[read at website // ff.net // objection!]
[to read from livejournal, use cuts below]
Title: Piano Man
Author:
trenchkamen (via ms_asylum fic-journal)
Fandom: Gyakuten Saiban / Ace Attorney
Genre: General, romance, memory, songfic
Warnings: In this chapter, just some petting/frot/thoughts of sex
Spoilers: Entire Gyakuten Saiban series
Summary: Response to 'songfic' request on Kinkmeme. Phoenix Wright and Miles Edgeworth have finally been able to settle down together, and both have gained tenured professorship at Ivy University. Despite re-gaining his Bar, the need to play memories on the piano has been engraved in Phoenix's psyche.
This chapter: Three months after GS3. Phoenix loses his bar. The people who love him come to his aid.
I had to split the chapter up since LJ can't handle it all at once. Sorry. Insert joke here.
Memory 02: Nothing Else Matters (part 1/2)
Somebody was banging on Phoenix’s office door.
Phoenix sat up straight and groped for the volume control on his computer. He turned the music down, but kept his fingers on the dial. If it was Miles crossing the two-foot niche separating their offices just to tell him to turn it the hell down again, he was going to crank Guns n’ Roses as high as his speakers could physically go.
“Come in!”
The door opened halfway.
“Professor Wright?”
It was a woman’s voice. Phoenix turned the music down further and sat back in his chair.
“Yeah. Come in.”
The young woman slid inside, closing the door behind her. She was dressed in Victorian-steampunk, with knee-length knickers, a vest, a brooch, and brass goggles holding her hair back like a headband. Phoenix hoped that she was not one of his students; he had never seen her before, and she looked far from forgettable.
“Hi, Professor. I’m Victoria Clockwork; I emailed you about an interview on the jurist system.”
“Ah!” Phoenix snapped and pointed. “That’s right. Ms. Clockwork. Please, have a seat.” She did. “You said you’re a PhD candidate in history?”
“History and evolution of social systems, yeah.”
Phoenix laughed nervously. “Sounds well beyond me.”
“I doubt it.”
Clockwork was winding up a small clockwork cat; when she released it, it took a few steps forward, and meowed, sitting on its brass haunches. Its eyes were glowing green. Phoenix furrowed his eyebrows.
“Uh…”
“Oh, Clover here is going to record our conversation, if that’s all right with you.”
“Uh. Sure, of course.”
“Excellent.”
She stroked Clover’s back. It meowed again, and its eyes glowed red. Clockwork sat back and pressed a few buttons on her watch—fabricated with brass-and-silver wheels—and a hologram-sheet of notes came up.
“All right.” She cleared her throat. “Interview with Professor Phoenix Wright, Ivy Law School.” Phoenix stared blankly. “Now, when you first entered university, the trial-by-jury system was just being abolished in the United States, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And you were an amazingly successful attorney working within the confines of the new system.”
“Uh…” Phoenix scratched the back of his head. “…I guess.”
“What inspired you to reinstate the jurist system?”
Phoenix breathed out heavily and sat back, folding his hands behind his head. “Wow. Getting right to the meat of things, aren’t you?”
“Take your time if you need a moment.”
“…well.” Phoenix thought for a moment. “…it was sort of a long time in coming. A long process. A… lot of people helped contribute to that realization.” He scratched the back of his head again. “I was not the only person who worked on the jurist system. Professor Edgeworth across the hall was an immeasurable help—”
“Oh, yeah. I have an interview scheduled with him tomorrow.”
“Oh, well.” Phoenix laughed nervously. “He can give you all the gory details on my personal life if you ask for them. He’d probably give them with relish.”
“It seems to take an awful lot of faith in humanity to want to re-instate a system hinging on human judgment and not purely concrete evidence.”
“…true.” Phoenix looked up at the ceiling, thought. “…well… that’s… a process that started… I don’t know… in elementary school, I guess. It’s one of those ‘lifelong journey’ things.”
“True, but when did you start to apply that to law?” Clockwork paused. “I know it’s kind of a bullshit question.”
Phoenix snorted.
“It’s fine. Well… I had a lot of cases where the evidence-only system of law was… a hindrance, I guess you could say. I could dig up those case files if you want. They’re public domain now.”
“If I may ask, didn’t your disbarment occur because of a trial like that? You reinstated the system while you were still disbarred.”
“Aaah. Yes. That is a long story.” Phoenix looked at his desktop clock. “…how much time do you have?”
“I have no other engagements for the rest of the day.”
“Neither do I.” Phoenix sat back in his chair. “Well. I could try to explain to you everything that went through my head during that period, but it would lose a lot of its… impact, I guess.”
“I understand.”
It was a song that often came to mind. He had listened to it in times of desperation, when he needed to remember Edgeworth’s comforting embrace, to remember him rushing to his aid from halfway around the world.
It put things in perspective then. It still did not fail to now.
So close, no matter how far
Couldn't be much more from the heart
Forever trusting who we are
And nothing else matters
He considered asking Clockwork if she had heard of Metallica, but he smirked to himself in amusement. They were probably crusty elevator music to her generation, same as Guns N’ Roses must have sounded to her on her approach.
God, I’m old.
“I should have lost my faith in humanity. Become jaded. Cynical. That’s what a lot of people thought had happened.” He smiled to himself. “I really think that’s what would have happened if I didn’t have the people standing beside me that I did. I don’t know if I’d have had the courage to keep on trusting in people without the love from those who mean the most to me, back then.”
Clockwork nodded, furrowing her brows. Clover was wagging its brass-jointed tail lazily across the desktop.
“Here.” Phoenix took a drink of coffee from his thermos. “Might as well start at the beginning.”
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All things considered, Edgeworth was having a good night. His only reserve was that he was unable to get a hold of Wright, but he assumed that his trial had run long and that he would call soon to give him an update.
He rubbed Pess between the ears, and she made a sleepy, content noise in the back of her throat. She was asleep with her chin resting on Edgeworth’s stomach, and Edgeworth was sitting up in bed with his laptop on a cushioned table resting across his thighs. It was two AM in Brussels, and the laptop cast the only light in the otherwise dark room. He took his mug of tea from the bedside table and took a deep drink, eyes still on the monitor over the rim of the cup.
He was returning to California next week for a visit. His flight plans were secured, as were lodgings for Pess, and he had secured his leave with the International Law Office at the European Union. Phoenix was eagerly awaiting his return, already planning all the things they wanted to do—though he had no interest in doing anything touristy in the LA area; he’d seen it all a billion times—and presenting lists of things that Maya and Pearl wanted to do in addition. The girls were coming down from Kurain part of the time, though he had made sure Phoenix secured them ample time alone.
Alone, yes. He smiled to himself, still unconsciously scratching Pess’s head. During his lonelier nights he had begun a habit of comforting himself researching sexual techniques, positions, toys, online; there was a shocking archive of information ranging from the ancient and classical lore of the Kama Sutra, Japan, Greece, to the New Age Tantra popular in the late 1990’s, to the current cyberpunk retro-futuristic mantras of mind-melding techniques and ‘cerebral sex’. He was keeping a folder of the most intriguing information, earmarking and memorizing the most tantalizing, the most enthralling. Cataloging the things he wanted to do with Phoenix helped abate the loneliness; imagining himself surprising Phoenix with sudden adept knowledge, imagining the looks of rapture and delight—
He tapped his fingertips on the laptop table, furrowing his eyebrows. This was not the time to get aroused, not when he had work to finish and a laptop on his crotch and Pess asleep on his stomach. He sighed and maximized his PowerPoint window. He had a presentation tomorrow before the bureau; he had put off completing it too long.
He had finished formatting a graph when his cell phone rang. He grabbed the body and checked the caller ID eagerly; his heart sank in disappointment when he realized it was Detective Gumshoe. He sighed and fished the wireless earpiece out of his breast pocket, clipped it over the shell of his ear, and pressed the button on the hub.
“Miles Edgeworth.”
“Mr. Edgeworth! Sir! It’s Detective Gumshoe from the—”
“I know who you are.”
“—is this a bad time? I really gotta talk to you, sir. Something… bad’s happened. And I don’t even know how it did—”
Edgeworth groaned quietly and rubbed between his eyes. This was not what he wanted right now, especially when Wright may be calling at any moment.
“Do you have any idea what time it is, Detective?”
“Uh… oh, yeah, there’s a time change, isn’t there?”
Edgeworth gave a flat, sour look to no-one in particular
“I’m really sorry, sir. I really am. It’s just—something really bad’s happened to Mr. Wright again.” Edgeworth sat up straight. “…and I don’t know what to do.”
“What happened?”
“He’s been accused of forging evidence.”
Something knotted in Edgeworth’s stomach. His fingers tightened on Pess’s scalp; Pess whined, picking up on her master’s agitation. She looked up at him and shifted uneasily.
“So?” Edgeworth’s voice came out steadier than he expected. “Lawyers accuse that of one another all the time. God knows it’s happened to me. It probably won’t hold up in court. Besides, this is Wright, for Christ’s sake; he’ll pull God-knows-what out of his ass soon enough. And he would never forge evidence. He’s too damn honest for his own good. He’s the archetype of The Fool.”
“The what?”
“Never mind.”
“But they’ve… got testimony, sir. Conclusive testimony. The judge threw the case out already.”
Edgeworth realized that his tongue was dry. He wet it, moving his hand further down Pess’s neck and clutching at her scruff. She nosed his leg and whined again.
“And he didn’t just… turn it around like he usually does?”
“I… I guess not. I don’t know, sir.”
“This is ludicrous.”
“His Bar Association hearing is tomorrow morning; there’s no way you’re going to get back here before it’s over.”
“Already?”
Edgeworth sat bolt upright. Pess whined and drew back, startled.
“What the—it usually takes months before a hearing, and there’s investigation—what the—”
“No idea, sir. But they seem hot to try this as soon as possible.”
“Were you at the trial?”
“Yes.” Gumshoe took a deep breath. “I… shit, I testified for the prosecution, as usual, sir. But I swear I didn’t say nothin’ that would get Mr. Wright nailed like this. It was… there was this evidence he presented; soon as he did it, Prosecutor Gavin jumped all over his ass, said ‘Finally’ like he was waitin’ for something—”
Gavin? “Gavin’s a defense attorney.”
“Not Kristoph, sir. Klavier. His younger brother.”
Edgeworth furrowed his eyebrows; he vaguely remembered hearing about Klavier Gavin, now that he thought about it, but he did not realize he was Stateside already.
“Seventeen years old, German, already a prosecutor,” Gumshoe continued, when Edgeworth did not respond. “The rock star. He graduated real early, just jointed the DA’s office.”
“This is outrageous.” Edgeworth rubbed his forefinger and thumb between his eyes again, ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s so blatantly obvious this is a setup. As soon as Wright presents that evidence, he’s jumped on? Please. It’s almost insulting that nobody’s pointed this out.”
“Maybe they don’t want to, sir.”
“Maybe you’re exactly right. Do you know who’s heading the Bar Association these days?”
“I think it’s Kristoph Gavin, sir.”
Edgeworth swore loudly. Pess jumped off the bed and hunched down in the corner of the room. He made a half-hearted attempt to comfort her, to call her back, but she just stared at him warily, thumping the wall with her tail.
“Is that bad, sir?”
“I’ve faced him in court several times. I don’t trust that bastard.”
“Well, I don’t see what he’d have against Mr. Wright. He or his brother, sir. This is the first time Mr. Wright’s faced Klavier in court.”
“God knows. Probably some old grudge everybody but he has forgotten about.”
“Yeah.”
There was a silence. Edgeworth was rubbing between his eyes again, feeling a tension headache coming on. Pess whined softly. Gumshoe finally cleared his throat.
“So… you’re coming back, sir?”
Edgeworth set his laptop-desk beside him on the bed, stood, and started digging through his drawers for clothes and throwing them onto the bed. Boxers, socks. Gumshoe continued speaking.
“You won’t make it for the hearing, sir. It’s just impossible; it’s first thing tomorrow morning.”
Edgeworth moved up one drawer. Folded shirts. He tossed a few into a stack next to his underwear.
“I’m still coming out. This is ludicrous.”
A setup. He opened the top drawer, grabbed a few cravats, a set of cufflinks, slammed it shut. Immediate trap, waiting for him to use evidence, immediate hearing. Almost like they were all waiting. This is ridiculous.
He moved to the closet, dug through pants and jackets. Gumshoe’s hesitant silence was palpable even through the earpiece.
“You really care about Mr. Wright, don’t you?”
Edgeworth paused, hand still flat against a pair of trousers—
Never opened myself this way
Life is ours, we live it our way
All these words I don't just say
—stared into the closet. Gumshoe cleared his throat.
“Sir?”
“Hold off that hearing as long as you can.” Edgeworth grabbed a few pairs of trousers and a few jackets, tossed them onto the bed, and made his way toward the bathroom. “I’m taking the next flight back to LA.”
“Aren’t those usually booked months in advance, sir?”
“I’ll make it happen.” Travel bag of deodorant, shaving cream, toothbrush, toothpaste, floss. Already waiting for him under his sink. He checked it to make sure it was full, and tossed it onto the bed through the door. Grabbed his electric razor and hairbrush, walked out and set those on the bed by hand. He wrestled his suitcase out of his closet.
“All right, sir.”
“And don’t tell anybody at the DA’s office I’m coming back; if they want to put Wright away, they’ll hurry the hearing up even more.”
“Understood, sir.”
Edgeworth pressed the button on his earpiece to disconnect the call. He sighed and threw it onto his bed next to his things. Pess was hunched in the corner, making his agitation her own. He stooped to pet her briefly, murmuring soothingly to her, though he stared at the wall above her head, eyes hard.
Gavin. What the hell are you playing at, you bastard?
Pess whined, and he looked down at her. He sighed and gave her a last pet before straightening and going to his bedside table for his phone.
“I’m afraid you’re going to the kennel a little earlier than we thought, girl.”
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There were no direct flights from Brussels International to LAX. Edgeworth was used to going through JFK in New York to get back to Los Angeles, and he usually took the inconvenience in stoic stride, but the idea of having to stop seemed unbearable now. He had negotiated with a ticketing agent, white-knuckled and clutching the counter, for only twenty minutes before securing the 10 AM to JFK, but to him it seemed to take precious hours. She said that he would have a three hour layover, but it was still the fastest she could get him to Los Angeles on such short notice. He had snapped a ‘fine’, realizing that he was being cruel to a blameless messenger, but was too harried to care. He checked his bag and left for the security line, irritated that he could secure no faster methods of transport as he had when Wright had gotten his stupid ass in trouble three months earlier.
Once at the gate he sent an email to the EU Law conference coordinator apologizing for his abrupt absence, and another to his secretary asking that she explain his week-earlier absence to all relevant parties. It was only 4 AM; he finally had time to call Phoenix, now that his passage was secured.
He answered neither his video-phone on his laptop, nor his cell phone. Edgeworth swore quietly and clutched his phone on his knee, tapping it nervously with his forefinger. He knew he looked a mess. He had not taken the time to shave, his hair was flat without his usual grooming ritual—those peaks in his bangs came with gel—and he had hastily thrown on a pair of black slacks and a black vest over a white shirt. He felt naked without a cravat or at least a necktie holding his collar closed.
He finally decided to give himself a rudimentary groom in the men’s room, and found that after shaving, brushing his hair, and washing his face, he felt somewhat calmer. He stared at his reflection and took a deep breath. This was not going to happen to Phoenix. He was not going to allow it.
The flight was uneventful, though uncomfortable. Edgeworth was stuck in coach, dead-center row between a rather large man and a petit woman who was already out cold, and he found it impossible to fold his long legs in such a way that he could sleep comfortably. He gave up after an hour of fitful attempts, envying the woman her mobility, pulled out his laptop, and accessed the Los Angeles District Attorney’s server through the airplane wi-fi. He read the transcript of Enigmar v. California carefully, heart swelling with pride every time the dialogue noted as coming from DEFENSE revealed a brilliant contradiction, or noted a paradox nobody else would address. His fingers tightened over the travel mouse when he reached the portion at which the trial stopped, and was linked to a hearing between Phoenix Wright, Klavier Gavin, and the presiding judge.
The link gave him a 404. He cursed, and the man next to him glanced sidelong momentarily. He suspected Kristoph Gavin had put a hold on this transcript, or had at least encouraged the stenographer to place updating this page on the lower end of the priority list.
Edgeworth clicked back to the trial transcript, and read through it once again, memorizing every detail. He looked through the evidence, especially the piece marked ‘forged’. He had arched his eyebrows when it was noted that the defendant had literally ‘disappeared’ at the end of the trial, but left speculating on that point to later. He logged on to a United States law database and combed every law he recalled had to do with disbarment and forging of evidence. He was halfway through collecting meticulous notes when the captain announced that they were about to land, and he was almost disappointed by their arrival, as he would have to interrupt the flow of his thoughts by shutting his laptop down.
By the time he had worked through the three-hour layover at JFK and four-hour flight to LAX, he had a venerable body of laws, citations, and objections of his own—but no conclusive evidence in Wright’s favor. He was either going to have to access that webpage, or talk to Wright himself. He was starting to worry about Wright; he had not gotten a hold of him during his layover, and he had snuck a text message during the intercontinental flight to no response.
It was the middle of the afternoon in California by the time he had collected his baggage at LAX. If what Gumshoe had said was accurate, Phoenix’s hearing was over by now. On the upside, however, Phoenix had finally left him one short message: “I’m at my apartment.” It was as much an invitation as a plea. It also meant he hadn’t killed himself.
Phoenix’s apartment was relatively close to LAX, within biking distance of the courthouse, as was required by his lack of a car. Edgeworth took a courtesy shuttle to the nearby garage where he had stored his car, and managed to avoid traffic on the 105 all the way to his exit. He pulled into the spot that would be Phoenix’s, if he had a car, and dragged his suitcase and briefcase up the stairs, maneuvering on autopilot, not even thinking of the building numbers at this point. He fished the key to Wright’s apartment out of his pocket and carefully opened the door. The familiar smell that was Phoenix’s living room—Febreeze masking unwashed laundry and an indescribable essence that was strongly Wright—drafted out, mingling with the air as the door swung open.
He heard the shower running. Edgeworth carefully closed the door behind him and locked it, then maneuvered through the horridly messing living room to the bedroom. He set his suitcase and briefcase next to the bed. He sat on the familiar cheap memory-foam mattress and began to untie his shoes and remove his socks. He stopped just shy of removing his vest, fingers playing over the buttons. He did not know if Phoenix wanted to be suddenly accosted in the shower, or if he needed a moment to be alone. He decided to leave it be for now and collapsed back onto the bed. He was just now realizing how exhausted he was; he had not slept in almost thirty-six hours by this point. Now that he was in Phoenix’s apartment, the nervous energy that had driven him forward and kept him awake during his trip was gone.
He did not know how long he dozed in a lucid state, but when the shower turned off, he opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling for a moment before sitting up, resting back on his hands. After a few agonizing minutes Phoenix finally emerged from the bathroom, hair wet and falling down around his face, a towel around his waist. He stopped when he saw Edgeworth, and it took a moment for realization to settle in his eyes. Edgeworth smiled at him tiredly, but he knew his own smile was no more convincing.
Phoenix looked like hell. His eyes were red and raw, and despite having just exited a shower, his face was drawn and pale, gaunt. Edgeworth had heard that it was possible for a man to appear to have aged overnight. He had not understood the weight or validity of that statement until now.
“Miles.”
Edgeworth stood. Phoenix closed his eyes hard, blinked rapidly, obviously trying to hold back tears. Edgeworth waited to see if he was going to make any moves, shifting his weight to his front foot in anticipation of stepping forward himself if Phoenix did not.
“I decided to come a little early. Hope you don’t mind.”
Phoenix’s lip was quivering again. He swallowed, firmed his jaw, and shook his head. His brows furrowed with the effort.
“I’m…” Phoenix swallowed, wetting his tongue. He took a shaking breath. “…no. No. No.”
He crossed the distance between them and grabbed Miles, one arm across his back gripping his shoulder, the other around his waist. He buried his face in Miles’ shoulder and took another breath that wracked his own shoulders. He knotted his fingers in Miles’ shirt in a vain attempt to grasp some semblance of control over himself. The shirt seams strained, but Miles just sighed and held Phoenix, stroking his hair and kissing the top of his head. He murmured soothingly, “It’s okay”s and “I’m here”s and shushing noises void of content but full of concern and the abstract desire to make everything all right.
Miles finally excused himself to take a quick shower, promising that they could talk in a few minutes. Phoenix nodded and squeezed his hand—hard—before letting go, and smiled ruefully over his shoulder. He waved slightly with his fingertips, sighed, and turned toward the bed.
Thankfully it did not take the usual five minutes for Phoenix’s shower to warm up, though Edgeworth did have to dig through several empty bottles of shampoo and body scrub before he found bottles with enough soap left for a wash. It was strangely intimate and enveloping to wash with the soaps Phoenix usually used, Old Spice and some generic shampoo for thick, oily hair. He recalled being told that smell is the sense most intimately linked to emotion and memory, that there are more olfactory genes in the human genome than genes for any other physical sense. The smell ingrained the feeling that he really was here, in Los Angeles, with Phoenix, more than sight or any other sense alone. It was as though time had folded in on itself, creating a loop and joining the last time he had been here to this instance, omitting all the time that he had spent away from this place. It truly felt as though he had never left. The relaxation and surrealism inherent in this feeling, unfortunately, also made Edgeworth feel twice as exhausted, and his knees almost gave out under him in the shower. He pressed against the tile wall until the wave crested. He vigorously scrubbed the sweat and essence of airplane travel out of his skin and scalp, toweled off, brushed his teeth and shaved, and emerged in a towel and feeling considerably fresher and more relaxed.
Phoenix had drawn the blackout curtains over his windows, rendering the room blissfully dark and cool. He was curled up under the sheet with his back to Edgeworth. Miles carefully picked his way around the laundry and various junk on Phoenix’s floor, unwrapped the towel around his waist, and folded it before dropping it lightly on top of his suitcase. He crawled into bed next to Phoenix, noting gladly that at least the sheets had been washed recently, and wrapped his arms around Phoenix’s bare waist. Phoenix placed his hands over Miles’ and interlaced their fingers, then drew Miles’ hands to his shoulders, clutching Miles’ arms crossed over his chest, hugging Miles’ chest flush to his back. Miles sighed and rested his lips on Phoenix’s shoulder. He was just now realizing how utterly exhausted he was, and how sluggishly his brain was working. Phoenix was also limp with exhaustion—everywhere—which Miles found as a relief; he had zero energy for comfort sex, let alone staying awake much longer.
“Have you slept?”
Phoenix shook his head. “I was preparing for my hearing.” His voice was strained, but quiet, oddly calm, as though relieved from finally being able to cry. “I… shit, Miles, they gave me no warning, I had no evidence, and they had that goddamn testimony—they lied. The witness lied. I had no proof.”
“There has to be proof somewhere if it’s a setup.”
“I’ve lost jurisdiction to investigate at all anymore. They’ve crippled me as fast as possible. Wham, bam, thank you ma’am, gone. Done.”
His voice was tapering off into sleep. Miles was relieved; he himself was exhausted. He kissed Phoenix on the back of the neck and nuzzled his cheek with his own.
“I’m going to help you fix this. I promise. There is absolutely no way they can get away with this; it’s ludicrous, paper-thin.” He sighed and rested his cheek against the side of Phoenix’s neck. “But right now I think we both need to sleep.”
“Mm, yeah.”
Phoenix untangled his fingers from Miles’ and turned around in his arms, looking into his eyes. Phoenix’s eyes were half-lidded in exhaustion. He kissed Miles on the lips softly, then snuggled into the crook of his neck, wrapping his arms around Miles’ waist.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
Miles smiled softly to himself over Phoenix’s head, tracing nonsense designs on his back with his fingertips. Phoenix’s chest was already rising and falling with the calm, automatic rhythm of sleep. Miles kissed Phoenix’s forehead and shifted into a more comfortable position, mumbling that was glad he was here as well.
One minute later, Miles was fast asleep.
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And nothing else matters
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