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“Wright, over here!”
Phoenix recoiled slightly at the sound of his name, only audible over the lively din of the bar because it was issued in Dick Gumshoe’s customary bellow.
He was at a table in the far corner, waving enthusiastically until Phoenix finally raised a hand in acknowledgement and began to make his way over.
On the table were two bottles, but Phoenix’s theory that Gumshoe had started drinking early was dispelled when the detective pushed the second bottle forward.
”Got you one too,” Dick offered as explanation. “Thought we might both need a little liquid courage for…this.”
This. This being Phoenix’s spur of the moment decision to tell Gumshoe that they should meet up. That they should talk. That they needed to talk…About “him.”
Edgeworth.
Miles Edgeworth…
Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth…chooses…—
“Gotta say,” Dick began, getting straight to the point that Phoenix had been so desperately avoiding for months now. “I was surprised to hear you snap at the kid like that. Woulda figured you’d’ve told her about…ya know. Mr. Edgeworth leaving and all. Didn’t mean to spring it on her. Sorry, pal.”
“‘Leaving?’” Phoenix lifted the bottle of beer to wash the bitter taste from his mouth. “Is that all he did?”
Dick cocked his head, brow furrowed. “Whaddaya mean?”
“I mean,” Phoenix spat, full of the vitriol he’d been saving for Miles’ eventual reappearance. “‘Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth chooses death.’”
For a long moment, Gumshoe just stared at Phoenix, his expression one of even deeper confusion than usual. As Phoenix took another long drink, he answered, cautiously.
“Well sure, but…you know he ain’t really dead, don’tcha, bud?”
Phoenix considered it for a moment. Did he know? No, not as such. He suspected, because he knew Miles well enough to know he wasn’t the type to actually…go through with something like that, but, he was dead to Phoenix at least.
It had been almost a year now, without so much as a word of confirmation that Miles Edgeworth was still out there, somewhere. And maybe that was why it hurt so badly. It wasn’t the first time that Miles had left, suddenly, without a trace, but when they were kids, Phoenix could understand it.
Now, they were adults, a tenuous friendship rekindled in the midst of their fierce courtroom rivalry. Phoenix knew that Miles could reach out, could at least tell Phoenix that the note had been nothing deeper than a dramatic expression of self-doubt and contempt. But he hadn’t. He hadn’t said a single damn word, and knowing that that was intentional made his absence feel like a dagger in Phoenix’s back.
“If that’s what you were worried about, I can put that fear to rest, easy,” Dick continued, oblivious to Phoenix’s internal turmoil. “He called me just yesterday.”
That was enough to shock Phoenix from his musings—and send a mouthful of beer across the tabletop.
“He—what?!”
Dick nodded, unflappably cheerful in the face of Phoenix’s surprise. “Yeah! Ms. von Karma told him she was comin’ here to take on this case, and you, so he called me with a hunch he wanted me to follow up on.”
“We’ve been friends since we were kids and he called you?”
Phoenix meant to say it more to himself than to Dick, but the other man responded nonetheless.
“You’ve been friends with Mr. Edgeworth since you were kids? I had no idea!”
“Yeah, of course you didn’t.” Phoenix sighed, slumping down in his chair until his loafers hit the toes of Gumshoe’s scuffed, fraying boots. “It’s not like he’d want to admit that he has friends. If he even still considers me one.”
“Hey…” Dick reached out, and Phoenix couldn’t quite hide his surprise when the older man placed a hand over his with an easy, casual confidence. “Of course he does. He’s said so.”
“Yeah? Not to me.”
Phoenix used his free hand to tip the rest of his beer into his mouth, leaving the other beneath the slightly sweaty warmth of Dick’s palm.
“Don’t take it personal, Wright. He’s just…like that, ya know? Maybe not way back then, but ever since I’ve known him. He’s a tough nut to crack, but he does care. ‘specially about you.”
“Well…” Phoenix fiddled with the soggy label on his bottle, feeling embarrassed that he was so dejected that Dick had seen fit to take it upon himself to lift his spirits. But…it was helping, he had to admit. Maybe because Dick was the only person besides Phoenix himself who really knew Miles—except maybe Larry, or Franziska, but…they saw him as a brother and…Phoenix was slowly coming to terms with the fact that he saw Miles Edgeworth as more than just a friend, and from the way that Gumshoe talked about him sometimes, Phoenix had wondered for a while if he felt the same. Maybe it was finally time to chase that particular lead. “He…he cares about you too.”
Phoenix watched as a dark blush began to creep from the tip of Dick’s ears to the thick expanse of his neck. Triumphant, he lifted an amused eyebrow, and when Dick moved to pull his hand away, Phoenix caught his wrist.
“I was right then. We definitely needed to talk.”
“Sure,” Dick croaked, eyes flicking back and forth between Phoenix’s face and the grip of his fingers. “Can a guy get another beer first though?”
Phoenix released him, leaning back in his chair with his fingers laced at the nape of his neck. “Alright. This round’s on me.”
As Dick returned to the bar, Phoenix returned to his thoughts. Perhaps he could blame the beer for his sudden boldness—he had always been a lightweight—but he knew it was more than just that. It was the fact that Dick was the only one who could truly commiserate with the frustration of falling in love with someone like Miles Edgeworth. It was something Phoenix had suspected for a while, but having all the clues suddenly fit together into irrefutable evidence made everything crystal clear.
If only it hadn’t taken losing Edgeworth for them both to realize it.
“Thanks for gettin’ this one,” Dick said, looking no less flustered than he had when he left. “I wanted to treat you, but…if Ms. von Karma cuts my paycheck any more, I won’t even be able to keep affording packs of ramen.”
“Happy to help.”
Phoenix raised his new bottle in a toast, and they fell into silence following the clink of glass and the satisfied ahhh that inevitably accompanied that first sip of beer. Phoenix was the one to break it, spinning his bottle in absent circles that left a concentric pattern of condensation on the battered tabletop.
“Thanks for listening, Detective. I’ve been too caught up in my own head since Miles disappeared and you’ve…helped me get things sorted out.”
“Yeah? Least I could do. You ain’t the only one who’s sorry he’s gone.” Gumshoe took a long drink and then cleared his throat. “Just Dick is fine though, pal.”
“Call me Phoenix then?”
“Sure Mr. Wri—Mr. Phoe—”
“Phoenix. Just Phoenix.”
“Phoenix.” Dick nodded decisively. “Phoenix. Yes, sir, I can handle that.”
For a long moment, neither of them spoke, just eyeing each other across the table. When Dick reached the end of his bottle, he sighed, then managed a disbelieving snort that melted into a familiar awkward chuckle.
“Am I pickin’ up some sort of hints here, Mr.—Phoenix, or is it just my old detective’s brain working overtime off the clock?”
Phoenix shook his head. “No, it’s not just that. But I’m not exactly sure what it is…are you?”
Dick shrugged, looking more comfortable now that some sort of confirmation had been spoken into the tension between them.
“I think it’s nothing,” he offered, only to hastily continue when Phoenix started deflating. “I’m a cop, you’re a defense attorney. We’re enemies in the eyes of the court, yet we’re both here in this bar drinking together and missin’ a guy who left us in the lurch. It’s nothing, but only because he isn’t here to be a part of it yet. Does that…” Dick faltered, his head cocking in an endearingly canine gesture. “Make any sense at all?”
“I could be convinced,” Phoenix answered. “But you know evidence is key, don’t you, Dick.”
The sound of his name, comfortable and intimate without the usual professionalism of “Detective Gumshoe” made Dick feel impulsive, but it was the slight tilt of Phoenix’s head that actually made him surge across the table to place a sloppy kiss against the lawyer’s lightly flushed cheek.
It tickled, more than Phoenix thought it would, and for a moment he imagined having Dick’s stubble on one side and the floral notes of Miles’ aftershave on the other.
“Any objections, counsel?”
Dick sat back heavily in his own chair, looking like he wished he had another bottle to hide in, and Phoenix, once he caught his breath, just laughed.
“No,” he answered. “No objections, Detective. But I’m afraid that neither of us will be able to hand down a proper sentence without all of the necessary parties, will we?”
“No, sir,” Dick said with a cheeky, nervous salute. When he grinned, it was wide enough to peel up the edges of the bandage on his cheek.
“Guess we’ll table this then,” Phoenix concluded, finishing his beer and pounding it on the table in mockery of a gavel. “Take a recess, and once Miles Edgeworth shows his sorry face here again, we’ll put him on the stand, how does that sound?”
“Like a plan.”
Feeling giddy, and more than a little tipsy, Phoenix grinned back, and extended a hand.
“Until then, Dick.”
Gumshoe took the offered hand, shaking it, and then holding it for a long moment afterward.
“Until then…Phoenix.”