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It's an insidious thought, one that remains curled tightly at the back of his head. A sleeping dragon that cannot be removed and must never be woken. But it dreams, oh it dreams, and the thoughts wind their way to the surface at the slightest disturbance.
Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth chooses death. Or, perhaps more accurately, tried to choose. And despite the years, despite the therapy, all he's managed is to soften it into something passive. There will be no action, no attempt. But he can't help thinking about it.
He lives with it, because he wants to live. Wants to grow old with Phoenix pressed into his side, held together with Trucy. Finding the truth of the world. And so he's diligent, careful. There's layers upon layers of carefully constructed walls, protection akin to a mausoleum fearing resurrection over theft. When honeyed whispers filter through, exploiting the historical trackways embedded in the foundations, he ignores them. Refuses to give the attention it desires.
Until he does.
It's a laughably trivial annoyance - a speech in a nearby city, just far enough away to require an overnight trip. It shouldn't grate on him, and yet he doesn't want to go. Doesn't want to press himself into the sacrosanct form required for such events. Doesn't want to take the time away from his family. He's already been away for so much, for so long. Alas his job demands it.
As he's getting dressed, staring off into the distance while buttoning his waistcoat, it slips.
“I could always drive off a cliff enroute, to spare myself this nonsense.”
It's barely more than a murmur, but somehow Phoenix hears. The defence attorney gives a snort, leaning into the doorway.
“I'm pretty sure it's flat roads the whole way, Miles.”
“Into a tree then, or a barrier,” Miles retorts with a huff, flippantly waving a hand as he turns to face his partner. Phoenix visibly stiffens and Miles stills, realisation dawning. There's a thin veil of hope that Phoenix will play it off, but they've been through enough to know each other's charades. Before Miles can attempt to cut away from the comment, Phoenix is on him. A rough, warm hand slides under his jaw, guiding their eyes to meet. Miles closes his in response.
“Miles.”
“Apologies, Phoenix,” he breathes. “It was… a poor joke.”
Any chance of acceptance of what could be a reasonable excuse is drowned in the reality that Miles won’t match Phoenix's gaze. If he opens his eyes now, his partner will slip through the walls he cracked himself in that momentary lapse. Phoenix does it anyway.
“Have you… do you think like that? Often?”
Miles' lack of response does nothing but make Phoenix's hand grip a little tighter.
“Miles, please, look at me.”
The weight of what should be a simple request bears down on him. He could block Phoenix out, take his packed case and leave. He was meant to be heading out the door a few minutes from now. But the concern coating Phoenix's voice is heady, and it draws out his promise to never run again. Miles flicks his eyes open to Phoenix’s analytical gaze and lets the other man pick him apart, down to the molecular level.
“...How long?” Phoenix asks, pushing Miles’ bangs back and carding his fingers through grey hair. A wry smile forces its way to Miles' lips.
“When do you think?”
Phoenix grimaces. “Fuck, Miles, come on. How long have you been hiding this?” Phoenix finally, mercifully, glances away, and Miles takes the brief respite to breathe.
“...Other than for too long,” Phoenix mumbles, moving to place a soft kiss to Miles’ forehead and speak the words into his skin. “Far too long.”
Miles swallows. He focuses on Phoenix, holding him, smoothing him. He focuses on his breathing. And in this lull, in Phoenix's hold, he reaches for the words with trembling hands.
“It’s–” he brings his arms up, heavy, to pull Phoenix as close as possible. “After I tried, it’s as if I crossed a threshold. Gained some kind of… knowledge, I suppose, that can't be unlearned.” The explanation is awkward but Miles swallows his distaste, letting the fragmented thoughts cut his mouth on the way out. “And even though, I won’t, I… can’t forget, that it’s an option–”
A warm wetness where Phoenix is crushed into the side of his neck stops him, and Miles blinks away the responding tears. With clenched teeth, he exhales every last drop of air as though clearing his lungs will also clear his head. All he succeeds in doing is making himself shudder as he takes his next breath.
“I won't Phoenix, I won't,” Miles repeats. “They’re just… thoughts. Intrusive and unwanted.” Their combined form stands tall despite the trembling, adrift in the middle of their bedroom. Phoenix squeezes him tighter.
“Don't go.”
“Phoenix, love…” Miles picks at the words. “I must. I have a responsibility. You know I'd rather stay here, I've certainly complained about it enough these past few weeks.” There's a puff of air from Phoenix, and it rolls across Miles’ neck. He steels his heart. “I have to go.”
Despite his words the two men remain wrapped in each other, willing time to stop and give them space to have a conversation Miles doesn't want. There's one last shiver from Phoenix before he pulls back sharply, as though slowly withdrawing from the embrace would be more painful.
“Then I'm coming with you.”
“Phoenix–”
“You were going to drive back tomorrow evening right? After the dinner? Trucy can take care of herself until then. Athena and Apollo are here if she needs them, and the agency will survive with just them.”
“I–”
“Face it Miles, I make a compelling argument.” Phoenix flashes a grin, although its strength is somewhat lost in the glisten of tear tracks down his face. “Besides, like hell I'm letting you drive there alone after that.”
Miles only dithers for a moment, before conceding to his partner with a dip of his head.
“Pack your things then, quickly. I'd planned to arrive before sunset.”
Phoenix plants a kiss on his cheek before swinging out the door.
“Just chuck some of my stuff in your case, I don't need much. Lemme go talk to Truce.”
He's gone before Miles can express any complaint. With a soft sigh, he retreats to his small suitcase. A change of clothes and an extra toothbrush later, Miles finds himself thankful that Phoenix sleeps in his boxers as the suitcase just about closes around the extra bulk. Phoenix appears again, face scrubbed and expression still clean from whatever excuse he gave to Trucy for his sudden decision to join the trip. He holds out a hand and Miles takes it without hesitation, suitcase tucked to his side. He breathes, they breathe, a final moment to pull themselves together for the journey, and then they're out, of the bedroom, of the apartment, of the city. Together.
They don't breach it on the drive down, Phoenix carries the conversation and makes terrible music choices and doesn't let the car fall silent for even a moment. They stop at a questionable highway stop for dinner and buy ridiculously overpriced and over-sugared drinks for the final leg of the journey. When Miles checks into the provided hotel, any eyebrows raised at the man pressed against his side are quelled by a sharp look. Then they're in the room, showered and scrubbed and tumbling into bed. Phoenix holds him possessively, legs locked together as Miles curls into his chest. Miles feels patterns being traced across his back, and after a moment to settle Phoenix draws an anticipatory breath.
“Talk to me about it?” he asks, tentative yet firm. Miles gives a sigh.
“It's just… a passing thought. Presented as an option when I'm annoyed or stressed.”
Phoenix hums. “Miles, you're always annoyed or stressed.”
“More annoyed or stressed than usual, then,” Miles huffs. He pulls away to lay on his back and stare at the ceiling. Phoenix resumes his pattern drawing, relocated onto Miles’ chest, and Miles resumes his thoughts.
“It's never a serious consideration, just something to ignore. As solutions go, I'd say it’s as viable as a one-way flight to Europe.” Phoenix abruptly stops his tracing, and Miles reaches to thread their fingers together. “Which is to say, something I will never do again.” He turns back to Phoenix, to meet his eyes, wide and plaintive, and draws him into a kiss.
As soon as they break away Phoenix is pulling Miles back into his chest, tucked in tight and safe.
“I love you Miles, I love you.” There's a strain to Phoenix's voice, and Miles shifts to press as flush against him as possible.
“I love you too, Phoenix. I love Trucy. I love waking up next to you and eating together and helping Trucy with her tricks and our house and–” Miles pauses. “I perhaps, do not specifically love L.A., but it's home.”
Phoenix quivers from possibly a laugh, possibly tears, or most likely a combination of both.
“Tell me next time,” Phoenix murmurs as they drift closer to sleep. “You don't have to hide it from me. I always want to know what's going on in that beautiful head of yours.”
Miles manages a kind of snort in response, which leads to a hand dragging through his hair and down his body in the way that makes him sigh and agree to anything Phoenix asks of him. He falls asleep, safe and warm.
Tomorrow, when they wake, Miles will get up and dressed and go give his talk and accept the compliments and accolades and politely answer questions.
And then Miles will roll his eyes before the dinner, and comment that he'd rather lop his head off than continue pretending to be interested in whatever nonsense his host is spouting. And Phoenix will squeeze his hand and smile in a way that softens Miles enough to get through without causing offence.
And then they will be off, tearing down the road that leads them home and Phoenix will sing loud and off key along to the radio and place his hand over Miles’ on the gear stick. And then Trucy will crush them both into a hug as soon as they get through the door, immediately filling them in on everything they've missed. And Miles will be so, so glad to be alive.