samuraiprosecutor | [RL 23: "Take care of them, Edgeworth."; Phoenix, Edgeworth]

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Current Location: Hotti Clinic - Los Angeles, CA

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[RL 23: "Take care of them, Edgeworth."; Phoenix, Edgeworth]

((OOC: Taking place directly after this post to the community.))

At 3:00 am the halls of the Hotti Clinic were quiet; the Emergency Room hadn't been, of course, but the labyrinthine halls of the building's main areas (no place that size should be called a 'clinic') were almost completely silent and even more confusing than the idiots that kept directing him through them. He'd been sent in no less than three separate directions since leaving the ER, and by the time he'd found another reception desk he was breathless, tense, and his shoulders were aching.

He set his luggage down heavily in front of the desk, and glared at the receptionist who stared indifferently up at him. "I need to find a patient."

"Name?" Her voice was as bored as her eyes, which flicked to the screen of her PC.

"Wright, Phoenix."

Her fingers tapped slowly across the keys for a few moments. After an interminable pause she looked back up at him. "I'm not showing anyone by that name."

Frustration welled up in his chest. "Wright. There's a 'W' at the beginning. Unless 'right' is the part you're having trouble with, in which case I'd be willing to spell it out for you."

The receptionist's gaze turned venomous, and Edgeworth was making a monumental attempt to resist moving around the desk and looking the room number up himself when a new voice interrupted them. "Sir, did you say you were looking for Mr. Wright?"

Edgeworth turned to find a thin, middle-aged nurse standing in the hall behind him. A sudden tension gripped his muscles. "What condition is he in?"

"He's stable. He was suffering from hypothermia when the helicopter brought him in, but we've managed to bring his temperature up." She gave a smile Edgeworth assumed was meant to be reassuring. "We'll need to keep him under observation for a couple of days. He's developed a cold and fever, and we're administering antibiotics to treat his infection, but barring any unforeseen complications he should be fine."

Something clenched in his chest, released, then clenched again. The tension didn't leave his muscles. "What room is he in?"

"Oh, I'm sorry sir," her smile fell, "I can't let you in to see him. If you'd like to wait, our visiting hours--"

"I can't wait." His voice was heavy with command and carefully controlled frustration. The nurse's back immediately straightened and she stared up at him, her gaze suddenly hard.

"I'm sorry, sir, but our visiting hours ended hours ago."

"He wasn't in here hours ago," he snapped. "Is there anyone in this hospital who isn't completely incompetent?"

She replied with a coldly professional tone, "I'm sorry, sir. Visiting hours won't start again until 10. I can direct you to the nearest waiting room, but unless you're family--"

"I am."

"You're family?"

Suspicion was written clearly on her face. Fully aware of the complete lack of resemblance between Wright and himself, and equally aware that she'd have no way to prove him wrong, Edgeworth responded confidently, "Yes."

She studied his face for almost a minute, until her eyes widened comically. "Oh! Oh, I see."

"You--" His eyes widened in return as realization dawned on him. Heat rose to his face. His glare deepened dangerously, and he quite literally bit his tongue...but she'd presented him an opening, and Miles Edgeworth was never a man to pass up an opportunity. "His room number."

The nurse looked behind him to the receptionist, her expression desperate, but apparently found no help there. Finally she acquiesced. "I can give you a half hour. No more than that; he needs to rest. We can't have him overexerting himself." There was a clear warning in her tone; Edgeworth pointedly ignored it. He lifted his suitcase and followed the nurse without giving the receptionist another glance.

They walked down the hall in silence. Signs on the walls confirmed what his memory of Franziska's prior stay had already begun to indicate: they were entering the ICU. The muscles in his shoulders tightened.

As they reached Wright's room another nurse called the woman over; she left Miles standing before the plain wood door and glancing uncertainly down the hallway. Eventually he turned his attention back to the door. He gripped the knob tightly, but hesitated before opening it and slipping quietly into the room.

The room was small, with almost half of the available space devoted to the bed in the center and much of the rest taken up by monitors and machines. Miles shut the door behind him, set his suitcase on the floor, and stared across the room for several weighted minutes, tense and still. Finally, frowning, he crossed slowly to the bedside.

Wright was pale. An IV stood by his bed, with tubes snaking down to his arm, and he was buried in layers of blankets, but his breathing seemed even and his brow was unlined. Although the bizarre white hood adorning his head gave Edgeworth pause, Wright appeared to be fine. He was fine. The nurse had said as much, and, while Edgeworth had begun to doubt the competency of the staff in that place, the evidence was lying peacefully before him. Whatever moronic situation Wright had gotten himself into, he was going to survive it.

Caught by a sudden compulsion Miles tentatively raised his hand, hesitated for a moment, then curled his palm lightly around Phoenix's arm. His skin was heated but it was soft, solid, and very much alive. Phoenix was alive. Miles' grip tightened reflexively.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Phoenix could feel the heat of the flames from where he stood several feet away. In the background, a shout could be heard, but he was far too focused to make out what was being said. He only knew that it was a warning.

It didn’t matter. Fire or no fire, it was imperative that he made it to the other side of that mountain and that’s exactly what he intended to do.

Taking a deep breath, he darted toward the bridge and into the wall of smoke and ash despite poor visibility. His foot hit the first plank, the wood protested under his weight, and his heart skipped a beat in anticipation, but the board held surprisingly fast. Without second thought, he quickly moved on.

The next plank, however, found him pausing as a cough racked his body after he inhaled a thick cloud of smoke. He could feel the flames lick his sides; his skin burned and he was sure his clothes were singed, but those details were trivial in comparison to what might be happening in the Inner Temple. Perhaps foolishly, he pressed forward, intent on persisting even as the wind caused the bridge to sway violently. His anxiety would not deter him from the reassurance of Maya’s safety.

Unfortunately, he never quite made it to the third plank. With no resistance, the wood collapsed the moment his foot made contact and he suddenly, terrifyingly found himself completely weightless. There was hardly any time to consider what was going on as he fell; thoughts shot through his mind at the speed of light.

Was the river frozen? Was the water cold enough to kill him or would he hit something worse before he had the chance to find out? Would some kind of miracle occur?

His last thoughts were of Maya and the fear that his failure to reach her would somehow cost the spirit medium her life.

As he hit the water, he called her name, and then his eyes immediately flew open. It took several moments for his surroundings to swim into focus, but when they finally did, what he saw was not what he had expected to see. His eyes frantically darted around.

The skin under Edgeworth's hand jolted unexpectedly; he jerked away as if burned and stepped back from the bed, his pulse quickening. Glancing guiltily at Wright's face he found wide, slightly glazed eyes, darting around the room in confusion, the whites bright in the dim light. Wright's gaze slid over and past him, either not registering his presence or not seeing him, and Edgeworth stayed still, suddenly unsure of what to say.

It was a room, Phoenix realized—somewhat familiar, but only enough that it didn’t incite panic. He was vaguely aware of a series of steady beeps to his right and he turned his head (not without wincing; his neck was sore, his head throbbed, and the movement required considerable effort) to find a large machine displaying a green line: a jagged, green line, in fact, traveling up and down in a very common pattern.

A heart monitor. Was he…?

In a hospital. That’s right… If he recalled correctly, they had said something had happened, perhaps said that he’d fallen, although it seemed like they’d said many things in the span of what felt like only seconds to him that it was difficult to remember. He wondered if he’d been asleep while they were talking (it wouldn’t have been surprising if his drowsy state was any indication). Where would he have fallen from, though? And to land him in the hospital…

He turned his attention to the IV, staring for several seconds before his eyes wandered the length of the drip that ended with a needle in his arm. The sight caused a shudder which immediately gave way to a shiver, and he quickly looked away. Despite being hot—almost stiflingly so—he huddled further under the blankets that were piled atop him; they were blessedly warm and he allowed himself to savor the feeling with a sigh. He had been so cold before, he remembered. Shaking and chilled to the bone. He had never been so cold in his life. So cold because of the snow… and the water…

His eyes shot open again. Although his mind was working sluggishly, awareness slowly emerged through the haze and he recalled the bridge, the river below, and before that… a murder…?

Maya.

The beeps of the monitor noticeably quickened.

Edgeworth watched the display silently as the tension in his back and shoulders continued to build. When the incessant beeping of the monitor sped up, the change in tempo bringing it from the background to the forefront of his awareness, he glared at the machine as if he could intimidate it into a proper pace. The source of Wright's nerves was easily decipherable, evidenced by his wandering eyes and his reaction to the IV. It should have been reassuring; likely he had no idea that Edgeworth was there, let alone any recollection of what he'd been doing only moments before.

As it was, the man's apparent disorientation was disconcerting. Edgeworth studied him a few moments longer before clearing his throat (perhaps a bit too loudly) and saying softly, "Wright?"

The noise caught Phoenix off guard, causing him to jump slightly. He quickly (or as quickly as he could, given his current state) turned his head in the direction of the voice, squinting as he tried to stop his vision from jumping in and out of focus. Only after blinking several times did the figure finally stay still long enough for him to get a good look, although it took a moment to fully process what—or rather whom—he was seeing.

Realization dawned on him and he opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a squeak that flung him into a painful coughing fit. Each cough made his head throb incessantly (stabbing pains followed by an ache that pounded in time with his heartbeat—he wondered if he’d hit his head during his fall) and he couldn’t help the pathetic, whimpering moan that escaped him once they had finally subsided. In addition to a growing headache, the fit had brought with it another chill, and he hurriedly pulled the blankets up to cover his shoulders.

He turned his head again, still visibly confused. “Edgeworth?” His voice was hoarse.

The violent coughing startled Edgeworth, but he resisted (with some effort) the dueling instinctual urges to both move closer and retreat. He wondered for the first time what the man had actually done to himself; all prior curiosity on the circumstances of Wright's accident had been circumvented by a fear Edgeworth was already working to forget. The nurse's mention of hypothermia and an airlift would indicate the likeliest location was somewhere in the mountains, but she hadn't given anymore pertinent details and Butz had been no help.

Wright's voice, when he could finally use it, was painfully hoarse. Even as it grated on his ears, Edgeworth could feel some of his tension drain away at the sound. It had been months since he'd last heard... Edgeworth frowned. "Obviously."

Trying to concentrate on Edgeworth was only serving to worsen Phoenix’s headache, so he turned away and tightly closed his eyes in an effort to suppress the pain, but the attempt did little more than magnify it. He slid one of his hands out from under the covers and gently massaged the side of his forehead, trying to collect his thoughts.

Something akin to fear flared in Edgeworth's chest at the gesture, small but difficult to suppress. His brows knit together as he asked, too sharply, "What did you do to yourself?"

During his ministrations, Phoenix’s fingers came in contact with something covering his head. Curious, he pulled it off for examination and discovered it to be a white cloth, vaguely familiar… He was sure he’d seen someone wearing something like this fairly recently, but couldn’t quite place who.

It came to him the moment Edgeworth posed his question: Iris had given him the hood for protection and he’d held onto it even as he ran across the burning bridge to—

“Maya,” he suddenly said. He looked at Edgeworth again, trying not to focus too hard. “Did they get her?”

The response was unexpected, to say the least. The girl's absence hadn't struck Edgeworth until that point--she lived some distance away, and knowing Larry chances were good that she hadn't been contacted yet--but Wright's words and tone served to turn Edgeworth's concern to another target. "Get her from where?"

“The other side,” Phoenix explained, his words slow and somewhat awkward. The cool air in the room felt like ice against his skin, so he abandoned the hood in his lap and slid his arm under the blanket once more, trying to suppress a shudder. “At the Inner Temple. He- he might have crossed the bridge.”

Edgeworth frowned as he struggled with Wright's answer, trying and failing to piece together what little information he'd been given since the phone call that had started this fiasco. "It's reassuring to see that your ability to communicate hasn't suffered from your escapade."

After a moment of thought, Phoenix frowned back. “Huh?”

Edgeworth rubbed roughly at the bridge of his nose as unease and frustration crept through him. Tone sharp, he quickly replied, "Wright, what happened?"

Clearly perplexed, Phoenix stared at Edgeworth a moment longer before he finally tore his gaze away and looked up at the ceiling, seemingly unaffected by the other man’s tone.

What had happened? It was a complicated question for someone who still wasn’t quite sure himself. He closed his eyes, brows knitted together in concentration.

“There was a… a scream,” he recalled, speaking carefully, “about an hour after lights out. I went to call the police, but Maya was on the other side and I wanted to make sure she was safe. But the bridge… I…”

A temple in the mountains; a bridge with Maya apparently on the other side; a scream; the fall Larry had mentioned, coupled with Wright's hypothermia and fever (the effects of which he was obviously witnessing, and wasn't it in character for the man to become nearly useless at the most inopportune time)... Possible scenarios played across Edgeworth's mind, bringing with them a thread of ice that traveled through his gut and up his spine. He fixed Wright with an intense stare. "Why did you call the police?"

Phoenix’s frown deepened. “I- I didn’t. I told Larry to because… I had to get to Maya…”

Despite years of experience with interrogating witnesses, Edgeworth had to fight down another wave of frustration; the conversation was getting him nowhere. "You said Maya was on the other side of a bridge, and you feared she was in some sort of danger. The threat was related to the reason the police were called?"

Phoenix nodded slowly. “Elise Deauxnim was murdered.”

"And you just happened to be present." Obviously Wright's luck was running true-to-form. "Who is Elise Deauxnim?"

If there was any sarcasm in Edgeworth’s voice, it went undetected as Phoenix worked hard to piece his thoughts together.

“An author of, um…” He opened his eyes and peered at the wall across from him as if it would give him the answers. “Pictures. I mean, she wrote books for kids… with pictures. Pearls is a fan of her work.” As an afterthought, he added, “So is Larry.”

Larry's mysterious 'genius' was dead, then, and he'd somehow managed to drag Wright into the situation. At least the relative clarity of Wright's response was encouraging, though the subject matter was anything but. Murder, and Maya's safety unaccounted for...

Edgeworth cupped his elbow in his hand, resting his fingers lightly on his chin while he worked through his next questions. "Where did all of this take place? You mentioned a temple and a bridge, obviously a location in the mountains. Maya was in another area, and you attempted to reach her, fearing that she'd come in contact with the killer. You fell from the bridge?"

Phoenix shook his head as Edgeworth spoke. “I fell, but… What did you say before that? You… I can’t…” He sighed, becoming increasingly frustrated with himself and the energy required to think clearly. In an effort to focus, he gingerly sat up (it took a considerable amount of strength to accomplish—not only did every muscle in his body protest, but his mind seemed to want nothing more than for him to completely shut down), and he felt a chill coming on the moment the air hit his back. He was only somewhat successful in quelling it by quickly wrapping the blanket around himself.

He gazed at Edgeworth with what little determination he could muster. “Say that again. J-Just… slower.”

Exasperation warred with concern in Edgeworth's mind. It was clear Wright was struggling (and his impaired mental state was disconcerting on its own), but despite the effort he was putting into the conversation it wasn't enough. Maya might be in danger. Her absence was ominous, and they might be wasting crucial minutes. "Wright, where were you when this happened?"

“Hazakura Temple.” That part Phoenix was sure of, though his speech was still sluggish. He looked away, oddly ashamed. “For training. I- I mean… Maya was training in the Inner Temple when it happened. I was trying to sleep, but…” It had been difficult when the room he had stayed in was freezing, not to mention that his mind was preoccupied after his run-in with Iris…

He shook his head. “There was a scream in the courtyard.”

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