trace (vestiges)

I should've known that it was too good to be true.

Perhaps his trembling in the elevator had been a sign, an omen of ill-will and misfortune threatening to plague him that day. Perhaps he had been a fool to ever think that he would be able to rid himself of this terror which continues to destroy him.

Seventeen years. Seventeen years, and he still could not stand elevators… nor earthquakes.

It is only a full minute after he has staggered to his feet and reorients himself that he understands just what sins he has committed. He had been walking to the Inner Temple with Iris, as per Prosecutor Godot's emergency request; she had been his charge, after all, so it had been Miles' duty to ensure she was delivered to the other prosecutor in order to ensure whatever needed doing got done.

Now, as he looks around himself frantically, Iris is gone. All that remains are tiny footprints scurrying ahead, leaving him behind- footprints which disappear faster than anyone could have liked as they end upon the paved, cleared road, free of snow to guide his way.

The… the defendant… escaped? Because of me?

He is going to be sick.

As it is, his head spins, his heart pounding in his chest, his mouth full of shame and acidic bile. He runs, throwing decorum to the wind, searching only for an officer, a lawyer, anyone, who could have seen where she had run off to.

Gumshoe finds him first. His babbling is barely coherent at first, but eventually, he is able to explain the situation to the detective; Miles had passed out ('fainted like a dog', his mind says over and over again in Manfred von Karma's sadistic voice) when the earthquake rumbling through the mountain had struck, and when he had come to, Iris had disappeared. At this, Gumshoe instantly understands what must be done. As incompetent as he is, even he can understand the importance of retrieving a lost suspect.

What truly destroys Miles amidst all this, however, is Phoenix.

He finds Phoenix. He tells him that Iris is gone. He tells Phoenix that he, shamefully and regrettably and against all of his ideals, had fainted during the earthquake.

And just like that, Phoenix runs off to the Inner Temple, not even bothering to spare a glance behind him in favour of finding Iris- in favour of leaving Miles behind.

The tears which threaten to spill from Miles' eyes in frustration are easily dried by a familiar, tiny hand slipping into his, gripping so painfully he winces, almost swearing aloud. Turning to look, his heart pounds in his chest; it is Pearl, the girl looking far worse for wear, her robes muddy and stained, knees red and blue, hair mussed and eyes carrying a sadness and bitterness within them which he knows far too well. "Mr. Ejiworth, when did you come back?" she sniffles, her tiny hand clinging to his.

It is out of character, he knows. Yet, he cannot help but kneel down and open his arms, accepting the little girl's crushing hug without complaint. Stroking her hair, he whispers, "I heard you and Wright and May- Mystic Maya were in trouble," he murmurs, pulling away in favour of wiping her cheeks with his handkerchief. "Were you safe last night?"

She nods solemnly, but her eyes are still wide and glassy as the little girl whispers, "I thought- I thought Mystic Maya would be safe here, but she's…" and just like that, the girl begins to bawl once again.

I'm no good at this, he thinks wearily as he stands, allowing her to bury her face against his pant leg as he speaks to the other officers around. Once he is able to assess the situation properly once again, finding that Maya is still missing and, for some reason, the chamber in which she had been kept was locked- hence the need for Iris, the one person who could presumably take off that lock- he is able to meet the man behind the request in the first place.

Prosecutor Godot is an entirely unfamiliar creature to him. Not once does Miles remember seeing him in the Prosecutor's Office before his year abroad; however, the man is clearly older than him, his shock of white hair and built stature do not waver in the slightest in Miles' presence. His confidence is evidence of years on the job, unlike the rookie nature his credentials belie.

Thankfully, Godot is far more lax with a crime scene than Miles personally would be. This strange, embittered man broods, but guides Miles over to a newly-discovered location anyways. Thankfully, it is nearby; Miles' head still spins slightly from the tumble caused by the earthquake. Traipsing up and down the mountain would do him no good-

I may need to, though, he thinks bitterly as Godot allows him into a back garden. If they don't manage to find Iris… what in the world is Wright going to do?

Pearl still clings and clutches. Quietly, he kneels, releasing her fingers from his abused slacks. "Across the bridge is safer," he murmurs, smoothing her hair out of her face. "Pearl, I want you to go stay with…" With who? No one else is-

His heart sinks. Well… there is one person who's likely on the other end. If nothing else, Pearl can go to the main temple with that Bikini woman.

His instructions are clear and precise. Larry has always been good with children, and he is likely in the same place Miles had found him in yesterday, anyways. "I'll come get you after the investigation, alright?"

"But Mystic Maya-"

"Pearl Fey," he insists sternly. "You are staying with me, and that is final, young lady. That way," he adds, seeing her eyes fill with frustrated tears once more, "when they find Maya, I can drive you up here right away."

Understanding blossoms alongside love, and his heart seizes in his chest. Her smile is too much to bear. Her finger is tiny when curled around his, but he pinky-promises her this anyways; it is a strangely-sweet gesture for him, he knows, feeling his ears heat up in humiliation as he sees Godot watching their exchange quietly. However, it has been a year since the girl has seen him.

She's grown taller.

For some reason, his heart aches at that.

Still, he sends an officer to escort her to Larry's hut on the other side of the bridge, if not to the Main Temple itself. With that taken care of, he takes a moment to examine the scene before him; Godot explains that the officers believe that this stone garden had been the murder scene, rather than the original suspected location. As Miles looks at more and more of the rising evidence, he feels a headache beginning to mount mercilessly against the back of his skull. How much work had he put in that morning, only to have it be immediately debunked by all of this new information?

He is so, so tired.

Quietly, Miles asks, "Is Maya a culprit?"

Strangely enough, Godot shakes his head. "She might be. I won't let anything happen to the Feys, though. Not anymore."

Miles does not have time to inquire before the snapping of a whip in the air catches his attention, drawing his eyes back to the entrance of the garden, where Franziska now stands, whip in hand, chin raised haughty and proud. She scans Miles' face for a moment, then glances over to Godot; instantly, a sneer rises above all else, disgust and hatred emanating from every pore as she stalks forward, inserting herself between Miles and the other prosecutor. "You look ill, little brother," Franziska comments lowly, eyes not straying from Godot's face, watching his every move like a predator stalking their prey. "Did something happen?"

Instantly, shame washes over him once more. How can he state that he had succumbed to his weakness the moment she had let go of his hand?

Stepping out of the garden to leave Godot and Franziska to speak, Miles finds himself face to face with Gumshoe. "The defendant?"

"Found."

He almost collapses from relief. He does not, however; instead, he steels himself, runs through the evidence he had collected in the garden, then issues a new order: finding the real murder weapon. "It is not the Shichishito," he insists, referring to the multipronged weapon which had been implicated during that morning's trial. "There must be something else. Locate it and report back."

Strangely enough, Gumshoe's face falls at that last order. Miles understands completely, though. He is working under Godot, not me. So, instead, he beckons the older detective over, murmuring, "Whatever you find… help Wright, will you?"

Gumshoe's eyes widen, staring in shock at Miles for a moment. There is no need for him to voice his concerns. Are you asking me to lie? his eyes scream in horror.

Miles shakes his head. "I want you to do this so that we may find the true culprit," he explains quietly. "Now, go."

That quiet assurance is all Gumshoe needed. The man comes to attention, a renewed sense of vigour inflating his posture as he salutes before running off towards the bridge.

As Gumshoe's back disappears down the road, Miles finally spots Phoenix coming towards him from the Inner Temple. At the sight of the exhausted man, almost green in his sickliness, Miles' weariness and shame and bitterness seem to all melt away.

And what replaces it is, strangely enough, anger.

Phoenix does not notice it; if he does, he makes no mention of it. The man totters back and forth in place, as if standing upright itself is the biggest battle he is fighting. All the while, explains run amok from his lips, barely cohesive as he jumps from one point to another without any time for Miles to properly understand what is even going on. Iris had run from Miles to check on Maya, but there are somehow more barricades- some special locks, apparently- blocking the way to the young woman. Franziska had come up to supervise Iris' effort to undo the locks, so Maya would be out within the day. When Miles tersely prods him for more information, Phoenix withdraws, mumbling under his breath as he tries to sort things out for himself, clutching his own head in anguish as he finally whispers loud enough for Miles to hear, "I just… I hope Maya's alright."

The anger does not fade. Miles had flown all the way from Germany, and for what? For Phoenix to run after a woman whose history with him runs deeper than Miles apparently has any right to know? To watch Phoenix walk into the garden and struggle to investigate a crime scene in his fatigue, giving no ounce of support to Miles after the very real, very horrifying earthquake which had so suddenly struck the mountaintop?

He isn't needed, he thinks to himself, trailing after Phoenix and passing on the information Godot had relayed to him. Miles did not need to come back.

His head aches. Gritting his teeth, he massages his temple, leaning against one of the fences as Phoenix scours the garden, noting the same evidence which Miles had found in his own investigation. When he appears to be done, he allows Phoenix to pick his brain, bouncing off theories and ideas, acting as a sounding board as the fatigued attorney attempts to put the pieces together.

Miles feels nothing.

No- that is a lie. He feels alone.

Sighing, he finally explains Pearl's whereabouts. The other man had somehow forgotten to ask about the little girl; when Miles says that she had been escorted to the other side of the bridge, Phoenix's face lights up, then collapses in humiliation. Groaning, he runs his hands back through greasy, limp hair, looking a hairsbreadth away from keeling over.

Then, he turns to Miles. Glancing around, Phoenix examines the perimeter; when he is satisfied, he steps forward, and without waiting for a response from Miles, he wraps his arms around the other man, sinking his face into Miles' shoulder.

Immediately, Miles looks around fervently. There is no one else in sight- Godot and Franziska had taken their quarreling elsewhere, it seems- so, despite his irritation, he allows Phoenix to cling to him. With the attorney in his arms, it is so easy to feel the almost blistering heat emanating from his skin, the sweat cooling upon his brow the clearest sign of his ongoing illness. "You… should be resting, Wright," he murmurs.

Phoenix shakes his head. "I have to save Maya."

"But you're defending Iris."

When Phoenix pulls away at last, Miles is stricken by the sheer sorrow in the other man's eyes. "You… it's more complicated than you know, Miles," he whispers, leaning his forehead dizzily against Miles'.

For a moment, Miles wants to protest. He is angry- he is upset. He feels abandoned and used and useless all at once, and he wants to explain, but how can he? How can he add this burden- how can he justify it, how can he demonstrate it-

How can he allow a single word of anger towards Phoenix to leave his lips when Phoenix looks like he is about to break?

Sighing, Miles takes a moment to collect his thoughts. Then, he says simply, "I have some more research to do. You finish what you need to do. When you are done, you and Pearl are coming home with me." Immediately, Phoenix's mouth opens to protest, but Miles shakes his head, cutting him off. "You both need rest, and someone to look after you. I'll take you home."

Phoenix's lip wobbles. "But… Miles, I can't-"

"You need to rest if you're going to be in the courtroom tomorrow."

"Please."

"…okay."

And that is that. Miles lets him go, watching as Phoenix stumbles out of the garden and back into the temple. He does not know exactly what Phoenix has uncovered about the case, but whatever it is… well, he'll have to wait and see in court the next day.

For now, it is time to do some more digging of his own. That is likely to tamp down on the bitterness gnawing away at his heart. His own pain must take a backseat to saving Maya, he tells himself.

…he still cries once he is back in his car, forehead resting against his steering wheel. The sensation of cold leather upon his skin is nothing like Phoenix's heat. His tears only grow heavier when he realizes that that fact is more comforting than not.