trace (vestiges)
The conversation is long overdue by the time Miles finally musters up the courage to make the phone call, but after Franziska has been seen off to the UK, there is someone else who cannot wait any longer. So, one afternoon as they sit in the Wright & Co. Law Offices, Miles watching Phoenix poring over a potential client's records as he sips his tea, his cell phone held up to his ear in a mixture of trepidation and longing.
Frederik always knows what to say, though. Miles hadn't known just how much he had been quietly, secretly longing for those words to pass someone's, anyone's, lips; yet, as the final details of what had transpired upon Eagle Mountain and within the courtroom finally cross his lips, Frederik's first reaction is not to berate him for what he has done, or to ask if he is alright, or to chide or chastise or demand for more than he can give. Miles simply feels his entire body sink in relief, melting into the cushions as if a taut wire has finally snapped, the strings holding him upright coming undone at last.
"You've worked hard, Miles. It sounds like you did well. I'm proud of you."
He glances over to the mirror at the side of the room. His reading glasses are perched upon his nose, and the waning light filtering through the windows casts enough shadow for his silhouette to almost be mistakable as the man in Miles' memories. For a moment, he images these words coming from Gregory.
He does not mind that they come from Frederik, though. He is proud to have a mentor such as him.
But Frederik has also never been one to dally upon a topic for too long. Their conversation quickly shifts to what Miles himself has been plagued by for days: the ease with which he had stepped into the courtroom as an attorney. Explaining the entire situation and the lunacy of it all is a strange, fervent conversation which soon grabs even Phoenix's attention, the man's gaze drifting up from his papers to watch Miles' quiet, analytical responses to Frederik's canvasing question.
"There's going to be a convention here," the elder says suddenly. "I would be easily able to get you entrance, should you wish to network with those who might be closer to seats of power."
Miles pauses. He is not yet properly reinstated, per se, but he has already come a long way with winning over the High Prosecutor to his side. Still, if he has learned anything in his time as a prosecutor- in his time with Phoenix, especially- it is that he cannot waste a moment of it.
His heart aches at the thought. He does not want to board another plane, to leave the attorney behind. He knows he has Phoenix's blessing.
His body, his heart, will still be just as cold in their separation, no matter how short, though.
Still, he agrees. He notes down dates and makes mental lists of flights to book and hotels to search, for there is no way in hell that he shall settle for whatever hovel of an accommodation shall be granted widely to all attendees; once that is done, he finally allows himself to inquire about Frederik's life, the office, and the people he so suddenly left behind.
"We had planned an even bigger celebration, you know," Frederik comments. "That Wright of yours couldn't fall off a bridge just a week later?"
"He's not very good at sticking to plan," Miles replies dryly, raising a brow at Phoenix's immediate blush, clearly having understood that the jab was towards him.
Frederik's laughter is strangely on edge. "Now, I'm assuming he's there with you," the elder comments, "so you don't need to give yourself away, but- based on the history of the case, it certainly sounded like he had a history with the defense. Do I need to fly over there and teach someone a lesson?"
For a moment, Miles freezes. Then, a low, wry chuckle escapes his lips. "To be fair," he muses, "Franziska was here until two days ago."
"Ah." Silence. "Well. Good thing he's still breathing, then. That would have been a waste if you had come back to find a body." Before Miles can scold him for the callous remark, however, Frederik adds, "You're staying with him, right?"
Miles looks across the table to Phoenix. The man's eyes rest wearily upon him, a strange sense of knowing pervading every crease around his mouth, every wrinkle in his brow. He understands. So, the prosecutor smiles, stands, and walks over to the other side of the table, perching halfway upon the armrest of the couch. Placing a hand on Phoenix's shoulder, he squeezes gently in response to the surprised, confused look given by the other man. On the phone, he murmurs, "I am."
"You sure?"
"I am quite confident in my decision, yes," he replies with a chuckle.
The smile which tinges Frederik's voice at his faith causes Miles to smile wider, too; this, in turn, softens Phoenix's worry, a hand rising to meet Miles' own, fingers intertwining, pulling Miles' hand forward so that lips may meet pale knuckle, an adoring sigh of relief melting the tension in a previously-set expression. They'll be fine.
And that evening, when Phoenix silently comes up to Miles in a shocked state of near-tears, showing Miles a text conversation with Frederik, the elder detailing just how terrified Miles had been when he had heard of Phoenix's accident, Miles can only blush and stutter out an evasive response; he does not reject Phoenix's embrace, however, nor does he ignore the words of love and apology and gratitude which spill from the other man's lips. Somehow, Frederik's support makes it feel even more like the right decision to stay, to work through this, to open up his heart whilst still accepting this discomfort. It feels right.
Perhaps his silhouette was right. He should be proud of the man he's becoming- of the person he's become, despite it all.