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He smells the blood before he sees Wright. Edgeworth’s sense of smell has always been sensitive, and this time was no different.
Still, he feels like a coward when he hides in the hallways of Defendant Lobby No. 3 as another man hits Phoenix square in the face.
That man is wearing a red suit, and Edgeworth remembers Wright vaguely mentioning him. The younger man was Kristoph’s former, he guesses now, apprentice. From the outside, it would be strange for a defence attorney to punch the client they just got off, but Edgeworth knows better.
Justice’s restraint is admirable, especially towards a man who could have very easily ruined his career before it had even begun. Miles wonders if he’s realised what else Phoenix’s stunt had done: Justice was now bound to Phoenix, permanently, and there was nothing he could do about it. For what Phoenix has done, for the way that he’s captured the other man—god, barely—in his web, violence is only appropriate.
It’s not easy to escape Wright. When that man had something in his sight, he was single-minded in his pursuit. That card is something that Wright could very much leverage over Justice’s head for the rest of the boy’s life—Edgeworth sees that Phoenix has finally found the pawn that they needed.
He doesn’t like thinking like that, but necessity is the mother of all invention. They—he and Phoenix both—have laid down the stonework, but they can’t be the ones that walk that path. Both he and Phoenix had eyes following them, and they weren’t just restricted to Gavin’s.
(After what he did to the Prosecutorial Investigation Committee, he knows the Bar Association is wary. They should be.
To what they did to the best man he’s ever known, they should be.)
But Kristoph’s no fool, and neither is he. It was downright dangerous for Wright to believe that no one would see the trick he pulled. Forgery—even though that's the very crime he wants to prove himself innocent of. If anyone managed to find out about that card and forbid trace it back to him, they would be in a lot of trouble indeed.
And still, as the sound of fist on face rings out, Wright doesn’t fight back, but he doesn’t apologize either. Justice leaves, rage stuck in his trembling hands, but he can’t afford to do more than he already has. He moves through the lobby doors, as if to escape as fast as he can. And despite that anger, Edgeworth can see it clear as day. Fear.
He doesn’t know how much research Phoenix had done on the life of Apollo Justice. There isn’t much on the police files he could get ahold of without raising suspicion. But damn it, Edgeworth can see himself in Apollo. An orphan, and one that was drawn to law in order to make sure that justice is served and order is upheld. Maybe, Edgeworth thinks a bit cynically, Justice is better than both of them. A man that values what he does, not motivated by any selfish desires.
(A man like that is hard to find, these days.)
Justice must have a strong arm, at the very least. Wright’s nose bleeds profusely, and he has a defiant look. He catches Edgeworth’s eyes from the outside and that glint—
He hates that look. Words couldn’t even begin to describe it; he wants—he wants to bash Wright’s face in, if it meant wiping that look away. Because that man was not Wright, not the man who saved him. No, this man was someone else, a stranger wearing Phoenix’s face, and a bitterness clogged his chest.
“I see that went well.”
“Fuck off, Miles. We both knew this had to be done. One of us had to do it—might as well be me…” Wright huffs out as he rubs the blood away with the back of his hand.
Edgeworth offers his handkerchief and, while Phoenix stares at him silently for a few moments, he ends up taking it.
“Aren’t you worried about me bleeding all over and staining it?”
“Would I have offered it if I was? Keep it if you like, Wright. Come to the Gatewater Hotel tonight, at seven pm sharp. You know which suite is mine. We have a lot of things to discuss, especially regarding how to move forward.”
A dark look passes through Phoenix’s eyes, and his gaze hardens.
“I’m not going to say sorry or offer my condolences or whatever else you want, Miles. I saw Kristoph trying to pull the same bullshit he always does, and I tried my best to take advantage of a bad situation.” Phoenix says wryly, as if he didn’t just stand trial a few hours ago, “You know how it is—two birds, one heavy, heavy stone.”
“Wright. This place is far too open for us to talk here.” Miles pushes the former defense attorney slightly, trapping him in a corner of the lobby. Despite his words, the lobby is empty save for a few guards—who were likely more concerned with when their shifts end—but it never hurts to be cautious.
Wright stood tense, clearly expecting Edgeworth to chastise him, but that was not Miles’s intention. Not at all.
The other man looks at him coolly, an unfamiliar air of detachment surrounding him. Even this, Miles cannot deny. Wright’s inexplicable action—
“It was not—what you did will have consequences,” Edgeworth slips a hand around the back of Wright’s neck, past his beanie, sliding his hand against his hair to cradle the back of his head. He feels the cold chain that Wright stole from Engimar and the slight shiver that goes through Wright.
‘Justice’ was not something that could be trusted toward the corrupt system that surrounds them anymore. Truth was the only thing that mattered, and as long as they both knew it, Miles was willing to look the other way.
“No—but it was remarkable,” he sighs, reining in all the other words, praise and disapproval both, because Edgeworth knows Wright wants a reaction, and he’s already given the other man too much. “No, I can’t deny that. No matter how hard I try.”
He can’t help but brush his fingers along the edge of Wright's dark, spiky hair, before it tapers off onto the nape of his neck.
“You never cease to surprise me, Phoenix.” Miles confides in a low voice against the side of Wright’s face, before he pulls back and puts a respectable distance between them again. Before he does, he traces his thumb along the edge of Wright’s collarbone. The other man has lost weight, but his skin is still as warm as ever. He wants to refuse it, and wants to continue acting otherwise, but for Phoenix he would give it up.
Edgeworth hopes that Phoenix sees that, that he knows that, for better or for worse, Miles would do whatever it took, to right this wrong.
Wright swallows, but he doesn’t break his eyes away from Edgeworth. His eyes are still the same brown from all those years ago, when Miles had protected him. So much has changed, but some things are still the same. It’s a balm to the swirl of emotions he feels, but he knows that they can’t keep going on like this. Something is bound to give.
“Send my regards to Trucy. I imagine she’s going to have a rough few months ahead of her, if Justice’s cases end up being anything like yours.”
“She’s almost got enough credits to pass this year. I’m sure she’ll be fine. She has at least a few more weeks before Justice comes crawling to the Agency anyway.” Phoenix breathes out, only slightly uneven, and Edgeworth has to suppress a smile. It’s not perfect, but Wright has developed quite a good poker face over these seven years. Time stops for nobody, and it has always been better to bend than break, he supposes.
“Let’s hope Kristoph doesn’t do anything drastic, then,” Edgeworth nods his farewells and turns away, but Wright’s hand rushes out to grab him.
“So that’s it? No lecture about how reckless that was, or the sanctity of justice and order, or fuck, Kristoph?” The words tumble out, like a cork popping off a bottle, and Phoenix takes a sharp inhale to control himself, ”You haven’t even told me why you’re in the country. Hell, last I heard, you should've still been tangled up in France over that tax evasion suit.”
Edgeworth looks at Wright from the corner of his eyes, suppressing an unpleasant laugh, “Does it matter? There’s no point in giving out advice you won’t heed.”
“Edgeworth—”
“I’ll see you tonight, Wright.”
Miles does not tell him how, once more, Larry had to be the one to inform him about Wright’s situation. He feels that bitterness again, but he doesn’t push it down. Some things have to be done. Someone has to do it. That’s the way of the world. He will drag Wright—and LA, the precious law that has sunken into a depravity that is hard to comprehend and even harder to stand—into the light, kicking and screaming, if that is what it will take.