw the same warmth from earlier in his smile, and he wondered just how much these two had rubbed off on each other in the last seven years.

He vaguely wondered why he himself didn't have someone like that that he could trust.

Apollo dialed the number for what felt like the hundredth time, and resolved to make it past the fourth iteration of the dial tone this time. He nearly instinctively hung up when someone finally answered, but managed to bite down on his lip and grip the handset tighter.

"…Klavier?"

"…This is the prosecutor speaking."

The way his voice sounded short, not angry but rather cautious, told Apollo that he didn't need to introduce himself. And then a panic surged though him, because holy shit, there was no backing out now, and (Dammit Justice, just say it.)

He took a deep breath, "I'd like to take you up on that offer for dinner."

There was a moment of silence that followed and Apollo's heart dropped like a stone.

He stammered a weak follow up, "Th-that is, if the offer's still available, of course…"

He could feel his pulse pounding, and he stood trying to think of some excuse he could give, some way he could write this off and not look like a fool, all the while berating himself for having ever thought of such a stupid—

"Is six o'clock fine?"

Apollo's stomach flipped and he answered before he could even register the response, "Y-yes! Fine! That's totally fine!"

"That's good," he noted that the spirit seemed to have returned to Klavier's voice, "I'll pick you up then…Herr Forehead."

And then it was the sound of the dial tone, and—as Apollo stood stunned at what had just happened—it was all he heard for several minutes.