Gregory Edgeworth sighed angrily, pushing a hand through his hair irritably and messing it up even further without even realising he was doing it. He adjusted his glasses and glared back at the desk in front of him.

Usually neat and tidy, it was in disarray, with notes all over the place – some in his handwriting, others in the hand of his young assistant, the trainee defence attorney. Tateyuki Shigaraki was a good kid, smart and observant, but god was his handwriting hard to read. Some of the pages were even slightly smudged from where the kid had - for some reason Gregory did not understand – been about to swallow it to 'remember' it, and changed his mind just as he put it in his mouth. Maybe if he could actually decipher half of it, maybe he'd actually have a lead on this goddamn-

Gregory paused in his thoughts, taking a deep breath. It didn't do to get angry or frustrated, certainly not at a boy who was trying to help.

His eyes flickered to one of the photographs sitting on his desk. Not one of the case, par se, but a more casual picture the teenager had taken, of the pair of them together on the case. It was a sweet gesture, and it had reminded Gregory of why Shigaraki was such a good assistant, and why he'd make such a good attorney. Loyalty was Shigaraki's 'talent', so to speak, and it was what made the boy special.

The almost perceptible smile on his face faded as he turned back to the mess of notes. He'd miss even the most obvious of clues if he let himself get distracted by anger, so he had to calm down. He let a breath out carefully, eyes wandering slowly over the pages again – photographs, notes, articles, doodles made by the 18-year-old. There had to be something he'd missed. A lead to where the body was. If Gregory could find the body, then he'd have the lead to proving Tenkai innocent once and for all and ending this stupid charade-

"Father?"

Gregory looked up from his work, realising quite how dark it was in the corridor outside, and spotted his son hovering at the threshold. Little Miles was wearing his slightly-too-baggy pale pink pyjamas (the colour produced when Gregory had accidentally left one of Miles' red socks in with the whites), his silver hair slightly scruffy, one hand wiping sleepy-dust from his eyes.

Gregory felt the smile come to his face.

"Hello, little Miles. Going to bed?"

"I did, two hours ago, Father. I couldn't sleep. I saw your light was on."

Gregory blinked, eyes glancing alongside at the wall clock. Eleven o'clock. He winced, then turned back to his son with an apologetic smile.

"Sorry for keeping you up, son. I was just going over the evidence again."

For the hundredth time.

Looking mildly interested, Miles ambled over, tired eyes looking keenly at the notes, trying to make sense of them. Gregory felt a twinge of pride as Miles' eyes flickered from one page to the next, making the connections in his brain.

He's going to make a fantastic defence attorney one day.

The father's pride soon melted into fatherly concern as Miles tried to hide a cavernous yawn. He slid an arm around his son's shoulders.

"Come on, Miles, you'd better get some sleep."

Miles nodded, never willing to argue with his father. As Gregory stood up to walk the boy back to his room, little Miles' hand slipped in between his fingers. As the boy spoke, some words were muffled by stifled yawns.

"Dad, when're you appealing again?"

Gregory looked back over his shoulder at the desk, then smiled down at his son.

"Not 'til after new year. No one wants to hold a trial this late in the year, and well, you and your friends wanted to go to People Park this week, right? You need someone to run you there."

Miles chuckled nervously, lowering his head so his hair hid his face.

"It's ok. I don't mind."

"I thought you wanted to build those snowmen with Phoenix and Larry? It'll be fun."

Miles shrugged, pretending to be interested in a vase that stood in the hallway.

"At first. Larry will start a snowball fight, and I'll get cold."

"I'll bring hot chocolate. Deal?"

Miles grinned tiredly up at his father.

"Deal. 'Night."

Gregory ruffled his son's hair fondly – it was so soft, like his mother's – and smiled softly back.

"Goodnight, son. I'll close the door so the light doesn't keep you awake, okay?"

The small boy nodded, entering his room with another yawn. He glanced back at his father.

"Don't stay up too long. You've got to drive in the morning."

The older man raised an eyebrow at the authoritative tone his son was using, but smiled.

"Yes, sir. See you in the morning."

Back at his desk, Gregory looked over the notes. Nothing was jumping out at him, no inspiration or sudden epiphany. He frowned, eyes going over the notes just one last time. A bunch of squiggles stared back, and he gave up.

This case was wearing him down. Although he wasn't going to just give it up without a fight, he really needed to take a break from it. And what with the New Year approaching and the world in a cheerful spirit, why not now? He could always take the appeal up after the holidays, when Miles was back at school.

That way, he could play chauffeur for Miles and that way his nine-year-old could spend some good time with the friends he'd made this year. Gregory's mouth twitched at the thought. Phoenix Wright and Larry Butz. Both were mad as hatters, but maybe that'd be good for little Miles. At this rate, Gregory would have to tone down his attitude in order to keep up with the refined manner of his son.

The next morning saw a fresh blanket of snow, perfect for the three boys who each reacted to the snow in their own delighted way – Larry ran out to create a pile of snowballs to barrage passers-by; Phoenix went out and started to make snow angels (dressed in just his pyjamas, leading to him developing a cold in his fastest time yet); and little Miles had pressed up against the window of his room, already fully dressed in his warmest clothes, staring out at the white wonderland.

Gregory was glad his son was able to find something other than law fascinating.

That evening, a trench-coated man and a small silver-haired boy sank down onto a sodden bench almost as one, breathing a collective sigh of relief. Whilst the day had been full of fun and innocent play in the snow, there was only so long you could withstand the combined insanity of Miles' two best friends.

The two now watched with some amusement as Larry whizzed around the icy playground on his new scooter, Phoenix desperately trying to catch up with him. Gregory tilted his head, watching the young boys as they played.

"Larry seems to have taken to that scooter pretty well."

Miles nodded absent-mindedly.

"Hmm, we all liked our Christmas presents this year, Larry especially. He says it's amazing because it's a Razor Scooter, not just an ordinary one."

Gregory peered through his glasses down at his son.

"What's the difference?"

Little Miles shrugged, not taking his eyes off of the scene in front of him.

"No idea."

There was a crash and a yell as Larry, in a last-ditch attempt to outrun Phoenix, took a turn too fast and skid over. Gregory tensed to jump up, but Phoenix got there first.

"Hey Larry, you okay?"

The small boy sat up from where he'd landed in a snowdrift and giggled manically.

"That was totally awesome! I gotta do that again!"

He bounced up, wholly uninjured or maybe just not caring about a few boring cuts and scrapes, and jumped back onto the scooter, despite Phoenix's protests that Larry had promised it was his go now.

Gregory relaxed, and glancing alongside realised his son hadn't bothered moving when Larry fell. The young boy answered his father's questioning look with another shrug.

"He's always getting into scrapes, and he always bounces back. He's stupid, though, because he'll just do it again – see?" He said quietly just as Larry, on cue, performed the same skid and crash into the snowdrift. The older man shook his head lightly then sighed.

"Well, he seems to be enjoying himself, at least."

A pause, then he glanced awkwardly alongside at his son.

"Uh, Miles, are you sure you didn't want anything like that for Christmas? No toy cars or scooters or, uh, those Tammy-got-you things?"

"Tamagotchi," Miles automatically corrected, having heard the term from his friends before, "But no, Father, those books I asked for are more than adequate, and British law is so fascinating, isn't it?"

"Um, yes."

Gregory Edgeworth fidgeted slightly. Although it was always nice to have a discussion about law, his passion, he never felt entirely comfortable talking about it with his nine-year-old son. Surely fourth graders should be more interested in more, well, childish things?

Just then, there was a yell of triumph as Phoenix Wright somehow managed to wrest control of the scooter from Larry and claim it for himself for a while. But rather than immediately jumping on, the spiky-haired boy walked the scooter over to the bench and smiled shyly. His cheeks were flushed pink from his cold, but Gregory had the sneaking suspicion that the growing redness on his ears had little to do with ill health.

"Um, hi, Miles. Did you want a go on it first? I can wait if you like."

The silver haired boy blinked, surprised by this offer, then shook his head.

"No, I'd rather see you make a fool of yourself, Wright."

He paused, registering Phoenix's hurt expression, then continued in a quiet voice.

"Thanks, though."

Phoenix grinned widely at these words as though they were an essay of praise, then zoomed off on the scooter, laughing with delight. Miles leant back, content to watch him, but Gregory spotted the small pleased smile on the boy's face.

The defence attorney had to look away to hide his own smile. Thank goodness for children like Phoenix Wright.

Gregory might be calm and collected at work, but at home I'd guess he's the same stresshead and workaholic all-nighter that Miles is in the canon story.

He also has no idea what kids like, but is pretty sure it shouldn't be law books. So he likes it when Edgey-junior hangs around with friends his own age who are more concerned with having fun and making a mess. He thinks Phoenix is a good influence on Miles - but he's not so sure about Larry. If the kid wasn't so destructive, maybe.

Ah, Razor scooters and tamagotchis. God that takes me back.

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