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Chapter 37

Culpable

"I thought we'd lost you," Commander Armando found him in the head after the Staff meeting.

Miles was standing at the row of sinks glaring at his distorted reflection in the polished metal mirror. He made a pointed effort not to look at the Commander.

"Do I need to—"

"No," Commander Armando said, "If you're ready though, I can take you to sick bay."

Miles sighed and nodded.

He followed the Commander back into the corridor, and they had to squeeze through the passage, where the remnants of the meeting still hovered outside of the Wardroom. Miles kept his gaze focused on Commander Armando's collar, and made a concerted effort not to meet anyone's eye as they walked.

He waited while Commander Armando paused at a hatch and pulled the bar dogging the heavy metal cover and let it swing open. The Commander in turn waited for him to step through before closing it and dogging it down again. Then he took up his lead and Miles followed him down one ladder and another, exiting onto the deck above the hangar bay.

Miles was momentarily caught exploring what he could of the spaces with his gaze alone. He hadn't yet seen this side of the medical bay. A couple of HMs passed them in the corridor, eyeing the two of them curiously and greeting them as they'd been taught to greet officers.

He caught himself holding his breath as they turned into the sick bay housing intensive care patients. He would've been amazed by the genius of the setup if he hadn't been so worried about Phoenix. The other pilot caught his eye first, he was sitting up and smiling despite the bandages generously swathed over his head and covering one eye. Miles recognized the two men in green flight suits at his bedside from the dining in and copied Commander Armando in greeting them with a silent nod.

"Commander Armando," another Officer, wearing a white coat over the blue camouflage of his NWUs pushed the curtain aside and offered to shake his hand.

"Doc, this is Lieutenant Edgeworth, the CSG's Staff Judge Advocate—apparently these two know each other from back home," Armando said, "he wanted a chance to say goodbye."

The doctor eyed him sidelong and then pulled a covered clipboard from the metal bed, "He's not conscious…"

Miles bit his lip and nodded solemnly, trying to choke down the sobs threatening to rise out of him again. He was afraid to speak; afraid to breathe. He took a step forward toward the hospital bed. The smell of iodine and blood was heavy in the space around him.

Phoenix was still wearing his flight suit, but parts of it had been cut away. The kind of decorum expected in most hospitals was extraneous here, they didn't cover him up and the bandages, though clean and recently changed, were stark and visible against his skin. He had an IV in with several bags hanging from a pole secured to the bulkhead.

Miles took a step closer, frowning at the body on what amounted to an ambulance gurney strapped to the deck. His skin discolored by the staining of iodine, blood, and bruises. Phoenix had always been slim, but whether it was the angle which he was lying or the recent physical ordeal he'd endured, it made Miles frown to be able to count his ribs where they were pressed against his exposed skin. He stared, watching the steady, shallow rise and fall of his breathing.

Is this really him?

He wanted look into his face. To see that it was really him, and not this sad anonymous wreck of a human strapped and bandaged and intubated in front of him. The doctor and Commander Armando were speaking in hushed tones, something about his prognosis and the likelihood Phoenix would ever fly again.

Miles clenched his jaw hard and closed his eyes, trying to not to listen. I'd settle for him waking up again…. Smiling again…

Miles stumbled slightly then and caught himself on the edge of the gurney, where Phoenix's other hand lay. The one not caught up in the tubes and cables from all of the monitors and machines keeping him alive. He glanced surreptitiously at the Commander and the doctor and reached out to take his hand.

It was cold and still. Roughened by myriad cuts and abrasions he must have sustained in the crash.

"Nick…"

He wasn't sure of it at first but he thought Phoenix squeezed him back, "Nick?"

Phoenix's breathing hitched and then he turned his head as much as he could with all of the tubes stuck in his mouth and nose. Phoenix tightened his grip on his hand, it was still weak and tenuous, but there was no doubt about it now.

"Hey, don't move…"

Phoenix's head moved again his voice barely audible and muffled by the tubes.

"Don't worry about it," Miles said and then reached out to touch the small bit of his cheek visible among the tubes and bandages obscuring his face, "Just rest, get better."

Phoenix tried again, his breathing quickened and Commander Armando and the doctor both stopped and turned to look at them. Miles was still leaning over him, touching his face, "Shh… Whatever you do, Nick… Don't go toward the light. Stay here please."

Phoenix's breath hitched again, a few times in succession—he was laughing. Trying to.

"Is he awake?" Commander Armando moved so that he was standing next to Miles and the doctor frowned.

"He's been in and out the last couple of days, I'd say he's much improved. But he's not out of the woods yet. Unfortunately, we've done all we can for him here, but the facilities in Sigonella are state of the art. He'll have the best care there is."

"Do you know when they're headed out?"

Miles tore his gaze away from Phoenix to catch the doctor's reply to Commander Armando's question.

"They're supposed to take off as soon as they can after reveille, the MEDEVAC helo DET, arrived earlier today, and they're expecting a pretty long flight."

Miles gazed down on Phoenix again, he was still again, his hand lax in his.

Stay here…

Lang was sitting up in his rack owl eyed and hugging his knees. Unable to reign in the guilt and shame he was feeling. He looked up at Miles when he entered the stateroom but didn't say a word.

"How do you feel?" Miles asked as he went over to the shared desk and sat in the chair and frowned at his roommate.

Lang shook his head and let his gaze drop to the deck.

"Doc thinks he's going to recover just fine," Miles said, even though the doctor hadn't said anything remotely like that. Miles stared at Lang, willing him to speak. Hoping he'd let go of the ridiculous notion that it was his fault and his fault alone. Miles could use a friend right now.

Lang shook his head, "I'm sorry…"

Miles sighed and turned to stare at the desktop. He didn't know what else to do.

What else can you do?

"I think he recognized me," Miles said staring at his own boots on the deck, "He squeezed my hand."

"How did he look?" Lang asked, his voice was rusty with torpor and emotion, but his eyes showed sincere concern.

Miles shook his head, he did mean to answer, but it came over him out of nowhere. He dropped his head into his hands and lost all composure. Lang looked devastated watching him break down. Miles turned so that his elbows rested on the desk, his face toward the wall.

He's going to be fine…

Miles sobbed and let let himself sink into his arms on the desk, he tried to stop it; tried to hold his breath. All he could see behind his eyes was Phoenix's mangled body on the white mattress of the gurney. Tubes in his mouth. Bloodied bandages. Was that from the crash? Did they have to operate?

He's tougher than he looks…

They were in the middle of the ocean too. Hundreds of miles from the nearest shore—let alone a medical trauma center. He could still smell the dull pungency of the iodine. The close, warm penny smell of blood.

You don't need to worry about me…

He was lost now. In his despair. They were flying him out tomorrow.

You don't know when or if you'll see him again…

"Miles!" He hadn't noticed that Lang had approached him until he felt the other man's hands on his shoulders trying to coax him into standing.

"Come on Miles," Lang said, "Take off your boots, and get in your rack."

Miles stood, nodding, trying to compose himself. He pulled away from Lang and bent to take off his boots. He sank to the floor instead, hugging himself, his back against the cool metal of their lockers. Lang hesitated before joining him on the deck. Miles didn't spare him a glance and was grateful when Lang chose to remain silent.

They sat there in silence as Miles tried to rein it back in. The darkness was getting harder and harder to control. He sighed and dragged his sleeve unceremoniously over his face.

Be calm… be still…

Beside him Lang was cradling his head in his hands. Silent. But grieving too.

"It's not your fault, Shi-Long," Miles said to the deck as he unlaced his boots, "Nobody blames you. So stop blaming yourself."

Lang only shook his head in silent response and then pushed himself up off of the deck and stumbled the few steps over then dropped heavily into his rack.

Miles finished removing his boots and then took off his uniform. He put it away and slid into a pair of pajama bottoms and climbed into his rack. He sighed. He wouldn't be able to sleep. He wasn't sure how long he lay there staring at the lagging in the dim red light. But after some time Lang cleared his throat in the rack below him.

"I'm glad he's going to be okay."

Miles startled awake at the bugle calling reveille through the tinny speakers of the 1MC. At least he had fallen asleep. He lay in his rack staring up at the overhead again listening to the standard morning message asking all hands to heave out and describing the uniform of the day…

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, Air Wing, Staff, and Crew…. This is your Captain speaking…"

Miles sat up in his rack, this was new. He heard Lang stir in the rack below.

"I wanted to let everyone know, Lieutenant Williams and Lieutenant Wright, both flying for the VFA, are in stable condition, and they'll be headed out to Sigonella this morning. I know we're all a little sad to see them go so soon before the end of deployment. They were great guys. Great part of our team here. But they're off to bluer waters and better care than we're able to give. Here's wishing our fly boys fair winds and following seas!"

The music started as soon as the Skipper finished his message. Miles didn't recognize it at first, the song was popular long before he was born. He frowned at the heavily synthesized rock and roll and he recognized it. He looked at Lang and grinned. Lang started laughing, and then he started singing along.

"Highway to the DANGER ZONE!"

They joined the line in the forward mess later after shaving and dressing and were surprised at the number of people already in line. It usually wasn't crowded this early in the morning.

"Why is everyone up so early?" Miles asked Lang looking around at the crowded wardroom.

"Probably, because of Skipper's message this morning," Lang was subdued and glaring, "They're probably hoping to catch a glimpse of him, maybe sneak in a conversation… face time…"

"Morning boys," she sounded so sweet they almost didn't recognize her, "I haven't seen you two in a while."

"Cali, good morning," Lang only spared her a glance.

"Good morning," Miles added.

She shot him a glare, "Well, I've seen him… Where've you been hiding Shi-Long?"

"I haven't been hiding anywhere," Lang crossed his arms but didn't look at her, "It's been busy."

Miles looked from Lang to Lieutenant Yew frowning, feeling like he'd been caught in some secret argument.

"It seems you always find an excuse lately," she scoffed and turned away from them to find a place in line.

Lang's hands dropped to his hips and he shook his head. Miles felt it was better not to ask.

Despite the change in atmosphere, breakfast turned out to be a bleak affair. They spoke little to each other and said nothing to anyone else. Then they left the wardroom to go their separate ways with little more than a nod of acknowledgement. But Miles didn't have time to contemplate Lang's issues. XO and the CAG were waiting for him in Flag Admin.

"Hoo… Good morning Worthy! How's my favorite JAG?"

Miles glared up at the scary XO apprehensively, "Good morning, Sir," and glanced at CAG, "Ma'am."

"Do you know why we're here?"

Miles froze. He didn't want to guess. Was it because he walked out of the staff meeting yesterday? He glanced down t his uniform, was he missing a patch or something?

"So all of this stuff that went down… Lieutenant Wright and Lieutenant Williams… The planes getting shot down?"

Miles' open bewilderment darkened into a glare, "Yes…. I'm not sure what this has to do with me…?"

"The JAG Report?" XO peeped at him over tinted glasses. Miles met his stare with a frown, there was no way those glasses were regulation, but he got away with it because he was a Captain—and scary. Miles sniffed and glanced away.

"Right sir," he moved past them to grasp a notebook from the legal cabinet, "I wasn't aware the matter was under a collateral investigation."

XO grinned and leaned over him menacingly, "Why that's because you walked out of the staff meeting yesterday. What happened JAG? Were you sick?"

Miles grimaced, "Er… Yes sir."

"Miles," CAG offered a gentle smile and put a hand on his shoulder, "Lieutenant Portman was appointed to investigate a couple days after the crash. He thinks there's real cause to look at this as a criminal matter. We were just checking to make sure you received his findings from the investigation."

"Ma'am, I have not," Miles frowned at her, "Although, I haven't looked at my e-mail yet."

She glanced at XO and then smiled at Miles again, "No worries, we just wanted to make sure you were aware."

"Thank you, Ma'am," Miles looked at the XO, "Sir."

XO shot out a boisterous fit of laughter and slapped Miles on the shoulder so hard he almost lost his balance, and then abruptly, he was serious, "JAG, I don't like it when there's tension between the Air Wing and the crew. That's what's going to happen if we don't move quickly on this matter."

"Yes sir," Miles already had a sinking feeling in his guts. XO wasn't very subtle at all.

"Can I expect your report today?" XO grinned.

"Yes sir," Miles met XO's glare and then looked away, "I'll make it happen, sir."

He watched them walk out without ceremony before crumpling into the nearest seat—in this case, a metal folding chair—and clasping his forehead in his hand.

Things just got worse…

Of course, nothing could prepare him for just how much worse it really was, not until he'd read the investigator's report. He grimaced as he read it, feeling somewhat indignant at some of the conclusions Lieutenant Portman had come too. He wondered how much of this Lang was aware of. But worst of all he was intimately aware of both sides of this. How could he write an unbiased report?

Miles couldn't blink without seeing Phoenix laid out like that with the tubes and the bandages. It was obscene. Like seeing something noble and wild in too small a prison.

My bird in a cage…

He was still stumbling over the first paragraph of the report body when LN1 and LN3 entered, he startled and glanced at his watch.

"Good morning, what happened?"

"Quarters, sir, and we did CMEO training," LN1 said and she came around to peek over his shoulder to see what he was doing, "They already did a collateral investigation? That was fast…"

"It does seem pretty sudden," Miles frowned at her, "And the scope is rather narrow, if you ask me."

"Can we read it too, El-Tee?" LN3 perked up, looking toward them.

Miles glanced at him and then at LN1 and he smiled, "Yes of course. We are a team, are we not?"

LN3 went to bring another chair over and LN1 went to the locker behind their single desk, "I'll get the JAG-man, sir."

They were serving dinner on the mess decks when Miles finally sent the report and let the team break off to fend for themselves. He was hungry too and had to make the next staff meeting. So he didn't notice the green suited figure catch him near the forward galley and follow him into the Wardroom.

"Hey, um, Lieutenant Edgeworth," Miles turned, startled.

"Oh…" was all that came to his lips.

Larry looked concerned but he tried to smile and scratched his head, "Just ah… I was looking for you all day. Are you cool if I join you for dinner?"

Miles hesitated studying Larry's expression, "Er… Yeah. Sure, Larry."

They joined the line together, but didn't talk, and Miles scanned the space surreptitiously, looking for Lang, but didn't see him.

They found a smaller table and sat together and Miles looked at Larry while Larry poked at his dinner, "Is everything all right?"

Larry paused and met his eye, "I didn't get to see him before he left. They kept saying he was unconscious and there was no point."

Miles frowned, "Yeah… I'm sorry, I couldn't get in to see him either—not until Commander Armando pulled some strings."

"Doug and Juan said they saw you go in there last night," Larry was staring at his plate, not eating.

Miles picked up his fork and pushed the food around on his plate, "He looked bad Larry. I think he recognized me, he seemed like he woke up a little… but he looked bad."

"All of his stuff is still in our stateroom," Larry sighed, "But I'm pretty sure he isn't going to come back."

Miles looked at him, scrutinizing his movements, trying to read his face, "I'll help get his things to him."

"We were going to room together in Whidbey, at least until he got settled. He still hadn't moved out of Virginia Beach before he met us for deployment."

"What's Whidbey?"

Larry met his eye and smiled, "Oh yeah. Our squadron is stationed at Whidbey Island in Washington State. Nick's from California, so he—"

"He wanted to be closer to home…" Miles finished, feeling the flood of emotion threatening his tenuous composure again.

He was trying to come home…

Miles sighed and looked down at his plate, trying not to think about it.

"He was a cool dude," Larry said absently and started to pick at his dinner. Miles stood and bowed slightly.

"I'm sorry Larry, I… I'm not feeling very well…"

Larry looked up at him frowning, "Nah dude, you're good. I'm sure we'll hear from him soon, right? I'll find you then."

"Anytime, Larry," Miles forced a smile, hoping it didn't come off as a grimace and then took his tray and headed toward the scullery.

He found Lang in their stateroom after a very abbreviated staff meeting. He hadn't heard back about his report and he was distracted by his own thoughts about Phoenix and the impending challenge this new investigation implied.

Lang was sitting at the desk in their stateroom typing on his personal laptop and he didn't turn to acknowledge Miles with even a look. Miles took off his blouse and hung it in the locker. He sat on the deck to take off his boots.

"Commander Harold, came by looking for you…" Lang didn't look away from the computer.

Miles had to think for a moment, "Oh. What did he need?"

"He said there's an opening for you in the Staff berthing."

Miles pulled off his boot and started to loosen the laces on the next one, "Oh, I'm perfectly fine right here."

"I think there's probably a bigger reason they want to move you," Lang said cryptically and then glared at him.

Miles pulled of his second boot and met his glare, "I know…. They've completed one investigation already."

Lang turned in the chair and slouched, he seemed to shrink into himself, "I'm scared, Miles."

Miles nodded and frowned.

Lang put his face in his hands, "No matter which way you turn this thing, I feel like I'm culpable."

Miles could think of nothing to say to him.

A/N: Thanks for reading!

OMG this was such a difficult chapter to write...

So I've got one more Phoenix chapter and a denouement for each and then the ending and epilogue. (3 chapters). Hopefully these go a little more smoothly. I feel like I get Edgeworth better because he's awkward and anxious, but Phoenix is more fun to write. Definitely looking forward to wrapping this up, but I'm already starting to miss it.

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Disclaimer: Ace Attorney and all characters are copyright by CAPCOM; I'm just a fan imitating. The stories presented are influenced by the multiple games as well as the comic (Manga written by Kenji Kuroda).