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“Miles!”
He’s panicking.
He knows he’s panicking.
And, yet, knowing that he’s panicking doesn’t do anything to stop him from panicking because why is the door locked.
“Miles!” Phoenix bangs on the door, fist barely rattling the thick wood. “Please! Open the door!”
Chief Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth almost never locked his door. That’s how Phoenix had just walked in as many times as he had. That’s how he had been able to easily check on Miles after earthquakes. Because the door hadn’t been locked.
Like it was now.
“I just tried his phone again,” Maya said from beside him, looking increasingly worried as she stared at the screen of her cell. “He didn’t answer.”
“The secretary said that he had a meeting. That she sent someone up. So he must be here. Miles!”
“Pal, why’re you yelling?”
Phoenix spun around. He must have looked desperate because Detective Gumshoe went from calmly walking out of the elevator to sprinting over.
“Whoa what’s wrong? What happened?” Gumshoe looked around the immediate area uselessly, looking for a source of Phoenix’s panic. “Where’s Mr. Edgeworth?”
“His door's locked,” Maya supplied.
Gumshoe’s face went pale. “But he never locks his door.”
“We know,” they answered like a pair of creepy twins in a horror movie.
Gumshoe either ignored it or moved past it as he shouldered through them to stand in front of the door. Raising a fist, he brought it down in a triplet of knocks. His strength outmatched Phoenix’s and the door shuddered beneath his fist. “Mr. Edgeworth, it’s Detective Gumshoe! Please, sir. Open the door!”
This time, from within the office, they could all hear the sound of feet pounding the floor followed closely by a muffled yell and a gasp of pain. The door shuddered, causing the trio to lurch back in surprise, before there was the sound of glass breaking and something heavy falling.
“That’s it,” Gumshoe said, pushing Phoenix and Maya away from the double doors. “I’m coming in, sir!” The detective backed up a step before surging forward, foot raised. His boot made contact right beside the handle and the lock broke, allowing the door to swing open.
Phoenix felt the air seize in his throat as his heart stuttered. This had always been one of his fears, buried deep in the back of his mind, but he had hoped that he would find Edgeworth alone, fighting down panic from the earthquake, if he found anything. The largest part of him hoped that Edgeworth’s meeting had gotten over early, that he had accidentally, or intentionally, locked his door, and that the secretary had just missed him when he left. That he was safe at home doing whatever he did when he wasn’t being Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth.
He wasn’t expecting the stranger, dressed in innocent enough clothes, stalking towards Miles’ desk, with a knife dripping blood. Wright’s eyes darted to the figure on the other side of the desk.
Miles was on the ground behind his desk, back turned to the door, arm outstretched above his head. It looked like he’d been thrown over the top and landed there. That would explain the crashing and the sound of something falling, Wright deduced. He must’ve knocked over the lamp.
Phoenix couldn’t contain the shout any longer. He surprised himself with it, especially as he couldn’t remember breathing for the past few seconds. “Miles!”
The stranger spun around only to catch a chest full of Gumshoe. The detective landed on top of the assailant and grasped the wrist holding the knife before the other man could recover. The man tried to claw at Gumshoe’s face but was spun onto his stomach, arm pinned behind his back as Gumshoe began to recite his rights. He wasn’t gentle as he cuffed the man.
Phoenix didn’t wait for an invitation from the detective to enter the room. He ran in, jumping over the coffee table to avoid Gumshoe and get to Miles as quickly as possible, who had begun moving.
“Miles? Miles, are you okay?” Phoenix asked as he ran around the desk.
Edgeworth had pushed himself up on his hands and knees by the time he got there. “Wright . . . What are you doing here?”
“There was an earthquake. It was little, but I was worried.”
“I’m aware there was an earthquake,” he ground out between clenched teeth.
Stupid stupid of course he’d be aware there was an earthquake, Phoenix berated himself. “Are you alright? There was . . . Blood.”
There was blood by Miles too. Now that Phoenix got a proper look, there was blood all around Miles. There was blood under his hands as they pressed into the glass-studded carpet. There was blood on his coat. Phoenix could even see a smear of blood across the top of the desk.
Kneeling down beside him, Phoenix grasped Miles’ shoulder and felt the tremble through his frame. “Miles? You’re bleeding.”
Miles, seemingly unaware of the contact, reached up to touch his own chest where Phoenix couldn’t see. He pulled his hand back, eyes locking on his crimson coated fingers before slowly looking up, his eyes catching Phoenix’s in silent confusion.
With Miles’ slight turn, Phoenix could now see his chest. There was blood slowly saturating the cravat at his neck. He couldn’t see the wound, but he could see the effect. Any color drained from Miles’ already pale face as he held his hand up, looking like he was struggling to grasp what had just happened - what was happening.
“W-Wright?”
Phoenix caught him before he could face plant into the glass. He fell backwards, hauling them both away from the shattered remains of the lamp and pulling Miles against his chest. He pushed the cravat aside, exposing the wound. It was thin and deep, under his right clavicle. Blood leaked from it as Miles looked up at him with big, grey eyes filled with fear.
Phoenix swallowed his panic and locked his mismatched eyes with Miles’ before placing his palm against the wound. He wrapped his other arm under Miles’ neck and placed it over the top, increasing the pressure. Miles winced before his eyes snapped back open.
“Everything’s going to be okay, Miles. Everything’s going to be fine, you’ll see.” He broke eye contact just long enough to look up and see Maya moving around the desk. “Watch the glass. Call an ambulance.” His attention snapped back to Miles. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
At this moment, he wasn’t worried about what Maya may see. What it may mean. He couldn’t think about the fact that he was kneeling in the carpet of the chief prosecutor’s office, holding the chief prosecutor himself in his lap, speaking to him in a voice so goddamn tender that he was hoping to save it for another day, and looking at him in a way that was probably betraying everything he’d felt since they’d been kids.
Probably.
“A-Another one of your - trademark bluffs - Wright?”
So, apparently Miles was oblivious, but what else was new.
“Not this time, Miles. This time, I mean it. Every word. Everything’s going to be fine.” Please don’t let this be a bluff. Please don’t let this be a bluff. Please-
Miles smiled - actually smiled - up at Phoenix, but it gave the defense attorney no joy. There was blood on his lips and his breathing sounded wet. “You never change.” He coughed and winced, his eyes going wide when he tried to breath in and wheezed.
“Easy. Just take it easy. Don’t try to talk. Please, just - Save your strength for the trial in a few days.” Phoenix smiled even as his throat tightened. “You’re going to need to be at your best.”
The smile wavered on Edgeworth’s blood stained lips. “I - I don’t know that I’ll be able to make it.”
“Miles-.”
“It would be funny, wouldn’t it? ‘Miles Edgeworth chooses death’. Only for me to return and then actually die.”
“Now you decide to develop a sense of humor and it’s terrible,” Phoenix snapped, unconsciously pressing down on the wound, causing Edgeworth to wince. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please, everything will be okay. You’re not going to die. You hear me? You’re not going to die.”
Miles’ neck was craned back as he looked up into the defense attorney’s eyes. His skin was ashen and a line of blood trailed down his chin, but there was something in his eyes. Phoenix’s traitorous brain named it before he could pull back from the thought. Fondness. “I should be the one to apologize, Wright. I don’t-.” He was interrupted by a cough, deep in his chest. It splattered the backs of Phoenix’s hands with red droplets. “Sorry, I just . . . I don’t know how . . .” His eyes were beginning to wander, losing focus, the grey in them becoming colder. Phoenix didn’t like how it looked one bit.
“Miles?” He removed one of his hands to cup it under Miles’ chin, smearing more blood across the prosecutor’s cheek as he rubbed it with his thumb. “C’mon. Miles. I’ll forgive you, okay? I’ll even forgive you for making me think you were dead for a whole year. You just gotta hang on, okay? Miles?”
“Phoenix . . .”
“Miles, please hang on. It’s going to be okay. Everything’s going to be okay. Please, Miles. Ple-.” His throat seized and he couldn’t get out the last word.
Miles was staring at nothing when he whispered, “Phoenix,” before his eyes slipped shut and his head lulled back against Phoenix’s chest.
“Miles? Miles!” He gently jostled the body in his arms, hoping for wince, a glare, anything. When he got nothing, his eyes darted to Maya, who pulled the phone away from her face to look at him, tears slipping down her cheeks.
“They’re on their way, Nick, but it’ll still take about 3 minutes.” She was grasping Edgeworth’s wrist where his pulse was. He could see now that she had been silently measuring it.
“Is Mr. Edgeworth okay? Is he -.” Gumshoe came around the desk, freezing when he saw Edgeworth propped up in Nick’s lap; covered in more blood with every passing minute, eyes closed and head limp against the defense attorney’s chest. “Mr. Edgeworth.”
“He’s still alive, Detective,” Maya provided. Phoenix was grateful for her presence. His voice seemed to have failed him.
Gumshoe nodded, eyes looking a little moist. “Well, make sure he stays that way! Mr. Edgeworth is a valuable member to the justice system and - and.” His lower lip trembled before he clamped his jaw and clenched his fists at his sides. “Just make sure he stays that way!” Turning, now, rage filled eyes to something that Phoenix couldn’t see on the other side of the desk, he snarled, “And as for you, I wanna know why you stabbed Mr. Edgeworth.”
Phoenix returned his attention to the body in his lap. He could feel shallow breaths on the back of his hands as Miles’ chin rested on his wrist and feel his chest rise and fall with each wheezed breath. He curled his torso down over Miles so he could almost brush his lips against the crown of the other man’s head. Or whisper something in his ear. “Miles. You gotta trust me. You gotta believe me. Please, believe me.” He was still trying to sound confident and calm, but his facade was breaking. Without Miles there, he couldn’t dredge up the will to be strong. Panic and dread were settling in his chest and he could feel and see tears prickling at the edge of his vision. His hands were officially soaked in Miles’ blood and please no .
“Nick!”
He lifted his head from where it had been hanging above Miles’ and looked up at Maya. She looked like she’d been calling his name, even had a hand on his shoulder, but her eyes showed forgiveness and understanding at his not hearing her.
I guess everyone isn’t as oblivious as Miles.
“The ambulance is here. I can hear the siren.”
As if on cue, Gumshoe steps echoed through the floor as his voice boomed over the desk. “Hey, pals! The EMTs are here!”
More steps accompanied his and several figures began to crowd from around the desk. Maya wordlessly dropped Miles’ wrist and backed up, allowing them room. Phoenix stayed where he was.
“Please help him.” He didn’t know why the words came out. Of course they were going to help him. That’s what they were there for. That was their job.
“Wright, once again you are a master at stating the obvious.”
A tear streaked down Phoenix’s face, unseen by seemingly everyone. An inner Miles was good, but it couldn’t compare to the real thing. Phoenix really didn’t want to lose the real thing. I can’t.
“Sir? Please, you must remove your hands.”
“Nick?”
Not again.
Coming back to the present, Phoenix flinched and pulled his hands away, holding them up above Miles’ body. They dripped blood down into his sleeves. “I’m sorry.”
The EMT smiled at him. Their eyes were kind and understanding as they nodded before their full attention returned back to Miles.
Without another word, they pulled Miles from Phoenix’s lap and got to work. At some point, Maya pulled Phoenix up off the ground to stand to the side. They huddled in the corner, the minutes flying by until Miles was loaded up onto a stretcher and wheeled out of his office. It wasn’t until they rolled him into the elevator and the doors started to close that Phoenix reacted again.
“Not the elevator.”
“What, Nick?”
He pulled himself out of Maya’s hands. “They can’t put him in the elevator. He can’t do elevators.” He started to move towards the closing doors.
“Nick, I don’t think it matters-.”
“You don’t understand!” He collided with something soft and clad in green, but he kept fighting towards the closed doors, hand outstretched, reaching to pull Miles out of the elevator. “He can’t do elevators! Please! Get him out of the elevator!”
“Pal, calm down,” the soft, green-clad thing said.
“Please,” Phoenix pleaded. “He-.” His knees gave out and would’ve bruised horribly against the floor if strong arms hadn’t wrapped around his chest and slowly lowered him. “He can’t-.” Tears were streaming down his face. “-can’t-.” His chin fell against his chest as the rest of his statement was choked off by a sob. “Miles.”
Warm arms wrapped around his head and pulled him into a hug, tucking him close. He could smell ramen and burgers and incense as Maya held him, lips against the crown of his head, whispering, “He’s going to be okay, Nick. Everything’s going to be alright. It’s not too late. He’s going to be okay.”
The strong hands that had caught him didn’t let go completely either, holding his shoulder in a tight grip. He could swear that he heard someone else sniffle beside him.
They sat like that in the hallway for an interminable amount of time before they all simultaneously got up and headed to the garage under the Prosecutor’s Office and got into Gumshoe’s car. He didn’t ask a destination. They went straight to the hospital, sirens blaring.
The third time Miles woke up, he was coherent enough to take in his surroundings. Pots of flowers sat on the edges of the room with notes, some in better taste than others. He wasn’t sure what most flowers meant, but he was pretty sure lilies were supposed to be sent to funerals.
There was sunlight streaming through the windows to his left. He blinked furiously and squinted, trying to shield his sensitive retinas as much as possible. In a way, though, the sight was oddly beautiful. Broken by the slats of the blinds, the sunlight cast yellow bars across the walls and flowers. A part of him was relieved to see it, but his conscious mind was still moving slowly and confused as to why he should be.
A snore to his right broke his silent musings and he jumped, wincing as the movement pulled at something in his chest. Looking down, he could see the very edge of a bandage peeking out from under the hospital gown.
Investigating the ache in his hands, he raised his left - as his right felt unusually heavy - to his face and looked at the myriad of cuts that had been either been cleaned, glued, or stitched, in the case of the most serious one. He gently lowered his hand back to his hip and looked at his right, hoping to find the cause of its immobility. In doing so, he also found the source of the snore.
Defense Attorney Phoenix Wright, dressed in an oversized sweatshirt, was sleeping on the edge of his bed, gently holding his hand.
Miles blinked. Then blinked again. Then reminded himself to breath and hissed at the pain it sparked.
Phoenix’s head shot up off the side of the bed and looked around in mock imitation of a prairie dog. One eye was glued shut with sleep and the other looked hardly focused enough to take in anything. “Wha?” The word came out unfinished and barely coherent.
After foolishly looking around for a few seconds, he clenched both eyes and opened them wide, adjusting to the low lighting and new state of being awake. He looked around again for a sign of what had woken him before the hand in his moved and his eyes darted to Edgeworth.
Miles had been trying to see if he could move his hand slowly enough that Phoenix wouldn’t notice he had removed it. However, based upon the look of fear mixed with raw need and the way that his hand tightened back around Miles’, it was a lost cause.
“Miles?” That need in his eyes was echoed in his voice. In just his name, Miles heard so many contradictions: disbelief and relief, fear and hope, excitement and trepidation. There were some other emotions in Wright’s utterance of his name that Miles wasn’t sure he was able to tackle at the moment.
But Miles was more controlled than Wright. He was able to hide such emotions.
“W-Wright?”
(Damn it.)
He said Wright’s name in a croak, his throat deciding that, now that he had tried to speak, it would be a great moment to reveal that it was as dry as sandpaper. He fought back a small cough and failed, succeeding only in disturbing the wound in his chest. He cringed, screwing his eyes tight as he fought back the stabs of pain.
When he finally opened his eyes again, Wright was closer, standing over the bed, hand gripping his. Miles focused on that pressure and breathed, letting it anchor him to the present as his vision stopped tunneling.
“Miles. Are you okay?” He watched Wright curse under his breath before looking back at him, absentmindedly rubbing the back of his head like he did when he was nervous. Miles couldn’t help but grin. “Sorry. Stupid question, I know. Of course you’re not okay. Umm. I guess a better question would be: how are you feeling?”
Miles paused. Then, he said, “Like I’ve been stabbed.”
Wright nodded. “That’s understandable.”
Miles’ vision grayed for a second and, when it returned, Wright had released his hand and was holding a small plastic cup with a green straw in front of his face.
“Here. You should drink a little of this. You sound terrible.”
“What is it?”
Wright pulled the cup back, glanced inside, and then put it back in its previous position in front of Miles’ face. “Water. Come on. I know it’s not tea, but you still need to drink something. Just a little?”
Miles acquiesced, taking a few careful sips before pulling away and shaking his head against the pillow. The water had felt heavenly on his throat, easing some of the ache that disuse had caused. (I wonder how long I’ve been out.)
“Wright?”
Wright jumped at his name. He’d put the cup back and had been silently sitting in the chair, hands grasping the fabric of his sweatpants on his thighs and looking at the ground. At Miles’ address, he’d looked up like an excited puppy, eyes bright and eager. “Yeah?”
“How long has it been?”
Miles watched Wright’s eyes darken. The bags seemed to deepen beneath them and his complexion turned paler. He looked back down at the floor as he mumbled, “Five days.”
Confusion hit Miles, knocking the next question he had for Wright out of his mind. “Five days?”
“Yep.”
“Wright-.”
“We were kinda worried but you woke up briefly on day three. Then you woke up again yesterday. I wouldn’t expect you to remember those times, though. You were pretty out of-.”
“Phoenix, have you been here all five days?”
The question shocked both of them. Miles, because he had blatantly asked it, knowing the answer, and had also called Wright Phoenix . Wright, because Miles Edgeworth had just called him Phoenix and was that concern he saw in Miles Edgeworth’s eyes?
“Uh,” Phoenix’s eyes started darting between Miles and the floor and Miles’ hand. “Yeah. I’ve been here all five days.”
“Why?” (You fool. Stop asking these questions. You may not like the answers you get.)
Phoenix didn’t know how to phrase it. I stayed here these past five days because going anywhere where you weren’t felt empty and meaningless? I couldn’t leave your side because the doctors didn’t know and I couldn’t miss a single remaining minute I may have with you? I had to make sure you were okay because you mean so much to me and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to imagine a single day without you? Because I love you??? He pulled his chair closer to Miles’ bed and leaned his elbows against the side. When he reached out a hand and wrapped it around Miles’ cold one without thinking, he nearly cheered when Miles didn’t pull away. “What do you remember, Miles? About what happened?”
He didn’t actually need Miles to tell him. Crime scene investigating, done by Maya and Gumshoe, and a confession given by Miles’ attacker sealed the case.
Mike Stabeman had been hired to carry out the job from an anonymous employer. The police were uncovering a data line a mile long that the transaction had gone through to find the person who had hired the . . .
Phoenix still hated thinking the word.
Assassin.
Someone had hired an assassin to kill Miles Edgeworth.
An amateur hit man but a hit man nonetheless.
The rest was found at the crime scene.
Stabeman had come in, disguised as an informant on a case Miles was working on and had gone up to Edgeworth’s office. Once there, he had panicked momentarily and threatened Miles with the knife until he could build up the courage. That was when Phoenix and Maya had arrived. When Gumshoe had arrived, that’s when Miles had acted and tried to get to the door. He’d pushed Stabeman, causing the man to fall into the couch over the coffee table, and rushed towards the door. Stabeman had recovered and pursued, getting to Miles first and stabbing him once in the chest. He’d then flung him back from the door, causing him to fall over his desk, which knocked over the lamp. That’s when Gumshoe had kicked down the door.
All the details had been given to him by Gumshoe and Maya after they’d finished investigating the scene. He could almost see it in tandem with the sounds he’d heard through the door.
Miles looked ahead, over the end rail of the hospital bed, eyes going distant for a moment like he could see through the opposite wall. “I remember . . . The man. He said his name was . . . Mulaney. Stefano Mulaney. Said he’d been a friend of the victim - No! Boyfriend? Ex-boyfriend? He - He had a knife. He threatened me with the knife. Said he’d been . . .” Miles’ eyes went wide as he looked back at Phoenix. “Paid. He said someone had paid him . . . to kill me.”
Phoenix glanced at the heart rate monitor, at the way it was spiking, and at the way that Edgeworth’s breathing was growing increasingly erratic. He’s gonna have a panic attack if I don’t do something. “Easy, Miles,” he tried.
Miles didn’t seem to hear him. “You were at the door. You were knocking on the door. There’d been an earthquake. And you-.” (No no no no . . .
“Miles!” More banging. “Please! Open the door!”
“Who’s that?!”
Miles kept his hands in sight, trying to hide the new emotion that he was feeling at hearing Phoenix’s voice while a knife was being pointed at him. “I don’t know.”
“Well, he knows you! He’s calling your name!”
“Miles!”
“It’s just some defense attorney. He’ll go away soon.”
“He better. If he comes in here, you’re a dead man and so is he. They paid for you, but I’ll kill him, too, if I have to. I'll kill him, too . . .")
“Miles? Miles, can you hear me? Come on, don’t do this. Breath, Miles. Please, for me, breath.”
Miles snapped back to the present, feeling air suddenly surging into his lungs as hands gripped his arms. He coughed and wheezed, his lungs aching with the strain, the wound in his chest burning. Phoenix was leaning over him, mismatched eyes overflowing with concern as they darted between Miles and the Nurse's Call Button on the wall above him, like he was debating pressing it.
The pain was in the background of Miles' mind. He'd felt pain before. At the forefront was the knowledge that something far worse than personal injury - than his own death - could've happened. (He was going to kill you, Wright. He was going to kill you. I was going to lose you.) Before he could think better of it, Miles, lurched forward, ignoring the stab of pain in his chest as he wrapped his arms as tightly as he could around Phoenix Wright and hugged him. He pressed his face into the soft material of Phoenix’s sweatshirt and inhaled the smell of coffee and days old aftershave and cheap laundry sheets and Phoenix.
Phoenix froze in the embrace and, for a moment, Miles feared that he had played his hand and ruined everything, but then he was being hugged back. It was tight but careful, keeping in mind his injury but still pulling him closer and closer.
Phoenix had been surprised - which was the understatement of the year. With everything they’d gone through, he was lucky to get a handshake out of Edgeworth and now . . . this. A hug initiated by Edgeworth. He cursed his second of hesitation and made up for it by pulling Miles close. He felt his hand, unbidden, reach up to cup the back of Miles’ head and he tucked his face into the man’s neck. He smelled like hospital and cleaning solvents, but there was still a faint trace of expensive cologne and loose leaf tea and he savored it.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you, Miles. I’m so sorry. I tried.” Phoenix didn’t realize he’d said the words aloud until Miles answered them.
“It’s better that you didn’t.”
Extricating himself from Miles’ embrace, he held the man at arms length, leaning down to see his face as Miles hid behind a curtain of greasy bangs. He must hate that. But that’s for later. “What do you mean?”
Phoenix watched Miles’ hand slide across his lap to his elbow, grasping it despite the fact that the movement must have pulled on his IV. His eyes tracked down to the left corner of his vision as he said, “He threatened to kill you, Phoenix. Said that if you came in, he’d kill you.” Miles gently shook his head. “I didn’t . . . I couldn’t let that happen. It was better if you just thought I wasn’t there and left than for us to both die.”
This man. This idiot of a man. “You were more ready to die alone in there than ask for help?”
“No one else needed to die, Wright.”
“Just you.”
“If that’s what it takes.”
“If that’s what what takes?”
“Objection, your honor.” Miles peeked up with a small grin. “The Defense is badgering the witness.”
Phoenix smirked mirthlessly and nodded. “Objection sustained.” He couldn’t stop himself from grabbing Miles’ hand again. Miles, he noticed, didn’t stop him. “It’s just . . . I was really scared.”
Miles sighed and began to rub his thumb over the back of Phoenix’s knuckles. “I was, too.”
Phoenix wasn’t super sure how he ended up sleeping beside Miles that night. It started with them sitting side by side, leaning against the pillows and wall, staying up as long as Miles could stay awake, talking about anything that would take their minds off of the situation. Phoenix never let go of Miles’ hand and Miles never made a move to remove it. When there were more pauses in their conversation than words and Miles eventually succumbed to the pull of his pain medication, Phoenix realized that he’d done so on his shoulder, their fingers tangled together and arms almost linked. And, then, Phoenix felt his own call to sleep from his aching joints and drooping eyes. So, he’d fallen asleep there, propped up next to Miles Edgeworth in a hospital bed that should’ve been too small for two.