trace (vestiges)

The twins born of his colleague are nothing short of adorable, although Miles would prefer to keep infant out of his grasp as much as possible. They simply squirm far too much in his arms for him to ever be comfortable holding onto them. Children like Pearl were far easier to handle- they can at least walk on their own, and he does not have to hold his breath in constant fear that he shall drop an infant.

However, the arrival of these twins into his office space still bring him more joy than he could have ever imagined. They signal everything for which he has been waiting- then end of his loneliness, the end of his solitude.

The end of his time spent learning, spent growing abroad. He is proud to say that he feels confident in what he has gained over this past year. He cannot wait to show Phoenix the man he has become, the fine-tuned edge in his craft. It would be remiss of him to deny that he also does, in secret, hope to be able to defeat Phoenix one of these days. That would surely be reassuring after so many losses against the man. The blue-clad attorney simply has had far too much luck in almost only defending innocent clients, and Miles would very much enjoy revelling in a victory for once.

So, with his colleague preparing to come back to work, Miles packs up his flat which he has called home for the past year and sends his belongings back to the United States. His ticket is ready. His ride to the airport, Frederik, constantly grumbles about their soon-to-be separation, though. "What am I going to do once you're gone? I can't go drinking with Jürgen," he groans every time he and Miles part ways at the end of the day as the clock ticks ever closer to Miles' departure. "Are you sure you don't want to-"

"Quite," Miles always responds. He has appreciated this opportunity, and he utterly grateful to have been able to work with Frederik, now a dear friend more than pure mentor; nothing, however, can get in the way of him going home.

Phoenix is waiting for him. The other man has been through an uncanny amount of strange cases while Miles has been gone, and Miles cannot wait to be able to provide the other man the support he truly needs in person, rather than over the phone in a half-asleep daze.

A week before Miles' intended departure, his flat is nearly empty. He has told Franziska of his departure day, and the young woman has agreed to remind Detective Gumshoe to pick Miles up from the airport, as she is currently the LA for a string of cases relating to her work with Interpol. With everything sorted out, all Miles can do is wait in anticipation for the day he is finally back home; his blood thrums with more vigour each day, a mental clock counting down the days, hours, minutes until he is finally back in his own territory once more.

And then, it happens.

His body jerks awake, exhausted and sleep-deprived brain screaming in protest as the ringing pounding in his ears becomes clearer, sharper. Groaning, he sits half-upright, propping himself up on his elbows as he scrabbles for the phone, grimacing in the darkness. The screen lights up, showing an unknown number. Who could that be at this time of night...?

Clearing his throat, he finally accepts the call. He does not know the number, but his German line is known by very few folk outside of the office. If someone is calling him in the dead of night, it would have to either be an emergency from Frederik or another colleague, or-

Phoenix.

He shudders, his fingers turning numb as the phone is brought up to his ear. "Yes? Edgeworth speaking..."

A sharp, screeching voice assaults his eardrums, blasting through his flat despite the fact that the speaker setting is nowhere near set to high. "Edgey! Get up! It's an emergency!"

"Huh?" Then, it clicks. "…Larry?" The irritation swells into a crescendo, and Miles bites his lip, genuinely wondering whether he should hang up the phone. Larry Butz's piercing wails were never a good sign; although they had been childhood classmates, Miles would be hard-pressed to find anything positive to say about the adult who has interfered with more than one case.

Then again, he thinks bitterly as he lays back down, the phone pressed against his ear, his testimony did provide Wright the evidence he needed to save me from a mistaken guilty verdict, so…

With a sigh, Miles mutters, "Do you know what time it is?"

"It's not "Larry"! It's "Laurice"! Laurice Deauxnim!" the other man cries indignantly, voice cracking multiple times.

…This is nothing more than a terrible nightmare... I'll just roll over and-

As if sensing his resignation, Larry screeches desperately, "W-Wait! Don't hang up! ...It's an emergency! It's Nick! H-He... He took a really nasty spill!"

If Larry is the one calling, I suppose it cannot be too terrible. "Well, it wouldn't be the first time, so..."

"I'm not joking!" Larry insists, his tone growing plaintive. "His life is in danger!"

Instantly, Miles' blood runs cold, a chill racing up and down his spine. The hairs along his arms and nape instantly prickle, every nerve seeming to misfire, sending waves of searing heat and cold and fear racing through his veins, pumping through his heart that beats so quickly he wonders whether it shall leap straight from his chest and land back in America-

I have to go to him.

"Wh-What...!? What happened!? Tell me!" he begs, trying to keep his ragged, fearful breathing muffled by his sleeve.

Larry is just as oblivious as always, not recognizing his frantic heartache. "Talk about a guy with bad luck! He may already be dead!" the man exclaims, completely ignoring the immediate grunt of horror from Miles. "Anyway, you've got to come back! You're the only one that can help!"

"I-" Miles begins, helpless and lost. What had happened? What is going on? How could Phoenix be in danger? He had been in plenty of scrapes before and made it through- what would warrant a phone call to Miles whilst he was in Germany-

His mind flashes back to two discoloured marks marring a strong, built chest, their soft feel engrained in the tips of Miles' fingers.

What if something happened and he doesn't wake up this time?

Then, Larry says something odd. "My Iris... My beautiful Iris! She needs help...!"

…who is that? But- but what of Wright?

Choking down frightened gasps for air, his mind racing faster than any words can actually be processed, Miles whispers hoarsely, "Alright. I don't know what's going on, but... I'll be there as soon as I can."

"I-I'm at the detention center! Please! Hurry!" the other man wails.

With a beep from the other end, the call is done. Any vestige of exhaustion that had lingered in Miles' heart has all but vanished within that one call of under a minute; his heart races and his lungs ache with a fervour that feels almost as if he has run a mile without even leaving his bed.

It's been one year since I left that country... I thought I wouldn't have to see him again for a while. Sounds like it won't be a pretty reunion... As if I expected anything to change.

He gulps, slipping out of bed to find his laptop. He has a chartered flight to book. Phoenix… please be okay.

It takes him a long time to finish up his work on the computer that night, though. With dizziness and tears blurring his vision and anxiety ricocheting in his ribcage, it is harder to type than anyone could ever imagine.