trace (vestiges)

"You're ready to go?"

Miles had nodded sagely, hand gripping his suitcase tight. It was time. After nearly a year in Germany, he had finally decided to make the call back to the Prosecutor's Office in LA to be reinstated as an active prosecutor within their courts. He had finally decided to come home, his heart far calmer than the tumultuous tides which had stormed his conscience non-stop when he had first left.

After all, he is a different person now. Manfred von Karma's grip upon his soul, his person, will never truly fade; however, the fact that he no longer sees just von Karma's influence upon him is what has calmed the storms. He sees more of his father now in his reflection. He sees Frederik's unwavering calm in his own rueful smile. He sees the thoroughness and the grace of the defense attorneys with which he has worked over the past months in his stance.

He sees Phoenix smile in his own, in his heart. In his trust towards others. He can trust others again.

"I am," he had replied at last.

Frederik had simply wrapped his arms good-naturedly around Miles' shoulders, patting him in comfortable companionship. "You feel healed now from whatever was bothering you?"

He does not know if this counts as being 'better', per se; but he would rather be the composite of so much good rather than a reflection of a shadow who has caused nothing but harm. "I believe so," he had replied.

And so, Frederik had pulled away and shaken his hand, murmuring, "If that Wright boy ever causes you grief, you know where to find me," with a debonair wink and grin that had made Miles blush and laugh lightly, rather than losing his calm. Then, the elder had sent Miles off through the gate to his chartered flight, a gentle smile on both of their faces.

Miles hates turbulence. The shaking underneath his feet is normally absolutely terrifying; and yet, this flight, all he had been able to think about is what should have been waiting for him upon his return.

I'm coming home… Phoenix.

Gumshoe had cried when he had arrived at the airport, clinging onto Miles with all the grace and tact of a buffoon. Just this once, Miles had thought, would he allow this to happen; it is clear that the detective has missed him so, and in all honesty, there is something wonderful about having someone waiting for him at the airport like this. If Miles is truly being genuine, he would have loved to see Phoenix standing by the gate instead, but the thought of seeing his face before he has time to recollect himself is terrifying. The plan had been to be brought home by Detective Gumshoe, clean himself up, then pay a visit to the humble little Wright & Co. Law Offices.

That had been the plan.

Everything had been alright- all up until Detective Gumshoe, finally coming down from his elated high from seeing Miles again after nearly a year apart, had said upon a casual mention of Phoenix by Miles, "Oh, Mr. Edgeworth, sir… I don't know if it's a great idea to see Phoenix Wright right now. He's… uh…"

Miles frowns, staring blankly at the detective. "He's what, Detective?"

Gumshoe sighs, scratching his head. "I dunno what to tell ya, pal. He was really hurt after that note you left."

Miles freezes, thinking back. He had indeed left a message upon his desk within the Prosecutor's Office before his departure- a short, simple message to demonstrate his resolve, his journey to be better. Prosecutor Edgeworth chooses death. The last days of the 'Demon Prosecutor', the man who would do anything for a guilty verdict, were put to rest thanks to the conviction behind that message. It had had been simple and to the point, promising his return as a new man.

At least, he had thought it so.

"What is wrong with Wright, Detective?" he asks, lowering his voice dangerously.

"…he won't let anyone talk about you. He just gets angry."

Miles' blood runs cold. Had his words been misconstrued? Looking back, yes, the note had indeed been a little dramatic; however, the Chief Prosecutor had known exactly where he was going, since it had been her connections that had helped him be so smoothly transferred over to Germany. Detective Gumshoe had known he was going to be back eventually, too.

"What… did you tell Phoenix Wright about where I was going?"

"I never got the chance, pal! He just kept shutting down for a while." Pouting, Gumshoe adds, "He didn't take cases for a while after you left- holed himself up in his office, I think."

And just like that, the plan crumbles into nothingness. There is too much information to parse together, too many thoughts swirling around in his mind. If no one had told him that he was going on a work exchange, then what in the world has Phoenix thought all this time-

Frantically, he pulls out his phone. Up until now, he has been ignoring his voicemails, for Detective Gumshoe's weekly blubbering about how much he missed Miles was hardly useful nor dignified, nor was Franziska's scolding for leaving LA ever appropriate; now, however, he sits silently in the passenger seat of Gumshoe's car and listens to each message, deleting them as he tears his way through. It takes the entirety of the trip home- he is still listening by the time Gumshoe waves goodbye and drives off, leaving Miles to enter his home and take a moment to himself at last after the long, wearying journey- but finally, he finds one message that is not from Gumshoe, nor from Franziska.

Phoenix's voice warbles into his ear, causing a conflicting rush of desire and warmth and love, and confusion and abject fear and numbness, to fight inside his core. "Miles… I read the note. Please call me back when you get this. Please don't- please don't tell me it's true. You'll call me back, right? You're not- you're not-"

His words fade away, leaving behind nothing but hiccups and quiet, barely-restrained sobs. The man sounds feeble and weak, and absolutely nothing like the man who Miles has loved all these years.

Phoenix sounds broken.

Miles shudders, waiting for the date of the call to play in his ears, to put those tears into perspective. It… it's been nearly a year since he left this message, he realizes dimly.

Just what in the world has Phoenix been thinking for the past year?

He almost does not want to know, but he has a painfully-strong idea as to what the defense attorney is thinking. The idea alone is enough to horrify him. After all, Phoenix has always been someone who loves to care for others. He has always saved the lives, the hearts, of everyone he has come into contact with thanks to his smile, his undying faith, his humanity.

What would happen if Phoenix thought that he hadn't done enough?

His fingers tremble as he reaches out towards the 'call' button. He wants to call Phoenix back. He wants to make sure he's okay, to hear his voice.

After tossing himself haphazardly upon his sofa, he finally presses the call button.

"The number you are calling has been disconnected-"

He hangs up. Despite all of his fatigue after his flight home, Miles does not sleep that night- he does not sleep, does not eat, does not think.

Phoenix… what are you doing right now?

The dread which drowns him that night cannot be quantified, cannot be explained. It is fascinating, in all honesty; he had never thought he would ever fear anything more than elevators and earthquakes and Manfred von Karma's scream of anguish, but here he is, anxiety consuming him and morphing his thoughts into incomprehensible nothingness.

He shouldn't have been surprised. Having Phoenix in his life always manages to teach him something new.