trace (vestiges)
He is going to be sick.
The world seems to twist, to melt and morph slightly, the light shining through the windowpane bending as he hangs his head below his shoulders, focusing merely upon his own breathing as he takes in the information at hand. Phoenix is unaffected; his calm, cool countenance does not shift as he merely goes through line by line of his research and the details of the case, his voice low and orderly, as if he is merely reading out a trite story.
None of this is trite. None of this is simple. None of this is alright.
Phoenix reports calmly that Maya had been trapped upon the other side of Dusky Bridge. He states that Pearl had been missing all evening, and that the victim was supposed to have spent that time reading with Pearl, having turned out to be Pearl's favourite author; he explains with a serenity that is almost horrifying that he cannot remember anything after hitting the water, but instead of resting since he had come to in the hospital, he has been doing nothing but researching old cases and revisiting Mia Fey's earlier trials for the truths they apparently concealed. Miles barely heard much of these details, his brain honing in on only one fact: Maya and Pearl's safety is not guaranteed.
If he acknowledges this, Miles realizes dimly, he will break.
It had been bad enough when Maya had gotten kidnapped the year earlier by Shelly de Killer; to think that Pearl was also implicated here just-
No. No, I must stay focused. Miles sucks in a deep breath and does his best to focus on the rote case details which Phoenix quietly supplies him to the best of his knowledge.
It is only in response to Miles' tentative question as to why Phoenix had agreed to even go to a channelling temple in the first place that Phoenix's resolute demeanor cracks. His expression shifts, a lightning bolt of grief and horror and confusion and genuine hurt striking him with such force Miles has to recoil from the whiplash. Looking down at his hands, Phoenix takes a breath and holds it, apparently counting to himself to calm down whatever emotions are finally stirring in his exhausted heart.
"Maya showed me the advertisement for the temple," he begins softly. "I recognized one of the priestesses there, Edgeworth. She- she looks exactly like…"
"Like?"
Then, Phoenix's eyes trail over to the side of the room. Miles frowns, gazing at what the other man has fixated upon; it is naught but a dirty white piece of rumpled cloth. As he examines it from afar, however, he realizes slowly that it is in fact a hood, similar in design and decoration to the acolyte uniform which Maya and Pearl tend to sport.
After a moment, Phoenix finally explains, "That priestess- Iris- she gave me that hood. Said it would protect me." He snorts, surprisingly embittered about this. "I guess it did, huh?"
Miles is lost for words. "I… I am not quite sure what you mean by all this, Wright," he confesses at last. "Who is the priestess?"
Then, Phoenix opens up a previously-minimized file on his laptop, presenting a case number that is all-too familiar to Miles. "Her name is Iris, and she said that we've never met, but… but she knew my name, Miles."
A chill rushes down Miles' spine as he looks at the file onscreen. It shows a picture of Dahlia Hawthorne. He had met her only once before- the young woman had been kidnapped by her boyfriend, a man who had murdered Dahlia's older sister. Miles remembers prosecuting this case in painful detail, considering it had been at the start of his prosecuting career, but cases like that…
One does not easily forget watching the accused poison himself to death on the witness stand. One does not easily forget watching a veritable witch walk away unharmed.
"Was Dahlia Hawthorne not sent to prison less than a year later?" Miles murmurs, fighting off the wave of nausea which threatens to surge at the memory of that strange, unsettling trial. "She poisoned someone else, did she not?"
And then, Phoenix's calm finally snaps. His brows furrow together, lips pressing into a thin line, although these actions do nothing to soften the pain visible in the tears which well up in his eyes. He leans forward, silently begging for comfort, which Miles immediately gives; the prosecutor stands, perching upon the edge of the bed so as to be able to wrap one arm around Phoenix's shoulders, bringing the man's head to rest upon his chest.
Phoenix's body trembles, painfully small and frail despite his admittedly-stronger form. "Dahlia poisoned her ex, but she was trying to poison me," Phoenix whispers. "She was my girlfriend."
Miles' hand, which had been stroking Phoenix's hair, freezes. His breath catches in his throat, heart stopping halfway to the floor. He feels nothing. He feels everything.
He had always known that Phoenix had had others before him. That had never surprised Miles- Phoenix's hands, lips, tongue, heart had always been too skilled, too easily shaped to Miles' needs and wants and desires. Phoenix had always had experience from other lovers. He has long since put away any lingering resentment or jealousy from that fact. At their age, closer to their thirties than their twenties now, it is perfectly normal to have had multiple lovers- in fact, Miles can easily admit that he is likely the abnormal one, with Phoenix being the only warmth he has ever known-
But Dahlia Hawthorne?
He takes in a deep, shuddering breath, bringing his other hand up to massage his temples. Okay. Why bring up Dahlia? I remember that the case I prosecuted also occurred on Dusky Bridge, but other than that connection, I see no reason for him to bring her up.
Quietly, Phoenix answers this question even without needing to ask. "Iris- the priestess, she looks exactly like Dahlia, Miles. It isn't natural. I'm not making it up, they're the exact same, and I just- I feel like I know her, too."
That sickening wave of nausea strikes him again, causing him to lurch over slightly this time. Miles whispers into Phoenix's hair, "…she's lying to you, then?"
"She has to be."
"You think that she killed Miss Deauxnim-"
"She didn't!" The attorney yells this with such conviction that Miles releases him, backpedalling immediately. Seeing Miles' shock calms him down somewhat; softening, Phoenix repeats gently, "She didn't. She wouldn't, Miles, but she's hiding something from me… and I'll never know what if I'm in the hospital for the next two das, because she's the prime suspect in the case."
Phoenix reaches over to his bedside table, and then, grabs Miles' hand, pressing two distinct objects into his palm. Confused, Miles looks down. Sitting in his hand are Phoenix's attorney's badge, the sight of which almost brings Miles to tears again with the memories it conjures of their departure a year prior, and a small, almost luminescent jade stone, carved into what appears to be an almost ominous number nine or six. Miles holds them out to Phoenix, utterly baffled. "What shall I do with these?"
Phoenix does not take them back. Instead, he closes Miles' hand over the two items and kisses his furled fingers, the touch still sending delighted shivers down Miles' spine despite all of his confusion and unease. Plaintively, the attorney asks, "I… I need you to prolong the trial for me, Miles. At least until I'm back in court. Please." Pointing to the stone peeking out from Miles' closed fist, he adds, "This will help you see the truths people are hiding. It's called a Magatama. I know it sounds crazy, but just… don't lose it, okay? Hold it tight, and you'll see what you need to do."
"Wright, I don't understand- what are you-"
And then, it hits him.
The laughter is unintentional. It does not cease, though- once it begins, starting from a short, sharp bark, it continues to cascade from his lips until he is rendered unable to even breathe, the folly of it all so astounded that his vision swims from lack of air, his stomach aching from the exertion and fatigued delirium. "I'm sorry, do you want me to fill in your place as the defense?!"
Phoenix does not laugh with him. His large, wide eyes beg, and for the first time since the aftermath of the Engarde trial, Miles sees naught but vulnerable, helpless frustration in the other man's eyes. "Please, Miles," Phoenix asks. "I just need you to keep the trial going. Give me time to get better, and Gumshoe promised he'd find Maya and Pearl so he can focus on that, and you keep Iris out of jail. Please. I need you."
He wants to protest. He wants to cry out, to scream that this is impossible, and that there is absolutely no way to perform the Herculean task which Phoenix demands of him; and yet, as Phoenix's bitter gaze refuses to waver, Miles suddenly feels himself relaxing, understanding creeping over him slowly but surely.
"You… had no closure to that relationship."
Phoenix nods without a word.
"You want to know why."
Phoenix nods again, his lower lip trembling.
With a sigh, Miles pockets the stone- this 'Magatama', or whatever it is called- and the badge. Then, he brushes Phoenix's unkempt hair from his eyes and carefully leans down. Phoenix does not hesitate to reciprocate, closing his eyes and pressing his lips to Miles' in a kiss that should have felt fulfilling beyond measure after all of these months of separation.
Miles' eyes are closed for the kiss, though- and all he sees behind his eyelids is the image of Dahlia Hawthorne, standing hand in hand with a younger Phoenix. He hates that he can remember every hair upon that woman's head, every lash in those deceptively-wide, doe-like eyes.
He hates that he can imagine just how good she would look beside Phoenix.
He trembles, pulls away, stands up. Leans down. Presses a kiss to Phoenix's hair for good measure.
Then, he grabs his bag, nods, and walks right out of the room, mind racing. There are more than a few people in the courthouse who owe him favours, and he knows of a certain prosecutor who could act as his opposition to help him extend the trial for a few days. There are ways to get this done.
His mouth tastes like bile. He wonders whether this taste comes from Phoenix, or himself, or the lingering taint of Dahlia Hawthorne's memory, or-
I'm going to have to defend her in court.
He pauses only once he is seated in the car, Gumshoe pulling away from the parking lot and promising to take him to the detention center before heading back up Eagle Mountain to continue searching for Maya and Pearl. Miles pauses, looking into his reflection in the window.
When he had been younger, his dream had been to become a defense attorney, just like his father.
I guess it's… it is better late than never, hm, Father? I may be held in contempt of court if I am caught, but…
Phoenix had been desperate. Phoenix… had been in love.
His chest burns. He tells himself it is heartburn. He knows, however, that it is due to the stark realization that he is not the only one who has tasted Phoenix's love. That idea has never hurt so much more than today.