Work Text:
-Point Loma, April 6, 2019-
Miles smiles and shakes his head, shading his eyes against the early morning sun; watching Pess barking and backing away from the small waves as they break on the sand, then chasing them when they retreat back down the shore.
He'd left Wright sleeping; snoring gently and half-covered by the comforter. He’d been half-tempted to wake him, just for the amusement of watching him glance at the clock, groan and bury his head in the pillows, but then Miles had remembered that this weekend away had been his idea. At least he was taking the hospital's instructions about rest and relaxation and warnings about pneumonia seriously, even if Wright still insisted on treating his fall from Dusky Bridge as nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
He turns his attention back to Pess, another smile as he watches his dog rolling in drier sand further up the beach, then dash back down to the tideline to resume his game with the waves.
Back at their villa, Phoenix had flopped over in bed, his arm patting down the other side for a few minutes before he had realized that it was empty. That was met with him laying face-down among the pillows for a few more minutes, pushing off of the mattress before collapsing back onto it, and then finally rolling over and rubbing his eyes, yawning as he'd scratched his chest. He pulled the comforter over himself and closed his eyes.
It had taken him a few minutes to even fully open them again, and he’d stretched, yawning again and scrubbing at his face. A few more after that, and he'd finally decided to flop out of bed, dragging clothes on as he made his way for the door, slipping on sandals to step outside.
Miles was easy to spot from the deck, down near the shoreline watching Pess trying to keep the ocean at bay. Phoenix hesitates there for a moment, enjoying the view, before tucking his hands into his pockets and taking the wooden walkway down to the beach.
Behind Miles, the children from the next villa are beachcombing in the rocks, their occasional squeals of excitement the only other sign of life at this time of the morning, save for the seagulls wheeling overhead, arguing over something washed up in the shallows.
With a frown, Miles remembers Eagle River and Phoenix in the hospital, pale and feverish. Visualises the fading scars and bruises that are still apparent down the right side of his torso from where he’d been caught against the rocky cliffs. He sighs a bit, muttering under his breath as he picks up the sneakers that he’d discarded minutes before, the sand under his feet cool and damp.
“You're really not fit to take care of yourself, Wright. God only knows what you'll do when I'm gone.”
“Hey, I haven't starved to death yet. That should count for something.”
Miles straightens his shoulders abruptly, wondering how long Phoenix has been standing there behind him. He can hear the amusement in Phoenix’s voice and shoots a sidelong glare over his shoulder, irritated at being caught thinking aloud.
“Maya would never let you. Malnutrition, however, is a more distinct possibility.”
He takes in Wright's dishevelled appearance; his hair half-flat and his eyes red from being rubbed too hard and too often. And there's the briefest of smirks before he turns, walking along the edge of the surf briskly, whistling to Pess and leaving Phoenix to follow.
“Stay away from the rocks, Wright - you might frighten the children.”
Phoenix smirks a bit himself in return, and he has to scramble to catch up. He casts a glance to the rocks and shakes his head.
“Honestly? I'd be more worried about you trying to push me in. But if you're so worried about me, you'll just have to hang around and make sure I'm getting three squares a day then, huh?”
Miles bites back a sharp retort, frowning a little in Wright's direction but unable to catch his eye. It's typical of the man to disguise his pointed remarks about Miles' work abroad as jokes, and since they had first discussed the date of his return, the remarks had become increasingly frequent.
He'd hoped that a weekend away would dispel the tension on that issue - or that Wright would forget about it, just for once. It's only Europe this time, and they are both adults, after all. There's a sigh before he replies.
“You make it sound as if I had a choice. It's in the nature of my job at present that I have to travel, and it will remain so until the end of this year at the very least. It's valuable work, Wright.”
He would say more but he's distracted by Pess - an expectant wag of his tail as he carries over a small piece of driftwood and drops it at Miles’ feet. Picking it up, he pitches it into the shallows some distance away.
“I know, I know, Miles.”
Another frown, and then he arches an eyebrow in Phoenix’s direction.
“Tempting as that suggestion to push you in may be right now, Wright, I suspect that your doctor would recommend you avoid any further unscheduled bathing in the middle of winter.”
Phoenix shrugs a little, yawning and scratching at his scalp. He runs the fingers of his left hand through his hair as he watches Pess exuberantly splash into the water. He does his best to at least try making himself halfway presentable, but his hair is still half-gelled and slept on. Smiling, he watches the water for a few moments before turning back to Miles.
“My doctor, huh? Or are you just worried about me?”
A short bark of laughter and a disbelieving look, then Miles shrugs, palms turned upward in exasperation.
“After being woken at 2am by a a tearful call from Larry, of all people, to tell me that you had fallen fifty feet into a river while attempting to cross a burning bridge? Why on earth would I worry, Wright?”
Avoiding a more serious answer and Wright's gaze, Miles concentrates his attention on Pess and on the distant waves. But then after a few moments he relents and glances back towards Phoenix.
“The doctor did mention pneumonia, Phoenix. And you didn't see yourself the day I arrived - you looked…”
He catches himself then, with a slight shake of the head and a frown.
“That damned hood didn't improve matters. I would rather be certain that you're fully recovered before I leave.”
Phoenix meets the glance, and his tone is honest.
“I'm better, Miles, really. You make it sound like I'm gonna start coughing up blood at any moment or something.”
A shrug, and then he smiles.
“...but it's nice to know that you care.”
There's an irritated grimace from Miles as he steps closer to Phoenix, running his own fingers through the man's hair in an attempt to correct the even worse mess that Wright has just made of it.
“Really, Wright, sometimes I wonder how you made it to twenty six, let alone twenty seven.”
Phoenix casts an almost sheepish look down at the sand as Miles attempts to fix his hair before he meets his eyes again, smiling softly.
“Maybe I'm just lucky.”
The sharp retort which is already on the tip of Miles’ tongue remains unspoken as he’s pinned by the sincerity in those blue eyes. And then there's that smile; that choice of words which was more than likely deliberate, damn him. And with a swift glance towards the rocks, Miles lets his fingers trail down Phoenix's cheek a little. For the longest moment all he wants to do is close his eyes and taste those lips; to feel Phoenix's body under his and strong hands on his skin. And there's the sudden return of that fear that had gripped him as he'd looked down on the city two weeks ago; the same fear that had been nagging him since the Engarde trial over a year distant.
He forces the urge down, confining himself to that lingering brush of fingers on an unshaven cheek as he withdraws his hand; gaze held by the other man's for longer than would usually feel comfortable before he nods and turns away.
“Happy birthday, Wright. I hope this place is still to your liking in the cold light of day.”
Before he can walk away, Phoenix grabs his hand loosely, threading their fingers together.
“Thanks, Miles. It's… nice to just get away and have some time together. I think that's what I really wanted, before you have to leave.”
Miles tenses with another quick look towards the children on the rocks, and his first instinct is to pull away. But he doesn't, leaving his hand where it is at least for as long as it takes Pess to return again with the driftwood and demand for it to be thrown. The moment stretches on, and for as long as it lasts, Phoenix feels as if everything is right with the world. He is, for lack of a better word... happy.
He can tell there is still a bit of tension, and when Pess returns, he lets go of Miles' hand and smiles down at the ‘brown’ dog, as he had been sharply informed Pess was when he’d asked his breed.
There’s a wash of relief that Miles is almost ashamed of which follows the release of his hand and the re-establishing of his familiar boundaries. It’s hidden in the action of picking up the driftwood and launching it out across the sand. His voice, when he speaks, is more controlled than usual and accompanied by a shrug.
“You said that you hadn't seen the ocean for two years, and for someone who lives in a coastal city, that is rather appalling.”
Phoenix’s hands return to his pockets and he lets Miles have his space for the moment, making no move to step in closer; the feeling on his end of keeping himself restrained, that fear that at any moment he might do or say something wrong and drive him away.
The shrug is returned, and he watches Pess chase the bit of driftwood, glancing over to the children who seem to be watching the dog, as well.
“Maybe I was just waiting for someone to see the ocean with.”
There’s another silence then, before he glances across at Miles.
“And… I know what the doctors said but you know, I really do feel fine.”
Miles is silent for a while, looking down at the sand, unmoving when Phoenix speaks, only looking up when Pess returns again and drops the piece of wood at his feet. He laughs a little at his dog, bedraggled but eager, fur covered in sand and tail drooping with the weight of the water.
“And it would be better for everyone if you stayed that way, Phoenix.”
Throwing the wood back into the shallows he walks forward a few steps, following Pess until he's standing right at the edge of the surf, his heels sinking slightly into the wet sand as it pushes up between his toes; the occasional small wave breaking far enough up the beach that it washes around his feet.
The water is cold, and unaccountably he remembers Gourd Lake on a freezing Christmas Eve, the mist laying low over the water. Of Phoenix facing him in the Detention Centre a day later, the nervousness in his eyes belying the stubborn set of his jaw.
And that exact same look, only a few weeks ago, when Phoenix had kissed him for the first time, as determined to prove his point as he had been then, overriding all the arguments and the formality with an optimism that Miles envied. But even then there was still that hesitation lurking in the blue depths, and in Miles the memory of a week earlier, of shock and confusion and angry words, of shame and regret and Phoenix stumbling away from him into the shadows of downtown Los Angeles.
He turns slightly to look at Phoenix, struggling with a decision as he shifts the sneakers to his left hand. There's the briefest hesitation before he holds out his right, not quite meeting the other man's eyes when he does. And when he speaks, there's a question behind the words that he doesn't voice.
“There's still time for a walk before breakfast.”
Phoenix senses a hesitation in Miles' actions, that echoes the ‘...are you sure you want this?’ that seemed to hang between them. It was a question voiced only once, but one that still lingered there, despite the answer he had given.
“...So what else is on the agenda for today? Apart from you finishing up your work and planning your escape, that is.”
There's another flash of annoyance, just for a second, and Miles almost withdraws the offered hand before reminding himself that this is Wright, that this, irritating as it might sometimes be, is simply how the man is. And that he had known that before he ever forgot himself with that kiss, six weeks ago; before he had taken him at his word and into his bed a few days later. So the hand remains offered, and he ignores Phoenix’s pointed remark.
Was he sure? To be honest, Phoenix would be lying if he said that he was always certain, but he was acting on what felt right… and right now that meant taking the offered hand and smiling.
The hand in his feels alien to Miles, at first - intimacy outside of the bedroom an unexplored wilderness which brings with it an innate sense of danger, a loss of self, and a reminder of how he used to be, once. And then he remembers that it was Wright who freed him from that; Wright who gave him the permission to live again - and there's a half-smile as he turns, Phoenix falling into step beside him.
“I booked the villa, paid for it, and drove you here, Wright. I hope that you do not expect me to entertain you as well.”
Phoenix moves to his left a bit, bumping into Miles with a sidelong grin. Miles doesn't react to the bodily contact other than to arch an eyebrow, an almost-smile when he does.
“Do that again and I may reconsider my decision regarding the probable health benefits of out-of-season bathing.”
And then Miles is silent for a while, still adjusting to the unfamiliar territory; to the sense of his own boundaries giving way like the sand under his feet; to the fear that at any moment there will be no solid ground - only the falling, and the drowning - just like before.
Phoenix is used to Miles’ silences by now, and so he continues walking on, squeezing the hand held in his left with a small smile.
“Hey, it was your idea to have a romantic weekend away - I'm just the birthday boy. Besides, it was a valid question. I'm surprised you didn't have an itinerary posted to the bedroom door when I got up this morning.”
A sudden bark from Pess as he unearths some treasure in the sand and the salt tang of the ocean blown in on the sharp sea breeze pull Miles back into the moment. He frowns perhaps a little too sharply at Phoenix's words.
“I don't recall the word ‘romantic’ being used at any point, Wright, except perhaps in your own mind - this is intended to be a chance for you to recuperate for a few days, as you were ordered to do two months ago. I have my work to attend to, but I should hope that there are sufficient books, music and movies in our accommodation to entertain even you until dinner. If not, I'm sure the children would welcome another like-minded playmate.”
And there's a smirk which curves over Miles’ lips as he glances over to the rocks, but Phoenix shrugs it off, as well as the frown which preceded it. Instead there’s a wide smile - one that is echoed in his eyes - amusement lurking there and sparkling deep within the blue.
"Oh yeah? Long walks on the beach? Is that what passes for ‘work’ nowadays? Don't tell me you also like piña coladas and getting caught in the rain… I don't think I could take it.”
Miles glances at Phoenix, momentarily too distracted by the smile to answer and unsure exactly of the joke that is being made at his expense. The words are somehow familiar and he frowns again, trying to place them. He has a vague recollection of Gumshoe singing something of the kind, once - such spontaneous bids at musicality being one of the detective's less endearing traits during investigations.
Phoenix casts a glance to the kids and chuckles, shaking his head before letting go of Miles' hand and giving him a solid shove, just enough to offset his balance a little and make him take a step back.
“Wright-!”
Fortunately, being barefoot gives him some traction in the sand and he manages not to fall, but the spray of damp sand as Phoenix takes off down the beach earns the rapidly retreating defence attorney an infuriated glare and some choice words in German.
The only reply is laughter as his sandals smack noisily between the sand and his feet. Pess barks exuberantly and chases after him, Phoenix laughing at the dog as he attempts to put on speed. He turns back to look at Miles and loses his balance in the sand, tripping over his sandals and landing solidly in the surf. Pess catches him, the dog nearly tackling him and licking his face. Phoenix, to his credit, can only laugh and attempt to wave him off.
Miles looks up in time from brushing off his shirt to see Phoenix collapse, and he's torn between amusement and concern as he hurries his pace a little to catch up, whistling to Pess and signalling him to leave. He can see Phoenix laughing as he gets closer, and he can't help but join in as he takes in the sight - Phoenix now looking as bedraggled as Pess and twice as filthy.
“And this is your idea of an appropriate activity for a so-called romantic weekend?”
He stands over Phoenix, his expression a mix of exasperation and amusement, before he shakes his head and extends his hand to help the man up.
“You're hopeless, Wright.”
Pess turns, obediently walking away to stand beside Miles and Phoenix chuckles, resting back on his hands in the surf.
“No, maybe not. I guess that all depends on if this is a ‘romantic weekend’ or just a ‘chance to recuperate’."
“I would hardly think this qualifies as an appropriate activity for either, Wright, although Pess seems to find you entertaining, at the least.”
Miles smiles a bit at the sound of the children giggling in the distance.
“As do our neighbours, it seems - I have no doubt that the deranged man next door will make for an interesting topic of conversation over family breakfast.”
Phoenix sits up, grabbing the offered hand - giving Miles a good tug and laughing before he stands.
“Well. I’m glad your family approve.”
There's a distinct warning look behind Miles’ eyes as the pull on his hand causes him to shift his weight abruptly backwards.
“I wouldn't let it go to your head, Wright - he's hardly the most discriminating canine in the world.”
Miles glances down at Pess with a smile, and there's an edge of fondness to his tone despite the smirk. But Phoenix just grins, brushing his hands on his half-soaked jeans and shaking sand out of his hair.
“So...breakfast? I guess I'm going to need a shower first.”
He stretches a bit before leaning over and placing a quick kiss on Miles' cheek. And he’s half-surprised when Miles doesn't pull away from the kiss, even though he knows it's coming, instead resting a hand briefly on Phoenix's arm before he can pull back. Then he leans in as if to return it, but at the last moment puts his lips to Phoenix's ear, his tone entirely serious.
“If Gumshoe is to be believed, the next line is ‘if you're not into yoga, and you have half a brain.’ You should work on that.”
Phoenix almost misses the words as the lips brush against his ear, the closeness and the touch causing his pulse to quicken a bit, and he takes a breath when Miles steps back, resolutely tucking his hands into his pockets.
“Hey, what’s that say about you, then, if I don't?”
“That I’m charitable?”
Miles steps back, the briefest flash of a smile as he turns on his heel, gesturing to Pess to follow and calling back casually over his shoulder.
“...And I should think that whether you shower rather depends on whether we go out or eat in, Phoenix.”
Phoenix shakes his head, following a few feet behind him. Like he had much of a choice, after that last bit. Miles had made himself rather clear.
“Let's stay in.”
Phoenix lags behind, thoughts occupying him as he looks out at the ocean, surf lapping at his feet. Everything had come to the surface in the past months, and from discovering the truth behind his relationship with Dahlia… no, Iris… to this...
The feelings were all still so fresh and raw, overwhelming at times but not anything he ever feared or disliked… they just were. It was Miles - after all that they had been through together, those times they needed each other and seemed to always pull through… especially now, after the last case… he knew, somehow, that everything would be fine. Perhaps they wouldn't ever have a perfect happy ending together, but they would always have each other. And that was what mattered. After everything that he had been through these past three years, he wasn't about to let anything happen to them.
When Miles reaches the walkway up from the beach he pauses, sitting on the bottom step to brush the sand from his feet and put on his sneakers. Pess stretches out next to him and he sits back, the sun warming his face as he waits for Phoenix to catch up.
It occurs to him that as much as he had teased Phoenix, he can't remember the last time he had seen the ocean himself, save for from the air while flying to and from Europe. The thought of that sobers his mood a little while he waits, Phoenix dawdling in the surf, apparently lost in thoughts of his own. And there's a rush of affection as he watches and for once, he allows it, just for a moment.
He can't read Phoenix's expression as he approaches and the worry creeps back into the forefront of his mind - that this is all a mistake; that Miles had coerced him; that the moment he leaves the country there will be regrets on both sides.
He looks up suddenly, shading his eyes against the sun, his voice quiet.
“Are you sure?”
Phoenix smiles down at Miles, and that same question is voiced again. He wants to shrug it off, and he almost manages it. No, he wasn't always ‘sure’. It was all uncharted territory, and he couldn't be certain about anything… but he knew that this was what was right, what he had been waiting for.
“What, about breakfast? Yeah, I'm starved.”
He chuckles a bit at himself, and shakes his head.
“Of course I am. I wouldn't be here if I wasn't.”
This time, he holds a hand down to help Miles up, and another wide smile breaks across his face.
“I was asking about breakfast, Wright.”
Miles’s tone is arch, but he returns the smile as he pulls himself to his feet - and this time he doesn't step away or drop Phoenix's hand immediately.
Damn him, but that grin and that optimism and that conviction was infectious, sometimes; sometimes, Miles can almost forget the shadows of the past and the uncertainty of the future completely when he looks into those blue eyes; sometimes, he can almost trust.
And somewhere inside him there's that warning voice that reminds him that really, this is where the danger lies - that the last time he took that step into the unknown it had been a mistake; that there was no one and nothing to break the fall, just an endless fall from grace until he had been dashed on the rocks of betrayal fifteen years later.
And for a moment, that fear returns, and it's almost a physical effort to put it aside. When he does move it's to close the distance between them, and when he withdraws his hand, it's to move it to rest gently but firmly on Phoenix's shoulder, pulling him in closer, fingers curling slightly into his neck.
Their lips only meet for a second; just long enough for him to smell the faded cologne on Phoenix's skin and taste the seaspray on his lips; just long enough to remember that first time - bourbon and tobacco smoke and rain, a choked back word that might have been his name, he wasn't sure.
But it's enough, and and when he steps back he doesn't meet those eyes again, and he doesn't say anything, he just turns and starts up the steps from the beach...