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No one is home. No one *should* be home, Miles checked before he picked the day to (coldly, with calculation) punch Kristoph's face in as hard as humanly possible.
He fumbles with his keys as he unlocks the door, his hands still slippery and just now starting to smart.
He feels numb.
Miles Edgeworth is not traditionally a man predisposed to violence. But sometimes, there is no other choice.
They key goes in, finally, and Miles lurches through the door of the house he shares with Phoenix and Trucy (all of them, finally under one roof, easier to protect that way), hands still shaking slightly. The tremor hadn't mattered in the moment, but now, in the stillness, it feels almost like the forewarning of an earthquake.
A voice breaks the silence. "Miles? What happened?"
He blinks and suddenly, there's Phoenix, half up off the couch, his hands extended to Miles as if he's approaching a wild animal that could run at any minute.
Miles hadn't noticed him.
"I was worried, you said you'd be home around 8?" Phoenix pauses in his slow walk towards Miles, who has automatically stepped backwards into the wall.
He takes a shaky breath in and out and the small dark patches at the side of his vision start to fade out.
Was the room getting smaller?
"Is—" he manages to get out, sliding down into a sitting position, so the world isn't spinning so badly, "Isn't it 8?"
"It's midnight," Phoenix says quietly, the traces of anger in his voice either hidden very well or not present at all. "Truce and I were getting worried."
He chuckles, but there's a little darkness in it. "We'd been debating calling Gumshoe about it, to see if he knew anything."
In planning his revenge on Kristoph Gavin, Miles had made sure to leave nothing to chance: not escape, not poison, and certainly not witnesses. The one thing he had apparently failed to account for was time.
Miles feels like he's processing the entire scenario through a haze: he should feel terrible for making his family worry, for miscalculating. Instead all he feels is—
"Nothing. It was nothing, Wright. I'm sorry to have worried you."
His fingers are knotted in the carpet, transferring flecks of blood to the soft floor. Phoenix sinks down and gently places his hands on top of Miles'.
His voice is soft. "Hey Miles. Hey. Come back to me?"
Miles gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head, and even that is a struggle. It's easier to remember to breathe, easier to not think, down here on the ground. Memories that aren't quite fully formed tug at the corners of his thoughts, pieces of an elevator, another fight, lying on the ground feeling helpless.
"Okay, that's fine. You're okay, I promise. One sec."
He's gone for a second, back the next and Miles barely notices. Phoenix takes a warm cloth and runs it gently across places where his skin has split, where he hit Kristoph's damn glasses. He's careful to avoid unnecessary roughness, but still makes sure the wounds are clean.
He can barely hear Phoenix's voice while he's working, whispering, "Why did you go to see him, Miles?"
Miles has to physically keep himself from hyperventilating. He takes deep breaths, but even that isn't enough.
It was perfect, everything was perfect. He'd gone out of his way to make sure of it.
He did it with a clinical eye, planning each detail of the trip down there, of how he'd approach him. Miles even took his jacket and cravat off first, for god's sake. Three punches, and a last one for satisfaction. All in places that would hopefully heal over quickly, but hurt as much as possible.
But looking down at Kristoph Gavin, splayed across the floor of his jail cell, his blood on Miles' knuckles, he didn't feel satisfied.
He just felt spent.
And now, somehow, Phoenix has found out.
How he figured it out god only knew, but now he knew, and it was all for him anyways, him and Trucy and Apollo and Klavier and everyone else that that attorney had left to rot over the years.
Phoenix had been through so much at the hands of that man, and yet he had played the part of a willing accomplice for the better part of seven years. Miles had just found out the extent of that bastard's depravity three weeks ago and had already gone and beat him.
What would he think of Miles?
As if Phoenix can hear his thoughts, he pauses in his care. "Miles. I—I won't lie, and say I'm happy with what you did. Klav told us you were making plans, he keeps tabs on Kris' visitors list. But I don't hate you. Hell, I dream about doing the same, I'd never blame you." He takes a deep breath. "So if that's what you're worried about, don't be."
Some of the fog clears, and Miles moves his hand to Phoenix's shoulder, despite his protest, and squeezes. To let him know that he understands.
"Did you find Papa?" Trucy yawns from the hallway, already in her pajamas. "I told you he was fine, he probably just fell asleep at the office again—" she cuts off her sentence in a small gasp, seeing Miles in the entryway, hands covered in blood.
"Truce, could you get some gauze?" Phoenix asks quietly. She nods and walks quickly to the bathroom.
Of course Trucy would end up seeing as well. But, Miles thinks ruefully, and it's a testament to how much good just sitting, Phoenix a constant presence at his side, is doing that Miles can connect his thoughts at all, she’s the one of them that would approve of his actions the most.
The truth about what really had happened during the first three years of the Wright family's seven year hell had come out three weeks ago, in the form of a news bulletin. Former defense attorney Kristoph Gavin was scheduled for execution in one month.
They keep the news on in the morning, as Miles runs through his daily routine and Phoenix rolls out of bed at least thirty minutes late. Trucy was already at the counter with Miles, sharing a bowl of Lucky Charms before school and work, respectively, when the television in the living room announced the news.
As the reporter mentioned his name, Trucy dropped her spoon. "No way. No way they got to him so quickly."
Miles gave her a puzzled look. "Trucy, you know death row inmates can be processed as soon as half a year."
"Objection!" she countered. "They can also spend up to the statute of limitations for their crimes in prison!"
Miles shook his head, tapping his spoon against the side of his bowl. "I concede that to the defense, but ask her to remember that, in cases such as Mr. Gavin's, the severity of the crime can hasten the punishment."
Trucy grumbled her assent and Miles smiled to himself. She'd make a fine lawyer, if she were ever inclined to be. Too caught up in the legal correction, he noticed the strange mix of emotions a second too late. There was surprise, yes, bitterness, and relief, all reasonable emotions. What was odd was the note of fear in her voice, like it was all too good to be true, when as far as Miles knew, she hadn’t had much interaction with Gavin before he decided to murder her father.
He glanced over at her, fiddling with the Steel Samurai prize she'd successfully thumb wrestled him for. “How are you feeling about all of this? I know he’s been behind bars for about a year now, but—”
“I’m fine!” she chirruped, too quickly to avoid suspicion.
Miles raised an eyebrow. “I was unaware that Mr. Justice was in the room.”
She sighed, picking up her empty bowl and walking it over to the sink. The cheery demeanor melted away in a flash, leaving her shoulders slumped and her expression worried.
Another normal morning, twisted by the mention of Kristoph. Miles wondered if he was ever going to stop holding that power over the Wrights, to little avail. After all, Manfred's grip of fifteen years had never faded completely, try as he had to remove it.
"Is it bad that I'm happy about it? That he isn’t here anymore, trying to mess around in our lives?” Trucy dropped the bowl unceremoniously, working her way around the kitchen island back to the table. “Sometimes, I’m still scared that he’ll come back, even after everything he did. And I think I’d deck him.” She laughed, cruel, something Miles rarely heard from Trucy and he was sure he never wanted to hear again. “Isn’t that horrible?”
Miles opened his mouth to answer, a reassurance that he felt the same way, every time he woke up from a nightmare, and she wasn’t alone on the tip of his tongue when Phoenix hopped into the kitchen, a shoe on one foot (was that a hole?) and a sock halfway on another.
"Nope, Trucy, you're fine. Good riddance, I say. Kris can go to hell as far as I’m concerned. I’ll meet him there too."
As Phoenix jumped back into the living room, still wrestling with his sock, Miles turned to Trucy, who now had a small smile on her face. “I agree completely with your father. You should neverhave to feel bad for wanting someone who hurt you and your family out of your life. Mr. Gavin is rightfully behind bars, where he belongs.
“We can, at least in this case,” and he said this with no small amount of resentment, “expect the justice system to do its job.” He was careful to side step his own feelings on the matter, past experiences aside. “You have no need at all to feel guilty—” his last word is cut off in a hug.
She buried her face into his shirt (he made it a rule never to put on the cravat or jacket during breakfast) and sniffed. His hands automatically wrapped around her, and they clung to each other in the middle of the dining room.
“I just—I never talk about it, not even with my therapist, and I have no idea why. He'd show up at the Wonder Bar after my shows and grin like he thought he could trick me, like I hadn’t seen through him on day one.” She pulled her face out of his chest and her face was teary and furious.
He let her rant, Trucy needed it.
“With him, you could never tell what was real or what was fake. He’d insult you constantly, but if you ever asked him about it, he’d deny it. Daddy would always go out with him for dinner but come home crying. One time, I found real bullets, not fake ones, in my kit, and he was the only one that commented on it when he dropped Daddy off.”
Miles felt the blood his veins turn to ice. “He what.”
“Don’t forget the spy cameras!” Phoenix shouted from the living room.
“Or the food poisoning!” Trucy yelled back. She turned back to Miles with the grim look of a person that had to grow up too much, too fast. “We kind of joke about it now. Sometimes it helps?” She shrugged, and Miles couldn’t do anything but stand there, horrified as they tossed more ‘incidents’ back and forth.
Phoenix, now fully clothed, made his way back into the kitchen. “I’m pretty sure the time he left me in the snow to get hypothermia, then blamed me for not calling him enough, might take the cake, personally.” He mock-shivered, a hint of steel behind his casual tone. “I hate the cold.”
“Phoenix,” Miles broached the subject cautiously, the news anchor having long ago moved on to a more current story. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”
“It wasn't that important,” He shrugged. “Have you seen my locket? I could have sworn I left it on the bedside table.”
“You’re saying you and your daughter lived under the thumb of… of a madman, for almost a decade, and you never told anyone?” Unspoken are the words ‘not even me?’
“Replace ‘madman’ with murderer,” Phoenix said dryly. “Who was I supposed to tell? The police? Take him to court, pay a lawyer to represent me?
“Trucy was still adjusting to a new life, new dad, new school. I couldn’t do that to her. And once the chance was gone, it was gone. If I left, he would have gotten suspicious.”
“We had to play our cards close to our chest!” Trucy said with a wink. “And in the end, we’re the ones that won!”
“But,” Miles spluttered. “He has tried to kill both of you, you can’t just sweep that under the rug!”
Phoenix leaned towards Trucy and rumpled her hat-less head. “But he never did, pumpkin.”
“Nope!” she responded, smiling. “We’re here, and that’s what’s important!”
Miles narrowed his eyes at the exchange. “Phoenix, you can’t just ignore this. This man has done nothing but hurt you and your daughter, and you’re content with shoving it under a rug?”
Phoenix’s smile slides off his face, and in its place is the neutral gaze of the star poker player of the Borscht Bowl. “It doesn’t matter. It happened. So what? He’s on death row Miles, what else can I do about it?!”
Phoenix had started shouting, but Miles didn’t know when. He took a breath, a deep one. A little shaky, but one that resolved solidly. “Look. It was a long time ago. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
Miles slammed his hands on the dining room table. “Yes it does, Phoenix, because I wasn’t there!”
There was silence in the room.
“I should have done something, come to help you, saved you, like you did for me. And I didn’t. I was off in Europe, discovering myself, and leaving you all behind.”
Phoenix’s face closed off. “Edgeworth, I didn’t need your help. I had it all under control.” He grabbed his locket off the windowsill, where it hung around the branch of a plant. “You didn’t have to rescue me, because I didn’t need saving.”
“Obviously, you did, or none of this would have happened!” Miles snapped.
Phoenix let out a noise of frustration. “This isn’t going anywhere. I need to get to work. I love you Miles, be careful getting Trucy to school.”
He slammed the door behind him.
Halfway through the morning, when Miles was sure he’d growled at everyone in the Prosecutor’s office, his phone buzzed with a text.
hey. im sorry about earlier. i shouldnt have been so harsh.
youre just trying to look after me and truce and
well yeah maybe that stuff with kris was kinda fucked up
i... should probably talk to someone about that
get truce to too
That sounds like a good decision.
....
I am sorry as well. It got out of hand. I just wish I could… change the past, at times.
Certainly a flaw of mine, but it shouldn’t prove fatal, with your balancing influence.
lmao maybe
arent u the one who says i dont have ‘A self-preservative bone in my body?’
Perhaps.
;P
sigh
Did you just type out ‘sigh.’
yes no comments allowed
but yeah back to what i was saying
those seven years were some of the worst of my life
do I wish I could change some parts of them?
fuck yes absolutely
but would I trade them for anything?
i mean, just look at trucy
no way in hell
I can’t say I disagree with you there, Phoenix.
yeah. i love her so much and i wouldnt trade it for the world
we can't change the past miles
the only thing we can do is—
"—look to the future," Phoenix says weeks later, on the floor of their apartment. Miles slowly drags his mind back into presence, in the here and now.
Trucy makes her way back from the bathroom, an over-sized quantity of medical supplies in her hands. “I bought another kit after Daddy got his badge back,” she says, keeping her voice quiet. “I hid it in my room so he wouldn’t use it all.”
“I resent that comment,” he jokes with her in a whisper, lightly bumping her in the arm with his elbow.
And their banter, the sheer normalness of it, is a blessing. Trucy slowly bandages his left hand, with Phoenix doing his right, and he uses the sensation, the slight burning as cuts exposed to air are covered in ointment, the feeling of the fabric being wrapped slowly around his hands to pull himself out of the depths.
Trucy gives him a drink of water, and the mental fuzz recedes enough for him to say, “Thank you.”
Phoenix smiles sadly. “I’m your husband. It’s my job to nurse my partner back to health when he does something well-intentioned but stupid. Am—” he pauses. “Am I okay with touching you?”
Miles takes a self inventory and nods his consent.
Phoenix goes in for the world’s most tender hug, Trucy a short distance behind him.
“You know,” she sniffs, “When I said i wanted to beat up Kristoph, I didn’t mean you should instead. You didn’t leave any for me, you jerk.”
“My apologies, Trucy,” Miles responds. He’s starting to gain his voice back, and his surroundings are slowly returning from the impenetrable fog they’d disappeared to. He catches his eye on the coat rack in the corner, his and Phoenix’s trench coats hanging alongside Trucy’s cape.
“I’m just glad you’re okay. You have to be careful around Kris, one wrong move and—” Phoenix trails off. “You know. It’s good that he’s not coming back. And it’s good that you did.”
“I shouldn’t have gone behind your backs. For that, I’m truly sorry.” They finish up bandaging his hands and put the supplies away. Miles doesn’t feel quite ready to stand yet, but his head is feeling clearer. He knows what he’s feeling, instead of a featureless void. “But I don’t regret it.”
Phoenix sighs. “I may not agree with you, but… Kris was a bastard, I’ll tell you that every day of the week.”
He squeezes Miles’ hand. “But I saw how you walked in that door, Miles, you looked like a ghost. You force yourself to try and be…”
“Perfect,” Trucy finishes, “And Papa, it’s not right! You don’t need to stop feeling to be able to be angry.
“It’s not worth hurting yourself to get back at someone like that.” He looks straight at Miles. “You are worth so much more than him to me, and nothing is worth losing that. Not any argument, not any wrong that needs to get righted. Not anything.”
“You as well, Phoenix.”
“What?”
“You, you and Trucy, your worth to me cannot be measured. And if I could make Gavin regret his actions, for even a second, it was worth it to me.” Miles takes a breath. “Phoenix, neither you nor Trucy place much value on your own feelings. And that terrifies me, as sure as losing you both.”
Phoenix avoids eye contact. “Yeah, I know. I need to get better at that.” He exhales and lets his shoulders fall. “And you need to let us in. You don’t have to shove everything away to be able to cope.”
Trucy nods in agreement. “You’re here for us, Papa. And we’re here for you.”
Miles sniffs, and wipes the tears from his eyes, aware that beside him, his husband is breaking into full-out sobs, there on the ground. Trucy sits on his other side, and they cry together.
And Kristoph Gavin is the furthest thing from all of their minds.