Work Text:
Today had sucked, utterly and truly sucked. Maya had left for home just a few days before, leaving Phoenix alone. Phoenix Wright hated being alone, his office was too quiet without his newfound younger sister’s presence. As much as he got on her case, he had to admit, he loved that kid.
I’d be lost without her, honestly.
Alone again meant more opportunities for his mind to wander to places he couldn’t let it, and that meant a near-total ban on downtime, and no downtime meant more than the average number of late nights dedicated to menial chores around the office, and late nights meant less sleep, and less sleep meant more and more caffeine choked down in a desperate attempt to stay focused.
That was how he found himself arguing a case with an ever-worsening migraine. It wasn’t a difficult case—not in comparison to his usual lost causes anyway—but Phoenix’s usual carefree skill went out the window whenever his brain actively staged a coup within his skull. He hoped Edgeworth hadn’t noticed. No one else would have, most definitely, but Edgeworth knew him better than anybody, and had seen him get one of his migraines plenty. The subtle subconscious cues Phoenix gave when he was feeling sick were no doubt etched into the other man’s memory.
He cares too much, damned bastard.
He didn’t want to worry his boyfriend, not with something this trivial. No matter how many times Phoenix had told his partner that these headaches were normal, that he’d been getting them as long as he could remember, Edgeworth still fussed over him every time.
That's just who Miles Edgeworth was. Hiding under that inhumanly cold facade that Von Karma forced onto him, to whom defendants and witnesses alike were nothing more than pawns in his great game, was one of the gentlest, most caring people Phoenix Wright had ever met. He’d never admit it, not even to himself, but to Phoenix it was clear as anything: Miles Edgeworth was a good man.
As the case went on, a mild, dull ache grew until the defense attorney’s head was pounding. The harsh lights and constant noise of the courthouse only worsened his situation, but Phoenix willed himself to keep going, to ignore the pain, to hang on just long enough to get home. These migraines always ended the same way; the pain intensified to a crescendo, forcing Phoenix to throw up anything in his stomach and then spend minutes dry heaving, all the while silently begging for the pain to stop, and then it would. It would fade and fade and then he could sleep it off. He really didn’t mind it, but he couldn’t exactly allow himself to be sick in court.
He braced for the worsening pain and tried to focus on Edgeworth through the rest of the trial. It wasn’t a new strategy, this happened from time to time. Phoenix needed a distraction to keep his mind off the ever-intensifying pain of his migraines and Edgeworth was an easy go-to. He was a consistent presence in the courtroom, no one would question him looking at the opposing counsel, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t just happy for any excuse to stare at his boyfriend. He analyzed every part of him, the color of his suit, the layers in that ridiculous Victorian tie he insisted was fashionable, the way that he could see glimpses of Miles, his Miles, under the ironclad facade that was Prosecutor Edgeworth.
He won the case. By some miracle, the headaches that incapacitated him oh, so often hadn’t robbed him of his defense skill, but today the gavel felt less like a celebration and more like a gunshot to his aching skull. He hurriedly packed away his papers and made his way to the prosecutor’s bench.
“I'm going to head home, I’ve got a bit of a headache or I’d wait for you.” He flashed the other man a smile, hoping it masked enough to hide the pain. “I'm gonna take the elevator down, don’t think I can handle stairs at the moment.” He chuckled, but noted the hints of concern on his boyfriend's face, the most emotion the man would allow himself to show in their place of work. Phoenix knew all too well why Miles was concerned, and it wasn’t because of the headache. Phoenix hadn’t used the elevator since that case, since he’d learned that it had, for a brief moment in its history, been the tomb of the man that should have one day been his father-in-law. A day far in the future even now, but a day Gregory Edgeworth will surely never see, if Phoenix is even lucky enough to see it himself.
The defense attorney had a terrible habit of getting in his own head about future hypotheticals, things that wouldn’t happen, or that worrying wouldn't change, and it all came to a head when it came to Miles Edgeworth. Even now, having earned a willing place in the other man’s life, he couldn’t let go of that fear. 15 years ago Miles had been torn from him by a tragedy, and it took the better part of two decades to get back to him. There was no guarantee that wouldn’t happen again, no guarantee that the strife that seemed to plague the prosecutor’s life wouldn't strike again, that the fates wouldn’t tear them apart again. They weren’t thoughts Phoenix could allow himself to dwell on, not in public certainly, not where there was a risk of someone—worst of all, a risk of him —seeing him gripped with that sort of godawful dread. He couldn’t bear to lose him again. If he had any power he wouldn’t let that happen, he wouldn’t lose him again…
He didn’t distrust the elevator—surely it had been fixed since then anyway, it couldn’t be airtight anymore. Yet still he avoided it, because it scared Miles Edgeworth, and that was the last thing Phoenix ever wanted to do. If taking the stairs was the price Phoenix had to pay to save Miles even just a minute of anxiety, he’d pay it. He’d pay far more to spare the other man from whatever burdens he could.
“You’re sure you can make it home? I’d rather not need to send Gumshoe out searching for you if you fall off that damned bike because you can’t see.” Miles phrased it as though he’d feel at all inconvenienced by helping Phoenix, as though in any world he’d send Gumshoe to help Phoenix instead of going himself. They were well past that point now, past the point of Miles keeping his courtroom facade up around Phoenix.
“I’ll be fine, Miles…” That earned Phoenix a quick glare, though with none of the bite those looks had had all those months ago, when he first saw his old friend again. How much things had changed since then…he looked so tired— A sharp pain snapped Phoenix back to reality, and he noticed his vision beginning to blur. He had to hurry if he wanted to make it home before his vision failed him and Miles made good on his indirect threat of sending Gumshoe after him. “I’ll see you later, dearheart, ok?” He smiled and pressed a kiss to the other man’s forehead.
“Wright. We’re in public.” Edgeworth glared again, still so stubbornly coming up with any excuse for why he shouldn’t be shown affection. Phoenix took it as progress, though. The first time Miles didn’t outright refuse. Sure, he complained, but he’d allowed Phoenix to do it. The defense attorney counted that as a hopeful sign, the first cracks he’d managed to chip into that facade that dear old Manfred had spent so very long locking the stolen son of his rival into. Even just two weeks ago, Miles would never have dreamt of allowing Phoenix to call him by his first name in public, instead snapping over his words, hiding his name as it fell from Phoenix’s lips, as though if anyone should hear it, the fragile thing they built between them would crumble back to nothing.
Even remembering that time made the defense attorneys heart ache, those first few weeks as the two spun in some fragile dance, Phoenix longing to give Miles the love he refused to accept. Sappy though it was, he could've cried when for the first time Miles had allowed himself to be called by name, had allowed Phoenix the privilege to taste that name on his lips outside of the confines of their bed. Every day he saw more and more of the man he knew Miles to be, finally dismantling 15 years of defenses. He gave Miles another small smile and headed for the elevators.
As soon as he entered through the cold metal doors of the elevator and hit the button that would take him to the street level exit, Phoenix closed his eyes. He pressed his fingers to his temples, whispering prayers to the powers that be to allay the headache just long enough for him to get home before the pain quite literally blinded him. It seemed to help, but then again maybe that was placebo, and he wasn’t even sure who had taught him that putting pressure on your temples could help migraines. No sooner had Phoenix gotten the smallest hint of relief than the world around him started to shake. Violently. Phoenix, already unsteady on his feet, was thrown to the ground. He let out a strangled cry of pain as he got knocked to the floor, the sudden impact kicking the pain in Phoenix’s head to 10 instantly. His vision started to blur, tunnels closing in on his eyes.
Of fucking course, today of all days.
It was an earthquake, Phoenix knew that much, even with the unrelenting pain constantly interrupting his train of thought. He knew earthquakes like muscle memory at this point, he’d gone through his fair share of them growing up; even as agony tore through his skull he wasn’t afraid. Maybe if he’d been in a sound mental state he would have been, would have thought to worry about a repeat of the incident all those years ago, but as it stood Phoenix could barely think through the pain. He curled up, desperately trying to hold back the urge to vomit, to cry, to scream in pain. Migraines had been his constant companion for years, but that didn’t make them any less agonizing when left untreated. He’d already pushed himself too far by continuing through the trial, the earthquake was just the final straw.
His head was swimming, his vision blurred and swirled. It was as if he could see but his brain was in too much pain to process anything his eyes were taking in, he was effectively blind yet entirely able to see. He desperately pressed his forehead against the cold metal of the doors, hoping for a small bit of comfort among the pain. The makeshift elevator ice pack helped just enough to allow a few fleeting thoughts.
Well, there goes any chance of biking home. Guess I’ll have to let Miles drive me.
Miles.
God, how he wished his prosecutor was here now, he wanted nothing more than to be held. His skull felt like it was being torn apart and crushed all at once and he so desperately wanted those arms he knew so well to hold him close until this damned pain stopped. The arms, which in the space of mere months went from pushing him away to holding him as he cried, to driving across town at 2 am to his apartment just to hold him as he threw up, running a gentle hand through his hair, handing him water and helping him to wash his face as his body continued trying to force everything out of an already empty stomach. His thoughts spun faster and faster as the shaking supercharged the pressure and pain built up in his skull. He knew how to weather these headaches alone, he had for nearly all 24 years of his life, but he didn't have to be alone now. He knew what it was like to have help now and he didn’t want to go without it again. He wanted help, comfort, safety—he wanted Miles. It hit him right as the lights went out around him, plunging him into darkness. A single, clear, terrible thought cutting through the pain.
Miles.
Miles is upstairs.
Miles is alone in the earthquake and I can’t get to him. We just lost power, I’m stuck, I can’t get to him.
Panic seized him, joining forces with the pain to assault his senses. Phoenix remembered the last earthquake all too well, the terror in Miles Edgeworth’s face, how desperately he’d wanted to go to him and how he’d been forced to leave him there in detention. How Maya had to pull him out of the station before he tried to batter down the plexiglass separating him and the prosecutor. He remembered how terribly helpless it felt. Phoenix had promised himself that he would never let that happen again, that he would never leave Miles alone and afraid. Yet here he was, once again failing the man who had already been failed by the world far more than his fair share of times.
There was a terrible beat of silence when the shaking stopped, Phoenix left in total darkness, head still pressed against the metal doors, when—
“Phoenix!” The scream was loud even through two layers of doors, and the bang that followed it made the pain in Phoenix’s head spike again. He recognised Miles’ voice instantly, even through the renewed agony. His scrambled mind couldn't, however, process what he was saying.
We’re in the courthouse…why is he calling me Phoenix?
Was he hallucinating? Had he passed out when he fell— “Phoenix?!” The second distressed cry was accompanied by more banging, desperate attempts by the prosecutor to get through those accursed doors.
“Miles…?” Phoenix’s voice sounded far weaker than he’d anticipated, strained and pathetic and pained. That certainly would be doing him no favors in convincing his boyfriend he was okay. Even better, just then he lost the battle he'd been fighting since before the quake. The all too familiar feeling of bile rose in his throat as the attorney forced himself up onto his hands and knees.
The vomiting was so counterintuitive, he’d always thought. The act of hacking up all the contents of his stomach only ever seemed to worsen the pain. Vomit turned to dry heaving, and Phoenix was vaguely aware of continued desperate pounding and shouting from beyond the doors. He hoped Miles couldn’t hear what had happened, though he knew better than to think the hoping worked. That hoping would ever work.
Phoenix pulled himself together and half-crawled, half-fell toward the door. He needed to get Miles to stop, before the idiot hurt himself. He couldn’t let Miles Edgeworth get hurt on his account, he couldn’t. A pained cry came from the other side of the doors and Phoenix forced himself to think through the pounding of his brain against his skull.
“Miles! I–I’m…I’m okay.” He wasn’t exactly lying. Agonizing headache aside, Phoenix wasn't afraid. The elevator hadn’t begun moving before the power failed, owing to the fact that Phoenix had taken a full minute to find the right button through the pain.
Little victories, I suppose .
It was stable, as far as he knew he was safe. The attorney’s scrambled mind had temporarily forgotten what had happened here all those years ago, forgetting that the gun wasn’t the only thing that had been endangering the people in this very space.
“Phoenix no y–”
“Mr. Edgeworth?!” Before Phoenix could cut Edgeworth off, another voice did. Strong and booming, Phoenix thanked the stars when he recognised it as belonging to Gumshoe. The detective was there. Good. He’d keep Miles from hurting himself until maintenance came and let Phoenix out. Except for mere moments after, when Gumshoe’s attempt hadn’t worked, and the rhythmic banging of Miles slamming himself hopelessly into the doors didn’t stop despite the detective’s continued protests.
“It's not working, get him out, get— Phoenix!” The shout and yet another bang rattled the elevator and Phoenix collapsed. He leaned against the door, pressing a hand to it as if willing himself to reach through the several inches of cold steel to hold Miles’ hand, a desperate attempt to comfort the other man. The fear in his voice made Phoenix’s heart ache, he couldn’t bear the thought that he had caused Miles this much distress. The banging stopped and for a brief moment, Phoenix thought Gumshoe had finally restrained the prosecutor. When he heard Miles’ voice again it was closer than before, and Phoenix processed vaguely that he must be sitting down too, right against the door, a mirror image of himself. He would've thought it poetic, the sort of subject matter he’d studied in his days as an art student, were he not living it himself. “Please—” The sob the other man let out nearly broke Phoenix completely “Phoenix, please, I—”
“Miles.” Phoenix put all his effort into steadying his voice, into making it clear to Miles that he was okay, that he wouldn't lose him. “I’m alright… You gotta stop, love, I don’t want you hurting yourself. Maintenance should be arriving soon, yeah? They’re gonna get me out of here. I’m okay, it’s just the headache bothering me, just a headache.”
“No, Phoenix, no, we don’t have the luxury of ‘soon’!” The fear in the prosecutor's voice was palpable. “Phoenix you’re losing air–!” The shout was accompanied by another thud but Phoenix barely heard it.
Air .
Ice flooded his veins and all he could hear was his heartbeat rushing in his ears. The realization suddenly hit him, this was the elevator where Gregory Edgeworth had died, rendered unconscious and helpless by the lack of oxygen in what—in a more sound state of mind—Phoenix had unaffectionately called ‘the most idiotically designed elevator to grace the earth’. That was why he felt so dizzy, why the headache was only worsening, why he kept feeling the need to puke. It wasn’t just the migraine, he was suffocating.
The elevator shook again as Edgeworth continued to pointlessly slam into the door, and an altogether new fear entered his mind. He was in an elevator, hanging who-knows how high above the bottom of the shaft. The power was out, so what if that took with it any of the safeties made to keep the small metal sarcophagus from plummeting to the ground should the cable fail? Were there even safeguards against that anyway? He remembered hearing somewhere that if an elevator fell with you in it you should try to jump, right as it hits the floor. Something about avoiding the initial impact and making survival more likely…
He wasn’t even sure where he’d heard it, or if it was true, or if he could even jump in his current state, or if he’d have any prayer of timing it right. All the same, it took him only a second to decide questions aside, he’d try it, if it came to that. Even if it had no hope of working he’d have to try, he couldn’t be the reason Miles Edgeworth had to relive the worst of his trauma, couldn’t be another line on a list of people to cause him so much grief. If he fell he’d jump, just to do something , just to say he didn’t die without trying all he could to spare Miles that grief.
He couldn’t let Miles know he was scared, not now. He had to comfort him, he had to. What right did Phoenix have to cause such a great man so much distress? He didn’t deserve Miles, he was a subpar attorney at best, an idiot who got by on luck and bullshitting his way through trials, compared to Edgeworth he was nothing. Locked in the dark tomb of an elevator, Phoenix's mind drifted to his predecessor, this elevator’s first victim. Gregory Edgeworth.
Phoenix had never met the man, not that he remembered, at least. He’d heard about him plenty, though, from those who had worked with him. By all accounts he had been a great man, Phoenix hadn’t heard a bad word about him. Well, from anyone other than the monster that robbed him of both his life and his son. A pinnacle among defense attorneys, just and skilled, and from how Miles talked about him—on the rare occasions he did—a great father. In court and out, he seemed to have been the closest thing to an angel on earth, and Phoenix wished he could have met him; more than that he wished Miles still had him around, wished his partner had someone he could rely on that had earned that trust. Unlike himself, a sorry excuse for both an attorney and a boyfriend. He’d done nothing but cause more grief for Miles, it seemed, since he’d found him again. He was selfish, he tracked Miles down through the years and forced his way back into his life. He was narcissistic enough to assume Miles wanted him there, or that he knew what was best; or worse—he just didn’t care how Miles felt.
“Thanks to you I’m saddled with…unnecessary feelings.”
Like the selfish idiot he was, Phoenix had never heeded the other man's warnings. Miles pushed him away so Phoenix pushed back. And now Miles had been conned into loving him, conned into thinking a useless idiot like Phoenix was worth this utter anguish, was worth bodily injury. How dare he. How dare he put Miles through this, all because he was lonely and pining and too self-centered to care about the other man's feelings.
His head spun as he stood shakily, he could hear the anguished sobs from beyond the doors. He could curse himself later, right now he had to fix the mess he made, had to get to Miles, he had to. He took a deep breath.
This is gonna hurt…
SLAM.
The attorney sent himself hurtling at the door. The impact rattled his skull and his vision blacked out for a moment as the migraine was further bolstered by the violent motion. He ignored it. Both attorneys slammed over and over again into unforgiving steel, shouting over each other. One begging the other to stop, to realize he’s alright and this wasn't worth breaking bones; the other screaming desperate prayers to the void that he might finally rescue his lover. The room was filled with a violent chorus of pain and desperation, the two men locked in some terrible, tragic, accursed dance, the unsteady pounding of their bodies against cold hard metal keeping time.
The sound only slowed to a still when Phoenix collapsed, crumpled by the door, shaky and half delirious from lack of oxygen. He willed himself to keep talking, hoped desperately that the prosecutor could hear him through the doors to know he was okay, that he was alive, that Miles wouldn’t lose yet another person to this gods-forsaken box.
Out of the corner of his eye he swore he saw movement, dim and fleeting under the single weak, red emergency light—of course they’d add that and not remove the airlock level insulation. He looked for the source…nothing.
Great, hallucinations, that can't be a good sign.
Soon enough talking was too much, his tongue felt heavy in his mouth and he couldn’t think through a sentence. He could hear Miles’ desperate shouts, pleas for him to answer, he wanted more than ever to answer those prayers but there was no oxygen in his lungs to speak with. His vision started to fade, and panic finally, truly, set in.
I’m going to die here.
“No you won’t.” It was a voice he couldn't identify, and yet somehow it felt familiar in some small way. It came from inside the elevator, but whoever it was Phoenix couldn't see him, and he'd been sure he was alone when the quake hit. He forced himself to sit up and look around.
“Who—”
“I think you know the answer to that already.” Phoenix turned to face the sound. He couldn’t see between the failing vision and dim light but he could swear the light was reflecting off of something in the corner, but Phoenix knew for certain nothing in this elevator could reflect that clearly, other than the door Phoenix was propped against himself. If he didn’t know better he’d say it was glass. “You won’t die here, this place has already had more than its share of tragedy…”
I’m hearing things now…fuck…
“Phoenix, you of all people ought to know a ghost when you see one.” The tone wasn't mocking, somehow Phoenix found it almost…comforting. He blinked and when he opened his eyes, there in the dimly lit elevator was a man, older than himself but far from ancient. His face seemed so strikingly familiar and yet Phoenix couldn't pin down why. Through the thickening mental fog Phoenix was still dimly aware of Miles, still slamming into the door and screaming his name; the cries were muffled and indistinct, as though he was hearing them from underwater.
“Miles…I-I need to—” It clicked. A ghost in the elevator, glasses, a familiar yet strange face…
Gregory Edgeworth .
Phoenix tried to turn to get a better look at the man, tried to sit up, tried to force his strangled lungs to choke out more speech. He wanted to ask so many things, he wanted to apologize for daring to think he was good enough for the late attorney’s son; but he couldn’t move, never mind speak. He could barely form coherent thoughts by now.
“Take care of him.” The man looked at Phoenix from his place by the wall, smiling softly. Phoenix was no expert in how a loving father ought to look, but the man’s expression seemed to force a small, blessed moment of calm through the younger attorney’s delusion and panic. He looked at Phoenix with a mix of comfort and concern, as though the thought that he was undeserving to be with his son hadn’t even crossed his mind. “Please, he needs it.” Before Phoenix could even process his words, his vision went black, his mind to static.
He hadn’t known how long he’d been out for, but Phoenix woke up and processed two things instantly; the suffocatingly white ceiling he stared at with all-too-harsh lights, and the distinct smell of sterility and suffering that made his blood turn to ice in his veins. Phoenix Wright feared very few things, but hospitals were at the top of that list. He forced the panic down and looked around, taking stock of his surroundings.
His eyes fell to Detective Gumshoe, half asleep in the chair in the corner. The detective looked even more haggard than usual, but at least he seemed to have gotten a bit of rest. His jacket was tossed over the back of the chair, the first time Phoenix had ever seen him without it on. His tie was loosened, but still on. Phoenix wondered vaguely why he was there, and not watching Miles. He knew better than anyone how much Gumshoe cared for the prosecutor, a care that was returned regardless of whether the other man would admit it. Sure, he’d looked after Phoenix once in a while, but Phoenix figured that was only on Miles’ behalf, it’s not as though he’d done anything to earn the detective’s concern of his own right. If he was here, something must be wrong–
“D-Detective—” Phoenix was startled by just how difficult it was to force sound out through his strained vocal cords, his practiced courtroom projection making only a weak rasping sound, but even as quiet as he was Gumshoe sat up instantly. The detective never had been the most…coordinated of men…and combined with the stress he had surely been under, he nearly tripped over himself rushing over to the bed.
“You're awake, pal. Thank hell, ya gave us all quite the scare there…You’re feelin’ okay, right? Memories intact and all that?”
“Detective where— Miles— Is he—” Phoenix wasn’t even sure what he was trying to ask, he just needed to know the other man was alright. That Miles was safe and uninjured.
“Take it easy, pal, take it easy… Mr. Edgeworth’s alright, he's just over there.” The detective pointed to the curtain dividing the room. “He’s still out but he should be up soon…”
“He-he got hurt…I-I could hear him hitting the doors—” Phoenix winced at the memory of the thudding of his body against the metal, of the soft pained noises he’d heard through the doors. He cursed himself again, for not being stronger, not being able to tear the doors open. He damned himself for not shouting louder, not acting calmer, not finding some way to stop Miles before he was hurt.
“He's okay, damn idiot dislocated a shoulder but that's already fixed, and they're bettin’ he’s got a concussion too but it can't be too bad. It wasn’t the hit that knocked him out, so don’t worry.”
Dislocated…concussion…
The rest of the detective’s words were muffled by blood rushing in the lawyer's ears as the all-too-familiar icy grip of anxiety took hold. Miles was hurt. Not just bruised, not just scared, hurt , seriously hurt—and it was all Phoenix’s fault. Could he not have just sucked it up and used the stairs? It wasn’t like he hadn’t gotten used to the migraines, so what if he threw up, so what if he was in pain? At least then he’d have been there for Miles, at least then it would only be Phoenix in pain. That he could live with; he was built to endure pain, to absorb the physical and emotional battering of the world to spare those who didn't deserve it, those who deserved better, those who shouldn't have to endure it. What else was Phoenix good for, if he couldn’t protect the person he cared for more than anything; what right did he have to stand beside Miles if he couldn’t heft the weight of the universe's cruelty himself, if he couldn’t keep the burdens of life off of Miles’ shoulders.
“I-I have to see him— to make sure…” Phoenix started to sit up and stopped as his head started to swim again. Before he could fall again Gumshoe put a hand on his shoulder to steady him.
“Easy, pal…take it easy…you were out of air for a bit, you gotta take it slow.” Phoenix didn’t respond, but he didn’t move either, trusting the detective to support him until his vision cleared again. He took a deep breath, debating trying to stand or just giving up. Just as he was about to admit defeat he heard movement from the other side of the curtain. Miles— He pushed the detective out of the way and stood up. “Mr. Wright, I said take it slow. You shouldn’t be on your feet…”
“‘M fine, need to see him.” He waved the detective off. Gumshoe paused, as if considering a fight, but sighed and left when the attorney waved him off again.
“I’ll give you two a moment, but be careful, y’hear?”
"Fine.” Phoenix was already disentangling himself from the bed and grabbing the IV pole he was hooked to. The first few steps he took were clumsy and slow, he hadn’t realized until he stood just how much the painkillers they’d given him were affecting him. He was far from graceful in the best of times, but with his body still recovering from near suffocation and fighting for consciousness against hospital grade pain meds made it even more difficult not to trip over his own feet, not to mention the IV pole he had to wrangle.
Slowly, carefully, he made his way past the curtain and all but collapsed in the first chair he saw. Miles wasn’t awake yet, he looked almost calm now, lying unconscious. Phoenix would’ve been glad to see him relaxed were it not for the fear churning in his stomach at the sight of his boyfriend lying in a hospital bed. He fought the urge to let the panic boil over, to cry, to let himself fall to inconsolable dread. His mind swam, bombarding him with a thousand unwelcome observations; how Miles was nearly the same accursed shade of everything in the damn hospital, of how the smell of ink and jasmine tea that always followed Miles was lost in the sharp stench of sterility that plagued the whole building and made Phoenix’s blood run cold. He refused, for once, to let the panic take hold, refused to let the violent discomfort of this place consume him. He had to keep composure, had to be ready to help Miles when he woke up, he’d caused him enough distress for a lifetime already, he couldn’t let his own foolish desires come at the cost of Miles’ comfort again.
He sat there for what felt like hours, watching the other man breathe as he tried to gain composure. His vision swam as he was hit again by the crushing feeling of the hospital, the stifling sterility. He forced his focus to Miles, just to him, not to how pale he was or how fragile he looked—Miles would hate knowing Phoenix ever associated that word with him—he just wanted to focus on his boyfriend, to find the same comfort in familiarity that he had tried to ground himself with when the migraine hit. He honestly wondered how Miles never failed to look absolutely beautiful. Miles would disagree, he always had a laundry list of minor imperfections, ready-made excuses for why Phoenix shouldn’t—why Phoenix couldn’t —think he was pretty. Every one was bullshit, as so much of Miles’ habitual self-hatred was, of course.
Even as pale and out of place as he seemed in the all-too-white hospital sheets, he was pretty. His hair fell perfectly, a soft silver frame around his face. It was rare that Phoenix got to see him rest, he was so loath to ever let his guard down; Phoenix savored each opportunity, the soft beauty in seeing the normally frazzled man finally resting, finally seeming to feel safe and calm for once…
He tried to sort through his memories of the day, trying to parse reality from oxygen-deprived hallucinations; if he focused hard enough on that, maybe he could ignore the quiet whirring and beeping of machines, become numb to the sharp smell of sanitizer, maybe he could force away the feeling of his skin crawling, begging for release from this cursed place.
He remembered most of his time in the elevator—at the very least he thought he did—he remembered Miles’ panicked shouts, the rhythmic slamming of him barrelling against the door. He remembered throwing himself against the door too, but there the memories got hazier. He’d fallen, he knew that, and he remembered the last thing he heard—a bone chilling scream cutting through the haze, unmistakably Miles Edgeworth, despite how starkly uncharacteristic of him the sound had been. He remembered trying to respond, to indicate he was okay. He’d failed.
He shuddered at the memory, the scream still crystal clear in his mind, the violent, crushing proof of his failure. He forced himself to stay silent as tears welled in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. He had caused Miles Edgeworth, the strongest man he’d ever met, the man Phoenix wanted nothing more than to help, more pain. He’d driven him to fear and grief so intense that the normally stoic prosecutor had shown such vocal, stark, unbridled anguish.
Phoenix Wright, a good-for-nothing, low-rate defense attorney, had driven such a pillar of a man to wild despair. How dare he? How dare he think himself worthy of such a rare love? As if he was someone who deserved the love of a good man… Phoenix had learned long ago he deserved nothing more than the two-faced, deceptive love he’d known all his life, what had made him think he deserved better than that now?
He pulled himself back, he couldn’t spiral now, couldn’t be even weaker than he’d already proven himself to be. He didn’t deserve to wallow in self pity as though he were the one suffering at the hands of an idiot, and not the idiot making someone else suffer for his failures.
“Take care of him…” the words echoed in Phoenix’s mind again. Phoenix believed in ghosts, of course, he’d be stupid not to after so long knowing the Fey family. Yet this—the man in the elevator, Defense Attorney Edgeworth—that had to be the delusions of Phoenix’s own failing mind. A subconscious attempt to justify himself to the world, to create a fantasy that made him seem worthy to love and be loved by Miles Edgeworth. If Gregory Edgeworth himself really had deemed it a worthwhile endeavor to appear to Phoenix, it wouldn’t be to comfort him, to place his faith in Phoenix to care for his beloved son. It would be to push him away, to drive away the useless idiot who only ever seemed to hurt Miles while insisting he was in the right.
It couldn't have been him. And yet Phoenix found his mind flooded with questions; how had he hallucinated the voice of a man he’d never met, a voice entirely unfamiliar to him, how had he seen such a clear vision of a man he’d seen scarcely more than two pictures of. More than that he’d looked so alive , as alive as a ghost could look anyway. Other than the few family pictures Miles had shown him, his only reference for the man was the crime scene photos he’d found in the DL-6 case file. He’d never had the chance to see Gregory Edgeworth alive, his clearest mental image was the black-and-white, bloody corpse. How, then, could he have hallucinated such an animated specter of his own accord?
“Please, he needs it.” that all but settled it in Phoenix’s mind, no delusion of his would say that. No facsimile of his own oxygen-deprived brain would dare to suggest that Miles Edgeworth not deserved him but needed him. Dying or not Phoenix never could believe something as self-servingly lovely as the idea that he was good enough for that man, and that the godlike Gregory Edgeworth would agree.
Before Phoenix could descend further into his own mind he was pulled back to reality by the sound of the stiff hospital sheets ruffling, and soft, panicked breathing replacing the slow breaths of sleep.
Miles — He's awake —
He sat up, he could see the other man, laying in bed, and he saw tears start to slip down his cheeks.
“Miles?” His voice was barely above a whisper, still unsure if the other would even want him here, still debating if it was too late to slip out unnoticed. At the sound of his voice the other man sat bolt upright, he seemed dazed, staring at Phoenix in what seemed like utter awe, as though the disheveled half-dead attorney sitting by his bedside was an angel descended from above. “Hi…” Dearheart, he nearly added, cutting himself off as he remembered that morning's exchange.
Not in public, don’t fuck up again.
“Phoenix— You—” The waver in Miles’ usually confident voice forced away Phoenix’s self pitying thoughts, and it took all his power not to sob. He put on a shy smile and looked away, each movement calculated to seem natural, to show the prosecutor that he was okay, that there was no need to be scared.
“Said I was going to be alright.” He tried to say more but his voice failed him, so he took a deep breath and tried again. “I’m sorry I scared you…” With that he opened the door to anger, gave Miles permission to blame him for this whole mess, to be furious that Phoenix could be so stupid as to put him through that. Phoenix knew anger, it was something he’d been all too used to being on the receiving end of. It was familiar, manageable, comforting in its own pathetic way. What was utterly alien to him was Edgeworth’s reply; incredulity tinting Miles’ tired expression.
“Scared me?!” His voice still sounded so shaky, the aftereffects of their earlier screaming match. “Phoenix…you…” Phoenix could sob at that, at the tenderness seeping into Edgeworth's voice as he said his name, as though it was a privilege to say it. “Come here. Please?”
Phoenix did, of course Phoenix did, he’d do anything Miles had asked of him at that moment. He sat on the edge of the bed, leaning down to press his forehead to Miles’; he felt relief wash over himself and he saw the same wave come over his boyfriend. The tension left Miles’ body, finally; muscles relaxed under Phoenix’s arms as he pulled Miles close and he breathed out a sigh against him as though the gentle hug had forced all of the pent up anxiety out of him. Phoenix stayed like that, savoring the familiar weight of Miles in his arms, finally free of that damned cold slab of metal that had kept them apart. He closed his eyes, but he could feel his boyfriend shaking as he grasped for a hold on Phoenix, as if he was afraid they’d be torn apart again. As if Phoenix would ever let him go again, as if Phoenix wouldn’t move heaven and earth to ensure he never had to live another day without his prosecutor beside him, safe and sound.
“I don’t know what I would have done had I lost you…” The desperate fear in Miles’ voice struck at Phoenix’s heart, yet for the first time those doubts of his worthiness in his place beside the other man were all but gone. Whether he deserved it or not, Miles had decided he belonged there—there by his side…and there in his life— and even in all his self doubt Phoenix Wright could never bring himself to make the man he loved lose something he so desperately wanted to cling to. Deserving or not, Phoenix was here with Edgeworth now, and there he would stay so long as Miles would have him.
“You never will, Miles…” His voice was barely above a whisper yet still carried all the conviction the attorney could muster. He made a vow, and he’d sooner burn the world to the ground than break it. “We promised forever.”