Good Enough

(Here you guys go! This one's a bit longer than the last one, and it's got some... well, I guess you could call it fluff. I must say that I am in NO WAY learning toward PxE here; it's just because of Miles' state of mind, so don't get any weird idea. glares Heh, anyway, enjoy!)

Chapter 17

"Detective, hurry!" Wright flung the hatch wide as Gumshoe huffed and puffed up the set of stairs leading inside. The door swung down behind him, shutting out the freezing winds that had momentarily invaded the jet's warmth.

Grateful to finally be warm again and safely out of sight of the enemy, the detective stopped walking and took a moment to catch his breath. He was in excellent shape, but he had just jogged half a mile in gusting winds on this cold October day carrying another man—however light he might have become—all the way.

Instinctively, the prosecutor had huddled against the larger man carrying him for warmth, and even now that it surrounded him, he was reluctant to move. His head was turned so that his face was buried in Gumshoe's coat and partially covered by the black sweater Tilea had given him. Therefore, Wright could not see it when they came in and—for a short while—Miles really didn't look all that bad.

"You okay, Detective?" Wright asked.

"Sure—" Huff. "—Pal." Huff. "I just need—" Huff. "—a breather."

Feeling that he should probably give Gumshoe more of a break, Wright stepped forward. "Hey, Edgeworth," he said with a gentle smile as he came close, preparing to take away Gumshoe's burden.

At the sound of another unfamiliar voice addressing him, Miles tensed up. Slowly, he lifted his head and turned to look away from the detective and up at the stranger who had spoken to him.

Phoenix nearly backed away, having been lured into a false sense of security. This didn't look like his old friend at all; had he not known any better, he would have thought that they had the wrong guy. Edgeworth's normally sharp and penetrating eyes were dull and lifeless, his carefully styled and maintained hair was hanging limply in strings around his head, dark patches looking eerily like bloodstains, and his young and handsome face with its pristinely defined features was battered, scarred, and deathly pale.

And as if this wasn't enough, the man that Wright had known for seventeen years—despite an extended period with no contact between them—was now looking at him with a total lack of recognition, and he even saw fear.

"Awful… isn't it, pal," Gumshoe said between heavy breaths. "He… doesn't remember… a thing…"

It had been quite a while since a single image had made him feel so incredibly depressed, but this took the cake. Wright took in a shaky breath to say something, and then hesitated. He couldn't talk to Edgeworth like this; the man had already been through Hell and now the people helping him were all upset and gloomy. It couldn't possibly be making him feel safe or welcome.

Though it was one of the hardest things he had ever done, Wright forced the muscles in his face to work against his emotions, and a kind smile appeared across his visage. "Hey there," he said, leaning down a bit at the knees so that he was closer to Edgeworth's level. "I'm Phoenix Wright. I'm going to be keeping you safe until this is all over."

Miles just stared over at him for a moment, and then looked up at the detective. Wright watched as he mouthed something and Gumshoe looked puzzled. Then, a look of sudden understanding crossed the detective's face. "O-of course, Sir," he said, his breathing having nearly regulated itself. "It's okay to talk now; there's no one around to hide from."

Miles slowly turned back to look at Wright, who was standing up straight again, though still wearing a small smile. The prosecutor's lips parted in preparation to speak, though his brain was still calculating the appropriate word. "Phoenix?"

Wright nodded. "Yes, Phoenix Wri- Ohhh…" He suddenly understood why Edgeworth looked so perplexed. "Um… See, me and your other friend have the same first name," he tried to explain. "But… you can just call me Wright." He hoped that hearing Edgeworth identify him by this name would soften the blow that had just hit him. Any reminder of the way things were supposed to be was better than nothing.

Miles lowered his head for a moment, as if digesting the information, and then raised it again. "Wright," he reiterated confidently, and then observed the other man's smile become a bit more relaxed. He too relaxed a bit, knowing this meant he had done well.

"I'll take him, Detective," Phoenix said, reaching out with both arms. "Take a break before you head back up there."

"Thanks, pal," Gumshoe replied gratefully. "Oh! Be careful," he added. "Don't shift him too much." The pass was made and Miles' weight was a bit more difficult for Wright to support than it had been for Gumshoe, though it was a strain he could handle. "I'll… um… see ya' in a bit, Mr. Edgeworth," Gumshoe said as Wright prepared to take the injured man into the cabin where a bed had been prepared for him.

Miles watched the man that had carried him all the way here, trying to put together the appropriate response. He had not been properly introduced, so he didn't really know the man's name. However, he supposed he could call him what the others were calling him. "Thank you… Detective," he finally said.

Well, it didn't sound like it usually would, but Gumshoe did all he could to envision this man sitting behind his polished work desk with a steaming cup of tea and a stack of papers in front of him, hair and suit in perfect order, stating this phrase in his usual smooth and professional tone of voice. He stood up straight and grinned proudly. "It was no trouble, Mr. Edgeworth, Sir. Detective Dick Gumshoe is always at your service." Ignoring the bewildered stare on the prosecutor's face, Gumshoe took a seat in the nearest chair to rest momentarily before making the long trip back, and Phoenix turned and carried Edgeworth into the back of the jet.

Phoenix stepped into the back room and used his shoulder to slide the door closed before crossing the room to stand over the bed that sat ready. It was the type that would be found in a hospital, but there were strips of thick elastic cloth lying across it. As carefully as possibly, Wright placed Edgeworth onto the mattress and began to adjust everything. He pulled the straps out from under him, but did not fasten them while the craft was still. He pulled the top sheet and blanket up over Miles and moved him down so that he rested comfortably on the pillows placed at the head of the bed.

All the while, Miles watched him work, finding himself observing another new procedure. He had retained enough basic knowledge to know that he lay on a bed and the sensation wasn't foreign to him, but he had no actually memory of ever lying on anything besides cold concrete.

He then noticed the unused straps hanging off the side of the mattress, and when Wright had finished and stepped back, Miles' hand found one of them. "What about these?" he asked timidly. He did not want to be tied down, but if they were there, then that surely meant they were supposed to be used.

"Huh?" Wright looked down to see Edgeworth's right hand gripping loosely the elastic material. "Oh, you don't have to have those until we leave."

Miles looked down and his expression became a little saddened and even a bit frightened. "But… I promise I won't… go anywhere," he said, his voice almost pleading. "I… I don't think I even could. Please don't tie me—"

"What?!" Phoenix hadn't even realized that Miles was afraid, and until that last part of the sentence, he honestly hadn't even considered that the straps might give him the wrong idea, so he hadn't bothered to explain them. "Oh, no," he recovered quickly and moved over to his friend's side as he saw the startled expression cross the other man's face at his sudden outburst. "That's not what they're for."

"I-it's not?" He failed to understand what straps could possibly be used for but to restrain him.

"They're not to tie you down," Phoenix said, an awkward smile visible on his face; by no means did he ever think he'd be speaking with this man in this way. "Well… They kind of are, but not because we think you'll try to get away. They're to keep you from falling off and hurting yourself."

"I don't want to be tied down," the injured man muttered, looking very frightened and upset. He still didn't understand, and Wright was feeling more and more awkward by the second.

Finally, he sighed and knelt down on the floor. He knew what he was going to have to do, but he wasn't sure if he could. He'd have to pretend he was speaking to a child. He desperately racked his brain to try and extract the automatic change in his tone and speech that occurred when he spoke to Maya's cousin Pearl. "It's okay," he said with a kind smile, hoping this would get less awkward during this time they would be spending together. "They won't be tight, I promise. You'll still be able to move around if you want; you just won't fall off."

Miles looked over at the attorney's face, which was now a few inches below his eye-level. This was the first time he ever remembered having to look down to see anyone, and it made this man seem much less intimidating. "You promise?"

Wright nodded. "I promise." Then, a frown replaced his grin. Edgeworth was looking at him, but Phoenix couldn't figure out how he could possibly see anything. His gray hair practically formed a curtain in front of his face. 'Okay, that's going to bug me, and I'm sure it's bothering him. Where the hell is that first-aid kit? I'm sure there are scissors in there.'

By this point in his thoughts, he was digging through some drawers in a compartment under the bed. Sure enough, the first-aid kit was in the very last drawer on the end, causing him to look through every other one before-hand. With an irritated growl, he opened the small case and—sure enough—there was a pair of scissors inside.

"Hey, Edgeworth, can you hold still for me for just a second?"

"Wh-what are you going to do?" The question sounded apprehensive.

Wright stood and used his fingers to split Miles' bangs in the middle like they had been trained to do while toying with the scissors in his other hand. "I'm going to get some of this hair out of your face so you can see better."

"Okay, but why do I have to hold st—" He gasped suddenly and jerked as he caught sight of the sharp object pointed in his general direction. He squeezed his eyes shut and cowered, unable to pull away as Wright had a hold of the bangs on one side of his face.

"Hey, don't freak out on me," Wright said, mentally kicking himself not for the first time that day. "I'm not going to hurt you. These are for cutting paper or hair and stuff like that, not for cutting people."

No… He was not standing here explaining the function of a pair of scissors to a man the same age as himself… This could not really be happening…

Still, Edgeworth kept his eyes closed as Phoenix snipped away. He was definitely not a hair stylist, but that wasn't really the goal here. When he had finished, Miles' hair was back to something like its original length, and it even lifted just a bit now that it was no longer weighed down so much. Most importantly, however, it was out of his eyes.

"Better?" Wright asked, putting the scissors away and placing the first-aid kit back in its original hiding spot.

"Thank you, Wright," Miles muttered, unsure of how he was really supposed to respond. Thinking about it, he did feel a bit better, and he could see better as well. "It is… better…" he added, just in case his thanks were not enough.

"Good," Wright said as he swept the loose pieces of hair from Miles' pillow and blanket. "You're very welcome. Now, you should probably try and get some rest. If everything goes as planned, we should be out of here shortly."

Now that he could see what was around him more clearly, Miles had taken to looking around the room with amazement. After being stuck in a dark, musty, and empty chamber for as long as he could remember, all the different colors and shapes in this room were mesmerizing, and it was reluctantly that he closed his eyes upon the prompt from the other man. He took in a deep shuddering breath and released it in a sigh that ended up sounding more like a pained groan, for the deep inhalation had sent a jolt through his broken ribs.

Phoenix sighed as well, sitting down in a nearby chair and proceeding to watch him. It was a miserable sight: even as the prosecutor rested, the pained expression seemed to be permanently etched into his facial features. That noise that had sounded in his throat as he exhaled had only made the defense attorney pity him more, and now as he looked on he could see that Miles was gripping his blanket very tightly with both hands, fingers applying so much pressure that his knuckles were turning an even paler shade. He was in so much agony that he couldn't relax, and Wright had no idea where there was any medication he could give his friend to ease his suffering so that he could at least sleep peacefully.

"Wright?"

Phoenix jumped a little at the sound of his name; he hadn't expected Edgeworth to speak again, though he had just been musing about how the man didn't look like he'd be able to sleep. "Uh… Yeah?"

Miles hadn't reopened his eyes, but he turned his head to the side so that Phoenix was looking at his face in full. "I don't think… I can go to sleep…" His voice quivered, and Wright could tell that he was exhausted.

"Why do you think that is?" he asked, even though the question sounded so incredibly stupid. The man had just been tortured for two months straight; he couldn't sleep because it hurt to breathe!

However, the response he got surprised him. "It's… too quiet."

Wright blinked. "Too quiet?" He thought for a moment. Personally, he preferred silence while he attempted to fall asleep, but he supposed some people were different. However, something was a bit strange about this. "But… It was quiet back there… wasn't it?"

"Yes," Miles replied, finally letting his eyes open to look at the other man. "It was always… quiet, and… I couldn't sleep because I was so afraid…"

'Ohhh… I'm an idiot…' Wright thought.

"It… It hurts so much more when… when it's quiet…" On the surface the statement didn't make sense even though it was the truth to Miles, but to those who considered the chain that linked the occurrences, it made perfect sense. There is no distraction in the silence save for oneself. One can only amuse themselves for so long with visual observation, but for Miles, the only distraction for his mind was his pain and his fear. The silence forced him to stay within himself, which was a frightening place to him, and when one dwells on pain, it seems to intensify as it is pushed to the forefront of one's mind.

"Oh… Um…" Wright began to look around the room, but he found nothing of use. "What… uh… would you like to listen to?" he inquired, at a loss for what to do. 'Tilea, help me!'

"It always helps when… Phoenix talks to me," Miles replied, his voice barely audible. He wasn't sure if this man would want to sit and talk to him like Phoenix did.

"Huh?" Wright blinked. 'Oh! Duh! God I'm an idiot!' Hearing his own name had confused him momentarily, but he remembered that the one Miles knew as 'Phoenix' was Agent Tilea. "Oh… Okay… Um…"

And again he wasn't sure what to do. Talk to him? About what? What did you talk about to get a suffering man to go to sleep? 'Wait… He's like a child, right? So, what if--?"

"Would you… like to hear a story?" he asked with uncertainty, hoping for a clue.

"You can tell stories too?" Miles looked upon him with amazement.

"Uh… Sure," he replied. "I could… give it a shot." Wright picked up the chair he was sitting in and placed it beside the bed, reseating himself and leaning forward a bit. He didn't really remember any children's stories, but he assumed that Miles really wouldn't know the difference between a fairy tale and an actually recollection; they were both stories, it's just that one was imaginative and the other was real.

Miles watched him expectantly, hoping he would tell a story just as well as she did.

Wright cleared his throat. "Okay, well… About seventeen years ago, there were three young boys who all went to school together, and they were all in the same class. One was named Phoenix Wright, the second was Larry Butz, and last—but not least—was Miles Edgeworth."

Miles closed his eyes and a contented smile rested on his lips. This story was just like those that Phoenix told; he was even in it again!

"Well, one day, Phoenix started to get a cold, so he didn't go to gym class with the other kids, and Larry was out of school that day……"

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"What the hell?" Manfred von Karma had just happened to glance over at the guard and became witness to a very odd sight. The man was still sitting in the chair, but he was rather lifeless. His shotgun sat between his legs and pointed upward at an angle so that the barrel rested on his right shoulder, and his head was lulled carelessly against that metal shaft.

It wasn't long before Franziska came up behind her father, and she looked on in silent amusement. 'Honestly, did they really think he wasn't going to notice? I guess it worked long enough…'

Manfred growled angrily and stepped forward, his hand coming across to slap the snoozing man in the face, hard. "Wake up!" he barked, and sure enough, the man's eyes flew open.

"Huh… Uh… What?" The guard blinked, and then started as he saw his boss leering down at him. "Oh, M-Master von Karma. I, uh…"

"Honestly, how could you possibly fall asleep like that?!" His mood was already foul, and this was just purely irritating.

"I'm… I'm sorry, Sir," the man apologized, rubbing a rather sore area on his neck. "I… I wasn't even tired. I don't know… what came over me…"

For a moment, Manfred considered a verbal assault, but then saw his daughter in his peripheral and decided he didn't really care all that much. "It would be in your best interest to not let it happen again," he snarled.

"Yes, of course!"

Still scowling, Manfred turned his back and walked the rest of the distance to the closed door on the other side of the high-ceilinged room. Franziska followed, knowing exactly what would be found in this room.

The door opened into what appeared to be complete and total darkness, and Manfred stepped into it. As if mocking politeness, he stood against the door and held it open. "After you," he sneered at Franziska, who confidently stepped in ahead of him.

If she hadn't been told this was a basement area, she would not have known there were stairs in front of her, but she took care to find them in the darkness so that she did not fall. Her father followed behind her, and when he had reached the ground, he flipped on the room's light source.

Both of them scanned the room over, Franziska doing so only for the sake of acting and to see where Miles had been living for the past two months. She then looked back at her father to see that he was still scanning, expressions of confusion and then rage slowly moving across his face.

There was no one in sight.

"There doesn't seem to be anything here," Franziska said, no longer able to hide the smirk that had been fighting its way forth. "Is this some sort of strange metaphor, or did you just fuck up again?"

Without so much as a second's warning, fingers closed around her throat and she was pushed up against the support beam nearest the door. "Who are you here with?!" came her father's furious hiss just inches from her face, his voice dripping with poison. It was no longer his hand that pressed against her throat, but his forearm, and half of his weight pinned her in place. She felt as if she would be crushed beneath him.

"Um… M-Master… von Karma…?"

He bared his teeth and snarled with rage as that timid voice reached him. He stepped back from his daughter and let her slide to the floor gasping for breath as he turned abruptly toward the stairs where the voice had come from. "What the fuck do you want, Girl?!"

He froze.

"Oh, nothing really. I just wanted to know if you were afraid of guns." Instead of the shy black-haired girl wearing faded blue jeans and an old gray sweater, he found himself staring up at a young woman with flaming red hair and cold black eyes, wearing a black sleeveless V-neck top, black dress pants, and black leather boots. Her outfit was complete with a 9mm pistol held in her right hand, and it was aimed directly at him. She was smirking and began to move down the stairs, never taking her eyes or gun off of him.

When she reached the ground, Manfred could see her more clearly and recognized the facial features of his maid. However, this wasn't the only thing that caught his notice. As she faced them, her black eyes captured the light of the torch behind them a couple yards away, and a bright flame seemed to erupt within. His expression changed from total shock, to a burning fury.

"Phoenix."

"Aw, you remembered!" Normally, one would wear an excited or joyful smile while stating this phrase, but there was only that smirk. "Of course, I didn't wear this attire when I 'appeared' to Miles Edgeworth, but you get the idea. Perhaps if you had asked him what type of clothes Phoenix wore then you could've figured it out. I've got to admit though, I did get a bit nervous for a second there."

Manfred had his teeth clenched so hard that any more pressure would have cracked them. "How did you get him out so quickly?!" he demanded. "He was… right there when I—"

"Ahem."

He whipped around at the sound of someone clearing their throat on the other side of the room. As he looked on, a figure seemed to melt into existence from the shadows in the far corner, its black garb causing it to blend seamlessly with the darkness so that the old man did not see it when they entered. This figure also carried a gun, but von Karma could not see its face, for a curtain of long, gray bangs hung down in front of it.

"I just love playing dress-up," came a man's voice from behind the imitation of Miles Edgeworth's hair. Then, the hand that was not gripping the handgun came up and drew the hair back, removing the wig in one sweeping motion. This revealed a face younger than the man's whom he had been disguised as, but oddly enough it held the same type of confident composure and was framed with gray hair that reminded Manfred of the way Miles looked before this had all started. "Although, I would have preferred it if you had just pretended you'd given him a haircut, Phoenix. This thing is itchy as hell."

He cast the false hair aside and began to walk forward.