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Chapter Text

What Miles thought of as the itch started on the last day of his trial.

For most of the day he could ignore it. He expected to be found guilty of murder, after all. If not for the murder of Robert Hammond, for the other secret he carried like an iron weight.

But Wright did the impossible. Suddenly, von Karma was raging, howling, as Wright stood there with a beaming smile and an aura of confidence even in the face of that wild anger. Von Karma quieted himself in order to hear the verdict, and suddenly to Miles' eyes the man looked... smaller, somehow.

Miles had never seen his mentor brought low before. In a day full of other revelations, that was the thing that made it all real, that made him feel his world had flipped upside down.

Before he had time to fully grasp the magnitude of what had happened, he was facing a cluster of people, Wright's beaming face, the Fey girl--and through the haze of relief the itch was starting to climb into the back of his mind. It was almost a relief when the officers came to take him back to the detention center. At least there he'd be able to lie down.

"Um, Mr. Edgeworth?" came a voice at his shoulder.

He looked down to see the Fey girl--Maya, he recalled her name from her murder trial--standing next to him. She was peering at him with concern. He sighed. "Miss Fey?"

"Are you doing okay?" she asked quietly. "I mean, one omega to another, I kind of noticed--"

Miles groaned and rubbed his eyes. "I'm perfectly all right," he said.

"But they're taking you back to detention." She looked over at the officers from the detention center with a surprising amount of spite in her gaze. Then again, she had been locked up there herself, not too long ago. "I'm sure if you said something, you could get a medical release--"

"I'm fine," he said, more firmly. "It's only for tonight, in any case. I'll be able to go home tomorrow and... take care of things."

Of all the bad timing, his heat had to hit him around Christmas. He'd been taking suppressants for years, which at least had the side effect of leaving him feeling fuzzy-headed and distractable--up until this year, that had been his preferred state around the holiday. Anything to keep from dwelling on his past.

It suddenly occurred to him that with everything that had happened that day, he might not need to dread the season quite so much.

"Okay," Maya said, "But if you need anything--do you know how to get ahold of me?"

"I'm sure Wright would be forthcoming with your information if I asked," he said to appease her.

Her expression was dubious, but he was already turning away, being led back to detention.

Sleep came fitfully that night. His sheets, when he woke, were soaked with sweat. He washed his face, dressed, and found that standing up straight made the entire room start spinning.

Grimacing, he signed for his possessions and fought to keep from swaying as he stepped into the lobby. Blinking a bit in the harsh glow of the fluorescent lights, he straightened his shoulders.

And looked up into the face of Phoenix Wright.

"H-hey, Edgeworth," Wright said. "I thought you might want to see a friendly face after spending another night in detention. How, uh, how're you doing?"

Miles' head felt fuzzy. "I'm... all right."

He needed to get home. He was dimly aware that he could smell himself--omega-smell and the beginnings of heat collecting on his collar and in his hair. Scent suppressants had to be taken daily to be effective, and he hadn't taken his since Christmas Eve. It had been bad enough when Wright's assistant had done a double-take and gasped, "Mr. Edgeworth, you're an omega?" Now he was broadcasting that to everyone within scent distance of him. If he hadn't been half-dizzy with heat, he would have been mortified.

If he could just get to the heat suppressants in time, he would be fine. If he just got home before it started properly, he could take the suppressants and it would be okay.

"Are you okay to drive?"

He shook himself. Wright was still staring at him. "Hm? I--"

"Because you don't look so good." There was a hand on his shoulder--Wright's hand. "Hey. Why don't I call you a cab?"

His car was... back at home, he fuzzily remembered. He'd been arrested at home and taken to detention in a patrol car. "Yes..." he said. "A cab."

The only thing that he remembered of the journey was getting into and out of the cab. The time in between was a blur of lights. He hesitated when he stepped out onto the sidewalk outside his condominium, but Wright was leaning over to pay the driver. He turned his back and took a few shaky steps to the door.

"Hey, Edgeworth, wait up," Wright said as he punched his code into the door. Another moment and the other man was by his side, reaching for the handle. "C'mon."

"You can't think I need help finding my own door," he muttered darkly as they stepped into the lobby.

Wright followed him to the elevator. "No, but... I thought you might like some company for a bit, until you get settled back in."

Miles jammed the button and resisted the urge to lean against the wall. It was too much work to argue with Wright. His stubbornness knew no equal, and...

And there was a part of him, small but insistent, that wanted to take Wright back to his apartment. And his bed. And--

The elevator dinged and he shook himself. No. He was going to take the suppressants and be fine. No more of this... this.

As the elevator doors opened, he looked up and his vision seemed to slip sideways for a moment, into a picture of blood and darkness and--

He didn't have a problem with elevators, he didn't--hadn't, for a long time, had gotten over it, it was only earthquakes now, and those were rare enough even in Los Angeles that he was fine. Fine. Just fine. He was not going to let this beat him--

"We can take the stairs," Phoenix suggested in a quiet voice.

Miles realized he'd been staring at the open elevator for long enough that the doors were beginning to close. "No," he said, thrusting his hand into the frame and pushing the door open again. "No, I'm fine."

"Okay," Wright said. He sounded dubious, but he followed Miles into the elevator.

He managed to maintain his composure on the ride up. He was swaying a bit on his feet when he reached his door, but he was able to get his key into the lock and open the door without too much trouble.

Inside, he dropped his keys on the hall table and stumbled toward the bathroom. If he wasn't too far along, he'd be fine. He just needed to check his symptoms, but he had the suppressants and he could take them and everything would be all right--

He pulled open the medicine cabinet and grabbed his thermometer. Hands shaking, he unlatched the case, turned it on, and stuck the sensor under his tongue. The cool metal swiftly warmed as he leaned his head against the wall and waited.

The beep startled him out of a daze. He pulled the instrument from his mouth and stared at the tiny screen.

His fever had already spiked to over one hundred and one degrees Fahrenheit.

"Woah," Wright said at his shoulder. He hadn't even heard him come in. "I, uh... I guess that's why they call it heat?"

Fighting back the strangling feeling of despair, he dropped the thermometer on the counter and rummaged for the box of heat suppressants. Surely he must have misremembered the medication's label. He must still have time.

On the back of the box under warnings, clearly printed, was the instruction: "Do not take if a fever over 100 degrees F is present."

For a moment all he could do was stare. Then the box fell from his fingers, and he covered his face with his hands. No. It couldn't be. He couldn't have to deal with this humiliating... this awful...

"H-hey? Edgeworth?"

He shook his head. He couldn't handle Wright, here, in his space. He didn't have the capacity.

"Miles?"

"What?" he replied, not moving.

"Uh, I just... So, uh, Maya said something about how, if you have to go through this... it helps to have someone else there, for, uh. I. Er. Well, I wanted to say... I can stay. If you want."

As he struggled to make heads or tails of what Wright was saying, the other man continued, "And it isn't just--I mean, this isn't just because of this, I mean, I'd be happy any time you wanted--I mean, you're very attractive, I'm not just saying this... augh. I'm awful at this, I'm sorry, I can go if you want me to."

Oh, God. If Phoenix was suggesting what it sounded like he was suggesting... he raised his head and gave Phoenix a look. "Do you know what this entails?"

"Um." Phoenix scratched at the back of his neck awkwardly. "Sex?"

That startled him into laughing. "Yes, but--it's not just that, Phoenix, you're a beta. You won't..."

"You mean the knot? Uh, thing?" Phoenix was blushing, but he held up his hands and gestured in a suggestive manner.

"Errgh..." Miles winced, all too aware that he was in the middle of a conversation of what exactly he needed to get shoved up his ass. "Not just that," he finally managed to recover enough to say. "It's... you won't be able to keep up with me."

Phoenix stared at him. "What, alphas don't have a refractory period?"

"Less when there's an omega in heat around."

"Huh." Phoenix was looking thoughtful. Like this was an interesting Wikipedia article he was browsing. Miles leaned his head against the wall and wished fervently that the beta would just go away.

Just go away or decide to stay and rip his clothes off and pin him to the mattress and--

"Hey," Phoenix said, stepping closer. "You know, I can improvise, if that's all it is. I mean, if you want me to stay, I'll stay."

Miles whimpered, caught between desire and his own good sense. It didn't help that his mind was turning his own logic back around on him. Why not take him up on his offer? He wants this. You want this. You know what going through heat alone is like. Do you really want to go through with that if you don't need to? Because of your stubborn pride?

"Miles?"

Everything seemed to blur. One moment he was standing in his bathroom, Phoenix's hand gingerly touching his shoulder. The next he was pressing Phoenix against the wall in the hallway, kissing him--practically inhaling him, taste smell presence heat--

"Hah--" Phoenix gasped when they broke apart for air. "Okay, so that's a vote for me staying?"

Oh, yes. He should probably say something about that. What came out of his mouth was, "Bed. Now."

"Oh. Woah. Okay." Phoenix looked around. "Where is your bed?"

Bed. Yes. He dragged Phoenix down the hall, stumbling when he reached the threshold of his room. His bed was solid oak, heavy, with a canopy of curtains--he hadn't spared any expense when it came to his sleep, and now he was grateful to his past self. He pulled Phoenix down onto his blankets and started grappling with his clothes. Why were they both wearing so many clothes?

"Hey," Phoenix was saying. "Hey. Hey. Slow--it's okay. Hey."

His shirt was off, his jacket... he must have taken off his jacket at some point. Phoenix was weighing him down on the bed, stroking his side, pushing at his pants. Miles arched his back and wriggled and rubbed against Phoenix's front and somehow got his pants down off his hips, only to catch them on his shoes.

"God damn it--" he shouted, kicking out.

"Hey!" Phoenix grabbed his arms and held him down. "I've got it. I've got you. Promise. Just... don't kick me while I get your shoes, okay?"

Miles' throat closed up and he nodded. It was only minor agony to lie still as Phoenix ducked off the side of the bed and tugged at his shoelaces. Then his shoes were gone, and his socks, and his pants.

When Phoenix popped up to pull off his underwear, Miles found that he was so wet that the silk was sticking to his skin. Phoenix stared down at the mess that Miles' body had made of his boxers with a perplexed look. "Huh..."

Oh, God. Phoenix was disgusted by him. Miles pressed his face into the mattress and vainly wished that his bed would open up and swallow him whole.

"Hey, hey..." There was a resettling of the bed as Phoenix climbed up beside him. "Miles?"

He whimpered and closed his eyes tighter.

Phoenix's hand rested on his upper arm. "Hey. I forgot you could make your own lube for a second. Comes in handy, right?"

"... I suppose," he said. "I've never really had the opportunity..."

Phoenix pressed his mouth to Miles' neck and kissed his skin. Miles tilted his head, waiting for the scrape of teeth, but Phoenix only said, "You smell great, y'know? I didn't think there was anything to this smell stuff for a beta like me, but I might have to change my mind."

He whimpered. The itch was back. "Phoenix..."

"Do you still want to do this?"

"I need... I need you." He opened his eyes and turned to see Phoenix lying beside him, completely nude, and he felt an electric spike of desire run through him. "Please."

Phoenix's eyes went wide. "Oh-kay."

Miles pushed himself up and got onto his hands and knees. After a second, he could feel Phoenix getting into place behind him, lining himself up.

And then with what felt like an agonizingly slow slide, Phoenix's cock thrust home inside him, and he was filled and complete and clenching his teeth to keep from crying out as he rocked backward to meet Phoenix's thrusts, urging him harder, faster, keening as the relief of getting fucked filled him.

Phoenix fucked him hard until his orgasm hit and he clenched down on the cock inside him, shockwave of pleasure cascading through his body. He moaned as Phoenix didn't start moving again. "Please--"

"Are you--did you want me to stop?"

"No!" He took a deep breath. "Don't stop, please, Phoenix, don't stop--ah!"

Phoenix grabbed him by the hips and rocked into him again, and again. Miles dropped onto his elbows to brace himself, and Phoenix responded by pushing harder, snapping their hips together.

He came one more time before Phoenix did, and then Phoenix was collapsing on top of him, and then they were sliding apart and he was empty again.

Phoenix rolled onto his back and took a few deep breaths. "Hoo," he said. "Wow, okay, I think I see what you meant when you said I couldn't keep up. That was... woah."

Miles whimpered and crawled over next to him. Phoenix lifted his head. "Hey? You okay?"

"I need--" he moaned again and pressed his forehead to Phoenix's shoulder. "I'm sorry, I need--"

"All right. Here." Phoenix turned to face him, ran his hand down Miles' side, around to cup his ass. "Here, let me try this--"

Phoenix slid a finger into him, then two, and fingers weren't going to be enough but he turned facedown and spread his legs open anyway. Three fingers wasn't even a stretch at this point, he was slick and ready for more, he needed a knot dammit--

The fourth finger stretched him slightly more, and then Phoenix's knuckles were pushing him open, thumb tucked close. He gasped as he felt suddenly spread wide as the rest of Phoenix's hand sank into him, until he was clenched down around Phoenix's wrist.

"Ah--" he gasped, and then the mass of Phoenix's fist was curled up and pressing into him right there and he was coming, again, hard, overwhelming, sobbing, the crash of pleasure wracking his body over and over again until he was shuddering, completely spent, face-down on the bed.

For a moment he felt complete stillness. Then Phoenix hesitantly asked, "Hey, Miles? Are you okay?"

"Mmmmmmmm," he answered coherently.

"Uh... do you need any more? Or, uh, can I have my hand back?"

"M'good, now," he managed to say. He didn't manage more than a sigh as he felt Phoenix pull his hand back out of him, leaving his muscles twinging slightly.

Phoenix curled up next to him, and he rolled backwards until they were spooning. Phoenix's skin felt strangely cool against his, though still warmer than the air around them. "I'm glad that worked," Phoenix said. "I didn't really have a plan B."

"M'glad... too," he muttered.

"Did you want to get a shower or something?"

He shook his head. He was warm, he was satisfied, he was tired. He didn't want to move.

"Okay, then." Phoenix kissed the back of his neck again. "I'm here if you need me."

The thought was comforting enough that when he closed his eyes again, he was able to drift off into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

Phoenix waited until he was sure that Miles was asleep before he sat up and looked around the bedroom.

It was still early in the day, and light was streaming through the window. The room was dominated by the bed they were lying in, a huge four-poster affair in dark wood with--he could now see--heavy curtains that were currently tied back to the posts with ostentatious gold tasseled ropes. The bed itself had a dozen pillows piled against the headboard, though neither of them had gotten far enough onto the bed to use them. And, of course, everything was burgundy.

They'd made a mess of the blanket, and they were both sticky with a variety of drying bodily fluids. Phoenix grimaced and climbed to his feet. Miles might not want a shower, but he definitely did.

He borrowed Miles' shower, fancy soap, and burgundy (of course) bathrobe and padded back to the bedroom to find Miles still snoozing.

For a moment, he just watched Miles sleep. It was surreal. Mere days ago, they had been rivals, barely speaking to each other, except for shouted objections in court and harsh comments about 'unnecessary feelings.' Yesterday they'd taken a few shaky steps to being friends again.

And half an hour ago, well...

He shivered and found himself reaching out to touch the milky skin of Miles' calf. He was still radiating heat, and Phoenix was sure that were he an alpha, he'd be picking up on all kinds of other signals that Miles was radiating.

Well, he wasn't an alpha, and the effort of pretending had reminded him that he'd missed breakfast. And it was past time for lunch.

There wasn't much in the kitchen, but he found some cheese slices and crackers and made himself a meal. Then he went back to check on Miles. Still asleep.

He found the pile of his and Miles' clothes next to the bed and winced. He'd worn his suit to the detention center to look as professional as possible, and now it looked like he had a dry-cleaning bill in his near future. He picked up his jacket and the weight of his phone bumped against him.

Now, there was a thought. He couldn't ask Miles to explain what he should be doing, but maybe he could phone a friend?

He pulled out his phone and looked up Maya's number. She was probably still settling in back at home, and he didn't want to interrupt whatever spirit medium training she was going back to, but... maybe just a message.

Hi Maya, can I ask your advice about something? he sent. He went to slip the phone back in his jacket when it chimed with a response.

What's up?

He sat down on the edge of the bed. Just questions about omega stuff

OMG, are you helping Edgeworth with his heat?

For a moment he could only stare at the screen. Then he tapped out, How..?

I was standing next to him Nick, of course I knew

He looked over at Miles' prone form. Oh. He'd always known that as a beta he was missing this stuff, but he didn't often have his nose rubbed in it, so to speak.

So what do you need to know?

What do I do to help him? he typed out.

LOL he read a moment later. If u need help with that...

BESIDES THE OBVIOUS he sent back, wincing.

Just be there, Maya responded after another second. Cuddles, make sure he showers because he will thank you. Maybe help w laundry.

He nodded to himself. That sounded reasonable. Make dinner?

NO! Maya sent. No eating during heat, pooping is bad enough the day after as is!

Phoenix stared at his phone. What?? he responded, and added an exclamation point to the end for emphasis.

Don't you know? she texted. Omegas don't poop during heat.

You're not serious. He glanced back at Miles, face-down on the bed, and winced. This isn't the time to pull my leg.

Honest! It's more important for boy omegas. They need to keep the butt clean. Didn't you learn this in school?

If I remembered would I be asking??

He could almost see Maya's eye roll. Ok Nick. No food, yes water and juice. Yes keeping clean. And yes sex. Think u can handle that?

I better, he sent back. Thanx Maya.

He tucked his phone back in his jacket pocket and folded the jacket over his arm, then, for lack of anywhere to put it, set it back on the floor again.

A rustling sound behind him made him turn in time to see Miles rolling over onto his back, rubbing his eyes. "Phoenix?" he asked. He sounded confused.

"I, uh, borrowed your shower. And your robe." He climbed onto the bed, gingerly perching by Miles' feet. "Enjoy your nap?"

Now Miles was looking at him, intensely, and Phoenix felt trapped by his dark eyes. It was a similar feeling to how he felt when Prosecutor Edgeworth looked at him in court.

"I thought for a moment I'd dreamed you," Miles said. Suddenly, Phoenix was very glad they weren't facing each other in court, because the thoughts that Miles' tone of voice engendered would definitely be out of place in a courtroom.

"Ah, n-no, right here," he stammered in response.

Miles nodded. "Well, I'm feeling a bit more lucid, in any case," he said, looking around.

"Oh, good," Phoenix responded. Miles pushed himself upright and reached for one of the tasseled tie-backs on the curtains. "Want to get a shower? It might feel nice..."

"... want a proper nest," Miles growled. "Why didn't I bother..."

He finally got one of the curtain ties undone and the curtain slid to its full length, shrouding the other side of the bed in shadow. "Can I help any?" Phoenix asked as Miles tackled the next one.

He looked surprised at Phoenix's question. "I... there's more supplies in the top of the closet," he said. "Could you get the blankets and the pillows there?"

Phoenix hopped to his feet to check. There were indeed extra pillows and blankets, enough to outfit an office full of lawyers if an emergency slumber party broke out. Phoenix pulled down the stacks of bedding and ferried them to the bed, where Miles had succeeded in pulling most of the curtains closed.

With the curtains drawn the bed was dark and close, only a few rays of natural light bouncing off the back wall. Miles took the spare blankets and pillows and started piling them around the sides of the bed, making... well, a nest.

By the time he was finished they were ringed with cushions, and the last curtains were closed, shutting them off from the outside. It was dark, and warm, and Phoenix shed the robe and lay down awkwardly. "So, uh..."

Miles snuggled up to his side and wrapped his arms around him. "Mmmm, Phoenix..."

"Hey." Miles smelled like sex, and not like the unwashed-after-fucking that Phoenix had expected, but like enticing fuck-me wetness, and he felt his dick stirring. "Another round?"

Miles pressed his face to Phoenix's neck. "I'm sorry."

"Why sorry?" He turned until he was facing his friend. It was difficult in the dark to properly line up a kiss, but it felt like his sense of touch was supercharged when he pressed their lips together. His intended quick peck of reassurance deepened as Miles pushed his fingers through his damp hair, drawing him closer.

"Need you," Miles panted, when they broke apart. "Phoenix, I need--"

Exactly what he needed was cut off in a choked whine. Phoenix stroked his hair as he buried his face in Phoenix's shoulder again.

He had to admit, it was a shocking change to hear Edgeworth be so, well, needy. He'd been so prickly and standoffish, insisting that he could do everything himself, that it was astonishing to hear him admit to any vulnerability.

But here he was, in Phoenix's arms, trembling with desire. Trusting him. Wanting him.

It was unbelievably hot.

"Here," he said, pulling on Miles' shoulder. "Turn around. C'mere." He got Miles turned against him so they were spooning, and he was sliding his dick against the slickness coating Miles' ass and thighs.

That was another thing he hadn't expected, but damn did it feel good. And smell good, too. He almost wanted to taste it, but he felt like Miles would probably get weirded out if he tried.

Instead he reached down and adjusted the angle of his dick until he could feel the hot, tight grip of Miles' muscles around the crown of his cock, then pushed his hips forward, sinking deep into him.

Miles keened. He pressed himself back against Phoenix's body as Phoenix gave into the temptation to thrust into that slick hot tunnel with short sharp strokes.

It was so. Fucking. Good. Miles' ass clenched around his cock with a slippery grip which almost rippled around his dick, fluttering and pulling him in tighter. And then Miles shuddered and cried out, a high-pitched yelp, as he curled in on himself and came.

He couldn't help stopping at that, even though Miles had made it quite clear earlier what he thought of Phoenix not fucking him. He just couldn't believe that Miles wouldn't be overwhelmed, that he would want more even as he was shaking and clamping down around Phoenix's cock. But he started wriggling back against Phoenix almost immediately, urging him on again, and Phoenix took him up on it. It was definitely taking him longer to come, but Miles didn't seem to mind in the least.

Finally, after a haze of pleasurable sensations that seemed to go on forever, Phoenix grabbed ahold of Miles' hip hard enough to leave bruises and thrust as deep as possible into him, as pleasure spiked through his dick and he came, more hot wetness joining the slippery mess already coating his cock and his thighs. He waited to hear if Miles was going to plead for more fingering, but his friend seemed content to just lay against him, drowsily running his fingers over Phoenix's hand and wrist.

"And I just cleaned up, too," Phoenix muttered.

Miles barked a laugh. "This is why I didn't bother."

"Mmm." He buried his face in Miles' hair and let the fine strands tickle over his eyelids and cheeks. "Might feel nice at some point."

"... Yes." Miles rolled over until Phoenix's nose bumped into his ear. "You were right."

"Hm?"

"It does feel better. With someone else here." He turned his head a bit more. "With you here."

Phoenix pressed his lips to Miles' cheek, then carefully kissed his way along his jaw to his mouth. Miles captured his kisses with his own lips and for a moment Phoenix indulged himself in tasting Miles, here, with him.

Wanting him.

With that as the prize, he was willing to stay in this nest forever.

Chapter Text

Miles had never before had what could be termed a pleasant heat.

To be fair, he'd only presented as an omega at sixteen, and after that first disaster of a Christmas, he'd spent every year thereafter steadfastly repressing as much of his omega nature as possible. Scent suppressant chemicals both ingested and layered on his skin, a cultivated air of arrogance at odds with any stereotypes about omegas, and of course, heat suppressants. Every year, without fail, for nearly ten years.

Now that he'd slept in his own nest, and enough of the edge of the piercing need had been worn off, it was almost relaxing to lie next to Phoenix. He pressed his face into Phoenix's neck and breathed in, astonished again at how little scent he could notice. His instincts were telling him that Phoenix should smell like victory, like presence, like... like an alpha, in short. And instead there was only the same beta-smell, undifferentiated from any other beta he'd met. It was unfair. He should be able to sense Phoenix from across the room.

Well, he huffed, he'd just have to act like a beta and use his eyes. He'd had enough practice pretending, he'd just need to keep at it.

Eventually he needed to leave the nest, to piss if nothing else. When he'd finished washing his hands, he opened the door to find Phoenix loitering in the hallway.

"It's all yours," he said after a moment.

Phoenix grinned sheepishly. "I wondered if you wanted to take a shower."

"Are you suggesting I need one?"

"Not really," Phoenix said, shrugging. "I figure we're both gonna be pretty ripe no matter how often we wash, but, y'know, you were in detention for a few days. When I got out of there I felt like I needed to scrub the top layer of my skin off."

For a moment the world seemed to wobble again. He had forgotten. How had he forgotten? Detention seemed ages ago. Another lifetime.

Had it only been that morning that he'd left?

Miles suddenly felt the imprint of the several days in lockup on his skin, and though it was presumably only psychosomatic, he shivered and rubbed at his arms. "Ah. Yes."

"I can scrub your back," Phoenix offered with an insouciant smirk. It was appalling how good it looked on him. Miles found himself licking his lips and turned away sharply.

Turning meant he was now facing his shower. He was already naked, so he opened the screen and stepped inside. Phoenix hesitated at the threshold, but quickly followed him inside when Miles started the water.

The spray over his skin started carrying away the sweat and grime. He reached for the bar of soap and found Phoenix's hand closing over it instead.

"Let me," Phoenix said.

Miles hesitated, then let his hand fall. Phoenix picked up the soap and ran it up Miles' arm, across his shoulders. He let his head tilt forward and sighed as suds and dirt sloughed down his back.

Phoenix sniffed. "Eucalyptus?"

"Mmm," Miles said. "It's the only thing that really gets rid of omega scent."

"Huh." Phoenix reached around and rubbed the soap over his chest. "Is that good?"

He sighed. "Phoenix..."

"Sorry." Phoenix kept washing him, and the soothing feeling of his hands rubbing over his skin was almost enough to make Miles forgive him. "You know I don't care, right?"

Miles sighed again and leaned against the wall. Phoenix continued working his way with the soap down his back, his ass, his legs.

"Oh," Phoenix said suddenly. "Are you... I mean, do you... uh, do you identify as a beta?"

"I don't have a problem with my gender," Miles snapped. Then he swallowed his irritation and temporized, "I don't feel like... like I'm a transgender beta. I merely don't have time for the humiliations our world heaps on omegas."

"Sorry." Phoenix kissed him on the ass, an apologetic peck, though what he was apologizing for Miles didn't know. "Just wanted to make sure, y'know?"

Miles leaned forward until he was resting his forehead on the tile. "Yes, of course."

He'd considered it, truth be told. But it had never felt right, and in any case, taking the hormone-based scent suppressants he favored would have been the first step in treatment. The fact that he'd felt better without them over the last few days merely confirmed that they were a regrettable necessity, nothing more.

Phoenix finished washing down his back, then started up the front of his legs. He couldn't help rolling his hips against Phoenix's soapy grip, his cock stirring to life again under his attention.

Phoenix chuckled gently. "Hello, there."

"Mmmmmmf." He closed his eyes. Water streamed down over his body. He heard Phoenix shuffling around, heard water striking skin, felt the press of fingers against him.

"My own dick's out of commission for a while," Phoenix said. "But if you'd like, I can still help out."

Miles opened his mouth to reply and the only thing that came out was a moan.

"Is that a yes?"

He nodded against the wall, but Phoenix saw, and in a moment his clever, expressive fingers were pressing inside of him, stretching him open again--

Miles curled his toes against the rough surface of the shower floor as Phoenix's hand again pushed him open. He savored the satisfaction of the pressure of the base of Phoenix's thumb settling inside of him, the shift as Phoenix curled his fingers into a fist. Every motion made his nerves brim with pleasure, increasing in a crescendo that reached a plateau as he cried out, screamed, braced himself against the wall to keep from falling.

Finally he was gasping and weakly blinking his bangs out of his eyes. Water was still sluicing down his face and he coughed.

"Good?" Phoenix asked.

"Mmmm," he replied. "We should have waited until we were out of the shower. There's a drought."

"After the El Niño weather this year? Nah. Have you seen the reservoirs lately?" Phoenix kissed his ass again. He was starting to think the beta had some kind of complex. "I'm gonna pull my hand out, okay?"

"Yes," he said weakly. Then he groaned as he felt Phoenix's hand slip out of him. For a moment he felt empty, bereft.

Phoenix made a sudden "Mmm!" noise. Miles blinked his eyes open and turned enough to see Phoenix kneeling on the shower floor, his fingers in his mouth, eyes wide.

... His fingers that had just been inside Miles' ass. Miles could only gape, almost too shocked to feel the wave of embarrassment and shame that crashed over him.

Phoenix only smiled sheepishly and pulled his fingers out of his mouth. "You taste good."

Miles reached out and harshly twisted the water off. He stood shivering for a moment, then turned and opened the screen, stepping out onto the bath mat.

"Hey," Phoenix said. "I mean it. Really."

Miles grabbed a towel and started drying himself off. He felt cold and exposed. He wanted to go back in his nest. He got dry enough, dropped the towel on the floor, and stumbled down the hall.

Once he'd batted open the curtains and climbed into his nest--the nest that smelled like heat and a little bit like Phoenix, making his breath hitch--he could hear Phoenix padding down the hallway after him. Miles threw a blanket over himself and screwed his eyes shut.

"Hey," Phoenix said from the other side of the curtains. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say something wrong. You okay?"

Miles whimpered, the press of too many emotions beating in his skull.

"Okay, uh," Phoenix said after a moment. "I'll be back in a minute, yell if you want anything, okay?"

Silence fell after that. Miles sighed and pulled the blankets tighter. Everything had gone from a dizzying high to an oppressive low. He was torn between wanting to run after Phoenix and apologize and drag him back to the nest and wanting to never be touched ever again.

He heard the occasional sound from down the hallway--something that sounded like the washing machine kicking on, footsteps, the refrigerator door opening and closing. He could feel his muscles start to unclench and his breathing start to return to normal as he lay there in the dark, mind starting to drift.

Then he heard Phoenix again. "Uh, hey, Miles? Sorry, but... what's the address here again?"

"What?" he asked.

"I was just going to order a pizza, but I realized that I don't know the number of this building," Phoenix said. "I thought about reading it off your mail, but..."

Guilt, sharp and hot, hit Miles in the chest. Phoenix was hungry, of course he was, and a mental inventory of his kitchen turned up... not much to eat. Miles pushed himself upright and crawled to the edge of the bed.

Phoenix was standing in the doorway, wearing Miles' robe, scratching at the back of his neck. Miles cast about his room until he saw his laptop, on his desk. "Here," he said, pointing at it, "bring me my computer?"

"It's fine," Phoenix said, but he crossed the room and unplugged the computer anyway. "Really, I can take care of it, I'll just get Domino's or something..."

Miles couldn't suppress a shudder. He opened his computer and pulled up the delivery service that he used in lieu of cooking all too often. "Here, order anything you want."

"Woah," Phoenix said, gingerly taking the keyboard. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Miles said. He wrapped his arms around Phoenix's waist to a surprised squeak from the beta. "I'm sorry... about earlier."

Phoenix patted his arm. "It's okay."

He scrolled through menus for a while as Miles breathed in his scent. He mostly smelled like eucalyptus, but his hair still smelled of beta-scent and of their earlier exertions.

"Okay," Phoenix said, "I'm going to need to reach my wallet--"

"It'll bill me automatically," Miles said. "It's fine."

"But--"

"Please, it's fine," Miles repeated.

There was a tap of keys. "Okay," Phoenix said. "That'll be here in half an hour." He shut the laptop and set it on the floor. Then he turned in Miles' embrace and nuzzled his hair. "Hey. We're good?"

Miles nodded into Phoenix's neck.

Phoenix rubbed his back. "Hey, I meant it, though," he said. "You're not gross. Eesh, everything about you is perfect."

Miles squirmed. "But..."

"It's not weird to get wet," Phoenix said. "Women do it all the time--well, beta women," he amended.

"Omegas too," Miles muttered.

"There, see?"

Miles sighed into Phoenix's skin. "Intellectually, I know you're correct," he said. "But it still doesn't feel right. I feel..."

"Want me to prove it to you?" Phoenix asked, and Miles could hear amusement in his voice.

"What do you mean Phoenix--Phoenix!" Miles complained as he was pushed backwards onto the bed, landing on his shoulders with his hips canted up by the cushions he'd laid earlier. He found himself laughing, startled, as Phoenix planted his hands to either side of his body, kissing his way down his ribs and stomach.

Phoenix playfully licked up the side of his cock before he moved his head down between his legs, and even though Miles knew what was coming he twisted in shame and surprise when he felt Phoenix's tongue--

Oh fuck that felt good.

It was filthy, what Phoenix was doing, licking into him, lapping circles around his--his asshole, fuck, this was obscene. Phoenix's tongue wriggled back inside him and probed against his p-spot and Miles nearly came on the spot. His body's exhaustion from earlier orgasm was the only thing that stopped him.

And Phoenix didn't seem inclined to stop. He eagerly pushed his nose into Miles' taint to better angle his mouth, his tongue pressing even deeper inside him. He could hear the little satisfied noises coming from Phoenix, and felt his own breath coming in harsh gasps as he struggled with conflicting urges to twist away and to press closer.

His body finally pushed him over the crest of orgasm, and his back arched as he rode the sensations down, flutters of pleasure rolling up his cock and through his body. Phoenix crawled up onto the bed next to him, looking very satisfied with himself, mouth glistening.

"See, that wasn't so--" Phoenix said, before Miles cut him off by kissing him.

And... Phoenix was right. What he tasted on Phoenix's lips wasn't bad. Strange. But not disgusting.

They kissed until a buzzing noise echoed through the apartment. He stared blearily at Phoenix for a moment, confused, until Phoenix sat bolt upright. "Oh shit, my dinner!" he said, then grabbed his robe tighter around him and ran down the hall.

Miles flopped back on the cushions and started to laugh.

Chapter Text

Phoenix would have eaten at Miles' desk, but the smell of food turned Miles' stomach, so he retreated to the kitchen. Miles found himself drifting to sleep, waking only when Phoenix tucked a blanket around him still warm from the dryer.

"You did laundry?" he asked blearily.

"Uh, yeah," Phoenix said. "I don't think I ruined anything."

That hadn't been a concern before he'd mentioned it. Miles sighed and comforted himself with the thought that there was only so much harm Phoenix could do with a washing machine.

He dozed again. Phoenix was there when he woke up, snoring gently against his shoulder. He felt more lucid, and pushed back the curtains to check the time. Barely seven in the evening. The sun was down and the city lights were playing on his window, the expanse of overcast pink haze beyond punctuated with the shadows of palm trees and telephone wires. Just another winter night in Los Angeles.

Sometimes he missed snow, but he didn't really miss anything else about his life in Germany. Just occasionally being allowed unsupervised time with Franziska, throwing snowballs at each other.

He let the curtain fall and snuggled back in with Phoenix. The beta shook himself awake. "Hey?"

"Good evening."

"Mmm." Phoenix groped for him in the dark, until they were nestled next to each other, Phoenix's head pillowed on his shoulder. "Hey, I never asked before. How long does this last?"

Miles shrugged awkwardly. "I don't really know myself."

"Well, approximately. Are we talking, what, hours, days? A week?"

"Closer to days," Miles said. "It varies."

"Mmmm, okay." Phoenix shifted closer. "I put the leftovers in the fridge, so I'm good for a while."

The thought of food still made his stomach flip. He pushed it down. "Do you have any other pertinent questions?"

Phoenix shook his head. "The defense rests."

That startled a laugh out of him. And then a hiss, as the familiar, oppressive, overwhelming need raised its head again.

"Mmm, more?"

Panic, that he was too needy, a burden. "I'm sorry--"

"I'll let you know if I'm ever too tired," Phoenix said. His hand drifted down over Miles' stomach to stroke his cock. "Mmmm, what would you like?"

He'd like--anything Phoenix wanted. His body wanted to be fucked, pinned, bitten, tied. "I... anything," he said. "Fuck me."

Phoenix kissed him, all too gently, on the cheek. Then he pressed another kiss to his neck, his collarbone, down his chest. Miles had never thought of himself as having sensitive nipples, but Phoenix spent what felt like hours licking and sucking them to aching, pebble-like hardness.

Finally, he slid down far enough to put his mouth over Miles' cock and his fingers into Miles' ass, and then the world fell away as satisfaction and relief flooded in.

Afterwards he drifted dreamily, Phoenix cuddling him and stroking his hair. Everything was wonderful. Phoenix was wonderful. Miles was happy and warm and safe and satisfied and...

"Huh," Phoenix said. "Are you purring? I knew omegas could do that, but..."

Miles was suddenly very awake. His breath choked off and he could feel his pulse thudding in his ears. Oh. No. He couldn't--

"Oh, hey." Phoenix's voice went concerned. "I didn't mean you should stop."

Manfred von Karma had been very clear. Purring was something omegas and adolescent alphas did, and thus it was unacceptable. Childish. Weakness.

But Manfred von Karma lied, Miles thought frantically. He lied, he didn't know everything, he killed my father--

It was too much to deal with, he'd been in jail only that morning, he'd only been cleared of murder charges the day before, and he couldn't handle thinking about all the ways in which his world had been turned upside down and shaken.

Maybe, though. Maybe he could accept that von Karma had been wrong about this one thing without his entire world coming apart.

He tried; he concentrated on slowing his breathing and letting his throat relax. But his purr wouldn't start again while he was thinking about it, and trying was just making his throat tighten up. Finally he shook his head against Phoenix's shoulder and said, "I'm sorry."

"You don't need to keep apologizing." Phoenix kept stroking his hair. "I'm sorry I brought it up. Is... is everything okay?"

He sighed. "No," he finally said. "But it's not urgent."

Phoenix leaned down and kissed the top of his head. "Okay."

After that, he drifted in and out of sleep, but never quite hit that level of contentment again.

That set the pace of the next few days. He drifted, sometimes sleeping, sometimes just dozing. Every once in a while the need hit, and Phoenix was always there, with his mouth or his hands or his cock. Occasionally, Phoenix would leave the nest, sometimes dragging the more soiled blankets out to wash, sometimes dragging Miles into the shower. They slept, they woke, they fucked, they slept again. Miles drank the water Phoenix pressed into his hands and let Phoenix use his delivery account again.

Time passed, outside the nest, but inside it was dark and timeless. In some of his moments of lucidity, Miles thought about calling in to work to explain away his absence, but it always felt like too much effort.

And for a long time, it felt like everything would be perfect forever.

Miles woke feeling disoriented. He was comfortable, but confused. He wasn't used to waking up without being startled from a nightmare, but it felt as though he'd slept the entire night through.

He stretched, and felt the warm presence of someone else in his bed. That was enough to make his eyes fly open, but he still couldn't see--the curtains still drawn, there wasn't any light, the air was close and stank of unwashed bodies and fucking. Groggily, he fought upright and pushed the curtains back.

"Hmm?" said Wright.

Miles stared. Phoenix Wright was in his bed.

Wait, that was right, wasn't it? Wright had come home with him, and--

Wright rolled himself upright and rubbed his face. "Hey. Ready for more?" Then he blinked his eyes open and must have caught something of Miles' expression. "You okay?"

Heat. It was the heat. He must have been temporarily insane, to allow Wright to--to ask Wright to--

"Miles?"

Miles flinched. "Wright..."

"Huh?" Wright rubbed at his face again. "You don't need to be so formal, I mean, we've been..." he trailed off, and this time he seemed to actually look at Miles. "Oh. So, uh. I guess your heat's over?"

Miles found himself looking at the floor, at the wall, at the clock (6:02, unclear whether that was morning or evening,) anywhere but at Wright's expression. "Yes. It is."

"Oh, okay." Wright moved around, and Miles could hear him stretching and scratching his hair. "Want help cleaning things up?"

"No," Miles said, harshly. Too harshly. He could hear Wright's shocked whistle of breath, and for a moment, he wanted--

He wanted Wright gone, wanted his space free of him, wanted to put this entire shameful experience behind him--

"Okay," Wright said. He sounded subdued.

Miles shoved the curtain open and tied it back. The fresh air would help, but he'd have to wash everything on his bed. Scrub his skin.

Take his scent blockers.

"I, uh..." Wright sounded hesitant, and Miles finally spared him another glance. "Can I use your shower before I go?"

He opened his mouth to refuse. He wanted Wright out of his apartment as soon as possible. But he forced himself to nod.

Wright scuttled out of his bed, stopping to pick something off the floor. Clothing. His aggressively blue suit. Miles turned back to setting his curtains to rights, then ruthlessly stripped the blankets and sheets from the mattress.

He could hear the shower start down the hall. He bundled up the first load of sheets and carried them to the laundry.

It was only after he started the machine that he belatedly realized he was naked, and had no idea where his robe was.

The shower switched off. Miles hurried back to his bedroom, pulled on at least an undershirt and a pair of boxers before Wright reappeared.

"So, uh," Wright said. "I'm sorry if I, uh... I mean, I don't really know the right thing to do right now."

Miles couldn't look at him. If he did, he'd start thinking about the body under that suit, those hands against him on him in him--

"Do you want to get lunch tomorrow? To, uh, talk about this?"

Miles flinched. "No."

"Oh." Wright looked down at his feet. "Do you want to talk now?"

"No," Miles repeated. "I don't. I don't know that I will ever want to talk about this."

That seemed to set Wright back. "Oh. O-okay. Ah, well, if you ever do, then..."

"I know how to contact you."

"Y-yeah. And I won't bring it up if you don't want to, but..."

"Don't," Miles said shortly.

Wright inhaled slowly. "Okay, then. I, uh. I guess I'll go?"

Miles nodded sharply. Wright dithered for a moment in the doorway. "Okay, then. Okay. Uh... bye, Edgeworth. I hope you feel better. Call me--"

"Goodbye, Wright," Miles said.

Wright backed down the hallway. After a moment, he heard the front door to his apartment open, then close.

Miles took a deep breath, and focused on getting laundry done. If he didn't focus, he'd have to notice the sting in his chest, the tears starting to leak out of his eyes.

He'd have to notice the towels and blankets in the dryer when he went to switch over the laundry he'd started, and bury himself in the cloth, and try not to remember Phoenix tucking a clean blanket around him in the middle of the night.

Chapter Text

When he went back to work, he stopped taking the scent blockers. He still used the lotion, of course; he didn't want everyone in the building smelling every one of his emotions just because he was forgoing hormonal assistance. But now he smelled like an omega, a bit. Enough.

It wasn't as though he'd been lying about his gender before; the M/Ω on his paperwork and his drivers' license was there for anyone to read. And there weren't a lot of alphas around the Prosecutor's Office in any case.

But the ones who were... they noticed. The chief of police, Damon Gant, had always skimped on scent blockers and managed to touch enough things in Miles' office when he visited to make his scent linger for hours. After Miles got back, his visits lengthened. Always obnoxious, he was now making it a habit to lean over Miles' desk and twirl his ridiculous twist of hair until Miles wanted to snip it off. Angel Starr, detective turned lunch lady with the irrational dislike of her customer base of prosecutors, had an entirely new list of cutting remarks for him.

Miles would have suspected that Lana Skye killed Bruce Goodman in his trunk in a similar show of disapproval, but she was F/B to the core and had barely seemed to notice the change.

The investigation and trial was a frustrating, aggravating experience. He was prosecuting his superior, who seemed determined to make his job easier--and his life harder. And Wright--

Well, Wright was defending Ms. Skye, of course, even though she didn't want to be defended. Which meant he was underfoot constantly.

Miles' nerves were frayed enough already. He didn't need to see Wright lurking around every corner. He didn't need the whiplash of his arguments in court.

He'd genuinely considered quitting after he learned about von Karma and the fate of his father, but now he was alternately writing out his resignation and crumpling up the pages. Couldn't take the pressure, he could hear von Karma's voice in his ear. Giving in to your inherent, weak nature. The blood of a defense attorney, thinned again by your omega humors--

Miles closed his eyes and took a breath. That was ridiculous. He didn't need to heed anything von Karma had told him. The man was a liar, a murderer--

Then why are you ignoring your prosecution in favor of meditating on your own failures? the voice sneered. Are you so desperate for that defense attorney's favor that you are planning on throwing this trial? Are you so eager to sacrifice your principles for a willing cock that you'll throw yourself at the first person who supplied you with one? Couldn't even hold out for an alpha, you were on your knees begging for that beta with all the enthusiasm of a breeding slut--

Miles slammed his forehead into his desk and threw his arms over his head. No. No no no. He was not going to give into his genetics and his gender. He wasn't.

He went back on the scent blockers for the remainder of the trial. Not that it helped. They made the back of his throat feel dry, and his body uncomfortably warm (especially wearing his chosen fashion), but it was Wright's tenacity that wound up being the deciding factor.

Wright's tenacity dug up old evidence, old wounds, and old accusations. Wright argued that a sixteen-year-old girl was a murderer and then argued himself out of that conclusion, and by the end of the trial, Miles' world was upside-down again.

He felt as though he'd spent the last few hours watching his career burn down, and he could only be satisfied that he'd taken Gant down with him.

He felt obligated to extend his regards, drawn to the happy gathering in the defendant's lobby like a moth to a flame. Of course Chief Prosecutor Skye saw him first. "Stop hiding and get over here."

Wright looked flustered at his appearance. He tried not to dwell on it as he nodded awkwardly at the group. "I just came to say congratulations."

There was an awkward silence. "Thank you," Prosecutor Skye said.

"Thank you, Mr. Edgeworth!" her younger sister chimed in.

"Right. Well." He couldn't look in Wright's direction. Or Detective Gumshoe's. He cleared his throat. "I'll be going now."

"Mr. Edgeworth," Prosecutor Skye said. "I hope you don't blame yourself for what happened."

He couldn't tell for a moment if she meant the SL-9 incident, or the current case. She nodded slightly and continued, "Gant and I were the ones who acted corruptly. Not you."

For a moment Miles felt vertigo, and that all-consuming sensation of everything breaking apart around him. "It's too late for me," he said. "No matter what anyone may say, I realized today that I can't change my own mistakes."

Believing von Karma. Believing Gant. Believing that he himself was somehow incorruptable, merely because of a "perfect" record.

"Mr. Edgeworth..." the younger Skye sister said softly, staring at him with wide eyes.

She was too young for her secondary gender to have fully presented, but he could sense the beginnings of something at the edge of her scent. He hoped for her sake that she'd present as an alpha. It would make things easier on her.

"Not only that," Miles continued, the words recklessly spilling out, "but I don't even trust myself any more. Chief Gant was right. We're too much the same. I do despise criminals. I planned to dedicate my entire life to fighting them. But in order to fight crime alone, one needs a 'weapon.' It's..."

He tripped on the next thing he was going to say. 'Never let them see you're afraid.' The voice still sounded like von Karma, but he swallowed and temporized, "It's regrettable, but I've been thinking the same thing. Who knows? Given enough time I might have tried to pull something like Chief Gant did. That thought..."

He shook his head. Now everyone was staring at him. "I can't continue on as a prosecutor," he finished.

He refused to look at Phoenix. He'd either have that same expression of daffy, beatific encouragement on his face, or he'd be pitying. Or worse, he'd agree with everything that Miles had just said.

It was Prosecutor Skye who said gently, "Edgeworth... don't you understand? Damon Gant, and your mentor, Manfred von Karma, were both the best of the best when it came to fighting crime. But they both made the same mistake. You said 'alone', but... you're not alone."

She turned to Wright, who was--when he glanced--staring at him with an almost hurt expression. "You and Mr. Wright worked together today to find out the truth. And because of that partnership, you were able to present evidence that otherwise would have gone undiscovered. Isn't that right, Mr. Wright?"

"Yeah, Edgeworth," Wright said. "Think back to the SL-9 evidence list. You had half, and I found the other half. Without putting that together, we wouldn't have found Ema's picture on the back."

"That didn't happen by chance, Edgeworth," Skye continued.

They were all staring at him as though he hadn't just ruined everything. His vision wavered briefly. All of a sudden he was tired, tired of his employment, tired of betas thinking they knew best for him. Tired of his best not being good enough.

"It's time for me to go," he finally said. "There are still some loose ends that need wrapping up. Take care, Chief Prosecutor. Detective. Miss Skye."

He turned to say farewell to Wright and his breath caught in his throat. So instead he nodded, and turned away.

"Edgeworth!"

Wright was coming after him. He made it to the door and pushed it open, but Wright followed him into the hallway. Sighing sharply, he stopped short to allow the other lawyer to catch up.

Wright took a breath, then asked, "What... what are you going to do now?"

He sighed. "Wright..."

"I'm just worried, I mean..." Miles fixed him with a glare and he stuttered to a halt.

Now Wright was the one who couldn't meet his eyes. It was a sliver of power, reducing him to such a flustered state, but it was gratifying.

Of course Wright wouldn't stay cowed forever. He straightened up and said, "Well, whatever you do, just remember. What happened in this trial can either make or break you as a prosecutor. In the end it's up to you."

"I know." His throat felt tight. Allergies, possibly. "It seems I owe you my thanks too, Wright. But what I face now... is my problem."

"Edgeworth..." Wright swallowed whatever he was going to say and pasted on a cheery smile. "Heh, well, I'll be waiting for you in court!"

"... Farewell, Wright."

Technically, they shouldn't have faced each other in court after... what had happened. Technically, they should never face each other again. Technically, they should have filed a motion of conflict of interest.

Instead, he walked away without saying anything.

Chapter Text

Suicide was never something he felt strongly about in those days, as he packed up his life and tried to figure out what to do with himself, but then again, he didn't feel strongly about very much at all.

Europe was a destination. It was a concrete place with concrete things that needed to be accomplished. Settling the von Karma estate. Signing things.

Had he really intended his final note to the Los Angeles Prosecutor's Office be read as suicide? Some days he looked back and wondered that he meant anything at all.

He dropped off the map. It took him three months in a tiny apartment in Wuppertal before he could even think of law again. Some days he drank beer and watched television, some days he rode the Schwebebahn from one end of the city to the other. Some days he walked for hours.

Some days he stood on a bridge over the river and wondered what it would be like to fall. For how long would it feel like flying?

One day he was passing through a park on his way back to his flat, when he heard a violinist by the path. It was another omega, he could smell that right away, and they were playing the last solo from Rimsky-Korsokov's Sheherazade.

Miles only became aware that there were tears running down his face when the last soaring note had faded into the trees, and the other people in the park started applauding.

Suddenly terrified, suddenly overwhelmed at feeling terrified--feeling anything--he raced home and closed the door behind him.

His heart was pounding in his chest. He poured himself a glass of water, forced himself to drink it, and then stumbled to the shower. He was suddenly aware of several days' worth of sweat he needed to scrub off, and afterwards, smelling of eucalyptus and skin tingling, he dried himself off and looked in the mirror.

He looked awful, but more than that--he looked alive.

"I think I need help," he said aloud, which was more than he'd spoken in days. He cleared his throat. "Well. That's a place to start."

He had always been good at following through on his intentions, after all.

Two days later he had a prescription for Gladem, and a warning that long-term, scent suppressants were known to cause depression in some omegas. Since he'd been in Germany he'd only been taking them intermittently, when he remembered, but now he set the bottle aside. He'd just have to get used to smelling... like himself, that was all.

With the new medication, shockingly, he found a drive to improve--himself, his understanding of the law, his understanding of who he was. The psychiatrist who wrote him the prescription warned him not to overexert himself, but he was suddenly burning for lost time. So much lost time.

Over fifteen years of it, in all.

He started by returning to court--as an observer, only. He stayed in the gallery and watched silently, making notes. The push and pull of arguments. The building of cases with logic and evidence, the demolition of them with the same.

The state was not infallible, he knew that as well as anyone, but he found that the prosecuting attorneys he admired most faced their trials with respect for the facts of the matter, and the truth they uncovered.

Truth. There was that word again.

In hindsight it was strange, but he felt no compulsion to contact anyone in Los Angeles. He lived his new life entirely separate from that part of himself. He didn't think about it until he realized with a start that it was mid-December and he needed to buy heat suppressants again.

As he went through the once-familiar process of getting his prescription filled (as a simple drug that was available at a corner store in California was on lockdown in Germany, irritatingly) he thought about his previous heat.

He thought about Wright for the first time in a long time.

He resolved to call. To say something. To apologize for his absence. But every time he picked up the phone, he couldn't make himself complete the action.

He wanted to speak to someone, though. Franziska had herself moved to Los Angeles, he found out through some of the German specialized legal press, and she'd made a hash out of her United States debut, against... Wright. Of course. She would hardly be in the mood to welcome contact from her ersatz brother.

And he didn't really know anyone else at the Prosecutor's Office, any more. Lana Skye was in jail. The other prosecutors had avoided him or toadied up to him, and the thought of either reaction made him wince.

It felt like desperation that had him staring at Detective Gumshoe's number, but after checking carefully for the time difference, he pressed his finger to the call button.

The phone picked up after a couple of rings. "Uh... hello?"

"Detective?" Miles asked. "It's Prosecutor Edgeworth. How... how are you?"

He suddenly realized that he had no idea what he was going to say to the detective when he was cut off by an excited whooping noise from the other end of the line. "Mr. Edgeworth, sir! I knew you couldn't be dead!"

"I... what?" He gaped into the phone. "Dead?"

"Yes, sir! They found that note you left, and everyone figured you'd committed, uh..." Gumshoe suddenly stuttered to silence, possibly realizing at the last second that he was in sensitive territory.

"Suicide," Miles finished for him. "I... was it really that grim, what I wrote?"

"'The prosecutor Miles Edgeworth chooses death,'" Gumshoe quoted back to him. "Mr. Wright's been heartbroken."

Oh.

Well.

"Ah," he said. "I don't think I intended that to be taken literally."

"Don't worry, sir! I knew you must have meant it metaphorically!" Gumshoe said brightly. "So when are you coming back to the Prosecutor's Office? We really miss you around here!"

"I... truly?" Miles rocked back in his chair. "I was under the impression that continuing to cut your salary didn't make me very popular, at least with you."

"Aw, sir. A salary cut is one thing. But this new prosecutor we've got..." Gumshoe dropped his voice, though a glance at the clock showed he must have been at home. "She's a real terror, sir! And her whip!"

"Ah." Franziska was making herself beloved all over.

"And we could really use you on this case, sir," Gumshoe continued to exclaim. "It's a real circus!"

Miles shook his head. "Now, really, detective, certainly you're capable of handling a few rowdy suspects."

"No, I mean, it's a real circus! There's a magician, and a clown, and the ringmaster's dead..."

Miles listened to the disjointed story with half an ear while he thought about what else Gumshoe had said. Wright was heartbroken? Because of him?

Miles' stomach was sinking, and he worried he'd undo all the good that a year of fresh air and antidepressants had done him.

"Keep me informed, detective," he said when Gumshoe had babbled to a halt. "And detective..."

"Yes, sir?"

"Don't tell Wright. That I called you, I mean."

There was a pause, and he could picture Gumshoe's face falling. "But, sir..."

"I... I want to speak to him myself," Miles said. He cleared his throat. "Please."

"Okay, sir. If you say so."

"I'll be returning to Los Angeles soon," he said, though he hadn't made any plans of the sort. "Just keep quiet until then?"

"All right, sir. But come back soon, please. I think Mr. Wright's getting surlier every day. I mean, facing Ms. von Karma in court would do that to anyone!"

He couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of Wright and his sister facing off. "One imagines. I'll see you soon, detective."

"See you soon, sir. And thanks," Gumshoe said, "Thanks for trusting me with this. And for calling. I... was getting kind of worried there, sir. That Wright was right, I mean."

The pang in his chest grew sharper. He hadn't meant to leave so many things undone when he left, and he certainly hadn't intended to worry anyone. He wasn't entirely sure any more what he had been thinking.

"Goodbye, detective," he said gently, and hung up.

There were all sorts of things he had to sort out before he could return. He had to break his lease on the flat. He had to pack up his life, again. He had to find out if his prescription would transfer, and how.

Doing all of that on heat suppressants was maddening, and doing it while Detective Gumshoe called for help at all hours of the night was doubly so.

"Have you tried searching the acrobat's room?" he asked tiredly at the end of one phone call. "From what you said it was right above the crime scene."

"Brilliant, sir!" Gumshoe crowed, and then hung up the phone, presumably to give the order right away.

But finally, he was in the air again. Wuppertal to Berlin, changing planes to fly to LaGuardia, where he suffered a long, cramped eternity in customs--and then to LAX, its own special kind of hell. By the time he got back to his condo, he wanted nothing more than to fall into bed and sleep for a week.

The only thing that got him out of bed before then was Gumshoe's excited phone call about a new murder case--and the thought that Wright, of all people, deserved an explanation.

Chapter Text

Wright was angry at him.

Wright was furious with him.

At first, things seemed to be going as well as could be expected, given that he walked in on Franziska firing Detective Gumshoe and threatening Wright with her whip. But Wright's distracted, angry responses to even his mildest overtures set him aback.

Miles found himself reacting as he always did to obstruction. He shut down his emotional reactions and became the consummate professional. His mind felt clearer than ever, so he could afford to come back to Wright's accusations and misconceptions. Later.

Wright's frustration and mood became more understandable when Miles uncovered the rest of the story, the hired assassin and the horrible pressure Wright was under to win the case, his young friend's life in the balance. The minutes ticking by as they attempted to stall for enough time to find a solution were more fraught than any he'd spent in court before.

He found himself pincered between two truths--the truth of the case, with the clear identity of the guilty party, and the truth that he couldn't bear to let Wright suffer the consequences if the assassin was displeased.

And then, through nigh-miraculous intervention, they were saved. Franziska delivered the crucial evidence, Wright figured out what to do with it, and... the trial was over.

For the first time, he'd won a guilty verdict against Phoenix Wright. And they were both happy about it. Wonders abounded.

His professional distance lasted until after dinner, when Wright followed him from the table and pressed Franziska's whip into his hands.

"Thank you," Wright said. "It's all thanks to you two. You... and her..."

He trailed off awkwardly. Miles cleared his throat. "You don't need to thank me. I was only doing my job."

Wright nodded absently, scratching at the back of his neck. He looked back over his shoulder at his young omega friend, still sitting at their table and eating the remains of her dessert.

Miles' hand clenched around the handle of the whip. There were too many things he needed to clarify. Wright's behavior earlier, Wright's behavior now, Franziska...

No, the conversation he needed to have with his sister was clear. He coughed again, awkwardly. "I'm sorry, I have somewhere I need to be."

Wright's head jerked around. "Oh, yeah, heh. Don't let me keep you, Edgeworth."

"Take care, Wright."

His conversation seeing Franziska off at the airport wasn't entirely satisfactory, but he could see the determination in her eyes, the core of strength below her brittle exterior. She would be fine, he was sure of it.

But as for Wright...

At first he didn't call because he was sure Wright would need time alone with Miss Fey. Then because he discovered more details of settling von Karma's holdings and belongings, which took a frustrating amount of time and attention to put to bed. And then he was acutely aware that Wright hadn't reached out to him, which made him feel an irritating mix of guilt and annoyance.

So when one of Manfred von Karma's old friends got in touch and offered to fund a sabbatical of sorts, he took the man up on the offer. It meant leaving the country again, but at least this time he left on better terms. He hoped.

Chapter Text

When he got the phone call about Phoenix's accident, he was on a plane within the hour. He packed by rote and instinct, and only barely remembered to stop at his dresser to grab his phone charger and his medication.

Chartering a jet meant his travel into the country was faster and more streamlined than his last trip, and yet he still cursed every minute of delay before he could get into his car and gun it down the freeway. Phoenix had been brought down the mountain to a hospital in the city, so it only took an hour of frantic navigation to find the correct building and ward.

He was stopped by the firm glare of a nurse, a beta half his size but with square shoulders and a stubborn set to their jaw. "I'm afraid he can't have any visitors right now."

"I'm an omega and we're a bonded pair," Miles said.

Then he slapped his hand to his mouth. He hadn't meant to say that. It wasn't even--

Well. There had been that heat they'd spent together. And he hadn't been with anyone else since--hadn't even had a heat since, and...

The nurse's eyes narrowed. "You mind taking a blood test to confirm that? We need to be careful of his immune system."

Mutely, he held out his hand. That got him a pitying look and directions to the phlebotomist's station. Then after a prick in the back of the hand and a bit of gauze, it was back to the waiting room.

He was tapping his heel on the floor anxiously when the nurse returned and gestured at the corridor to Phoenix's room. "All right, Mr. Edgeworth. He's been drifting in and out, so don't tire him out, okay?"

"Thank you," Miles blurted. He followed the nurse to the door, and then--

Phoenix was slumped over on his side, facing the door. For a moment Miles' heart clenched at how still he was, but he could hear the monitoring equipment beeping in a steady rhythm, and as he moved closer he could see the slow rise and fall of Phoenix's chest as he slept.

There was a chair at Phoenix's bedside. Miles grabbed it and drew it closer.

He looked so small, on the hospital bed, wired up to oxygen monitors and a drip of fluid. He'd wrapped something over his head--at first Miles thought it was a blanket, but when he got closer he could see it was some kind of hood. Miles found himself brushing a few strands of hair back from Phoenix's face, and he winced at the feverish pallor of his skin.

Something in him tugged, and he leaned forward over the bed, desperate to get as close to Phoenix as possible. He buried his face in the front of the papery gown and took a breath.

He hadn't purred in years, not since that time he'd done it accidentally during heat, but it was there when he reached for it. He put as much breath into it as he could, pressing his chest against Phoenix's body, trying his best to soothe him.

He didn't know how long he was there. Eventually, he felt someone stroking his hair.

Tilting his head, he looked up to see Phoenix looking down at him. "I didn't want to startle you," Phoenix said.

Miles nuzzled into Phoenix's chest again and redoubled his purr. Phoenix sighed and shifted his weight slightly.

After another moment Phoenix said, "I can't believe you're really here. Am I dreaming?"

Miles shook his head.

"Wow." Phoenix stroked his hair again. "I thought you hated me."

That shocked him enough that his purr cut off with a cough. "What?"

"Uh, well..." Phoenix looked guilty. "You know."

He sat up, frowning. "I do not know. Well what?"

"It's just that... after... that thing you don't want to talk about," Phoenix said, gesturing vaguely. "And you said you'd reach out if you ever wanted to talk, and you never did, and after that you were behaving weird and then you vanished and I thought you were dead--"

His heat. Phoenix was talking about his heat. "Phoenix, I didn't--"

"And so I thought I must have done something wrong, you know?" Phoenix wasn't meeting his eyes. "I didn't know what it was but you didn't want to discuss it, so I figured it must have been pretty bad, and then you came back and I didn't know what to think, and I was such an asshole--"

"Phoenix, I was embarrassed," he exclaimed.

Phoenix stared at him openmouthed.

After a moment, Miles looked away. Phoenix cleared his throat. "Wait, that was--really?"

"Yes," Miles said tightly. "I was embarrassed about having a heat, much less having someone else see me like that, much less--I already had confused enough feelings about you showing up out of nowhere after so long. And after that whole mess with that trial..." he sighed. "I behaved badly, Phoenix, but it had nothing to do with your actions. You were better than I deserved."

"Oh," Phoenix said quietly.

The monitor beeped. Miles hesitantly reached out a hand, and Phoenix took it.

"What's with the band-aid?" Phoenix asked.

Miles looked down at his hand. "Oh, that. I... told the nurse that we were pair bonded so that they would let me see you." Phoenix gaped at him, and he found himself explaining, "I didn't want to roll up my sleeves, so I had them take a sample from the back of my hand, which is why--"

"Pair bonded?" Phoenix squeaked. "I, wow, I didn't think that was a real thing. You lied for me?"

Miles frowned. "It's an immune system response triggered by, erm, intimacy during heat and rut. I can't lie about my white blood cells."

"But I'm a beta!" Phoenix said. "I didn't think betas could do that kind of thing. I mean, I can't rut, I can't get you pregnant--"

"Betas can get omegas pregnant," Miles interjected.

Phoenix gasped. "W-what?"

"Well, under the right circumstances, if the omega is in heat--"

"Is... is that what happened?" Phoenix squeaked. "Did you have to leave the country to get an abortion--or wait, did you go to Germany to secretly have our love child?"

Miles felt the room spin in shock. "What... Phoenix... no," he finally said, "And never use the term 'love child' ever again in my hearing, honestly. I have an IUD."

"Oh." Phoenix sighed. "Oh, okay. Good."

"This is really something you should have thought about earlier," Miles grumbled.

"Sorry," Phoenix said. "Still not used to thinking of you as someone who could get pregnant."

Miles sighed and lay down against Phoenix's side again. "Fair enough. I did my best to discourage such lines of thinking."

Phoenix reached up to stroke his hair, and Miles closed his eyes and sank into his purr again.

"I'm really glad you're here," Phoenix said. "But I could also use your help."

"I do owe you one," Miles said.

"And after this gets cleared up..." Phoenix hesitated.

"We'll have that talk," Miles promised. "And I won't leave until you're satisfied."

Phoenix chuckled. "Did you mean that double entendre?"

"I suppose I have to, now."

"Okay." Phoenix took a deep breath. "Here's what happened..."

As he listened, mentally switching gears and focusing on the details of the story, Miles stayed pressed against Phoenix's side. All too soon, it seemed, he'd have to leave and head up a snowy mountain to investigate this murder. But when he came back down the mountain, Phoenix would be waiting for him.

It was the best news he could have come home to.