Chapter Text
Phoenix wakes up and rolls over to no one in the bed.
This isn’t that unusual-Miles habitually wakes up before him, if he sleeps much at all-but then he opens his eyes.
There is a child in their bed. Phoenix’s heart leaps into his throat. He peers over at the child, who seems unbothered, sleeping soundly. Gray hair pokes out of the comforter and Phoenix wonders wildly if Miles has some secret relative who needed to spend the night.
Phoenix gets out of bed, suddenly wide awake. He takes care not to jostle the kid, and creeps out to the kitchen. No Miles. No kettle on. He pokes his head out the door; the newspaper is still pristinely wrapped and on their front porch. Phoenix starts getting nervous. He takes the newspaper in, robotically, and sits down on the couch for a moment, staring at the wall.
Then he calls Miles’s phone.
He hears it ringing from the bedroom. He stares at the wall for another moment. Then he walks back into the bedroom, where the kid is sitting up, and oh. Unless Miles has a secret son-
“Miles?” Phoenix asks, less hysterical than he feels he deserves to be.
Miles frowns at him, and yes, that’s Miles fucking Edgeworth, age…lower than 12.
“Who are you?” he asks, as if he wakes up in strange beds all the time.
“Phoenix Wright,” Phoenix says, feeling crazier than usual. “How old are you?”
“Nine,” Miles says, like it’s obvious, and narrows his eyes. “Phoenix Wright was my friend back in America. I’m not supposed to talk about him.”
Jesus Christ. Phoenix has to close his eyes for a moment.
“Let me get you some clothes that fit and then we can talk about some stuff,” Phoenix offers.
Miles nods, and Phoenix flees the goddamn room.
Thank god he’s a hoarder: Trucy’s clothes from when she was little are shoved in big plastic bins in the back of her closet. He pulls out some t-shirts and shorts. Miles will have to make do with the boxers he has until Phoenix can get them to Target and stop having a panic attack.
He wants to go back to sleep until this stops happening to him, but also insane shit happens to him all the time, and he can’t call Maya and ask her what the fuck is going on until he gets this kid…Miles…some clothes and some breakfast. So he throws his mind back to the first few days he had Trucy and he tries to flip into autopilot.
“My daughter was about your size when she was nine,” Phoenix says, and throws the assorted clothes on the bed. “Something here should fit for now. Get dressed, and we’ll chat. You like pancakes?”
Miles considers him.
“P-Mr. von Karma says all food should be in service of nutrition. Pancakes are not healthy or nutritious.”
He’s such a serious little guy. Phoenix remembers him being like this when they were friends, but it’s worse now, with him parroting von Karma’s bullshit. It makes Phoenix want to do violence, so he takes a deep breath, plasters on a smile, and tweaks Miles’s nose. That makes Miles frown again, and fucking with Miles at any age has always been safe territory for Phoenix. He laughs.
“Not what I asked. Do you like them?”
Miles looks nervous.
“You’re not gonna get in trouble here. You can tell me anything, Miles,” he says, and Miles fists his hands in the blanket.
“Yes,” he breathes, and Phoenix smiles at him.
“Great. You get dressed and I’ll get started.”
Miles wanders into the kitchen as Phoenix is cracking the eggs. He climbs onto a bar stool and watches Phoenix work. Phoenix suddenly wishes that he’d talked to Maya before this, but he guesses he has enough info to start this conversation.
“So,” Phoenix says. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
“Going to sleep.”
“But where?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Phoenix sees Miles bite his lip and then stop himself.
“von Karma Manor.”
“Okay,” Phoenix says, and sighs. “Well, this might be a little scary, but you’re gonna be just fine, okay?”
Miles nods, unsure, and Phoenix stops stirring the batter for a moment to face him.
“We’re not in von Karma Manor. We’re in LA.”
Miles watches him with big eyes as he walks to the living room and looks for the right picture. He brings it to Miles but holds it back for a second first.
“Like I said, this might be scary, but we’ll figure it out.”
Miles nods again, and Phoenix flips the frame over. It’s one of his favorites: him, Trucy, and Miles on the couch. It was Trucy’s birthday, and someone took the shot when they weren’t paying attention. Miles is smiling, looking at Trucy, and Phoenix is looking at him. They weren’t even dating yet.
“What is this,” Miles asks, voice flat.
“You are 35 years old,” Phoenix says. “I think in this picture you were 30. I have no idea why you’re nine.”
Miles mulls this over while he eats. Phoenix doesn’t try to get him to talk, just mechanically eats his own pancakes and makes a mental list of things he needs to do. He tries not to spiral out to ‘what if Miles is nine forever’ or ‘what if my Miles is stuck in an alternate dimension’- those are questions for Maya. Phoenix’s list comes down to: clothes, calling out of work for him and Miles, calling Maya, calling out of therapy for Miles, trying not to have a meltdown that the love of his life is now a traumatized nine year old again.
Miles has been staring at the photo.
“Is that your daughter?” he asks, suddenly.
“Yeah,” Phoenix says. “You…” He’s trying not to freak Miles out, so he’s omitted the fact that they’re married so far. So ‘you’re basically her second dad’ is probably a little much. “You two really love each other,” he settles on.
“She’s pretty,” Miles says. “She looks happy.”
Phoenix has no idea what to say to this. He gets up and starts more pancakes.
“Want more?”
Miles shakes his head but eyes the cooking pancakes. Phoenix flips and plates them anyway and takes one. Trucy was just as unsubtle when she was nine, just about different things.
“You can have the rest,” Phoenix says, and pats his belly dramatically. “I’m stuffed.”
Miles slowly takes them, and glances up at Phoenix.
“You really won’t tell Herr von Karma?”
Phoenix sighs. “I promise, Miles.” He’s not sure when to tell him von Karma is dead, but it’s probably not ‘right after you tell the kid he’s actually 35.’
“Are you the same Phoenix Wright?” he asks his plate.
“Yeah. Long story as to how we got to know each other again. But yeah.”
“I missed you,” he says, very quietly.
Phoenix’s heart aches. “I missed you too, buddy.”