Authors note: Hey! This is chapter two (obviously). Yup. Well, please read and review! (: Haha...
The Forged Turnabout
~Chapter Two~
S u i c i d e ?
Miles Edgeworth waited patiently for his partner to finish having a shower.
Phoenix looked sick – there was no other way to put it. And it worried Miles.
He doesn't look ill, as such.
He looks…Well. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he looks…depressed.
Surely he can't still be upset over the defendant running away?
Although Phoenix had said that he wanted to go straight to bed, Miles knew that he should eat first.
The bathroom door opened. Phoenix stepped out; his hair still wet.
His face was pale, and his eyes were red.
Christ, he looks terrible. I can't believe that he is just sick.
Usually, when he is sick, he is still pretty much his usual energetic self.
There must be something I'm missing.
"Phoenix?" Miles asked gently.
"…Yeah?" Phoenix replied.
"I know that you said that you would prefer to go straight to bed, but you'll feel in better health if you have something to eat." Miles said.
"…Alright." Phoenix stumbled over to the large bed, and sat down.
Although Miles was somewhat obsessive over keeping things clean, he didn't care that the two men were about to eat on the bed.
"I made chicken soup." Miles informed him, passing him a small bowl, and a plate with bread on it.
"Ok." Phoenix responded.
Why is he only giving me one word replies?
In silence, the two men ate. The only sound was the occasional munching.
"Er, I trust that the soup is satisfactory?" Miles asked, desperately trying to make conversation.
"Yes." Phoenix replied.
"Oh, alright. Good." Miles said, glancing at Phoenix.
Phoenix didn't say anything, but put his plate down.
"Done?" Miles asked, also finishing his own.
"Yes… Thank you." Phoenix said, giving a weak smile.
Miles got off the bed, and grabbed the plates. Instead of washing them like he usually did, Miles merely placed them in the sink.
Phoenix is more important than two clean plates.
"Alright. Would you like a drink of water?" Miles offered.
"No, thank you." Phoenix said, closing his eyes.
Miles couldn't figure out exactly what was wrong with him.
"Alright." Miles strode over to where Phoenix was sitting on the bed.
He un-tucked the duvet. "Lie down, Phoenix. You're clean and warm now. Rest."
Phoenix opened his eyes, smiled appreciatively, and crawled underneath the thick duvets.
"Your hair is wet." Miles noted.
"It is." Phoenix replied.
"Let me dry it for you." Miles instructed. "It'll only make your cold worse, if you sleep with wet hair."
"Alright…Thanks." Phoenix said.
Miles strode into the bathroom, and picked up a warm towel from on the towel rack.
He walked back over to Phoenix, who had sat up, and began drying his dark hair.
Having wet hair will only make him feel worse.
Miles finished drying Phoenix's thick hair, and quickly leant down to kiss his neck.
Phoenix shivered.
"Cold?" Miles asked.
"…A little." Phoenix admittedly, closing his eyes again.
Miles frowned, as he looked around the room. He wandered over to the linen cupboard, and pulled out a large, magenta (not pink) blanket.
Walking back over to Phoenix, Miles noticed that the man was already half-asleep.
He put the blanket over the still-shivering man, and tucked him in.
Miles grabbed a glass, and filled it with water. He placed it on the bedside table on Phoenix's side of the bed; just in case Phoenix got thirsty.
What else might he need?
The prosecutor thought for a second, before locating the box of tissues.
Maybe he is sick.
Maybe that's all.
Let's look at the facts.
He is cold, and sleepy. And he walked in the rain for a good part of the day. That all suggests that he is sick.
However, usually when he is sick, he stays up late.
Christ; usually he milks it for all its worth.
Something must be really bothering him.
Why won't he tell me?
He got into the bed beside Phoenix, even though it was still fairly early.
Absentmindedly, Miles wrapped his arms around the (no longer) defence attorney's waist.
Phoenix was warm – but not feverishly so.
I guess…that's a start.
Miles pressed a kiss to Phoenix's shoulder.
Phoenix turned around, and rested his head against Miles' bare chest. He cuddled into Miles – maybe as comfort?
Miles didn't know.
The silver haired man smiled sadly – if Phoenix was sad, so was he – and wrapped his arms around the dark haired man tighter.
The two men lay there; Miles not daring to move, in case he disturbed Phoenix.
As Miles began to grow sleepy, he thought he felt something wet on his chest.
Like tears.
Phoenix is…crying?
"Are you all right, Phoenix? Are you crying?" Miles murmured.
"Mmph…No. I'm fine…" Phoenix whispered, his voice breaking.
"Get some sleep. Everything will seem better in the morning."
Sleep well, my love.
Hopefully, you'll feel better in the morning.
Miles was disturbed by movement in the bed.
Groggily, he opened his eyes. Phoenix wasn't lying next to him.
He was probably in the bathroom.
Miles turned over on his side, and looked at his alarm clock.
It was midnight.
Miles was just about to drift back to sleep, when he heard a small 'thunk' emitted from the bathroom.
…Typical. He must have dropped something.
I wonder if he is feeling alright…
Miles sat up, and slowly got up out of his warm bed.
Quietly, he crept to the bathroom door, which he stuck his head around.
Phoenix was sitting on the edge of the bath, and had a container in his hands.
He didn't see Miles.
At first, Miles thought the bottle contained pain killers, but he then realized that it was the bottle containing sleeping pills.
Hm. Can't he sleep?
…That's not right.
He was sound asleep only minutes ago.
Miles watched curiously as Phoenix opened the container.
He tipped it upside down, and at least nine small capsules fell into his hand.
Those are really strong.
I hope he knows that.
I mean, with that number of sleeping pills, he could almost…
Miles' eyes widened as he realized what Phoenix was planning on doing.
Christ.
He was just about to intervene, when Phoenix shook his head. He re-opened the container lid, and put all of the capsules back.
Miles noticed his lips were moving.
The prosecutor moved in closer, to hear what he was saying.
Quietly, Phoenix was chanting "Miles, Miles, Miles, Miles."
Miles was confused.
What the hell was that?
Was…he just about to commit suicide?
What should I do?
Confront him, or let him tell me about it in his own time?
Miles frowned, and decided to let Phoenix tell him about it in his own time.
Miles quickly went to his bed, and lay down.
He closed his eyes, and slowed his breathing down – in an attempt to pretend to be asleep.
He felt the bed shift when Phoenix lay down beside him.
"I love you, Miles." He murmured into the 'sleeping' silver haired mans ear.
Phoenix turned around, and buried his face into the duvet; small sobs escaping his lips.