trace (vestiges)

Franziska had never been one for displays of affection when she was younger, let alone open heartache; yet, Miles has found that over the past few months, he has grown increasingly adept and handling the emotional meltdowns of young women far more than he would have ever expected. So, as he stands in the airport, it feels akin to second nature to simply kneel down and wipe up little Pearl's tears with a handkerchief, gently instructing her to blow her nose as he hands another one to Maya. Pearl's hands cling tightly to his slacks; normally, he would have been annoyed with the wrinkles that vice grip shall create, but seeing her open heartache caused by his departure, he is happy to let it slide.

Maya, however, is not as easy to calm down. "I'm- I'm not crying!" she pouts through sniffles and stuttered breaths, her eyes red beyond compare.

Miles sighs, glancing over his shoulder to look at the two other men watching them, hoping to find some kind of aid. Unfortunately, Dick Gumshoe has been unable to stop crying for the last five minutes, the man's broad, powerful shoulders quivering as he bites back his wailing, ungainly sobs.

And, by Gumshoe's side, there is Phoenix. Phoenix does not look happy, nor sad- merely determined. Resolute.

Miles understands. With the hustle and bustle of passengers and family and flight crew and staffers surrounding them on all sides as they stand in the busy terminal, it is taking all of his effort to maintain a calm expression as he feels Phoenix's gaze bury itself permanently into the back of his skull. Although they have already shared their quiet morning together, have already made their promises and plans and figured out exactly how they shall keep in touch whilst he is gone (trading contacts with Frederik, sharing Miles' German number, detailing schedules on when they shall call each day while still respecting time zone differences, establishing dates where Phoenix shall surprise Maya and Pearl with a video call to Miles, among other things), it still feels like it simply is not enough now that it is time to leave.

The intercom rings. His gate is ready. His plane shall be boarding first-class passengers soon, meaning he needs to be ready to take his seat. There can no longer be this dawdling before security if he wishes to make it with any semblance of calm.

Finally, Maya flings her arms around his neck. "I'll take care of Nick while you're gone, but you better come back soon, alright?" she practically growls in his ear, the loneliness and threat barely hidden amidst tears which have finally begun to spill. "You'd better come back soon."

"And you need to be well too, alright, Maya?" Miles laughs dryly, patting her back. The girl pulls away, her glare still as tear-filled and angry as ever; and yet, something in Miles' heart seizes irrevocably at the sight. Once upon a time, that glare had been focused on him through the security glass at the detention center. Once upon a time, that glare, putting all of her anger and bitterness upon Miles' shoulders to bear, had been earned.

Now, however, that anger is fueled by nothing but affection. He has done right by her, and she, by him. So, with that thought in mind, he ruffles her hair lightly and murmurs, "Now, you had better keep your end of the bargain too, alright? If anything happens to Wright, I'm going to come back, and we're going to have to have a very stern conversation."

The girl merely sticks her tongue out at him, but the corner of her mouth begins to quirk up into a smile, setting his heart at ease. With that taken care of, he squats down again and quietly says to Pearl, "And you, young Miss Fey. You had better protect Ma- Mystic Maya, alright?"

At the use of Maya's title, Pearl's face absolutely lights up despite her tears. Sniffling loudly, she whimpers, "I will, Mr. Ejiworth."

"Good girl." And with that, his job is done. He stands, straightening his blazer and smoothing out the wrinkles in his slacks, and then turns to look at the detective and the attorney. To Gumshoe, he nods; the detective knows to expect a call about when to pick Miles up in around a year's time, if not longer. That looks is responded to by a renewed wail of grief, the sound only inviting strange stares by passersby.

Then, he looks to Phoenix. The blue-clad man walks towards him, then proceeds to straighten out Miles' cravat for nearly a full minute, fingers trembling with every unnecessary pull of the fabric.

"You know I need to leave soon," Miles comments, raising an amused brow.

"Shut up," is the terse reply spat out through gritted teeth.

He is not lying, though; there truly is no more time to dally about. So, Miles drops his bag onto the floor.

"What-?" Phoenix blinks at him, momentarily caught off-guard, before kneeling to pick up the handle for him. Before he can stand tall again, however, Miles bends to pick up his bag as well, taking the opportunity to grab Phoenix's face instead, kissing him gently whilst they still have a guise to be close in public.

Phoenix's words vanish, eyes shining in shock and wonder and love. Miles merely sighs as he pulls away, soaking in this view, carving every stray hair, every wrinkle and every line, into his memory. "I'm off."

For the first time since they have left the house, Phoenix finally, truly smiles, tears welling up in his eyes as well. "Come home soon."

And with that, Miles stands tall, taking his bag and turning on his heel. There is no time to waste if he would like to make his boarding call. He has more than enough time to cry- and to look forward to his first phone call with Phoenix in Germany- once he is on the plane.

He'll come home soon. He truly has everything he has ever wanted waiting for him, after all.