[fic update] Piano Man Memory 04: The Goldberg Variations
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Title: Piano Man
Author:trenchkamen (via ms_asylum fic-journal)
Fandom: Gyakuten Saiban / Ace Attorney
Genre: General, romance, memory, songfic
Pairings: Phoenix/Edgeworth (throughout / this chapter)
Warnings: Graphic violence/gore in this chapter.
Spoilers: Entire Gyakuten Saiban series
Summary: Entry for "Who's the Hobo?" contest at narumitsu. Phoenix Wright and Miles Edgeworth have finally been able to settle down together, and both have gained tenured professorship at Ivy University. Despite re-gaining his Bar, the need to play memories on the piano has been engraved in Phoenix's psyche.
This chapter: Right before GS4. An 'accident' leaves Edgeworth gravely injured in the hospital--except nobody believes it was an 'accident'. He and Phoenix are getting too close to the truth. And Phoenix knows damn well who wants them gone.
Memory 04: The Goldberg Variations
O’Boyle’s was one of the few pubs genuinely ‘Irish enough’ to satisfy Edgeworth’s elitist European sensibilities. Phoenix had trouble differentiating between one greasy dish of fish and chips and another greasy dish of fish and chips, but O’Boyle’s wasn’t too far out of the way, and it was obscure and small enough to ensure they could have conversations undisturbed. He, Edgeworth, and Maya had sequestered the corner table, and after a couple of pints of Guinness Maya was even more argumentative than usual. Thankfully, that energy was currently aimed at Edgeworth, so Phoenix could sip at his pint and watch in amusement.
“You know how when people lose one sense, all their other senses get a lot sharper?” Maya was waving a French fry at Edgeworth pointedly. “Same goes for when you rely too much on one sense. All the other ones get duller. Seeing is believing for a lot of people. If there’s concrete evidence, all their other senses are dulled to what may be the truth.”
Edgeworth took a deep drink. “It is utterly impossible to be one-hundred percent sure of the truth.”
“Absolutely.” Phoenix snatched the fry Maya was jabbing at Edgeworth and ate it as she sputtered out a protest. “I used to think evidence would lead us to the truth one-hundred percent of the time, without question. And damned if it isn’t important. Logic leads us ninety-nine percent of the way.” He smashed his palm into the table, and the silverware clattered. Edgeworth caught the candle as it almost tipped over and gave Phoenix a disapproving look. “But sometimes, that is not where the truth lies. We’ve become obsessed with the physical-the physical, which can be so easily duplicated and manipulated and forged-every other one of our senses and thought processes are left to atrophy. We’ve become incomplete problem-solving machines.”
Maya leaned in toward Edgeworth and stage-whispered “He’s just agreeing with you because he wants to get lucky tonight.”
Edgeworth smirked into his drink. “Probably.”
“Objection!” Phoenix reached unceremoniously over the table, almost knocking the candle over again, and grabbed Miles’ left hand. The gold band around his ring finger glinted in the fire. “I can bang him-any time I want. I have decisive evidence.”
Edgeworth peeled Phoenix’s fingers off. “You’re drunk, Wright.”
“I am not. I have had like-three pints, that’s it.” He glanced at Edgeworth’s half-empty glass, still his first one. “And why aren’t you drinking more. You need to drink more.”
“I’m on call tonight. I may need to drive somewhere.”
“You’re so responsible.”
“Yeah, well, some of us have real jobs to worry about.”
Phoenix pointed at him, but damn it, he was right. He picked up his glass again.
“Defense rests.” But I’m working on it, damn you. Asshole.
“I remember a certain age being discussed in a lot of law classes.” Phoenix arched his eyebrows, wondering where the hell Edgeworth was going to prod now, but he realized he was resuming his argument with Maya. “When DNA analysis started being used in forensics, it revolutionized the field. It was a powerful tool, to be sure; ninety-nine of the time, it was accurate. It exonerated innocent men and put guilty men behind bars. But there was so much faith in the power of science-an experiment that is perfectly possible to mess up, or misread-that that one percent of the time, even in the face of every other scrap of evidence saying the case was one way-the jury ruled in favor of the DNA test. The DNA used in the test may have been recovered in a dubious manner, but the jury would only see the test. Not the circumstances leading up to it. Same came to be the problem with expert witnesses.” His glasses glinted in the candlelight. He was assuming the same posture he did behind the prosecution’s bench, the same ruthless, focused attention. “Call somebody an ‘expert witness’, place him in front of a bunch of uneducated people, and his word becomes gospel. The god of science blinded the juries. They stopped thinking for themselves. And to a large degree, detective work, the Sherlock Holmes legacy, was abandoned. Instead of becoming a powerful tool in the arsenal of forensic scientists, DNA evidence became the god, the trump, the absolute over-writer.”
Phoenix and Maya were silent for a moment. Maya finally blurted, “Does this mean that you’re starting to admit that spirit channeling might not be bullshit?”
“No.”
Maya sighed rolled her eyes. “You almost had me convinced you knew what you were talking about for a moment there.”
“Maya, come on. Even if he was admitting that, he wouldn’t… admit it.”
Miles laughed quietly behind his hand. The glint of gold caught Phoenix’s eye again, mesmerizing. He never tired of seeing Miles smiling, relaxed, happy. Comparing this Miles to the Miles Phoenix had encountered ten years ago still stunned him. It was as though the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders. The SSRI he had finally consented to taking greatly helped to mediate his depression and melancholy, though God knows it had not disappeared completely. And that was only secondary to the prolonged effects of finally resolving the DL-6 case, among other factors. Phoenix knew he was integral in this transformation in direct and indirect ways, but it was a realization he kept to himself. Miles had already confirmed as much anyway.
Edgeworth’s phone went off. He glanced at the caller ID, sighed, and flipped it open.
“Miles Edgeworth… yeah…” He sat up straight, suddenly all business. “Really. How long ago? … That long? Then why the hell didn’t anybody call me? … And the trial is tomorrow?” He paused for a long time, eyes hard with thought. “Right. I should be there in an hour or so.”
He hung up and sighed.
“Work?” asked Phoenix.
“Body was found in a condemned building, as if that isn’t cliche enough.”
“You’re leaving now? Sure you don’t want another pint?”
“I’m driving.”
Phoenix nodded. Miles gathered up his jacket and kissed Phoenix quickly, murmuring that he loved him and he’d see him later, and nodded to Maya.
“Keep him out of trouble, would you?”
“No guarantees.”
Miles smirked and waved over his shoulder before walking out of the pub. Phoenix sighed and continued to pick at his food.
“He left us with the check, didn’t he.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yup.”
“Bastard.”
Phoenix reached for Miles’ unfinished Guinness and downed it in one gulp. He slammed the glass back onto the table. Maya reached for the unfinished plate of food and started picking at the fries. Phoenix eyed it longingly.
“Can I have what’s left of the fish?”
“Hell no.”
-------------------------------------
“Ah, Mr. Edgeworth! You’re earlier than I expected!”
Edgeworth nodded to Gumshoe, who was kneeling in the dust thick on the floor, pouring what looked like some sort of sealant to harden the footprints left behind. It smelled volatile, flammable. Edgeworth removed his fuchsia jacket and draped it over one of the sawhorses forming the police barrier.
“Traffic was good.”
He unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and rolled the sleeves up. It was hot in the building-painfully nondescript; the most accurate description Edgeworth could muster was ‘warehouse’-humid, dust sticking to every surface. He looked around. There was a gurney near the entrance with a body strapped to it, respectfully covered in a dark sheet. Other than that, the top floor of the warehouse looked unremarkable. It was condemned, and construction equipment was lying about in various states of disarray. None of the workers had been allowed back on the site after the body was found, but they were being kept in a rest trailer nearby for questioning. The real show, he was told, was in the sub-basement. The body had been found down there.
“The body was photographed thoroughly before being moved, correct?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Is it clear for me to go take a look around?”
“Yes, sir. That scaffolding looks rotten and worn out, but I climbed it myself just a bit ago and it held up just fine.”
Edgeworth looked in the direction Gumshoe had nodded. The dust suddenly stopped, giving way to a visible length of wooden platform, and beyond that, dropped into darkness. Edgeworth walked over, careful to disturb the dust as little as possible. The wooden scaffold descended three stories down into the sub-basement of the warehouse. He peered into the darkness, claustrophobia rising up uncomfortably-it looked so much like an elevator shaft-and swallowed, squaring his shoulders and pushing his glasses up his nose. He shoved his hands into his pockets and stepped onto the first platform.
The ground lurched under him.
Edgeworth’s mind went blank. The shaking, the tremor up reverberated through his shoes and into his bones-
“This is my oxygen! You’re taking it!”
-he collapsed to his hands and knees, trying to steady himself-somewhere, seemingly far away, Detective Gumshoe was bellowing for him to jump, to jump, but he couldn’t move-
With a sickening crunch that reverberated up the entire scaffold, it collapsed. And, with the falling motion, Edgeworth’s mind snapped clear again.
“Mr. Edgeworth! Grab something! I can’t reach you!”
Edgeworth was already falling on his hands and knees, like a cat. Three stories. He had to stop his fall, or he was going to die. He thrust his hands out, grabbing down for something-anything-and a hideous, tearing pain seared up his forearm. He felt whatever was stuck in there break off, snap, and he bellowed, still reaching out for anything-anything-splinters and jagged wood ripped through the skin of his palms, under his fingernails-and then-
-the ground-
At the last second, Edgeworth shoved forward against the oncoming concrete, absorbing some of the shock of his fall by bending his joints. An excruciating crunch reverberated in several locations-he felt his right elbow shove out of its joint, felt something tear through his thigh, felt a hideous pain pierce his left hand, snap a bone on the way out. His glasses shattered as his face hit; glass ground into his cheekbones. His nose broke. Crunches everywhere, dulled by deferred pain. He screamed in agony and collapsed onto his side, curling, cheek smashing into a white line chalked into the concrete floor. The body outline. Dim light. Detective Gumshoe bellowing from three stories up, saying he was going to get help, to hold on, please hold on.
Agony. Edgeworth tried to move his right hand, but it stayed dead, heavy-he turned over and stared down at his right arm. His elbow was pulled out of its joint, bent at a sickening angle. A jagged spar of rough wood was jammed into his forearm, buried deep in muscle, oozing fat and blood-bile rose to the back of his throat. Vomit. Fight it back, bite it. Blood everywhere. His blood. White shirt torn and sticky, wet, fresh red. He tasted blood in his mouth when he yelled; his nose was shattered, oozing, dripping onto his cravat. He moaned and curled to the other side, tried to move his left hand-an excruciating pain shot up his arm as he did that, and he screamed again, opened his eyes, saw through tears that an industrial nail was sticking out of the back of his hand. Bile-he curled over further and vomited on the concrete next to him, shaking, moaning. He could not roll onto his back to see what further damage had been done-was terrified to, was terrified to move.
Halogen lights shining from above the scaffold shaft. Yelling. Familiar voices, unfamiliar voices. The light shined into his face. He closed his eyes; heard somebody yell that he was moving. Somebody yelled to get a pulley ready. Where was that damn ambulance?
More shouting. Sirens, seemingly far away, growing closer. The crunching of booted feet running into the warehouse. More talking, more flashlights over his body, in his face. Agony. Help, hurry. He moaned, bit back a sob. He heard something secure, lock into place with an industrial clang; a flat, board-like silhouette with a human figure clinging to it was descending slowly on a rope. Neared. The figure turned a light on; shined it on him. He groaned.
“Mr. Edgeworth?” The voice was female, worried but professional. “Can you hear me?”
Edgeworth groaned and nodded weakly, biting his lip. The woman jumped off the gurney-strapped with medical supplies-and pulled on a pair of purple nitrile gloves, tilted Edgeworth’s head up with her fingertips. Shined a light in his eyes. Edgeworth hissed and turned away, groaning quietly.
Her eyes were blue. Pale blue, sky blue, not deep blue like Phoenix’s. Phoenix. Phoenix, where are you?
“He’s conscious!” she yelled up the shaft. “I’m going to need some help here!”
Another figure clipped itself onto the rope with a carabineer and slid down smoothly, stepping off, kneeling down to inspect Edgeworth as well. A man. They both wore the same navy blue shirts and well-worn boots, both had the same efficient, professional care about them. EMTs. He forgot how close to the hospital they were.
“Multiple lacerations along the extremities, wood shoved into his arm, nail in his hand, looks like he broke his nose,” said the woman. “Haven’t seen the front yet. Right elbow is dislocated, left looks okay. Probably has several breaks.”
“We need to turn him over.”
For all the practiced ease with which the pair lofted Edgeworth and turned him onto his back, rolling him onto the gurney, pain stabbed through his limbs. He groaned pitifully, biting his lip, breathing harshly in and out of his nose. He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs, wake himself up. Phoenix. Phoenix, where are you?
“ ‘Phoenix’?” the woman asked. Edgeworth did not realize he had been speaking out loud. “What does that mean?”
“No idea. Compound open fracture in the left thigh.” The man held his small flashlight between his teeth and ripped open a gauze package. “We need to stop the bleeding.”
‘Compound open…’ Edgeworth knew that term. His brain dodged it, tried to slip around it, but he inclined his head slightly, stared down his body. Bone sticking out of his pants, milk-white, a mess of fuchsia fabric and bone-white and blood. His bone. His bone had shattered and torn through his muscle and skin.
Edgeworth passed out.
----------------------------
Phoenix was stretched out on his and Miles’ living room couch with Maya and Pess watching Hannibal for the umpteenth time when Pess suddenly started whining and jumped off the couch, turning anxious circles. The humans exchanged confused looks.
“Pess?” Phoenix patted the couch next to him, but she kept whining and pacing. “Come here, girl.”
Pess whined, drawn out, and barked sharply. Maya tumbled off the couch and grabbed her in a tight hug, smoothing down her fur. The poor dog was quaking. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against Pess’, stayed that way for a moment. She withdrew sharply and stared at Phoenix, eyes wide.
“Miles.”
Phoenix’s heart stopped. Maya looked scared, and he knew by now that if she was scared by something odd, he damn well better be too. Pess broke the silence, whining again, and ducked out from under Maya’s arms. She ran to the door and started barking, then ran back to the living room, then back to the entryway, anxious, helpless.
The Goldberg Variations played on the television. Dr. Lecter swayed with it, lost in the music, writing to Clarice, playing to her photographs on the mantle of his piano. It was one of those classical pieces Edgeworth liked to play while he was reading. So relaxed. In Phoenix’s mind, because of this movie, always bloodstained. But so relaxed.
Phoenix’s cell phone rang. He groped for it, furrowed his eyebrows when he realized it was Gumshoe. Pressed ‘answer’.
“Hello? Detective?”
“Mr. Wright! Mr. Edgeworth’s been in an accident! We’re going to the hospital right now!”
Phoenix sat up straight. He heard a muted siren in the background, as though heard from inside a vehicle, heard voices speaking urgently. Maya was staring at him, face pale, silently asking what was wrong.
“What-what happened? Car wreck?”
“A scaffold fell out from under him at the crime scene. He fell three stories.” Phoenix’s stomach suddenly felt like ice. “He’s-he’s beat up real bad, pal. I don’t know if you want to see this.”
“Where are you taking him?”
Maya had already jumped up and was gathering their things. Pess jumped off the couch and followed her nervously, whining.
“Hotti Clinic-Hickfield Clinic, whatever the hell it’s called now. It’s closest.”
“I’m coming right now.”
Gumshoe sighed. “Right. I just thought I’d warn ya, pal. It’s… it’s not pretty. He’s all broken up and bloody.”
“Is he okay?”
Gumshoe paused for a moment. Phoenix did not know whether he felt more like passing out or vomiting
“He’s gonna be, pal. He was conscious when they first found him, finally passed out. Lost a lot of blood, but he’s getting a pack of synthetic heme right now. Paramedics say he kept calling for you. Well, for ‘Phoenix’, and I assume he didn’t mean the bird or the city.”
A pause. Phoenix screwed his eyes shut, fighting back nausea and fear.
The Goldberg Variations played on.
“Frankly, pal, I’m glad he’s passed out; he was in a lot of pain. His bones are all broken and one’s stickin’ out of his leg and-”
“-that’s enough-”
“-wood stickin’ out of him-”
“-stop!”
Gumshoe went silent. Phoenix had buried his head in his hand, breathing harshly though his teeth. Don’t vomit. Get up. Go to the hospital. He’s the one who needs you to be strong.
“I’m coming down immediately,” he finally said. He hung up the phone and shoved it into his pocket, started toward the entryway, did a double-take, and walked back toward Trucy’s room. He hesitated a moment before knocking, wary that he would be interrupting something if his suspicions were correct. There was a furtive silence in answer. Trucy yelled “Just a moment!”
“Trucy, it’s Daddy. I need to talk to you guys right now.”
It seemed to take hours for Trucy to finally open the door, flushed, looking somewhat sheepish. Her dress looked wrinkled. Pearl was sitting on her bed, hands folded in her lap, shifting uncomfortably. He knew that if he asked if he had interrupted something with his magatama in hand, the room would plunge into darkness and multiple locks would chain the girls in. Whatever. This was most definitely not the time to even lean toward that territory. He sighed.
“I’m sorry to interrupt-” Trucy sputtered that he didn’t interrupt anything, but Phoenix held up his hand. “-but Papa Miles has been in an accident, and I’m going to the hospital to go see him.”
The girls’ eyes grew wide. Silence.
“…is he okay?” Trucy finally asked. “What happened?”
“He-he fell off a three-story scaffold at the crime scene.” Breathe. Stay calm. Phoenix ran his fingers through his hair. “He’s hurt pretty bad. He broke a lot of bones, it sounds like. I’m going to go see him now.”
“We’re going too.”
“Not right now.” Phoenix narrowed his eyes. Trucy was glaring at him with her hands on her hips. Pearl had squared her shoulders and was glowering. “Later. They won’t let us all into the emergency room.”
“We’re going.”
“No.” Phoenix gave the girls the sternest, hardest glare he could muster. “You’re not.”
---------------------------
“Pal!” Gumshoe yelled as soon as Phoenix burst through the automatic doors to the hospital. The girls were jogging several yards behind him. He had his hands shoved in his hoodie’s pocket and was glowering beneath his cap. He looked up at Gumshoe, glaring, eyes hard. Stopped. He was trying to remember the last time Phoenix looked this pissed. It was mildly terrifying.
“Uh… look, pal… I…” Gumshoe wet his tongue. Phoenix kept staring at him. “I’m so sorry. I swear, I don’t know what happened; that scaffold was sturdy when I stood on it. I climbed all up and down it.”
“I know you’re not at fault.” Maya, Pearl, and Trucy stopped behind Phoenix, panting. They looked as bewildered and worried as Gumshoe felt. “Where is he?”
“Emergency room.”
Phoenix started striding toward the double-doors to the emergency room, but Gumshoe grabbed his shoulder. Phoenix tried to peel his hands off, but Gumshoe’s hand tightened.
“Look, pal…” His breath caught; Phoenix was glaring at him again. Hard. “…I know you’re worried about him, but the doctors have to work on him. They wouldn’t let nobody back there.”
“I’m his husband,” Phoenix said quietly.
“Don’t matter. Let them work right now. It’s best for Mr. Edgeworth if you give the doctors space.”
Phoenix paused for a long time, glowering. Gumshoe could feel the girls watching both of them with baited breath. Phoenix finally relaxed, ducked out of Gumshoe’s grip to go sit on one of the waiting room chairs. He buried his head in his hands.
“Daddy…”
Trucy was standing awkwardly back, twisting her toe on the ground, hand drifting toward her chest protectively as though there was a talisman there. Pearl was biting her thumbnail and staring up at Phoenix through her lashes pensively. Maya had clenched both fists by her sides.
“Pal,” Gumshoe finally said, “I need to talk to you.”
Phoenix was silent for a long time, head still buried in his hands. Gumshoe thought he heard a soft sob. Finally, Phoenix looked up, eyes damp but hard, determined. He nodded toward the seat next to him, not unkindly. Gumshoe took his offer, looking around the waiting room, seeing who had shown up there. The standoff broken, the girls gathered around him, Maya pulling up a seat in front of the men for himself, Pearl and Trucy sitting cross-legged on the floor. Trucy removed her top hat and rested her head on Phoenix’s leg. Phoenix stroked her hair absentmindedly.
“I’m sorry I’ve been cross.” His voice was hoarse. “Go ahead, Gumshoe. You can speak as frankly as you want.”
“Somethin’ ain’t right about this whole thing, pal.”
“I fail to see anything right with this whole thing, but continue.”
“Well, Mr. Edgeworth’s alive, isn’t he?”
For a second, Gumshoe expected Wright to punch him. His eyes were hard again, glowering. He finally closed his eyes and nodded.
“Yes, you’re right.” When he opened his eyes, he looked on the verge of tears. His voice remained shockingly steady. “Please, continue.”
“I-I don’t think this was an accident, pal. I think somebody tried to kill Mr. Edgeworth.”
Phoenix’s eyes widened.
“A rotting staircase fell out from under him, and you assume it’s attempted homicide?”
“I swear to God, pal, that staircase was sturdy when I tried it out. I stood on it myself, stomped up and down it, and I weigh more than he does. Didn’t shake at all. I’d never let Mr. Edgeworth stand on something that I thought was unsafe. Besides, it’s not like he’d listen to me anyway.”
Maya’s eyebrow twitched. She looked at Phoenix, who was staring at Gumshoe intently. He rested his chin in his curled hand and furrowed his eyebrows, automatically slipping into his lawyer persona.
“If it really was that sturdy, and it gave way as soon as Edgeworth stepped on it, somebody must have weakened the staircase somehow.”
“Nobody’s has access to the crime scene but people from the precinct. I’ve seen to that myself. Or people from the prosecutor’s office.”
“Who’s the defense on this case?”
“Kristoph Gavin, sir.” Gumshoe scratched the back of his head. “I guess he’d be allowed to look around the crime scene too.”
Phoenix’s eyes went dangerously hard. Gumshoe scratched the back of his head.
“Look, pal, I know you’re protective of Mr. Edgeworth and all, but you and Mr. Gavin are friends, aren’t you?” Trucy suddenly jerked her head up, staring at Phoenix warily, but to Gumshoe’s eyes he had not done anything shocking. “And he and Mr. Edgeworth may not get along so well, but he’d never go so far as to try to hurt him.”
“Were there any tools found at the scene of the crime? Handsaws, corrosive reagents, anything?”
“It was a condemned building, pal. Of course there were. Tons of them.”
Phoenix went silent, still holding his chin and furrowing his eyebrows. Trucy leaned back on her hands and stared at him suspiciously. Maybe she knew something Gumshoe didn’t; he would have to talk to her about it later.
“Oh thank God!”
Gumshoe and Phoenix looked toward the entrance. A very pregnant and frantic-looking Maggey was striding toward them, carrying a sleepy two-year-old Toby on her hip. She was dressed in her casual clothes, cargo pants and a sleeveless hoodie that accentuated her stunning, sculpted arms, badge and gun on her belt. She set Toby on the seat next to Wright and hugged Gumshoe fiercely, burying her head in his chest. He sighed and grasped her back.
“Maggey, what are you doing here?”
Maggey drew back and punched him in the upper arm. Gumshoe yelled “Ow!” and drew back, rubbing where he punched. He heard Maya giggle behind him.
“I was at the office doing paperwork, and I heard there was an accident at the crime scene and you were being taken here in an ambulance. I thought you had gotten your stupid ass killed.”
“No…” Gumshoe scratched the back of his head, arm still throbbing. Damn, she could pack a punch, and that wasn’t even full force. “That was Mr. Edgeworth that was hurt. I’m fine. I just rode in the ambulance with him here.”
Maggey paused awkwardly, looked at Wright, who was staring at the ground. She turned back to Gumshoe and covered her mouth with her hand. Her eyes were asking the question she did not dare to ask aloud in current company. Gumshoe shook his head and mouthed ‘He’s fine’ before gathering Maggey up in his arms again, smoothing down her hair. She was shaking. He heard her sniff hard and she pulled away a little to wipe her eyes with her hand. Gumshoe pulled back a little to look at her face, still holding her narrow shoulders, dwarfed in his hands. Her mouth was firm, but her eyes were wet.
“Maggey…”
She shook her head and waved her hand dismissively, muttering something about hormones before hugging Gumshoe tightly again, burying her cheek in his chest. He stroked her hair absent-mindedly, looking over her head at Wright, staring at the ground, fighting back tears, at his little son curled up asleep in the chair next to him. His hands tightened around her. He could not imagine the pain and fear and uncertainty and helplessness Wright was feeling right now; the thought of Maggey being in Mr. Edgeworth’s position drove agonized fear into the pit of his stomach. He held her tight, silently glad she was not the one who had fallen, selfishly reveling in her vitality and life.
“Gumshoe,” Maya said quietly, “you should probably explain to Maggey your suspicions.”
“What?” Maggey pulled back and stared at him. “What suspicions?”
Gumshoe took her hands and lead her toward the chairs next to Wright, sitting next to him, offering her the seat next to himself. He quickly explained the reasoning he had to suspect that Mr. Edgeworth’s ‘accident’ was not. By the time he was done explaining, Phoenix was listening to them carefully, face unreadable, and Maggey was livid.
“We’ve got to investigate the crime scene!” She stood up, starting toward the door. “Watch Toby for me. I’m going to go test the wood samples.”
“No!”
Gumshoe grabbed her arm and pulled her back. Maggey whirled around, glaring at him in an all-too-familiar, stubborn manner. He sighed.
“I’ll go.” He held up his hand as she started to sputter, before she could say that she wasn’t made of glass, that she did not need to be protected, that she was damn well a full detective as much as he was. “Maggey, we’ve talked about this.” He touched her swollen stomach. Eight months pregnant. The child they had created together in a moment of loving passion was beneath his hand. “Once you’ve popped this little one out, you can go running after bad guys and saving the world all you want. But not until then. Please.”
Maggey’s eyes were smoldering. Gumshoe sighed heavily, trying to think of something to say to preserve her ego, but-
“Ah! Mrs. Gumshoe! I see you’re back for your checkup already!”
They turned. A pink-haired, snaggle-toothed man in ragged clothes and a yellowed lab coat was scratching himself and leering lecherously at Maggey’s stomach. His eyes darted over her pregnant breasts, and his fingers curled reflexively. Gumshoe glared at him and tightened his hands over her shoulders possessively, drawing her close. Maggey rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips.
“Detective Gumshoe to you, doctor, or Detective Byrde, and no, I am not back for a checkup.”
“Too bad.” The man stepped forward, scratching himself, and Gumshoe caught a whiff of his body odor. His crop of pink hair looked greasy, dull. He wondered how long it had been since he bathed. “I do so love a motherly figure.” His fingers curled again. “Are you going to need any help with the delivery?”
Gumshoe stepped forward, hunching his shoulders threateningly. “Excuse me, pal-”
Somebody grabbed his arm. Maya stood on tiptoe and whispered into his ear, “He’s insane. Let it go.”
“Oh, Maya!” The ‘doctor’ wiggled his eyebrows, grinning. His hands curled reflexively again, and Gumshoe saw Maya recoil out of the corner of his eyes. “You’re a sight for sore eyes!”
“Fuck off. We don’t have time for this.”
Gumshoe automatically glanced toward Toby to see if he was picking up any of this language. He was fast asleep, and Phoenix was brushing his messy, brown hair absent-mindedly. He glared back at the doctor. Insane or no, he desperately wanted to punch this guy in the mouth. He noticed over his head that a real doctor had emerged from the emergency room’s double-doors, paused, and started walking toward them.
“Spirited, huh?” The man leaned in toward Maya and held his hand over his mouth as though telling a secret. “I like them spirited.”
Maya looked ready to kick the man in the balls. Her fists were clenched by her sides, and she was glowering. Gumshoe hoped that she would do it.
“Oh, hey, there you are, doc.”
The doctor Gumshoe had seen approaching clapped the strange man on the shoulder. She steered the man toward the opposite end of the waiting room.
“I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“You have?” The man turned and arched his eyebrows lecherously at her. “Why, Dr. Mask, do you need a private consult?”
“Actually, yes.” She pointed toward a bored-looking man in scrubs leaning on a door behind the reception counter. “Nurse Cogan here will take you. Go on, now.”
The man looked defeated. “You always send me with the male nurses.”
“Don’t be sexist.” She gave him another clap on the shoulder and sent him toward the waiting nurse. “Go. Time is of the essence.”
The man wandered in the direction the doctor had indicated. The nurse clasped his shoulder and steered him firmly through the door. The doctor sighed and turned back to the group assembled around the chairs.
“I see you met ‘The Doctor’.”
Gumshoe stared back at her. “Doctor who?”
“Exactly.” She shoved her hands into her lab coat pockets. Beneath she was dressed like the male lead in a Tim Burton movie, black suit and strange tie and combat boots with a white shirt. Her hair was tied back in a low tail. Her voice was the deepest Gumshoe had ever heard coming from a woman; it sounded strange coming from such a small frame. “Is there a Mr. Phoenix Wright somewhere in this motley crew?”
“Yes.”
Trucy and Pearl stood aside. Phoenix was standing, staring hard at the doctor, hands in his pockets. She arched her eyebrows.
“Right, Mr. Edgeworth did say you’d look like a cross between a hobo and a college student.”
Maya barked with laughter at that. Phoenix gave her a flat look before turning back to the doctor.
“So he’s awake.”
“Yes, and he requested to talk to you before he goes in for surgery.”
Phoenix’s eyes widened slightly. “…surgery?”
“He has several broken bones that will require surgery to place, severe nerve damage where he dislocated his elbow, nail through his hand too close to the radial nerve to warrant removal in the emergency room.” Her eyes softened slightly as she beckoned to Wright. “He’s going to be fine. He’s a lucky bastard. Come on.”
Phoenix followed on her heels eagerly. Gumshoe sighed and turned back to Maggey, glanced at the other three girls.
“I’ll go investigate the crime scene.” He pressed his fingertips to Maggey’s lips as she started to protest. “Maggey, please. Just give me peace of mind. Sit this one out. All right?”
Maggey was pouting, glaring to the side with arms crossed, but any pouting on her part was a sign of concession. Gumshoe grabbed her shoulders and kissed her quickly on the forehead, murmuring that he loved her, and stopped to kiss his son on the forehead before backing out the door and yelling that he would be back soon. Maggey kept scowling after him, but Gumshoe could see that she was concerned.
“Try not to get yourself killed!”
----------------------------------
“Mr. Edgeworth is incredibly lucky.”
Phoenix was getting damn sick of hearing that. He just glared at Mask, or in her general direction; it wasn’t personal. She did not seem to notice. She had an odd habit of not making eye contact when she talked, always staring a little to the side.
“If I may speak plainly.” She stopped, glancing around. She and Phoenix were alone in the hallway. “Given that he fell three stories in a warehouse, I would expect his wounds to be far worse. I think his fall was broken by something, or somehow hindered.”
Phoenix just stared. Mask turned, facing him fully.
“He landed on all fours. You seldom see that in accidents. It means he had time to right himself, to orient himself. Most humans cannot react that quickly in freefall. It saved his life. If he had fallen on his back, or head-first, he would be dead. Or worse. Paralyzed, a vegetable.”
Phoenix’s stomach lurched sickeningly. Miles, beautiful, proud, brilliant, strong Miles, dead, paralyzed, a vegetable… He swallowed painfully.
“I’m going to go talk to the surgeon.” Mask grabbed the clipboard shelved in a clear slot outside the examination room door and opened the door slightly, nodded for Phoenix to go in. “I’ll be back. He’s doped up, so he may be a little loopy.”
Phoenix nodded. He did not realize how dry his tongue was until he had to wet it to be able to reply.
“Thank you, doctor.”
Mask nodded, waving her hand dismissively as though to say ‘Don’t worry about it,’ and disappeared behind a door marked ‘AUTHORIZED PERSONEL ONLY’. Phoenix sighed, steeling himself, and opened the examination room door further, stepped in, closed the door behind him.
His first thought was that he was damn glad Miles was ‘doped up’. The bile rose sharply to his throat, and it took all of his willpower to force it back down. The smell of antiseptic and blood was nauseating. As he walked forward slowly more of Miles’ wounds became evident. His bone was indeed sticking out of his leg, caught on the fuchsia fabric of his pants-Phoenix forced himself to look beyond it, to not focus on it-his shirt was bloody, the sleeves cut off. His right arm was twisted at a sickening angle, and a huge spar of wood was jammed into his forearm. Miles had his head resting to the other side, and Phoenix walked to that side of the table, pulling up a rolling chair.
Miles was staring at Phoenix dully, his pupils pinpricks. His cravat was sodden with blood, sticking to his neck. A cut under Miles’ eye had been stitched up with wet, brown thread; it was already bruising purple and red. His nose was smashed, stuffed with gauze and splinted on either side. His face was ashen with past agony, but had since smoothed, relaxed in relief. His skin was scoured with smaller cuts, since dabbed clean. He smiled crookedly.
“I’m afraid I’m not much to look at right now.”
Phoenix reached for his hand, on the verge of tears, but recoiled in horror; there was a huge nail driven through it, and his palm was cut to shreds. His wedding ring was soaked in blood. His eyes darted over Edgeworth’s torn body, looking for somewhere, anywhere to rest his hands, and finally set on his shoulder. Miles’ head dropped forward as though he were trying to nuzzle Phoenix’s hand, but he couldn’t quite reach; Phoenix moved his hand to his cheek, stitches rough on his palm. Miles turned his head awkwardly and kissed Phoenix’s palm.
“I can’t move anything else. They’ve given nerve blocks to all my extremities.”
The lump in Phoenix’s throat was raw, painful. He stroked Miles’ temple with his thumb, and his hand curled around the back of Miles’ head, cupping it, and he finally lost it, bowing his forehead against Miles’ and starting to cry brokenly.
Paralyzed. Vegetable. Dead.
Paralyzed. Vegetable. Dead.
‘He’s in a lot of pain, pal-he keeps calling for you-’
His tears splattered on Miles’ cheek, and he hissed through his teeth, whining, high-pitched, drawn out. The thought of Miles trapped at the bottom of a hole, in agony, asking for him in delirium when he couldn’t be there to comfort him, was too much. He buried his head in his hands and started sobbing brokenly.
The Goldberg Variations kept playing in his head.
“Phoenix…” Miles said softly. “I’m okay. Everything’s okay.”
Phoenix shook his head furiously, moaning “No… no…” incoherently. This was all his fault. He knew somebody wanted to knock Miles off because they were getting too close to the truth, because they were gathering more evidence that pointed at Gavin. He desperately wanted to talk to Miles about Gumshoe’s observations-Miles was his best friend, his confidant, the best person to talk to about something like this-but he did not want to get him worked up or worried before his surgery.
“Really, Wright.” Though Phoenix did not look up, he could hear the disapproving look in Miles’ voice. “I knew you’d be in a state like this. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. Calm down.”
Phoenix was starting to hyperventilate. All of the emotion he had dammed up finally burst through, uncontrollable. He heard Miles sigh.
“Phoenix…”
“It’s my fault.” He gasped several times. “It’s my fault, it’s my fault, I’m so sorry, Miles, I’m so sorry, I’m so-”
He deteriorated into incoherent sobbing. He knew he looked a sight and was making a fool of himself, but he desperately needed this release. Miles sighed.
“You really haven’t changed at all. I’m the one lying here injured, and you’re the one who needs comforting.”
Phoenix’s voice hitched in shame. Miles was right, of course; this was beyond pathetic.
“Phoenix. Look at me.”
It took Phoenix a while to compose himself enough to look up. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand like a child. Miles sighed and shook his head, barely, haltingly. The gauze in his nose was edging red, soaking through with blood.
“This is not your fault.” He narrowed his eyes when Phoenix started to protest; it was amazing how stern and commanding Miles Edgeworth could be even when he was bloodied and broken and drugged to hell and back with painkillers. “You suspect foul play as I do. Gumshoe said that platform was sturdy. I-I had time to jump off. But I didn’t. I froze up. If I had kept my wits about me, I could have made it off. I should have tested it. I should have been more wary.”
“It’s too dangerous.”
“What is?”
“I can’t keep you involved in this, trying to nail Gavin, trying to get my badge back. This-” Phoenix’s eyes moved over Edgeworth’s torn body, and he felt sick again. “-isn’t worth it. I’d lose a hundred badges, a thousand, I don’t care; they aren’t worth anything next to you.”
“You’re awfully quick to make assumptions, Wright.” Phoenix was sure if Miles could move, he would be wagging his finger at him like he did every time he said something stupid in court. “I’ve put a lot of people away over the years. A lot of people would want to knock me off.”
“Miles, come on; you know damn well-”
“Shhh.” Edgeworth smiled weakly at him. “I know, Wright. Please don’t get worked up now. I don’t want to worry about you in whatever anesthesia-inspired dream I’m about to have. I’d rather remember you smiling. So smile.” He smirked. “It takes a lot more than falling three stories to take me away from you.”
“…I can’t imagine losing you, Miles.” Phoenix stroked his hair again. It was sweat-soaked, bloody. His vision was blurring with tears again. He closed his eyes, and tears rolled down his cheeks. “I can’t-I-”
He started crying again, bowing his head over Miles’. He sniffed, hard. His throat burned when he talked.
“I love you so much.” He kissed Miles clumsily on the temple, stroked his hair away. “You’re my entire world. You’re my heartbeat; you’re in the marrow of my bones and under my skin-and-if I lost you-I wouldn’t be able to go on.”
He kissed Miles again, again, softly, stroking his hair, taking care not to lean on his broken body. He desperately wanted to grab him, to hold him close, feel him breathing, feel his heart beating, feel him alive, alive, still with him. He whispered “I love you” brokenly over and over into his skin, still crying, kissing softly, madly, not caring that he was dripping tears and mucus. Miles tilted his head slightly, just enough to kiss Phoenix on the side of the neck.
“Phoenix.” Miles’ lips stayed against his skin, weak, clumsy, whispering. The splint on his nose was cold on Phoenix’s cheek. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. Every time in the past I pushed you away, stupid, cowardly-I was realizing how much I loved you. I’ve loved you my whole life, from the moment I met you. Your warmth reached me over oceans and time and through cruelty and lies. I know-I’m not always good at showing it. But every second of every day I’ve loved you. You’re my heartbeat too. And even if all the forces in heaven and hell tore me away from you, I would always be with you.”
Phoenix pulled back to stare into Miles’ eyes. They were clouded with dull pain and drugs, but sincere. He smiled sadly, wiping tears from his eyes.
“I hope that’s not the drugs talking.”
Miles laughed quietly. “They help loosen my tongue, but I assure you, these are the thoughts I have in my heart. Even when I don’t say them out loud. Even when the only way I know how to communicate them is to kiss you senseless, and hope you understand. When I’m sober words seem cheaper than actions. I don’t like to look like I doth protest too much.”
“Be cheap. Protest too much. Please.” Phoenix leaned down to kiss Miles’ torn lips softly, barely nipping, flitting his tongue between them. Miles responded weakly, nipping back. “Or should I drug you this much more often?”
Miles laughed quietly into his mouth and continued kissing weakly, mouth barely moving. Phoenix ran his fingers through Miles’ blood-matted hair and cradled his head, still kissing softly, tasting coppery blood on his lips.
None of this was new. Miles had told him this before. But every time he heard it, every time Miles articulated himself so fully, Phoenix’s heart ached to the point of tears. It was every word he had imagined hearing in his dreams, had wished for in his moments of sappiest fantasy, had never dared to hope for because in real life human relationships did not work out this perfectly. People changed, people moved on, and love lost its luster. Nobody stayed in love after years and years of separation, after that much maturation and change away from each other, anywhere outside a Harlequin romance. The people you loved in youth, you always lost. There was always that one who got away. And it was okay; people moved on. And everybody thinks they’re the exception to the rule, but they discover as they mature that they are not, that everyone else has felt the very same way.
These were the shields he had placed over his heart in the guise of maturity. But Miles pierced through them. For all that Miles was a neurotic, condescending, finicky, overly-serious, argumentative, insensitive jackass, he was the light of Phoenix’s world. And now that he was old enough to understand how utterly they had beaten the odds, it was all the more precious to him.
Miles finally dosed off, breathing in and out of Phoenix’s mouth rhythmically, and Phoenix brushed his hair out of his eyes, kissing his temple and closed eyelids sporadically. He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive. The door opened, and Phoenix turned as Mask and another doctor walked in, the latter pushing a fresh gurney and closing the door behind him. Mask had one hand in her pocket, the other clutching a sheaf of papers loosely by her side, leaning against the counter nonchalantly. The other doctor wheeled the gurney parallel to the table on which Edgeworth was currently stretched out.
“All right,” she said. “As you’re Mr. Edgeworth’s spouse you function as the next of kin, and he can’t use his hands, so you’ll have to sign some pre-op papers.” She briefly held up the papers in her hand. “I’ll discuss the details of the procedure with you. Let’s go ahead and sign this one so we can start with the anesthesia.”
Phoenix was reluctant to leave Miles, but he untangled his hand from his hair and walked to the counter, glancing over the consent form quickly. It was a bunch of medical jargon he did not understand, the usual clause about not suing for malpractice, pretty benign. Whatever. He just wanted the doctors to start helping Miles now. He signed and printed his name, dated it, and walked back to Edgeworth’s side. He was awake.
“Come, now.” Miles smiled weakly. “Don’t make a scene. Just let the doctors operate so we can get this over with. And sign whatever they need you to sign, and don’t cluck over me too much. Whatever they want to do to me is probably necessary.”
Phoenix wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
“You’re an ass.”
“I know.”
Phoenix threaded his hand through Miles’ hair and gave him one last, soft kiss. He touched his forehead to Miles’ and whispered “I love you,” to which Miles smiled and whispered “You too,” in response. Phoenix gave him one last kiss, one last nuzzle, and stood, sighing, putting his hands in his pockets. The anesthesiologist had been looking away awkwardly with the air of a straight guy unused to watching two men kiss, but turned professionally as soon as Phoenix stood.
“All right, then, Mr. Edgeworth. I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut those clothes off.”
“They’re beyond repair anyway,” said Miles. “By all means, doctor.”
“Come on.” Phoenix jumped a little; he had not heard Mask sneak up next to him. She walked toward the door. “Let’s look at the rest of this boring legal shit. Mr. Edgeworth is going to be perfectly fine.”
“Are you-” He pulled himself away from the sight of the anesthesiologist setting up an IV and piercing the crook of Edgeworth’s arm with a needle and followed Mask out the door. “-are you the surgeon?”
“Nope. I just give the orders. Diagnostics. Dr. Stiles is taking care of that one. He’s quite capable.”
Mask opened the door to the waiting room. The entire party but Detective Gumshoe was still there, Maggey dozing stretched out on two chairs, swollen belly rising and falling, glasses falling down her nose, Pearl and Trucy playing with a now-awake Toby, pushing painted wooden beads along coiled, color wire tracks embedded on either end in plywood, and Maya was staring off, lost in thought. She looked up as soon as the emergency room doors opened and trotted over, hovering.
“How is he?”
“He’s fine. He’s going into surgery.” Maya’s eyes widened at that, but Phoenix patted her shoulder reassuringly. “He’s going to be fine. Dr. Mask and I are going to discuss the procedure for a bit. I’ll tell you guys what’s going on after.”
Maya nodded and stared at Phoenix for a moment. He knew he looked horrible, eyes red, probably had blood on his face or hands. She gave him a fierce hug and went to play with Toby and the girls. Toby had grown bored with the beads already, and Trucy was trying to get him to pick a card out of her hand, for all that Pearl was protesting that Toby was too young to understand card tricks.
Mask and Phoenix settled side-by-side on a couch in front of a low coffee table, started going through the papers she had with her. She commented that a lot of the doctors hated working on attorneys of any persuasion, given the rampant nature of malpractice suits in the past half-century, to which Phoenix just shrugged awkwardly and messed with his cap. Being called an ‘ambulance chaser’ was, in the past, a good way to turn him livid and indignant with disgust-for all that it was a generic insult to throw at any attorney-but he read nothing further into her offhand comment.
The photocopies of Miles’ x-rays were sickening. Mask pointed over the multiple break points with a pen, indicated the leg x-ray showing the shattered bone jutting through his leg. He had cracked several ribs, and was damned lucky he did not suffer a punctured lung. His right elbow was dislocated; the ligament was torn. Several bones in his palms and the balls of his feet were cracked. His wrists and ankles were shattered and would require re-setting and a graft with a synthetic bone derivative; in the past, this would have required extensive screwing. His nose was splinted in the x-ray-the gauze was stark-white, the metal splint glowing-but the articulation of the shattered bone was clear in the picture. The wooden spar was jammed almost to the bone; this would be removed in surgery, along with the industrial nail driven through his left palm. Again, Mask pointed out that Miles was insanely lucky; he was less than a millimeter from having pierced his radial nerve and losing function in his hand. Other lacerations would be stitched and cleaned, of course. They would check carefully for any internal bleeding or tearing they may have missed. The surgery should take hours, just given how exhaustive the list was of things to fix, but was standard procedure otherwise, minimal risk to the patient’s long-term health. After Phoenix had signed the relevant papers Mask recommended that he go get himself a nightcap, or at least go home and get some sleep; they would call him as soon as Miles was awake. He shook his head, insisting that he would wait here. Mask shrugged, saying that if he changed his mind, they would still contact him, and disappeared back through the emergency room doors. He stared after her, at the closed doors, for an indeterminate amount of time, half-lucid, racing through memories.
“Daddy!”
Phoenix looked up. Toby was running toward the entrance with his arms outstretched, little sneakers squeaking at every step, and tumbled into Gumshoe, who swept him up in one arm and kissed him on the top of the head. Maggey had jerked out of her sleep at the sound of her son’s voice and straightened, pushing her glasses back up her nose. Phoenix stood and walked over as well. Gumshoe had collapsed gratefully in the chair next to Maggey, Toby still on his lap; as soon as he sat down, Toby detached himself and ran back to the children’s area. Gumshoe let him go; though Pearl, Trucy, and Maya were all now crowding around him, the toys were in plain sight of the adults, and they could keep an eye on the little guy easily.
“I’ve got it, pal.” Gumshoe held up a manila folder triumphantly. His voice was rather loud, which was par for the course when he was over-excited. “Hard proof that somebody messed with that scaffold and tried to kill Mr. Edgeworth.”