Chapter Text
Save for the constant beeping and whirring coming from several machines and monitors displaying graphics and numbers Miles doesn’t have the required knowledge to understand, the room is otherwise quiet.
Miles can hear the faint noise of steps and stretchers glide along the corridors outside the door, occasionally followed by comments or instructions coming from the tired nurses and doctors on their shift, but he pays little mind to anything happening on the other side of these four walls; his attention is solely focused on Phoenix, on the regular rise and fall of his chest as he sleeps peacefully, blissfully unaware of Miles sitting at his side. His limp hand is uncharacteristically cold in Miles’s own.
Once the others had left, Dr. Carey explained to Miles the actual extension of Phoenix’s injury, and told him very openly that, had the bullet strayed a couple of inches off path, it would have pierced right through the heart, or severed the aorta. As it is now, according to her, it is just pure luck Phoenix escaped with his life at all, and got away with merely having a good portion of his stomach blown off. Of course, a truly complete recovery from such an injury is impossible, even for Phoenix. There will be lingering consequences, and the road to rehabilitation will probably be quite long and arduous.
He threads his fingers with Phoenix’s and holds tight, so tight he can feel his ring dig painfully into his flesh. He relishes in the pain, it keeps him awake, sane, helps pushing away the exhaustion creeping on him and the terrors lying ahead, just a blink away, ready to spring up on him the moment he closes his eyes, more vivid and vicious than ever.
Suddenly, his phone pings softly right in the moment his wristwatch strikes five in the morning. He doesn’t need to check to know the sender is the same of the other twenty of its twins he has received over the past two hours.
Miles’s parental side would like to berate Trucy for ignoring his orders and staying awake all night regardless, but he figures that would be rather hypocritical coming from him. He can’t blame her for being unable to rest and wanting to be updated of any development.
He just wishes he could give her a more satisfactory answer than the one he has been texting back to her each and every time.
”Still nothing new. Go to sleep.”
The words he types ring empty even to himself, leave a bitter taste in his mouth. He erases the last sentence and hits send.
Time trickles by, punctuated by every drop of whatever fluid the IV bag attached to Phoenix's forearm drips directly in Phoenix’s system, and the occasional check up visit of a nurse. Miles is quickly growing tired, his eyelids grow heavier with every silent minute flying past. He finds himself fighting with all his might to stay awake, to stifle a yawn, to never let go of Phoenix’s hand. Even without a mirroring surface at hand he can easily tell he must be looking haggard, his hair unkempt and limp, eyes heavy and bloodshot, outfit stifling and irremediably wrinkled after spending nearly a whole day in it. He longs acutely for the chance to finally have a shower and wash the grime of this accursed day off his skin, to melt away the fear and distress currently clinging to him like an oily, second skin in warm rivulets of water, to rinse it all away with the sound of Phoenix’s warm, bubbling laughter as he joins Miles in the shower, his gentle hands rubbing the knots in Miles’s stiff back away…
He aches for moments he should have showed more appreciation for. Once again, he has taken the peace of his life for granted.
So, as some sort of self-imposed repentance, he sits still, waiting with bated breath the moment Phoenix’s eyes flutter open again, gingerly and heavy with sleep. His whole body seemingly shuts down, every need outside the energy to keep awake is being pushed down, postponed for later. He doesn’t move from Phoenix’s bedside, only surrendering to the most basic of biological needs once for the whole duration of the night, and even then it barely takes him three minutes to be back to the room. A nurse with a gentle, round face and warm smile enters while Miles is standing ramrod straight at Phoenix’s side, and jokingly tells him he won’t be able glare the slumbering man awake just like that.
He makes a mental note to keep his glare under control from now on.
Hour after hour, he waits and waits and will wait until the end of time and beyond if he needs to.
And then, after an eternity, a sudden rustling noise breaks the monotonous beeping and pinging, followed by a low, hoarse groan. The beeping grows in intensity and pace, and he finds himself rooted on the spot, heart beating frantically against his ribcage, uncertain whether to stay or notify a nurse.
Phoenix makes that decision on his behalf.
“Miles?”
Miles’s hold on Phoenix’s hand tightens. “Phoenix.”
Phoenix feels like he’s floating, lying suspended on a bed of fluffy clouds, weightless and without a care in the world. His body feels funny all over the place, like it is there, but also is not, like he’s constantly flicking in and out of it. It feels foreign and stiff, oddly unsensitive. Even thinking of moving a single finger feels like an insurmountable feat, as he’s so tired already. No, scratch that, just stringing up a coherent line of thought seems downright impossible right now.
He isn’t really sure why Miles’s name is the first thing that comes to his lips, as naturally as breathing; perhaps it’s because Miles is the one he inwardly wishes to see again the most - who would have guessed it, really, it’s been that way only for the last, what, twenty six years? Day more, day less - or perhaps it’s his gut feeling sensing there is someone close by, and that someone is Miles waiting for him to wake up already and reach him, like always.
Regardless of the reason why, he does so, and in his dream-like state, he thinks he hears Miles call back, somewhere far, far away.
Over the years, he has had Miles call his name in all possible ways and declinations: stern reproach, playful mockery, tender affection, heated passion.
He’s never heard it so broken.
He feels tired, teetering dangerous on the edge of blissful oblivion, but with an enormous effort he finally manages to prise his eyes open. The bright neon lights all but assault his retinas at once, their searing white glare leaving blue dancing spots in his vision, making his eyes water. He blinks rapidly, staring on the burgundy red blur with all his might until his eyesight settles and a very exhausted-looking Miles Edgeworth comes into focus.
“Hey there,” he croaks weakly. He assumes the pressure he feels on his left hand is due to Miles holding it like his own life is depending on it, but Phoenix can hardly move a finger to respond in kind. He tries to smile, but his face feels clammy and stiff, and he can’t get his sluggish muscles to pull his lips into something wider than a grimace. “Why do you look more dead than me?”
It’s meant as a joke - given, a bad one - but as Phoenix’s morphin-laden brain slowly kicks into motion and his attention span widens he realizes he’s more spot on than he intended to. For the first time since forever, Miles positively looks like shit, face pale and taut and with dark shadows under his eyes, and the first hints of a five-o’clock shade along his jaw. It has to be the first time Phoenix gets to witness a less than perfectly groomed Miles.
It’s… not a good look on him. Not at all.
He half expects Miles to ignore him altogether, but Miles takes a deep, shuddering sigh that sounds awfully like a subtle so, and then smiles tiredly.
“For some unfathomable reason, I admit I’ve been unable to go through my usual evening routine. Any idea of who might be the culprit?”
Phoenix laughs, or rather, coughs out weakly something vaguely resembling a laugh. “No clue. What an ass though.”
“Indeed. They’d better take responsibility.”
Phoenix grins, more genuinely this time, and Miles instinctively feels himself relaxing, the stress and terror that have been keeping him so wound up slowly coming undone. The domesticity, the familiarity of their banter, even in the middle of this wreckage of a day, is a soothing balm for his nerves.
Eventually, Phoenix’s cheeky, tired grin fades, replaced by a light, pained frown. “I’m sorry.”
Phoenix fully expects Miles to puff out his chest in that pompous way of his and launch in a long tirade, to explain in painstaking detail the several ways Phoenix is the worst idiot who ever walked on Earth. Instead, he’s caught entirely by surprise when Miles smiles weakly, mirthlessly.
“You are not.”
“Wha-”
“Phoenix, I’ve known you for a fairly considerable amount of time by now.” Miles dutifully explains, “I am more than fully aware of your overbearing protective side. Given the circumstances, I would have expected nothing less from you.”
His tone is even, pragmatic, but as Miles folds his arms across his chest Phoenix sees how his fingers clench tightly over his elbows, painfully, how his eyes keep flitting around, never making eye contact with Phoenix for longer than a split second. Fine tremors make his shoulders quake, the first cracks in the flawless facade he has probably been wearing for everybody else’s sake.
Phoenix sees right through him, and the pain in his heart, swelling with affection and pride the entity of which his mind cannot fully understand, is much more intense than any bullet can ever cause. He reaches out again, and again Miles takes his hand in his own.
“She’s so young, Miles,” he feels the impelling need to explain himself, to justify his actions, to let his husband know he hadn’t meant to leave him, “She’s just a couple of years older than Trucy-”
“And your deep seated fatherly instincts kicked in, the desire to protect drowning off anything else. I know, Phoenix. You’ve been following the same modus operandi for a while. When did that start? With you going to confront Von Karma and getting tazed in the process? Or perhaps with White?”
The shaking has visibly increased and Miles’s voice cracks at the end, grows in pitch, just an inch away from a full blown hysteric fit.
Phoenix, still awfully tired and dismayingly bedridden, does the first thing his heart tells him to do; he delicately lifts their joined hands up to his face and presses his lips to Miles’s knuckles, kissing them one by one.
“I’m sorry,” he says again, and this time he actually means it. Miles apparently knows it as well, for he scoffs playfully - they both pointedly pretend they don’t notice the one tear that manages to slip past the vice-like grip of Miles’s self control and slowly trickles down Miles’s sunken face - and cups Phoenix’s face, cradles it delicately, adoringly. Phoenix lets his heavy lids flutter close, his whole body seemingly melting under the soft caress.
Unsaid, the 'I love you’ in the touch is loud and clear.
“You’d better be. I swear you’re going to be the death of me. You’ve given me quite a number of heart attacks by now.”
Phoenix grins again, “Aw, and here I thought I was the heartthrob of your life.”
Even without looking, he’s one hundred percent positive Miles has just rolled his eyes, and he laughs in response.
After a while, Miles shifts and retreats his hand. Phoenix hears him stand up slowly, a little uncertain. He wonders briefly how long has Miles been sitting in that back-murdering chair to keep watch on Phoenix as he slumbered peacefully in his nearly comatose state. Probably the whole night.
“I need to warn the nurse and notify Trucy and the others, I promised I would do so as soon as you woke up to both parties.” he announces tiredly, making his way to the door. Phoenix wishes he would stay some more, for he’s the only medication Phoenix really needs, but that is way too mushy and cheesy to say out loud, even for him. Besides, he wants to know how Athena and Trucy and the whole gang is faring. He has no doubt Miles has already taken care of them and offered them a place to stay for the night.
And Phoenix is the sappy dad, according to Miles. Oh, the irony.
Still, he lets Miles go, the door clicking shut softly behind him, though it opens again barely a minute later. Dr. Carey, he soon finds out, is a rather charming young woman who has intention to beat around the bush.
“You’re a lucky guy, Mr. Wright,” she says as she and the nurse check on his vitals with practiced ease. “As I told your husband, just a few inches off course and you were a goner. You’ve got some strong connections up there, someone really loves you.”
And by utter chance, his eyes fall upon the bedside table right in that moment, lingering on the stone lying among the possession they found in his blazer. The Magatama glints playfully, almost cheekily, in the neon light, and if Phoenix squints hard enough he’s almost sure he can make out a familiar outline, with long chestnut hair and a golden scarf flowing down her back.
“I just have one hell of a defense attorney to watch my back.”
The following days turn out to be rather frantic.
There are endless tears and scoldings and apologies he pointedly refuses coming from Athena and Trucy and Apollo - though Trucy does not apologize, she takes the Miles route and rants and rants about how he’s the worst idiot that ever walked on Earth, all the while bawling her eyes out and holding onto him for dear life - and then there’s Blackquill who keeps bowing so deeply to Phoenix that Phoenix feels his back start acting up again. To his massive surprise, even Gavin pays him a few visits, always following Apollo and Trucy, armed with a kind, perhaps a little awkward smile and personally signed get-well cards that everybody knows will end up in Trucy’s beloved collection of Gavinner’s gadgets and trinkets.
Phoenix would have thought she’d eventually grow out of that obsession, given how the man is permanently glued to Apollo’s side and keeps throwing him bedroom eyes nobody misses but Apollo, but apparently he’s wrong.
They make sure Phoenix is never left alone, at any hour of day and night. Phoenix is honored to be held in such high consideration and love - “You’re gonna cry yourself to sleep if someone’s not here to comfort you.” Trucy comments matter-of-factly - but he can’t help but feel antsy under such attention. He tries his best not to fall asleep whenever in company, but it’s hard to stay awake after he's given his regular dose of morphine, and he always feels guilty when he wakes up at the weirdest hours of the night to find either Apollo or Miles dozing off, slumped on that damned chair. He wishes they would go home and rest properly for once.
Then, a few days later, Miles comes by at around dinner time - or rather, what would be dinner time if Phoenix’s meals weren’t reduced to weird liquids injected directly into his veins, that is. Four days later, and he’s still hates to see his right arm being used like a pincushion.
“Hey,” Phoenix greets him as Miles crosses the room in a few, long strides and presses the softest of kisses against Phoenix’s lips. Phoenix is already able to sit up, but he has yet to receive permission to leave his bed, much to his chagrin. A man of action down to his marrow, he can’t stand being forced to sit still for so long. “Thought you were home with the kids.”
“Gavin and Justice are keeping watch on the girls for the night.”
Phoenix grins and hums in acknowledgement. “Do you think they’re actually going to keep an eye on them, or will they be too busy making out on the couch? Or over the kitchen counter, where we-”
“We agreed we wouldn’t speak about that incident ever again.” Miles abruptly cuts him off, suddenly flushed and throwing surreptitious looks at the door, as though concerned someone overheard. Phoenix flashes him a toothy grin.
“Relax, I was just pulling your leg. I wouldn’t mind having a second go of that incident though, you know.” He wiggles his eyebrows, earning himself a quick glare he dismisses with an easy grin. “So, what brings you here? You must be busy, with all that has happened recently.” He gestures off-handedly at himself and the several tubes attached to his arm.
Miles raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “The office can run itself for a night. I have a prior engagement I deemed too important to miss for this evening.”
Judging from Phoenix’s puzzled face, Miles guesses he has all but forgotten. He can’t blame him, as getting shot and being hospitalized are quite distracting situations. He heaves a sigh.
“We have a dinner date scheduled for tonight, don’t you remember?”
Phoenix blinks, still confused, and then it clicks. His face falls, and he glances dejectedly at the IV bag hanging on its support at the side of the bed.
“Oh yeah,” he says, looking like a kicked puppy as he lifts his free hand to the nape of his neck, scratching awkwardly the back of his head. “Sorry, I believe I’m quite… indisposed.”
He looks down, head hanging low in shame and guilt. The two of them had been anticipating today for quite a long time, difficult as it is for Miles to get a night off with that insanely tight schedule of his. Although he knows it’s an illogical line of thought, he still hates their date had to be called off because of him.
“It matters not.” Miles says with a shrug and a suspiciously shrewd smirk. “I took the liberty to cancel our reservation and relocate to a more appropriate location you can easily access to.”
“Relocate?”
Miles rolls his eyes, pretending to get frustrated that Phoenix is taking so long to realize. With a sweeping movement of his arm, he indicates the room they’re in.
“Yes. As a matter of fact, we’re already there.”
And finally Phoenix gets it. The absurdity of it all is so out of character for Miles - who has very high standards in terms of restoration or anything, really - and yet so endearing that he can’t help but laugh.
“Here? In this dingy, stinking hospital room?” He barely manages to breathe out in-between laughing fits, ignoring the pain in his ribs and abdomen. Miles chuckles as well, apparently unfazed.
“Yes, quite. There is a vending machine at the end of the hallway that looks rather promising indeed.”
That only makes Phoenix laugh harder. “Are you serious?”
“That I am.”
And to make his point across, he leaves the room, only to be back a few minutes later carrying a package of crackers that look and will probably taste like cardboard and a water bottle.
“Holy shit, you’re actually doing it.” Phoenix wheezes as Miles drops his oh so classy dinner on the nightstand and picks the water bottle, unscrewing it open with a loud plastic noise.
“I thought you knew better than to doubt me, Wright. ” Miles says smugly, wearing a triumphant smirk the likes of which Phoenix has only seen it when Miles is a step away from winning a case. “I always have a contingency plan at the ready. Now, shall we have a toast?”
He tips his water bottle to Phoenix, and Phoenix, still laughing maniacally to the point his eyes are watering and tears are streaming down his face (those are definitely tears out of hilarity, it’s not like he’s moved or anything. Really.), grabs hold of the bar holding his drip-feed in place and reclines it slightly towards Miles.
“To us.”