Chapter Text

Miles Edgeworth put on the cranial they'd given him, following the instructions of the Second Class Petty Officer Air Crewman leading him and the other passengers in instructions. This flight was going to be packed.

He'd arrived in Naples only a few hours ago and was still groggy from a long flight on the rotator from Norfolk. It felt like he'd been traveling for weeks, even though he'd departed less than two days ago.

This wasn't his first time overseas—Miles had spent more than ten years of his life in Germany—but this was his first time underway. He hadn't even landed yet and he was already ready to go back.

The Air Crewman was now explaining what they would do should they have to bail over water. She showed them every strap on their life vests and what to pull to inflate it, to turn on the rescue beacon… Miles wanted to board that funny little plane less and less.

"Make sure you wait until you get out of the plane before activating your floatation device," she said.

If that plane crashes into the ocean, we're all going to drown...
These vests are only a safety blanket.

He was starting to sweat in his cranial. He was nervous about this flight, or maybe it was the heat.

They'd sat in the over-crowded terminal for nearly four hours. Apparently the next leg on the rotator had been delayed. So those of them headed to the Aircraft Carrier, Miles included, were eventually picked up by the ship's beach det and brought to the military airfield to catch the COD to the ship.

It was pretty hot. Miles stared at the asphalt beneath his feet wishing he could sit. One of the other men in the group was on his cell phone talking to his wife or girlfriend or whatever. You'd think he was headed to a warzone and not one of the Navy's state of the art super carriers—the way he was simpering to her, or him, or whatever. The concrete of the airstrip glittered over bright in the sun and after a glance in that direction Miles was forced to close his eyes and point his head toward the ground, blinking against the glare.

"Hey Miles," the girl said, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he shook his head and blinked, "I just did something stupid."

He smiled sheepishly at her. She'd told him her name was Kay, after he'd introduced himself as Miles. They'd met in Norfolk while waiting for the flight that brought them to Naples. They sat together on the flight as well—neither of them knew anyone else—and Miles had found her pleasant to talk to. Except when the plane stopped in the Azores to refuel. That's when she'd admitted to him that she was a seaman just leaving 'A' school and headed to her first duty station.

Her situation was not quite so different than his—except he'd left the Naval Justice School as a Lieutenant Junior Grade. In the few short years he'd been a Naval Officer, it had already been properly impressed upon him that Lieutenants don't make friends with Seamen.

But he was only talking to her, right? It didn't mean anything, right? What if someone was watching them?

Miles rubbed his eyes and tapped his foot while the wait dragged on.

"Hurry up and wait, right?" Kay said, "That's what the military is all about."

Miles smiled lightly at that and bit the inside of his lip—he certainly wasn't going to encourage her.

"Okay everyone line up," the Air Crewman clapped her hands at the group and then pointed at him, "Are you Lieutenant Edgeworth?"

Miles nodded, surprised that he was being called out.

"Sir, I need you to get to the back of the line."

Miles complied just catching Kay's reaction at learning that her newfound friend was an officer. She looked a little angry and utterly disappointed.

The group was led single file to the ugly little plane. Both props whirred and the last of their luggage was being loaded and secured. Miles watched the other Air Crewman toss bags of mail and boxes haphazardly into the hold. It was a little disconcerting to watch.

They entered the plane from the back, walking up a ramp under the tail and filling the forward-most seats first until they reached the very aft of the plane. The seats faced the tail though and Miles ended up sitting in the very front (or back) with the ramp gaping in front of him.

They didn't have to wait long for the Air Crewmen to finish their checks and join the passengers in the seating area. Miles frowned at the ramp as it was raised, the mechanism for raising and lowering it was somewhere near the bulkhead he was sitting beside and it was terribly loud.

The plane itself was loud in every way. Military planes did not have soundproofing material on the bulkheads and the cabin was not pressurized. The only saving grace on this flight was the fact that they would taxi and take off like a normal plane, and not be catapulted like they would've been off of the carrier.

Despite the heat, then the sudden and severe cold, then the heat again; and the loudness of the plane, Miles managed to doze off. The flight was short, only about forty minutes and Miles awoke as soon as he felt the descent. Suddenly the tires hit and the plane stopped. Odd. No rolling to a stop, just the bump and sudden stop. Miles let out a sigh of relief—though the flight was not as bad as he'd expected it to be.

They filed out of the COD just as they had boarded and the plane's crew directed them to stand on the flight deck in a group not far from the plane, but near enough to be identified as the newly arriving passengers. No one was allowed to remove their cranial. One by one their luggage was passed along a chain of people until each piece reached its owner. It was actually very efficient, Miles thought as he watched, doing his part when he needed to. When his seabag got to him he slid it onto his back as quickly as he could so as not to disrupt the chain.

The same female Air Crewman led them away from the COD and across the flight deck. Miles noted with much apprehension how the ocean seemed to sit right there—so close to where they were walking. The flight deck itself was awash in activity, with personnel in yellow or green vests directing planes and helicopters. They passed through an area with several sailors wearing red shirts and vests. Miles realized anxiously that they were also passing through stacks of missiles and other ordinance.

When they reached the catwalk at the edge of the flight deck, Miles caught himself holding his breath. The ocean was gray and churning and he'd never seen it so close—not like this. This wasn't like standing on a beach or a pier—this was the open sea. Here the water was treacherous and unknowable. Here there was no land in sight.

They made their way along the metal floors of the catwalk and down several rickety stairs. He could see the ocean beneath their feet, at least seventy feet below. He kept his hands on the guide rails squeezing much harder than he had to.

Once they entered the small heavy hatch that served as the door into the ship, the line of people followed along a narrow corridor and into a small waiting area with the letters ATO stenciled on the metal hatch. Miles looked around nervously—he was going to get lost in this giant can—already the size of it was overwhelming.

"Mister Edgeworth?"

Miles was relieved to hear his name without having to wait too long. He pulled off the cranial and shook the Chief's hand.

"MAC Gumshoe," the big Chief said, "Your sponsor couldn't make it, but since we're in the same department, I thought I could at least get you out of ATO."

"I'm grateful Chief," Miles said. He had to take off his bag to remove the life preserver. The cranial and the vest were handed back to the Air Crewman and Miles picked up his seabag.

"I'll take that for you, sir," Gumshoe said and grabbed it away from Miles before he could answer. Chief shouldered the sea bag and led him out of the ATO space and back into the corridor. Miles saw most of the others he'd flown in with waiting in the passageway. Kay was among them, sitting on her own seabag. She frowned slightly at him as he passed.

They exited through another hatch into a wider longer corridor filled with people. There were several rooms off of the corridor, most of them decorated with command symbols for varying squadrons of varying platforms.

"Make a hole!"

The shout came from up ahead and Gumshoe and the other personnel in the passage moved close against the wall. Except for Miles, who was thoroughly confused. He barely had time to register the sudden change in momentum when several men in green flight suits carrying backpacks or helmet bags pushed through the corridor heading in the direction from which Miles and Gumshoe had just come. The third guy in the group slammed right into Miles.

"Hey, what's wrong with you?" The guy said, but he had a hand on Miles' arm to steady him. Miles was startled, but he had a good look at the uniform and was dismayed to see it was a pilot. Miles was still staring at the gold wings etched into the leather patch on the left side of his flight suit—the name underneath read: LT. Wright.

The pilot shoved Miles into the bulkhead, "Chief, is this your guy?"

Gumshoe glared at him, "Yes, sir."

Wright met Miles' eye for a moment and the arrogant expression on his face softened fleetingly. Miles blinked and Wright looked at Gumshoe again.

"You need to teach him what 'Make a hole' means," Wright turned to follow the other pilots, "and tell him to put on a uniform—this ain't a cruise ship."

Miles stared after the pilot, watching his garishly spiked hair disappear among the crowd. That was him. He'd been onboard less than ten minutes and he'd already run into—didn't he recognize me? Miles was frowning at the now vacant corridor and jerked in surprise when Gumshoe grabbed his arm, "we're almost out of here."

They continued forward—well, Miles had no idea what direction they were headed—until they reached the end of the corridor and Gumshoe opened a hatch to the right and they entered into a gloriously empty passage. Miles leaned against the bulkhead and rubbed his face while Gumshoe secured the hatch.

"Come on," Chief said, "Most of the Staff work down here. I'm taking you to admin, you can do some check in with the division. Your sponsor is coming to get you from there when she's done with whatever she got caught up in."

"Okay," Miles said.

"Are you hungry?" Gumshoe paused and met his eye. He had a very friendly face.

"Um," Miles said—he hadn't eaten since before the rotator landed in Naples—but the COD; the noise; the encounter with that pilot… It kind of left him reeling.

"Tell you what, I'll get you a boxed nasty and you can eat it when you want to," Gumshoe grinned and slapped Miles on the shoulder, "Come on, no one likes it when you loiter in the P-ways."

The Staff Admin consisted of a makeshift office with three computers and a television on one wall. There were at least ten people sitting around. A couple of them looked up when Miles entered with the Chief.

"This the new JAG," Chief told the woman sitting at the largest desk. She glanced at Miles once before digging into her desk to pull out some of the ubiquitous stream of forms required when doing anything in the Navy.

"Lieutenant Edgeworth?" the woman at the desk smiled curtly at him, "Do you have your orders?"

He took a moment to dig in his pockets before handing her a folded stack of papers.

"I can stamp it here," she said, "Just so we have an accurate time, but you still need to bring these down to ship's admin as well. Your sponsor will bring you down there today."

Miles nodded and took back his orders after she'd stamped them and annotated the date and time and then received another stack of papers from the woman.

"I need you to fill out the top two sheets, sir," she met his eye this time and smiled sweetly at him, "I'm YN1 May, if you need to find me for anything else."

Miles stared around at the others in the room; they were all enlisted. None of them seemed eager to make eye contact with him, so he turned back to the papers in front of him. He soon fell into focus filling out the forms, studying the other papers she'd handed to him. Someone knocked—or rather banged—on the hatch and then let himself in.

Miles didn't recognize the man, another Lieutenant, but the man grinned at Miles with a mischievous and wolfish grin.

"Is that Miles Edgeworth?"

"Yes..." Miles looked at him quizzically. The Lieutenant grinned again.

"I don't recall that we've ever met, Lieutenant…?"

"Lang," the guy grinned, "And we haven't, but your sponsor is my BFF—"

He laughed at his own words and Miles frowned at him.

"Well?" Lieutenant Lang said, suddenly serious, "Are you going to be done here soon? Or should I come back?"

Miles looked at YN1 before handing her the forms she'd asked him to fill out. He turned back to Lieutenant Lang, "I'm finished."

"Good," Lang put a hand on is shoulder and pulled him along, "Come on, I really need to get you to your rack so you can put on your uniform—that little bow-tie is just too…"

"What's wrong with my—"

"Just—! Don't ask too many questions and try to keep up," Lang said.

He turned down another corridor and opened the hatch to reveal a ladder well going down several levels. Lang gave him a dark look and grinned at Miles before taking the ladder in front of them. He grabbed the rails and lifted his legs so he could slide using only his hands. Miles' eyes widened in surprise and he started to follow the man as best he could. They weren't really stairs—they looked like stairs—but they were steep and the steps narrow.

Lang was obviously much practiced and very comfortable with these ladders. Miles managed to keep up reasonably well for three levels, at the fourth level down he slipped and fell backward tumbling down the rest of the way on his seabag. He knocked his elbows and knees as he went and he was certain he was going to have bruises from this. Lang only paused for a moment and laughed at him.

When they arrived in berthing, Miles was relieved to find the corridor wide and clean. The officers living in each stateroom had their names on the doors. The heads were labeled "male" and "females only". Miles wondered if that implied women could use the male heads as well.

Lang stopped at one of the stateroom doors. Miles felt the hair at the back of his neck stand up when he saw his name written as LT. EDGEWORTH/JAG right underneath LT. LANG/OEM DIVO. Lang opened the room and pulled Miles inside.

"What do you think?" He spread his arms and grinned at Miles. There were two racks stacked one on top of the other and a few locker spaces and a desk built into the wall and concealing yet more storage. Based on a few small photos taped to the wall, Lang had already claimed the bottom rack. Miles frowned at the pipes and lagging above the top rack.

"We're going to share a stateroom?"

"You are not special," Lang glared at him, "You don't get your own room."

Miles frowned at him and set down his bag. He knelt beside it to dig for his uniform, and pulled one set out secured in a packing cube and then dug out his boots. Lang was watching him intently.

"Wow," Lang said, "You're the only person I've ever met that managed to organize a seabag."

Miles pulled out another cube full of blue tee shirts and got out one neatly rolled shirt. He put whatever he didn't need back in his bag and then picked up his bundled uniform items.

"I don't suppose I might shower first?"

"What? We don't have time—you can do that later," Lang said.

Miles frowned, "Fine."

He started to unbutton the shirt he was wearing. Lang was staring at him nonchalant in the small space of their room. Miles paused.

"Um," he said, "Would you be so kind?"

Lang shrugged at him.

"Please step out so I—"

"Really?" Lang grinned at him, "Are you embarrassed, pretty boy? Or just shy?"

"I'm—"

"Just hurry up and stop stalling," Lang turned to the wall at least, "You should be used to this by now."

"Um no," Miles said, "I wasn't aware that I'd left civilization."

"Really Edgeworth? How on earth did you survive the Academy?"

"I didn't go to the Academy."

"OCS?"

"I was a Direct Appointment. I only went to ODS."

Lang sniggered, "That explains so much—do yourself a favor and keep that on the hush hush."

Miles did his best to dress quickly glancing toward Lang every now and again to make sure he was still looking away.

"Well," Lang said, "Lawyer Boy, how long were you practicing before you decided to 'Go Navy'?"

"Long enough," Miles bent to put on his boots and lace them up, "I'm not sure how I feel about prescribed haircuts, but I know my way around the courtroom."

Lang laughed aloud and looked at Miles, "And you're cocky about it… I think we'll get along just fine, Lawyer Boy."

Miles finished blousing his pants and then stood grabbing his blouse off of his rack. Lang looked him up and down and grinned.

"You almost look like the real thing," He laughed.

Miles smirked at him, "Almost?"

"Come on," Lang said and opened the door, "I'll take you to the mess—you look like you need a sandwich."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Miles followed Lang into the p-way and they turned toward the Wardroom Mess.

Lang just laughed at him.

"I can't help it if this Aquaflage is unflattering," Miles said as he slid on his blouse and buttoned it.

Lang led him back to the ladder well, this time running up the ladders. Miles must've hit his shin on every other step and his knee on the ones he'd missed with his shins. When they reached the O-3 level Lang paused to wait for Miles. Miles got to the top of the ladder and paused to catch his breath—his eyes watered a little from the pain of banging his legs on the metal steps.

The mess was nearly deserted as it had already been secured from lunch. Lang pushed Miles into a chair and went to the galley to bother one of the CS's working there.

Several moments later he returned with two white cardboard boxes. He set them on the table in front of Miles and sat down.

Miles stared at him, unsure of what to do. Lang grinned and started digging into one of the boxes. He pulled out a cellophane wrapped sandwich and a mealy little apple. Miles continued to stare. Lang paused and shoved the other box toward him.

"Come on, eat," Lang said, "I have to get you to Cali and then I've got to get back to my shop."

Miles examined the contents of his box with a frown and pulled out his sandwich, "You mean Lieutenant Yew?"

Lang chuckled at him, his cheek bulging with sandwich.

"She's going to love you," Lang said, "You're even better than we could've guessed from your e-mails."

Miles frowned at him and ate his lunch.

Lang took the ladders at a much more reasonable pace—either he felt sorry for Miles or he'd only rushed earlier to show off to the new guy. The Flag Admin office was located in an area set apart by blue tiling. There were curtains in some areas to prevent enlisted below E-7 from entering those passages.

The space was wide and open—rare on a ship, but it was crowded with desks, supplies, and what seemed like industrial odds and ends.

Lieutenant Calisto Yew, had been assigned as Miles' sponsor almost three months ago. They'd been corresponding via e-mail during that time, but Miles hadn't known what to expect. Evidently, she hadn't either—her stare was locked onto him so hard he started to feel like hiding.

"Miles Edgeworth," she said. It was neither a question nor a greeting. In fact, her voice was so flat Miles didn't know what to say.

Eventually he settled for, "Calisto Yew."

Lang looked from Miles to Yew and grinned, "Shi-long Lang."

Lieutenant Yew cleared her throat, "Welcome aboard Edgeworth, we are pleased to have you. You're the first JAG we've had on board since our first deployment."

Miles raised an eyebrow. Yew looked at Lang.

"I'll see you tonight?" she said.

"Yeah, I have to get going," Lang winked at Miles and left.

"So," she was still staring hard at him, "What do you think so far?"

"I don't know how I'll get all the way back to berthing," Miles said, "In fact I have no idea where I am right now."

She stared at him blankly for several long moments then she let out a funny snort. She had to cover her mouth and turn away from him slightly as she sank into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. Miles stared at her and raised an eyebrow.

"Lieutenant Yew?"

Chapter Text

Lieutenant Phoenix Wright swaggered through the p-way with the rest of his team as they made their way into the ready room. He was wearing his flightsuit with a bright yellow shirt underneath that seemed to flash against the olive drab of the flightsuit—that's how the VAQ stood out among the other fighter squadrons in their carrier wing.

They'd just returned from a patrol over the Levant. It had been uneventful, and therefore a success. A boring watch is a good watch. Still, the flight left him tired and withdrawn—maybe a little hypoxic too.

In the ready room, he dropped himself into one of the large leather chairs bolted to the floor in the center of the room. He ran a hand through his garishly spiked hair—yeah it pushed the limits of regulation—but this is who he was so get used to it.

His EWO, Lieutenant Butz sat beside him reading a newspaper dated from six months ago. The Growler squadron had flown with the fighters, providing surveillance support and the capability to utilize electronic counter measures should the need arise. They were kind of the newest thing and that made them stand out. He leaned his head to one side and stared intently at the commander as he debriefed their latest mission.

"Nick, look at this, Kiyance Parker is nominated for a Golden Globe for—"

"That paper is six months old Larry," Phoenix said, as he took off his nomex gloves and played with them in his hand.

"It's news to me," Larry said, "I'm glad she's doing well while I'm out—"

"Aw come on!" Phoenix said and rolled his eyes—Larry insisted he'd been dating the actress since just before they'd left on deployment.

"She loves me, Nick," Larry said, "I'm glad she's managed to keep it together while I'm out here."

Phoenix gave Larry a sidelong stare while the Commander droned on in front of the room. Larry was smiling goofily at the paper and thoughts of his imagined paramour.

"Whatever, Nick," Larry smirked at him, "You're just jealous."

Phoenix raised his eyebrows at him in mock surprise, "Jealous of your fake girlfriend?"

Larry made a noise at him and mumbled something about true love surviving in the face of cynical lonely old men. Phoenix frowned. He wasn't old or cynical...

When they were released, Phoenix and Larry walked together to secure their things in the squadron's work center. Then they made their way toward berthing with very little to say and something of a sober mood around them.

"What time are you going to chow?" Larry asked.

Phoenix shrugged, "Late, I guess."

"Okay," Larry let him pass as they went through a hatch and dogged the heavy metal door behind them, "I guess I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow."

Phoenix only nodded in reply.

Inside their stateroom, Larry stripped off his flight suit and grabbed his toiletry kit, "I'm going to the head, Nick—you?"

Phoenix shook his head, "I was supposed to meet Armando in the hangar bay."

Larry shook his head, "I don't know why you do these things to yourself."

Phoenix slid out of his flight suit and dragged on a pair of PTU shorts. He left his VAQ tee shirt on and grabbed a towel and his water bottle. He secured the room before he left—picking up Larry's things as well. It was better to make a habit of this.

The berthing corridor was blessedly empty and Phoenix sighed as he made his way out and down toward the hanger bay. He rather felt that a nap might be in order.

Armando was his mentor—so to speak. The Commander had logged an incredible amount of flight hours in his career, flying combat missions in support of multiple operations. He flew strike—a real fighter pilot—and had seen more action than any other pilot onboard. He was practically a legend. Phoenix had met very few men he'd wanted to emulate, and Diego Armando was one of them.

The Commander was past his prime—as far as pilots go—and he was being groomed for command. He would still fly, but only to maintain his flight status—it was time to make room for younger guys. Just don't tell him about this out loud.

Despite the glowing respect Phoenix had for his mentor, he could always admit to some measure of apprehension when meeting him. You don't get a rep like Commander Armando without rubbing some people the wrong way. Such was the nature of these things.

In the ladder well it was relatively quiet—it must have been bingo night or something, because usually there were at least a few people around. Phoenix didn't see anyone as he made his way below decks. But as he descended from the O-2 level to O-1, he almost ran smack into a guy starting up the ladder well. Usually, members of the crew got out of his way, but this guy seemed like he didn't know what he was doing. He looked up at Phoenix and Phoenix's eyes went wide.

It can’t be...

The eyes he was staring into were gray, the face almost forgotten, but so familiar he found himself caught in the bead of that stare. But then, Miles Edgeworth was also a stupidly good-looking guy—even in the unflattering blue shorts and bright yellow shirt of the PTU. Miles' shins were very bruised—for some reason Phoenix found that a little endearing.

It’s him...

"Excuse me," Edgeworth said and backed down, so Phoenix could finish climbing down the ladder. Without any other sign of recognition he moved past Phoenix and started up the ladder.

"Wait," Phoenix turned where he stood.

Edgeworth stopped where he was but did not turn to look at him.

"It's really you," Phoenix said.

"Yes."

"What—? What are you doing here?"

Edgeworth looked up in the direction of the deck above before backing down the ladder. He glared angrily at Phoenix—was he angry? Maybe he just looked that way. Phoenix was shaking his head; he couldn't believe his eyes.

"I have orders here, if you must know," Edgeworth glared at him, "Don't bother trying to act friendly now, I saw you several weeks ago—the day I checked in. You looked right at me and walked away."

Phoenix raised an eyebrow, "You're in the Navy? What? How?"

"Why shouldn't I—," Edgeworth said, "It was good enough for you, wasn't it?"

"Yeah but Miles," Phoenix said, "What about law school and everything you—"

"I finished law school," Edgeworth said, "I even practiced for a few years back home."

"Then what? You just left it all and joined the Navy? What the hell?"

Edgeworth glared hard at him for several dragging moments, "Sounds familiar, doesn't it, Wright?"

"I didn't really have anything else going for me," Phoenix was startled at his own defensive tone, "You were going to be a lawyer..."

"I'm a JAG—I'm actually the Staff Judge Advocate for this strike group."

Phoenix frowned at him, "How long have you been in the Navy?"

"Two—almost three years now," Edgeworth said, "I had to beg to come out here—I can't tell you how much I hated that nor how much I regret it."

"I don't regret it," Phoenix said Edgeworth rolled his eyes at him.

Phoenix grinned a shy crooked grin and put a hand on each of Edgeworth's shoulders, "I can't believe it."

Edgeworth for once did not fight against him when he pulled him close in an embrace. Phoenix held him close and squeezed him—not wanting to let it stop. Hoping Edgeworth wouldn't pull away. He didn't pull away, but he didn't hug him back either.

When they separated, Edgeworth grabbed one of his forearms to hold him at bay, "I still haven't forgiven you this."

"Well, you're here now—so what's the point in—"

"I had other reasons as well," Edgeworth said, "So don't get it into your head that you've got some kind of hold on me…"

"I never thought I'd see you again," Phoenix shook his head, still in awe of seeing him. Six years hadn't changed him much—he'd filled out some and the prescribed haircut was a glaring change—but he was pretty much still the same.

"Yes, well," Edgeworth paused to hitch his shorts, "The world isn't so large as one would think."

Phoenix laughed and shook his head in awe, "Just think about it. Of all the billions of people in the Navy and all the ships on the sea, we run into each other here. On this ship!"

Edgeworth frowned at him, "There aren't billions of people in the Navy. I'd say the Navy is sitting at just over a quarter million sailors. If you narrow that down to commissioned officers it's only a few thousand people. I'd say the odds were rather good that we might bump into each other."

Phoenix grinned, "So you did join the Navy to find me?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Wright."

"Okay," he cocked his head and winked, "I'm glad to see you, though."

"Yes," Edgeworth said.

They stared at each other in silence. Phoenix was lost in his stare, endless and dark in the shadows of the ladder well. He stepped forward.

"This is probably not a good idea," Edgeworth punctuated his comment with a step away from him.

It was awkward after that and they stood there, looking at each other, and then turning away from each other to look at the bulkheads. A couple of sailors passed them on the ladders on their way to the hangar bay. Edgeworth was the first to acknowledge the spell had been broken—but then he'd never been one to let things linger. When it was time to go, it was time to go.

"Goodnight, Wright," Edgeworth let go of Phoenix's arm and started back up the ladder well.

"Hey," Phoenix said, "I'm sorry—if I saw you before and didn't—"

"It doesn't matter now."

"Hey, Miles."

Edgeworth only looked at him—there was that subtle impatience in his movement now.

"Maybe we can do lunch one of these days—we're both here on this dumpster together—might as well make—"

"Don't call her a dumpster," Edgeworth said and he went up the ladder muttering about the Air Wing. Phoenix grinned.

What was I doing again?

He started to follow Edgeworth up the ladder and then remembered his mentor was waiting. He couldn't stop himself grinning and his step was light and quick with a bubbling effervescence.

"Where the hell were you?"

"Oh," Phoenix ran a hand through his spiky hair, "Sorry sir, I ran into a friend—someone I hadn't seen in a very long time."

Diego glared at him and led him toward the pull up station. The seaside gym was located in a space just off of the hangar bay. One wall was open to the sea and Phoenix could see the steel gray sky shot with the last desperate rays of orange sun sinking into the Mediterranean. Weird how everything just suddenly seemed so awesome.

"Really?"

"Well, it's a big boat," Phoenix said, "and this is a small Navy."

"Who is it?"

"Oh, you wouldn't know him—he's a staff officer."

"Try me," Armando muttered and he moved aside so Phoenix could use the pull up bar—Phoenix hesitated a little—he never really liked this stuff.

"Ah," Phoenix smiled dismissively, "So how have you been? I haven't seen you since… Well, since the last time I saw you."

Armando had his arms crossed and was staring hard at him, "Nothing has changed."

They were quiet for a while after that. Focused on trying to get out their reps in the barely adequate gym. The space was crowded, as facilities on the ship were very limited, and eventually they made their way out into the hangar bay to join several others running a loop in the space cleared for that purpose.

They paused for a moment before joining the group, jogging at an easy pace. Phoenix was lost, thinking about Edgeworth and home and everything he'd left behind. The Commander must have noticed his preoccupied state because he suddenly seemed determined to strike up a conversation.

"This friend of yours," Armando said in a tone that made Phoenix wonder if he'd been thinking about it since Phoenix had mentioned it, "Is he new here?"

Phoenix shrugged, "Well—there's so many people on here… I didn't ask him when he got onboard… Why?"

"I'm curious, that's all," Armando said but he smiled a little at Phoenix.

"Who is he?"

Phoenix glanced sidelong at the Commander, "He's just someone I know, from another life."

"Someone from back home?"

"Yeah."

Phoenix was exhausted by the time he'd cleaned up and he slept well that night—in spite of night moves and the catapult going off above him during the operation. Larry was grumbling about it as he threw on his working uniform. They didn't speak as they went through their morning ritual—but then, that's usually how it went lately.

They joined the line in the mess; Larry yawning and Phoenix looking around surreptitiously for Edgeworth—but then the JAG would probably use the XO's wardroom.

"What are you up to today?" Larry asked dragging Phoenix away from his thoughts.

Phoenix shook his head, "I was going to study, we have that NATOPS test coming up. Maybe watch some movies—you?"

Larry was shaking his head, "Prima donna..."

Phoenix grinned cockily at him, "You chose your own fate, Larry."

Larry frowned, "I have to hang out in CDC today. We have training—all day."

Phoenix grinned.

"I don't get it," Larry glared at him, "All you do is fly the plane. I have to do all the work."

Phoenix poked at his breakfast while Larry droned on about Kiyance, suddenly this kind of conversation no longer sated. They finished their meals and left the mess together.

"When are we flying next?"

"I'll check the board and let you know," Phoenix said.

"Good," Larry punched him in the shoulder, "Since you're just hanging out anyway."

Phoenix laughed and they paused to go their separate ways, "I'll see you later, man."

"Yeah," Larry grumbled and headed up to the O-3 Level.

Phoenix made his way to the Hangar Bay. His maintenance crew had brought his Growler into the hangar bay at some point between his last mission and his breakfast.

"Nick!"

Petty Officer Fey had a habit of breaking protocols—though he let it slide most of the time—after all, his life was in her hands.

"Good morning," he said.

She was leaning against one of the maintenance lockers with the new girl they'd taken on—Airman Faraday. Phoenix jumped and caught the edge of the wing and pulled himself up onto it. He put his face against the side of his plane, the paint was smooth and cold against his face. Petty Officer Fey made sure she was always clean.

"What are you all giddy about?" Petty Officer Fey asked, she shot a quick glance in Faraday's direction, "Sir?"

"What are you talking about?" Phoenix looked down at her from his vantage on the wing of his plane, "Just another day in paradise, right?"

Petty Officer Fey laughed at him, "Yeah, sir. Another day in paradise..."

"Living the dream?"

He thought he saw Faraday's anxious expression relax in the midst of their banter. He turned to her and held out a hand.

"I'm Lieutenant Wright," he said, "I fly this plane."

Faraday accepted his hand apprehensively, but gave it a brave shake, "Nice to meet you, sir."

"So... El Tee," Fey cut in, "Are you going to bring us lunch today?"

Phoenix gave her an exaggerated look of confusion, "Am I on the hook for lunch today?"

"Nick!" She shouted with her fists balled up and her cheeks puffed out.

Phoenix put a finger to his lips and shushed her, "You'll get us in trouble."

"Don't try and change the subject," Petty Officer Fey said.

"What do you guys want?"

"Duh," Petty Officer Fey said, "Burgers."

Phoenix made a face at her, "You know the burgers that they serve us are the same ones they serve in the speed line in the galleys."

"Nope," she shook her head, "We both know that officer burgers are better than enlisted burgers."

Phoenix grinned, "Now made with real officers..."

Petty Officer Fey made a face at him, hands planted on her hips.

"What do you want for lunch, Airman Faraday?" Phoenix turned away from Petty Officer Fey and smiled at the new girl.

"Ah, I don't know? Grilled cheese?"

Phoenix laughed, "Well all right, then."

"El Tee," Petty Officer Fey said, "Chief's got us running around doing ESWS, can you maybe talk to him?"

Phoenix raised an eyebrow, "Talk to him about what? Isn't that stuff mandatory?"

"For the ship people," Petty Officer Fey said with a jerk of her head, "I already got the pin that matters."

Phoenix smiled at her, "You know I can't—Chief won't listen to me."

Petty Officer Fey made a face, "We got so much to do without having to deal with that stuff too."

Phoenix offered a sympathetic smile, "Aw, you'll be all right. I'll try and ask Chief to go easy on you, but I don't think he'll change his mind about ESWS. Besides, don't you want to make Second Class?"

"Yeah but," she pouted.

"I should probably let you guys get back to work," he smiled at her, "I'll see you at lunch."

Petty Officer Fey sighed, "All right, Nick—sir."

He chuckled and jumped down from the plane. He glanced back once as he walked out of the hangar bay. Both girls were discussing something while standing against the fuselage of his Growler. They were wearing the baggy blue work pants and the green long-sleeved shirts of mechanics and had their hair rolled up high on their heads. Petty Officer Fey's hair had a few loose strands that hovered around her head. It made him smile again.

Phoenix made his way to the ship's LRC. All of the computers were in use, so he made his way to one of the shelves stacked with books. The books were lain on their sides and stacked high on the shelves, partly to fit more books in the inadequate shelving and partly to prevent them from scattering if the ship hit a swell. Though it would have to be a pretty significant swell to shake up 4.5 acres of sovereign territory.

He stared at the books on the shelf with a contemplative frown. Why would Edgeworth give up a lucrative career for this? Surely, he still felt something if he'd go through all of this trouble. The colorful titles on the paperback spines were starting to blur and blend together. Phoenix blinked hard.

I never thought I'd see you again...

He wiped his eyes quickly with a hand and glanced furtively around the space. The other sailors were either deep in conversation or focused on their computer screens. He chuckled to himself.

Look at you, falling apart over this.

Phoenix picked up a history book, The Last Stand of the Tin Can Sailors, and wiggled it out of its place on the shelf. He startled a little when the other books slid down. He glanced around one last time as he departed and made his way back toward berthing.

He considered going to the O-3 Level. Where staff admin was. Staff admin and the Legal Department. Phoenix shook his head and stared at the book in his hand. You don't want to scare him off. This is kind of complicated.

Edgeworth is kind of complicated.

Chapter Text

Miles glared at the tri-folder in front of him and tried to make sense of what he was looking at. Lieutenant Yew would not stop laughing. For the life of him, Miles could not figure out what had set her off.

"So—heh—so," she said, finally able to speak again, "What about socks? What color socks can I wear in PT gear?"

Miles' brow furrowed—but he couldn't stop himself from answering, "Plain black or plain white socks that must not come up past your calf."

Lieutenant Yew curled forward grabbing her stomach in another fit of laughter. He closed the folder in front of him and leaned back in his chair to glare at her.

"Will you stop?" he said finally. She was immediately serious.

"You are the worst bore I've ever met," she said.

Miles stood and straightened the belt on his khakis—lining up the zipper of his pants with the buttons of the shirt.

"Miles when are you going to get it into your head that no one cares what you do? You're only here so the Admiral can say he has a full Legal Department. You're a figurehead at best and a seat-warmer unless told otherwise."

Miles only frowned—having prosecuted cases for municipal and state district courts, he was used to being busy. He was used to being focused and tasked and always ready and preparing for the next case—aside from about fifteen wills he'd typed up for sailors that had made it all the way out on deployment without one, he'd had no real tasking at all. And he only did those out of boredom—he had a couple of Legalman Petty Officers working for him.

Miles ran his hands through his hair, "What time is it?"

"Ten-forty," Lieutenant Yew said, "Are you hungry already?"

"I had breakfast at six," Miles replied by way of explanation and moved to exit the small space, "I'll see you this afternoon."

"Where are you going? Shi isn't here yet," she said.

"I forgot to tell you, I was going to see someone else."

"Miles! Have you been fraternizing with the crew?"

He gave her a dark look in reply, "Good day."

"Wait," Lieutenant Yew stood, "Who are you going to see?"

Miles shrugged, "Somebody that I… Know from back home…"

"Somebody? Not him or her? Miles you know the rules," she chuckled at that and he grimaced at her.

"Well if you must know, I've run into an old friend. He's attached to the Air Wing. He asked if I might make time to have lunch and perhaps converse with him—since he isn't flying today."

"You're fraternizing with the squatters? Come on," she cocked her head at him and crossed her arms, "Miles who is it?"

"He's a pilot," Miles almost smiled, "Just an old friend from home."

"Miles you shouldn't hang out with nasty pilots," Lieutenant Yew said.

"It can hardly be worse than the likes of you," Miles smirked.

She started to laugh again, "You are… just… too… funny…"

Miles frowned again—he wasn't sure how much longer he could put up with this—and they were in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by hundreds of miles of water. He stepped through the hatch and left her without another chance at stalling.

Miles went quickly down two decks, over toward port, up three decks, forward and entered the lounge where a few other officers—mostly Air Wing with their dirty flight suits or rumpled khakis—were awaiting meal call. Miles checked his watch—he was still a few minutes early.

"Psst," Phoenix hissed into his ear and the sound as well as the tickle of Phoenix's cool breath against his neck made him jump.

"Hello," Miles said.

Phoenix had a paperback novel he'd been reading in one hand and was now shoving it into one of the cargo pockets near his knee.

"You look cute in khaki," Phoenix chuckled. Miles gave him a dark glare, warning him.

They sat together on one of the benches, and as lunchtime neared, the lounge became full and started to overflow. Many of the junior officers waiting around for lunch, now stood and started to line up.

"Are you really hungry?" Phoenix said looking at the line with concern.

"I'm famished," Miles answered and he stood to join the line. Phoenix followed him reluctantly.

"We could come back later," he said, "In about an hour or so—when it dies down."

Miles looked longingly toward the head of the line, "When it starts moving, it'll go pretty fast."

"No," Phoenix said, "We'll come back later. I want to show you something—while everyone is in the lunch line."

He grinned his wide disarming grin, and Miles found himself torn between the gnawing feeling in his guts or the sudden desire to see whatever it was Phoenix wanted to show him.

Phoenix didn't wait for him to answer, but grabbed Miles' elbow and pulled him out of the line. They shoved through the mass of bodies in the corridor and Phoenix opened a small hatch in the floor hidden by a bend in the passage. Miles looked down into it and shuddered. It was a ladder made up of ribbed metal rungs punched into what amounted to a steel tube leading God knows where into the belly of the ship.

"Come on," Phoenix had already climbed inside so that only his spiky head was sticking out, "It's perfectly safe."

Miles frowned—

quite frankly, nothing on this vessel was 'perfectly safe'; if the crew just survived the deployment it would be a successful operation—never mind everything they were expected to do mission wise.

Somehow, while his mind contemplated the dangers associated with the trunk and climbing around in it—Phoenix had coaxed him into climbing down far enough to close the hatch.

"You need to close that hatch," Phoenix said.

"What?" Miles looked up at the heavy solid metal dome with the spinning handle in the center.

There's no way I can do that without losing a finger or something...

"Just pull it down and twist—"

"That thing looks like it weighs a ton," Miles swallowed apprehensively.

"If you put both hands on that handle and pull, I promise nothing of yours will get squished."

Miles looked up at it again, if he grabbed that handle, he'd have to let go of the ladder with his hands.

"I'm right here," Phoenix coaxed, "I won't let anything happen to you."

Phoenix never lost his patience either while Miles warred with his unease at doing anything on the ship that seemed technical—he was a lawyer—not a sailor. Nobody expected very much more from him.

When he'd done it, he felt giddy, this was suddenly so real. Phoenix led him down what seemed like a long way in the confining trunk. They exited on the main deck where the enlisted galleys were even more crowded and chaotic than the one they just left.

With little pause, Phoenix led him a ways aft before they exited the main deck and started up another ladder well. A few enlisted sailors ducked out of their way as they passed.

Miles was surprised when they exited into the hangar bay again. In the daylight, the hangar was bright and there was little activity as flight operations were being conducted above. Miles jumped when the catapult shot some poor soul into the sky above the open ocean. The sound of it seemed to echo more loudly in the open space of the hangar than it did from above their heads in the berthing.

Phoenix tapped him to get his attention and entered another room with a ladder well. This ladder was wide, accommodating several people—perfect—since there was a tight crowd in the ladder well.

"What's going on?" Miles yelled up at Phoenix—he'd never seen this before.

"Nothing," Phoenix said, "the smoking lamp is on—that goes to the enlisted smoke pit."

Oh. It was all he could do to keep up with Phoenix in the crowd. It was starting to get hot with the open bays and the press of bodies. Miles was relieved when they exited the ladder well and entered into a cool wide corridor.

"This is familiar," Miles said.

"We're back on the O-3 level," Phoenix said, "Come on. You'll love this—trust me."

Phoenix led him further aft past CVIC and into the blue-tile area. Miles ducked his head as they passed staff admin—hoping no one from his work center would notice him. They pushed through a blue curtain into the squadron spaces and eventually Miles was startled to see the door marked ATO. His first introduction to the carrier.

After a few more turns they were in the blue tile p-way again. Phoenix started up another ladder, this one garishly decorated with painted rope and signs warning the crew not to loiter, and Miles followed, already thoroughly confused and intimidated by the labyrinth of the ship.

They continued up and up, and at one point, Phoenix had to stop so that both of them could catch their breath. Finally, they exited into a narrow corridor where several enlisted Airmen were lounging. Phoenix took him into one of the rooms and Miles was surprised and almost blinded by the sunlight.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the sky—probably the day he'd landed onboard. While he took a moment to get his bearings, Phoenix went to talk to one of the Airmen who gave him a couple of sets of hearing and eye protection and a couple of boxes of foam ear plugs.

Phoenix grinned at him while they put on their ear protection and slid the goggles over their faces. Miles was suddenly wrapped in the comforting sound of waves and his own beating heart. Phoenix was holding him by the elbow, as there was no more conversation. They went up a final ladder and onto a narrow platform on the side of the carrier's tower.

Miles eyes went wide. From here they could view in full glory the take off and landing of the fighters flying that day. Every bang of the catapult could be felt deep in his chest and the roar of the planes filled every space of sound. Miles looked at Phoenix and Phoenix smiled at him—Miles must have shouted—but it was drowned in the roaring. Miles leaned forward to watch other parts of the operations—fueling, ordinance, the deck was like an intricate play requiring perfect timing and rhythm.

Miles had his elbows on the railing and it took him a while to notice, but Phoenix had put a hand on his hip. Miles pulled away from him suddenly and they stared at each other—it was startling, as they both had on large headsets and goggles. Miles must've frowned—or else Phoenix was still so intricately tuned to his wavelength that he could almost read his mind. Miles tried not to think about it like that as he followed Phoenix back inside and they spiraled their way slowly back down into the belly of the ship.

Neither of them said a word as they walked down the eerily quiet passages in the forward parts of the O-3 level. For a moment Miles had the feeling that this great monstrosity had been abandoned and they were there alone with each other.

"What did you think?" Phoenix said. He was never able to enjoy silence for very long. Miles looked at him, torn between the sudden dredging up of old feelings; the excitement of seeing the planes take off and land; the exploring of the enormous ship… In just over an hour, Phoenix had shown him more about this world than Officer Development School and his one-month aboard had.

"It was very grand," Miles couldn't stifle his smile as he was still feeling giddy, "I'd never... Well, I didn't think I'd ever see that."

Phoenix led him up another ladder and into another corridor and Miles realized that they'd arrived in a berthing. The passage was deserted, and quiet and Phoenix took his hand boldly as they walked.

No, you can't just pick up where you left off... Not after what happened...

One little adventure on this hull wasn't going to make that go away.

Phoenix dropped his hand suddenly, "Good afternoon, Commander."

The man nodded at them and passed without a second glance. Phoenix grinned at Miles and stopped in front of a stateroom door.

It was decorated with squadron stickers. The sign on the door said LT PHOENIX 'SICK BURN' WRIGHT and LT LARRY 'STINKY' BUTZ. Phoenix opened the door and pulled Miles inside.

"Larry's got some training to do for most of the day. He's my EWO," Phoenix said with a nervous tension in his voice. Miles had no idea what an EWO was nor did he care to ask.

"So he's going to be down in CDC with those guys—I think," Phoenix continued.

Miles sucked in his bottom lip and let it back out slowly—holding it with his teeth. He could feel the other man watching him. After so many years, it was like they'd never been apart.

And yet...

Phoenix grabbed his face and pressed his mouth to his mouth. One hand cradled Miles' jaw and the other slid around to the back of his head. Miles could feel his fingers pulling his hair.

Miles closed his eyes and pushed back against him, thrusting his tongue into the mouth, searching, tasting him. The sounds of their breathing filled the space around them as completely as the roar of jet engines filled the sky not very long ago. Miles' found his hands grabbing at the collar of Phoenix's NWU blouse sliding up to hold his head against his own.

It felt like forever, but it was over much too soon. Phoenix was staring at him, his dark eyes hungry, his mouth still parted, and his breathing labored from their kiss.

"I..." Miles began to say, but Phoenix shook his head and kissed him again.

Phoenix let go of Miles' face and his hands started frantically undoing the buttons of his blouse. Phoenix was greedy, refusing to break their kiss while he shook his arms out of his sleeves. Miles finally pulled away—he gasped for breath and paused with his nose pointed at the crook of Phoenix's neck—his hands on the buckle of his own belt.

Phoenix didn't wait for him and pulled the khaki shirt up and accidentally hit Miles in the face.

"Let me," Miles said and backed off to unbutton his shirt. Phoenix undid his belt and the button holding his pants up. Then he took up the hem of his blue tee shirt and pulled it up over his head.

Miles paused and swallowed watching him—Phoenix had always been a slim, but the rigors of his new lifestyle had left him with hard muscle and a chiseled physique. Miles' couldn't help thinking that maybe this Navy gig wasn't such a bad thing for Phoenix after all. Phoenix surprised him then and lifted him bodily up off of the floor and laid him on the bottom rack.

It was too narrow to sit up comfortably and Miles managed to bang himself on the head twice before Phoenix put a hand on his chest and told him to lie back.

"You still like me," Phoenix smiled capriciously, and Miles, in his very compromised position, was in no fit state to argue with him.

Phoenix unzipped his khaki trousers and slid them off, tossing them God knows where as he climbed into the rack on top of him. There was very little room to maneuver, and Miles was uncomfortably attuned to the strangling confines of the space. But Phoenix didn't seem to notice. Miles had a hand on each of his muscular shoulders and he put his head back to break away from Phoenix's passionate kissing.

Phoenix was not deterred and pressed in on him, kissing his neck and following it down along his collarbone. He could feel his breath against the skin of his chest, his hands digging into the flesh of his thigh.

"Nick..."

"Hey, shhh..."

Phoenix continued moving downward. Leaving soft lingering kisses down his belly. Miles felt his breath catch in his throat. He seemed to lose power in his arms and stopped pushing the other man away.

"We—we shouldn't," he said breathlessly.

He felt Phoenix pause, "Just trust me."

Miles sat up and banged his head against the rack above again, "Oww!"

"Hey—what?"

They locked eyes for several prolonged moments. Miles swallowed, disappointment was plain in Phoenix's dark eyes. He backed off and turned his head away. Miles studied his profile.

"It's just that..." Miles began but he lost the words.

Phoenix picked up his shirt and then grinned at him, shaking his head, "No, I get it..."

Miles lay back on the rack suddenly aware that he was almost naked, "It's not..."

"No," Phoenix slipped the blue shirt over his head and tugged it down with more force than was necessary, "I do get it, Miles. You're still pissed about—"

"No," Miles said, "I mean, I am. But that has nothing to do with—"

"Just stop," Phoenix turned his back to him he shook his hands in the air in exasperation.

Miles slid out of the rack and looked around for his pants keeping an eye surreptitiously on Phoenix.

Was he angry? He seemed angry...

"Wrigh—Nick..."

Phoenix still had his back to him. He was buckling the belt on his NWUs. He ran a hand through his spikes and then sat on the deck to put on his boots.

"Look, it's been six years..." Miles said, "You didn't expect us to just pick up where we left off with no regard for the last six years?"

"Are you married or something?" Phoenix muttered with no small hint of resentment.

Miles lost his train of thought and almost laughed, "Er... No. Nothing like that."

"I was a kid," Phoenix said, "I made some life changing decisions... That's about the size of it."

Miles shook his head, "If it were really so simple, why didn't you contact me? You just left."

"You're right," Phoenix stood up and hitched his belt, "This was a mistake."

Miles frowned. He distracted himself with buttoning his shirt glancing once or twice at Phoenix but seeing no change in his expression.

Phoenix stood still and gazed blankly at the bulkhead. Miles continued working on his shirt his fingers trembled slightly and he found he had to go back and redo his buttons a few times. He stared at the back of Phoenix's head and tried to come up with something to say.

Yeah... He’s angry...

Phoenix turned around.

"I don't want to fight with you," Phoenix said sullenly as he put his hands on his hips, "We could... I don't know we could start by being friends, I guess. See where that goes."

Miles managed to smile at him, however subtle and tight-lipped it may have come off, "Yes. I can do that."

Phoenix smiled in that open and unguarded way he had.

He'd always had a charming smile.

Chapter Text

Edgeworth chickened out in the end—Phoenix half expected it. In fact he was surprised he managed to get Edgeworth to follow him all the way up to the O-13 level to watch flight ops with him. Phoenix gazed longingly in disappointment as Edgeworth put his Khakis back on. Phoenix had already pulled his NWU pants back on, but stopped to brood in disappointment while Edgeworth buttoned his stupid shirt.

Phoenix crossed his arms and stared at Edgeworth's face, hoping those eyes would come up and meet his. But the other man seemed very intent on getting properly dressed. Edgeworth was still scarred—in the end those walls he built to protect himself are what drove Phoenix to run off and 'join the circus' as Edgeworth had so aptly described it back then.

They were still there.

So why follow me?

Phoenix watched Edgeworth cinch his belt and then check that the gold-finished brass-buckle was in line with his shirt and pants.

"You look skinny," Phoenix said.

Edgeworth looked up at him for only a moment before turning his attention back to his uniform, "The food here is terrible. If I don't just fall down some hole somewhere or get smashed in something or electrocuted or irradiated to death or blown off this boat—I just may starve."

Phoenix raised an eyebrow and laughed at him, "It's not so bad."

"Says mister rock star fighter pilot," Edgeworth smirked sidelong at him.

"Aw, are they working you too hard in the legal department?"

"Hardly," Edgeworth slid his hands into his pockets, "But I still get turned around on here and I can't ever seem to get to the mess on time. If they didn't have midrats..."

Phoenix doubled over in laughter, "Oh man. You poor thing! Didn't they assign you a sponsor?"

"Yes, of course."

"Why aren't they helping you out? They're supposed to show you around."

"She... She did," Miles frowned, "But all of these passages look the same."

"Wow, you need help," Phoenix was still grinning at him. Not only did Edgeworth seem very perturbed by his situation, but his ears had reddened and his brow furrowed.

"Don't get upset," Phoenix said, "I could probably show you around. I don't fly every day. So I can usually find some free time."

Edgeworth glared, "During the work day?"

"I'm sure you can take some time away from kicking out fat kids and recording masts to learn the ship."

"But we agreed to—"

"Yes, we did," Phoenix crossed his arms, "But you said we ought to try and be friends too."

"Yes, very well.

"Do you want to see my plane?"

Edgeworth shot him an offended look. Phoenix paused for a moment and then laughed,

"Yeah... Phrasing... Sorry, I meant my actual plane, the one that I fly."

"I suppose that would be interesting; but I probably can't today."

"You'll love it! I mean, she's basically a modified Hornet—just like the ones—"

"Don't start talking to me about airplanes," Edgeworth crossed his arms, "I'm still getting used to the ship stuff."

"Okay, sorry," Phoenix grinned.

"Do you really have nothing to do today?"

"We got to keep up with PMS," Phoenix said, "So yeah. I'm just hanging out today."

"Do you want to sit in my work space? That way we might—"

"No way," Phoenix shook his head emphatically, "What are you up to anyway? We could just stay here and… you know… catch up."

Edgeworth was studying the pictures he and Larry had taped to the wall, "I don't know."

"No," Phoenix said, "You're right. It's too soon..."

"No, I just—"

"What?" Phoenix found himself close to him again. Lost in that stormy gray stare, "Miles..."

"Why didn't you ever come home?"

Really? You have to do this now?

Phoenix shook his head and looked away, "I don't know. Things have been going so fast—I guess I never found the time."

Edgeworth was frowning at him, those gray eyes looked so profoundly sad.

"Nothing personal..."

"It certainly seemed personal," Edgeworth ran a hand through his hair, "You never once called or wrote..."

"I was busy," Phoenix tugged at his own spikes; he had to look away from that face, "I'm sorry. I didn't think you needed the distraction..."

"You could've at least called," Edgeworth said, "I find it highly unlikely that you of all people were so focused on your work that you couldn't once call home."

Phoenix smiled, "I guess I was trying to outdo you—in my own way."

"Everyone missed you, Nick," Edgeworth put his head down, "That whole town was sad you left. You were loved."

"Yeah," Phoenix said, "Well there was one I couldn't really get a straight answer from..."

"So it was my fault?"

Phoenix startled and turned to look at him, "I didn't—"

Edgeworth faced the wall again and Phoenix could see the sinew in his cheek jerk as he clenched his jaw.

They'd been friends since they were kids—since before they could remember. Their shared childhoods seemed richer for their companionship. Then Edgeworth's father was murdered—it happened at the courthouse, under mysterious circumstances. They were both nine.

Edgeworth had gone to a home for a few months—first an orphanage then a foster home nearby. It seemed that they could still be friends—they'd be okay. Then Edgeworth was swept off to Germany with some guy that Edgeworth's dad used to work with—or something. He was gone for ten years.

Phoenix had all but forgotten him. Especially since he'd been forced to survive the jungle of Junior High and High School all on his own. Phoenix knew it wasn't Edgeworth's choice, or his fault—but it was easy to slide into resentment all the same.

It felt like abandonment...

The next time they saw each other was at University. Edgeworth was nothing like Phoenix remembered. He seemed broken almost. It took Phoenix the better part of a year to get Edgeworth to climb out of his shell enough to be a friend. Even that always seemed tentative, though. Edgeworth had a lot of issues to work through.

One thing they had in common was the Law. Phoenix started studying law and criminal justice to be in the same classes as Edgeworth. Somehow, Edgeworth had him sold on the idea that being a lawyer was the most logical course of action for Phoenix as well.

In the last couple years of University, Phoenix realized that he never felt as much for his girlfriends as he did for Edgeworth. As their friendship became increasingly romantic—Phoenix began to feel desperate. Edgeworth was not a very physical person—Phoenix needed to be touched.

They were young; emotions ran hotter than they were ready to deal with—so Phoenix ran away. He ran away and chose the most far off path he could think of—he'd decided to be an astronaut. But so far, he'd only been allowed to fly jets.

Phoenix thumbed through the paperback he'd retrieved from his cargo pocket. Edgeworth was still studying the photos.

"Who's this guy?"

Phoenix stretched his neck to see what Edgeworth was pointing at, "That's Larry Butz—I met him at OCS. Then I went Aviator and he went NFO and we went our separate ways until fate put us in the same squadron."

Edgeworth was staring at Larry with his brow furrowed—more so than it had been—Phoenix smiled.

"He's just a friend," Phoenix said, "And only out of necessity."

"And her?"

"That's Mia—we… We were friends... Used to be…"

"But you kept her picture?"

Phoenix glared at Edgeworth and stuck his nose back in his book, "Why does it matter to you?"

Edgeworth shook his head at the wall, "It's been six years. I'm just trying to make sense of it."

"I don't see why you can't just let it go," Phoenix said—maybe with more open resentment than he'd intended.

"There's this," Edgeworth looked at him directly, "I don't know who you are anymore. You picked the most foolish, daredevil—"

"I'm good at this," Phoenix said, "Just like you're good at—lawyering… No one can lawyer like you."

Edgeworth frowned and crossed his arms.

"Do you want to eat?" Phoenix said, "Before you starve or whatever?"

Edgeworth put his head down and dropped his arms at his sides. Slowly he took his left elbow with his right hand—an anxious gesture he'd kept since childhood. He gave a very pained expression to the bulkhead, but Phoenix could see it in his profile.

"I did do this because of you," Edgeworth said, "I thought—maybe someday we might cross paths—I never guessed you'd be on my first ship. Now—now I'm starting to feel that I'm not quite ready. But I'm not trying to push you away, Nick, please know that."

Phoenix stood and put on his blouse buttoning it slowly, "It's fine, Miles. Don't worry about it."

"You're disappointed."

Phoenix opened the stateroom door with one hand and put the other on Edgeworth's shoulder; he grinned, "I can't help that—you gorgeous thing you. But whatever. I've waited this long—I can be patient for a little longer."

"Thank you."

"I said a little longer."

Phoenix was right—of course. The mess was nearly deserted. He watched Edgeworth ask for double the entrée—which was some semblance of tetrazzini with an unknown protein—I guess a couple weeks with not enough to eat will make even the most finicky person less discriminating. They sat down in a corner underneath the television. Edgeworth didn't speak—he really was hungry—Phoenix stared at him for a while before attending to his own meal.

Phoenix was just finishing up when Larry joined them at their table, choosing the seat beside Phoenix. Edgeworth looked slightly offended.

"Dude," Larry said, "These guys just wouldn't quit. Where's the hot sauce?"

Phoenix put his fork down and stared at Larry.

"How come you're sitting under the TV—you can't see what's going on," Larry went on and then he looked at Edgeworth, "Oh, hey. Who are you?"

"I'm Miles Edgeworth."

"Oh," Larry paused and then leaned in closer to Phoenix, "Am I supposed to know who that is?"

Phoenix smiled, "He's a frie—the new JAG."

"JAG…?" Larry squinted at Edgeworth, "Oh yeah! How are you man? My name is Larry—Larry Butz—nice to meet you."

Edgeworth shook his hand and nodded in reply to Larry's greeting—if he'd meant to be rude, Larry didn't seem to notice.

Edgeworth looked at Phoenix with those striking gray eyes and Phoenix offered a raised eyebrow in reply. Edgeworth moved those irises in Larry's direction for a moment before fixing them back on Phoenix. Phoenix gave the merest hint of a shrug and smiled.

"So Larry," Phoenix said, "Are you done for the day?"

"No," Larry swallowed a mouthful of whatever they were eating, "I have to go back. I'll probably be there until dinner time."

Phoenix shot Edgeworth a pointed look. The other man closed his eyes and gave his head a very subtle shake. Phoenix frowned slightly.

He decided it was only right to show Edgeworth how to get back to the Admin spaces he worked at. He didn't linger to chat and Edgeworth made no effort to keep him. Phoenix frowned as he headed back toward the mess. Hoping against hope that he hadn't already screwed this up. Edgeworth could be so hard to read sometimes.

A while later, Phoenix entered the hangar bay with two Styrofoam food boxes. The maintenance space was crowded. He saw Petty Officer Fey talking to a tall burly chief. He frowned.

"Chief," he greeted when he was in earshot.

"Oh hi Mister Wright," Chief said, "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"I promised my maintainers lunch," Phoenix looked around sheepishly, "But there were only two of them when I came by earlier."

Chief wiggled giddily, "Ooh what did you bring?"

"Just some stuff from the grill line," Phoenix turned the boxes in his hands, "You know burgers, fries... Chief what are you doing here? Is something wrong with my—"

"No, no, sir," Chief said with a toss of his head, "we just finished quarters and I was just telling Petty Officer Fey here that she needs to start pushing herself if she's going to make second class. ESWS, JSA, CSADD... She needs to get involved if she wants to stand out—am I right, El Tee?"

Phoenix shot a sympathetic look in Petty Officer Fey's direction, "Give her a break Chief, this is a tough deployment."

Chief waggled his head at him, "Good thing you're not in her Chain of Command, sir."

Phoenix glared at the Chief. Come, on!

"All due respect, sir," Chief said waving a finger at him and grinning broadly. He was such a creep.

Phoenix turned without another word and passed the meal boxes to Petty Officer Fey and then nodded before departing. He glanced back once on his way out and then shook his head. If he could, he'd get her a new Chief.

That guy... That guy took creepy to a whole new level...

He was headed back to berthing, rolling over the day's events in his head when someone jumped him from behind. Phoenix almost fell over.

"Boogity boogity boo!"

Phoenix rammed him into the bulkhead, "OW!"

"Doug?" Phoenix was surprised when he rounded on the man.

Doug started laughing, "Wow, you are so... jumpy..."

"You're an idiot if you think it's okay to run around grab-assing in the p-ways!"

Doug held up his hands, "Sorry, Nick. I was just trying to scare you—just for fun. I didn't mean anything by it."

Phoenix held out a hand to help him up, "I take it you're not flying today either."

"Nah," Doug said, "And I'm starting to go a little stir crazy. What are you up to?"

"The same," Phoenix crossed his arms, "Just trying to kill a few more hours so I can go to bed."

"There's karaoke tonight in the forward mess," Doug perked up suddenly, "Weren't you coming to that?"

Phoenix shook his head, "I don't know man, I don't really fee—"

"Aw you have to! We got challenged by that asshole Lang down in CIWS."

"Yeah, you guys are going to have to manage on your own," Phoenix started to pull away from him.

"But we were going to do 'You've Lost that Loving Feel—"

"Doug," Phoenix put his hands on his hips and gave him a hard look, "If you're going to beats those OPS clowns, you have to do something new. You can't live in this make-believe world where you re-enact Top Gun over and over again."

"So what do you think we should do?"

"We aren't doing anything," Phoenix turned to leave, "Because I'm not going."

"Hey, is everything okay, bro?"

Phoenix paused, "Why wouldn't it be?"

"I don't know, that's why I asked," Doug frowned, "You seem a little touchy today."

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because I just got assaulted in the p-way by you," Phoenix glared at him.

"I said I was sorry," Doug put his head down and slid his boot along the floor in front of him.

Oh, come on!

"Don't do that," Phoenix shook his head, but he couldn’t stop himself from smiling, "Let me see how Larry's feeling tonight. If he's going I'll go with him."

Doug grinned, "I'll see you tonight, brother."

Phoenix gave him a noncommittal shrug and continued on his way. By the time he entered the berthing corridor traffic had picked up in the passageways. He nodded at a few of the other officers he knew but stayed focused on his destination and avoided conversation.

Larry wasn't in the stateroom when he entered. He frowned at the empty room and then pulled the chair out from where it had been secured under the desk and sat down to take off his boots. His head was swimming with thoughts of Edgeworth while he unlaced his boots; he'd been congenial enough when they parted earlier, but then... Edgeworth wouldn't say anything if he was upset about their... encounter... And that's the problem. That's what he couldn't deal with.

Edgeworth had berated him for not calling or writing, but he hadn't done that either.

Well, you joined the Navy—no one had any idea where you were...

Phoenix sighed guiltily and pulled off his left boot and let it drop to the floor. He hadn't really made it easy for anyone to track him down.

But wasn't that the whole point? To get away?

He pulled off his right boot and watched it drop to the floor—and that's when he saw it. A small rectangle of red with a small stripe of yellow and blue in the center. The cloth was wrapped around a metal frame—the National Defense Medal. Well it was the ribbon that represented the Medal.

Phoenix frowned, it must've fallen off of his shirt when they were messing around earlier.

You should go bring it to him.

Phoenix frowned at the lost ribbon in his palm.

Yeah, but then I have to put my boots back on...

Phoenix closed his fist around the ribbon and then put it in his pocket.

Leave Edgeworth alone for now, you'll scare him off.

He stood and picked up his boots to secure them and then shoved the chair back under the desk. He climbed wearily into his rack and pulled his book out of his pocket and returned to the Battle off Samar. They weren't that far into this deployment. There was time. Patience is a virtue, right?

But patience was so difficult sometimes.

Chapter Text

Miles must have had a bounce in his step or a gleam in his eye or a scent of infatuation about him—because Lang caught on immediately—and thought it would be fun to poke fun at Miles.

"You are going to tell me," Lang said, "Because while I'm trapped in the belly of this great whale, all I have to keep me going are the stories. The stories Miles!"

Miles didn't bother asking about the stories. One because he didn't care. Two because, whether he cared or not, Lang was going to tell him anyway.

"Lieutenant Lang!"

"Hang on," Lang stood from the table where they were eating dinner and went to see who was calling for him—probably one of his sailors—they were always looking for him.

Miles didn't wait for Lang, but continued eating his dinner. He didn't look up when Lieutenant Yew sat next to him.

"Good Afternoon Edgeworth," she said.

"Afternoon," Miles said.

Lang rushed back to the table from whereever he'd gone, "So anyway… What about his squadron? Do you know what squadron he's with?"

"Will you stop asking?"

"Are you talking about his pilot?" Lieutenant Yew smirked up at them, "I think you made it up. You'd never have it in your guts to fraternize among the Air Wing like that."

Both Miles and Lang looked up at her, confused. She leaned back in her seat and pulled out a compact and dabbed at her nose with powder.

"Since he's been here, Lieutenant Miles Edgeworth has been able to quote—verbatim—every regulation or NAVADMIN we could throw at him."

"Hyperbole," Miles chuckled.

"You take the same path from berthing to the wardroom to admin. I've yet to see you visit Shi Long's work center or any other space for that matter, that would take you near any of the heavy equipment or weapons bays—Miles Edgeworth, I'd say you were scared to death of this ship."

"It's a deathtrap," Miles didn't even bother to deny it.

"Therefore, it stands to reason that you are not, in fact, consorting with anyone from the Air Wing."

"Conjecture…" Miles said, "Whether or not I make it my mission in life to tempt fate by poking my nose in all of the dangerous parts of this vessel has no bearing on whom I might meet or befriend."

"I say it does," she shot back, "Take for example—dinner. We are here in the XO's wardroom. Most of the Air Wing eats in the 'Dirty Shirt' wardroom—I doubt you'd ever visit a place like that."

"I had lunch there today."

"Oh really?"

"Guys," Lang stood and put his hands on the table, "Why are you arguing about it?"

"Because Edgeworth is a chicken-shit little nerd who hides in his hole like a rabbit."

"What?" Miles frowned and glared sidelong at her.

Lang started to laugh and he gave Miles a pointed look.

"It's a wonder you even come out of your stateroom everyday," Lieutenant Yew continued, "I'm sure if Shi wasn't there to drive you out in the mornings, you'd never leave."

"Come on! You have no way of knowing which one of us wakes up first!"

Lieutenant Yew looked at Lang and he grinned at her, "He does have a point, sis."

She made an exasperated noise and put away her compact then busied herself with her meal.

"You should come to OEM quarters tomorrow," Lang said grinning at Miles.

"Why?" Miles was not in the least bit interested in whatever scheme Lang had in mind.

"So my sailors will know who the JAG is—in case they have any legal concerns—"

"No," Miles shook his head emphatically.

"Oh, please? I'll show you the inside of the Phalanx—"

"No, thank you," Miles doubled down with a glare, "If you must, I'll have LN1 address your division on any legal matters—"

"I don't want LN1," Lang grinned wolfishly, "I want you."

"Well," Miles stood, "This has all been very entertaining, but I must depart or I'll be late for the staff—"

Lieutenant Yew sniggered and then she started laughing again. Miles glared at her and then glanced at Lang.

"Good day."

Miles could still hear her laughing as he left the wardroom.

"LN1," Miles said upon entering the tiny space allotted to the legal department. She turned to look at him, rubbing her eyes as she did.

"Hey, El Tee!" She said stifling a yawn, "It's a little late, isn't it?"

"How would you like to go to quarters for the other divisions to brief them on some of the legal programs that we—"

"But Sir! There are like hundreds of other divisions…"

"We can just go to the larger—"

"El Tee, if you're really worried about getting the message across, I can get the MC's to make a commercial for us and they can show it all over the ship."

Miles stared at her blankly, "Ah… Right… I see…"

They make their own commercials?

LN1 grinned at him, "Guess what sir?"

"Um," Miles glanced nervously at her while LN1 grinned at him bobbing her head in a way that he assumed was supposed to be 'with attitude', "I'm sorry, what?"

"I got mail today!" She held up the latest Cosmo—it was only a couple of weeks old, "Come on, sir! We got quizzes to do!"

Miles sighed heavily at her, "I'm going to the staff meeting."

"Don't worry, El Tee," she said tapping the top of her head vapidly, "I'll save them for you."

Miles grabbed a notebook and left the legal department and headed toward the conference room.

"Sir! Mister Edgeworth!"

Miles paused and turned to look at the harried young man running after him in the corridor.

"Sir," he held out a folder, "I put together the case summaries like you asked, sir."

Miles took the folder and forced a smile, "Thank you Petty Officer Justice."

The young LN3 grinned sheepishly and then bobbed in kind of a bow, obviously pleased with himself. Miles didn't remember asking him to do it and if he had asked LN3 to complete the task it was probably just to keep him busy.

"You're welcome, sir!" LN3 was bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Miles frowned, "Are you okay, Justice?"

"Yes! I'm fine! Everything is fine, sir!"

Miles looked at his watch, "You know it's rather late, don't you have something else to take care of?"

"No sir,"LN3 drooped a little, "Do you need anything else, sir?"

"Er... Don't you have to study for ESWS?"

"No, sir."

"What about PT?"

"Well," LN3 cocked his head thoughtfully, "It's a rest day."

Miles sighed, he was in a hurry now, "Why don't you go see if LN1 has anything for you?"

"Okay!" LN3 bobbed at him again, "Take care, sir!"

Miles frowned after him, the poor kid was trying too hard.

He entered the conference room behind a man in a flight suit and found that he had arrived late enough that there were no seats left. He stood against the bulkhead and flipped through his notebook, looking for a blank page.

"Attention on deck!"

They all stood at attention when the order was called and Miles almost dropped his notebook. The XO came in and took his seat at the head of the table, "Carry on."

The XO was a big man with a full head of premature white hair and a face prone to smiling. Despite his gregarious demeanor, his was an intimidating man.

"Evening, folks" he said with a blustering chuckle, "Sorry this is going down so late, we had few scheduling conflicts. Skipper couldn't make it tonight, so you're stuck with me."

XO paused to laugh boisterously. The other officers in the room looked around nervously, a few of them started to chuckle along. Then, abruptly, he stopped.

Miles raised an eyebrow.

"So," XO said with a disconcerting amount of seriousness following such a happy outburst, "Let's just start with Special Assistants."

The officers in the room stood up in turn and reported on their respective operations.

"Evening, XO," He was the CFL for the ship, Lieutenant Portman, "We put out our ten-week notice last Friday, and the POA&M for this PRT Cycle has gone out. Departments will be running their own mocks."

XO turned to glare directly at Miles, "JAG!"

Miles actually jumped, "Yes sir?"

"Make sure we're up to date on our page thirteens. Hopefully, Portman's doing his job correctly and legal wont have too many separations. But—better to be ready. Right JAG?"

"Yes sir," Miles swallowed, the XO was a scary guy.

XO stared at him for several dragged out moments, Miles felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, "So uh... Lieutenant—?"

"Edgeworth, sir."

"Lieutenant Edgeworth," XO bore into him with his piercing green stare, "I think you're missing something there, boyo..."

Miles' eyebrows twitched and he looked down at his uniform and saw the bare spot on his ribbon rack where he was missing a ribbon. He felt his face grow red as a few chuckles scattered around the Wardroom.

XO was laughing and slapping the arm of his chair. Miles started to sweat and looked around the room in horror.

"I can't believe..." Miles was sitting on his rack in his PT gear with his arms crossed and his head down.

Lang smiled sympathetically, "It happens, lawyer boy. You have an extra one, right?"

Miles shook his head, "I feel like such an idiot."

Lang opened the coffin locker under his rack, "I think I have an extra one... I try to keep a couple on hand—since we don't exactly have easy access to an NEX."

Lang passed the ribbon up to him, "You should superglue it."

"That's not in the regulations... Can we glue—"

"Ship hack, Lawyer-boy," Lang grinned, "So what are you doing tonight? Are you going to the gym?"

Miles stared at the ribbon in his hand, "I should—someone called me skinny."

Lang laughed out loud, "Okay, but Cali wanted me to bring you out to karaoke night."

Miles shook his head, "I really don't think so."

"It'll be good for you to meet more of the crew," Lang said, "You can throw on your N-dubs, at least you don't have to wear ribbons on them."

Miles shook his head.

"Please?" Lang grinned, "It's OPS versus the Air Wing. Maybe you'll see your pilot."

"Definitely no," Miles said, "Look, Lang—"

"Shi," Lang corrected with a raised index finger.

"Yes well, Shi," Miles glared down at him, "I might just go to bed."

"Are you that upset about the ribbon?"

Miles shook his head.

"Come out," Lang's tone was suddenly cajoling, "You might have fun. You could probably do with some fun."

Miles glared at him, "I highly doubt that. I do perfectly well as I am."

"Cali is going to be upset if you don't go."

"Look, I'll be honest," Miles shrugged, "I don't really care. She's not very pleasant."

Lang burst out in another bout of laughter, "She really likes you."

Miles shot him a dark look, "Forgive me if I have trouble believing that."

"She does," Lang said as if that were explanation enough, "Come on, get dressed."

In the end, it was easier to acquiesce. Having a roommate was proving to be very bothersome indeed. There was no privacy. There didn't seem to be much privacy anywhere on the ship. These were the things the recruiter had glossed over—the questions he hadn't known to ask.

Lang met two other officers Miles didn't recognize as they made their way to the forward mess. Miles hovered in the back of the group while they carried on an animated discussion about 'crushing the competition' and 'beating those squatters'. He had always thought karaoke involved off key drunken singing. These guys took it to a whole other level.

He could hear a faded beat pounding against the bulkheads even as they approached the forward mess.

When the entered the mess there were thirty or so officers sitting at the tables and five—four men and a woman—wearing flight suits and performing at the front of the room.

Miles didn't recognize the song, but the man currently singing—if you could call it that—was that Larry Butz guy he met at lunch.

"...I apologize for any skipping tracks. It's just the last girl that played me—" Larry was shouting into the microphone.

"They already started," Lang commented as their group moved to join the audience.

"—left a couple cracks. I used to—used to—used to, now I'm over that."

Miles sat at a table near the others and glared at the Aviators performing.

—wait—was that?

He ran a hand over his face. At least it was dark in the mess and it was almost too loud to think and loud enough to prevent any risk of conversation.

"'Cause holding grudges over love is ancient artifacts."

"Hello Miles!" she had her mouth right up to his ear when she shouted and he jerked away from Lieutenant Yew in surprise and cupped the offended ear with his hand. He glared angrily at her but she'd already moved past him to talk to Lang. When they spoke they had to lean in closely and speak in the other's ear. It all seemed rather unbecoming.

"My heart's a stereo," Miles looked up, Phoenix had the microphone. He was singing now. He actually didn't sound bad—even though the song was strange.

"It beats for you, so listen close. Hear my thoughts in every no-oh-oht,"

Is he looking at me?

"Make me your radio; and turn me up when you feel low," Phoenix raised his arm and pointed out into the audience, his mouth pulled into a lopsided smile as he sang into the mic, "This melody was meant for you. Just sing along to my stereo."

The four of them had some kind of choreographic routine they were doing. It wasn't elaborate, but it looked good.

These guys don’t mess around...

"That guy is so hot!" Lieutenant Yew yelled into Miles other ear—he hadn't even noticed she'd sat next to him.

"Oh oh oh oh, oh oh oh oh to my stereo."

"Pilots are just awful," she continued and he cringed, "But Nick Wright is kind of a nice guy! Once you get past the whole pilot thing!"

"Oh oh oh oh to sing along to my stereo," Phoenix passed the mic to another member of their group, one Miles hadn't seen before.

"If I was an old-school fifty pound boombox," other guy sang.

"Remember them?" Phoenix shouted.

"Would you hold me on your shoulder wherever you walk?"

"I can't believe they did that song," Lang was shouting at one of the other officers.

"Would you turn my volume up in front of the cops;"

"He's the only one around here that fills out that flight suit quite like that," Lieutenant Yew shouted at him. Miles ducked his head and grimaced.

Why is she still talking to me?

"And crank it higher every time they told you to stop?"

"I talked to him in the Starbucks line last week!"

"And all I ask is that you don't get mad at me;"

Miles rolled his eyes.

"When you have to purchase mad D batteries."

"Shi thinks I don't stand a chance," she pulled out her compact and was dabbing her nose while she yelled her half of the conversation at him, "But I really feel we made a connection!"

"Appreciate every mix-tape your friends make—You never know we come and go like on the interstate," other guy handed the mic back to Phoenix and he moved in front of the group smiling out at the audience.

"I think I finally found a note to make you understand."

"Oh my God," Lieutenant Yew grabbed Miles' sleeve and he frowned at her, "He's looking over here."

"If you can hit it, sing along and take me by the hand," he tapped his chest with the flat of his hand and then pointed at the audience.

"He's looking right at me!"

Miles could feel the blush warm his face.

I’m pretty sure he's looking at me...

"Just keep me stuck inside your head, like your favorite tune; You know my heart's a stereo that only plays for you."

"He's so hot..."

Miles glared at her and then stood up. He hesitated for a moment and then walked out of the mess.

Wow, that was happening...

He rubbed his poor ears and hoped he wouldn't get lost.

"Hey, Edgeworth!"

Miles turned to see Lang hurrying after him.

"What? You're leaving?" Lang called after him and then caught him up in the p-way, "What happened?"

Miles shook his head, "It's a little loud. Lieutenant Yew was shouting in my ear. Now, I have a headache coming on."

Lang gave him a look, "Really?"

That and Phoenix Wright is there.

Miles rubbed his ear and smirked at Lang, "I don't really like this sort of thing."

"Okay," Lang said, "But Cali is going to be pissed that you missed her song."

"Maybe some other time... Good night."

"Good night?" Lang said, "It's like eight o'clock!"

"That's nighttime," Miles said and waggled an index finger at Lang.

"Come on, just stay a little longer. I think Cali is going next—she's been here since they set up—just so she could get on the list."

I can go and placate him or I can listen to him talk about it later...

Miles grimaced, "I'm going to bed, I'm certain you'll want to share all the details over breakfast anyway."

Lang gave him a scrutinizing look and then grinned, "Fine Lawyer-boy. You're the one that has to work with Cali—not me."

"She seems pretty preoccupied," Miles smirked and then turned away from Lang, "I doubt she'll take very much notice of my absence."

"Night!" Lang shouted and went back into the mess.

Miles sighed—what the hell Phoenix Wright? He might as well get on the 1MC and announce it to the whole ship.

What happened to being patient?

Miles shook off thoughts of what might have been a much more disastrous night, he still had the daunting task of finding his berthing from where he was.

Stupid boat.

Chapter Text

Phoenix joined Larry in the ready room, dropping himself into one of the large leather chairs bolted into the floor. He let his helmet bag fall beside him.

Larry chuckled at him, "We killed those OPS guys the other night."

Phoenix shrugged but he returned Larry's smile, "How do you feel?"

"Awesome," Larry said.

"Good," Phoenix laughed, "Because this one is going to be long."

"All right!" Larry sat up in his chair and pumped his fists, "Give it to me!"

Phoenix grinned, "Bring it!"

They laughed. The other aviators trickled in and the ready room filled with sidebar conversations and chatter. Phoenix raised his eyebrows.

"The whole Squadron is here," he looked at Larry, "Do you know what's going on?"

"I heard the CAG wants to talk to us," Larry frowned, "I heard we're going to be surging."

Phoenix sat back in his chair and frowned. He'd promised Edgeworth he'd help him learn the ship.

If we really are surging, I don't know if I'll be able to meet with him.

He looked around the room at the other aviators talking in groups.

Would he understand, even if I can't get a message to him? Will I even be able to tell him?

The chatter died immediately when the CAG entered with the CSO, Wing's N2, and their own Intel Officer.

"Attention on Deck!" They all stood at attention at the order.

"Carry on, fellas," Captain Skye said and she marched up to the front of the ready room. "Good morning, guys. Are you ready for this?"

A loud chorus of 'Yes ma'am' echoed about the room.

"Commander Armando and I are just stopping by to congratulate you on twenty-nine successful missions this deployment. You're our only VAQ and you've proven just how outstanding you can be. Fortunately, we haven't had an actual need for your specialty, but this deployment has us busier than we've ever seen. All together we've flown over 60 sorties over hostile territory and you guys make it look easy. Thank you for your dedication to excellence and mission success."

The Captain smiled and then motioned for Commander Armando to join her at the podium, "Bob," she said to the Lieutenant Commander standing near the door, "Can you make sure that hatch is secured?"

Phoenix glanced at Larry and rubbed his chin. He was suddenly giddy with anticipation and drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair. Commander Armando met his eye while he flipped through his steno pad at the podium. Then he took a drought from his large coffee mug.

"Good morning," he drawled, "I want to remind everyone present that this brief is classified secret and you are not to discuss the contents of this brief outside of this room."

Phoenix rubbed his hands together and leaned forward in his seat.

This ought to be good...

He frowned at himself, what will you say to him?

"So I'm going to cut right to the chase," Commander Armando said, "Because you guys have a schedule. You should be aware that the recent coup in Cohdopia has led to a significant change in their foreign policy. We've received intelligence that the threat of hostile action against our forces is imminent over the next seventy-two hours. We will be surged for as long as that threat remains in place."

Larry shot a worried look at Phoenix.

"Now, more than ever, we need you guys on your game. The Admiral has ordered increased EA capability and presence During this surge. Things are going to get busy. It's going to get hard. But you have my full confidence in your ability to meet this challenge."

Commander Armando paused to take a draught from his coffee cup, then he raised the large travel mug with the ship's logo on it, "You may want to fortify yourselves. I recommend my special blend number 67. Thanks for your attention, have a fine Navy day."

A few of the officers in the audience chuckled as Commander Armando left the podium. The Lieutenant Commander near the hatch opened it as Commander Armando, the Wing N2, and Captain Skye departed the room.

"Attention on deck!"

The squadron commander put them at ease and started the mission brief. Phoenix sighed. Usually he'd be excited about news like this. News like this meant that they were getting a break from the mundane.

But suddenly, he wanted the mundane. He wanted time for wandering aimlessly around the ship.

Maybe a few stolen moments with...

Phoenix was contemplative as he walked behind Larry toward the flight deck.

What did you expect? This is nothing new...

He sighed and Larry looked back at him, "You doing okay, bro?"

Phoenix forced his bravest smile, "Of course, happy to be here."

By the time he was settled in the cockpit, Phoenix had managed to clear his head of all these raging thoughts about Edgeworth. He just kind of showed up out of the blue anyway, and Phoenix had other cares and responsibilities that none of the folks at home would ever understand. He flipped the engines on and casually checked his flaps.

"Hey Nick," Larry's voice crackled through his headset, "AM3 says 'crash and burn'"

Phoenix smiled, "Ain't nobody got time for that."

He checked the gauges and the lights and then sat back waiting for his turn to taxi.

"Nick," Larry said, "We'll be flying with Matt and Juan today."

Phoenix shrugged and then realized that Larry couldn't see it, "Roger."

With the Air Boss's permission Phoenix let out the throttle and started taxiing into position behind the catapult. Several green shirts ran up to his plane to attach the launch bar. Phoenix raised his gaze away from the flight deck and stared out at the sea. He couldn't feel it, but his fix on the horizon told him they were turning the ship.

They gave him the order to move onto the catapult. He waited while personnel signaled around him and then disappeared out of the way. He felt rather than saw the JBD panel rise up from the deck behind him. He secured his mask and put up a hand so Larry could take it. They clasped hands for a moment and then he opened the throttle all the way sending a burst of flame against the JBD and a roar into the space around them.

He was holding his breath. It was like this every time. Then suddenly they shot forward so fast both of them were pressed into their seats and just as suddenly they were airborne.

"WOOOOOOOH! YEAH!" Larry screamed. Larry always screamed. Phoenix smiled behind his mask.

Well, you could say every launch was a freaking miracle.

He turned sharply, his plane banking hard to the left so that they were nearly sideways.

"Hey, Sick," Phoenix startled for a moment.

"Sick-Burn," he said pressing the comm, "Go ahead."

"Where are you?"

"Coming up on your five o'clock—two—twenty-five hundred yards."

"Okay, I see you," the other pilot's voice fizzed, "—min Ninja."

"Roger," Phoenix said, "Hey Larry."

"Yeah?"

"Turn your shit on."

"It's on," Larry said, "Stop being bossy."

Phoenix chuckled and settled in for the flight. The commander's brief earlier had the added effect of raising their anticipation and Phoenix found he was trilling with excitement in spite of himself. This was a longer mission than he was accustomed to and though he and Larry hung back in a support role to the two fighters, there was a measure of excitement at the thought of some action occurring.

Seven uneventful hours later Phoenix followed the Fighters into the pattern above the ship. So much for this 'imminent' threat. Not that he really wanted to deal with getting shot at. Getting shot at did not seem like fun.

The carrier looked like a toy below them; tiny and still in spite of the churning gray water around it. As he approached final he let his landing gear down and began his descent. He stared at the ship in front of him watching its subtle movement in the water. As exciting as the catapult was, landing was a much harder evolution. This took skill.

Phoenix listened to the tower and made his approach. As the ship loomed large into his view and suddenly everything seemed to speed up. He always had that near-miss feeling in the pit of his stomach when he landed. There was a bump as they hit the deck and then the trap stopped them. There was a pause while he waited for the order to release brakes and taxi.

Phoenix entered the ship behind Larry and Lieutenant Corrida who were discussing something about the flight. Lieutenant Engarde had gone inside well ahead of them. Phoenix rubbed at his spiky hair and yawned. He couldn't stop yawning.

"Hey Nick," Lieutenant Corrida said pausing to look back at him, "Good job today."

Phoenix smiled but was only able to answer with another yawn.

The three of them joined Lieutenant Engarde in the ready room for the debrief. The Wing’s N2, Lieutenant Commander Marshall, was there with Commander Johns, the squadron commander.

"Welcome back, y'all," Commander Marshall said with a capricious smirk, "Y'all had a good run?"

"It was quiet, sir," Lieutenant Engarde said.

"Good," Commander Marshall smiled, "Quiet is good, right?"

Phoenix startled and stifled another yawn.

Commander Marshall looked at Larry, "Did you get anything?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary, sir," Larry said and then yawned.

"Well, if there's nothing to report," Commander Marshall looked at Commander Johns, "I'll leave you to it."

He stood and walked out of the room. Phoenix frowned after him and then he yawned.

"I don't have anything for you guys," Johns said, "Just make sure to check the board because we've had a lot of changes to the flight schedule. Wright?"

Phoenix sat up, "Yes sir?"

He put up a hand to stifle another yawn.

"You might want to have them look at your oxygen," Johns said.

"I know sir," Phoenix said, "I think we're both a little hypoxic."

The commander frowned, "Do you guys need to go to sick bay?"

"I think we'll be okay," Phoenix said and then yawned again.

Larry dragged behind him as they made their way back to berthing. Phoenix stifled another yawn and looked at the other man, "Hey, are you hungry?"

Larry was yawning, but he nodded, "Yeah. I'm starving. That flight didn't serve meals."

Phoenix smiled at him, "Budget cuts, you know. Do you want to go to the mess?"

"I don't know man," Larry said, "I'm so tired too. I kinda just want to hit my rack."

Phoenix nodded, "Stifling another yawn. Remind me to pack snacks for the next one."

Larry laughed in spite of his weariness.

They entered the berthing and made a beeline for their stateroom. Inside, Phoenix sat on the deck to take off his boots while Larry climbed into his rack boots and all.

"Wake me up for midrats," Larry mumbled into his pillow.

Phoenix frowned up at him and dug around under his pillow for his phone, "Okay, I'll set an alarm"

With the alarm set, Phoenix stuck his phone back under his pillow and stifled another yawn before stripping out of his flight suit. He smiled; Larry was already starting to snore.

That's how it went for the next two weeks. Their flights were longer, and they were flying more missions per week—sometimes back to back. Phoenix wasn't sure quite how many days had passed while they were caught up in the surge.

He was sitting in the flight surgeon's office with Lieutenant Commander Hickfield, about two weeks later. The Doctor was perusing his chart with a frown.

"Are you sleeping well?" Commander Hickfield said without looking up at him.

Phoenix ran a hand through his hair and frowned, "Yeah. I sleep whenever I can. My Squadron Commander has been pretty cool about everything."

"You're way above your hours for the month," the flight surgeon said with a glare.

Phoenix stared incredulously at him. It's not like I did this for my own sake.

"You've lost six pounds in two weeks," the commander shook his head, "I mean it's not a lot, but in two weeks?"

Phoenix shook his head and stared at the wall, "We're busy. What can I say?"

"You know my recommendation, Lieutenant," the commander said.

Phoenix leaned forward and met the doctor's eye directly, "I'm fine! The month's almost over."

The Commander nodded solemnly, "Your Squadron Commander and the CAG both came in here on your behalf—well all of you in the squadron in this situation. They're talking about standing down the surge. But I don't feel comfortable waiving this."

Phoenix crossed his arms, "Just give me my up chit, doc. I promise I won't die."

Commander Hickfield laughed, "Good, I'll tell that to your mother when we're scraping you off the flight deck because you were too fatigued for VFR. Here's your record, go see HM1 and get some rest."

Phoenix grabbed the record and sighed as he walked way from the doctor's desk and went to look for HM1.

Phoenix dragged a metal folding chair over and sat under the wing of his plane. AS1 left him alone with AM3 and Airman Faraday to get chow—he'd be gone for at least an hour, maybe more.

"Nick! Oh my God, I haven't seen you in forever!" AM3 was bouncing up and down with her fists clenched and her cheeks puffed out. She paused and looked pointedly at the new kid, "I mean… Sir, we haven't seen you in a while…"

Phoenix shrugged, "It's been busy."

"We're almost done with the checks—Chief pulled us all yesterday to watch some video about sexual harassment. After that, I took Kay to do her laundry."

"How are you getting along?" Phoenix said turning to look at Airman Faraday.

"Fine, sir," She said, "But everyone keeps saying that I have to go mess crank—how long do I have to do that for?"

"Oh, I don't know," Phoenix said, "You'll have to ask AS1—I just fly the planes around here."

"Nick you look worn out," AM3 frowned and put a hand on his shoulder, "Are you Okay?"

"Yeah," Phoenix said, he leaned back in the chair and put his hands behind his head, and grinned, "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I hope they stop these extra flights," AM3 said, "It makes PMS a bitch."

"Yeah," Phoenix said, "Uh, you shouldn't talk about it."

Petty Officer Fey crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, "Duh, it's just us."

Phoenix grinned at her again, "Still... Anyway, I'm not flying today or tomorrow. So I can catch up on sleep and stuff."

AM3 smiled, "What do you do besides eat and sleep when you're not flying?"

Phoenix frowned, "I work out. Read."

"What are you reading?"

"Oh," Phoenix said, "It's this book about the War in the Pacific—it's on the reading list…"

"How can you be so boring?" AM3 said, "What else do you do?"

Phoenix smiled at her, "It's been insanely busy lately."

"I know, Nick," she smiled sweetly, "I guess we just missed you."

"You're too nice," Phoenix said, "No one brought you guys lunch while I was gone?"

"Yeah, we had to eat with all the stinky ship people."

Phoenix laughed, "I missed you guys too."

"AS1 will get mad if I don't finish these cards before he gets back," AM3 said and stood. Faraday followed her. But she paused and nodded at him.

He watched AM3 walk Faraday through one of the PMS cards. Teaching her the ropes so to speak—Phoenix smiled at them. Both of them were small girls wearing baggy, grease covered coveralls. AM3 had a habit of keeping a rag in her back pocket and several wrenches in her right hip pocket. It was ridiculously cute.

"Say, Nick," AM3 said, leaving Faraday alone to complete the checks, "Do you know anything about a port visit?"

Phoenix shrugged—but he certainly liked the sound of that, "No, I wouldn't know. I guess I can ask around, Butz might know someone who knows something—he's always hanging around those secret squirrel types."

"If we did have a port call, do you think we could have dinner together one of those nights?"

Phoenix almost blushed—he did smile though, and said, "We couldn't—just me and you, but if I opened it up to the whole crew—maybe invite AS1 and Chief, I'm sure that might pan out."

"It was worth a try," she said quietly.

Phoenix tapped her elbow, "Stop trying to get me in trouble Maya."

She grinned at him, "You know I'd never let any thing happen to you, Nick."

Phoenix laughed, "I better go before we end up before the man."

"Don't be a stranger, El Tee!"

"I'll see you around," Phoenix stood to leave.

"Alright," AM3 stood up again, "I'm going to check on the NUGIT. Why don't you go get us the nice sandwiches from the wardroom?"

"What do you want?" Phoenix stretched his back where he stood awaiting her reply.

"Surprise us—well, Kay doesn't do Ham or Roast beef," AM3 said.

He started to walk away from them, "I'll be back soon."

"Thanks El Tee!"

"Take care of my girl!"

"Of course!"

Phoenix climbed up to the O-3 level and checked his watch. It wasn't quite ten o'clock yet.

He didn't know what possessed him to do it, but he followed his traitorous boots to staff admin. He stepped through the hatch reluctantly and hesitated before approaching the counter.

The YN1 smiled sweetly at him as he approached, "Good morning, sir. What can we help you with?"

"Um," Phoenix ran a hand through his hair nervously, "I uh... I need to update my will."

This is crazy. He's probably already pissed that you've been gone for two weeks and now you're just going to barge into his workspace?

"Sure," YN1 moved to unlatch the chain that kept customers out from behind the counter, "If you go straight back you'll find the legal department. LN1 Miney can hook you up."

"Uh, thanks," Phoenix nodded politely and went back toward legal. He frowned when he saw two Legalmen Petty Officers and no sign of JAG.

The two of them looked up at him in shock.

"Can I help you sir?" LN1 said.

"Yeah I was..."

I was looking for JAG.

"I need to update my will," he smiled sheepishly at her.

"Oh," she stood and squeezed past LN3 so she could sit at the lone computer, "Sure, we can help you sir."

"Okay, let's see if we can get the damn thing to cooperate!"

Phoenix looked up. Oh, there you are...

Chapter Text

"Hey!"

Miles startled awake to find Lang nearly nose to nose with him.

"What are you—?"

"You were shouting in your sleep," Lang was frowning with sincere concern.

Miles swallowed.

Damn. It’s starting to rear its ugly head again...

These last several weeks on the ship he either couldn't sleep for all the noise or he'd been too exhausted to dream. Miles stared nervously at Lang's worried face.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Lang shook his head, "You were shouting!"

Miles pushed up from where he lay and sat up frowning down at Lang where he was standing on his own rack to peer at Miles.

This is so embarrassing... Why do I have to have a roommate?

Lang was glaring at him with scrutiny, his brow furrowed and in the dim red lighting he looked mean. Miles put a hand to his pounding heart. He put his head down.

"Do you get night terrors?" Lang asked when Miles remained silent.

Miles shook his head but he turned to the wall refusing to look at the other man.

"You'll have to go to sick bay—"

"NO!" Miles met his eye his tone beseeching and desperate, "No... There's no reason for that..."

Lang hopped down from his rack and pulled the chair out from where it was secured under the desk. He sat down.

"But if you need help..."

Miles slid down from his rack and started to pace around the tiny space of their stateroom, "I don't need help. It must've been a bad dream—that's all."

Lang stared at him incredulously, "You were shouting..."

Miles paused in his pacing and looked pleadingly at Lang, "Come on, it's nothing..."

"You were shouting about murder and death and—if I hadn't woken you up you might've woke up the whole berthing!"

"It won't happen again," Miles said.

Lang only frowned up at him and then crossed his arms, "Is it because I made you go to karaoke?"

Miles stared at him for several drawn out moments and then he laughed.

Lang shook his head, "Seriously though, this isn't funny."

"I promise it won't happen again," Miles said glaring now at the other man.

It wasn't fair; Lang was only showing the concern of someone who cared. Someone who obviously felt he was being a good friend. But really, it was nobody's business but his own.

Lang shook his head again and stood. He shoved the chair under the desk roughly, apparently upset about the situation.

Miles frowned, "I'm sorry I woke you up. I certainly didn't mean to."

Lang started pacing on his side of the stateroom, "That isn't the point here. I have an obligation to—a duty to report you!"

Miles felt a surge of panic rise into his chest, "There's been no crime here!"

Lang walked up to him and stuck his face into Mile's face, like a dog spoiling for a fight, "And if this is something more than just bad dreams? If you decide to—I don't know—jump off the ship? Am I just supposed to play ignorant?"

Miles stepped away from him. Lieutenant Lang was taller than him and as intimidating as a wolf when he was serious.

"Let's not jump to conclusions," Miles said coolly.

Lang threw his arms up suddenly, "I'm not going to back down until I know the truth!"

Lang's words came out like a growl and he grimaced menacingly, showing all of his teeth. Miles swallowed again.

"There's no reason for you to worry. Not about me and not about reporting this. Nothing happened."

"Says you! You've been in the Navy since breakfast! What do you know about—"

"Because I'm the JAG," Miles' voice was forceful suddenly, but steady and calm.

Lang cooled abruptly and scratched the back of his head, "Fine. I suppose it's your job to know the rules and regulations."

Miles watched him warily; still upset with the other man's outburst.

Lang started to pace around the room again. Rubbing his head emphatically and grunting in annoyance. Miles followed him with his eyes. This was a complicated situation indeed.

Lang went and yanked the chair out from under the desk again and sat down.

"What happened?"

Miles glared at him and then finally, he shook his head, "No. You don't get to ask me that. I barely know you."

Lang shot him his crooked grin and cocked his head, "We've been sleeping together for over a month!"

Miles startled and then cleared his throat, "Er... Sleeping in the same room—"

"That's what I said."

Miles sighed and then opened his locker. He took off his pajama top and put on a yellow PTU shirt.

"Where are you going? It's two in the morning," Lang leapt to his feet, "Look we should go back to bed. We'll figure this out in the morning."

"There's nothing to figure out," Miles said and slid on his shorts.

"I won't say anything for now. Just promise me that you're all right," Lang seemed desperate suddenly and Miles paused to glare at him and then he went back to putting on his socks and shoes.

"Where are you going?"

Miles left the stateroom and started walking briskly toward the nearest ladder well. Lang was right behind him.

"Why are you—?" Lang called after him.

Miles dogged the ladder well hatch and stood there holding the bar down so that Lang couldn't open it. He'd been doing well the last month. He thought for sure he’d gotten over this...

Apparently not...

Lang banged on the hatch with increasing fury. He was kind of a scary guy in that state. Miles let go of the bar and stepped back. He wouldn't be able to lose him.

He may as well get this over with.

Lang swung the hatch open so hard it slammed into the bulkhead with a crash. Lang was livid. Miles crossed his arms and glared at him. Lang glared back at him with his chin tucked and his shoulder's squared. Miles had the distinct feeling that he was about to get slammed into the bulkhead too. The stare down lasted for what felt like ten minutes.

Miles broke their standoff and turned to the ladder. He sat on the top step and put his head in his hands.

This is bad... How do you hide this? Curse this ship. There was no privacy...

Miles felt Lang's presence as the other man joined him on the ladder.

"So I understand, lawyer-boy," Lang said, "I'm not a professional. You don't have to talk to me, but if there's a problem, you need to talk to some—"

"What makes you think there's a problem?"

Lang hesitated for a moment, "This isn't my first deployment."

Miles rolled his eyes.

How is that relevant?

"This job... Being in the Navy isn't like having a job," Lang continued, "Everything about your life is managed by the organization—out of necessity. Then everyone has their actual job. Families that we don't get to see..."

What's he blabbing about now?

"I've seen bad things happen to good sailors," Lang's voice grew quiet, contemplative. They were sitting near enough to each other that Miles heard him swallow.

"Two deployments ago..." Lang hesitated, "One of my sailors killed himself. I was a brand new Lieutenant—"

"You make too many assumptions," Miles said.

Make it stop!

"I have the right to ask," Lang muttered almost inaudibly.

"It was nothing, a bad dream," Miles replied—how do I get him to quit?

They sat silently in the dim red glow of the ladder well.

"What happened to you?" Lang asked, his voice low, almost a whisper.

Miles sighed. There was no way he'd be able to avoid his roommate for the whole deployment. This was going to be inevitable.

"My father was murdered in front of me," he glanced sidelong at his companion, "I was nine."

Lang was silent but Miles could feel his eyes boring into him. They sat in the suffocating silence for a minute or twenty—it was hard to tell.

"I'm sorry," Lang whispered in a mix of awkward sympathy. People normally had a hard time responding to that. Miles smiled at the thought and felt a chuckle rise in his throat. He sobbed instead.

He felt Lang's arm fall over his shoulders. He wasn't sure what was worse, losing his composure in front of this man or falling subject to his inept attempt at comfort.

Miles managed to rein it in before he fell into a blubbering mess. He steeled himself against this ridiculous display of emotion and forced himself to stand. He stared down into the dark empty ladder well. Not sure if he should keep going or turn around and go back to bed.

"Miles," Lang was still sitting on the step, "Let's go back to bed."

Their little fiasco the night before left both of them weary and irritable that morning. They both decided to skip PT and breakfast in order to catch a few extra winks.

Miles arrived at his workspace harried and a little disheveled.

"Morning El Tee!" LN1 greeted him with her vapid smile.

"Good morning," he said, "Sorry I'm late."

"You're not late, sir!" She poked her tongue out and tapped her head, "You're just not as early as usual!"

Miles glared sidelong at her before pulling his notebook out of the shared drawer they used in the small space.

"LN3 took the 'What kind of sexy are you?' quiz," LN1 said, "He's Bombshell sexy!"

Miles made a face at her. She didn't seem to notice but LN3 was blushing full and red.

"He's also secretly a bitch," LN1 added in an exaggerated aside.

"Do either of you have anything work related to report?" Miles put his hands on his hips and glared at each of them in turn.

LN3 was nearly trembling, "I'm not really a bitch, sir!"

"You don't have to shout," Miles eyes narrowed to slits, "I'm standing right here."

He left the frustrating and uneventful work-center a couple hours later and met Lang at the mess for lunch. Lang looked worn out. Sleep was such a commodity.

"Hey," Lang said with very little enthusiasm.

Miles nodded at him and they joined the queue waiting for food. It was strange. He didn't like that he'd shared his secret with Lang. Well, he'd never admit to the worst of it out loud. No one had to suffer that but him alone.

"I told Cali that I wasn't going to have lunch," he stifled a yawn, "So we should get this to go and we can eat up in the Phalanx."

Miles only gave a slight nod in response.

They didn't talk after that except to ask for to-go boxes and answer questions from the CSs serving them. There were apples today that didn't look too old and Miles grabbed an extra one. He followed Lang down to the hangar bay and they walked through the wide-open space directly aft. Miles was surprised to see sunlight and water and the churning white swell of the ship's wake. It was easy to forget sometimes that they were on a ship and not trapped in the most poorly designed office building known to man.

"Hey," Lang called down to him from a platform above. Miles hadn't realized he'd been staring. It was hard climbing the vertical ladder with his food box in his hand. Eventually Lang reached down and offered to take it from him to ease his climb.

"I sent my men for chow," Lang said while Miles followed behind him on the narrow walking areas on the deck. Miles startled a few times when the catapult fired. It was so loud the sound seemed to echo in his chest.

Lang opened a hatch and they re-entered the quiet dimness of the ship. There was another trunk to climb before they reached Lang's work-center.

Miles looked around with a frown. The space was cramped and cluttered with various bits of electronic equipment and tools. Cables and wires stretched across the deck. In one corner an abandoned game of Call of Duty was frozen on a television held in place by bungee cords.

"Sit," Lang said and plopped himself on the deck cross-legged. Miles hesitated before joining him. They ate in silence in the tiny space, both of them famished from having missed breakfast.

"I only got a few maintenance tasks to finish up," Lang said in a casual tone, "I might call it an early day."

Miles nodded.

"I guess I could go to the gym," Lang added, "PRT is coming up."

Miles was rolling an apple in his hands.

"You don't have to be weird," Lang said, "I'm still your shipmate."

Miles only shot him a sidelong look in reply.

"You know, scuttlebutt says we'll have a port call in a couple weeks."

Lang grinned at the puzzled look on Miles' face, "Scuttlebutt, you know, the rumor mill."

"Ah," Miles said.

"I think the break will be good," Lang pulled a water bottle out of his cargo pocket and took a drought from it, "Most of us have been underway for more than two months now."

"Lang—"

"Shi or Shi-long," Lang corrected without skipping a beat.

"Yes well," Miles paused to recollect, "You won't say anything about last night?"

Lang frowned and turned the water bottle in his hand. He eventually answered with a solemn headshake, "It's none of my business—unless it happens again."

Miles stared at the apple in his hands like it had insulted him.

Lang chuckled to himself, startling Miles.

"I guess it makes sense," Lang smirked at him, "I knew you had some baggage hidden away somewhere."

Miles made a face at him.

"You were just a little too perfect," Lang continued, "There had to be something."

Miles could feel the prickling heat of embarrassment spread to his ears, "I'd rather you stopped talking about it."

Lang looked directly at him and frowned. He turned away and took a drought from his water bottle. Miles watched as he slid a personal laptop out from under one of the workstations and opened it.

"So where's your pilot?"

"He said he'd be flying today," Miles went back to frowning at the apple, "I guess I'll see him in a few days... Maybe."

"Maybe you can help," Lang's tone perked up, "Cali is obsessed with one of the Growler pilots. His name is Phoenix Wright."

Miles smiled, "I think my friend knows him."

Lang didn't look up from his computer, "Maybe you can help me with a little matchmaking."

"Wait, you mean Lieutenant Wright and Lieutenant Yew?"

"Yeah."

"I thought you and Yew..."

"Please," Lang said, "She's not my type... You know what I mean."

Miles looked at him, not sure if he was more offended or embarrassed.

"But she's boy crazy," he glanced up from the laptop, "I just want a little break from her."

"I don't blame you," Miles stood in the cramped space, "I should go back to work."

"Hang on," Lang was still focused on the laptop screen, "Let me finish this and I'll take you back—"

Miles smirked at him, "I can find it."

Lang looked up at him and grinned his cocky grin, "Well, shipmate, we'll make a regular sailor out of you yet!"

"I'll let you know how it goes with that pilot," Miles stifled a laugh before exiting the small space and climbing back into the trunk.

He made it back to the hangar bay just fine but got turned around on the main deck. It was just as well; the walk helped him think. The crowds were sparse as the galleys secured from lunch, which made the going a little easier. Miles kept an eye out for landmarks, anything he recognized. But there were so many things that looked the same.

He smiled to himself thinking about Phoenix the previous night dancing up in the mess like an idiot. A charming idiot. It was no wonder he seemed to do so well in the Navy.

Miles wondered about Lang. Their proximity to each other would make life difficult. Miles wondered how long it would take before the other man did something to give him away.

Can I trust Lang? Can I afford not to?

Four days went by in a monotonous drag and he heard or saw nothing of Phoenix Wright. It was discomfiting to say the least.

Is he upset that I walked out of the karaoke performance? Is he upset that I had refused his advance?

"He does have an important job," Lang pointed out one night over dinner, "Pilots are at the mercy of the flight schedules. It seems like they get special treatment and they spend a lot of time lounging around, but their job is not only very physically demanding but their missions also soak up hours out of a day. A four hour flight might mean that your pilot is occupied for eight or ten hours."

Miles contemplated this trying to find comfort in the thought that perhaps Phoenix had been busy lately. That was acceptable for the first week. But nearly two weeks and no contact?

One can't help but take that personally...

"You worry too much," Lang was holding his feet while he did his sit ups, "One minute, you need to speed up."

"I just worry that perhaps our meeting wasn't nearly so successful as I'd thought."

"What could you have possibly done to piss him off?" Lang rolled his eyes at him, "Thirty seconds left. He's just busy."

"I hope you're right," Miles said.

"Fifteen seconds. Come on pick up the pace, you can knock out ten more," Miles found him more frightening than motivating.

"Five," Lang was glaring hard at him now, "four—come on don't stop."

"Oh it's fine," Miles said, "How many was that."

Lang made a face at him, "Eighty-six..."

Miles stood and stretched, "That's passing."

"Don't settle for passing! You need to be outstanding! Now, shake it out, you have two minutes to knock out a hundred push-ups."

Miles glared at him, "I'm not doing a hundred push ups..."

"Grrrrr..." Lang waved his hands in the air, "You're such a—uh..."

"Lawyer?"

On top of his private dilemmas, his department was now required to provide printed transcripts of the last three separation boards held on the ship. Miles wasn't even on board when they'd happened.

And the stupid printer was being as uncooperative and vindictive as any contraption could be short of actually being sentient. Miles had to walk carefully while balancing eight reams of paper and four toner cartridges. He had to enter sideways through the hatches so he could step over the knee knockers without tripping. The last thing he needed was to drop his precious cargo and scatter it all over the blue tile area. What if the scary XO saw him? Miles was sure he still hadn't lived down the missing ribbon incident.

YN1 May was kind enough to give him a hand into the admin spaces and lead him toward legal. He could hear LN1's grating voice as he entered the spaces.

"Okay," Miles said, "Let's see if we can get the damn thing to cooperate!"

He dropped his cargo onto the desk and looked up to find he was standing face to face with Phoenix Wright.

Chapter Text

Phoenix stared at him. Edgeworth's hair was slightly tousled from whatever he had been doing and his gray eyes were dark in the artificial light. Edgeworth's expression was impassive and Phoenix felt his breath catch nervously. He raised his chin and forced a grin at Edgeworth.

"Are you the JAG?" Phoenix asked.

Miles smirked at him, "I am, what can I do for you, Lieutenant—?"

"Wright," Phoenix said, "Nice to finally meet you. I uh... I need to update my will—"

Edgeworth frowned at him. His brow twitched and then furrowed in concern.

"I can take care of him El Tee," LN1 cut in.

"LN1," Edgeworth's stare never left Phoenix's face, "Why don't you figure out how to get that printer working. I'll take care of Mister Wright."

Edgeworth turned and opened a file cabinet and dug out some forms, "Wright, it's a little crowded in here, perhaps we can find a bit of privacy on the mess decks."

"Sure," Phoenix said, "Lead the way, JAG."

"El Tee," LN3 popped to attention blocking their departure, "Do you—"

"Make sure LN1 doesn't kill that printer," Edgeworth said while shoving Phoenix out of the space.

In the quiet of the corridor, Edgeworth turned his worried gaze in his direction, "Where—? Is everything okay? What happened?"

Phoenix paused and looked at Edgeworth, nonplussed, "Nothing's wrong. My will is fine. I just wanted to see you."

Edgeworth leaned into him and grabbed him in a desperate embrace, "Why would you come in here talking about your will like that!"

Phoenix patted his back, "Hey, someone will see us."

Edgeworth let him go abruptly, and for a moment he smiled sincere and unguarded. Phoenix grinned; he was touched. When Edgeworth smiled—really smiled—he could melt glaciers.

They started walking toward the nearest ladder well before Phoenix had a chance to embarrass himself.

"I'm sorry about the last two weeks," Phoenix began as they descended the ladder.

"No, I understand," Edgeworth paused and looked up at him, "You have an important job and obligations."

"I wanted to let you know—"

Edgeworth dismissed him with a flip of his hand and trotted down the last few steps.

"So you'll be glad to know, they're not going to let me fly until the first of the month," Phoenix smiled, "I'm way over my hours for the month and the doc won't give me an up-chit."

"And that's good?" Edgeworth asked as he started down the next ladder.

"Well, normally I'd be upset," Phoenix said, "But circumstances being what they are..."

Edgeworth cocked his head, puzzled, "What circumstance?"

Phoenix frowned slightly, "I have to show you the ship."

Edgeworth frowned, "Oh—about that..."

Phoenix looked up at him, feeling hurt, "You mean you don't want me to—"

"No, no," Edgeworth opened the hatch and they exited onto the main deck, "I have a hearing to go to in Naples. I leave tomorrow."

"What?"

"Yeah," Edgeworth grimaced, "They're making me ride a helicopter."

Phoenix slapped his shoulder, "Cool! Like a boss!"

Edgeworth made a face and shook his head.

"How long will you be gone?"

"A couple of days—unless they decide to go forward with the court martial. Then it’ll be a couple of weeks at least."

Phoenix stopped walking, "I'll be flying again by the time you get back."

Edgeworth ran a hand through his hair and then continued walking toward the mess decks. Phoenix hesitated before jogging to catch him up.

"We're so doomed..."

Edgeworth glanced sidelong at him but said nothing.

He chose the first table he saw and sat down. Phoenix joined him with some small measure of reluctance. The mess deck was blessedly deserted save for a couple of FSAs swabbing the deck near the scullery, well out of their earshot.

Edgeworth smoothed the forms on the table, staring at them with an intensity they probably didn't deserve.

"What time are you leaving tomorrow?"

"The flight is scheduled for fourteen hundred," Edgeworth said without looking up from the papers on the table, "But I think I have to be in ATO at noon."

Phoenix nodded.

"It'll probably take me all day to find it," Edgeworth said with a small frown.

Phoenix burst out laughing, "You realize ATO is just around the corner from where you work?"

Edgeworth met his eye, "Oh."

"Yeah," Phoenix stared at his hands on the table in front of him, "I could show you around tonight. If you feel up to it."

Edgeworth turned his head slightly, "That's fine. I can't sleep anyway..."

Phoenix sat back and stared at him.

No... He wasn't still...?

"Miles," Phoenix began, but Edgeworth shook his head.

"I'm fine," he forced a small tight-lipped smile, "It's loud on the ship."

"Yeah," Phoenix said, "I guess you never really get used to it."

"You should see my roommate," Edgeworth said, "It's like he can't hear that damned sliding thing at all."

Phoenix smiled, "You mean the catapult?"

"Is that what that is?"

"It's the only way a fixed-wing aircraft can gather enough speed on a deck this short."

"I don't have to do that tomorrow, do I?"

Phoenix couldn't help but smile at the look of concern on Edgeworth's face, "No. Helos are rotary. They can take off without taxiing."

"I knew that," Edgeworth frowned and tugged at his bangs.

"Don't be nervous," Phoenix cocked his head and smiled, "We've got some really good aviators in the helo det."

"You know the rotors can cut off your head," Edgeworth started tapping his fingers together and stared fixedly at them as he did so.

"There's really nothing to worry about," Phoenix stared at him, both worried and amused at Edgeworth's discomfort, "They're perfectly safe."

Edgeworth shuddered and then he looked at Phoenix and slapped the forms on the table, "So. Your will."

"I'm an aviator," Phoenix shook his head, "My will is up to date. All of that stuff."

Edgeworth frowned, "High risk job..."

Phoenix shrugged, "It is what it is."

Edgeworth looked suddenly contemplative. His eyes were occupied in studying the forms in front of him.

"Don't worry about me," Phoenix grinned, "I'm actually pretty good at this."

He waited, but Edgeworth didn't say anything so he continued, "What time do you think you'll get done?"

"I have that hearing, so I'll have to finish packing. But mostly it depends on how soon we get that printer working."

"Do you want to meet for chow?"

"You don't think that will be too obvious?"

"Fine," Phoenix said, "Do you know how to get to the hangar bay?"

"Yes, of course," Edgeworth managed to look slightly offended.

"What about I meet you there? At about nineteen hundred or so?"

"Make it twenty hundred," Edgeworth started gathering the papers together.

"See you then," Phoenix stood and then he stuck his hand in his pocket, "I almost forgot. Here you go."

Phoenix held out his fist and hesitantly Edgeworth held out his palm. Phoenix dropped the National Defense ribbon into his hand. The blush that spread across Edgeworth's cheeks as he stared at it was precious.

Phoenix left the mess decks with a little more bounce in his step. He was smiling so much other people in the P-ways smiled back.

"Lieutenant Wright!"

Phoenix stopped in his tracks and looked at her. She was another Lieutenant with a severe countenance holding a frozen coffee drink in her hand. She might've been pretty if she didn't have that look on her face like something stank.

"I'm sorry," Phoenix said, "Have we met?"

"A couple weeks ago," she smirked at him, "At karaoke."

Phoenix ran a hand through his spikes and chuckled, "Yeah, um... I'm sorry. Not to be rude, but it was dark—I don't..."

She shot a hand at him so forcefully it took him a moment to realize she was offering a handshake, "Calisto Yew."

"Okay," Phoenix shook her hand politely, "I'm Phoenix Wri—"

"I know who you are."

"Okay."

She stood there scrutinizing him hungrily with her sharp brown eyes. Phoenix didn't want to be rude, but it was starting to get creepy.

"Um," he uttered to break the uncomfortable silence, "Did you need something from me?"

"Yes."

He stared at her.

What? She's probably crazy...

He motioned with his hands for her to get on with it.

"I want to do a duet with you," she nodded solemnly when she said it, "The next time they do karaoke night."

Phoenix rubbed the back of his neck, "Um... wow... So I'm not really sure I'll be able to make the next one. I'm... I'm an aviator, so... My schedule can get pretty erratic."

"The next time you are able to attend. I'll wait. You, me, Islands in the Stream."

"Huh, okay," Phoenix startled as she flicked his collar playfully and turned to walk away.

Wow, what a creep.

He made his way back to his stateroom and found Larry sleeping. He shook his head and changed out of his NWUs. He might as well hit the gym—he'd been letting it slide while they were surged. Plus, he ought to try and look his best tonight.

Phoenix rushed through his dinner, barely acknowledging Larry and his laments about his supposed actress girlfriend. He wasn't sure why because he hadn't been listening, but suddenly Larry was ridiculously lachrymose. He kept grabbing Phoenix's sleeve and blubbering incoherently.

Really? Tonight Larry? You're going to do this tonight?

Phoenix had a sinking feeling in his gut as he half-carried half-dragged Larry back to berthing.

I'm going to be late. I hope he waits for me...

After he'd managed to get Larry into his rack, Phoenix rushed out of the stateroom and raced down the nearest ladder. When he got down to the hanger bay, the lights were still on, but activity was starting to slow. There were a few scattered groups conducting group PT, everything from Yoga to Crossfit. A space had been cleared for runners and they were moving along in a circle.

He walked past other planes and the Captain's Gig looking around hopefully for Edgeworth. Phoenix stopped and smiled when he saw him standing near several large equipment canisters covered in a gray tarp. He had his back to him, but Phoenix could recognize that hair and his too erect stance anywhere.

Phoenix snuck up on him and grabbed him from behind locking his arms. Edgeworth startled and squirmed.

"Don't—!"

Phoenix let him go and Edgeworth spun around to glare at him.

"Why do you have to cause a scene?"

"Aw come on, nobody cares," Phoenix shrugged, "Were you waiting long?"

Edgeworth glanced at his watch and then shot him a dark stare.

"Come with me, I'll show you my plane," Phoenix touched his arm and led the way across the hangar bay. They moved away from the lighted, populated area into a maze of planes of all types. They were chained to the deck. Chariots awaiting their masters.

"Watch your step," Phoenix said just in time to see Edgeworth stumble over a chain laid out on the deck. Edgeworth managed to catch himself but he looked irritated about the cluttered deck.

"There she is," Phoenix grinned and held up his hands like a magician showing off the big reveal. Edgeworth crossed his arms and looked up at the plane.

After several moments of silence, Phoenix glanced at him with a frown. Edgeworth bent to study the fuel tank under the fuselage. He started to walk around peering at whatever caught his eye. The tire. The tail hook. The tags placed by the maintenance crew to show where work was needed.

"Well," Phoenix was starting to worry, "What do you think?"

"It looks like an airplane."

Phoenix drooped a little. Really?

"What's this?" Edgeworth pointed at covered piece of electronics protruding like a blister from the chassis. Phoenix peered at it and frowned.

"Oh that," he shook his head and dragged Edgeworth away, "That's classified. If I tell you, I'll have to kill you."

Edgeworth clicked his tongue in annoyance.

"I honestly don't know," Phoenix admitted finally, "That's Larry's. I just fly the plane."

"I want to say I'm intrigued, but I've never really cared overly much for planes."

Phoenix sighed.

Okay, so the whole 'Impress him with this 70 million dollar piece of equipment thing' just kind of fell flat...

"So. Does it start like a car?" Edgeworth was staring up at the canopy with his head cocked to one side and his hand on his chin.

Phoenix smiled. It was a lot more complicated than that, "Sort of, I guess."

Edgeworth was still fixated on the canopy and nose of the plane. Phoenix and Larry both had their names painted on the side just below it.

"Come on," Phoenix took his arm, "I know this isn't really your thing."

"No, it's rather fascinating," Edgeworth didn't resist as Phoenix led him away from the plane, "This is the monster that stole your heart."

Phoenix grinned sheepishly, "Yeah. I guess."

As they left the tangled labyrinth of airplanes the bright fluorescent lights started going out in the hangar, replaced with dim red lighting. They were walking side by side now that they had room to do so. Phoenix pushed the back of his left hand against Edgeworth's right.

They were walking so close to each other, Phoenix could feel Edgeworth's sharp intake of breath at the touch. But he didn't pull his hand away. Around them others were walking toward the perimeter of the hangar. Finding their respective ladders.

Edgeworth started to turn toward one of the ladder wells, but Phoenix grabbed the sleeve of his blouse. It was so dark he could barely make out his face, let alone whatever expression he wore.

"Just a little longer," Phoenix said softly, "You're leaving tomorrow."

Edgeworth said nothing but made no further movements toward leaving.

Phoenix led him toward the seaside gym, which was still lighted and still bustling with activity. They crossed the gym and entered another chamber that overlooked the inky black sea. Starlight found outlines in their hair and faces, but wasn't enough to reveal them to any onlooker.

Phoenix sat on the deck near the opening and dug in his pocket for his phone. He pulled it out with a flourish and smiled up at Edgeworth.

Edgeworth was fixated on the sea and sky outside and he stood with his arms crossed while the breeze whipped his cropped hair around.

"Hey," Phoenix smiled, "Come sit."

He saw Edgeworth turn to look at him but his expression was unreadable in the dimness. Several moments later, when Edgeworth remained standing, Phoenix hopped to his feet. He flipped through the screens on his phone and started a song.

He saw Edgeworth's head move. Good thing it was so dark, at least Phoenix didn't have to see him glaring.

Phoenix set the phone on one of the bollards near the opening while the small sounds of a piano marked the opening bars of the song. Edgeworth's head cocked.

"Nick, what are you doing?"

Phoenix smiled, following the tinny sound of the music drifting from the speakers on his phone, "I know it's late..."

"Oh—! Please don't," Edgeworth stepped away from him.

"I know you're weary. I know your plaa-aans don't include me-eeh!"

"If you don't stop—"

"Still here we are..."

"—I'm going to leave."

"Come on, why won't you let me serenade you?"

Edgeworth didn't reply but Phoenix could almost feel the heat of his glare. Phoenix moved in closer to him and put his hands on Miles' forearms, which were still crossed over his chest.

"We got tonight..."

Miles turned his head away from him and chuckled.

"Who needs tomorrow?"

"You're incorrigible..."

"That's why you like me," Phoenix smiled and pulled his arms straight, "Come on, let's dance."

"If you promise to leave the singing to the recording," Miles said.

"Deep in my soul," Phoenix sang louder, "I've been so lonely."

Miles pulled away from him, shaking his head.

"All of my hopes—" Phoenix was shocked when Miles kissed him. He was too surprised to move and he met Miles eyes. His vision had adjusted to the darkness and though he could make out his face it was still hard to see the other's expression.

Phoenix grabbed Miles by the collar and kissed him back. Lingering where they stood.

Miles broke their kiss and put his hands up, cradling Phoenix's face. He pressed his forehead to Phoenix's forehead.

They started to sway, slowly and tentatively to the music playing faintly from the phone. Phoenix laughed giddily. Miles replied with similar mirth.

Suddenly Miles stopped and he rested his chin on Phoenix's shoulder, "Is this how it's going to be? Stolen moments... Brushing up against each other furtively in dark corridors?"

"I'm sorry," Phoenix whispered, "But it really doesn't get better than this underway..."

"There's always a risk we'd get caught," he continued.

"What if we met off the ship?" Miles' question made him smile.

"I thought you'd never ask," Phoenix grinned—though whether Miles could see or not was lost in the moment.

"Isn't this nice?" Phoenix asked.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" There was mirth in his voice despite the sardonic question.

"What's wrong with a little romance once in a while?" Phoenix grinned and he felt Miles tremble in barely suppressed laughter.

"Fortunately you're romantic enough for the both of us," Miles said.

The song ended and Phoenix led Miles to the bulkhead near the opening. The moon was rising and it was suddenly light enough for them to see each other. Phoenix sat with his back to the bulkhead. Miles sat beside him initially, but Phoenix pulled him closer so that Miles was in front of him. Phoenix put an arm around Miles' shoulder and over his chest and the other around his waist. He squeezed him tightly, burying his face against Miles shoulder blades.

The song started again.

"Um," Miles said, "Do you really only have one song on your phone?"

Chapter Text

"I can't talk about it," Miles frowned at him, "The investigation is still ongoing."

"I'm just curious," Lang shoveled some more eggs into his mouth and Miles found that he was relieved to have a break in conversation.

Miles stared at his own tray and drummed his fingers on the table.

"You should eat," Lang said, "Or you'll get airsick."

Miles picked up his fork and slid it across his plate driving a line through his eggs.

"What's wrong now?" Lang glared at him, "Did you sleep last night?"

"I'm fine," Miles said meeting his glare.

Lang grinned, "Are you scared?"

"I've never been on a helicopter before," Miles admitted, "But I've been reassured. So no, I'm not really that scared."

"Lieutenant Edgeworth?"

They both looked up in surprise at their recent companion. She was a petite blonde wearing the olive drab flight suit of an aviator and carrying her breakfast tray timidly.

"May I join you?"

Lang grunted affirmatively and slid over so that she could sit next to him in front of Miles. She set down her tray and held a hand out to him and then Lang.

"I'm Lieutenant Andrews," she smiled, "I'm flying you to Naples this afternoon."

"Oh," Miles looked at her more closely and she blushed slightly under his gaze, "Forgive me, but is it normal for you to visit all of your passengers before a flight?"

She laughed prettily, "Hardly. But Nick said you were nervous about this flight. This will be your first helo ride, right?"

Lang was staring between the two of them with his mouth agape. His eyes were wide with incredulity, "This is my third underway. I've been flown out dozens of times and I have never had the pilot come find me like this!"

Lieutenant Andrews' sweet demeanor suddenly turned cold, "I'm an aviator. Pilots drive boats."

Lang was speechless. He stared at her and then glanced at Miles. Miles smiled and took a forkful of eggs, partly because he suddenly felt better and partly so he wouldn't have to talk.

"Well," Andrews picked up her fork turning her gaze to her plate, "Nick is a very good friend of mine, and he's very fond of you, Edgeworth, so I promise to take care of you."

Lang put his hands up, "Wait wait wait! Are you talking about Nick Wright?"

Andrews nodded at him while she chewed.

Lang turned his wolfish glare back to Miles, "Don't tell me he's your pilot friend?"

"Aviator," Andrews corrected.

Miles put his head down and took another forkful of eggs. He shook his head at Lang and shrugged.

Lang frowned thoughtfully, "Because Cali said she'd talked to him yesterday and he agreed to do a duet with her. I thought you'd—"

Miles shook his head and then choked down his mouthful of eggs. He was starting to feel sick again. He paused and then met Lang's stare—

wait, duet? With Calisto Yew?!

He frowned pointedly, "Where is Lieutenant Yew, anyway?"

"Maybe she's practicing for her duet," Lang grinned, "I can't believe you—JAG—of all people—has won the attention of Phoenix Wright!"

Miles frowned, "I don't follow."

"Phoenix Wright is the most eligible bachelor on the ship!" Andrews said, "I guess we all know why he's stayed so single for so long."

"He's on the down low," Lang quipped, "Man, I can't believe I never noticed. This changes so many things..."

Miles was frowning at them, "I don't think he'd appreciate you discussing so animatedly his personal preferences."

"It's a modern Navy," Lang grinned, "It doesn't matter anymore."

Miles shook his head, "Perhaps the laws have changed. Policies have been updated. But tolerance is not something that comes about over night."

"What's with all the doom and gloom?"

Miles shook his head and finished off his breakfast as quickly as he could, "I have to meet with Senior and MAC."

He stood and glanced at Andrews, "It was nice to meet you. I'll see you in a few hours."

She smiled, "You too! Take care!"

Miles caught a glimpse of Lieutenant Andrews laughing at something Lang was saying as he walked out of the mess. He took the ladder to the O-3 level and stopped by his office to grab a steno pad and his organizer. LN3 greeted him with a nod, but Miles didn't stay to chat. He stepped briskly along the corridor and took the ladder down to the main deck and entered the 'precinct' casually.

MAC Gumshoe was leaning back in his chair with his feet on the desk. Miles stood in the space for several moments before clearing his throat. Chief nearly fell out of his chair.

"Hey sir! How long were you standing there?"

Miles shook his head and smiled slightly, "Where's Senior Badd?"

"He's on his way," MAC said, "He got stopped in the mess on the way down."

Someone taped on the edge of the open hatch and both Miles and MAC turned to look at their recent companion. He was a gruff looking Warrant Officer wearing his NWUs and a smirk. He had his arms crossed and was glaring around at the two of them.

"Morning, Warrant," Chief said and grinned.

"Morning," the Warrant said, "I came in to see if there was anything we needed for this hearing."

"Warrant," Miles said, "They're going to want to review your investigation. But that shouldn't take too long, as I've taken the liberty to prepare binders for everyone on the board."

"I reckon, this is gonna be a little break for us then, eh, Pardner?" Warrant smiled at Miles.

"Uh, yes sir," Miles forced a smile in reply.

Warrant pushed into the small office and took a seat in the chair in front of MAC's desk. He looked around.

"Where's Senior Badd?"

"He's on his way, sir," MAC said.

Warrant nodded and leaned back in his seat. He took out a K-bar and started cleaning his nails. Miles startled a little.

How is he allowed to have one of those?

MAC didn't seem to care.

"Sooo," Warrant said without looking up from his nails, "Are you planning to pursue a court martial?"

"As much as I don't care to extend my time in Naples, I am prepared to move forward with this. After all, the evidence speaks for itself. Justice must be done."

A slow grin spread over the Warrant's face, "Wey-ell... Our Little JAG's got a little fire in him!"

Miles only frowned at him.

"Sorry I'm late!"

The voice was gruff and Miles turned to look directly at Senior Badd as he entered the precinct. The older man had a paper stick in his mouth and a large travel mug in his hand.

"Why are you all sitting around here looking like it's the end of the world?"

The three of them stared at the gruff Senior Chief. Eventually, Miles shook his head, "I think we have this in the bag, Senior. We just have these formalities to contend with."

Senior turned the stick in his mouth and then pulled it out, revealing an orange Tootsie Pop, "Well, kiddo, this is your first big case, isn't it?"

Miles smirked, "Actually, Senior, I was practicing before I'd joined the Navy. I've managed a few successful prosecutions already."

Senior smiled and then popped his lollipop back into his mouth, "That's why you came so highly recommended."

Warrant laughed from his seat in the corner of the cramped space, "Senior, if I didn't know better, I'd reckon you were out for blood."

Senior cocked his head and turned his hard glare toward the Warrant, "What can I say, sir? There's no room in my Navy for this kind of trouble."

Miles looked at Senior and cocked an eyebrow, observing the conversation with sudden interest.

"You see," Senior continued, "We bring in people from all walks of life. We run them through boot camp or OCS or—" he glanced at Miles—"Or whatever. To show them how to live and work in this new world. But we can't change people. People are always going to go back to what they know."

MAC sat up rigidly in his chair and was staring up at the Senior Chief with shining eyes.

"If your sailor grows up surrounded by drugs, they will inevitably return to that world if we don't make an effort to help. This guy—he's a creep, there's no better way to describe it. I only regret that he's made it this far in the Navy."

MAC nodded solemnly, "We can't say just how many sailors he victimized."

Senior Badd slapped Miles on the shoulder startling him so bad he almost dropped his steno pad, "So, I hope you bring your experience into play and remove this criminal from our ranks."

Warrant smiled at Miles and put his knife away, "No pressure, JAG."

Miles left the precinct feeling rather more confident about the hearing. He checked his watch; it was after ten. If he hurried, he might be able to catch a few minutes with him. Miles jogged up the ladders toward berthing. He'd gotten much better about climbing up and down without banging his legs.

He was nervous as he walked through the Air Wing's JO Jungle, seeing glaring colors from the squadron stickers proudly displayed on the doors. He got turned around a few times looking for Phoenix's door and was relieved when he finally found it.

He tired to hold back his eagerness as he put up his fist to knock on the metal door. He banged on it and then stepped back. There was a sock tied around the door knob. Miles frowned at it.

He waited. Nothing happened. After a few minutes, Miles decided to try once more before he left. He banged his fist on the door. There was a muffled shout and the small sounds of movement on the other side. Larry Butz poked his head out of the door.

"What?"

"Is Lieutenant Wright—?"

"Dude, no. He either went to the gym or he's flirting with the chicks in the helo det. Didn't you see the sock?"

Miles glared—he's flirting with who?

He stared at the sock tied to the doorknob, "I didn't know what it meant."

Larry started to laugh at him and he accidently let go of the door and it opened wide enough for Miles to see he had no pants on. Miles turned around immediately.

"I'm just..." He started to say—but decided his departure was more warranted. He'd just started down the second ladder when he saw Phoenix coming up. He was dressed in his PTU and soaked in sweat. Miles couldn't help but note how well he filled out that ridiculous yellow shirt.

"Oh hey," Phoenix smiled at him, "Were you looking for me?"

Phoenix paused to tug his ear-buds out of is ears and then jogged the last few steps so that they were standing together on the landing.

"Er, I'll be leaving here soon," Miles turned away from him not wanting to stare.

Phoenix made a face, "Let me guess, you ran into Larry?"

"Look, I didn't think you'd be so busy so—"

"Miles," Phoenix put his head down in an obvious attempt to meet his eye, "You don't have to be there until noon. Can you wait like ten minutes—max?"

Miles nodded before he'd even realized it and found his traitorous boots following after Phoenix Wright. He stayed and paced the corridor near Phoenix's state room while the other rushed to gather his things and then jogged across the passageway to the head.

He ran several upset and paranoid scenarios involving Lieutenant Andrews and Lieutenant Yew.

Five-almost six years... So much could have happened in that time...

Curse this situation, they were close enough on the ship but already it was apparent that they wouldn't have much time with each other without making their relationship too obvious. Miles paused in his pacing and stared at Phoenix's stateroom door, they weren't ready for that. They were still feeling this out.

He shook his head and started pacing again; it was too soon for that. They had their history, but the more time they spent together the more Miles was acutely aware of just how far apart they'd grown.

"Relax Miles," Miles startled and turned to face him. Phoenix was smiling at him with that smile that managed to be at once reassuring and utterly charming. He was only wearing a towel and some flip-flops, and for some reason the towel was too small.

"It isn't nice to stand there like a fish," Phoenix had left him where he was standing and went into his stateroom. Miles only then realized his mouth had been hanging open.

Following a short muffled argument Larry exited the stateroom looking rather guilty. He stood in the P-way with a look of uncertainty before looking directly at Miles.

"He can be a total douche sometimes," Larry jerked his thumb toward the stateroom.

Miles smiled at him.

"What are you waiting for?"

"I was—um... He's taking me to ATO," Miles said. Good save!

Larry scratched his head, "You still don't know where ATO is? Dude!"

Miles jumped a little when Larry slapped his shoulder and turned toward the nearest ladder well, "See you around, bro."

"Take care," Miles replied absently.

He barely had time to register Larry's departure when Phoenix exited his stateroom wearing his flight suit and still running a comb through his damp hair. Miles was taken aback, he'd never seen such perfectly coifed hair—ever—let alone on Phoenix Wright. Phoenix smiled and then turned to pull the door to his stateroom closed. The subtle movement was enough to send his hair springing back into its usual array of spikes.

"Ready?" Phoenix asked.

Miles looked at his watch, "I need to swing by my room to get my bag—just in case."

Phoenix held out his arm, "Lead the way."

Miles nodded and started walking toward the nearest ladder, "Why are you wearing your flight suit? I thought you didn't have to fly—"

"I'm in a flight status," Phoenix smiled, "Plus this is easier to throw on and I didn't want you to have to wait."

"Ah, I see," Miles opened the hatch and let Phoenix come through before dogging it down behind them. He jogged down one deck with Phoenix on his heel.

"You know, it's almost worth it to go through all that training just to get to wear these," Phoenix chuckled, "It's like a man-onesie."

Miles laughed out loud and shook his head as they exited into another p-way.

ATO was deserted when they entered except for the bored looking Air Crewman sitting in the back of the space behind a desk cluttered with ear protection, paperwork, and various tools and toys.

There were metal storage pods set up around the space that had thin plastic covered foam cushions installed so they could double as seating for waiting passengers. Miles set his bag on the floor and took a seat in the corner facing the television and Phoenix sat beside him.

"Are you guys flying out?" The Air Crewman asked, leaning forward in his chair.

Phoenix smiled at him, "He is."

"The COD leaves at thirteen hundred for NSA Souda," the Air Crewman said.

"I'm going to Naples," Miles added.

"Oh, okay," the disheveled Petty Officer flipped through his clipboard, "You're on the helo leaving at fourteen."

"Yes," Miles said.

"Y'all can hang out if you want to," he continued, "But the brief at 1200 is only for the COD. You don't need it for the helo. So if you want, just come back at like thirteen thirty."

Miles looked at Phoenix and Phoenix answered with a mischievous grin.

"We could get chow," Miles offered pragmatically.

Phoenix nodded, "Yeah, that's an option too, I guess."

"You're not hungry?"

"Man, I ran six miles today, I'm starving!"

They got up and headed toward the forward mess.

"How did you run six miles on a ship?" Miles frowned at him as they made their way through the passages.

"Well, you see," Phoenix spoke animatedly and motioned with his hands, "They've got these magical devices that you can run on and you can just keep going but you stay in one place."

Miles made a face at him, "A treadmill?"

Phoenix shrugged, "You asked the question."

"I'm trying," Miles said.

"So I'm curious about your hearing in Naples," Phoenix said conversationally.

"I can't talk about it," Miles shot him a nervous glance, "The investigation is still considered on-going."

"Everybody on the ship knows that HM1 Hottie got sent up to DRB and XOI. Then he waived his right to captain's mast. So it's not far fetched to deduce that—"

"Does the whole ship really know that?" Miles was worried. He'd done his best to keep as much of the case close hold as he possibly could.

And yet...

"Don't get upset about it," Phoenix shrugged, "The dude has been a creep since he got onboard. I mean, you can't tell me tweaking my nipples is part of a routine exam."

Miles glared, "Let's just—I can't believe—you really let him—! Don't talk about it!"

Phoenix laughed, "You'll get used to it. But when you have five thousand people living on top of each other in a giant tin can, there will be few secrets. So don't get upset if you hear things about me."

Miles stopped walking and stared at him, "What?"

Phoenix turned to look at him, "I'm asking you to trust me. Because I care about you."

"Okay," Miles crossed his arms.

"But stuff goes on in this ship that people perceive or interpret however they like and most of the time the truth of the matter is so twisted and broken that it's hard to know what really happened. People are bored. So people talk. And inevitably, these half-truths and rumors build into these fantastic stories that... Well, I need you to trust me. Because I won't lie to you."

Miles glared at him, "So... You let a First Class Petty Officer tweak your nipples?"

Phoenix stared back at him incredulously, "That wasn't the point I was trying to make!"

Miles shook his head and continued toward the forward mess.

"You're not mad, are you?" Phoenix seemed genuinely worried that might be the case.

"No," Miles paused to look at him, "I'm disappointed in how terribly the system is flawed. But I'm not mad at you."

"I don't want you to leave me angry," Phoenix's statement was so earnest Miles had to stop walking and look at him directly.

"Not like..." Phoenix's voice had lowered to a whisper, "Not like the last time."

Miles frowned at him, turning these statements in his head.

Not like last time? You left me!

He sighed.

Calm down. Now is not the time.

Miles forced a smile and hoped it didn't come off like a grimace, "I trust you, Wright. I assure you, I am not angry."

Phoenix held out his hand, "Promise you'll never leave while you're angry?"

Miles couldn't stop his face from falling into frowning, that really seems like a tall order. Miles clasped Phoenix's hand and swallowed.

"I promise."

Chapter Text

Phoenix led him dutifully back to ATO, though he had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach sending him off like this. Sure, helicopters have been around for decades. They were relatively safe, so there was no reason to be worried. Maybe it was just Edgeworth's anxiety rubbing off on him.

Adrian joined them in the ATO spaces with her personal life vest already strapped on and her helmet bag in hand. She nodded congenially at Miles and then held out a hand to Phoenix smiling. He gave her a fist bump and returned her smile.

"How are you, Nick?"

"Living the dream," Phoenix stretched where he was sitting on the bench beside Edgeworth. The other man was wound up so tight he could almost—no hell, he could feel it. Phoenix tapped Edgeworth on the arm with his hand and nodded at Lieutenant Andrews.

Edgeworth paused and then looked up at her, "Miss Andrews, good to see you again."

"Please, just Adrian. Are you ready, to go?"

"I am," Edgeworth said, "But I thought Warrant Marshall was coming with us?"

She frowned thoughtfully and then unzipped a pocket near her ankle and dug around for a bit before pulling out a piece of paper folded into fourths. She shook it open and squinted at the contents.

"Oh, you're right," She smiled as she put the pax list away, "I knew I had two passengers, but when I saw you two sitting here, I thought... But never mind. It's early yet."

"How long is the flight going to be?" Edgeworth stared up at her nervously.

"Maybe forty minutes," Adrian smiled at him but he wasn't even looking at her.

"So Adrian," Phoenix sat up and cocked his head lazily, "How long are you going to hang out in Naples?"

"Not long, I'll be back in the morning," she locked eyes with him, smiling again.

"Will you get me something? Since you're staying overnight?"

Phoenix glanced sidelong at Edgeworth who still didn't seem to be paying attention to them, "I want gummy sharks."

Adrian laughed, "Okay?"

"There's a NEX there, right? That's like a NEX staple."

"Sure, Nick," Adrian was twisting from side to side both hands together clasping the cloth handle of her helmet bag, "How many bags of gummy sharks do you want?"

"As many as you can get," Phoenix said, "Just let me know, I'll pay you back."

Edgeworth cleared his throat and crossed his arms; Phoenix looked at him and smiled.

"You can send me a care-package," Phoenix chuckled.

"I'll do no such thing," Edgeworth said.

"I've got you covered, Nick," Adrian interjected.

Phoenix saw Edgeworth's gaze sweep over her before he turned to stare at the ATO door.

He wasn't—? No. You know me better than that? Right?

Warrant Marshall stepped into ATO wearing a grimace. He dropped his bag near Adrian's feet and went to the back to get his life vest and cranial from the Air Crewman.

Phoenix shot an inquisitive look at Edgeworth. He only shrugged in reply.

"Well?" Warrant joined them, his hands still busy adjusting his cranial. He glared at each of them in turn, stopping to stare at Phoenix.

"Who in tarnation is this?"

"I'm Phoe—I'm just here to say goodbye," Phoenix smiled at him before turning to offer a hand to Adrian.

"Have a safe flight," they clasped hands, "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Take care, Nick," Adrian replied.

Phoenix turned to Edgeworth and held out a hand, Edgeworth only glared at the proffered hand.

"Lead the way, El-Tee," Marshall said to Adrian and swept his arm toward the ATO door and the P-way beyond. They were already walking out when Edgeworth stood to follow. Phoenix bounced up and blocked his exit.

"Don't forget about me," Phoenix clasped the edges of the open hatch, standing on the knee-knocker so that he was a good six inches taller and able to tower over Edgeworth.

Edgeworth was glaring up at him, "If you don't move, I'll lose them and I'll miss my flight."

"Are you mad at me?"

Edgeworth made a face and then he put his head down and smiled, "I will miss you, Phoenix Wright."

Phoenix forced his most serious stare, "Good. I won't expect any less of you."

"Now Wright, I need you to—"

Phoenix leaned in and kissed him on the mouth. It was quick, little more than a peck on the lips. He paused to stare into those stormy gray eyes. Edgeworth's expression was impassive, but there was mirth in those eyes.

"You won't forget about me out there?"

"Move," Edgeworth shoved him into the p-way and hurried to catch up Warrant and Adrian at the door that exited the ship. He glanced over his shoulder at Phoenix before exiting.

Phoenix hovered near ATO until the exterior hatch was dogged down. It was only a short TAD. Why did it seem so serious?

You've flown eleven missions in the last two weeks, he'll survive one helo ride to Naples.

Phoenix sighed and shook his head at the vacant p-way before turning back into the squadron corridors.

He was still smiling as he jogged down the ladder to the hangar bay. He crossed the open space quickly and found his plane.

AM3 Fey and Airman Faraday were sitting on the deck under his plane flipping through several printed pages in white binders. They didn't see him approach.

"What's that?" Phoenix peered down at them. Faraday looked startled to see him, but AM3 grinned.

"Hey! We're trying to knock out this ship crap," she sat up and held out her binder so he could see, "Got any gouge?"

"Aw, come on, Maya," Phoenix stepped around them to find a clear spot and then joined them cross-legged on the deck, "You know I didn't have to do that."

"Well maybe you could find somebody who knows somebody who could get us the gouge on this crap?"

"Petty Officer Fey!"

The three of them looked up to see ASC coming toward them. He didn't look very happy and his creepy little moustache was hidden by the color of his face.

Phoenix hopped to his feet, "Afternoon Chief!"

"Lieutenant," Chief greeted him curtly, "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Oh—ah..." Phoenix ran a hand through his hair, "I was just passing through. Thought I'd stop by and say hi."

"They're supposed to be working on their ESWS," Chief frowned for a moment at Fey and Faraday, "So-um, El-Tee, might I have a word?"

Phoenix couldn't help that his eyebrows shot up in surprise, "Yeah. Sure thing Chief."

Chief smiled his creepy smile and made that funny body twitch he did when he was excited. Chief took him by the arm and led him away from the girls to a spot behind some tarp covered cargo crates that were chained to the deck. In the small nook formed by the cargo crates, a card table was set up and there were three metal folding chairs around it. Chief held out his arm.

"My office," he giggled. Phoenix glanced sidelong at Chief, absolutely bewildered.

He sat down with no small hint of reluctance and stared up at Chief.

"Is everything okay, Chief?"

"Oh yes, sir," Chief smiled and sat across the tiny card table from him, "I just wanted to chat—ask a few questions—you know since we're working together."

Phoenix frowned ignoring the alarm bells in his head telling him this was a weird request this far into deployment.

If Chief was serious, why did he wait this long?

"You and Petty Officer Fey are awful chummy," Chief said.

Wow, way to cut to the chase!

"It's not—what are you implying Chief?"

Chief smiled and scrunched up his face and shoulders, "Oh sir, I didn't mean... I just noticed that you seem to visit often. Usually you only visit her."

Phoenix exhaled in surrender and frowned, "Well, we have a history."

"Oh?" Chief Armstrong leaned forward. The table was so small that the big Chief was suddenly close enough to touch him. Phoenix leaned away from the man instinctively.

"I really don't think it's any of your business Chief," Phoenix crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow to stare pointedly at Chief, "If you have a problem—"

Chief sat up in exasperation and his arms shot up. His hands held up in fists at either side of his face, "Oh no! No, sir! I wasn't trying to say—"

"What do you need, Chief?" Phoenix's tone was grave; he'd had just about enough of this.

Chief stood, still wearing that look on his face, and wiggled—it might've been cute if he was a girl—but on the big Chief, it was just creepy.

"Don't think—we're friends, right?"

Hardly...

Phoenix pushed his chair back until he was up against the crates behind him. He shook his head, "Chief, this is inappropriate."

"Mister Wright," Chief was suddenly serious, "I know what inappropriate is. I think you know what I mean."

Phoenix glared up at him. What is this guy trying to do?

Chief shoved the table to the side and grabbed Phoenix's head and kissed him. Phoenix was startled at first and then shoved him away. He stood, hands on his hips, glaring. There weren't very many things that could anger Phoenix Wright.

"That was inappropriate," Phoenix stepped away from Chief and glared sidelong at him. Chief looked worried and confused.

"I'd heard that you—"

"I'm an officer, Chief!"

"I'm sorry, sir. I thought—you know how it gets underway... I just..." Chief Armstrong had one hand on his cheek and the other on his chest and he was shaking his head. Panic evident on face. But Phoenix had no sympathy for him.

That was just—!

He could feel his hands shaking. He must've been making a scary face because Chief Armstrong refused to look at him.

"I'm so sorry, sir," Chief blubbered, "I thought that since—you know... I thought maybe... I wasn't expecting anything serious... Just—"

Phoenix crossed his arms, hoping the gesture might help rein in his anger. He'd been very good about keeping this quiet. But somebody had said something. That was the only explanation.

Phoenix pointed an index finger at the big man authoritatively, "Don't say anything to anyone. I'm... I need to cool off. But this needs to be addressed."

"Yes sir," Armstrong said.

"If you try to escalate this, I'm going to your DIVO."

"Don't—I didn't—"

Phoenix shook his head again, "You basically assaulted me in the hangar bay. You know how serious this is?"

Chief stared at him, eyes glistening with tears.

"Look, I don't care what you think you know. I don't care what you heard about me. I did not invite this," Phoenix was pacing now.

"I don't know what came over me..." Chief sputtered.

Phoenix paused in his pacing and met the big chief's eyes. He shook his head grimly and started to walk away.

"Sir," Chief's tone was cajoling, his face simpering, "Sir, please don't—"

Phoenix stopped and turned to look at him. Yes it was serious. This was a career ender for most people. Still, he shouldn't have been so bold. But Phoenix Wright wasn't the vindictive type. Chief made the wrong assumptions. No sense ruining his life over this.

He shook his head and turned to leave again.

"Mister Wright!" Chief called after him.

"I need to cool off," Phoenix said without looking back. He almost felt like hitting the guy. But that wouldn't do anything to help the situation.

When he entered the ladder well Phoenix found it quiet and blessedly deserted. He took his time dogging the hatch behind him.

Wow, that just happened...

Phoenix ran his hands through his hair in frustration and then punched the bulkhead.

What the hell? Really?

This was his second underway and he'd never—maybe he was being too obvious with Edgeworth onboard? He punched the bulkhead again. What the hell was he thinking? I just can't help myself around him. Now I've inadvertently opened myself up to... this... Phoenix punched the bulkhead a third time, this one half-hearted and weak—the first two would probably leave his knuckles bruised anyway.

When he'd composed himself, Phoenix jogged up to the ladder well and exited onto the main deck. A little walk might help calm him down further. He could think. Because perception was truth on the ship. And if Armstrong thought he could—well, who else was thinking that way about him?

As he walked briskly through the wide p-way, sailors parted to avoid him. The lunch crowd was still finishing up and the decks were crowded with people. But he wasn't paying attention to them. He wasn't paying attention to the crowds at the tables, or the line at the scullery, or the line for Starbucks. So naturally, he didn't notice that other guy approach him. He didn't notice anything until that big hand clasped his shoulder and turned him around.

Phoenix rounded on him, fists raised, teeth bared in a grimace. The other guy cocked his head and shot him a lazy toothy grin.

Where have I seen this joker—?

"Phoenix Wright?" the guy said.

Phoenix glared at him, "Who's asking?"

"Wow, touchy aren't you?" the other officer, a SWO, let go of his shoulder and offered his hand in greeting, "I'm Lieutenant Shi-long Lang, OEM Division."

Phoenix hesitated and then took his hand, "Yeah, I'm Phoenix Wright."

Lang's grin widened and his heavy lidded eyes gave him a calm but predatory demeanor. Phoenix half expected him to huff and puff and blow his house down.

"It's nice to meet you, finally," Lang's grin didn't seem to waver, even when he spoke—which was kind of weird, "I mean, in person and not just as rivals on open mike night."

Phoenix relaxed suddenly, oh, yeah.

It's one of those Ops guys they'd been competing with.

He smiled at Lang, "Sorry, I thought you were someone else," Phoenix said, "You guys are a tough act to follow."

Lang slapped his arm playfully, "Don't be so modest. I don't expect that from pilots."

Phoenix looked at him side-long and shrugged.

"So… So, anyway," Lang said and Phoenix's stare turned quizzical, "I-um... I had been meaning to make your acquaintance—are you heading somewhere at the moment?"

Phoenix shrugged, "I'm just... Is something wrong?"

Lang was suddenly solemn, "Not really—not yet. I'm heading back down to my work-center, if you have a few minutes."

Phoenix nodded hesitantly and followed Lang along the P-way.

"I'm not going to waste your time trying to be mysterious," Lang shot Phoenix a pointed look, "I'm roommates with Miles Edgeworth."

Phoenix frowned. Oh jeez... This is worse than I thought...

"I gather that you and he are good friends? With some amount of history?"

"Is that what he told you?" After his encounter with Chief, Phoenix couldn't help the note of resentment that entered his speech.

Lang paused and looked at Phoenix pointedly, "He's a rather laconic fellow when it comes to personal matters—you don't have to worry."

Phoenix forced a smile and tried to laugh it off, "I wasn't—"

"Come on," Lang continued walking, "I don't want to talk about this out here in the p-ways."

"Okay—?"

But Lang said nothing more and stepped up his pace. He led Phoenix to one of the ladder wells further aft and they jogged up one level before exiting into a dark, quiet p-way. Phoenix couldn't recall ever exploring this area.

What could this guy want?

He was Edgeworth's roommate—did Edgeworth say anything to him? And what was with all the cryptic talk and sneaking?

Lang led him into a short trunk and into a small confined passage. The CWIS room was cramped, with a low ceiling and cables lain across the deck. There were two FCs in the back of the space playing Call of Duty.

"Men," Lang ordered, "Go take a walk for about thirty minutes."

Both of them started to move immediately, "Yes sir!"

Lang sat on the deck and motioned for Phoenix to sit.

"I'm good," Phoenix stared down at him and crossed his arms, "What did you need from me?"

"I'm not sure if this is the right thing to do," the gravity of Lang's voice made Phoenix change his mind and join him on the deck, "But I can't let it go on, and he's not going to do anything about it."

Phoenix felt a sinking feeling in his chest. I think I know where he's going with this.

"Edgeworth..." Lang paused as if trying to find the right approach, "He doesn't sleep well most nights."

Yep.

Phoenix frowned knowingly and shook his head.

"I started smoking him," Lang said, "It works most of the time."

Phoenix chuckled, "How did you get him to agree to that?"

Lang shrugged, "I convinced him he was in danger of failing his PRT—I'm a little surprised at how easy it was to convince him—he's not in bad shape."

"He's kind of out of his element," Phoenix smiled at the thought.

"Well, anyway," Lang looked at him and crossed his arms, "Somebody has to convince him to get help."

Phoenix sighed.

This guy was right. Why wouldn't Edgeworth tell me? Doesn't he trust me?

"How bad is it?"

Lang crossed his arms and leaned against the bulkhead, "When I first noticed—it was bad enough to scare me. He was shouting in his sleep. He hasn't had another episode that bad. Obviously, I can't just stay awake all the time to watch him—but I notice some mornings he wont wake up. When I started smoking him, he's gotten better. But it still happens at least once or twice a week."

Phoenix stared at his boots on the deck in front of him. He must've had a worried look on his face because Lang leaned over and clasped his shoulder.

"I hope I was right in telling you."

Phoenix nodded and bit his lip in contemplation, "Yes, thank you."

"He's an odd cat," Lang changed the tone of the conversation abruptly—he was probably uncomfortable too, "But he's not a bad guy for a JAG Officer. Most of the ones I've met are unbearable."

Phoenix laughed, "Yeah. I just hope the Navy doesn't change him."

Lang glanced wistfully at him, "So are you really going to sing a duet with Calisto Yew?"

Phoenix startled and stared at Lang, "Who's—oh, yeah. The coffee chick. Do you know her well?"

Lang only grinned in reply.

"I feel like she's stalking me," Phoenix said.

"Oh, she's harmless," Lang smiled thoughtfully, "You know how it gets underway..."

Phoenix must've frowned because Lang raised his eyebrows at him. He stared at his hands in his lap, "Yeah, so they say," he quipped noncommittally.

That was Chief's excuse too.

Lang banged his head against the bulkhead and slapped his forehead.

"God, we need a port call!"

Phoenix looked up at him and smiled, "Actually, we have one coming up."

"There's always one coming up," Lang still didn't seem to believe him.

"Yeah, but I've got a reliable source that said twelve to fourteen days," Phoenix smiled and cocked his head, "So I'm sure we'll hear an announcement about it soon."

"Italy?"

"Borginia," Phoenix shrugged.

"What? Really?" Lang frowned, "Borginia always seemed kind of lame."

"Have you been?"

"No," Lang shook his head, "But I wanted to go somewhere familiar."

Phoenix laughed and stood to leave, "Don't you want to 'see the world'?"

"I thought we were a Global Force for Good?"

Phoenix laughed again and held out his hand, "Thanks for what you did. You're a good dude."

Lang reached up and shook his hand without standing, "Of course. I'm going to help where I can. Take care, Phoenix Wright."

Phoenix nodded and climbed out of the CWIS spaces. It took him a few extra minutes of getting turned around in the unfamiliar corridors before he found a frame he was familiar with.

He had a lot to think about. Maybe it was good that Edgeworth had gone TAD.

Chapter Text

Lieutenant Andrews waved at them casually from the cockpit of her MH-53. She was unrecognizable in her full gear including a garishly decorated helmet. Miles was scared and hesitated before following Warrant Marshall in his dash onto the tarmac and away from the spinning rotors. They stood to the side and watched as Adrian turned off the rotor and it slowed to a stop. She had a clipboard out and one of the ground crew joined her for a few checks.

Miles wondered if they were waiting to say goodbye, but they never had the chance. A van pulled up with a smiling local driver and they were bidden to toss their luggage in the back and ushered inside. Miles saw Adrian wave as the van pulled away from the helicopter on the lonely tarmac.

They were dropped off in the back area of the terminal. A chain-link fence prevented them from entering the back of the terminal and they had to lug their luggage around the outside of the building. Miles let the Warrant lead the way, this was only his second time in Naples and nothing looked like what he remembered from the first time.

The sun was setting as they sat outside of the terminal waiting for the duty driver to pick them up. Warrant was the laconic sort and Miles found him too intimidating to try and engage him in conversation. He stared at the sky and wished he'd brought a book.

"You at the Gateway?" Warrant startled him; Miles hadn't expected the man to speak to him.

He nodded.

"What time is the hearing tomorrow?"

"They start at zero-eight," Miles turned his head to face the gruff warrant, "But our case is going to be the fifth one. We're going to end up hanging out until they get to us."

Warrant shook his head, cursing under his breath.

Miles sighed and crossed his arms.

What was taking so long?

It was dark by the time the duty van arrived. The duty driver seemed harried and Miles decided not to start in on him for showing up late. But Warrant had another idea and ripped harshly into the poor kid driving.

"We called in over three hours ago! I don't reckon the base is that far from the AV Unit? We got a Pow Wow at zero-eight, and we ain't had dinner, nor checked into our rooms—"

"I'm sorry sir!" The kid whimpered.

"Who's yer LPO?"

"Sir, I didn't—you can talk to the OOD when we get to the Quarterdeck, sir."

"Warrant, it's not his fault," Miles said in aside to the Warrant.

"Lookee here, JAG. I ain't gonna stand for this. You let shit like this slide and next thing you know—anarchy! T'ain't no room for this in my Navy! This gross lack of discipline and integrity. It ain't right, and if y'all ain't gonna do nothin' 'bout it, it'll just keep going downhill."

Miles only nodded at the man and turned to watch Naples slide past his window.

Wow, he’s pretty serious about this... Hard core.

It was pretty uneventful after that. They checked in with the OOD and headed over to the Gateway Inn. Their rooms were next to each other—that would make things easy. In the quiet sanctuary of the impersonal barracks room Miles sat on the bed and tried to organize his thoughts. He tugged off his blouse and stared at his boots.

It was odd. The strangeness of it hit him all of a sudden—he hadn't even realized until he was broadsided by the realization. It was quiet. Quiet and still.

The last two months of his life was spent immersed in the cacophony of life and sound of a living breathing ship. The subtle movement of water, the rattle of the catapult, the trill of the engines—all of it made up the massive organism he'd been living on. Now it was all gone. The silence was strange—almost suffocating. The stillness maddening. He threw himself back on the bed—it seemed ridiculously soft.

He laughed, remembering his first few days and how he'd never thought he'd survive. Now here he was pining for that world.

There was a knock on his door—even something so normal as a door to knock on seemed foreign. Miles sat up and stared at the door. It took a second knock to rouse him from the bed.

He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised to see the Warrant. After all, he didn't know anyone else in Naples.

"Sir?"

"Get dressed kid, I'm hungry," Warrant was glaring at him and Miles found the invitation to be rather uninviting.

"Two minutes, sir," Miles replied and started to close the door. Warrant stopped him with an outthrust arm.

"I'll be in the lobby."

Miles nodded and closed the door. He tugged off his tee-shirt and pulled his bag onto the bed and began digging through it for his civilian clothes. He hadn't brought much, hoping that their stay ended up being shorter rather than longer.

The case was pretty black and white; he doubted the Judge would want to drag this out. Petty Officer Hotti tended to come off as pretty unsavory anyway, and he was sure they had this in the bag. They might even make it back before the end of the week.

He dressed quickly, hating that he was rushed. He could feel the grime of travel—well, the Warrant probably wouldn't notice. They were only going out to get something to eat—it was late already, so Miles didn't expect the Warrant to want to drag the evening out anymore than necessary. At least he hoped that was the case.

Warrant only gave him a cursory glance and started out the door. Miles had to jog to catch him up.

"I reckon something has to be open," Warrant quipped as Miles fell into step beside him, "But probably not on base."

Miles stuck his hands in his pockets, "She said the flight was only going to be forty minutes."

Warrant chuckled, "They always say that."

It wasn't difficult to find the gate from where they were staying and they passed the bored looking sentries and made their way out into the cluster of barnacle establishments that clung ubiquitously to every Navy base. Bars, fast food, clubs, car rentals, coffee shops...

"McDonald's," Warrant pointed and then led the way to the restaurant.

Miles frowned. He was wont to avoid McDonald's in the states and it seemed wrong to go to the other side of the world just to eat at one. But it was late, and he was hungry. He didn't care enough to argue with the Warrant.

There was no line and they were able to make their orders quickly. The restaurant was clean and decorated and their food was brought to them. This was actually rather nice for fast food.

"They do 'em better ever-where than in the States," Warrant said as he unwrapped his burger, "The menu's better too."

Miles tugged at the paper wrapping of his chicken sandwich. He must have been frowning because Warrant stopped and stared at him.

"'s wrong kid?" He asked.

Miles shook his head mutely.

"Are you one 'o them hippies?"

Miles shot him a startled look, "No, sir."

They ate in silence after that. At the end Miles sat poking disinterestedly at the strangely seasoned fries that came with his meal, stifling a yawn here and there.

"I reckon HM1 is gonna get kicked out," Warrant spoke conversationally. They didn't know each other. Miles supposed the other man was just trying to be friendly.

He nodded, "This hearing is just to determine whether his case should go to trial or not. But whatever the judge decides, he's not long for the service."

"How long you been a JAG?"

"A couple of years," Miles met his eye, "But I've prosecuted for district and state courts. I have about four years experience all together."

Warrant Marshall smiled, "I figured you fer a tenderfoot—I reckon my baby brother is older than you."

Miles frowned at him, "Yes, well, I assure you, I am perfectly qualified to handle this case."

Warrant grinned at him, "No need ter get yer back up, kid. I ain't tryin' ter make you feel bad."

Miles stared at him for several moments, "How did you get tangled up in this?"

Warrant shrugged, "They needed an investigator, I ain't never done it 'afore. I reckoned it might be interestin'."

"Oh," Miles said and wiped his hands with a napkin.

"I reckon we may as well head back," Warrant stood and stretched, "It's late."

Miles didn't have to be asked twice.

He awoke before sunrise—well, he hadn't slept very well anyway and the lightening sky was as good an excuse as he could find to give up the fruitless endeavor that sleep had become. He'd set an alarm on his phone and as he wouldn't be needing it, he turned it off.

He got in the shower and let the water run over him. This was nice, they were always running out of hot water on the ship. This was his first big case for the Strike Group and in spite of the overwhelming belief that the case was as good as won—he couldn't help but be nervous. But that wasn't the only problem.

He was haunted. He'd been haunted since he was a boy—since he woke up in the hospital to learn that his father had been murdered. The clatter and rumble when the earthquake struck, the dim red light in that confined space. The falling of the car in that shaft. The scrape of metal. There was so much on that ship that reminded him of that night.

He'd been haunted for most of his life, but he'd never re-lived it so vividly. Still, he shouldn't be so weak. He should try and get over it. It was more than fifteen years ago, after all. What would Phoenix or Lang or Lieutenant Yew think if he let on that being on the ship brought on these terrors with a vengeance?

Lang keeps telling him that he'll fail his PT test. So Lang makes him do push-ups and run. But he knew what Lang was doing. The guy was trying to wear him out. It worked—most days. Would it carry him through this deployment?

Miles wiped his face with a hand and turned his head under the stream from the showerhead, eyes closed. At least—after this tour—if he decided to continue his service, he'd probably never have to see a ship again.

He took the extra time he had that morning to carefully iron his blues. It wouldn't do to look like a rumpled bag of crap—which seemed to happen too often on the ship. He put on the black slacks and tucked in the tails of the white shirt. His shoes were patent leather—some might call it "Hollywood" conceit, but Miles purchased them out of necessity. He and shoe polish didn't mix well.

It was still not quite zero seven when he was done getting dressed. He considered knocking on the Warrant's door, but decided to sit in the chair in front of the desk in his room and review the case.

"All rise," the MA2 announced as the Captain walked in.

He looked stern and maybe even a little worn out. Well, he'd been leading these proceedings since 0800. Miles stood next to Warrant Marshall and glanced over at HM1 Hotti. He was an older man with a childlike face despite the razor burn that colored his chin. Miles couldn't help thinking that there was something unsavory about that character. Hotti looked bored if not nonchalant.

"You may sit," the Captain turned to look at the others in the room, "Who's the recorder here?"

"Sir, I am," Miles raised his hand and then set a small digital recorder on the conference table. He clicked it on.

"This hearing has come to order," the Captain said, "The recorder shall state the date, time and place of this hearing."

"The date is June seventeenth, the time is currently ten thirty-two. This hearing is being held in the Region Legal Service Office, Europe, Africa and Southwest Asia HQ, in Naples," Miles looked solemn as he made his statement.

"Will those present at this hearing please state their names for the record? My name is Lieutenant Miles Edgeworth, I am the Strike Group Staff Judge Advocate. I will be the recorder for this hearing."

"I am Captain Hal Gitchew, I am a Staff Judge for RLSO Naples. I am presiding over this hearing."

"Commander Robert Hammond," Miles looked over at the commander with scrutiny, he'd seen him before, "I am the defense attorney for Petty Officer Hotti."

"Redd White, Esquire," he was a civilian in a garish purple suit and an even flashier grin, "I am co-council and legal advisor to Petty Officer Hotti."

"Warrant Officer Three, Jake Marshall, I am the investigating officer."

"Thank you," the Captain said, "This is an Article 32 hearing for Hospital Corpsman First Class Bud D. Hotti. HM1, please stand and raise your right hand."

HM1 glanced around the room shiftily before doing as he was asked.

"I do swear and affirm," the Captain spoke slowly so Hotti could follow along. Hotti repeated the words.

"To tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth."

"To tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth."

"HM1, you stand before this hearing today, because you've been accused of Article 120 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice. Have you been made aware of the charges?"

"Yes sir," Hotti answered with complete composure.

"And prior to your detainment by the ship's Master-at-Arms, you were advised of your rights under Article 31 of the UCMJ?"

"Yes, sir," Hotti nodded solemnly.

"At this time, you may enter your plea for the record. HM1 Hotti, how do you plead?"

"Not Guilty," Hotti grinned at the judge. Miles shuddered. That guy was so creepy.

"Okay," the Captain shuffled through a few pages in the binder he was referencing, then he looked at Warrant Marshall, "Are you the Officer in charge of this investigation?"

"Yes, sir," Marshall looked at the Captain directly when he answered and then shot a sidelong glance at HM1.

"What are your findings?"

Marshall looked at Miles before clearing his throat to speak, "The government finds that there is sufficient evidence to prove that HM1 Hotti has violated Article 120 of the UCMJ."

"Very well," the Captain said, "HM1, the government will now present its case. You will have the opportunity to rebut, following their presentation."

Miles cleared his throat and glanced at the others seated around the conference table.

"Article 120 of the UCMJ defines thirty-six offenses described as rape, sexual assault or other sexual misconduct. Under article 120 of the UCMJ, the government would like to elaborate on the following definitions as they pertain to the allegations against Petty Officer Hotti. Article 120 of the UCMJ defines Rape as the accused causing another person—of any age—to engage in the sex act by use of force, causing grievous bodily harm, the use of threats or causing fear, by rendering the other unconscious—whether by the administration of a drug, intoxicant or other similar substance or other means, and by the administration of a drug, intoxicant or other similar substance without knowledge or permission of the other so as to render the victim unable to appraise or control his or her conduct."

Miles paused and glanced around the table before continuing, "Article 120, defines Aggravated Sexual Assault as the accused causing the victim to engage in the sex act, whether by threat of bodily harm, actual bodily harm, or upon a person who is substantially incapacitated so as to render them unable to appraise or control his or her conduct. The aforementioned article further defines Wrongful Sexual Contact as the accused having sexual contact with the victim without the other's permission, and that the accused had no legal justification or lawful authorization for said contact."

"The allegations against the defendant further require that we define the following as well, Indecent Acts—acts in which the accused engaged in and were indecent in nature; Indecent Exposure—that the accused exposed his genitalia, anus or buttocks to another and such exposure was conducted in an indecent manner where others beyond the family or household may have reasonably been able to witness it."

Miles sighed audibly, this was very uncomfortable, and just talking about it made him feel dirty, "The Government of the United States has accused Hospital Corpsman First Class Bud D. Hotti of four counts of Rape; Six counts of Aggravated Sexual Assault, and nineteen counts of Indecent Acts, including twelve counts of indecent exposure."

"Well, Your Honor—do I call you 'Your Honor'?" Mister White stood at the table and waved his hands about animatedly.

Captain Gitchew glared at him, "You may address me as Captain or Sir."

"Okay, sure. Yes, sir," White sat back down and shuffled through his yellow legal pad, "So my client is abso-certain-lutely aware of the charges, but it has become clear through this investigation—no offense, Mister Marshall—

"Warrant Marshall."

"Yes, all right, Warrant Marshall—that what you've defined under the UCMJ, while they might have a minor slight-vague-o-semblance to whatever actions my client is alleged to have committed, these false inter-perceptions are in fact biased and unfair, and when one delves into the legal definitions of these actions, you will find that my client is not only innocent, but abso-mostly-lutely free of all and any semblance of guilt!"

Miles glanced at Warrant. The Warrant had his arms crossed and was staring daggers at Mister White.

"Captain," Warrant Marshall said without looking at the Captain, "I reckon I should present my case now—afore this Belvidere gets ahead of hisself."

"Go ahead, Warrant," the Captain shot a sidelong glare toward the civilian counsel.

Warrant stood and slid the binder Miles had prepared in front of him. He picked up a much abused and well-worn steno pad and made a show of flipping through it. He cleared his throat.

"Twenty-nine," Marshall paused dramatically, "That's how many sailors have been victimized by HM1 Hotti. Now, this ain't a popularity contest, this ain't about sensitivities er misconceptions. I ain't here to question whether HM1 Hotti is liked by the crew or not. I was called in to investigate this matter, and I'm here to present the facts."

He paused and glared around the table with narrowed eyes before continuing, "On May 2nd, 2017, Petty Officer Hotti was counseled by his chain of command for the sexual harassment of Seaman Jilly Baxter, during a routine examination. Seaman Baxter is trying to strike into the Air Crew field and this was part of her flight physical."

"Now, hold on, here," White interjected, "How can you even consider that as evidence? It's basically 'he said she said'—"

"Can I finish?" Marshall said, eyes narrowed.

"Yes, Mister White," Captain Gitchew glared at the man, "You will have your chance at rebuttal when the Government is done presenting its case."

Mister White sat down with a huff and Marshall smiled slightly at him, "As I was saying—before I was interrupted—Seaman Baxter was the first witness to come forward with regard to HM1's lewd behavior. HM1's chain of command hoped to settle this issue at the lowest level with a written counseling, but it was obvious that Seaman Baxter was thoroughly affected by HM1's actions and ultimately we had to send her to another ship. Following Seaman Baxter's transfer, Petty Officer Cadaverini and Ensign Elg came forward within the same week with complaints about HM1 Hotti. Both of them took their complaints to the legal department. It was at that time that HM1 was informed of his Article 31 rights and I was assigned to investigate. I reckon at first no one wanted to say anything—a course, HM1 was pretty good at his job and the Medical staff is short handed—so a course I was met with reluctance. But as the investigation progressed, I uncovered witness after witness who'd been harassed by HM1. I have here, a hundred and thirty-six sworn statements from HM1's victims. The twenty-nine sailors he victimized the worst have also provided sworn affidavits in regard to these actions. The UCMJ is very clear 'bout what constitutes lewd behavior and sexual acts. There ain't no room in this Navy for this kind of indecency and disrespect."

"Your case is still very vague-a-washy," White said, "If you have specific charges against my client we need to hear them!"

"A course," Marshall offered a small slow smile, "I have all of these statements right here. I reckoned since my JAG was kind enough to make copies for you and El Capitan, here, I wasn't going to drag this out."

Chapter Text

"There's a raging fire in the sky tonight!"

He looked up from the words scrolling on the screen and looked out over the audience. Sure, the song wasn't that popular, but it was one of his favorites. It was definitely better than 'Danger Zone'.

"I want to ride on the silver dove, far into the night," he closed his eyes as he sang into the microphone.

The audience was nice—they always were. He'd gathered a bit of a following this deployment too. It was a guilty pleasure.

"Take me on your mighty wings! Take me on your mighty wings tonight!"

Phoenix found his gaze wandering away from the screen again. Looking for him.

"With just a little luck; A little cold blue steel," he sang.

But Miles was in Italy. Stop being so pathetic!

"I cut the night like a razor blade, Till I feel the way I want to feel!"

That's more like it!

"There's a raging fire in my heart tonight!"

Geez, coffee lady was staring at me like a lion that just spotted a gazelle.

"Growing higher and higher in my soul!"

It's weirdness like this that made karaoke night not fun.

"There's a raging fire in the sky tonight! I want to ride on the silver dove, far into the night!"

Or maybe it's because he was losing his taste for it. Maybe the thrill was gone.

"Till I make you, take me, out on your mighty wings! Make you, take me—"

Sure, he didn't know too many people that swore their undying fan-hood for Cheap Trick—but they weren't exactly hated either.

"On your mighty wings across the skyyyyyyYYYYYYYYYY-ayyyyyy!"

No, it wasn't the band. Even though this was the single that killed the legendary Top Gun soundtrack.

Just don’t get Mom started on Top Gun...

"Take me on your mighty wings! Take me on your mighty wings tonight!"

Not that anyone here really repeated the last lines until the fade kicked in. He dropped the microphone and gave a slight bow.

Someone turned the lights on in the forward mess. Phoenix blinked at the sudden brightness and looked around. He saw Lang and a couple of his Ops buddies approaching him. He raised his brows in confusion.

The other Air Wing guys got up and gathered around Phoenix. He met Lang's eye—what the heck was going on here?

"Phoenix Wright," Lang glared at him, "I enjoyed your chicken wing song..."

"Um... Mighty—"

"I know what I said," Lang let a slow grin slide across his face, "I have a proposal for you and your men."

My men? What? Phoenix glanced once at the other Air Wing guys standing behind him.

"Um... Go ahead," Phoenix acquiesced, however reluctant he actually was to hear Lang's 'proposal'.

"There's a port visit in Borginia at the end of the month," Lang began, "After that we'll be underway over Labor Day."

Phoenix shrugged, "Yeah… okay, so?."

Lang chuckled and slapped a hand on Phoenix's shoulder, "MWR is sponsoring an Open Mike Night in the hanger bay."

"Oh, yeah," Phoenix said.

"I think we should join forces," Lang cocked his head and grinned wolfishly at him, "No one would stand a chance."

"Yeah," Phoenix frowned, "But we have like—thirty or so guys... That means the prize money will be like three dollars per person."

"You know it's not about the money," Lang waggled a finger at him, "It's about winning. It's about getting seen. Lang Zhi says the best wolf howls the loudest, but the pack that howls together is the loudest of all."

Phoenix laughed and crossed his arms, "Okay... What did you have in mind?"

"Blurred Lines," Lang paused dramatically, "Flight suits and coveralls."

Phoenix tapped his chin thoughtfully.

"Come on! Haven't you always wanted to twerk in front of the whole ship? Think of the impact! The notoriety! This is the closest to rock-stardom that you'll ever achieve in the Navy!"

"Well," Phoenix pointed at Lang, "I am an Aviator. I kind of have that going for me already."

Lang made a face at him and shook his head disdainfully, "Um... yes... Well, to each his own, I suppose... So will you guys do it or not?"

Phoenix showed him a large cocky grin, "I'm game," he shot a glance at the other Avitors and turned back to Lang, "You had me at twerk. We'll be in touch."

They shook hands. Phoenix took the opportunity to walk out of the forward mess. Maybe that coffee chick wouldn't remember the duet thing. Fortunately, the Ops guys and the Air Wing guys were still clustered in a confused gathering near the karaoke machine, and Phoenix managed to get way without anyone noticing.

He made his way back to berthing dragging a hand along the wall in the dim red lighting. He frowned when he got to his stateroom door and found Larry's much-abused sock wrapped around the door knob. He rolled his eyes and sighed heavily before turning back around.

He'd left his book in his room too. He wandered aimlessly for a while until somehow, he found himself in the hangar bay. The lights were still on—it was early yet—and there was a group of about twenty people doing a jump-rope clinic in the open space near the gym.

The maze of airplanes bolted silently to the deck on the other side of the hangar was already dark though—and in light of his recent encounter with Chief Armstrong, Phoenix was reluctant to go there alone.

He stood there in the middle of the hangar bay with nowhere to go, frowning at the dimness around him in the rapidly emptying space. This was his second underway, and he'd never felt so lost. This was strange—so unlike him.

"Wright! Is that you?"

Phoenix looked up, at once puzzled and then relieved to see Commander Armando.

"Evening, sir," Phoenix smiled at him.

"What are you loitering around here for?"

"I could ask you the same question."

The Commander Armando frowned and the motioned with the travel mug he had in one hand, "The cigar lamp is on, if you care to join me."

Phoenix didn't smoke, and he wasn't a fan of cigars—but he had nothing better to do, and a chat with his mentor just might be what he needed.

"Yeah, sure."

They walked in silence toward the khaki smoke deck. As they were walking in, several chiefs stepped out and nodded at the two of them as they departed in the opposite direction. Outside it was almost full night and everything stood in stark black silhouette against the gray ocean and the darkening sky.

The smoke deck was blessedly deserted, though the recent departure of the chiefs remained obvious in the telltale tendrils of smoke coming from the large ammo can used as a butt kit. The faint smell of stale smoke lingered in the air, he didn't care for it, but it wasn't unbearable.

The Commander was leaning on the rail—exactly like they were told not to do—cutting one end of his cigar and then lighting it with a Zippo that had the ship's logo on it. He glanced at Phoenix and then reached into his pocket to retrieve another cigar and held it out to Phoenix. Phoenix held up a hand and shook his head.

"Stop being a pussy," Armando made a show of pulling the cigar away and offering it again.

"Yeah, I don't—" he knew it was a futile argument even before he finished his sentence and grudgingly took the proffered cigar, "Um... Thanks."

"So what's eating you Phoenix Wright?" Commander Armando didn't look at him when he spoke, choosing instead to stare out at the sea as he puffed away at his cigar.

Phoenix stared at the cigar in his hands, turning it in his grip, "Oh, I'm fine. I'm just—I'm kind of locked out of my room, right now."

Commander Armando chuckled and then puffed away on his cigar for a moment, letting the silence fill the air between them. He paused and took a drought from his coffee mug.

"How's Maya doing?"

Phoenix smiled, "She's doing well. They got her working on her ESWS—if she can get it done before New Years, she'll be a shoe-in for second-class in March."

The Commander turned and looked over his shoulder at Phoenix—he smiled a little, "She looking for gouge?"

"Actually, yeah."

"Alright, I'll see what I can do."

Phoenix's eyebrows jerked up in surprise, "Thanks for that."

"It's for her, not for you," Armando paused and puffed at his cigar.

"Still, I'm glad you're looking out for her too," Phoenix joined his mentor at the railing. He stared out at the churning sea and frowned.

"Of course," Armando let his words hang. He didn't need to say it out loud—especially when the ship seemed to have so many ears listening in, "But honestly, I want to hear about you. You seem less... Cheerful..."

"Oh I'm..." Phoenix toyed with the unlit cigar in his hands, "It's been a rough month—you know."

Armando nodded, "I'm aware. A lot of you went over your hours... But we'll get a break here, soon."

"I'm just tired."

"Now that's a little trite..."

Phoenix frowned at the dark sky and then his gaze slid downward to the ocean below, watching the glow from the bioluminescent algae floating on the surface.

"Something happened," Phoenix met the Commander's eye—though it was almost too dark to make out his face, "I'm not sure what to do—or even if I should do something at this point. I'm hoping it just fades into the background."

"Wright," Commander Armando turned away from the railing and flicked the ash from his cigar out toward the ocean, "Did somebody threaten you?"

Phoenix nodded, "About Maya."

"Who was it?"

Phoenix shook his head, "I think I've got it under control."

The Commander paused in contemplation and drummed his fingers on the rail, "It isn't... You didn't do anything wrong."

"I know that. You know that. But you know how things get around here."

The Commander nodded, "When you get your up chit, you'll be busy again. This will blow over. But I'd keep your distance from her—for now."

"Well," Phoenix put his hands on his hips, "I should say something to her—I don't want her to think that—"

"Send her an e-mail," The Commander held out a hand to Phoenix and waggled his fingers beckoningly. Phoenix answered with a quizzical look.

"If you're not going to smoke it, don't let it go to waste."

Phoenix smiled and handed the Commander the cigar, "I'm going to see if my room is open now."

"It's hard when the lines are blurred like this."

Phoenix smiled and then turned to leave, "Good night, sir."

The Hangar was dark and deserted when he left the smoke deck. Only the dim red lights near the ladders gave any indication of where things were. Phoenix jogged past the dark tangle of planes and covered cargo crates and crossed the open space of the hangar, making a beeline for the ladder that led up to his berthing.

"Lieutenant Wright," he stopped in his tracks feeling a sudden prickle of unease settle on the back of his neck. He hesitated for only a moment before turning to the speaker.

"Chief," Phoenix forced a smile, startled but not surprised to see Chief Armstrong.

"It's been a couple days," Chief said casually, "I know you're not flying right now."

"Oh, I just—you know I have to take care of Navy stuff," Phoenix shoved his hands in his pockets, "Man, I'm tired."

"Are you?" Chief Armstrong stepped toward him.

"Yeah—long day," Phoenix absently ran a hand through his spikes, "You? Are you headed to your berthing?"

Phoenix didn't care either way—but it was conversation, and hopefully that was enough to distract Armstrong. Chief jerked his neck and stuck out his chest coquettishly, Phoenix frowned at him. Chief took another step toward him, decidedly too close for comfort.

"Unless you'd like to find somewhere quiet, where we can... Talk..."

"Uh, no," Phoenix stepped away from him, "No. I don't think that's a good idea."

"What are your plans for liberty?"

"That's really none of your business Chief."

Chief Armstrong dropped his act and glared at him, "You can make this easy, or you can make this hard."

Phoenix shook his head and crossed his arms, "I'm not interested, Chief. You come up to me again, and I'm going to your DIVO."

"Then I'll go to JAG," Armstrong pursed his lips and raised his chin defiantly.

Phoenix bit his lip.

What if this guy did go to JAG? What if Miles took this the wrong way?

"That's not going to work," Phoenix straightened his posture and glared defiantly at the burly chief, "Because you don't have all the facts. So stop trying to threaten me."

"I'm not threatening you, sir," Chief waved an index finger at him, "You'll come around. If you know what's good for you."

They glared at each other for several moments before Chief Armstrong brushed past him and walked toward one of the ladder wells. Phoenix waited until he was out of earshot before exhaling with relief. Only then did he realize he'd been holding his breath.

By the time he returned to his berthing the lights were out and the passageways were hushed and still in the dim red light. The sock was still on the door, but he pushed in anyway. Larry was snoring in his rack.

Phoenix shook his head and tugged off enough of his uniform so he could sleep comfortably. But his mind was full and sleep eluded him for what seemed like hours.

He startled awake to the sound of Larry bustling around the cramped stateroom. He was muttering and cursing under his breath.

"Larry? What's wrong?"

"Oh hey, Nick, did I wake you up?"

Phoenix sat up in reply and stared at Larry. He'd completely emptied his coffin locker, all of the contents of their shared desk and all of the shared storage and had everything piled haphazardly around the room. Phoenix was basically trapped in his rack.

"Larry, what the hell?"

"I can't find it!"

Phoenix swept his gaze across the stateroom, his frown deepening as he took it in, "What are you looking for?"

"That little picture," Larry was distraught and his voice quavered in barely restrained emotion, "You know, it's round and closes like a clam shell? On one side is a picture of Kiyance and on the other side is her and her dog?"

Phoenix rolled his eyes, yeah of course he remembered... Larry only shoved it in his face every day for the first month of deployment. "Larry, do you think you could put some of this stuff away? I need to use the head."

Phoenix managed to get out of the room, clean and dressed, with his paperback in hand. Good thing they were grounded for the time being. Larry was a hot mess right now.

Phoenix made his way toward the main deck around lunch time and slunk around the enlisted galleys, surreptitiously stalking up and down the passageways. It took him over an hour to find her.

"Petty Officer Fey," he snapped at her in as commanding a tone as he could muster.

She turned to look at him, her look of wide-eyed concern fading into glee at the sight of him, "El-Tee! Um, what are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you—but not in the hangar bay," he jerked his head, motioning her to follow.

She frowned, "But it's lunchtime... Is everything okay? You look so serious!"

"This will only take a few minutes," Phoenix stepped away from the crowd in line for food at the galley and looked back to make sure Maya was following him. She left her place in line reluctantly and followed him over toward the vending machines, where it was less crowded.

"Your Chief is snooping around," Phoenix planted his hands on his hips and glared down at her—to passersby it would look like any officer counseling any sailor, "To be safe, I won't be coming around anymore."

"But Nick!" She protested, tears already filling her eyes, "I don't want you to—"

"Listen, Maya," he leaned in toward her and held up a fist, "It's way serious. I don't think I can count on Chief Armstrong to do the right thing. I don't want something to happen. So we'll just have to lay low for a while."

"But, we never..."

"I know," Phoenix shook his head and glanced over his shoulder, "But I know what this guy is up to—I'm hoping he'll get his... fix... when we pull in to port. But for now, I'll see you on the flight deck and that's it."

"What about—we have a legit reason to—"

"It doesn't matter," Phoenix frowned, "Because perception is truth. If things don't look the way they should, they're going to do something about it. I don't want them to split us up."

Maya slumped dejectedly against the Pepsi machine, "This really sucks."

"It won't be forever," Phoenix bumped her chin, "I got something to cheer you up in the meantime."

He dug in his cargo pocket and pulled out three bags of gummy sharks, "Gummy Sharks."

Her usual reaction was subdued by her disappointment, but she forced a smile and took the candy from him.

"I'm going to talk to AS1," Maya said, "Chief can't go around trying to—"

"Maya, let's just keep this quiet," Phoenix stepped back from her, "I have to go—we've been talking here too long as it is."

"Wait, Nick!"

It hurt to hear the beckoning in her voice, but he forced himself not to react, not to look back.

"Lieutenant Wright!"

Commander Armando was right, it was so hard when the lines were blurred.

Phoenix made it back to his stateroom relieved that it was mostly in order after Larry's frantic search for his keepsake. Isolated on the wide ocean, sometimes the smallest things seemed so important.

Phoenix changed into his PT gear and grabbed his phone—which really only served as a glorified MP3 player and alarm clock—and his ear buds and made his way toward the sea-side gym. He had a lot of tension to work off. Sitting around, not flying, and not even having Edgeworth around to distract him—it weighed heavily on him.

He'd just finished a twenty-minute stint on the rower to warm up when he saw Chief Armstrong heading toward him. Phoenix turned around, hoping Chief hadn't noticed that he'd spotted him. He moved toward the free weights, looking around furtively for a buddy.

There was Doug Swallow, using the chest press—thank freaking goodness! Phoenix walked up to him and hovered near the machine.

"Hey, Doug!" Phoenix said aloud.

Doug startled and the weights slammed down hard as he let go of the pads, still, Doug managed to smile at him, "Oh hi!"

"You almost done?"

"No I just got here," Doug smiled, "Unless you have something better to do?"

Phoenix shook his head absently, staring sidelong at Chief while he spoke with Doug.

"Do you want a spotter?"

"For circuit training?"

"No, um... I thought maybe..."

"Are you okay?"

Phoenix paused and met Doug's eye with a frown and his brow furrowed in confusion, "Yeah, why?"

"You keep looking around—all distracted like," Doug sighed and started another set.

"Oh, I wasn't..." Phoenix forced a smile.

He stood there awkwardly while Doug finished his set, trying very hard not to make eye contact with Chief.

"Do you want a go?" Doug was staring at him and wiping the bench and the pads with a towel. Phoenix startled for a moment.

"Uh... Sure," he sat on the bench and reached over to move the pin that held the weights.

"Oh, hi Chief!" He heard Doug say and he froze—awkward and twisted though his position was. He felt a tremor run through his shoulders and along his neck and up his hairline.

"Lieutenant Swallow," Chief Armstrong sounded way too chipper, "And Lieutenant Wright—always a pleasure!"

Phoenix sat up and glared at him, "Hey Chief, we're uh... Kind of busy..."

Armstrong put his hands to his mouth and wiggled his hips—Phoenix had to turn away. He wasn't sure he could maintain his calm.

"Let me get out of your way, boys!" Chief said and wiggled again.

Phoenix coughed.

"That dude is so weird," Doug said.

Phoenix only shot him a glare and started his set.

If only you knew the half of it...

Chapter Text

Miles sighed heavily and tapped his pen on the table while HM1 finished his statement. He was tired and hungry and this had gone on far too long. HM1 sat back down and Commander Hammond turned to meet Miles' glare. He had a slight smile on his face—cocky, weren't they?

Miles stood and flipped through the binder in front of him, "The Government would like to rebut, Captain."

Captain Gitchew looked pretty irritated as well, but he acknowledged Miles' request with a nod and bade him continue with a flip of his hand.

"HM1 Hotti," Miles leveled his glare at the child-like face of the defendant, "Would you agree that, as a United States Sailor that you are subject to the UCMJ?"

"Yes, sir."

Miles noted that despite Hotti's confident answer, Commander Hammond and Mister White were shifting nervously in their seats. He almost smiled—almost, but didn't.

"And do you agree, Petty Officer, that whether or not you perceive your actions to fit within the definitions set forth in the UCMJ, that if a reasonable person might perceive your actions as violating said definitions, that you might be found guilty of these crimes?"

"Yes—"

"Objection, Captain," Mister White stood, "The government is trying to manipiyoo-force-yulate my client into saying he is guilty—that's unnecessary."

"Captain," Miles said coolly, "I have no such intention. I just want HM1 Hotti—for the record—to show an understanding of these proceedings and allow that he has a solid comprehension of the policies and regulations that govern our actions here today."

"Overruled, HM1, answer the question—"

"He already did," Commander Hammond said.

"Then what exactly are you objecting to, Mister White?"

"I don't think this line of questioning is fair."

"Okay," Captain Gitchew slapped the table with his hand, "Noted, Mister White. Mister Edgeworth, you may continue."

"Thank you, Captain," Miles smoothed his tie and then flipped a page in the binder, "Do you believe, Petty Officer Hotti, that every member of the Navy is entitled to the same rights and respect afforded them by the Constitution of the United States of America?"

"Yes, si—"

"Objection!" Mister White stood and put his hands on his hips, "What is he getting at? What are you getting at, Lieutenant?!"

Miles paused, and stared bewildered at the venom in Mister White's reaction, then he crossed his arms and smirked.

"Captain, it seems that Petty Officer Hotti's legal counsel is confused about the documents that govern our service..."

"Wrap it up Edgeworth!" Captain Gitchew replied. Miles almost blushed, but he put his head down and brought a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat.

"Yes, sir," Miles flipped a page in the binder, "Yes, so, Mister White, Captain," He glanced at each of them in turn, "My point—my point is, that HM1 Hotti, is subject to the laws set forth under the UCMJ, whether or not they line up with civilian law. This is a military proceeding, and while HM1 is entitled to argue his case before Officers and his peers at a Court Martial, he is in clear violation of the UCMJ and no amount of bending the rules or arguing one detail or another is going to lessen the charges laid before him."

The Captain nodded, "Good, I don't need to hear anymore. You guys step out and give me a few minutes to go over the evidence. MA2 will call you back in."

Miles reached over and picked up the recorder, "The time is sixteen thirty-three. The board is stopped for deliberations."

Everyone stood, save for the Captain, and MA2 held the door open for them to exit. They stood in the passage outside the door; Mister White was glaring at them. Hotti looked confused and Hammond bored. Marshall had his arms crossed and leaned sullenly against the wall.

"You reckon he's gonna take his time?" Marshall asked him.

"I'm hoping we'd made his decision relatively easy," Miles replied.

"Do you mind?" Mister White rounded on them, spittle flying from his mouth in the passion of his speech, "Petty Officer Hotti is standing right here! These next few minutes could be the last few minutes of freedom for him. You don't need to discuss this in front of him!"

Miles frowned at the man and crossed his arms. Marshall was glaring hard at White. HM1 didn't look bothered about anything. He stood calm and collected, with a slight smile on his face. If he were one to jump to conclusions, Miles would guess that Hotti didn't care what happened to him—he seemed oblivious.

In the end, they were called back in less than twenty minutes later. Miles caught MA2 stifling a yawn as they filed back into the conference room—well he was feeling it too. They'd paused for lunch at just after 1200, when the Defense had finished presenting its case. They were back at 1330 and the Government began their rebuttal. It was almost 1700, now.

"HM1 Hotti," Captain Gitchew began as soon as everyone had entered the room. He seemed eager to wrap this up as well, "Please stand. The Government finds reasonable evidence to indicate that you might have committed the charges brought up in this hearing. However, we believe a court martial to be a drawn-out and unnecessary delay. I hereby recommend you, HM1 Hotti, for administrative separation from active Naval Service, and that your service be categorized as Other Than Honorable. Pending your separation from Naval Service, you are subject to additional charges under the UCMJ. You are also subject to Civilian Criminal and Civil charges, should any of these victims decide to pursue them. You will be held in custody by NCIS until you are transferred to the Navy Consolidated Brig in Chesapeake. You have the right to appeal the decision of this hearing."

"Wait wait wait," Mister White stood holding his palms out to the Captain, "So he's not even going to get a trial—"

"That is the decision of this hearing Mister White, you can appeal to the Admiral, if you'd like—but for now, get ready to take this to Virginia."

Miles stood up and Warrant Marshall followed his lead. Captain Gitchew offered a hand to each of them in turn.

"Thank you gentlemen," the Captain smiled wearily and shook their hands before turning to depart the room. Miles and the Warrant waited a few minutes, respectfully before following him out.

As they walked out, Miles caught MA2 in his periphery cuffing HM1. He shook his head slightly. It took longer than he'd expected, but at least things turned out the way he felt they should.

They decided it would be faster to walk back to their billeting rather than calling and waiting for the duty driver. At least they could cut between buildings in a beeline to the Gateway Inn.

"I need beer," Warrant said as they entered the lobby, "and dinner."

Miles smiled to himself, Warrant certainly had the right idea.

The next morning found them waiting at the AV Unit well before sunrise. Warrant was laid out on the terminal seats fast asleep while Miles stared nervously out of the window at the chain link fence separating them from the flightline. They still weren't sure if there'd be room on the COD for them. They might end up doing a couple of days like this—just waiting for a flight.

"Are you Warrant Marshall?" Miles startled and turned toward the speaker. He was a lank man wearing a flight suit and life preserver. He had a two-way radio in his hand and was staring straight at Miles.

"Er, no," Miles said and pointed at Warrant laid out on over several seats, "That's Warrant Marshall. I'm Edgeworth."

"Oh, right. You're also headed back to the carrier?"

"Yes," Miles said.

"Well, y'all are in luck then, because you two are our only passengers. We've just started loading her up, so I'll be by in about an hour or so..."

Miles forced a smile at the Aircrewman and nodded. He sighed as the other man walked away.

Hurry up and wait...

This having been his second COD flight, Miles found far fewer trepidations to occupy himself with and caught a very satisfying nap on the flight over. He followed Warrant onto the flightdeck when the COD had landed and found the catwalk into the ship far less frightening than he had the first time—maybe he was getting used to this Navy thing after all.

Warrant nodded before leaving Miles alone in ATO with the bored looking Aircrewman.

"How was your trip, Sir?" She asked—probably out of some inherent need to be speaking. Miles shrugged at her.

"Uneventful," he replied after several moments—he didn't want to seem rude.

Miles shouldered his bag and made his way out of ATO and found himself in squadron spaces. The corridors were crowded with aviators in flightsuits, prepping for a flight. Miles nearly dropped his bag when one of them grabbed him by the shoulders and all but shoved him into the bulkhead.

"Miles! You're back!"

He almost didn't recognize Phoenix Wright with his helmet and sunglasses. He chuckled and pushed him back a step so he could look at him, "It seems I've arrived just in the nick."

"Yeah," Phoenix pulled his sunglasses off, "I can't chat—I've got a flight. But I missed you—lots!"

Miles couldn't help but smile, "Be safe, then. I'll be waiting for your return."

"Yeah, like you've got any other choice, JAG," Phoenix smirked and gave him one last slap on the shoulder before joining the others headed toward the flightdeck. He paused and glanced once more at Miles before exiting the ship.

He'd been staring and Miles nearly jumped when he'd realized that. He tucked his head and readjusted his bag before heading toward berthing. It wouldn't do to stand around idly while waiting for Phoenix to land. He'd be gone for several hours.

The corridors were deserted as he made his way to the JO Jungle, it was early yet for lunch, and it was a regular working day. So he thought nothing of the quiet or the lack of personnel and he wasn't expecting to see Lang when he entered his stateroom.

But there he was. Lieutenant Shi-long Lang, naked as a baby, except for the earbuds he had in running from the music player sitting on his rack. Lang turned to him and grinned, moving and bobbing to whatever song was playing.

Lang pointed at him, "Oh my God, look at that face! You look like my next mistake..."

Miles dropped his bag on the deck and turned to walk out. Lang grabbed his arm and tugged him back into the stateroom, "Hey Miles! Welcome back!"

"Hello Lang—please let me—"

"Did you miss me?" Lang shot him his wild wolfish grin and then pinned him against the bulkhead, "I missed you, buddy. How was Naples?"

"Let... Me... Go..." Miles squirmed against the bulkhead until he managed to free himself from Lang's hold, "I'll come back. You seem like you need a few minutes to... er... "

Lang was already sliding into his skivvies, "Got a long list of ex-lovers... They'll tell you I'm insane... Wait wait... Miles, don't go, I have something to tell you..."

Miles was trying very hard to focus on the doorknob, "I'm sure it can wait a couple minutes for you to—"

"Don't open the door," Suddenly, Lang was there, sliding himself between Miles and the door, "I need to tell you something—and I don't think we need anyone listening in. If you catch my drift..."

Miles frowned at him.

"I talked to your boyfriend while you were gone," Miles' frown deepened at Lang's words and the casual tone with which he spoke, "He is so fine... Did I tell you that? He is one handsome mutha—"

"I don't care about whatever gossip you think—"

"Hey, I know you just got back—you're probably all sappy and missing him right now and you can't wait to go running into his arms—"

"I ran into him just now—he's flying," Miles put out a hand and pushed Lang away from him, "I don't care—"

"He's got an enlisted girlfriend," Lang stepped back and crossed his arms head cocked as he studied Miles' reaction.

Miles smiled, "That's ridiculous. Why would he risk everything to mess around with an enlisted sailor—not when he can get practically anyone on this ship?"

"I know, right?" Lang leaned in conspiratorially, "That's what I thought, when I found out. So I did a little investigating of my own—because I like you Miles, and I don't want to see you get hurt. You've got enough baggage you're lugging around without—"

"Whatever rumors you've heard keep them to yourself. I'm not going to let ridiculous gossip influence—"

"But it's true!"

"Look, I'm the JAG!"

"So?"

"For the entire Strike Group!"

"And?"

"And what you're describing is a classic case of fraternization. If it were true I'd already know about it—for one! Two—we have history. No one knows Phoenix Wright like I—"

"Ah... But do you really know Phoenix Wright? People change, you know. Especially, out here—doing what he does... I'd say that might change a man—don't you?"

Miles shook his head and glared hard at him, "Why are you doing this?"

"I'm doing this because I like you. I don't want to see you get hurt over—"

"You don't know. You don't know me and you don't know him..."

Lang shot him a skeptical, knowing look and then went back to getting dressed, "So it's gonna be forever... Or it's gonna go down in flames... You can tell me when it's over... if the high was worth the pain..."

"Stop singing that song too..." Miles crossed his arms and leaned against the door.

"Miles, I don't like rumors... It can ruin a deployment. But I don't think it's just a rumor."

"I trust him enough to ask him about it," Miles pointed at him, "You've got nothing to worry about."

"Who said I was worried?" Lang tugged a blue tee shirt over his head and then grinned at Miles, "I'm not worried. You're the one that should be worried. 'Cause you know I like the players..."

Miles shook his head.

"And you like the game!"

The two of them joined Lieutenant Yew in the Wardroom for lunch. She seemed surprised—however pleasantly so—to see Miles, but that quickly turned to worry and concern over some issue that Miles had no idea about.

He kept quiet and thoughtful while Lang tried to comfort her with a few well-planned jokes and his seemingly endless supply of shipboard gossip.

Perhaps he had learned something about Phoenix—no. Don't get dragged into it...

"Miles," Lieutenant Yew fixed her stare on him, "You're awful quiet. How did it go in Naples?"

"Sorry, you know I can't talk about the hearing."

"That's fine, but how are you?"

Miles blinked at her and then smiled at his plate, "I'm sorry, I'm still in shock about it... You see I've recently discovered that Lieutenant Lang is a fan of Taylor Swift—and I find that rather disconcerting."

Lieutenant Yew stared at him—speechless.

Lang frowned and made an exaggerated show of scraping his fork against his plate, "Miles how many times do we have to explain to you that you don't have to be so formal all the—"

Lieutenant Yew started laughing. Lang stared at her in surprise, mouth agape—she was laughing at him. Miles glanced between the two of them, smiling. He had half a mind to laugh with her.

"Cali don't laugh—" Lang's tone was cajoling, "You knew about it—"

"He... Heee..." She clutched her stomach and gasped for breath, "He said it was... He said... it's... 'I find that rather disconcerting!' Oh my gawd!"

She laughed so hard she fell out of her seat. Miles scrambled out of his seat to help her up catching a disdainful glare from Lang as he did so.

He was in a much lighter mood after lunch and entered the legal spaces with a slight smile and an air of congeniality.

"Hi El Tee!" LN1 bobbed in her seat when he entered and he nodded at her in greeting. He swept their cramped space with a discerning eye before looking back at her.

"LN1, where is Justice?"

She stared vapidly at him for several moments, "Uh... Sir... Is that a rhetorical question?"

Miles blinked, "No. I meant LN3 Justice. Where is he?"

"Oh, he's off helping Lieutenant Payne with something."

Miles frowned, "Who is Lieutenant Payne?"

"Oh, he's the ship's Legal Officer. I guess he heard that you'd left for Naples so he came by to help out."

"A Legal Officer..?"

"Yeah. He's not very pleasant," LN1 tapped the top of her head, "And I think he was planning a hostile takeover in your absence."

"I was only gone for a couple of days," Miles said, eyelids drooping with disdain, "Surely one of you could've explained to him that—"

"I tried El Tee! Honest! But he's curmudgeonly and gross and he wouldn't listen to me. You know how those officers can get."

"I'm an officer," Miles noted.

"But you're different! You're a JAG—I mean a for real JAG! You're not like the rest of them."

Miles decided against asking her to explain herself—he didn't want to risk injuring her—and sighed wearily, "Where are they? I can go meet—"

"Lieutenant Edgeworth!" LN3 dropped a box at his feet and grinned up at Miles.

"Speak of the devil," LN1 quipped.

"How did it go? I heard HM1 is going to the brig."

"Yes, well, you shouldn't discuss a case that is still awaiting judgment—you know that."

"Right sir!" LN3 said enthusiastically, tapping his forehead in a salute, "We're glad to have you back, sir!"

"Ah, so you're Lieutenant Edgeworth," he was an older man with a high forehead made larger by a severely receded hairline. He held out a hand for Miles while his other hand was occupied in adjusting his thick horn-rimmed glasses.

Miles accepted his handshake politely, "Yes, I'm Miles Edgeworth. Lieutenant Payne, I presume?"

"Yes, you presume correctly. I'm Winston Payne. I'm the ship's Legal Officer."

"So I've been told," Miles tapped his chin scrupulously, "I wonder that we haven't met before now...?"

"Ah, well... I am the ship's Legal Officer—so I stay pretty busy. I imagine a rookie like you needed time to let everything sink in."

Miles stared incredulously at him, "Riiight..."

"Anyway, I popped in the other day—figured I'd make sure the docket didn't get back-logged while you were gone. Especially since you left these two on their own with no direction—"

"I was only gone for two days! I assure you there is nothing back—"

"No need to get defensive, son," Payne held up his hands, "I understand it's easy to get sidetracked—especially when you're young and inexperienced. That's why I'm here to help you out."

Miles clenched his teeth in a futile attempt to quell his rising ire, "I do very well without—"

"No need to get defensive, rookie," Payne wagged his head cockily, "I've been in your shoes before. I know how it gets when you're overwhelmed. How things start to pile up and little issues become big problems—"

"Mister Payne," Miles interjected, perhaps a little more forcefully than he'd intended, "While I do appreciate your concern, I certainly have no need of your—"

"Then how do you explain this?" Payne held up a tri-folder and shot Miles a gloating smirk.

"What is that?"

"Just a complaint filed against one of the Air Wing officers—it seems there's a pilot in the VAQ who likes to dip his quill in forbidden ink—if you catch my meaning…"

Miles glared hard at Lieutenant Payne and then grabbed the folder out of his hands.

He came in late that night and Lang was already in his rack.

"Hey," Lang mumbled half-asleep.

"Sorry," Miles said, "I didn't mean to wake you."

"No…" Lang sounded like he'd been asleep, "I wasn't asleep. Did you see him?"

Miles shook his head and then realized it was too dark for Lang to see the gesture, "No. They were still briefing or something… I'll try to find him in the morning."

"I told you, though, didn't I?"

"I'm sure it's all a misunderstanding," Miles felt around blindly in the dark until he found the desk chair and pulled it out so he could sit and remove his boots, "People seem to have nothing better to do than gossip on this stupid boat."

Lang made a noise in the dark. It took Miles a moment to realize he was laughing.

Chapter Text

Phoenix startled awake to the banging on his stateroom door. He looked up at the rack above him, but Larry was gone. The banging started another round, this time more intensely than before.

Maybe it’s Larry?

He slid out of his rack wearing only his tee shirt and shorts and for some reason white cotton socks and stumbled toward the door. He leaned back in shock to see Miles standing there with a grim expression on his face.

"Miles?"

"Sorry to wake you," Edgeworth said unable to hide his apprehension, "I couldn't wait any longer."

"Uh…," Phoenix stepped back from the door and motioned into his stateroom, "Do you want to come in?"

"That's probably not the best idea right now," Edgeworth shot him a pointed look and then drooped his head and stared at the floor, "Look, I just wanted tell you that I do trust you, and I'll do what I can. But we probably shouldn't be seen together until this blows over."

"Miles, what are you—"

But Edgeworth didn't stay to listen and turned abruptly to walk away. Phoenix stuck his head out into the corridor and watched him walk hurriedly toward the nearest hatch. He wanted to follow him, and the urge to do so dragged him into the corridor underwear socks and all.

Phoenix stared at the hatch that had swallowed Edgeworth for several slow dragging moments, while his confusion and shock was slowly supplanted by a creeping dread. He's the JAG, of course he would’ve heard by now.

I never had a chance to warn him…

Phoenix slammed the door and started dress hurriedly into the most accessible uniform, in this case, yesterday's flight suit. He pulled on his boots and tied them before drawing the zippers down over them. He had to find Commander Armando.

He stumbled as he jogged through the maze of passageways and ladders, still feeling the effects of a late flight. He'd only been back for a few hours. But this threat had been building, and he wasn't overly surprised that it had happened, but he had hoped he'd get a chance to explain to Miles beforehand.

He was occupied by these thoughts and a growing fear that all would be ruined over what was essentially petty gossip and misinterpretation. He didn't see Chief Armstrong until it was too late and slammed bodily into him coming down the ladder well.

"Ooompph! Sorry," he said before he knew what happened.

"Mister Wright," Chief simpered drawing up his shoulders putting a hand over his mouth in a gesture that might be called coquettish in a girl but only looked strange and incongruous in the big man.

Phoenix gasped and backed four steps up the ladder, "Chief Armstrong…"

"I never expected you to come bounding into my arms," he giggled, "it's like the lord heard my prayers!"

Phoenix backed up another step, "It was an accident."

"Oh I know that," Chief waved at him, "Stop being silly, you."

"I'm kinda in a hurry Chief," Phoenix said, glaring now.

"In a hurry for what? It's six AM on Sunday," Chief smirked and wiggled his shoulders, "Nobody's up unless they're on watch."

Phoenix could feel heat rising to his face, it was obvious now where the complaint had originated, "I need you to get out of my way, Chief."

Chief Armstrong stared at him and backed out of his way without another word. In his anger and sudden realization of the situation at hand, Phoenix continued down the ladder, slow and prickled, like a dog with his hackles raised passing an enemy. He shot one dark look toward the Chief as he turned to take the next ladder down. Chief was still staring in his direction and hadn't moved from where he stood.

He was still fuming when he found Commander Armando standing by the beverage machines in the forward mess. Commander Armando was very particular about his coffee.

"Commander, sir," he said curtly by way of greeting.

Commander Armando nodded at him in reply and checked his watch, "You should be racking out, Wright. I know you guys didn't finish debriefing that mission until about zero two."

"We need to talk," Phoenix said stiffly, he was still bristling in anger.

The light on the coffee machine showed ready and Commander Armando pulled out the carafe and filled his mug, "coffee?"

Phoenix just shook his head, lips pursed, and crossed his arms. Commander Armando without a word or gesture started walking into the mess seating and Phoenix followed him as naturally as if he'd been invited.

The two of them sat across from each other at one of the smaller table as far from the galley as they could find. Except for a couple of ensigns bustling in with their gun belts on and seeking a little coffee and warmth, the mess was deserted.

"I think I know what this is about," Commander Armando said and then let his comment hang in the air while he took a long draught from his coffee mug. Phoenix was slouched in his seat with his fingers drumming the table in front of him.

"I guess we should've seen this coming," Phoenix muttered in resignation, "I don't know what we were thinking."

"Don't be contrite, Wright, the commander smirked at him, "that isn't like you."

"I mean it's not as if I'd have any power to set it up before hand. Us being on the same crew, on the same ship—I mean it was all a coincidence."

"I wouldn't call it a complete coincidence per say," the commander said with a wide smile and gave Phoenix a pointed look, "I may have talked to a few enlisted detailers…"

Phoenix's eyes widened in shock, "You? But…"

"It's something I'm sure Mia might've appreciated," he paused to take another pull from the coffee mug, "It's been a rough couple years for AS3."

Phoenix shook his head suddenly and slammed his palms to his temples, "Let me get this straight, you purposefully worked out a drug deal to get Maya on my crew?"

"I did it for her, Wright," Armando shot him a disparaging glare, "You're doing fine—you've been doing fine. I haven't seen her brighten up so much since it happened... Until she came here. Of course I never counted on half the ship zeroing in on you—for God knows why—and putting her in your spotlight."

"Wait, so you think this is my fault?"

Commander Armando grinned at him and set down the coffee mug. He learned over the table toward Phoenix and patted him on the cheek, "I wasn't assigning blame, you can't help but draw attention to yourself."

"JAG woke me up this morning and implied that something is going on."

"Lieutenant Edgeworth?"

"Yes, I think he was trying to warn me or something," Phoenix grabbed at his hair unable to hide his mounting panic, "I think maybe someone reported Maya and me… and I think I know where it came from…"

Commander Armando didn't seem to be listening to him, "…but then JAG's a good one to have on your side, I suppose…"

"How far do you think this will go?"

Armando had his face hidden behind his coffee mug again and he set it down with a shrug to look at Phoenix, "Nick, don't worry about it."

Phoenix met his eye in astonishment, "But surely if a complaint was filed or if this has been reported—"

Commander Armando stood abruptly and headed back toward the beverage station to refill his coffee, "I said don't worry about it. No one really takes that ASC seriously anyway."

He already knows... That means CAG already knows...

Phoenix smiled after the Commander and then hopped up and walked out of the mess and down the first ladderwell he found.

Phoenix turned over in his rack later that day and looked at Larry before turning away from him with a groan. Larry was leaning back in the one chair they had in their stateroom with his feet on the desk and his face buried in an entertainment magazine.

"Where'd you take off to this morning?" Phoenix muttered into his pillow.

"I couldn't sleep man, so I called Kiyance," Larry said and then yawned, "that last one messed up my sleep schedule pretty bad."

"Yeah," Phoenix pulled his phone out from under his pillow and grimaced at the time, "I guess I better get chow."

"Yeah bro, you missed breakfast and lunch," Larry stifled another yawn before stretching and then climbing noisily into his rack, "Imma try and sleep now."

He joined the queue in the aft mess several minutes later, he kept his face down and pointed at The Last Stand of the Tin Can Sailors, hoping no one would talk to him.

"Hey Nick," Phoenix turned to look at the slap on his shoulder that accompanied the greeting. It was only Lieutenant Swallow.

"Hi Doug," he said and looked back at his book.

"I feel like I haven't seen you in weeks," Doug pressed on with incongruous determination, "Where've you been hiding?"

"Nowhere," Phoenix replied noncommittally without looking up from his book, "flying a lot… but you're probably in the same boat."

"Yeah it's gotten pretty crazy—but then there's more of us to go around than you guys."

Phoenix only shrugged and let the line push him along when it started moving.

He ended up eating with Doug but he finished quickly and hurried away when a couple of the other aviators from Doug's squadron joined them. He made his way down to the hangar bay but thought better of it before he got there. Instead he followed his boots absently toward the squadron spaces on the 0-3 level. He ran into Miles in the quiet corridor near CDC just before the blue tile area. Miles nodded politely to him and the twisted to the side to let him pass and it made him frown a little to think that Miles was getting used to the ship and this life at sea.

Miles took him by the wrist as he passed and held him fast, "I want to talk to you."

Phoenix didn't know why he suddenly felt so apprehensive, but it surged in him, and he ducked his head and started moving again, "Walk with me."

Miles followed him unquestioningly into the darkened squadron spaces. Neither of them spoke as they made their way aft and down one ladder and then another until they found themselves in the aft hangar bay. It was late but still not dark enough to obscure the ships wake as it churned away from the stern. They found a quiet corner near a porthole and perched together in the fading light. It may have been the same porthole they'd danced together at a few short weeks ago.

Phoenix was apprehensive, worried about what Miles wanted to talk about; embarrassed that Miles had been forced to learn about Maya second hand and filtered through a screen of twisted and vindictive rumors. He sat on the deck and stared out at the ocean. Miles didn't join him, he stood apart, too far for him to easily reach over and touch and leaned against the bulkhead with one hand in his pocket.

Phoenix had no idea where to start or what he could say to placate the man and he opened his mouth to speak and closed it again without a word.

"I never thought I'd find you at a loss for words," Miles said casually, "usually you go on with such energy… that… well…"

"Miles I'm sorry, okay," Phoenix said his voice was stiff with dread. If it was going to end here he had no hope of trying again. He heard the rustle of clothing as Miles shifted his stance behind him.

"What are you sorry about, Phoenix Wright?" His voice was steady and calm.

Phoenix rubbed his hair and stared hard at the ocean reflecting red in the last desperate throes of sunset. He suddenly felt afraid, hopeless in the face of their inevitable parting—what had he been thinking? Their lives had spun in opposite directions for the last six years. Too much was different now.

Why did you even bother with Miles?

Phoenix swallowed, too choked up on his panic and emotion to notice that Miles had joined him on the deck. Too miserable to react when Miles' long cool fingers found his face. Too shocked to move when Miles leaned in and kissed him.

He gasped, shocked. Then relief overcame him and he relaxed letting Miles press into him and then the yearning took hold and he put his arms around him and drew him close. Miles' figure was warm and lithe in his arms, and in the growing shadows of the evening, wrapped in the secure darkness, Phoenix felt him surrender.

But just as suddenly as it had come upon them, the warning clatter of boots on the ladderwell sounded above them, and they drew away from each other abruptly. They both faced the open hatch and the falling night and held their breath until the footsteps met the deck and lighted upon it for only a step or two before bounding down the next ladder.

Phoenix heard Miles exhale in relief and it made him smile. Maybe he shouldn't have been so worried about it after all.

“I missed you,” Miles said.

"What did you want to talk about, Miles?"

He felt rather than saw Miles look up at him in the darkness, heavy and suffocating now as the light faded.

"I…" Miles began but he seemed hesitant suddenly, "I've heard some things… People have been talking about you…"

Phoenix felt the panic return and grimaced, but it didn't seem that Miles could see his face.

"I don't believe most of it," Miles paused again, "and I trust you have an explanation for what can't be refuted."

Phoenix's throat stuck, he felt like he was choking again—why was this so difficult? The silence dragged between them and it felt heavy in the darkness. Phoenix turned toward the open hatch and stared into the inky blackness, disorienting for its opacity and unbroken save where the froth of the ship's wake reflected red from the running lights.

"Nick…"

His voice seemed small and suddenly distant, and Phoenix swallowed again and cleared his throat.

"One of my maintainers… I knew her from before…"

Phoenix couldn't see Miles at all anymore in the dark, but he could feel his stare. Miles said nothing.

"She's the sister of a friend," if he could get it all out he could stop worrying, right?

"I got in a bit of a bind when I was in flight school—in Texas… Mia was the NCIS agent investigating my case. Maya is her little sister."

They were interrupted again, this time by a pair of footsteps on the ladder coming down. The both sat still, holding their breath until the steps receded into the hangar bay. Distracted, Phoenix had let his uncertainty silence him again. Then he felt Miles' hand touch his—not holding it, just pressed against him enough for them to be touching.

"Mia was killed you know," he continued solemnly, "Maya had no where else to go."

"So you took her in…? Until she was of age, I assume?"

"Yes," Phoenix sighed, "I didn't think she would run off and enlist—I guess maybe she didn't want to be a burden. I didn't see her again for a couple of years until we both ended up in Oceana on different sides of this khaki line… I can't help it, I care about her…. But I care about this too… and if this gets out—"

"You needn't worry," Miles interrupted, "the Air Wing’s Commanding Officer visited me today. I think the people that need to know what matters are people that matter. So I don't think anything will come of this."

"I thought you would be mad at me about this," Phoenix said tentatively and low.

"I never said I wasn't," Miles said but there was mirth in his voice and he left off their surreptitious touching and grabbed Phoenix's hand boldly, "I suppose you will have to make it up to me, however."

Phoenix laughed out loud, his incongruous reaction due to immense relief that Miles wasn't going to swallow up all the rumors and lies. He couldn't see it but he thought maybe Miles was smiling too. Miles squeezed his hand in his.

"My dear," Miles chided him, "why ever would you doubt me?"

Phoenix laughed all the more.

Chapter Text

Miles leaned back in the cold metal folding chair he was sitting in and squinted at the paperwork in the folder on his lap. He didn't look up at Lieutenant Payne when he spoke.

"I just didn't feel the need to pursue this," He took out the handwritten form and held it out to the other man, "I don't even see a proper witness signature. Plus, the write up is very specific on some details and vague in other respects—like a story. One might construe this as a personal issue, not a legal one."

"Edgeworth, it's an obvious case of fraternization. I don't see how you can dismiss it."

Miles shook his head and sat up in the chair, "We had interviews from the defendant's work center, his co-pilot, and his Chain of Command. LN3 is still transcribing them for me but already I can tell you that this report wont hold up."

"I think you've been intimidated by the Air Wing. That's why you've decided to roll over and let them do what they want."

Miles glared at him, "You do realize that your complainant works for the AirWing as well? Surely there's no conflict of interest in that regard?"

Lieutenant Payne tucked his chin and patted absently at his balding pate, "You mustn't brush this kind of thing off. It's detrimental to good order—"

"Lieutenant Payne," Miles said as he tossed the folder onto the makeshift desk, "One might wonder that you have a personal stake in this case."

"I most certainly do not!"

Miles only chuckled and picked up another folder, "Now see here, why are you so concerned about an aviator that talks to his maintainers? You shouldn't be, not while MA3 from security and Fireman Oakley have been caught in the fan-room with a stolen mattress?"

Payne glared at him.

Miles set the file on the desk separate from the first one and started on the next, "Or how about these guys from Deck Department? They shoved the new guy into a chute. Hazing, I'd hazard to guess."

"Edgeworth—Miles, please just grant Chief Armstrong an interview," Payne said, suddenly cajoling, "There's no reason you have to shut him out. Not when he has a serious complaint."

"I don't have a lot time to run down every complaint that—"

"Isn't that exactly what you're here for?"

"Lieutenant Payne, there are five thousand people on this ship—almost seven if you include the entire strike group. Surely you can understand my wish to focus on those matters that have a material affect on our ability to complete our mission. In groups this large there will be conflict and misunderstanding. I, however, cannot be expected to encourage it by elevating cases like this that should rather be resolved by the chain of command."

"Fraternization is absolutely contrary to order and discipline, it's ridiculous to think that this won't affect mission readiness."

Miles sighed and shook his head, "I can see him this afternoon then. 1600. It wont hurt I suppose, and I may strengthen my argument by doing so."

Lieutenant Payne nodded, "I'll let him know."

He turned quickly and left the legal office by way of the staff admin. Miles shook his head and went back to sorting the case files piled on the deck near his feet.

He left the remaining tasks of reviewing them to LN1 when she returned from the mess deck, and left to take his own lunch in the aft mess with the Air Wing.

Phoenix was already waiting for him as he approached the mess, leaning against the bulkhead reading a paperback book that he'd folded open—the cover curled in his hand against the back of the book.

"Nick," he said and Phoenix fell into step beside him and shoved the book into his pocket.

"Is everything alright?" Phoenix's dark eyes fell over him in concern, "You seem a little angry… or stressed…"

Miles forced a smile, "I am perfectly well. Just buried in a bunch of silly reports and complaints."

Phoenix smiled his lopsided smile that made him so endearing, "Yeah, I guess people are starting to get antsy. We've been underway for like eighty days straight."

"How long does the ship stay out before port calls?"

"Well, I think she can go forever with unreps and nuclear power," he ran a hand through his spiky hair, "But I think they try to bring her in at least once every two months or so. So the Sailors don't lose it."

"Why has she been delayed for so long then?"

Phoenix shrugged in cool nonchalance, "It could be any number of reasons. But I think this time it's because of us—the Air Wing's got some serious patrolling and stuff—not that I can say anymore than that."

Miles rolled his eyes and they joined the line at the mess.

Larry joined them later when he got his own meal. He only glanced at Miles before turning to Phoenix, "Dude, did you hear about Doug Swallow?"

"Hello to you too Larry," Phoenix said between bites, "What happened to Doug?"

"I wasn't there," Larry began, "But Juan said he got into an argument with one of the ship officers. Weps, I think. Someone called security on them before they started fighting, but supposedly it was headed that way. They've got him confined to berthing until his next flight."

"Wow," Phoenix had paused to look at Larry, "Tensions are getting high around here."

"Dude, totes," Larry quipped, "way more than usual."

Larry glanced at Miles as if he'd just noticed him, "Oh hey, JAG. I bet you're seeing it, too."

Miles gave a slight noncommittal nod, but didn't answer.

"SWOs," Phoenix said disparagingly, "They say they eat their own—I wonder if they're just wanting fresh blood."

Miles frowned, "What?"

Larry laughed at him, "Dude, this guy…"

"Have you heard anything new about our next port call?" Phoenix effectively changed the subject without clearing up Miles' confusion, "We've been underway for going on three months now."

"You know I can't tell you that now," Larry said, "We can't have you announcing it on Facebook."

Phoenix shot Larry a disparaging look, "It's already on the ship's Facebook page. We just don't have a date yet."

Larry nodded focused on his meal, "Yeah sure, it's soon. Pretty soon. I'm sure you'll see it posted soon."

"Where are we supposed to be pulling into?" Miles asked suddenly curious.

"Whatever that big port city in Borginia—"

"Gatrinkel?" Phoenix interjected.

"That's the one," Larry scraped up the last of his lunch and stood abruptly, "I got a meeting. They want us in the N2's brief. I'll see you later?"

"Yeah, of course, Larry," Phoenix nodded.

"What's the N2?" Miles asked leaning toward him to whisper.

Phoenix just laughed, "The Intel people."

"Like top secret people?"

Phoenix grinned mischievously at him, "You know if I tell you I'll have to kill you."

"Stop," Miles said and glared at him. But he felt no heat staring into those dark eyes—not from anger anyway.

"Do you have to be back very soon?" Phoenix said.

Miles shrugged, "I have a meeting at 16, but other than that—I'm sure Justice and Miney will appreciate my scarcity…"

"This wont take very long," Phoenix said and stood, "But I thought you should meet Maya."

Miles felt apprehensive, and frowned slightly up at him, "Does she know?"

Phoenix leaned toward him, "She knows about me. So of course she's curious about you."

Miles frowned, "I don't know if this is a good idea."

"It's fine," Phoenix said, "You can say I'm introducing my maintainers to a Command Assistant—you know in case they have any legal issues. Nothing wrong with that, right?"

Miles' frown deepened. He couldn't explain this away without either hurting Phoenix's feelings or letting him know there was an open investigation.

"Miles?"

He stood and smiled tightly at Phoenix and then acquiesced. Maybe if he kept the meeting brief no one could complain there was a conflict of interest.

Phoenix led the way chatting animatedly about flight training in Texas and how he and Maya had met. Miles found his own voice muted by apprehension and barely heard anything he said. Eventually the steep ladders and dimly lit passages led them to the hangar bay where the space was bright with sunlight and despite the very industrial feel of the massive hangar, seemed incongruously cheery.

The space was filled this time of day with Air Wing Petty Officers in colored shirts—Brown, Purple, Red, and Green, and they moved about the planes in a chaotic dance of movement and noise. Miles had to make some effort to keep up with Phoenix as he cut through the activity as calmly as if the hangar had been empty.

They stopped near a plane with her engines covered and tags hanging all around. There were three Airmen standing beneath her and talking. They wore green long-sleeved shirts over unbloused NWU pants. Two of them were small and female and the third, a taller man. They were focused on one of the panels under the fuselage and the tall male Petty Officer was consulting a beat-up metal clipboard as he directed them.

As soon as they noticed Phoenix the gangly Petty Officer shot to attention and saluted, "Afternoon Lieutenant, Sir!"

Phoenix shot a grin at Miles and said, chuckling, "At ease Meekins."

The Petty Officer slumped back into a timid posture and then glanced nervously at Miles. Phoenix shook his head with an air of long suffering and rested his hands casually on his hips. He turned and nodded at Miles, "Guys this is Lieutenant Edgeworth. He's the Strike Group JAG."

The girl, whom Miles could only assume was Maya, met his eye boldly and grinned. That's when he recognized the girl standing next to her as Kay Faraday.

"Good afternoon," he said trying to sound casual.

Maya shot a grime covered hand at him, she glanced at his and wiped her hand on her shirt before offering it again, "Pleased to meet you, Sir! I'm AM3 Fey."

She shook his hand firmly before motioning toward the others in turn, "This is AS1 Meekins and Airman Faraday. We look after Mister Wright's plane."

Phoenix was watching the exchange with some trepidation and his arms crossed over his chest. Miles only spared him a glance before turning back to them, "My pleasure. I thank you for your service too, all of you."

Phoenix cleared his throat.

"Ah, yes," Miles continued after the prompt, "As Lieutenant Wright has already mentioned, I am the Strike Group’s Staff Judge Advocate. My department is here to help if you should have any… em… legal issues."

"Is that like an attorney?" Kay blurted out and then thought for a moment before adding, "Sir?"

"Sort of," Miles said focusing on her with a confused stare, "If you're familiar with civilian court procedure, one might call me a Prosecutor. I represent the interests of the U.S. Government in cases involving the UCMJ."

The three of them and Phoenix were all staring at him quizzically and Miles worried suddenly that he'd said the wrong thing. He wasn't sure what had happened it just seemed to spill out of him. He brought a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat, "Em… But my department is here to help you navigate the legal system… Should the need arise."

They stared at him for several awkward moments more and then Phoenix slapped him on the shoulder and grinned around at the small group, "Well, we'll just get out of your way. JAG wants to see a few more of our work centers I think. You be good and take care of my girl."

Following a chorus of 'yes sir' and goodbyes, they exited the hangar from a different hatch than the one they'd entered. Miles gazed glumly around the dark cramped space lit only by the light shining into the ladder well from the deck above. Phoenix was dogging the hatch, with perhaps more care than was necessary. When he seemed contented that it was secure enough, he leaned past Miles to look up the ladder and into the deck beyond. Miles found himself mimicking the motion curiously and so was completely taken aback when Phoenix pulled him into a rough embrace and kissed him.

"Ah," Miles uttered with some exasperation as Phoenix released him.

"I hate always having to sneak around and kiss you in dark corners," Phoenix was frowning, "I can't wait to make it into port."

Miles found himself smiling at him, drinking in the dark liquid of his eyes and delighting in the way the light dripping from the deck above highlighted the planes and angles of his face.

"I guess we—"

Miles had shushed him by placing an index finger over his soft warm lips. Phoenix's mouth was still slightly parted from his interrupted speech, "Just a minute more…"

Parting from Phoenix had left him sullen and withdrawn, and he said little to his Legalmen while they organized the files he'd sorted that morning, save what was necessary to relay his orders and intention. So he was shocked when someone rapped on the counter from the other side of the rope that separated the legal office from staff admin. Lieutenant Payne had returned leading a tall, heavyset Chief with curly auburn hair and a sleepy mustache that clung with vulgarity to his cherubic lips.

Miles hesitated slightly and then motioned them through and waved them toward the metal folding chairs he'd asked LN3 to set out for the interview.

"Lieutenant Payne," he nodded curtly by way of greeting, "I'm sure you have more important things to do. I have LN3 Justice here to act as recorder."

Payne looked hesitantly at Chief and they nodded between each other, "Of course, Edgeworth, you don't need me here. Chief, I'll be in my stateroom should you need to find me later."

"Thank you, Sir," Chief said with a slight tip of his head. His voice was reedy and unctuous, incongruous to his size. Miles frowned and watched Payne exit the hatch.

"Chief Armstrong, I presume," Miles offered him a seat with another wave toward the chairs.

He motioned toward LN3 as Chief sat down, "Chief this is LN3 Justice, he will be the recorder during this interview."

Miles took the seat in front of Chief and LN3 sat to the right and slightly behind him after carefully placing a digital recorder on the counter near them.

"Wait," Chief said, "You're going to record this?"

"I'm going to go over this before we begin," Miles said as he flipped through a steno pad without looking at the other man.

"I didn't know that—"

"Chief," Miles began narrowing his eyes at the man before referencing his steno pad, "I will record this interview should you desire. Otherwise, LN3 will take note of your statements. This is not an interview for the purpose evidence gathering, nor is this a forum for any legal action. At this time, I'm trying to verify certain facts about your complaint, as there is not enough evidence to consider legal action, at this time."

Chief glowered at him, "You want to dismiss my case…"

Miles frowned at him, Payne had been telling him more than he'd ought to, and now Chief was trying to levy this insight as a means to spur legal action. Miles cleared his throat, "Chief, this is not a legal matter at this time. I merely seek some clarification on your complaint to see if it warrants UCMJ action. At this time, it seems this is an issue that can be handled within your department."

"Well," Chief said raising his shoulders and wiggling his head at Miles, "It certainly seems like you've already made your decision, Sir."

Miles stared balefully at the Chief and then glanced at LN3, and leaned forward in his seat, "Very well, Chief. Why don't you explain to me what's really going on?"

Chief Armstrong huffed and rolled his eyes like a teenaged girl, "Fine! Not that I haven't already written all of this down."

Miles continued to glare and Chief eventually cringed as if trying to make himself smaller. After several stuttering false starts, Chief said, "Lieutenant Wright has an unduly close relationship with one of the maintainers in the Squadron, a Petty Officer Third Class."

"How so?" Miles said.

"Well…" Chief blubbered in exasperation, "He's and officer and she's enlisted."

Miles crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.

"But they're awful chummy," Chief said, "You know how these things go."

Miles gave a slight smirk, "Actually I don't. Perhaps you can enlighten me."

Chief hesitated, "Well, they the way they talk and flirt in front of everyone else, can you imagine what they do when no one is watching."

Miles nodded, "Based on what you'd written, you believe that Lieutenant Wright and Petty Officer Fey are having a sexual relationship. Am I correct in that inference?"

Chief squirmed and put both of his hands under his chin, "Well… Well of course sir!"

"So what led you to that deduction?"

"It's… Obviously, it's in his nature."

"I don't think it's so obvious Chief. Although, both of them have been described by others in the squadron as rather gregarious. But that doesn't mean they're having… em… it doesn't mean they're in a relationship."

Chief fidgeted some more and then rubbed his cheek. He seemed to pause to contemplate before leaning conspiratorially toward Miles, "Well, Sir, there is more to the story. You see, I had it from another Chief in the squadron that Lieutenant Wright dated her sister while he was in Texas. After what happened with the sister, he took up with her—when she was seventeen!"

Miles shook his head, "You had it from another Chief—"

"I trust him," Chief Armstrong was suddenly defensive, "I'm not imagining this either, he's been sweet on her as long as they've both been in the squadron."

Miles narrowed his eyes and leveled his gaze at the other man, "I still don't see—"

"I know you don't get to see much of our spaces, Sir. But if you knew Lieutenant Wright, you'd see what I'm talking about."

Miles turned toward LN3 and bit his lip to stop himself laughing. He took a moment to regain his composure before turning back to Chief, "Okay Chief. I really don't think this is something your CAG's going to want to bother with."

"Wait so you're just going to dismiss this after all?"

Miles ignored him and turned to LN3 again, "Petty Officer Justice I think we're finished here. Chief, I just don't see—"

"So you're not going to do anything?"

Miles glared at him and waited for LN3 to leave the room, "Chief, I just have one question for you."

Chief stared at him cowed by the expression on Miles' face, "Sir?"

"What do you have against Lieutenant Wright anyway?"

"What are you implying?"

"It's just a question, Chief," Miles said, "It's fine if you don't want to answer it. But if you really want to resolve your issue, you should probably start there and not by promulgating unsubstantiated rumor."

Miles turned away from him and walked out of the space, leaving Chief Armstrong blubbering up in dismay.

Chapter Text

"So what does that man have against you?" Miles leaned against the bulkhead and took a drink from his water bottle. Phoenix had found him quite by accident in the seaside gym with Lang putting him through some kind of circuit training. They were sitting together now, Lang absently bobbing his head to music from his headphones and Miles looking up at him with his hair slightly tousled. Phoenix smiled at him running the small towel in his hand.

"Who knows," Phoenix said before flipping his towel onto his shoulder, "He's always been sort of a creep."

Miles stretched and yawned, "Looks like you just got here."

"Yeah," Phoenix took a quick glance over his shoulder, "I was just waiting on Larry. Are you guys done?"

"Yes—" Miles started to say but Lang interrupted.

"No way, Lawyer-boy!" Lang hopped abruptly to his feet, "we're going to keep going until I'm sure you'll knock out tonight!"

Phoenix frowned slightly and Miles groaned before getting to his feet, "If I survive this, do you think we can meet somewhere?"

Lang poked him between his shoulder blades, "Come on lover boy, lets get moving!"

Miles shot Phoenix a helpless look and stumbled after Lang. Phoenix laughed out loud.

"Hey bro," Larry said absently as he approached him from behind, "You wanna just run for an hour so we can rack out early? We're doing a long one tomorrow."

Phoenix was still watching Miles get beat up by Lang, "Yeah okay, do you want to go up and do the treadmill instead?"

"Yeah," Larry said absently as he set up his playlist on his phone.

Larry was already asleep when Phoenix returned from the head still toweling his hair. He dressed quickly in the dim light, not wanting to wake up Larry. He slid on a clean flight suit before securing his laundry and putting away his kit. He glanced once at Larry before leaving his stateroom.

The corridors were already dimmed and Phoenix walked quietly in the red light of the passage way and left his berthing. The Staff Officers were berthed much more forward and deeply away from the catapults on the flight deck. He knocked apprehensively at the stateroom door labeled with Miles and Lang's names and their respective departments.

Lang answered the door shirtless and grinning.

"Why hello there, handsome," he growled and waggled his eyebrows suggestively, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Phoenix stared at him a moment in dismay before shaking it off, "You're so weird," he chuckled, "Where is Miles?"

"Miles?" Lang looked suddenly serious, "He's dead. I mean that's what he told me, 'don't ask me to move because I'm dead.' But if you ask me—"

"I'm fine! Stop telling people I'm dead!" Miles' muffled voice wafted from the back of the stateroom.

Phoenix laughed and Lang grinned at him conspiratorially, "Don't keep him out too late, he likes his beauty sleep."

Phoenix chuckled in reply, "Don't worry, I've got an early flight tomorrow, and I'm sure I could do with some beauty sleep too."

"You? Just stop—" Lang disappeared behind the door suddenly, and Miles, sleep tousled and still sliding into a robe replaced him in the crack of the door.

"Sorry," Miles said rubbing his eyes, "I em… I wanted to talk to you about something…"

Miles yawned and then stepped out into the corridor, "We can go to my office."

"Is everything all right?" Phoenix stared at his back, thinking it sort of cute the way his hair stood up where his head had hit the pillow.

"Yeah," Miles stifled another yawn, "It's nothing so serious."

"I'm sorry if I woke you—"

"Nonsense, I asked to speak with you—I'd just prefer a little privacy that's all."

Phoenix followed him toward the O-3 Level in the direction of Flag Admin. Miles paused in the blue tile area to punch in the code on the cipher lock—Phoenix was surprised, he'd never seen the door closed before.

Miles walked straight past the cubicles of the large Admin space and into the back where he and his legal team worked and Phoenix followed him with some trepidation, although he supposed Miles was right to take him here as the hangar always seemed to have people lurking around. Miles offered him a seat in the desk chair and walked over to the makeshift table and opened a metal drawer. He dug around for a few moments before returning and setting a cylindrical object on the table and joining him at the desk. He leaned over and turned it on and it bathed the small space in a warm yellow light.

"Oh a camp lantern," Phoenix said blinking at it, "I wasn't sure what it was…"

"If they're not on Facebook, they're on Amazon…" Miles muttered disparagingly before clearing his throat, "I think we're both tired, but I wasn't sure when we'd see each other again."

"Is this about that business with Maya and Chief Arm—"

"First off, it's Petty Officer Fey while you're aboard and second that man is a very unsavory character."

Phoenix must've let some of his shock read on his face, because Miles held up a hand and continued, "but no, that's not what I wanted to ask you about. That whole objectionable business—as far as I can tell—has been nipped in the bud."

"So what do you need Miles?"

"What are Night Moves? And do they involve you?" Miles looked suddenly worried.

Phoenix ran a hand over his face in exasperation but he laughed in spite of himself, "Aw Miles…"

"So it does involve you," Miles' eyes looked dark in the little camp light, his expression crestfallen, "And you weren't going to tell me…"

Phoenix shook his head and ran his hands through his hair, "Miles, my squadron hasn't even been briefed about this yet. How did you even hear about it?"

"CAG spoke about it in the staff meeting earlier," Miles said, "So you didn't know?"

"Well, we do it periodically, so we're kind of always expecting it," Phoenix looked at him, "But we don't usually know until a week or so before it starts—it's for security's sake."

"I see," Miles rested his chin on his fists, elbows in his lap, "So you would've told me if you'd known."

"Yes of course," Phoenix sighed, "As much as I could about it."

Miles met his stare with narrowed eyes.

"Look," Phoenix said, "There's only so much I can say—for security's sake."

Miles frowned, "I won't see much of you at all if you're flying all night and sleeping all day."

Phoenix slid his chair over to Miles so that their knees touched and took both of his hands, "It's only a couple of days, and we're supposed to pull into port right after."

"But you'll be safe?"

Phoenix smiled, more than anything he wanted to hold Miles—reassure him—but there wasn't time for that, "I told you, I'm pretty good at this. This ain't my first rodeo."

Miles chuckled at that, "You must know Warrant Marshall…?"

"Not personally," Phoenix said, "But his brother is the Air Wing N2, so we've heard of him."

"One last thing," Miles' voice had calmed noticeably in relief, "I talked to XO today about my going with you into town—he said there needs to be at least three of us. Also I have to request permission from CAG as well."

Phoenix shrugged, "I think Larry is expecting to go with us—I hope you're okay with that—and CAG wont mind at all I'm sure. She likes to think her Air Wing is loved and accepted by the crew."

He stood then and pulled Miles up to stand with him and then hugged him, "You worry too much," Phoenix said softly into his ear.

"Only because you're never worried enough," Miles replied.

Phoenix slept well that night and awoke in the dim red light to Larry shaking him.

"I'm up Larry," he said in a sleep slurred voice and rolled over so he could sit on the edge of his rack, still yawning and rubbing his eyes.

"How late did you stay up?" Larry was already dressed and watching him with a rarely seen expression of anger, "Dude, tell me you didn't stay up all night."

"I didn't stay up all night Larry," he said annoyed, before stifling another yawn, "I was racked out by ten or ten thirty…"

Larry's glare darkened all the more, "So less than eight hours?"

"Stop freaking out, man," Phoenix stood and started looking for his flight suit.

"Oh I'm freaking out? You're not flying by yourself! It's not just your life on the line!"

Phoenix paused with his flight suit only pulled up past his thighs and met Larry's gaze, "I'm fine, Larry," he slid his arms into the sleeves and pulled it the rest of the way on, "I'll drink two cups of coffee…"

Larry shook his head and walked out of the stateroom, slamming the door behind him. Phoenix frowned, he's over-reacting. He slid the chair out from under the desk and sat down to put on his boots and stifled another yawn. He stood giving the room one last glance, feeling the weight of his guilt. He had to make it up to Larry, and he was acutely aware that any mistake on this flight, however small, would be looked at under the shadow of his carelessness. Larry was probably already trying to get the flight canceled.

He sighed and left the room, walking briskly toward the squadron's work center. He popped in long enough to grab his helmet and the rest of his gear before heading to the ready room. Larry was the only one sitting inside. He had his arms crossed and was glowering at the empty screen on the wall. Phoenix dropped his helmet bag and gear in the seat next to him, "Come on Larry, let's get something to eat," Phoenix ran a hand through his hair, "And some coffee maybe"

Larry sighed, "We'll go… in a bit. I told doc about it."

"Larry? Really?"

"Hey, I'm allowed to be worried about it, I'm going up in that death trap with you!"

"Hey buddy," Phoenix moved to the empty seat on the other side of Larry, "I'm fine, okay? I knocked out for like twelve hours after the last—"

"Doc's coming up here before the brief," Larry said woodenly, "We'll have time for a boxed nasty afterward."

Phoenix frowned and sat, "There's really nothing to worry—"

Larry just crossed his arms. Phoenix leaned forward and put his head in his hands.

"Butz?" They both looked up to see Lieutenant Commander Hickfield followed by tired looking corpsman carrying what looked like a tackle box.

"Wright," the doctor looked at him with a slight frown, "It's just a precaution, you know."

"Sure doc," Phoenix stood and moved toward them away from the cluster of chairs. Without a word he unzipped his flight suit to the waist and pulled the top off so it hung from his belt line. The doctor already had his stethoscope at the ready and began his check with the ease of old habit. He had Phoenix sit so he could shine a light in one eye and then the other, then he turned to the corpsman and gestured beckoningly with his hand. The corpsman immediately dropped the bag and dug in it for a moment before passing the doctor a small plastic cup. The doctor turned to Phoenix and bade him hold out his hand before dropping the tiny white capsule into his palm. Phoenix stared at it with a frown.

"Doc, I don't—"

"Think of it as insurance son," Commander Hickfield said and turned back to the corpsman who was already holding out a bottle of water to him, "For your life, Butz's life and that 70 million dollar plane you're taking up today.”

Phoenix nodded, he was embarrassed and angry and shot Larry a dark look before tipping his head back and dropping the little capsule into his mouth. He grabbed the proffered water-bottle and downed it in one drought.

He glared at the doctor and then looked at Larry, "Happy now?"

"Lieutenant Wright," Doc Hickfield touched his shoulder, he was holding out a piece of paper, "You know how this works."

Phoenix huffed before realizing he still had his flight suit half off, "You gotta pen Larry?"

Larry was behind him in an instant shoving the pen into his outstretched hand. Phoenix scribbled his signature onto the paper, "Thanks doc."

Lieutenant Commander Hickfield offered a thin smile and waved the Corpsman out of the ready room and made a show of checking his watch, "You should still have time to get chow too. Come see me after you land Wright."

Larry and Phoenix stared after them silently until they were gone, then Phoenix pulled up the top of his flight suit and slid his arms into the sleeves and rolled it over his shoulders. Larry smiled sheepishly at him, "See how hard was that?"

"Larry just—!" Phoenix reached over him and grabbed his helmet bag, "Come on, we have time for chow."

He didn't have a lot to say to Larry when they went to grab breakfast. With the crisis averted, Larry had calmed exponentially and had returned to his jovial self. Phoenix frowned through their hurried meal, and when he stopped to put granola bars and potato chips in his helmet bag, and as they made their way back to the ready room. He could feel the amphetamine kicking in and dropped his full coffee cup into a trash can chained against one of the bulkheads. Caffeine would probably give him the shakes.

Larry, I hope you’re happy...

The ready room was more populated when they entered, Lieutenant Engarde and Lieutenant Corrida were there along with another pair of fighter pilots, of which Doug was the only one he recognized. Lieutenant Commander Marshall was in the front of the room speaking with CAG herself.

"Great," Phoenix muttered under his breath, no wonder doc was so ready to medicate him.

The brief wasn't long but they were informed about night moves, which Phoenix had already learned from Miles. He wasn't comforted by the amount of attention this flight seemed to be getting, and of course, Larry was the main attraction. No wonder he was so upset—he probably knew about it.

You could’ve dropped a hint, Larry...

Phoenix made head call at the nearest head after the brief, his heart was pounding and he was starting to sweat. He splashed water on his face and stared into the sheetmetal that stood in for a mirror. His blurred reflection stared back at him flushed and uncertain. He avoided it when he could, even if that meant weeks at a time of eating, sleeping, and flying with little opportunity for socializing or education or anything really. His first deployment had been like that. He hadn't really been used to all the flying—no one can really prepare for it.

Of course, he'd been doing much better this time around. He felt like an old pro. He made this look easy. Why else would he have been recommended for the Growler program? Of course, there was the distraction of Miles to contend with. Not to mention this sordid business with that Chief that had come seemingly out of nowhere. He'd never wanted a break so badly. Phoenix sighed resignedly and joined the other aviators lined up along the passageway outside of the ready room.

Larry stepped out of the line and moved back to stand near Phoenix. Neither of them spoke to the other. Larry was apologetic and Phoenix still annoyed and with all of that between them on top of the usual pre-flight anticipation, the best they could muster was this grating silence.

They turned with the others and started the march toward the hatch that exited onto the flight deck. The sun was just starting to break the horizon. As the line of aviators climbed the catwalk onto the deck, Phoenix could see the mass of sailors wearing colored shirts completing the FOD walk-down. The planes were lined up on the deck with their canopies open and waiting. Another glance at the horizon showed the turning of the ship as she was positioned to launch them away from the glare of the rising sun.

Phoenix glanced at Larry as they stepped onto the deck, forgetting suddenly the argument between them. He grinned and slipped on his sunglasses, Larry grinned back and did the same. Then he offered a fist and Phoenix bumped his in return.

Phoenix put on his helmet as they neared the planes and tugged his harness straps before pulling out his mask and the tubes that ran from it. With his helmet blocking his peripheral vision he only noticed Maya when she tugged his bag out of his hand. She beamed at him and he couldn't stop himself from smiling back. She paused to wait for Larry's bag and then jogged ahead of them and handing them one at a time up to Petty Officer Meekins who was completing his pre-flight checks.

Phoenix paused to clip the mask to his helmet and then pulled on his gloves. Larry was doing the same beside him. They paused waiting for the maintainers to clear the ladders and then they climbed up. Phoenix was settling himself in the front seat of the cockpit when he felt a shadow fall over him.

"Dude, doc's had me on and off those meds since we surged last month."

Phoenix didn't move—not that he could easily do so strapped in as he was, he just waited for Larry to get in the seat behind him and frowned behind his mask.

Meekins popped up beside him to finish plugging cables and tubes and offered Phoenix a salute before helping Larry. He felt the buzz in his helmet when comms were turned on. The line fizzled and popped and he heard Larry in his helmet, "Hey Nick. Check."

"Loud and clear," Phoenix replied absently and turned his head as Meekins gave him a thumbs up and started down the ladder. He flipped on the engines and let them whir until the ladder was clear and switched channels to listen to the ground crew on the deck below.

He closed his eyes and tried to lose himself in their chatter, his heart was pounding as if he'd just run a race. Usually the catapult did that for him, he had a very healthy adrenaline response—the meds made him feel unnaturally wired and anxious.

So frickin’ wired right now...

"Hey Nick, if you're listening to this, I love you," Maya's voice came into his helmet tinny and slightly distorted, but he could hear the laugh in her voice. He laughed out loud and clipped his mask the rest of the way on and closed the canopy. Then he felt the deck lurch and rattle beneath him as another plane launched ahead of them.

"Nick, what is going on with you and Maya?"

"Shut up Larry," he replied.

"But I thought you were into that JAG guy," Larry continued.

"Not now, Larry."

"A couple of the other dudes were talking about it, and I was like, 'What ev's' but then she said that just now—"

"Larry, really?"

Another plane launched ahead of them, and a third before the yellow shirt stood up on the deck in front of him, arms and signals crossed over his chest. Phoenix felt his fists clench on the stick in front of him, his heart was pounding louder than ever.

Chapter Text

Miles stared up at the lagging showing through layers of paint and insulation above his head. He flinched at the slide and bang of the catapult as it rattled the ship. Lang had told him they'd know when Night Moves had begun. There was no doubt about it now.

Somehow Lang was completely asleep in the rack below him, and Miles wasn't sure if he should be envious of the man's ability to sleep through this or that fact that Lang didn't have memories of scraping metal and red light to contend with. It was hard to sleep most nights.

Tonight it would be impossible...

It didn't help that he hadn't seen nor heard from Phoenix since the other night when they'd spoken in the admin office. Nor that the rumors about Phoenix and Maya, while now properly dispelled, seemed to be prime gossip lately.

Don’t these people have anything better to do?

Miles flipped over onto his stomach and dragged his pillow over his head.

How could anyone get used to this?

Lang's slow steady breathing was the only reply to his question.

Lang had to shake him awake the next morning and Miles was sullen as they stumbled to the head together to shower and shave. They didn't talk as they went down to breakfast and Miles' relief at his silence slowly curdled into a creeping dread.

"Did you sleep well?" Miles inquired now genuinely concerned.

"No, did you?" Lang's voice was gravelly and low this morning and Miles raised his eyebrows in concern.

"Are you ill?"

"I really hate Night Moves," was all he said. He finished his breakfast hurriedly and left Miles sitting alone with his myriad concerns.

"Good Morning," Lieutenant Yew plunked her tray onto the table and sat beside him, "Did Shi already eat?"

Miles looked at her in concern, "He seemed in a hurry to get out of here."

Lieutenant Yew clicked her tongue and started on her omelette, "Nobody likes Night Moves—except maybe the CAG and the Admiral."

"I think he might be ill," Miles frowned, "he sounded rough this morning. Perhaps laryngitis, I think."

"He gets like that when he's tired," she paused to take a bite and swallow, "he'll be right as rain by lunchtime."

It didn't seem proper to leave her at the table alone, so he waited for her to finish and then they walked to flag admin together. Miles had never been overly fond of idle conversation nor of Lieutenant Yew for that matter, but something seemed off about her.

"Are you well Miss Yew?"

She glared at him a moment and only sniggered in reply.

When Miles walked into the legal department he noticed that Petty Officer Miney and Petty Officer Justice were looking a little sleep deprived too.

"I don't know how you manage it, Sir," LN1 said and then yawned.

Miles paused in his step and looked at her directly, perhaps since he was sleep deprived more often than not, his state and appearance may have seemed quite normal. Not that that was a very comforting thought.

Small wonder Phoenix was avoiding you...

Miles shook off these miserable thoughts, he's just very busy right now.

Despite the noise at night and the general haze of fatigue that seemed to grow heavier with each day, Miles did begin to notice a buzz of anticipation building. They were ushered into the admin spaces one day and briefed by the leadership of the carrier crew and some of the Air Wing as well, via closed circuit television that ran throughout the ship. He was impressed at the production quality that the MCs put out—it really did seem like the real thing. Mostly, the program covered the rules they were expected to follow in port, liberty and recall policies, dress codes, and interestingly enough for Miles, a spot on local laws in the port and things to avoid during their visit.

There’s no SOFA... We have to be especially careful in Borginia...

"Do you think it likely we'll be recalled early from liberty?" Miles was sitting in his rack perusing a much abused travel guide he'd been given by one of the other staff officers, while Lang hovered in a daze in his own rack. They'd secured from their work centers but had a while to wait before dinner. They weren't really allowed to sleep yet, as neither of them stood a watch.

"You will be for sure," Lang said gruffly, "Somebody's bound to lose their mind after this long underway."

Miles frowned, "MAC did mention that earlier. I suppose it can't be helped."

"This will probably end up getting busy for you, JAG. I hope you haven't made too many plans."

"No not really," Miles said a little more quietly.

His disappointment must have been noticeable in his tone, because Lang hung his head out to stare up at him, "Miles, really? I thought you were going to hang out with your boyfriend?"

Miles shook his head, "We'd started planning, but I haven't seen him in four days now. We never got our request in."

"You?" Lang slid out of his rack and stood to lean on Miles' rack, "A request for what?"

"XO wanted me to put a request into CAG to go out in town with Air Wing guys," Miles said.

"Oh," Lang frowned into the mattress, "you mean for overnight liberty?"

"Well, yes," Miles said and Lang grinned wolfishly at him.

"Lang Zhi says one mustn't mourn for the hunt you have yet to fail tomorrow."

"I don't follow…"

"Don't you technically work for the Admiral?"

Miles frowned at him, "Technically…"

"Wouldn't it be easier for you to secure overnight liberty with someone close by, rather than trying to work out this personnel exchange across disparate commands," Lang met his eye and grinned again. Waiting for his reaction. But Miles could only stare mutely at him.

Miles shook his head, "I still don't—"

"Grrr! You're killing me lawyer-boy! This ain't rocket surgery!"

Miles crossed his arms and glared down at him, "Just say what you want to say."

Lang stood straight so that he was no longer leaning on the rack and motioned with his hands pedantically as he explained, "The Air Wing has really weird rules about overnight liberty—those guys seem to get into trouble a lot. So they have to hang out in groups of three or more, if they're even going to be considered for overnight liberty at all. But we—that is, you and I my friend—we are not subject to such stringent rules. I myself only require one liberty buddy along with to stay out overnight, and you, dear JAG, don't even have that much restriction upon you."

"Because I'm the JAG?"

"Exactly," Lang cocked his head back to show off more of his toothy grin.

"So it's much more likely that I'll have work while we're in port… What with us not having a proper SOFA, and the likelihood someone will get in trouble while we're there."

Lang nodded, "But you may as well try and enjoy yourself the first night—before shit hits the fan."

"So I needn't bother trying to add him to my request?"

"By the time they secure from Night Moves, we'll be heading into the harbor—there isn't enough time. Besides, aviators… they're like roaches, if you see one, there are bound to be others nearby."

Miles glared distastefully at him. Wow... How do you really feel...?

"If you're worried about it, find a liberty buddy in your department—or at least someone from the staff or the crew. You can coordinate the rest on the pier."

Miles frowned thoughtfully and thumbed the travel guide absently in his hands, "Shi-Long, do you—"

"I don't have plans no…" Lang was suddenly serious, "I'm not overly fond of any part of Borginia. No, I'll do very well at the pier and maybe the NSA, but that's all I care to do."

"So you're just going to stay onboard while we're in port?"

"I'm on watch on the second night," Lang shrugged, "I just don't see the point in spending one night in town only to have to rush back to spend my second night here, and then go through the trouble of trying to book another night out in town. I might as well stay here."

"I must say," Miles stared earnestly at him, "I hadn't anticipated this."

"What? That I'm not joining the desperate throngs in this invasion? No thank you."

Miles frowned at him, "I'm sorry. I really did assume you had plans in port… I was going to ask if I… well, it's rather a moot point now isn't it?"

Lang grinned and leaned against Miles' rack, his head resting in his arms, "Miles, are you saying you wanted to go out into town with me?"

"Why yes," Miles nodded, "I'd sort of expected it, really. But I understand if you—"

"Oh all right, very well then! But I'm only coming out the first night."

Lang checked his watch and grinned, "Come on, let's eat so we can go to bed…"

It was another two nights of the metallic swoop and bang of the catapult and the ship making sharp turns in the night. On a ship this large it was not obvious that one was floating in the great wide ocean, so it was a drastic change to feel the turning of the ship. Miles had to take a day and sleep in his rack after being sick that morning. Lang had laughed at him, but he didn't seem much better and after two or three hours returned to the stateroom as well.

Miles returned to Flag Admin the next morning, slightly rumpled and hungry from the previous day in quarters. LN1 Miney was nowhere in sight and LN3 Justice was the only one to greet him when he entered the legal spaces. LN3 looked up at him and smiled in greeting.

"Good morning, Sir!" Justice all but shouted at him, "How's it going?"

Miles pinched the bridge of his nose, "No need to shout, Justice. Where's LN1?"

"Oh, sorry sir…" LN3 shrank back a little, "She's SIQ, sir."

"Really? Is she okay?"

"Yeah, she's fine. I think she got seasick like you did yesterday."

"It's just as well, I suppose," Miles moved into the office and sat behind the lone computer, "I do hope she feels better soon."

"Yeah," LN3 Justice piped up, "We're pulling into port tomorrow. She won't want to be SIQ for that."

He drummed his fingers on the makeshift desk while the machine booted up, and then dug in his pocket for his CAC. He slid the card into a slot on the keyboard and logged in, waiting for his credentials to be recognized and his profile to load. He looked up at a crinkling sound to see LN3 tearing into the silver wrapping of toaster pastries. Justice slid one of them out and took a hearty bite, Miles gagged and turned his focus back to his screen. He spent most of the morning answering e-mails and it was nearly 1000 when he logged out and stood, "Justice, I've logged out if you need to get on here, I'm headed down to see MAC. Do you need anything?"

"No sir, I'm fine," LN3 said as Miles slipped past him into the admin spaces and into the blue tile passageway. He found the O-3 level blessedly deserted as he left the blue tile and headed toward staff admin and then CIVC, where he exited the nearby hatch and jogged down the ladders. He paused on the landing three decks down feeling a little dizzy and the beginnings of what was sure to be a migraine, before opening the hatch onto the main deck.

The smell of food cooking was starting to fill the open deck as the galleys prepared to feed a couple thousand sailors lunch. He almost gagged and hurried quickly toward the precinct and ducked into the cramped space, surprised to find three petty officers prepping urinalysis boxes under MAC's supervision.

"Morning, JAG," Chief Gumshoe said with a good natured grin, "You're looking kind of green around the gills."

Miles only nodded and glanced around at the ongoing activity in the space, "Em… Why are you doing this so early? I thought—"

"Yeah Pal—Mister Edgeworth, sir,—but I'm doing a command sweep as soon as we get under way, and I've got to help the Air Wing with their's too. That's like five thousand people."

Miles nodded, almost in awe of the breadth and scope of the operation—not to mention just how ambitious it all seemed.

"Are you still feeling sick, El Tee?" Chief startled him and Miles realized he'd been staring blankly at the stack of boxes in the corner.

"I'm well, Chief, thank you," Miles replied turning back toward him and forcing a smile, he really didn't feel all that well, but he couldn't lay in his rack for two days in a row. At least he'd stopped throwing up, "I came down to see those maps you were going to show me, I'd meant to come down yesterday, but—"

"Didja eat breakfast, sir?" Chief interrupted and Miles' gaze must've darkened because the big Chief cringed a little before adding, "If your tummy's empty and you've got motion sickness, it makes your nausea worse. They usually keep those little packs of saltines near the salad bars—it'll help."

Miles nodded and softened his stare, "Thank you Chief, but I am doing very well… Do you have ten or twenty minutes to go over—"

Chief shrugged and then pulled a metal folding chair from where it had been leaning against the bulkhead behind him, "You don't mind if these guys are here? We really have to get this done."

Miles looked around at the three other Petty Officers, they were obviously averting their gazes from him. He frowned slightly and then pushed his way past them toward the chair MAC had offered him, "Ah no, it shouldn't be a problem Chief."

When he left the precinct a few minutes later, crowds were starting to gather on the main deck. The cooking smells had intensified as well and Miles found himself hurrying toward the first familiar hatch that led out of the main deck. He paused in the quiet darkness to get his bearings, forcing himself to press forward as a pair of sailors clambered down from the deck above heading toward the mess. They both moved aside to let him pass murmuring the usual greetings granted an officer.

Miles didn't bother with a response but pressed onward and upward trying to get to his berthing. When he entered the familiar corridor, lit with fluorescent lights that gave it an artificial cast, his head was pounding and he was starting to sweat. He entered his shared stateroom, finding it blessedly empty and climbed up into his rack fully dressed boots and all.

He must've dozed off where he lay and was startled awake by the opening of the door.

"Hi honey," Lang said, "I'm home!"

Miles raised his head just enough to give his roommate a withering glare before turning to face the bulkhead.

"Hey Miles," Lang sounded suddenly concerned, "You said you were feeling better."

"I don't know…" Miles mumbled into the bulkhead.

"Come on," Lang must've moved in closer because could feel him tugging at his legs, "I'll take you to medical."

"I'm fine, just a little tired," Miles protested.

"Nope," Lang grabbed him bodily around his thighs and dragged him far enough off of his rack that gravity and momentum had him standing on the floor.

"Now see here!"

"Shut up lawyer-boy, doc's going to give you one tiny pill and you'll stop being seasick for like a week," Lang grabbed him under one arm and started leading him toward the door.

"But I don't wanna…." Miles protested weakly as Lang shoved him into the passageway and marched him out onto the ladderwell toward medical.

Miles' protestations were interrupted momentarily by the awe of seeing a deck he hadn't seen before. Lang just shoved him along toward sick call, not really noticing any of the other activity they passed. So Miles was surprised when Lang bumped into him from behind, while he stopped to stare at the men seated outside of an open hatch on a narrow bench placed along the corridor.

"Nick," Miles stared, suddenly alert and he felt Lang's presence as the other man peered over his shoulder.

Phoenix met his eye with a disconcerting blankness, owl-eyed and drawn, as if he'd been up for several days straight. Miles didn't recognize the other two pilots sitting next to him, but they didn't seem to have fared much better.

"You look like shit," Lang quipped casually from over Miles' shoulder, and Phoenix's face was brightened somewhat by his lop-sided grin. He seemed to focus finally and met Miles' look with a rueful expression. The swarthy pilot sitting immediately beside Phoenix glared at Miles skeptically and leaned over and asked in a stage whisper, not bothering to hide what he said.

"Hey man, are we in trouble or something?"

Phoenix paused and gave the man a startled look before turning back to Miles, "Oh, hi."

Miles frowned, Phoenix really didn't look well, and he was starting to feel guilty about his own state. He stared at him so intently he didn't flinch when Lang shoved him between his shoulder blades and said, "Come on, I promise I'll bring you right back to check on him. Excuse us gentlemen."

Miles balked at leaving Phoenix behind with his face pinched so and that bruised look around his eyes, but Lang was shoving him along with a purpose now, not to mention his head ached and his stomach churned alternately with waves of nausea and pangs of hunger.

There was no one else there when they arrived at sick call and despite his attempts at dismissing his own illness for want of checking on Phoenix, he was placed at the mercy of a female Corpsman. She smiled sweetly at him and had him remove his blouse and sit back on the exam table that had been raised to allow the patient to sit up. Lang was waiting outside bristling about the situation most likely.

She stuck a digital thermometer with a disposable plastic guard in his face and asked him to hold it under his tongue, he shot her a dark look and then did as he was told. Without speaking and only her hand pressed lightly on his chest, Miles leaned back and let her slip a blood pressure cuff over his arm while he glared in annoyance at the overhead. Someone had stuck a cheery picture of tropical fish up there. He stared at it, confused at first and then relaxed. What a clever idea.

"Are you in any pain right now?" she asked and Miles glared at her again until she pulled the thermometer out of his mouth.

"No," he answered curtly, and then thought for a moment, "I have a headache."

She nodded and turned to stare at the electronic face of the blood pressure monitor, moving only when the cuff had filled completely and started to slowly release. A harried looking Lieutenant with thick glasses poked his head in and looked at Miles then HM1.

"Another one?" He asked, rather indiscriminately, I might add...

"Yeah, go ahead a give him one dose," the doctor said and walked away.

Miles turned his incredulous stare toward HM1, "What's this?"

She smiled again, "Oh, a ton of folks have been coming by here seasick—it's pretty rare on here, but all of the turning and movements the last couple nights have been pretty rough on the crew."

She passed him a small white pill and a pointed paper cup of water, "I've seen this work for up to week in most people. It might make you sleepy at first."

Miles left the exam room and glared at Lang when he saw him, "I'm seasick."

"I know," Lang grinned, "Wanna get chow?"

"No," Miles said and pushed past him in the corridor, "I can't believe it's happened now, after we've been underway for so long…"

Lang started laughing, "This one has us turning a lot... It’s not usually this bad."

Miles frowned at the passageway ahead, Phoenix and the other pilots were gone.

Chapter Text

"Larry are you fucking kidding me?!" Phoenix pulled her nose up in time to see Lieutenant Engarde's afterburners disappear along with the others, and the medicine wasn't helping him keep his cool either.

"Just stay on it, man," Larry's voice cracked lazily in his helmet, "I told you we're doing a little test."

"We're right on the black line, Larry," Phoenix held the stick steady and his arms were starting to ache from trying to keep her level, "I just lost Matt!"

"They're doing what they're supposed to be doing. I think you should drop two, maybe three hundred feet."

"No way Larry! Remember where we are? They're going to get a lock—"

"You need to let 'em lock on us."

"Wait? What?"

"This is the main tasker today," Larry said. He sounded calm, distracted almost, "take her down another hundred feet."

"Larry are you high?"

"Aw no way, man," Larry's chuckle was lost in a burst of static.

"Hey Sick-Burn, Jamming-Ninja," Juan's voice broke in.

Phoenix slammed the comm, "Yo, Sick-Burn."

"How much longer, bruh?" Phoenix blinked, did Juan know about this too?

Larry broke in then, "Hey Jamming-Ninja, it's Stinky. We're just waiting on them, dude. Any second now I think."

"Cool, we're standing by. Just holla if you need anything! Over."

"Roger; out," Phoenix felt Larry close that channel and rounded on him.

"Larry, what the hell is going on?" Phoenix could feel sweat dripping into his eyebrows from under his helmet.

"Be easy, dude," was Larry's only comment.

Oh now you want me to be easy...

Phoenix stared helplessly at the altitude display projected on his visor, he was starting to feel sick.

"They just got us, Larry," Phoenix frowned at the screen, he couldn't even see the SAM sites they were buzzing on the border.

"Do a barrel roll!" Larry piped up incongruously cheery in the face of their current and very dire situation.

"LARRY YOU FUCKING CLOWN!"

"We be jammin', Nick," Larry said, his voice brimming with excitement, "One, two…. Aaaaandd…."

"Holy shit Larry!"

"Aaaaaaaaand!"

"Larry!"

"Wait for it….."

"LARRY!"

"Dude, stop yelling at me, I'm right here… and… there's three… let's get the hell outta here!"

In his panic Phoenix banked a little too far and she almost flipped over and he over-corrected giving the both of them a stomach churning tip the other way. He clenched his teeth and focused on leveling her out just in time to climb and rejoin the formation. He thought maybe static had fizzled and popped and maybe the other pilots shouted and exclaimed, but all he could hear was the racing of his own heart filling his ears and his mind. He couldn't remember the last time he'd panicked like this—but then how many times had he been locked onto by enemy air defense while skirting the very edge of said enemy's airspace?

Phoenix blinked the sweat out of his eyes and tore the mask off of his face, he was gasping now, like he'd never catch his breath.

"Nick," Larry sounded concerned, "You okay buddy?"

Phoenix clutched at the stick for dear life and tried to hold his breath, willing himself to slow his breathing—without much success.

"Larry, I think I'm having a heart attack…"

"Just be easy, dude… Nick?"

"Aviate… just… aviate… navigate…"

"Good, just take it easy, breathe easy."

"Aviate… navigate…"

Phoenix awoke in his rack in the red light and glanced across the narrow stateroom. Larry had left his boots on the deck again, with his flight suit in a pile next to them. He could hear Larry's steady breathing above him. He realized then that his own boots and flight suit were still on.

"Aw geez," he sat up in his rack and dug his phone out from under the pillow, it was four in the morning and he was starving. It was too late for mid rats and too early for breakfast. He sighed and leaned over to take off his boots, then he stood up and started to unzip his flight suit and that's when he noticed it. A small rectangular box made of thin cardboard was sitting on the desk.

Phoenix stumbled toward it and he almost fell as his flight suit tangled around his ankles as he tore desperately into the box. The sandwich was wrapped in plastic and Phoenix almost bit into it and resorted to tearing it away with his teeth. He paused to chew his second bite and only then noticed the plastic on the other end was loose and almost half of the sandwich was already gone. He peered into the box again without pausing, the only other thing in there was a mealy little apple and a small packet with two squares of gum.

He shoved the end of the sandwich into his mouth trying not to think about Larry's mouth being all over it. Then he grabbed the apple and threw the remains of the boxed nasty away. Noticing as he did so a second discarded box with two empty cans of coke and two empty bags of chips.

"Larry, you ass," Phoenix hissed at Larry's sleeping back before climbing back into his rack.

Phoenix frowned at his own tired reflection staring back at him hollow-eyed and drooping, he hadn't worn his khakis in months and they seemed to fit him wrong somehow. He checked his gig-line and was forced to move when Larry entered the stateroom also wearing his khakis. Larry looked a little scraggly in his khakis too.

"Are you ready?" Larry asked with a scrape of annoyance in his voice—he obviously wasn't looking forward to this either.

"Yeah," Phoenix's reply was clipped and he turned to pull his bomber jacket out of the small upright locker they shared.

"Dude, they're just going to tell you to take it off in formation."

"I'm freezing," Phoenix muttered back petulantly and slid it on anyway. He followed Larry silently through the corridor and Larry held the hatch open and dogged it down when he came through, and on the ladders down to the hangar bay they caught up a couple of other Air Wing officers headed the same way. None of them were wearing their jackets either.

They gathered in the hangar bay because it was the only space large enough to hold most of the Air Wing while flight ops were still ongoing. Phoenix gazed fixedly at the gathering of khaki shirts with officers and chiefs wearing khaki pants and the enlisted wearing black pants. He saw Maya and Airman Faraday walking with two other female Petty officers as they looked for their place in the formation. There had to be almost a thousand people here.

"I don't know why they have to do this today, when we're flying tonight," Phoenix complained in hushed tones to Larry who had stopped beside him to stare at the crowd.

"I heard the Admiral is stopping by to see us," Larry replied absently.

Still...

Phoenix shot a glance at him and followed him into the crowd to find a place in the formation. Even with such a high profile visit, it didn't seem like a very good reason to rouse everyone who should be resting.

I’m sure if he knew he wouldn’t condone this... Damn dog and pony...

It took another half hour for the Chiefs to get everyone in order—a pretty impressive feat for a crowd this size. Phoenix was told to remove his jacket and he watched it get passed along to the back of the formation to be hung up on one of the hooks on the bulkhead designed to clamp chains or nets to. His wasn't the only jacket hanging over there either.

There was a formal report to the CAG when she arrived and then they waited as one in silent anticipation. The formation leads had put them in parade rest to wait and Phoenix could feel a tremor building in his arms—still a little sore from his last hectic flight—due in part to the awkward position and partly to the fact that he was cold.

It’s so freaking cold...

They continued to wait. Phoenix watched curiously as CAG walked up and down the ranks, stopping to speak with a few of the formation leaders or one of the other officers in her entourage. And they waited.

"Psst," someone whispered—the guy in formation behind him, "Are you okay?"

Phoenix only turned his head and gave a single curt nod not breaking parade rest.

"You're shaking," the speaker said in another attempt.

Phoenix closed his eyes and took in a deep breath letting the air hiss between his teeth—he was shaking. This was bad. He dropped his arms and went to attention, then he pivoted and walked out of the formation. He was motioned over by one of the CAG's officers, and he stood in front of the Commander with his posture erect and his chin up and only noticed who it was when Armando spoke.

"Are you sick Wright?"

Phoenix swallowed, suddenly wishing he could disappear. He could feel a trickle of sweat sliding down his back between his shoulder blades. He shook his head mutely, afraid to open his mouth to speak. The Commander eyed him shrewdly, but Phoenix couldn't tell if he was angry or otherwise upset with him.

"You should've stayed in your rack if you're sick," Commander Armando said.

"Yes sir," he replied and startled at the way his own voice scraped weakly out of his dry throat.

Armando's dark eyes studied him and the look on his face softened ever so slightly, Phoenix could smell coffee on him and maybe a faint hint of cigar smoke.

"Wright, I can't excuse you now, he's on his way as we speak," he'd already slipped back into his usual casual indifference, "So you'll have to fall out behind the formation."

Phoenix started to nod but caught himself and said, "Yes sir."

"Remember what I always say, Wright? No matter how bad it gets?"

Phoenix raised his chin and gave him a tight-lipped smile with his salute, then he pivoted and tried to keep his expression stoic despite the embarrassing walk to the back of the formation.

He fumbled through the other bomber jackets hanging along the bulkhead and found his own, sighing in relief as he slipped it back on.

Why is it so cold...?

Behind the formation, there were a couple of other sailors standing apart from it and a corpsman in a white vest was moving among them, checking them, offering water. Phoenix noted with open dismay that he was the only officer that had fallen out.

The Admiral arrived shortly and he was given a wireless mic so even from his poor vantage at the back of the formation, he could hear what the Admiral had to say. Phoenix faced the bulkhead, clenching and unclenching his fists. His hands felt bloodless and cold, and it was starting to freak him out.

The Admiral was talking about their recent mission accomplishments, extolling their virtues in that disconnected way that Flag Officers had—somehow ever removed from the blood sweat and tears that the Air Wing put into mission accomplishment, yet somehow omnipotent about all of their activities. He sounded like a proud old grandpa talking to his great grand children, probably not recognizing who they were exactly except that they were somehow related to him. Phoenix paced at the back of the formation, willing his body to start acting more normal and feeling like that bad kid that hid under the bleachers during the pep assembly because he didn’t care to participate.

Like I’ve been kicked off the team...

The Admiral talked about their upcoming port visit next, touching on the importance of their positions as ambassadors of their Nation and their Navy—fully aware that all the crew wanted to do was cut loose for a few days and forget about said Nation and said Navy.

Phoenix hugged himself against the cold, but he could feel sweat dampening his brow. He slowed his pacing and stared at the bulkhead again, walls of rough metal colored warm and brown from the ubiquitous oxidation caused by the sea air, staved off only by the constant and endless work of the deck department and their endlessly buzzing needle guns.

Phoenix sighed heavily, why was this dog and pony dragging on so long—certainly an admiral had more important things to do?

"You're on go-pills? When did they start you on go-pills?" Commander Armando was still in his khakis glaring down at him and from Phoenix's vantage point—he was sitting in his rack in his white tee-shirt and shorts with his arms crossed over his chest and his black-socked feet resting on the deck—the Commander looked very frightening indeed.

"No," Phoenix was trying to explain, but he was tired and out of it, "That's just it—I've only had one dose this deployment. It's never hit me like this."

"Doc gave him the other meds after the flight," Larry added from where he was sitting at the desk dressed similarly to Phoenix, "And he slept—really slept…. But it's still affecting him."

Commander Armando set his travel mug on the desk next to Larry and crossed his arms, frowning, "It should have worn off by now."

"He can't be allergic—" Larry started but Commander Armando shushed him with a raised hand.

"How much did you take Wright?"

Phoenix rubbed his face and slouched, he really didn't feel up for this interrogation right now, "I took one cap. Whatever Doc gave me, he was standing right there."

"That's why there's a little number on there telling you what dose you're taking."

"I don't know, fifteen or twenty-five, maybe," Phoenix shrugged, "double digits with a five.

"Probably fifteen," Larry added, "the rest of us that are on them are taking fifteen."

"Fifteen?" Armando rounded on Larry, "But you didn't start at fifteen?"

"No, sir," Larry nodded thoughtfully, "Doc started us at five."

"When did you start, Butz?"

"When we were surged," Larry squinted at the overhead, "I guess like the third day in—but I only know about me, Doug, and Matt—Nick didn't take anything."

"Until his flight the day before yesterday?"

"Yeah," Larry said and simultaneously Phoenix said, "Yes, Sir."

Commander Armando picked up his mug and turned suddenly to exit their stateroom, "I need to see doc. I need you med down."

"But wait, I'm—" Phoenix stood; his arm was already outstretched as if that could stop the Commander from leaving.

Armando turned suddenly and met him half-way across the stateroom waving the empty travel mug at him like a weapon, "You're not fine, Wright! I'm not a flight surgeon or anything, but I've been around. Sounds to me like you overdosed on go-pills—"

Phoenix's yes widened and he backed away and sat back on his rack.

"—don't freak out—you won't die from it… I mean probably not. You haven't died yet. I think maybe we push our flight surgeons as hard as our aviators…"

"We're supposed to fly tonight," Larry said and stood, "They're not going to cancel this flight. The Admiral has an interest in what we're doing tonight."

"I'm sure we can find another aviator—"

"I don't know," Larry shook his head and sank back into his chair, "The other Growler left for CAOC last night, and we won't see her until we get underway and on station to receive her."

"I'm going to talk to CAG," Commander Armando paused and turned back to Phoenix, "Nick, get off of your ass and go for a run, you have to work that crap out of your system."

Phoenix stared after him, startled and then looked at Larry. Larry only shrugged in reply.

Of course they flew that night. This was a pretty high profile, high visibility, mission. Never mind if the aviator was a poor fragile little human. Never mind if the last thing his body really needed was more amphetamine—it's one night. He had plenty of time to recover when they pulled into port. What was one more little sacrifice in the face of all that?

Phoenix had taken the Commander's advice and managed to run for about fifteen minutes before he had to throw up. But he slept after that, up until Larry dragged him out of his rack just after sunset so he could be fortified with another go-pill and sent on his merry way.

It was scarier at night, but at least he knew what to expect. So they managed to get in and do what they needed and get out with much less drama. Phoenix did find he had a harder time landing and ended up bumping the deck in a touch-and-go twice before he had her on the right speed and angle to catch the tailhook.

He was out of it after the flight and managed to fall asleep immediately following the brief. It was Larry who woke him up a few hours later to tell him Doc was looking for him.

He was too tired to think too much about it, and not at all surprised to see that he wasn't the only one who'd missed the post-flight visit with Doc. He sat in a daze between Lieutenant Swallow and Lieutenant Corrida, waiting his turn to see the flight doc so he could be brought down as chemically as they'd propped him up. Lieutenant Engarde was being examined already and Phoenix was too out of it to really care about how long he'd have to sit there.

"Nick?"

Phoenix looked at the two of them when he heard his name and the two guys were standing in the middle of the passageway staring back at him.

"You look like shit," the taller guy said grinning infectiously at him—so much so that Phoenix couldn't help but smile back.

He felt Juan lean in beside him and ask, "Hey man, are we in trouble or something?"

Now why would Juan say something like that? Probably because that's the JAG—oh it's JAG. Miles is a JAG.

"Oh hi—," Phoenix started to say but they were already walking away. He didn't stop frowning at the passageway until Matt came out of the flight doc's office, and HM2 called Juan to go in next.

Doug was talking about Borginia, something about most of the Air Wing Officers staying at some fancy hotel in the city. Phoenix only half-listened, and he must have scowled because Doug stopped talking and put a hand on his shoulder.

"You doing okay?"

Phoenix looked at him square in the face, as if he'd only just noticed the other man was there, "Sure."

They sat in silence after that, a congenial silence, since neither of them had anything to say to the other, and as they were both utterly exhausted, a congenial silence was better.

Juan stumbled out of the flight surgeon's next and nodded politely to them before walking away. Phoenix waited for HM2 to call him before he entered.

Doc Hickfield looked up when he stepped in, and his expression darkened noticeably—so Commander Armando had talked to him. Probably before and after this very mission.

"Good morning Doc," Phoenix said and he forced a smile.

"Lieutenant Wright," Doc said by way of a cold greeting, "it's after noon now."

"Oh," Phoenix replied sheepishly as he climbed up onto the exam table. Doc had him pull off the top of his flight suit and Phoenix pulled the empty sleeves around into his lap absently.

"Deep breath," Doc's tone was still clipped and even in his confused state Phoenix was starting to pick up on it, "Another."

Phoenix didn't resist as the doctor slid the cold probe of the stethoscope across his chest and back and then asked him to lie on his back. The doctor frowned as he probed his gut.

"Go ahead and sit up," Doc said still frowning, "Are you taking any supplements?"

"Um… I take a multi-vitamin most days, and sometimes vitamin-C… but that's just because the ship is nasty."

Doc Hickfield chuckled, "Okay… What are you taking? Something from GNC? One-a-day men's?"

"Uh…" Phoenix scratched his eyebrow and stared abashed at the deck, "Flintstones…"

Doc Hickfield paused and looked him in the eye, eyebrows raised, "You said you take Flintstones Vitamins?"

Phoenix nodded, "Is that bad for me?"

The doctor looked at him startled and then chuckled, "No. I don't think it makes that much difference… So… Lieutenant Wright, obviously you didn't react very well to the Dextroamphetamine dose we gave you the other day. And you're probably not feeling too well right now either."

"I'm okay, Doc," Phoenix said low and noncommittal, "just a little burnt out I guess."

"Well that's right," Doc seemed suddenly very sympathetic, "And who wouldn't be? They're running you guys ragged. They do it because it's hard to find guys like you, guys that are healthy and resilient, and when they do, you don't last that long. Most of you don't."

"But you didn't have to go telling Commander Armando that I'm doping you," Doc was serious again, "I didn't expect that from you—I always kind of liked you. I thought you were kind of an easy going kid—"

"What's 'doping'?"

The doctor stared at him.

"Whatever that is I didn't say that. We had that thing with the Admiral and I had to fall out of formation. So he was worried about me. I've been feeling off lately, especially after… I mean I don't know if we can point to one thing exactly, there's so much going on—I thought maybe I was… a little stressed out…"

"Have you known Commander Armando long?"

"Well yeah, you could say that. He was one of my instructors in Pensacola."

"I get it now," Doc Hickfield smiled looking a little relieved, "You're one of his protégés?"

"You could say that, yes."

"So here's what I think is going on with you, Wright," Doc said, "Motility in your gut is slow—we sometimes see that in amphetamine users, but in your case it's more likely you just haven't had anything to eat in the last several hours."

"I was asleep," Phoenix said feeling defensive suddenly, the doctor smiled and nodded.

"Uh hunh… You were flying for several hours and then you went to sleep," the doctor shrugged, "We're pulling into port tomorrow too. So you'll have a couple days to rest up. I suggest you rest."

Phoenix rubbed his face, "Okay… I mean yes, Doc."

"And please don't start telling Commander Armando stories like that…"

"Doc, I didn't—"

"I only do it for your sake," Doc said, "And I've been doing this for long enough to know what I'm doing."

"Yes, sir."

"So you don't have to worry about getting hurt."

"I'm not—"

"Get out of here and rack out, Wright," the Doc shoved him slightly in the direction or the hatch, and Phoenix stepped out into the corridor still sliding into his flight suit.

"HM2," he heard Doc say as he left, "Send in the next one."

Chapter Text

Miles stood beside Petty Officer Justice while they stared at the screen intently as the massive ship was maneuvered through the harbor and into her designated berth. It was unreal. The Carrier looked regal and enormous in the harbor with the little tugs gathering around her.

"Kinda like piglets on a sow," LN1 was filing her nails at the desk beside him, and Miles was so startled by her comment he tore his eyes from the screen and stared at her. She glanced up at him once before expelling a large bubble with her gum and letting it pop loudly before wiggling her lips and sucking it back into her mouth. Miles frowned at the shocking vulgarity of it.

"Look sir," LN3 said rescuing him from that profane display, "They're shooting the lines over with a gun, in bootcamp we had to throw the heaving lines."

"I'm sure it's because of the scale," Miles replied absently, intent on the screen showing a live view of the mooring operation. The deck was empty, and the blacktop glistened in the sun. The scale was so immense the men involved went unseen on the screen.

"That's where the capstan is," LN3 said pointing as the screen panned across the bow of the ship, "you can see into the hangar bay, there."

Behind them, LN1 popped her gum again and smacked it loudly as she sucked it back in. Miles cringed and rounded on her glaring and with his voice low and measured, said, "Petty Officer Miney, if you cannot keep your gum in your mouth, gum will be secured."

She stared at him open mouthed and the wad of gum rolled onto her lap. LN3 Justice started to laugh out loud before clamping his hands over his mouth to stifle it.

It took another hour before the ship was moored and deck department was secured from sea and anchor detail. Then they had to wait. Then they were told to watch the port brief on the closed circuit television that ran throughout the ship.

"They've been running this for the last three days," LN3 complained.

Miles crossed his arms and paced toward the back of the legal office to check that all the drawers were locked. He'd asked LN1 and LN3 to field-day after breakfast, so the spaces were tidy and clean—more so than usual. So his decidedly serious inspection of the carpeted deck was mostly for show.

LN1 was sitting with her back stiff and watching him surreptitiously as she very carefully turned the pages of her magazine. She carefully cleared her throat and LN3 coughed. The port brief continued to drone on screen.

"Ooh!" LN1 exclaimed, "Look, Sir! They put us on the video!"

Oh no...

Miles dashed out from the back of the office just in time to see his own face staring out of the screen explaining the Status of Forces Agreement, and the fact there was none with Borginia. In the video, made weeks ago, he and his LNs had been invited to the 'studio' to talk to the MCs about the upcoming port visit.

He clapped a hand to his forehead in dismay as the shot centered on him. The screen made his head look massive.

They didn't tell me this would be used in the port brief!

"Aww," LN1 said dreamily, "You look so handsome on TV, El Tee."

Over in Flag Admin, he could hear Lieutenant Yew laughing hysterically.

Miles didn't stay to watch the rest of it. He left legal, by way of Flag Admin and stormed through the deserted passages and returned to his stateroom. He shuddered to hear his own voice describing the legal complexities they would face in Borginia. The audio from the port brief was being piped through the 1MC as well.

He sat at the desk and listened for a while then he laughed. He hugged himself and doubled over laughing, unsure if he could ever come out of his stateroom after this.

A few minutes later, Lang burst through the door, "Oh Maaaiiiiii-yuuhllss!"

"I'm here," Miles glared at him from where he'd been trapped by the open door. Lang grinned at him and closed it.

"Are you hiding out?"

"No," Miles stood and walked over to the lockers, "How long do you think before we can get off the ship?"

"Not too much longer," Lang was sitting on his rack pulling his off his boots, "I'm sure the skipper will announce Liberty Call pretty soon, then I think we should wait for the rush to die down before we head out onto the pier. Do you know where you're going to meet Wright?"

Miles shook his head as he dragged a backpack out of the locker, "I'm sure we'll find him out on the pier, but I haven't really had a chance to see him."

Lang already had his blouse off and was pulling his tee shirt up over his head, "I liked your segment on TV."

"I don't want to talk about it," Miles folded a few sets of small clothes and put them in the bag, "I didn't know it was going to be part of the port brief."

"Aww, but you looked so adorable on screen," Lang grinned as he slid on his jeans, "We'll probably have to fight off all your groupies when we get out on the pier."

Miles shuddered with a grimace, and sat down at the desk to pull off his boots.

"Do you know where we're staying?" Lang asked and Miles frowned.

"I…. I'm not really sure what we're supposed to do…"

Lang paused and stared at him a moment and then shook his head, "It's fine, we'll square it away when we get out there."

The 1MC popped and a voice came on, "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, Air Wing, Staff, and crew. This is your Captain speaking…"

Lang stood to listen, still buttoning his shirt. Miles was pulling off his shirt and most of the message was lost in the rustle of clothing. He pulled his head through a clean white tee shirt just in time to hear the announcement, "Liberty call! Liberty call!"

A cheer rang up from belowdecks, and Lang turned to him with a grin.

They took their time, knowing that the passageways would be crowded with sailors, Miles pulled his dress uniform out of the locker to double check his ribbons and brush the coat. Lang stood up from packing his own small duffle that he'd be using for an overnight bag and frowned.

"Miles, are you serious?"

"Just in case," Miles said and smirked, "Between the MA's down at the precinct and all of your horror stories, I have a feeling I'm going to need them."

Lang shook his head, "Sucks to be you."

Miles chuckled and hung his blues back up in the locker carefully and then shouldered his bag and followed Lang out of the stateroom.

The gangplank led out from the hangar bay and the space had been divided to keep the crowd funneled toward the massive bay doors left open. Sunlight streamed in brightly as they followed the crowd of people disembarking the ship.

After so many weeks cooped up in the ship, confined not only physically but also by uniform and military regulation, it was jarring to walk into such a world of color and light. Lang slid on a pair of sunglasses and Miles had to shade his eyes with his hand. He had to stop himself from staring, seeing women, and some of the men, in make-up and their hair coifed.

I can’t believe how much normal life has become so alien...

The crowds were still flowing steadily from the ship and despite the large number of people, there was a sense of calm and order in their movement—they were still in the military after all. On the pier just to the right of the gangplank, several of the chiefs had set up a tent and were grilling hotdogs and hamburgers and passing out cold soft drinks or water to any of the sailors that paused there.

Lang pressed along the throng in his usual way, like he was on the hunt, and Miles, who was both awed and intimidated, followed along like a lost pup. The press of humanity thinned as they entered a small pavilion where several sailors were forming lines to take buses into the city.

Across a worn blacktop, several metal folding chairs were set up along with picnic tables and benches, as if all of Borginia's spare seating had been gathered up for this visiting foreign crew. There were a few small clapboard buildings on the far end, forming a kind of plaza out of the blacktop. Across the plaza from the gathering of benches, tables and chairs, a few small bleachers had been erected, helping to create a perimeter, and it gave the whole thing a carnival atmosphere.

This is just like a circus...

There were hordes of native workers in simple uniforms setting up booths for food and drink and even a group raising a large tent in the center of the plaza. A small makeshift stage was also being set up near the bleachers.

"It's like a county fair," Miles quipped under his breath, but Lang must've heard him because he laughed and shook his head.

"The crew of this ship is bigger than some counties in the States," Lang paused to let Miles catch him up. He pointed toward the cluster of buildings, "That's where MWR is probably set up, we can see about hotel reservations there—that's probably where all the Air Wing Officers are. There's a laundromat, a couple of clothing and Duty Free vendors, souvenir shops, that kind of thing."

"They just set up waiting for Navy ships to pull in? Who else would come out here?"

"They set this up for the carrier," Lang explained, "Most of the ships are too small. When the Carrier comes in, it's like five thousand deprived sailors with months of unspent pay stored up burning holes in their pockets—these guys probably make a killing. Enough to make it worth the handful of times a year a carrier does come by."

Miles gaped at the set up, the crowds filing in from the ship, it was all very unreal. He felt Lang tug on his sleeve before he realized he'd stopped walking. Miles looked at him, startled, then Lang waved in the direction of a cluster of picnic tables in front of the clapboard buildings. Several people he couldn't recognize out of uniform were sitting tightly grouped at one of the tables and looked to be laughing and talking.

Miles frowned, he didn’t recognize anyone out of uniform and this group seemed exclusive in their own way.

All the pretty people...

There were lines of people waiting at the nearest clapboard building, some of them watching the jovial group at the table. One of them, he'd seen him on the ship, was a little swarthy and was holding an obnoxious red guitar on his knee, half picking at it and half joined in conversation. Lang slapped his shoulder when he didn't move.

"What?"

"Aren't you going to talk to him?" Lang waved his arm again.

"What?" Miles' frown deepened as he watched the swarthy guitar man. He was sitting on the table itself, obviously showing away to whomever was nearby. Beside him sat another man he didn't recognize with reddish blonde hair and a leering, unsavory grin. They were both trying to get the attention of the woman with dirty blonde hair who was looking at her phone in oblivion and leaning on the shoulder of Phoenix Wright.

"Miles!" Phoenix hopped up smiling as they approached and stepped forward to meet them halfway. He was wearing aviator sunglasses and Miles realized then why he'd overlooked him among the group.

My goodness... I looked right past him...

Phoenix whipped them off and stuffed them into the pocket of his Hawaiian style shirt, dark blue with a pattern of pineapples. He was squinting slightly, but even with them narrowed as they were they shone bright and honey brown. He was smiling in that open disarming way he had and in the bright mid-day sunlight, Miles was struck at just how handsome Phoenix Wright really was.

Miles offered his hand to shake, uncertain about their audience, but Phoenix grabbed him around his shoulders and pulled him into a rough embrace, "Oh man! I was starting to think you didn't get my message!"

He released Miles and leaned over to shake Lang's hand—a very pointed contrast to the way he'd received Miles and blatantly acted out in full view of the other pilots. Miles could only stare mutely at him.

He’s not even worried about it...

Oblivious, Lang grinned and said, "I thought it would be more fun not to say anything to him. He's been moping around all day."

Phoenix laughed pointed a thumb at Lang, "What a jerk, right?"

"Hey Miles," the blonde said with a flip of her hair, and Miles only then realized it was Adrian Andrews. He held out a hand and she took it readily enough and she smiled sweetly at him, "I liked your spot on the port brief. At least it was more interesting to watch this last time."

"Yeah, more so than the other four-hundred times we've seen it," the swarthy man grumbled without looking up from his guitar.

"Is that really the JAG?" Guitar guy's friend said leaning toward him and gawking.

Phoenix grinned at them and shoved Miles forward, hands on his shoulders, "Okay, for those who missed his amazing performance earlier, this is Lieutenant Miles Edgeworth, Strike Group JAG."

Seriously...?

Miles tried to smile at the introduction but it felt more like a grimace, "Er... Hello."

Phoenix already had Lang by the arm and was pulling him forward, "And this is Lieutenant Shi-long Lang, from OEM."

One of the other guys, whom Miles recognized from his limited activity in the Air Wing's spaces leaned forward and yanked off his glasses, 'Not Weps?"

Lang grinned and shook his head, "Not Weps, CIWS."

"Okay," the other man said replacing his sunglasses and backing down, "CWIS is cool."

Phoenix laughed at him and said to Miles and Lang, "Gentlemen, this is Doug Swallow."

"Hey, all," Doug smiled and flipped his hand in a wave.

Phoenix motioned at the others in turn, "Juan Corrida and Matt Engarde, Laurence Williams, Eddie Masters, Lauren Davies and Adrian Andrews. You both know Larry Butz, he's with us too."

"Yeah," Matt chimed in with a greasy laugh, "Larry lost a bet so he's standing in line to get our room reservations."

The others in the group started laughing, obviously having some shared joke between them. Miles frowned silently at the group as they fell back into conversation, Lang among them now too, easily at home in any crowd it seemed. He was relieved when he looked up at a slight touch on his arm and Phoenix said quietly, "Let's walk a little bit, maybe we'll find something to drink."

Reluctantly, Miles left his bag with Lang and the others and followed Phoenix toward the cluster of buildings. They cut through a long line—which Phoenix explained, led to the MWR office where the ship's MWR team had already made agreements with lodging out in the local economy, and the sailors had the option to stay at one of several hotels and spend even a few nights on dry land. Beyond the group awaiting entry into the MWR building, Phoenix led him into the first open building they came to that didn't seem overly crowded with sailors.

It was a souvenir shop, laid out more like a thrift store with masses of nick-knacks and novelties stacked on the shelves. Most of it not even related to Borginia. Miles gazed around perplexed, why did Phoenix bring me here?

"Thought we should get out of the sun for a bit," Phoenix said as he glanced around the cluttered shop, "and we can talk in here without shouting."

It's as if he could hear my thoughts...

"Good call," Miles said, making note of the grizzled clerk standing in front of the counter and keeping a watchful eye on a trio of sailors snickering a few aisles from where they were standing.

"I missed you," Phoenix said and Miles felt his ears grow warm, "I feel like it was getting too busy lately, you know."

"Yes," Miles said and turned to look at him now that they were indoors and not in the glaring sun. Phoenix was looking away from him and poking at some of the tchotchkes on the shelf in front of him.

"You look tired," Miles said finally, wondering if Phoenix was distracted, or perhaps wanted to tell him something that required some privacy.

"Don't worry about me," Phoenix said and started down the aisle pausing now and again to look at some thing or other. Miles frowned and balked a little before following him.

"No Air Ops in port… not for us anyway," Phoenix said absently, "we probably won't fly until we're back on station… which will be another week, at least, after we get underway."

Miles only nodded, it was only a few days. A few days and then they'd be out there again, and Nick would be flying again. What kind of life was this?

He must've been glaring because Phoenix turned and touched his arm, putting his back to the shelf and studying him intently with those big brown eyes, he smiled, "You have to enjoy what you can, when you can. Then, by the end of the year, we'll be home," he paused turning his gaze to the floor.

Miles swallowed, noticing in the movement the shadows about his eyes, the sharpness of his cheekbone, the tell-tale signs of strain and fatigue that marred that handsome face. Phoenix just shook his head and smiled again before continuing down the aisle. Miles followed, not sure what to say or even what he seemed so concerned about.

Phoenix walked slowly, making a show of examining the silly nick-knacks on the shelves. Miles was focused on him taking him in. Noting the way his shoulders strained the goofy shirt he had on, the tidy dark jeans that were just a little too big. Plain brown shoes.

Phoenix stopped abruptly and turned to him again, "When we do pull in, where do you go?"

Miles startled and blinked at the direct question, "Well… I don't really know. I think I go back to D.C."

Phoenix nodded curtly and started walking again, giving Miles his back. Is he angry about that?

Phoenix stopped again and started laughing, "hey check this out."

Miles peered over his shoulder at the shelf and his eyebrows shot up in surprise, "Are those…?”

Those look like penises....

He squinted at the statuettes, “They look like penises."

Phoenix grabbed one of the little statues off of the shelf and held it up to him, "Oh, it's definitely not a cobra."

The ceramic figurine was turquoise colored and painted with a simple sunset on the beach scene, but despite it's innocent façade as a souvenir statue, it's shape was clear. Miles studied the figures on the shelf frowning.

"They're all penises… How vulgar, and so strange… Do sailors really like things like that?"

Phoenix shrugged and stuck the little figurine back on the shelf, "If it weren't popular I can't imagine they would sell them."

"What would you do with something like that?" Miles was shocked and yet this conversation was easier to take than the one they'd been on the verge of having.

"Beats me," Phoenix said with an exaggerated shrug, "Although, I have one you could see that you might find a little more functional."

Miles felt the heat coloring his face at that.

They left the store with their only purchase being a liter bottle of water with a local label and an overpriced can of Mountain Dew—also with a local label. Larry was standing with the rest of the group when they returned and Miles scowled at the meaningful look Lang had shot his direction as they walked up.

"Finally," Juan said sliding on his backpack and picking up his guitar case, "Let's go find another line to stand in."

The started walking across the blacktop en masse, Adrian walking with a tall dark haired woman, who Miles guessed must be Lauren Davies, as she was the only other female in the group. Larry bumped him out of the way to talk to Phoenix, much to Lang's amusement.

Miles could only glare mutely at the back of Larry’s head.

"I could only reserve four rooms," Larry was telling Phoenix, "They were filling up so fast. Lauren and Adrian will share, then Matt and Juan, then you and Edgeworth. Laurence and Eddie decided not to stay, they're just going to have dinner with us. I'm sharing with Doug."

"That sounds fine," Phoenix said.

"But dude I didn't know about this Lang guy coming…"

"He can stay with you and Doug."

"No way dude, there's only two beds in our room," Larry protested and Phoenix rolled his eyes, "Fine, Lang can stay with us."

Miles frowned at this, but couldn't come up with a reasonable argument.

He’s leaving early tomorrow morning anyway.

When they arrived at the pavilion where the buses were waiting, it was considerably less crowded. Only a few sailors were standing around as most of those that wanted to go into town were already embarked on a bus. Phoenix poked his head into the first bus they approached before jumping down from the step and peering into the next one. He motioned the group over from the third bus, "There's room on this one," he said before bounding up the steps to find a seat.

Somehow, in the confusion of so large a group boarding the bus, Miles ended up at the back of the line. Phoenix glanced up at him apologetically, as he walked past looking for a seat, as Adrian had claimed the one next to Phoenix. Miles ended up at the very back of the bus squeezed in between Matt and Juan, clutching his bag in his lap.

"So JAG," Matt said lazily as he held up his mirrored sunglasses fixing his hair in their reflective lenses, "Is this your first time in Borginia?"

Miles nodded and decided that it might seem curt and he ought to try and be friendly with Phoenix's friends and added, "Er… yes."

"So let me get this straight," Juan said suddenly, "If someone from the ship gets murdered in Borginia, there's nothing we can do about it?"

That escalated quickly...

Miles was startled at the question and hesitated before saying, "Yes, well… Essentially. However, I'm sure we would try to diffuse the situation as best we could, for the sake of the family, you see."

Keep an eye on these two...
He frowned, answering several questions from the two of them that made him wonder if he ought to be concerned about their motives. From his vantage he could see Phoenix's spiky head bobbing animatedly in conversation. He wasn't sure exactly where or how far they would be going, but he had the sinking feeling it was going to be a very long ride, indeed.

Chapter Text

He took a drought from the water bottle and then put it away to stare out at the scenery passing in the window. Adrian had left off trying to engage him in conversation and was talking with the guy behind her. Someone else from the helo det he guessed by the nature of their conversation, at least Adrian knew him well enough to know when he needed to be left alone.

Phoenix Wright was not one for brooding, but he was tired. Tired and nervous. How could he help but be nervous? Miles Edgeworth was hard to read sometimes. He gazed out at at the passing landscape of yardarms, cranes, and stacks upon stacks of conex boxes.

Wait til he finds out how much planning ahead you did for this...

Like most shipyards, the area they drove through was very industrial and save for a few trucks or cranes with drivers, seemed almost deserted. It was not very glamorous at all, and there was a pallor that always seemed to hang over the harbors like these. Obviously, most countries didn't want gigantic warships sharing berths with cruise ships.

It wasn't very long before he dozed off.

"Hey, Nick," she was whispering in his ear and shaking him gently, "Wake up, we have to get off the bus."

He sat up and rubbed his face, "Sorry…"

Adrian laughed and patted his shoulder, "Don't say you're sorry, Nick. But come on everyone's waiting outside."

She turned then and started walking toward the waiting door. Phoenix took a moment to get his bearings and gather his things and walked off the now empty bus behind her.

There was a gruff man in an MWR polo-shirt with the ship's logo standing near the bus stop, eyeing the sailors as they passed. He tapped Phoenix on the shoulder, "Drunk already? You guys really know how to have a good time don'tcha?"

Oh look... It’s the freaking shore patrol...

Phoenix answered him with a glare and shouldered his bag and walked toward the others waiting under a parking pavilion. He only looked up when Miles passed him to talk to the gruff Navy guy, it was probably some chief or something. Those guys thought they ran everything.

Yeah but they don’t police themselves...

"And JAG," Miles grabbed Phoenix's elbow but was turned toward the other man, "You keep those guys out of trouble!"

Miles chuckled and urged Phoenix toward the taxi stand where the rest of their group had gone.

"Who the hell was that?"

"That's Senior Badd," Miles said, "He's the SEL for security."

Shore Patrol... Called it...

"Oh," Phoenix said, "He really thinks I'm drunk?"

"Are you?" Miles asked earnestly.

"You know I haven't—"

"Then there's nothing to worry about."

It would take four taxis to transport the entire group to the hotel they'd chosen, as the MWR buses only provided transportation to the city plaza. Juan and Matt took a taxi together, Lang shared one with Doug and Larry, Eddie and Laurence took a third, and in an effort to save a little money, Phoenix sat alone in front with the driver while Miles slid in with Adrian and Lauren. The women were smiling and laughing and Phoenix eyed them a little enviously from the front seat. He rubbed his face as they set off, still feeling groggy from his nap and a little irritable too.

"Matt and Juan have always been like that," Lauren was telling Miles in the back seat, "They act like they're famous or something."

"Nick was in school with them," Adrian piped up and tapped his arm,"Right?"

Phoenix turned to look behind him, Miles was sitting behind the driver so he could stare directly into his face, "Did those guys give you a hard time?"

Miles held his stare, one eye darkened in shadow and the other pale as smoke in the sunlight, "No. But they did have a lot of questions… Some that I found rather suspicious."

"They're cool," Phoenix smiled at him, fighting an urge to reach his arm back and touch him, "I've never had any issues with them."

"Yeah, because you're a guy," Lauren said pointedly, she was sitting between Adrian and Miles. She shot a nervous glance at Miles, "But we don't need to talk about them. I'm sure we'll get an earful at dinner."

Phoenix righted himself in his seat and laughed.

Oh God... Dinner with the Air Wing...

"Do you need to talk to someone—" Miles started to say. But the women giggled beside him, brushing off his concern.

"You're one of those 'Knight in Shining Armor' types aren't you," Lauren said.

Phoenix grimaced at the windshield. You haven’t even told him yet...

Adrian and Lauren spent the rest of the ride asking Miles about his opinion of the ship, Naval Justice School, and whether he knew one person or another from Flag Admin. He closed his eyes and listened to Miles talk, finding comfort in their relative proximity.

Maybe no one will notice if I’m not there...

The hotel, a Gatewater Resort, was a very grand affair, with a façade done up with concrete embellishments and thick, ribbed columns on decorated lintels. The street view of the hotel showed off very large modern windows dressed up in the style of a European palace. A bronze statue of some mythical maiden, flanked by four horses, poured water from a vase while surrounded by eight fountains that spouted water in intricately timed intervals, completing the scene.

Miles held the door open for the ladies and paid the taxi driver. The rest of the group was already lined up at the check-in counter. Phoenix looked up at the massive chandelier hanging from a ceiling that could've rivaled many cathedrals in height and decoration. Maybe living too long in the cramped spaces of the ship had made him more sensitive to it, but he stopped in the center of the lobby and stared.

"Close your mouth," Miles startled him with a whisper that tickled his ear, "How ever did your lot manage this?"

Phoenix laughed and looked around at the overly glamorous hotel lobby, everything—the lights, the foliage, the uniforms worn by the staff—was designed to impress.

"I heard CAG requested it for the AirWing Officers. She got MWR to block out like fifty rooms, so we were the only ones that could make reservations here."

"My," Miles said also looking around, "I should count myself lucky."

"Oh, you'll get lucky…" Phoenix said and Miles gave him a shove and went to join Lauren and Adrian near the check-in counter.

They all piled into the elevator to go up to their rooms, save for Miles who made excuses about going up with the crowd and Phoenix who was by no means going to let him suffer the climb alone.

So this is still a thing...

They saw the elevator close and then walked off to find the stairs.

Oh Miles...

"So that's still a thing?" Phoenix said when they found the stairwell door and he held it open for Miles.

"We don't need to get into it," Miles' expression darkened slightly at Phoenix's inquiry and without turning to look at him, Miles started up the steps. Startled, and a little scared, Phoenix hesitated before jogging to catch him up.

He’s already disappointed...

"Hey, Miles," Phoenix hitched his bag looking at Miles with concern, "Are you mad at me?"

"No."

He’s mad at you...

"Did something happen? How come you're mad?"

Miles paused, "Why do you think I'm angry?"

"I don't know…. I wouldn't be asking if I knew."

Miles sighed and started walking again, "I'm not angry… Should I be angry?"

"No… I hope not…"

"What's gotten into you? Is there something you need to tell me?"

Phoenix paused on the steps, well, was there something he wanted to tell Miles?

“So... The Air Wing’s doing a ‘Dining In’... I kinda have to be there...”

Miles reached the landing ahead of him and stopped to look at him, frowning.

"This isn't like what I was expecting," Phoenix watched his expression soften, but Miles didn't reply so he continued, "I kept thinking about what we should do but I didn't—I was busy a lot too, so it wasn't like I was trying to brush you off. I wasn't trying to. I wanted this to be perfect. But instead we're here with like half of the AirWing and—"

He looked up when Miles touched his arm, "If you keep stopping, we'll be climbing these stairs all night."

Phoenix felt himself blush staring up at Miles' face, "I'm sorry…"

Miles only closed his eyes and with a slight shake of his head he turned to continue up the stairs, but not before taking Phoenix's hand.

They went several floors walking in steady rhythm, not speaking, finding a sense of freedom and security in the empty stairwell.

"What floor are we on?" Phoenix grumbled when they'd paused for a breather.

"Fifteen," Miles replied leaning down with his hands propped against his knees.

"And where's the room?"

"Twenty-four," Miles straightened up and continued alone.

"Damn," Phoenix muttered under his breath before jogging to catch him up.

You gotta be fucking kidding me...

They walked side by side for a couple more floors, Phoenix watching surreptitiously for some clue in Miles' body language as to what he might be thinking. But Miles seemed intent on his own feet as he climbed the stairs with a purpose.

Miles paused at the nineteenth floor landing and glared intently at him. Phoenix startled at his look and stopped. He smiled sheepishly at him.

"I do have one question," Miles said tapping his chin with a contemplative index finger. Phoenix could only frown in reply, he is mad at you.

"What exactly are go-pills?"

"G-go-pills…" Phoenix rubbed the back of his head.

Where the hell did he hear about go pills?

"Yes," Miles said.

"It's… Well, it's an amphetamine… Keeps an aviator awake and focused…"

Miles' brows furrowed thoughtfully, "I see…"

"It's perfectly legal…" Phoenix found himself falling behind again as Miles started up the stairs, "Hey, the Navy's been feeding us this crap since like World War Two or something, there aren't any long term side-effects."

Miles slowed for a moment but did not stop, "Okay."

"I don't really have a choice about it…" Phoenix could feel a desperation building but he was defensive too, "It's kind of my job, you know."

Miles stopped and turned to look at him and Phoenix was struck at the pained expression on his face, "It really does frighten me."

"Miles?" Phoenix stopped where he stood and stared up at him, "Miles, I'm fine…"

Miles leaned against the wall and hugged himself, "I'm trying not to think about these things…. We're here as friends… right?"

Just friends...?

"Yeah," Phoenix ran his hands through his hair, "Yeah, we're friends."

"So who am I to be concerned about these things? Right?"

"Uh… yeah… sure," Phoenix was starting to feel confused, "Miles, you don't have to worry about me."

"Perhaps," Miles said, "But whether or not I have to, doesn't mean I can't or won't."

Miles...

Phoenix almost choked up right there, instead he grabbed Miles into a rough embrace and hugged him tight. After a momentary hesitation Miles hugged him back.

"I care about you," Miles whispered into his shoulder, "I can hardly help it…"

Phoenix held him a moment longer and then let him go, laughing in his relief.

"Don't laugh—"

Phoenix stopped his protest with a kiss, tentative at first but Miles let him in easily and soon they sank onto the landing together, taking advantage of the first real semblance of privacy they'd had since their reunion.

When they exited the stairwell on the twenty-fourth floor they were holding hands and giddy. They checked the signs on the walls directing them toward their designated room and started down the hall. The sound of the approaching house-keeping cart made them separate, but Phoenix shot Miles a mischievous glance as he greeted the local woman standing at the cart and checking her supplies. She blushed a little and smiled sweetly at the two of them.

"Here," Miles said, stopping in front of a door labeled 2432, and fumbled in his pocket for the key card, "I'm sure it's this one."

Before he even had a chance to insert the keycard, the door opened to reveal Lang, washed and dressed in a garish dark dress shirt, open at the collar. He grinned at them and raised an eyebrow, "It's been like thirty minutes…. What were you two doing?"

Miles pushed past him, "We took the stairs… there were a lot of stairs…"

Phoenix met Lang's eye and grinned back, making a vulgar motion with his hands and following Miles inside.

"For real?"

Phoenix only shrugged in reply.

"What time is this dinner thing supposed to be?" Miles said from where he'd dropped his bag on the bed and started to unbutton his shirt.

"It's not until six," Phoenix said and looked at his watch.

"Six is a long time away, and we're hungry now," Lang said, "A couple of very nice young ladies stopped by looking for you two clowns. They suggested we explore this monument and maybe grab a late lunch."

"Well I want a shower—a real shower… go ahead and we'll come find you," Phoenix said.

Lang narrowed his eyes at him, "Okay… Second question, do we have to go to this dinner thing with the CAG?"

"I have to," Phoenix started undoing the buttons of his shirt too, "I don't think you guys are expected to go. But you're definitely invited."

Miles removed his undershirt and slid out of the tidy khakis he had on. He folded the clothing neatly before digging in his bag for his toiletry kit.

"Wow," Phoenix said.

"I know, right?" Lang said leaning into him, "I've been teaching him how to work out, and you know, eat…"

"Shut up Shi-Long," Miles said returning from the bathroom to grab something from his bag he'd forgotten.

"No, I meant… Miles won't take his shirt off in front of anybody…"

"Not true," Miles called as he went back in.

"He's still a never-nude," Lang muttered to Phoenix in undisguised disappointment. Then he called toward the bathroom, "Hey, Miles, remember what I told you about showering with your underwear on?"

"Stop," Miles yelled from the bathroom and turned on the water, shutting them out.

Phoenix laughed at Lang's antics and pulled off his shirt, "It'll probably save some time if I joined him."

Lang nodded, "A sound plan, I can give you guys a hand too, if you need."

Phoenix laughed, "Yeah, we could do with a couple extra hands."

He grabbed his own kit when the doorbell rang, and Lang pushed past him to answer the door, "Should I invite them too?"

"Sure, the more the merrier," Phoenix shook his head, "Take them down to the main floor, we'll catch you up."

"Why, hello ladies," he heard Lang croon before closing the bathroom door.

There was no reaction from the shower but steam was starting to fill the small tile-lined room. Phoenix walked over to the sink and glanced at himself in the mirror, he frowned, he did look tired—tired and beat down—no wonder Miles kept pushing him away. He looked over at the shower.

It was one of those European style showers, wide and open with only a lip of about an inch separating it from the floor. The entire thing was encased in glass, currently steamed into opaqueness. He swallowed down his anxiety and walked in, stepping behind Miles.

Phoenix smiled when Miles turned to face him. Miles studied him without saying a word and Phoenix marveled at his face wet from the shower with rivulets running from his chin and nose. His hair was pulled back with the weight of water and the lines of his shoulders highlighted in the wet gleam. Miles smiled back at him and stuck out a hand to run it through his hair.

Phoenix put a hand on either side of that face, pulling him into a kiss. They were locked that way for a long time, tasting, searching, exploring, but it was still too sudden when he felt Miles pull back. Always to soon. Phoenix caught his bottom lip in his teeth and held him fast. He slid his hands down from his face tracing the line of of his collar bone, letting his thumbs linger at the hollow at the base of his throat, feeling the steady pounding of his pulse. Miles stiffened against him and pulled away, almost slipping on the tiled floor as he exited the shower. Oh seriously?!

Phoenix glared at the wall, letting the water run over his shoulders and down his back. He put a hand on the wall to brace himself feeling the sting in his eyes and the pressure in his nose. Does he have any idea how much this hurts?

He took a minute to compose himself, glad for the water to hide his tears. He wasn't sure what he'd expected—certainly not another rejection. Always rejection. He shrugged it off again, like the last time, like he'd done every time before. Like he always did, until it was too much and his only option seemed to run away.

He took a few drops of the mini-shampoo bottle and washed his hair, and then hit the vitals with the mini-soap. He felt cleaner—if not necessarily better. He turned the water off and stepped out of the shower feeling almost worse than he had before he'd gotten in. All of his excitement, all of his daydreaming about this port visit was already dissipating with the steam from the shower—and they'd just gotten off the ship.

This is already a disaster...

He toweled off roughly and checked his chin in the mirror—he could get away with not shaving again. Not really very sanguine about facing Miles just then, he dug his toothbrush and toothpaste out of his kit and started to brush his teeth, his reflection in the mirror glaring.

"I'm sorry," Miles had come back into the bathroom, wearing a tee shirt and his underwear. His hair was still wet and he was frowning—he was always frowning. Phoenix didn't turn to look at him, only catching that frown in the mirror as he finished brushing his teeth and then rinsed his mouth before putting his things back into this kit.

A burning, self-righteous anger was starting to build in the pit of his stomach, and he slid past Miles and went into the room without looking at him. I can't look at him right now...

He set his kit on top of a dresser in the room, it was still damp from the shower and he didn't want to toss it back into his bag wet. He was digging in his bag, a soft sided duffel that folded up easily and had been around the world with him, when he felt Miles come up behind him wrapping his arms around his stomach and resting his cheek against the hollow between his shoulder blades.

Phoenix stopped what he was doing and stood stiffly, not bothering to hide his annoyance, "What do you want?"

"I don't know…"

Phoenix shook his head, and took Miles by the wrists and pulled his arms away, "You know…. But you can't accept it."

"Just… turn around and look at me…" Miles said, his voice was barely above a whisper.

Phoenix set out a tee shirt and shook his head, not trusting himself to speak just then. He could feel Miles move tentatively behind him, his hands touching his back and his shoulders with nervous anticipation.

"They're waiting for us downstairs," Phoenix said finally, "And we still have like twenty flights of stairs…"

"We could just stay here," Miles said, "We can at least try…"

"I'm good," Phoenix said still curt, "I'm not going to ask you to do anything you don't want to do."

"This is something I want too," Miles started to slide his arms around him again, "It's me… I'm…"

Phoenix stiffened in his arms, the only thing worse than rejection was being led on. Six years was a long time, but it didn't seem as if anything significant had changed at all. Be patient with him, the small reedy voice of his conscience quipped and Phoenix exhaled slowly before turning in Miles' arms to meet his stare.

He stared into those stormy gray eyes, not quite able to reign in all of his anger and frustration, so that Miles seemed intimidated and leaned back. But he didn't let go of him—that must count for something. Phoenix held back, determined to let him take the lead in this. He watched those gray eyes scrutinize him and then fall over him taking him in. Miles' expression was unreadable. Phoenix started to tremble and Miles' eyes widened in concern.

"It's cold," he choked out huskily by way of explanation, but Miles was already pushing him back onto the bed. He only stopped when Phoenix was prone beneath him and stared into his eyes. Phoenix recognized that familiar hunger coming into the fore, one that always seemed crouched in the periphery, waiting for Miles to let him in.

Miles straightened, he was straddling his hips, knees on the crisp white hotel sheets. He paused to tug off his shirt and Phoenix bit his lip and swallowed. Miles had put on weight, at least ten pounds, and in all the right places.

Phoenix lay back with his arms out and then beckoned with a slight nod, and Miles leaned over him, kissed him lightly on the mouth and then nudged his jaw with the top of his nose, letting his breath warm his neck.

"Nick…" Miles breathed his name hoarse and clipped and kissed him again, this time more forcefully, biting and tugging at his tongue. They both gasped when they released and Miles immediately pressed his face into him again, kissing him on his jawline, his neck, and along his collarbone. His long fingered hands traced the lines of his muscle, cool against his rapidly warming skin.

Phoenix gasped as Miles traced his way down over his chest, teeth and lips sending shudders across his skin with every lingering touch. His back arched before he could do anything about it, Miles had a hand on his thigh, fingers raking the muscle in desperation. Miles was still moving down over his belly, pausing at the ridge of muscle that stood out sharp above his hip bone and hovered there, biting and licking.

Phoenix's breath starting to come in short gasps, and he felt himself fully extended now, aching with need. He was starting to tremble again but not from the cold. Miles looked up at him, his hands were shaking too, one resting flat against his stomach and the other still curled against his thigh.

He leaned his head in, his hair still dark from the shower and tousled from their foreplay. He inhaled a shaking breath and then took Phoenix into his mouth, the hand on his belly slid after him to clasp the shaft.

Phoenix let his head drop back and closed his eyes smiling and breathless.

Chapter Text

They lay there groggy from a nap in the deepening light of the afternoon. No one had come to disturb them and Miles thought with relief that Lang must have known to keep away and distract Adrian and Lauren.

He could hear Phoenix's stomach growling audibly now and Miles turned to look at him. Phoenix was lying flat on his back with his hands behind his head and staring blankly at the ceiling. He'd grown leaner in recent weeks—almost too much so. It made all of his muscles stand out with stark definition, and it might have impressed some people, but all it did was make Miles worry about him all the more.

“You’re so thin,” Miles had told him.

“Don’t worry about it,” Phoenix had cut him off, “I just need a break that’s all...”

They'd gone twice more and had fallen asleep debating as to whether or not they should order room service.

"It's after five," Phoenix said to the ceiling, "I guess we should get ready for this thing."

"Yes," Miles replied unmoving. He'd much rather not go out in so grand a hotel, with only the meager and inadequate luggage he'd brought. Besides, there was only one officer in the Air Wing that drew his interest.

Phoenix got up and went to the foot of the bed and started digging in the beat up black duffle he had. Instead of clothing he pulled out a can of Mountain Dew. He held it up to Miles in a silent toast and then popped it open to drink. Miles smiled at the ceiling, they really ought to get dressed and get down there. He rolled out of bed and threw the covers back into place looking for the tee shirt he'd tossed off earlier.

"Oh man, that's better," Phoenix stifled a burp and set the can on the dresser beside his toiletry kit.

Miles chuckled at him, "I was curious about that," he slipped his tee shirt over his head, "The Chiefs were giving out soda on the pier, why did you pay for that?"

Somehow in the short space of time it had taken him to find and put on his tee shirt, Phoenix had managed to get on his shorts and a pair of jeans, and he was in the midst of cinching a wide leather belt at his hips just below that angle of muscle above his hip bone. Hopefully, he wasn't gawking too obviously at him, and Miles was a little relieved when Phoenix didn't spare him a glance before turning to grab the soda can off of the dresser and returned to show it to him up close.

Miles frowned, it certainly looked like a Mountain Dew can, but the letters made no sense, "I don't get it. Is it Borginian Mountain Dew?"

"Yeah," Phoenix grinned and turned the can in his hands, "Here it's made with real sugar, instead of corn syrup. So much better—"

"Hey," they both turned, startled, neither of them had heard the door open, but there was Lang grinning at them, "Adrian insisted that I come up to check on you two. There's that thing with the CAG… Everyone is already hanging out and dinner is at six."

"We're almost ready," Miles called to him sliding on his khakis from earlier before digging into his bag for a decent shirt.

"Is that thermal underwear?" Miles looked up at Lang when he asked and saw him standing near Phoenix tugging at the smooth thin fabric of the long sleeved undershirt Phoenix was tucking into his pants.

"Yeah, I get cold a lot lately," Phoenix smiled at Lang, "I use this thing on the plane all the time it's awesome."

"Ah," Lang nodded and Miles could see him studying Phoenix appraisingly, "and you're going to wear this over it?"

Miles groaned and started buttoning the shirt he'd decided to wear.

"Miles! You nerd," Lang barked at him, "What's with the business casual? I thought this was a party?"

Miles glared and Phoenix laughed, buttoning his own simple dress shirt, "Miles you look fine."

Lang made a noise and walked over to him and started poking around in his bag, "Ugh… hopeless…"

"It's fine," Phoenix had come around to tug at Miles' arm, "Lets go, I want to eat."

"This isn't right," Lang grumbled as he followed them out the door.

Lang led them to the elevators and was shocked when Phoenix explained they'd rather take the stairs. Lang glared at Miles, "Let me guess, you're clithrophobic too?"

Phoenix held up an arm before Miles could reply, "I am. I can't stand elevators."

Lang made a face at him, "Aren't you a fighter pilot?"

Phoenix shrugged, "So not the same thing. I'm in control of the plane, she's mine. She obeys my every command. Sitting in a little metal box dangling from a cable is way scarier than that."

Miles could feel his heart rate pick up at Phoenix's description and Lang grimaced.

"Huh," Lang grunted, "Stairs are fine."

It didn't take them quite as long going down, and despite the tedious turning and the monotony of the stairwell, they were all in relatively good spirits when they exited the into the main lobby. Once there, Lang took the lead, having just spent a few hours exploring the hotel, and ushered them toward the ballroom and into the bustling antechamber.

It hadn't been decorated elaborately, but there was a general palette of blue and gold, in homage to the Navy. Most of them were dressed nicely but not formally in tasteful civilian attire and Miles was relieved he didn't really stand out too much in his pressed khaki pants and a maroon button down shirt.

"What's the occasion anyway?" Miles asked as he stared out over the crowd. In spite of the casual dress, and the mingling of the crowd, it seemed almost too obvious this was a military gathering. There were just too many clean cut men and women here.

Phoenix stuck his hands in his pockets and scrutinized the gathering, "It's just sort of a 'dining in'. The only occasion is we're off of that boat. But if you ask me, CAG is trying to keep us all together so she can keep an eye on us. Last deployment we had two Air Wing officers arrested in Istanbul."

Miles frowned, "Clever woman, your CAG."

Phoenix shrugged, "It is what it is, at least we're allowed outside. After the incident last deployment we were confined to the pier. No overnight Liberty for anyone in the Air Wing below Command level."

They stood a moment longer and then Phoenix tapped his arm, "Come on, there's someone I want you to meet."

Miles followed him through the crowd of people—their party was at least three-hundred strong—finding himself tickled at the number of other officers that stopped to greet Phoenix, or shake his hand. He was popular among the other Air Wing officers and carried himself with an easy self-confidence that seemed to buoy the others he interacted with. His open demeanor and a friendly smile made him stand out among this group of mostly aviators of one kind or another.

A few of the people they met greeted him as the JAG—probably having recognized him from the port brief. But most of the attention they received was for Phoenix specifically.

"Dude," Larry slid in beside Phoenix shoving Miles to the rear, "Where have you been?"

This guy again...?

Phoenix stopped walking even as Larry threw an arm over his shoulders as if to direct him, Miles could see him turn to look for him, "Come on Larry…"

"You don't have a beer yet man, let me get you a beer," Larry said and tipped the one he had in his hand back, emptying it into his mouth.

"Yeah, okay Larry," Phoenix had managed to get out from under Larry's arm and was craning his neck now looking for him.

"I'm right here," Miles said and he smiled at the unwarranted concern on his face.

Phoenix grabbed his arm, just above the elbow, "I don't want to lose you," and pulled him back into step ducking away from Larry and continuing toward the opposite wall, where several men and a woman were standing and talking.

Besides the obvious difference in their ages, there was a note of power and command around that particular group. Phoenix let go of his arm suddenly and Miles felt him stiffen noticeably as they approached. The crowd was thinner here, so they had less of an issue approaching them.

"Sir," Phoenix greeted the nearest officer, a tall lean man wearing a pin-striped vest over a red shirt. He was deeply tanned and his handsome face wore a smirk as he looked out over the group. When he turned to look at Phoenix, his smile widened into a grin.

"Nick Wright," he offered his hand in greeting, "Glad you came out."

"Sir, this is—" Phoenix started to turn toward Miles.

"JAG," The man offered his hand to shake, "Lieutenant Edgeworth, isn't it?"

Miles felt a flutter of apprehension, he'd never seen this man before, "Yes, sir."

"Miles, this is Commander Armando," Phoenix said with his eyes still widened at the revelation Commander Armando knew who Miles was, "He's the Air Wing CSO."

Commander Armando gripped his hand firmly and gave him a dark appraising look and then grinned before releasing his hand.

"Nice of you to join us," Commander Armando chuckled, "Hopefully none of these guys cause you any headache."

"Lieutenant Edgeworth, what a pleasant surprise," CAG herself had turned to shake his hand then, and Phoenix's eyes almost bugged out of his head.

"Ma'am," Miles said.

"Of course you know the ship's XO, Captain Gant and our XO, Commander Gary?"

Miles shook hands with each of them in turn, "Sir, good evening."

Phoenix gaped at him incredulously, and CAG smiled.

"Lieutenant Wright, I see you've met the Strike Group JAG."

"Yeah," he said, "Um, yes ma'am. We go way back…"

Miles shot him a warning glare, and then smiled, "It's very kind of you to organize this, Ma'am."

She laughed congenially, "And I'm glad you had the courtesy to join us."

Phoenix looked like he was about to blow a gasket just then and Miles made excuses politely and pulled Phoenix away from the group.

"Seriously?" Phoenix hissed at him in an undertone, "How do you know like all of my Chain of Command?"

Miles smirked at him, "Perhaps I seem a bit out of place on the ship. But I am the JAG, or as you so blatantly put it the other day, 'a Command Assistant'. I at least understand my duties in that regard."

Phoenix laughed at him and turned to go back into the crowd, "Oh boy… I need a beer."

"Oh now," Miles followed after him, "Don't tell me you're upset about that."

"No," Phoenix paused to meet his eye, "I just didn't think—I'm a little surprised you know?"

"I have to go to all the staff meetings, so I see them almost every day. I report to the Admiral weekly, most weeks."

"And here I thought you were just a lawyer…" Phoenix laughed again and made his way to one of the bar lines where a liveried native man was serving drinks. Phoenix ordered a beer and had Miles carry a second one for him as they pushed through the crowd toward the dinner tables set up in the ballroom.

They'd only just entered when Adrian called out and waved them over to the large round table she was sharing with Lauren, Larry, Doug, and Lang. Miles glanced over the empty seats at the table, it sat twelve, and there were at least thirty such tables crammed round the perimeter of the ballroom, with a parquet dance floor in the center flanked by a scaffold of lights hung over DJ table. The scope was jaw-dropping, even more so when he considered the ship had just pulled in that morning, so much of the planning for this event must have been coordinated while they were still at sea.

"Where'd you chuckleheads disappear to?" Lang gave them a pointed look, "I thought you were right behind me."

"We stopped for a quickie on the way over," Phoenix dropped himself into the chair next to Adrian and leaned over and smiled, "Hi."

She grinned at him and blew him a kiss.

Miles sat on Lang's other side still grimacing at Phoenix's comment, "Phoenix wanted me to meet the Air Wing CSO."

Phoenix shrugged, "He already knows everybody. I wish he would've warned me."

"He's the JAG," Lang said and sipped what looked like cold tea with no ice, "The Air Wing really knows how to dine out."

"It's a dining in," Phoenix said and took a drought from his beer.

"It's nice, this CAG is amazing," Adrian piped in and stirred her drink, smiling before turning to Phoenix, "So Nick, what did you get up to today? I thought you guys were going to meet us for lunch?"

Miles blushed hearing her question and Lang bumped his arm, stifling a laugh. Phoenix glanced at him and then looked at Adrian, "Ah… I was tired… it's a nice change to sleep in a real bed."

"Was it restful?" Lang asked innocently and Miles glared sidelong at him. Don’t start you...

"Yeah," Phoenix said studying the label on his beer, "what did you guys end up doing?"

"There's a Japanese restaurant here in the hotel," Adrian said, "We had some pretty amazing sushi."

"Nice," Phoenix quipped absently and took another swig from his beer.

"Then Lang took us to the spa—there's a spa here too," Lauren said, "We had a 'massage a trois'," she giggled and Miles met Lang's eye inquiringly.

Lang gave him an innocent look in reply and shrugged at him.

"Dude, why didn't you tell us?" Larry asked with no small amount of disappointment. Lauren and Adrian laughed and shared a look with each other.

"Nah," Lang smirked, "too much sausage."

"I don't think Kiyance would like that anyway," Doug said dully.

Phoenix laughed out loud.

"Who's Kiyance?" Lang leaned forward and turned his wolfish stare on Larry.

"Kiyance Parker?" Adrian clarified and raised her eyebrows at him.

Phoenix had his beer raised toward his mouth, but he shot the group a mischievous grin instead, "That's his imaginary girlfriend."

Doug slammed the table triumphantly, "I knew it!"

"Nick!" Larry protested, "you've met her!"

Miles sat back as they continued their abuse of Larry with Lang goading them on. He didn't care about whether or not Larry was dating this actress that he'd never heard of. But it was nice to watch Phoenix relax among his friends.

"When something stinks…" Phoenix was saying and the rest of the group laughed, except Larry who was starting to pout and Miles who hadn't been listening.

"You're awful quiet," Lang turned to him and ducked his head, "Is everything good?"

Miles met his eye and nodded, "We're just hungry…"

Lang chuckled and sipped at his drink, "Your own fault, lawyer-boy."

"What are you drinking? I thought—"

Lang grimaced, "It's just iced tea—minus the ice, because Borginia is lame."

The group erupted in another burst of laughter and Miles looked up in time to see the waitress approach their table.

"Good evenink," she smiled catching the table's attention, "And velcome to Borginia! We are having tree shoises 'dis evenink. I am takink your selections 'dis evenink, yes?"

"Tree shoises?" Phoenix whispered loudly toward Adrian.

"What are our three choices?" Miles asked politely and the waitress beamed at him.

"Yes, ve are havink shicken, beevs, and ze fish."

"Let me point out that Borginia does not have the land required for bovine husbandry… I'd recommend the fish," Lang announced lazily to the others.

They stared around at each other and at Lang then the waitress and back.

"Chicken what?" Doug spat out finally, basically asking the question everyone else was too polite to ask.

"Ah," she held up an index finger, "vait vun."

She turned abruptly and walked away from their table.

"Wait one," Phoenix mimicked and Adrian mouthed the phrase with her index finger raised. Miles frowned. He’s already feeling it...

"Somebody likes ze sailors…" Lang chuckled.

They were startled by the arrival of Matt and Juan each leading a local woman dressed for a ball. They sat without greeting anyone or introducing their dates, though after a moment's thought, Juan looked around at them and said, "Sorry we're late."

"Sorry you came," Lauren huffed in an undertone and Adrian covered her mouth to stifle a laugh.

Miles sighed and looked across the table at Phoenix, he too looked sullen and had slid his empty beer bottle toward the center of the table and started on his second one. The waitress returned with a menu card showing the selections for the catered banquet, though chicken, beef, and fish were mostly accurate insofar as a description of their options. At his request, the waitress produced a wine list, and Lang peered over his shoulder to peruse the wine selections with him.

"Wine, Miles?"

"Hmmm," Miles nodded absently, he was focused on studying the wine list, "It seems I may need to be fortified for this."

Lang laughed loud enough for the others at the table to pause and look at him and he grinned defiantly at them in reply, "The wine is funny here too."

"Who are you?" Matt spoke up loud enough to startle the people sitting at the next table over. Miles looked up in sudden concern and glanced first at Lang and then at Phoenix.

"He's my friend," Phoenix said in quiet nonchalance and drank his beer.

"Yo, he was at the pier, Okay?" Juan said leaning over the Borginian woman to stare at Matt, "it's cool. He's with us."

Lang only smiled, not taking any offense, and sipped his tea.

"Hey, Wright," Matt said leering at him, "Where've you been all day, man?"

"Oh the usual," Phoenix smirked at him, "doing my best to avoid you guys."

Phoenix's response drew laughter from the rest of the table, but Miles' thought he saw Matt's expression sour momentarily.

"Aren't you going to introduce your friends?" Adrian asked looking pointedly at Matt.

He gave her an unctuous grin, "I thought we could do that later, Andrews, when it's just the three of us."

She lifted her chin insolently at him, "No thank you."

Juan cleared his throat and in an obvious effort to diffuse the situation, he stood and dragged the woman he was with to stand with him, "Hadrina here is a local actress and movie star. Darling," he continued, addressing the woman, "These guys are in the Navy too."

"You are all pilots, like Juan?" She looked around the table brightly and smiled. She was rather plain featured and not very exotic, Borginia was quite westernized, but she was made up prettily and her gown and accessories certainly lent her a bit of glamour. She caught Miles studying her and must've mistaken his curiosity because her smile widened as her gaze lingered on him.

"Er, no," he said and pointedly looked away from her, "I'm not."

Matt swung his thumb in Lang's direction with a casual grin and said, "Neither is that guy. He works somewhere inside the ship."

Miles glanced over at Lang, feeling offended for him. The other aviators were glaring at Matt. Lang only chuckled in good nature and took a drink from his tea.

Phoenix was frowning slightly at Lang when he turned to Matt, "He protects the ship," he said simply and then glanced at Miles, "He protects the Navy. Neither of them should be brushed off so casually."

No one said anything while Phoenix finished his second beer, but Matt's look clouded noticeably, Phoenix's subtle rebuke he'd been aimed at him. He crossed his arms suddenly and Miles felt Lang stiffen beside him. Phoenix was staring at the center of the table rolling the empty beer bottle in his hands his expression stern.

Matt slammed the table suddenly and all of the women reacted with shock, then he stood and walked away grumbling. Lang raised an eyebrow inquisitively but Miles only shook his head. Phoenix set his beer bottle on the table and studied it with too much scrutiny.

"Dude," Larry was looking at Juan, "Did something happen?"

Juan shook his head, "Who knows?"

The awkwardness at the table was broken by the arrival of their meals, and except for Juan and the two Borginian women who hadn't yet made their selections, they all busied themselves spreading napkins and arranging silverware. Adrian paused with her fork midair and glanced around inquiringly.

"I'm not waiting for him, if that what he thinks," Phoenix muttered stiffly at his plate before tucking in.

Conversations quieted noticeably while they ate, and Miles looked around in amusement to see the incongruous discipline with which the officers ate. Well, they did refer to Officer Training as 'Fork and Knife School'.

As they finished their meals, conversations began to build back up and drinks were being served at the tables. Miles sipped his wine and watched quietly as Doug relayed some anecdote about a port visit earlier in deployment, before he'd come aboard. He wasn't listening, because it didn't interest or concern him. Matt's abandoned date, eventually introduced as Naterinka, stood and sat on Phoenix's other side to try and get a better vantage of the conversation.

The waitress set another glass of wine in front of him just as he finished he current. Lang stifled a yawn and crossed his arms.

"Is something else expected to happen?" Miles asked him.

"When we have a dining out, the XO usually addresses us and then we're left to our own devices," he met Miles' eye, "I've never done this with the Air Wing—in a foreign port no less. The Captain is here too, so who knows?"

The group started laughing at something Larry had added to Doug's story and Miles looked up to see Phoenix staring at him from across the table. Phoenix dropped his gaze immediately and made as if he was listening to Doug's story.

The room quieted again and CAG and her XO walked to the front of the room to stand under the scaffolding above the DJ booth.

They'd barely taken their places when the room erupted in some chant that Miles, in his surprise, couldn't make out. Something to do with flight and fight. He glanced at Lang who had a very amused grin on his face. The two of them addressed the team, praising their work and their efforts.

"You guys put your lives on the line every day," Miles hadn't really been listening but he looked up at that. He glanced over at Phoenix, but he was turned to listen to the CAG, and Miles only saw back of his spiky-haired head.

"The sacrifices you make for your Navy—your country are immense," Miles swallowed, maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the passionate moments they'd shared only a few short hours ago.

This is sad...

Commander Gary was speaking now relaying the biography of a Naval Aviator Miles' had never heard of. A loud sob broke on the other side of the room and the other pilots stood as the XO asked them for a moment of silence to remember.

A memorial...

He and Lang stood out of courtesy, and they shared the grim solemnity that hushed the room, but they were outsiders. Miles studied Phoenix's back, his head was down shoulders squared. Miles longed to look into that face, to hear how he felt about the risk—truly felt.

It wasn't a secret, there was always going to be risk. He just didn't know why it suddenly bothered him so much.

Chapter Text

Phoenix whipped his head around looking for him. It didn't help that they'd turned the lights off and the DJ was playing pulsing dance music while colored lights bounced around the room.

Adrian had his arm in both of hers, cajoling him into returning to the dance floor.

"Hey, I want to find Miles," he told her—all but shouting in her ear.

"Fine! But come back okay?"

"Sure, yeah," he said but he was already, pulling out of her grasp and turning toward the antechamber where the lights were still on and cast the people walking in and out of the doors into silhouette.

He moved through the press of people with a singleminded determination, bumping more than once into another officer. Out in the antechamber people gathered into small groups, laughing and talking or were otherwise occupied at one of three bars set up to accommodate the group.

His rising panic dissipated when he spotted Miles standing in the lights near the elevator talking to Lang.

He's pretty chummy with Lang—Stop!

"Hey, Miles," they both looked up to see him jogging over.

"I was going to head up," Lang said, arms crossed, "I'm on watch tomorrow."

Phoenix gave him a look, "You're kidding?"

"A bunch of us volunteered to cover the deck watches in port so the younger guys could take a break," Lang scratched at his hairline and turned to make sure the call button on the elevator was active.

"I didn't know you volunteered," Miles said looking at Lang. Was he impressed by that?

Lang put a hand on Phoenix's left shoulder and the other on Miles' right, "Good night my pretties."

"Good night, then," Miles said, "I hope it's a quiet watch."

"Night," Phoenix couldn't help but scrutinize him all of the sudden. He's taller than me too...

Phoenix turned, dragging Miles away just as the elevator dinged and swallowed up Lang.

"Is something the matter?"

Phoenix gazed at him solemnly, "You just took off without saying anything."

Miles gave him a smirk, "Aren't we possessive?"

Phoenix frowned and shook his head.

"Come now, Nick, I was going to come back. But it's only polite that someone sees him off."

"Sorry I wasn't—" Phoenix shook his head, "What were you guys talking about? You guys were whispering back and forth all night."

Miles raised an eyebrow at him and slid his hands into his pockets, "If you must know, we were talking about you."

Phoenix stared at him, Miles had had a few glasses of wine at dinner, enough to bring a slight blush to his cheeks. His smile came more easily too. "Do you want to go upstairs?"

Miles' blush deepened but he smiled again, "I thought you wanted to dance?"

Phoenix shrugged, 'I'm not really feeling it tonight."

They continued in silence in the dimmed lights of the hotel lobby. Light and music spilled from the ballroom and its antechamber.

"Perhaps we ought to give Shi-Long the same courtesy he offered us earlier today," Miles said without looking at him as they walked. It took Phoenix a moment before he realized they were heading toward the stairs.

"What do you mean?"

"Did you notice that no one disturbed us all day?"

"How do you know he wasn't sitting the room watching?" Phoenix grinned, "He's probably posting it online as we speak."

Miles laughed, "I don't think so…"

"What should we do then?" Phoenix looked at him, Miles smiled again thoughtfully.

"Let's go to the beach," Phoenix suggested without waiting for him to answer, "Like we used to back home."

Miles seemed taken by the proposal but he hesitated a moment before saying, "Here? I don't think that's really a good idea."

"The hotel has a pool," Phoenix added hopefully.

"I don't have a swimsuit," Miles said.

"Me either," Phoenix grinned, "But Borginia is European, right? They probably wont mind if we go there naked."

Miles blushed, scandalized, "You do know there are families staying here?"

Phoenix took his arm and tugged open the stairwell door, "Did you pack PT gear?"

Miles frowned, "Why would anyone—"

"You never know, it comes in handy," Phoenix smiled again, "I might have a couple pairs of PTU shorts, they have that liner in them, we can swim in those."

"Why did you bring PT gear with you to a hotel?"

Phoenix stopped as he made the first landing and looked down at Miles who was standing a few steps behind him, "Ok, it's kind of embarrassing, but I was sleeping when they put in and I hadn't had a chance to pack. So I threw some things into my bag, it just happens to be my gym bag and I usually stash my PT stuff in there. Just in case."

"Just in case you need an emergency work out?"

"No just… I have bandaids too," Miles started up the stairs and passed Phoenix shaking his head, "Probably some granola bars too…"

"Gross," Miles shot him a dark look but kept walking.

"And two lint rollers," Phoenix jogged to catch him up, "it's just my bag where I keep stuff I don't want Larry to swipe."

Miles laughed out loud, "You're worried that Larry will take your shorts and lint rollers?"

Phoenix smiled sheepishly, "These are hot ticket items on the ship. Halfway through the deployment the store always runs out of lint rollers and it's impossible to find PTUs in any size but triple XL."

"Good to know," Miles quipped.

Their banter carried on for a few more floors but eventually fell prey to the exertions necessary in the steady climb of twenty-four floors. They followed the monotonous turns in silence, walking side by side up the narrow stairway, finding a solace in each other's presence that simply did not require conversation.

"What did you think of our dining in?" Phoenix asked as he held the door for Miles to exit out into the twenty-fourth floor corridor.

"It was nice, I've never been to one," Miles smiled at him but kept walking, "Shi-Long said as much too."

"Oh Shi-Long… huh…"

Miles shot him glare but said nothing.

"What the hell kind of name is Shi-Long Lang anyway? He doesn't look Chinese," Phoenix frowned and stuck his hands in his pockets.

"Not Chinese," Miles paused to check the signs on the corridor and they had to backtrack and turn down a different corridor, "He's from Zheng Fa."

"Huh, that place," Phoenix snorted and then he bumped into Miles when he stopped walking.

"Why the sudden interest in Shi-Long Lang?" Miles was eyeing him sidelong and his mouth was starting to pull into a frown again.

"I'm just making conversation… small talk…"

"I see," Miles said and continued walking toward their room.

"Miles, do you… Do you think… I mean, is this going to be a thing? Do you—"

Miles chuckled and took his arm, "It's a bit soon yet, don't you think?"

"We could get married," Phoenix said though his words belied a mounting uncertainty. Miles only laughed and shook his head.

They stopped in front of the room, and stared at each other in the brightly lit corridor. Eventually, Miles raised a hand to touch his face, his pupils were tight in the light of the corridor, his gray eyes were solid as stone. Or the hull of a ship.

"Let's just see where this takes us," Miles said softly his thumb lingering along Phoenix's jaw line. Haze gray. His eyes were haze gray in the artificial light. It made Phoenix smile.

The door to their room opened and Phoenix saw the surprise on Lang's face before he went back in and closed it. But Miles had already dropped his hand and was digging out his key card to open the door.

"Shouldn't you be asleep?" Miles called to the other man when he opened the door and went after him. Phoenix groaned and followed him inside.

"I tried," Lang had on a garish coat with a fur collar, his bag was on the nearest bed where he'd stopped, "It's too still… too quiet. I figured it was early enough, I could get back to the ship and salvage some sleep before watch."

Miles turned on the light and started to unbutton his shirt, Phoenix glanced between them and moved past to get his bag. He did have shorts in his bag and he tossed a pair to Miles, Lang was watching them with a crooked grin.

"What are you two up to?"

"I think we're going to the pool," Miles said before turning to go into the bathroom to change. Lang's grin spread, his brown eyes glinted with a lupine hunger. Phoenix looked away from him and started to undress, folding his clothes as they came off and shoving his things into his bag.

"I'm going to head out," Lang said, turning his predatory grin in his direction, "But I have one thing to ask you, Phoenix Wright."

Phoenix looked at him, he was sure he was glaring, unable to keep his suspicions from surging forth. He'd stripped to the waist and had his hands on his belt buckle when he met Lang's eye.

"You are so handsome," Lang quipped with a cock of his head, "I can see why he likes you so much."

Phoenix frowned, not sure what Lang was trying to do.

"Just do me favor fly boy," Lang turned and shouldered his bag, "Don't break his heart, please. I don't know if I could stand it if I had to deal with that on this deployment."

Phoenix's stare slipped from bristling to startled and he smiled, "Yes, sir."

He chuckled then, "Be safe Shi-Long Lang."

Lang nodded and went to the door, muttering about "taxis in Borginia."

They grabbed extra towels and wore the complimentary bed slippers that came with the room, as neither of them had thought to pack flip flops. Fortunately, the pool was located above them on the twenty-seventh floor, so it was less of an effort to walk there in those inadequate slippers.

The pool was heated and a light sheen of steam hovered above the still water. It was of a size for lap swimming with an end for wading. Several lounge chairs lined the perimeter. The walls were decorated in hand broken ceramic tiles in shades of blue implying ocean waves with a mosaic mural on one end of a coral reef with colorful fish. A second pool, much smaller, had bar at one end, though the lights were off and there was no one nearby.

Miles chose one of the lounge chairs on the deck nearest the lap pool and dropped his towels on it then kicked off his slippers, "Very nice pool," he smiled.

Phoenix replied with a smile, dropping his towels into the chair next to the one Miles had chosen and kicking his slippers off too. Miles was already peering into the water walking along the far edge of the pool and bent at the waist. He was surprised when Miles abruptly dove in, his lithe figure graceful and his form nearly perfect as he slipped into the water. Phoenix sat at the edge of the pool where the water was shallower letting his legs hang in the water.

Miles surfaced and swam to the far end of the pool and then flipped back under the water to kick off, bobbing up again several feet closer and starting to swim with a steady freestyle stroke. Phoenix was starting to shiver and slid into the water where the steam implied it might be warmer than the ambient air. It only came up to his waist and he crouched to dip his shoulders into the water.

Miles surfaced next to him, grinning and tossing his wet hair, "Very nice."

"When did you get so good at swimming?" Phoenix started walking toward the deeper water, so he could be comfortably submerged in its warmth.

Miles laughed, "When I started talking to the recruiters they told me I had to know how to swim, so I had lessons."

"But you didn't have to do all that," Phoenix laughed at him.

"I know that now," Miles laughed, "and what about you? You used to love the water."

"Yeah," Phoenix said, treading water now, "I really loved it and then I joined the Navy."

"I wonder if they make us do it in case we fall off the ship," Miles said, he was smiling and giddy in the pool. It was infectious.

"A sailor knows better than to fall off a ship," Phoenix said under his breath leaning back so that the water cradled his shoulders, "Aviators are more likely to end up in the water."

Miles didn't respond except with a suddenly chilly silence before he thrust himself forward and swam away from him toward the edge of the pool. He climbed out of the pool and went to the chairs where they'd left their towels and toweled himself off. Phoenix could only stare after him in dismay, realizing just then what was upsetting Miles.

It’s because I’m an Aviator...

He'd paused and started to sink and remembered to start kicking again. Was this what he'd been talking to Lang about?

He thought about the aviator they'd memorialized at dinner earlier. Phoenix hadn't known him personally and he flew a different platform with a West Coast Squadron he'd never dealt with. But that didn't change the solemnity of the brief ceremony, after all it could've been any one of them.

Miles had wrapped a towel over his shoulders and didn't spare him even a glare as he walked toward the glass doors of the pool room. Phoenix blinked and moved toward the edge of the pool to push himself out. Of course he wouldn't talk about it—maybe he tried to, but no one really liked to talk about it.

"Miles," he called after him and followed him out of the door without pausing to grab his towel, "Wait, Miles!"

He caught up to him in the next room, which based on the scatter of cardio machines and weight lifting equipment, was supposed to be a fitness center. Miles had stopped near the exit, head down with his hand under the towel and over his face. He looked upset and a little vulnerable too. Phoenix stopped in front of him and slumped, "Aw Miles…"

Miles shook his head in reply and turned and opened the door but didn't step out.

"You don't like that I'm an aviator," Phoenix stared at him, it wasn't a question.

Miles hesitated where he stood, but he he didn't look at him before he continued walking away from Phoenix and toward the stairwell door.

Phoenix huffed and looked down at his feet, water was starting to pool there, and he was starting to shiver from the cold. He should probably go grab his towel and dry off and maybe cover up some. The thought only made him pause for a moment before he jogged after Miles.

Phoenix bounded down the stairs, two and three at a time, slipping once or twice from the residual pool water still making his bare feet slick. Miles was already exiting the door to the twenty-fourth floor when Phoenix caught him up.

"Miles, wait," Phoenix shoved himself forward and stuck his arm out to block the doorway trapping Miles. Miles refused to look at him and chose instead to focus on the door jamb, but he couldn't hide his red-rimmed eyes or the blush across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. Phoenix frowned and tried to get in front of him.

"Hey, don't…" He started—don't what? Don't be upset that I have a dangerous job? Don't pretend that it's none of your business? Don't act like you have a stake in this if we're going to be more than…. More than what? More than one day in a foreign port?

"I know it isn't my place to be upset about it—after all, this is the path you found after I'd pushed you away. One could argue that I'd driven you to this. So it isn't my right to be upset," Miles raised his chin, his gray eyes were hard and cold in the shadow of the doorway.

"Miles," Phoenix choked, what could he say to that?

Miles dropped the hand holding the towel over his face and used it instead to grip his elbow—a nervous gesture Phoenix remembered from when they were kids.

He shook his head, "We can talk about this later," he said forcing a smile, "Let's try and enjoy what little time we have for now."

"I can't stop thinking about it," Miles said still refusing to look at him directly, "Seeing what it does to you. What you have at stake every time you get in that—"

Phoenix crossed his arms, he was frustrated, and he was cold too.

"We can argue about this all night, but there's nothing we can change now," Phoenix was surprised to hear the edge in his own voice.

Miles exhaled, a sound of hopeless resignation, "I'm tired and you're shivering."

Miles very chivalrously offered Phoenix his towel, and they walked in silence back to the room.

They showered separately and Miles very pointedly took the bed Lang had abandoned. Phoenix lay in the center of his bed and stared at the ceiling in the dark, every now and again shadows moved across the ceiling as lights from the city drifted past their window, for the life of him, Phoenix couldn't tell where they were coming from—they were too high up for it to be traffic. He supposed he could just get up and look out the window, but it seemed like too much effort right then.

Plus it’s cold... I’d have to get out from under the covers...

Miles wasn't moving in the other bed, but there was no sound of him sleeping either. Not that he expected Miles to snore, but he was too quiet to be asleep. Maybe?

"Miles?"

Nothing. Not even a sigh or a stir of movement. Maybe he was asleep.

Phoenix sighed, this was not turning out at all like he'd expected. Well, what did you expect?

Not this. The tension and awkwardness.

Was it like this when they were kids? If it had been so wonderful why did you leave?

He stared at the shadows sliding across the ceiling again. This made him want to cry.

He almost sat up when he felt the movement on the bed. Miles had come over to join him with a pillow stolen from the other bed. Phoenix grinned at the darkness.

"If I'm cold, you're probably freezing," Miles said as he settled against him, back to back, "Obviously, we can't bring pets on deployment or I'd have my dog to snuggle with… Or Shi-Long Lang… So you'll have to do."

Phoenix laughed out loud and slid his arm over his face to wipe his tears.

Chapter Text

Miles opened his eyes to the gray light filtering in from the tall windows of the luxury room. Phoenix had an arm over his chest, brown against his own pale skin. His steady breath was soft against his shoulder. Miles shifted slowly, he was loathe to wake him, but he wanted to see that face, especially now without worry or fatigue, at peace.

Phoenix didn't stir, even after being moved. They'd gone to bed relatively early, most of the Air Wing officers were up until the early hours of the morning. It woke him up when he heard them clambering through the halls, many of them had rooms on this same floor—part of the reservation block.

Phoenix had lain awake for hours, he knew because he'd lain awake too. Phoenix even called out to him once or twice in the night. But when he had fallen asleep, it was the solid heavy sleep of exhaustion.

They’re running him ragged...

He always had that kind of energy, always ready to do something more, or keep going… It was a relief to find him at rest. Phoenix sighed in his sleep and turned over so that his back was to him. Miles frowned and before he'd realized he was doing it he watched his own pale fingers touch his back, tracing the lines of sinew.

Miles swallowed, looking at him. He wasn’t this thin two months ago...

“What is it that’s so appealing about flying... I wonder...” Miles said under his breath.

"Huh," Phoenix lifted his head slightly, his voice still thick with sleep.

Miles smiled at him and sat up and yawned before standing to stretch and walking over to look out at the sun rising golden over the city. It wasn't very beautiful as far as cities go—not when one had to contend with places like Munich or Rome. Borginia was just starting to recover from the decades she spent as the most western part of the Soviet Union, and there was an uneven derelict quality to the façade this city presented. The medieval architecture was nearly drowned out and buried by the industrial building projects of that era, while garish modern signs in flash colors drew the eye in too many directions.

His eye caught Colonel Sanders' smile from a sign where "KFC" had been replaced with Borginian characters. He frowned. Is this what we’re doing all this for?

He studied the empty streets engilded by the rising sun, so he didn't notice Phoenix had risen until the other's arms wrapped around him from behind, those hands sliding under the tee shirt he'd thrown on to sleep in.

"Why good morning, dear," he turned his head and smiled.

Phoenix buried his head into his shoulder blades and yawned in reply, "Hey Miles, do you want to…?"

Miles rolled his eyes, Phoenix was barely awake.

"Cuz I want to if you want to."

Miles just laughed and pulled out of his embrace, "I'm going to the head."

"Okay," Phoenix yawned again and followed him, "Maybe after?"

He was more alert after brushing his teeth and splashing water on his face, but still, Miles was uncertain about this. They had the whole day ahead of them after all. Why all the desperation and rush?

He was still thinking these thoughts when Phoenix shoved him into the tumbled white sheets of the hotel bed and leaned over him using his teeth to pull up his tee shirt. Miles threw his head back, laughing as Phoenix hooked a toe into the band of his underwear and slid them all the way down to his knees. He pressed down on him then and kissed him long on the mouth, pulling away only when they both needed to catch their breath.

Phoenix rose to his knees and pulled Miles up roughly so that they were face to face. He had a stern look on his face then, the sun lending gold to his dark eyes and picking out the stark lines of his body. Phoenix pulled him closer so they were pressed together and kissed him again, thrusting his tongue hungrily into him. Miles could feel his lips and his teeth against his, desperate and predatory. The press of his lean hard body against him, the stiffening of it against his hip and his own eager response.

Then the phone rang.

Miles turned his head, Is that my phone?

"Don't!" Phoenix held him fast, his voice was hoarse and breathy, "Just let it ring."

Miles resisted him for a few moments and then he had to fight him off, "Stop."

He glared hard at Phoenix, and the other man backed off and slouched looking at him hurt and indignant.

Miles jumped off of the bed almost tripping on himself from the underwear that had lately fallen around his ankles.

"You can't be serious," Phoenix grumbled under his breath.

Miles only spared him a quick glance.

"Hello? Lieutenant Edgeworth," he said into the phone after retrieving it from last night's khakis, "Yes, I am..."

Phoenix glared at him while Miles listened to the speaker frowning. Finally he threw himself on the bed petulantly and finished himself off, muttering under his breath.

But Miles didn't have time for this, he hung up and pulled his underwear on, painfully aware that he was still erect as he did so. He could feel Phoenix's angry glare following him as he moved around the room getting dressed and packing his things hastily.

"That was MAC," he said when it seemed that Phoenix had calmed enough to listen, "I have to get back to the ship."

"Is someone dead?" Phoenix asked dryly, his voice was still stiff with anger.

"No one is dead, no one from the crew anyway," Miles said equally curt, "But I've got three Sailors being held by the local magistrate."

Phoenix scowled and didn't reciprocate when Miles paused to kiss him on his way out.

"I'll get a hold of you as soon as I know what's going to happen," Miles said and turned to exit the door.

"How is this any different than when I have to fly?"

Miles startled and then turned to look at him, glaring, "I will forgive you that... Because you're aroused and you’re emotional…" Miles turned to leave, "We'll talk about this later."

"Miles I didn't mean to—" and the door closed behind his back.

The cab ride to the pier seemed ridiculously long, in spite of there being very little traffic in the streets. MAC was waiting for him at the gangplank dressed in his shore khakis with ribbons and his shiny police badge. His combination cover was tipped back a little too far and he'd stuck a stub of pencil behind his ear.

"Good morning Mister Edgeworth," Chief Gumshoe smiled and touched his hat in salute.

"Chief," Miles replied with a nod, "Will you walk with me to my stateroom? I promise I won't be long."

He held up his CAC for the watch Petty Officers and requested permission to board and Chief followed suit behind him.

Miles frowned as they crossed the hangar bay, he'd expected to see Lang on the Quarterdeck. He didn't wait for Chief to finish dogging the hatch before starting up the ladders at a run. He immediately felt the effect of all those stairs yesterday and he grimaced as he climbed the ladders.

"What do you know so far, Chief?"

"Well Sir, the Borginian police are holding three sailors from OEM division, FC3 Flonkerton, FC3 Geddes, and FCSN Franks. Young guys, first tour—no record of misconduct, none of them. They're all over twenty-one, in fact I think Geddes is twenty-three. So they're mature enough. OEM Divo is in shock over it."

"Okay," Miles paused to look at Chief, "What about the charges?"

Chief Gumshoe frowned, "Sexual Assault, Sir… and the magistrate won't extradite them to us for court martial."

"Has anyone contacted the embassy regarding this matter?"

"Yes sir, they're supposed to send someone out to meet with us."

Miles offered the Chief a tight lipped smile, "Good work this morning, Chief."

The JO jungle was blessedly deserted and Chief agreed to standby while he went into his stateroom to get dressed. He dropped his bag on the deck and opened the locker and slid his blues over and pulled out his own khakis and hung them on the handle of the closed locker door and began to undress.

He paused, shocked, "Shi-Long?"

Lang was lying in his rack fully dressed in his shipboard working khakis and wearing a gun belt around his hips and one arm thrown over his face. He didn't move or reply.

"What are you doing? I thought you had the wa—"

Lang sat up abruptly and glared murderously at Miles.

"Those are my men," he said in clipped tones, "I hope to God you're as good as everyone seems to believe you are."

Miles only frowned in reply and hurried to finish getting dressed.

XO himself was standing at the bottom to the gangplank when they exited the ship. He was wearing a civilian shirt and blue jeans that did nothing to diminish his imposing figure.

"JAG, MAC," he greeted them curtly, "You'll report to me immediately?"

"Yes, Sir," They replied in unison.

At the same pavilion where they'd caught the MWR bus the previous day, a white seventeen passenger van was waiting. The Petty Officer driving it was wearing his green camouflage and a gun belt.

He nodded at them respectfully, "I'm MA1 Rhyne, Sir, Chief. From NSA security. NCIS is going to meet us there later, and apparently someone from the State Department."

"Very good," Miles said.

Chief Gumshoe joined MA1 up front while Miles sat alone in the next row of seats, at least NSA had sent someone, as none of them knew the area very well. Traffic was starting to build as they entered the city, now that her denizens were waking up. But MA1 was not intimidated by this and navigated the streets with practiced ease.

They arrived at the municipal building a few minutes later. The city government building was housed in an imposing rectangular structure recalling that stark industrial period of history, additional moldings of poured cement had been added at some point to dress up the building's façade and cement molded statuary depicting lions were placed so as to guard the entryway. MA1 parked and escorted them into the building without much fanfare and led them up three flights of stairs to the reception counter for the local police.

The receptionist eyed them with curiosity as they approached the counter, peering through a small window lined with metal bars that protected her from physical attack. They didn't have to wait long before they were met by a fat balding man in an ill fitting police uniform.

"Hello, US Navy," he greeted them in a bluff friendly way shaking their hands in turn and eyeing their uniforms with interest.

"Zey are in holding for now," he said bobbing and nodding to them, "Are you vanting to speak viz em now?"

Chief Gumshoe looked at him and urged him to reply. Miles hesitated, staring at the big Chief before turning to face the policeman.

"Right now we want an overview of the circumstances that led to the arrest and confinement of these gentlemen and a description of the charges, if you please."

"Okay," he frowned at Miles, "So you are not vanting talk viz em?"

Miles eyed Chief Gumshoe, he looked like he was going to protest, "We will meet with them in due course. But for now we need to make sure we've got a handle on the situation."

Gumshoe nodded at him, finally seeming to catch on. Miles turned back to the Borginian policeman, "Now, Sir. Pray tell, what happened that made you arrest these three?"

The policeman led the two of them behind the counter and past an open workspace into his own cramped office and bade them sit. He offered them strong coffee, similar to the Turkish style, poured from a silver pot with a long spout into small cups. Then he settled behind his desk, leaning back so that the swell of his belly pressed against the desktop. And he relayed his story.

On the outside it seemed a simple case of young men, having been confined to a ship for several weeks, losing control with the preponderance of drink and the money to pay for it. The girl had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

She was the daughter of a wealthy Borginian goods broker—odd that she should find herself in that part of town at that time of night. Miles frowned, it was a little too neat. He didn't doubt that these sailors had gone out drinking. He was sure he'd find there were parts of last night that they wouldn't be able to recall.

The policeman made a point of describing the sailors as debauched—deviant even.

"Where is she now?"

"She is vit family now, in her home," the policeman said.

"Has she been to a hospital?"

The policeman frowned at him and relayed mostly by way of expression that he did not understand what she would go to the hospital for.

When they finished their interview, they were led back to the reception counter where MA1 was waiting with two people, one, a Special Agent Oldbag who'd flown into Borginia last night from Naples and had presently arrived from NSA Gatrinkel, and Ron DeLite, a squirrelly young man claiming to be from the Embassy. Miles frowned, neither of them seemed very likely at all.

She was an older woman, thin and spry, but wrinkled and withered—though whether from simply age or lifestyle, or a combination of both, he was not willing to hazard a guess. She smiled immediately when she saw him, and giggled girlishly when they were introduced. It made him want to cringe.

DeLite, on the other hand, was shy and skittish, in a suit that looked a little too large and a wide-eyed gaze that engulfed his face. Miles needed the State Department, but the look of this man made him less sanguine about just how much help he'd get.

Miles frowned at Special Agent Oldbag and then at Mister DeLite and then let out an exasperated sigh.

"Chief," Miles said turning toward the big man, "Perhaps you and Agent Oldbag—"

"That's Special Agent, kiddo," She winked at him, "You're lucky you're so cute."

"Em… yes, well," Miles grimaced, "Er, Chief, why don't you take Special Agent Oldbag to talk to the defendants and get their side of the story?"

"Yes Sir!" Chief grinned and popped him a salute, "Will this be evidence, Sir?"

"Yes Chief, read 'em their thirty-one bravo…" Miles drooped as he turned to Mister DeLite, "Mister DeLite—"

DeLite huddled against himself meekly in reply, "Yes Sir! Mister Navy guy…"

"Perhaps we can find a more private place to discuss this?"

"Yes Captain! Let's go to the konditerie across the street! I mean…. It'll be private… Usually…" he trailed off. Miles blinked at him. Definitely not sanguine.

"That will do, Mister DeLite," Miles motioned toward the open stairwell, "Lead the way, if you please, sir."

Mister DeLite clasped his hands together and bobbed his head, before turning on his heel and bounding down the stairs. Miles followed him, brows furrowed, mouth set and grim. No, not sanguine at all…

Miles was familiar with konditerieien, as they were rather prevalent in Germany and his sister—though she would deny it if asked—had a bit of a sweet-tooth. It almost made him smile, this fleeting thought of her, but he let those thoughts drift off into nothing and when they exited the municipal building, he placed his cover on his head and followed Mister DeLite across the street.

It was devoid of customers this early in the morning, though the scent of coffee and baked goods and the bustle of noise from the kitchens belied a frenetic activity. They were calling to each other in Borginian—which Miles did not understand. He took off the garish combination cover and tucked it under his arm and looked toward the counter where the woman tending the register was staring at him in awe.

"What are you having?" Mister DeLite said quietly and he'd turned his head but did not look directly at Miles.

"Coffee is fine," Miles replied, "with milk if they have it."

Ron DeLite placed their order in what seemed like fluent Borginian, his voice surprisingly steady in the foreign tongue. Then he led Miles to a booth in the corner of the konditerie that overlooked the street facing the municipal building. They sat across from each other and Miles carefully placed his cover in the seat beside him before reaching into his pocket to pull out a small memo pad and a pen. He looked at Mister DeLite directly and the other man seemed to fold into himself a little.

"Sir," Miles said, "I know there's no SOFA here. But can you tell me what treaties or agreements we do have in place with regards to our military personnel in Borginia? Or anything to do with American citizens accused of criminal acts? We are hoping to convince them to let us handle this case within our own system."

Mister DeLite put his head down, a hand on each cheek, "B-but the crime… That's what's making this so impossible… We can't imply that we give special protections…"

His voice faded into an inaudible muttering, and Miles leaned back in dismay and crossed his arms. Well, at least he'd had the opportunity to spend one night on liberty… Even if it wasn't perfect, it had been perfectly nice.

He dragged himself alone up the gangplank later that afternoon. Lang was leaning on the podium glaring out at the pier, and didn't even notice Miles' presence when he requested permission to board. The Petty Officer manning the quarterdeck looked a little harried.

"Edgeworth!" Lang barked at him as he stepped into the hangar bay, "You have to muster with your workcenter."

Miles frowned at him, perplexed, "What?"

Lang pointed up at the overhead, "Papa flag."

Miles stood there taking a moment to puzzle out his meaning, "Right… Thanks."

"Do you have any news for me?" Lang's tone was sharp and clipped, if Miles didn't know him it might have frightened him.

Miles gazed at the scared Petty Officer manning the quarter deck and then waved Lang over as he moved a ways into the hangar, out of the way of the traffic moving in and out—but mostly into the ship. Lang put his hands on the gun belt strapped across his hips and glared, his eyes were narrowed menacingly and he had his head down, teeth bared.

"Shi-Long," Miles eyed him apprehensively, "It's pretty bad. But I assure you we are doing everything we can."

"That's not really news," Lang's voice was little more than a growl rising from his throat.

"You know I can't talk about it," Miles said, "Not until I've made my report to the XO."

Lang's bristling didn't dissipate, but he nodded and turned back toward the Quarterdeck. Miles watched him a moment, frowning. This was not going to be pretty at all.

Chapter Text

Phoenix opened his eyes and blinked at the familiar dimness of his stateroom. He turned away from the metal bed frame above him and saw Larry's feet hanging from the rack above. He yawned and then stretched, it was nice to wake up naturally, and not because he had to.

"Good morn—" he began, but it was cut off by another yawn. Larry made no reply or movement in reply so Phoenix reached up and grabbed one of his ankles and gave it a shake.

After a few moments of shuffling movement and some creaking from the rack above, Larry's feet were replaced by Larry's head.

"Hey, dude," Larry said, "You good?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"Dude it's after 1100," Larry frowned, "I was starting to think you got sick or something."

"No," Phoenix sat up and pulled his legs out from under the covers and planted his feet on the cold deck, "Just trying to catch up on sleep I guess. What are you doing?"

"Watching some movies, Doug had a bunch of movies I haven't seen yet," Larry's voice was starting to sound distracted, evidently he'd returned to watching his movies.

Phoenix stood then and stretched again before gathering his toiletry kit and a towel.

"Dude," Larry quipped as he left the stateroom, "You missed it, they totes had bagels at breakfast today."

Phoenix frowned at him, "You know you could've just not told me and I'd be blissfully unawares…"

But Larry wasn't listening.

He entered the aft mess about a half-hour later wearing a flight suit and boots, it was surprisingly empty despite the smell of steak wafting from the galley.

"Hello, Wright," Phoenix nearly jumped out of his flight suit, and turned to find Commander Armando with his ubiquitous mug in his hand. He was also wearing his flight suit.

"Morning, Sir," he said smiling sheepishly at him.

"Afternoon," Armando smirked and cut in front of him in line.

"Ha, so it is…" Phoenix said glancing at his watch.

"I'm surprised to find you lurking around on the ship," Armando gave him a pointed look before turning to address the CS2 cooking several large strip steaks over an enormous speed line grill, "Do you have anything approaching medium rare?"

"Yes, Sir," CS2 said and plated one of the steaks and passed the plate to Armando.

Phoenix eyed the steak sidelong, "Are we in trouble?"

The Commander snorted and walked down the line to complete his meal, "What do you think?"

Phoenix looked at CS2, "What do you know, shipmate?"

CS2 bobbed his head sagely, "Somebody in trouble, sir. What can I get you?"

Commander Armando was already tucking in when Phoenix joined him, "It can't be that bad if they didn't bring out the lobster."

He grimaced, "These are a little freezer burnt… It could be they're just clearing out for fresh stores."

"But the recall," Phoenix said, and Miles had to return to the ship early yesterday, too.

Armando chewed and raised his head, contemplative, "Well, whatever it was, none of our people were involved."

Phoenix nodded thoughtfully, if that was good enough for Commander Armando, it should be good enough for him.

But what about Miles...? He was angry when he left...

Yeah because you were being a total douche yesterday morning...

He returned to the stateroom after he'd eaten to find that Larry was still hugging his laptop and watching movies. Phoenix tried to read and then he played with his phone before deciding he really ought not stay aboard if he didn't have to.

He put on his jeans and a wash worn tee shirt, faded blue with a Captain America shield on the chest. Larry still hadn't stirred as he dressed and didn't seem to notice his departure.

It was a beautiful day, despite the haze coming off of the sea and the heat of the cement covered pier. He slid on his sunglasses as he walked down the gangplank, hands in the pockets of his jeans, as his gaze roved over the throngs of people confined to the pier.

They were recalled the previous day and he, along with the other officers were briefed on the skipper's decision to restrict liberty to the pier and CAG's decision that the AirWing stand in solidarity with the crew. They just didn't say why.

Oh, he certainly had an inkling of why, they'd received the order to return to the ship mere hours after Miles rushed out saying he'd had a call from MAC and that three sailors had been arrested. Yeah, he had a pretty good idea what led to this.

"Nick!" He paused on the pier and looked over to see Adrian sitting with about a dozen other Air Wing officers at one of the metal picnic tables set out for their use. She was smiling and waving at him, he returned the greeting in kind, but he kept walking. He wanted to see what kind of facilities the ship had set up for them.

He grinned to himself when he saw her standing in a line outside of one of the clapboard buildings. Part of hair had been pulled up into a topknot, while the rest flowed over her shoulders and down her back. She was jabbering animatedly with another girl he only presently recognized as Airman Faraday. He peeked over his glasses and shot Airman Faraday a conspiratorial wink as he leaned over Maya's shoulder, "Guess who?"

Maya screamed and whirled around startling him, and she wrapped her arms around him so tightly he gasped and the wind was nearly knocked out of him, "Nick!"

"Hello Maya," he grunted weakly as she squeezed him, "Nice… to… see… you… too.."

"Are you going to come with us to get a mani-pedi?"

"Huh?" He looked towards the building they were lined up at still rubbing his smarting ribs, "Is that what this is?"

"Please Nick? No one can complain if we were getting a mani-pedi and you just happened to show up and get a mani-pedi too. It's not like it was planned or anything!"

Phoenix smiled and shot her a sidelong glance, but he nodded and joined them in line.

The line moved faster than he'd expected it would and while they were standing there, Maya chatted excitedly about some grand shopping plaza she'd explored with Faraday and a few other names he didn't recognize. It seemed like no time at all before they were being ushered into large chairs with Maya and Airman Faraday flanking him on both sides.

The small woman that would be working on him didn't look Borginian at all, but rather, East Asian—not Chinese or Japanese—but from that part of the world. She smiled coyly at him and bid him remove his shoes. He watched with much curiosity as she prepared the tools of her trade, he'd never done this before. Looking at Faraday and Maya's feet to either side of him, he was starting to feel a little embarrassed.

"Aw Nick, your feet are cute!" Maya said and Airman Faraday giggled which only served to make him more self conscious.

The woman tending him held one of his feet in her gloved hands and grinned up at him, "Man feet," she quipped and laughed.

Phoenix blushed outright, absolutely regretting his decision to join Maya on this venture.

"Sucks that we got recalled," Maya said, "We didn't really get a chance to do anything."

"What were you planning to do?" Phoenix was watching the process intently and didn't look at her directly when he asked.

"I was hoping to get swept away by a Borginian prince," Maya joked, "We were going to run away together and live in some fancy castle on a mountain over looking the sea."

"Did you put in a special request chit for that?" Phoenix quipped and his comment drew laughter from both of them.

"Mister Wright," Airman Faraday asked, much more at ease than he'd ever seen her, "Do you know why we got recalled?"

He looked over at her with a slight frown, "Eh… No idea, no."

"I heard some guys got arrested," Maya added brightly, as if she were talking about her favorite show and not the dire situation her fellow sailors were in.

Phoenix sat back in his chair and stared, frowning at his feet, "It's not something you should go around talking about."

"Didn't JAG say there was no SOFA here? In the port brief," Faraday was staring inquisitively at him when he turned to face her.

"Sure," he said, unable to hide his growing discomfort, "But still… There's an open investigation…"

Phoenix had no idea if there was an investigation or not, but he wanted to stop talking about it.

"I flew to the ship with Lieutenant Edgeworth," Faraday said resting her chin in her hand, "From Norfolk."

Phoenix swallowed, this turn in the conversation didn't really seem much better, "Huh. Cool."

"Nick and the JAG are real good friends," Maya offered and Phoenix felt the heat rush to his face.

"Yeah, we…" the pedicurist tweaked one of his toes painfully and he hissed in pain and surprise, "Um, we were kids together."

"Really?" Airman Faraday asked with disconcerting enthusiasm, "Where are you guys from?"

"California," Phoenix was short in his speech suddenly, not liking where the conversation was heading, "So… um… What are you guys going to do if we're stuck here on the pier?"

"I don't know," Airman Faraday frowned, "I'm not twenty-one, so it's going to be pretty lame."

"I want to buy one of those cute little dicks for my cousin. She'll think it's a riot," Maya grinned and Phoenix grimaced, wondering what kind of freak her cousin must be to enjoy that kind of thing. Fortunately, conversation remained light after that and Phoenix was pleasantly surprised to find that Airman Faraday was an interesting kid.

Maya convinced him to paint his toenails blue and the woman obliged him by painting a little Captain America shield on each of his big toes to match his shirt, and he tried to choke down his dismay as he paid and walked out with the two of them wearing ridiculous foam flip flops and carrying his shoes under his arm with his socks tucked into them.

He walked back to the ship with them and waved them off pierside, they were going to get chow on the ship. Phoenix turned to go back into the crowd. He stopped at an empty picnic table to take off the flimsy foam flip flops and put his shoes back on.

"That's the gayest shit I've ever seen," Phoenix looked up to see Lang standing over him, unsmiling and dressed simply in dark fitted jeans and boots with a dark gray collared shirt open at the throat.

Phoenix only smiled at him and returned to putting on his socks and shoes, "Hey man, you doing okay?"

Lang only shook his head, hands on his hips, and his mouth set in a grimace. He looked a little scary.

"Where's your friend?" Lang asked pointedly and Phoenix knew immediately which friend he'd meant.

"I haven't seen him since he took off from the hotel yesterday morning," Phoenix stood and looked at Lang, "I guess he's busy with whatever happened."

Lang glared hard at him, and walked away brusquely saying over his shoulder, "If you hear from him, tell him I'm looking for him."

"Don't you guys share a stateroom?" Phoenix muttered at the vacant space Lang left behind.

Feeling a little shaken at seeing Lang that way, and having no where else to go he made his way back to where he'd seen Adrian earlier and joined the much expanded group of Air Wing officers laughing and conversing loudly and passing around beer like it was soda.

He shoved his glasses onto his head in the deepening shadows of afternoon and Adrian made room for him to sit next to her. Someone handed him a plastic cup of warm frothy beer and he took it out of politeness.

No one in this group seemed very interested in the arrest of the sailors, and were speculating instead about Matt Engarde.

"We never saw him again after he left," Juan explained to the group, "When we got the recall message, I thought for a second that he might've done something crazy."

"Doesn't help that JAG has been lurking around in his dress blues—something serious is going on," Phoenix didn't recognize the woman with poofy red hair out of uniform, but she must be Air Wing as well.

"You saw him here?" Phoenix asked trying and failing to sound nonchalant.

"Well," the red-head gazed sidelong at him, "He was on the ship about an hour ago."

Phoenix gazed up at the ship's hulking mass and then eyed her in serious contemplation, "Where on the ship?"

"He was on the main deck," she replied and started scrutinizing him more carefully.

"Stop worrying, Nick," Adrian put a hand on his arm, "he's working."

Conversation eased after that and they laughed and joked and drank the skunky beer like it was going out of style. It was dark when the Storekeeper stopped beside their group with a hand truck to claim the empty keg and offered another, compliments of Captain Skye, he'd told them.

"Do they really have that much beer in the hold?" Larry asked and Phoenix looked at him in surprise, he hadn't seen Larry arrive.

"Not anymore," Phoenix laughed emptying his red plastic cup.

Night had fallen in the interim and across the plaza on the other side of a tent were most of the enlisted sailors were gathered, the lights were moving and the music was pulsing loudly. A large, tightly packed group of people were dancing on the blacktop in front of the small stage where a DJ was spinning.

A couple of the guys in their own group had stood to dance along right were they were. Phoenix laughed. Juan had his guitar on his knee and was smiling at Lauren Davies and the red-head. Adrian sidled into him and sat leaning on him awkwardly, her head against his shoulder.

Doug was standing in front of them telling a story from some group venture while they were in Virginia, Phoenix hadn't been there and he doubted the veracity of it, but he laughed where it was warranted and choked down the skunky beer, feeling warm and buzzed.

He startled when someone squeezed in on his other side and leaned into him roughly. Adrian too sat up and looked around indignant.

"Any luck?" Lang said into his ear and Phoenix turned awkwardly toward him.

"Oh, hey," He smiled, "No. I haven't seen him."

Lang grimaced and stood to walk away. Adrian snuggled back into him, but Phoenix watched Lang in concern.

"What's he doing here?" Matt Engarde had joined the group, seemingly out of nowhere. His eyes were bloodshot and he was unsteady where he stood. The group quieted immediately and stared. The pounding music and the sound of general merriment seemed subdued all of the sudden.

"Hey, where have you been, man?" Juan said as he stood to join him.

Matt blinked and swayed, "I was on the ship… we got recalled…"

He frowned around at the group and his gaze stopped on Adrian, "Come with me."

He held his hand out to her but Adrian only stared.

"Come on, girl," he waved his hand beckoning, "I just want to talk to you."

"I'm good, Matt," Adrian said unable to hide the apprehension in her voice, "Thanks."

He made a face at her and then leaned forward grabbing at her arms, Phoenix swatted him away, "Come on, man. She said no."

Matt glared at him, unsteady, "Wright, mind your business… Come on Adrian, I just want to talk."

"No," she said, "I'm fine right here."

Matt glared at the two of them hatefully, his eyes sliding over them, the way Adrian leaned into Phoenix.

"Huh," he grunted and shook his head, "Why are you always hanging off of his balls? You know he's a fag right?"

If the group was quiet before it was absolutely silent now. Adrian stood, "You're drunk! Matt do yourself a favor and get back to your room."

Phoenix eyed him suspiciously, 'drunk' seemed like an understatement.

"Adrian, come on!" Matt reached over and grabbed her arm boldly. Phoenix stood to push him off and Juan grabbed Matt's other arm to pull him away.

"I got him guys," Juan said and was already shoving Matt away from the group and back toward the open maw of the gangplank. Phoenix stood glaring after them, fists clenching and unclenching. He jumped when Adrian took his arm in both of hers.

"Nick," she looked up at him in concern, "sit down, it's alright."

"That dude's insane," Larry muttered and threw his arm over Phoenix's shoulder, "Come on."

Phoenix sighed, "Whatever…"

He sat down again flanked on one side by Larry and Adrian on the other. He was still shaking slightly from the adrenaline.

Juan returned an entirely too short an amount of time later, looking shaken but he only answered with grunts and shrugs when asked. He sat down with the group and picked up his guitar from where he'd left it and began to strum absently.

Phoenix ran a hand through his hair and stood to refill his cup, the music from the DJ was pounding in his chest in time to his own heartbeat. He didn't sit when he returned to Larry and Adrian.

"Are you okay?" Adrian looked inquiringly up at him. Phoenix only nodded.

The conversation was still subdued in their gathering, but it was happening, which was better than the shocked silence that seemed to suffocate.

"Dude," Larry looked up at him with an overly awed expression, "Is it true? Are you…"

Phoenix stared down at him frowning.

"Are you gay?" Larry finished in a very loud stage whisper.

"Go to hell Larry," Phoenix said and sat between him and Adrian.

"This changes everything!" Larry said dramatically and was joined by laughter from the rest of the group, Phoenix put his head down, but he laughed too.

It took a while to chase out the awkwardness brought on by Matt's horrible scene, most of it accomplished by hitting on Phoenix.

"Hey Nick," Doug had said, "If you ever get lonely…"

"Stop!" Phoenix laughed.

"Honestly, I think he's just jealous," Adrian said.

"Because you're so hawt," Juan added suggestively to more laughter.

Phoenix stood to leave, but Larry put an arm out to stop him, "Dude, don't leave just because that a-hole wants to come around and start stuff."

"I'm going to see if they still have any burgers left," Phoenix slid out of Larry's reach, "Does anyone else want anything?"

"I'll come with," Adrian hopped up to join him and they left the group and walked toward the MWR tent set up just in front of the gangplank. The grill was still spewing smoke, but no one was cooking and nobody stood in line.

The kid manning the table grinned at them and hopped to his feet, "What can I get you?"

"What do you have left?"

Adrian was eyeing the tent in confusion, "Is this for MWR or JSA?"

"Navy Ball," he smiled again, "Some of it might be cold now, but I'm sure it's fine."

Phoenix was eyeing the young man now, he looked familiar, "Have we met before?"

"Um," he frowned thoughtfully for a moment and then grinned, "I'm LN3 Justice—we did the port brief. Maybe you remember me from—"

"Where's JAG?"

Adrian glanced between Phoenix and LN3 in concern.

"Um, who are you?" The kid tugged at his bangs which hung over his head in two strands, he looked suspicious now.

"Lieutenant Wright," Phoenix's gaze hardened and the young man looked at him wide-eyed and popped to attention and offered a salute.

Phoenix waved him away, "We're not in uniform, Petty Officer. I'm just curious if you knew where JAG is?"

LN3 shrugged, "No idea sir! He's been handling things in the city, but I don't know any more than that."

Chapter Text

Miles took the ladder slowly, he'd never been this deep in the belly of the ship before. The narrow passages of the brig were cluttered with pipes and machinery, a sharp contrast to what he'd grown used to on the O-3 level.

Senior Badd was wearing his working khakis, and stood to greet Miles when he entered the tiny office.

"Evening, sir," He said gruffly before sticking his lollipop back in his mouth.

"I came as soon as I could, Senior," Miles said.

"You shouldn't have bothered, sir," Senior grumbled, but he came around from behind his desk and with a motion of his hand, bade him follow. They went back into the passage and went toward a dogged hatch with the door painted Navy blue and several warning signs posted.

"It happens almost every time," Senior explained as he let Miles into the brig proper. Senior had them in separate cooling cells. Lieutenant Engarde was asleep in the rack in his cell, a faint smell of vomit and alcohol was still noticeable in the air around him.

"We have a long underway, the guys get cabin fever and they overdo it the minute you let them on the pier."

Lang was sitting up in his rack, angry and brooding, arms crossed, and staring at the deck.

"Lieutenant Lang," Senior said as they approached, Lang glared at him and then at Miles and grimaced.

"Senior Chief…" he growled, "JAG."

Miles moved into the tight space so that he was directly against the bars of the cell and tried to meet Lang's eye, "Shi-Long, what happened?"

"I don't know," Lang met him with a frightening glare, "He came at me on the pier. The watch didn't even try to let me sort it out."

"It's bad enough we got sailors in jail out in town, we don't need officers fighting on the gangplank too,"Senior shook his head in disdain, "It's no wonder they went and did—"

"Allegedly!"

Senior gave a derisive snort, "It's a reflection of their leadership."

Miles frowned studying Lang, he'd never seen him in such a state. His hair was mussed from where he must have been tearing at it. He was red-faced, the veins showed on his temples and his neck, "Senior, let us have a few minutes."

Senior Badd looked at Miles in surprise, "What? Why?"

"Just… Five minutes, Senior," Miles said.

"I hope you know what you're doing kid," Senior huffed and turned shaking his head.

"Senior Chief Badd," Miles didn't turn to look at him, "You may address me by rank or title. You will not refer to me as 'kid'."

Lang's eyes went wide and his anger seemed to dissipate some, Miles crossed his arms and stood stiffly.

"Yes Sir," Senior muttered before leaving.

Lang grinned in spite of his anger, "Lieutenant Edgeworth! Laying down the law!"

Miles only glared, "What were you thinking?"

Lang's grin closed into a scowl, "He came at me."

"He's very intoxicated," Miles frowned pointedly, "What's your excuse?"

Lang bristled defensively and then drooped, sighing dejectedly, "There's no excuse. I was looking for you, and this clown tried to jump me."

"I need you tomorrow," Miles said and rested his hands on the bars of the cell, "So we can try and save your sailors. This… This was stupid, careless."

Lang nodded mutely, obviously remorseful.

"I'm going to talk to Senior and XO," Miles shook his head, "but he's probably going to make you spend the night."

Lang shrugged, he seemed spent suddenly, and exhausted, "I trust you."

"Get some rest," Miles turned to leave.

"Miles," Lang stood and approached the bars of the cell, "You should probably put a bug in XO's ear about a health and welfare."

Miles met his pointed stare and hesitated before giving him a nod, "Good night."

"Lieutenant Edgeworth," Senior said scathingly when Miles entered his office.

Miles sighed, "Senior Chief, what do you know about health and welfare checks? Can we do this underway?"

Senior shrugged, "Do you think there's a reason to do one? We just need skipper to sign off. I was going to let them out of here in the morning, once they've sobered up, but I can get a Corpsman down here before they're released."

"Very good, Senior," Miles hesitated and then continued, "I have to take Lieutenant Lang to talk to NCIS. Over on NSA. You don't think this episode will cause us any great harm as regards this case?"

Senior Badd leaned back in his chair and pulled the lollipop out of his mouth, "Sir, it isn't right. He's an officer—both of them. Engarde has had issues in the past, but Lang has been stellar. I don't know that he'll get away with this without a mark on his record, though…. But no, it shouldn't interfere with this case. He'll be cleaned up and ready to have his chat with NCIS, tomorrow. What time is his interview?"

"Fourteen," Miles frowned and looked at the deck.

"It'll be fine," Senior said gruffly and stuck the lollipop back in his mouth. Miles turned to depart and Senior leaned forward on his desk and cleared his throat, "Mister Edgeworth, sir, I'm sorry if I offended you earlier. You do good work and you deserve all the respect of your rank and title."

Miles nodded without looking at him paused near the open hatch, "Noted."

"But you are so young!" Senior laughed, "I've got skivvies older'n you!"

Miles grimaced at him and then turned, shaking his head, "That's very gross, Senior."

He returned to his stateroom and pulled off the black coat with its gold brocade at the cuffs, and hung it carefully in the locker. He'd have to iron the black slacks again, and he had a few extra dress shirts. He sighed and grabbed his shower things, stopping to sweep the small stateroom with his eyes. He hated having a roommate, being forced to live a top one another. Never having real privacy. But as his eyes fell on Lang's tidy rack, empty and untouched, he felt a little at a loss.

Miles awoke early, he'd been tired enough to sleep at least and while she was moored and on shore power, the ship was much more quiet. More like a building than a living leviathan. He slid into his NWUs, because they were easy and at hand and made his rack.

He had to knock three times before Phoenix opened the door and stared blearily at him. He smiled but it was broken by a yawn.

"Hello," Phoenix said, "Where've you been?"

Miles smirked at him, "Out and about, what are you planning today?"

Phoenix rubbed the back of his head mussing his spiky hair even worse than sleep had and yawned again, "Oh I don't know."

"I need an escort to NSA," Miles said casually and stuck his hands in his pockets, Phoenix grinned at him. Miles cleared his throat, "I thought if we left a little early, we could grab lunch."

"What kind of escort?" Phoenix scratched his cheek and then grinned mischievously at him, "I'll escort you anywhere you like."

Miles scoffed, "It's for Shi-Long, MAC and I are taking him to NSA to talk to NCIS, I need to have a commissioned officer present to accompany us. XO just told me to take whomever was available"

Phoenix frowned slightly and scratched his head, "Oh, so do I have to wear a uniform?"

"Service Dress Blues," Miles said, "I can find someone else if your blues aren't ready—"

"What time?"

"I thought we could meet on the quarter deck at eleven thirty," Miles said.

"I'll be ready," Phoenix had returned to his rack and stuck his hand under his pillow and pulled out his phone to check the time, "Do you want breakfast?"

Miles smiled at him.

"Give me two minutes," Phoenix said with a smile and he swept his index finger over the top of Miles' nose affectionately before closing the stateroom door.

He came out minutes later wearing a rumpled flight suit, toothbrush in hand, "I just need to hit the head real quick."

He was still rubbing his eyes as they made their way toward the aft mess, "We just hung out on the pier," he said casually, "Lang was looking for you."

"I know," Miles said frowning, "I talked with him last night."

"He seemed pretty… on edge…"

"He spent the night in the brig—he's probably still there."

Phoenix stopped walking, "What? How? Why?"

Miles shook his head, "How well do you know Matt Engarde?"

Phoenix shrugged and started walking again a little ways ahead of him now, "He's a typical fighter pilot… He wasn't in the brig too, was he?"

Miles leveled his glare stonily at him, "I'd heard you were in school together."

"Yeah, we were in flight school in Texas, SERE in California, then we were at NAS Pensacola for fighter training—in the same class, and we both ended up in Oceana together. Not in the same squadron though. He's… He's usually pretty cool."

Miles nodded.

Phoenix shook his head emphatically, "Who wants to talk about him, let's talk about us."

Miles felt the heat rise to his face at that but he laughed, "What about us?"

He paused in the empty passage way and met Phoenix's eye. Phoenix was frowning at him.

"This is a relief," Phoenix conceded, "When you took off the other morning I thought you were mad at me."

Miles rolled his eyes, "You always think I'm mad at you."

"You don't help," Phoenix said but he grinned and rubbed his hair, "I couldn't find you all day yesterday either."

"I was bu—"

"Yeah, I know, you were busy," Phoenix's shoulders drooped and he continued toward the mess.

Miles went back to his stateroom after breakfast carrying a styrofoam box of eggs, bacon and toast and a covered styrofoam coffee cup. Lang was lying in his rack, prone and hugging his pillow.

"Morning," Miles set the food and coffee on the desk and went to peer at Lang a little more closely, "Hey, did you sleep at all?"

"Yeah," Lang grunted but didn't stir.

"I brought you some breakfast," Miles put a hand on his shoulder, "Come on, it's getting late."

Lang sat up huffily glaring at the deck, he was still fully dressed in the civilian clothes he'd been wearing the previous night.

Miles propped the stateroom door open so he could set out the ironing board, "Please, eat, get cleaned up, do you need me to iron your uniform for you?"

Lang only dropped his head in his hands and sighed in resignation, then he stood and pulled his blues out of the locker, "The pants could use it, they've been hanging here for months…"

He tossed the black slacks toward Miles and then retrieved his toiletry kit and a towel. He set them on his rack and started to undress.

"You're not hungry?" Miles looked up from where he was smoothing the slacks onto the ironing board, Lang paused to glare at him and went back to unbuttoning his shirt.

"They had eggs this morning."

"They always have eggs," Lang grunted and pulled off his shirt.

"No, I mean eggs eggs," Miles chuckled and checked to see if the iron was hot.

"Eggs eggs," Lang said dubiously and went to retrieve the food box, he sat on his rack and opened the box, and his face brightened. He looked up at Miles grinning boyishly at him, "Eggs eggs!"

Miles laughed and set the iron to cloth. Lang stood in front of him and held up the box still grinning, "They're beautiful. Yolks and everything…"

Miles turned the slacks over and started the other side.

"Look at them jiggle," Lang said, "like a pair of perfect—"

"Eat your eggs," Miles said with a grimace, "and pass me a hanger."

Miles and Lang were the first ones on the quarterdeck, pressed and tidily dressed, both holding their combination covers under their arms. Miles noted with a little dismay that Lang cut a very sharp figure in his blues, he felt like another stiff in a suit. Lang stood near the podium talking to the watch, somehow managing to exude a casual grace while looking every bit a Naval Commander. He grimaced and checked his tie, surreptitiously watching for Phoenix.

MAC Gumshoe joined them next, offering a good natured smile, "Everyone here?"

"We're bringing an escort too," Miles said, "Because I'm—"

"Oh, right pal," Gumshoe nodded, "I mean sir."

"Hello Chief," Lang greeted him, "Are you driving us to NSA?"

"Yes sir," Gumshoe grinned and put on his cover, "I'll go get the car, we got one on loan from the security DET on NSA. I'll bring her round and wait for you at the bus stop."

"Very good, Chief," Miles replied and looked around again for Phoenix.

"Request permission to go ashore, for official business at Naval Support Activity," Chief saluted the Officer of the Deck.

"Very well, take care MAC."

Chief paused to salute the flag and then turned and walked down the gangplank whistling. Miles was still watching Chief as he disappeared on the pier when he was startled by a loud wolf-whistle from Lang.

Phoenix was walking down the hangar bay with Larry and Doug, both in civilian clothes at his heel. He cut a sharp figure in his blues too, and no one could deny the glamor and prestige of those gold wings gleaming above his ribbons.

Phoenix was smiling as he approached and slid on his sunglasses in the brightness of the open hangar bay. Larry brushed past him immediately and came up to Miles.

"JAG, buddy," he simpered, cajoling, "Can we come too? I promise we wont do anything crazy and we'll stay nearby and leave when you leave—"

"It's not my call, gentlemen," Miles said stiffly, he was watching Phoenix and Lang as they jokingly checked each other's uniforms, adjusting each other's ties and brushing off each other's shoulders, "We really have to go, is there something you need from the NEX?"

Doug was frowning, arms crossed and Larry shook his head in dismay, "Nah dude, we just wanted to get out of here for a little bit."

"I'm sorry," Miles said feeling real sympathy, but concerned now about the time, "Wright, Lang, we should go."

The small gray sedan was waiting at the pavilion when they arrived, MAC was in the driver's seat. Miles got in beside Chief and Lang sat behind him with Phoenix behind Chief.

For some reason, MAC insisted on keeping his window open just enough to drown out any hope conversation. He could hear snatches of conversation from the back seat, where Phoenix and Lang were talking and laughing, but not enough to follow. It made the ride lonely and incongruously long.

They arrived at NSA just before noon and parked after navigating a complex security gate made of high concrete walls, fortified with piles of sandbags and a system of hydraulic metal gates. The guards wore an unrecognizable uniform from whatever contract company the Navy was paying to guard the base.

Beyond the very intricate and imposing walls of the complex, the base was just a tiny cluster of shoddy brick buildings, with very formal signs denoting their purpose. The only building that stood out was a long single story building with a very ugly stucco exterior decorated with a garish Navy-blue stripe that wrapped around the whole of it with the letters NEX painted in gold near what must've been the front entrance. A sign with the actual NEX logo was mounted in a concrete stand in the grass outside the door. The roof of the building was made of corrugated metal painted blue, but faded from it's proximity to the sun.

Chief led them in the direction of the NEX building but stopped short in front of a small square building with a Command label on it's sign, "I'll go and see what she wants to do. I guess you guys can wait in the NEX so you're not standing around in the sun in your blues. JAG, do you have your blackberry, sir?"

"Yes, Chief," Miles checked his pocket for the phone and held it up.

Miles walked toward the NEX flanked on either side by Phoenix and Lang, something about wearing his blues, or perhaps the odd weight of the combination cover perched on his head, made him walk a little straighter, chin up, head back, chest out. A glance to either side showed a similar effect on the other men. Lang smirked at him.

"Chief wants us inside so we don't disrupt traffic," he said with a wink at Miles, Phoenix chuckled and jogged a few steps ahead to hold open the door.

"Gentlemen," he said with a mock stiffness.

"Why thank you, sir," Lang grinned as he entered.

"Come on," Miles said, "Stop showing off."

"Oh, I do love a man in uniform," Phoenix replied in a rough falsetto that was more screechy than feminine.

"So," Lang pulled off his cover and tucked it under his arm, and stopped to gaze around the interior, "You said this NCIS Agent is a woman?"

Miles looked at him skeptically, "In the vaguest sense of the word, yes. But I wouldn't… she'll sink her hooks into you and latch on like a leech, she'll suck the very life out of you."

Phoenix laughed out loud, "So that's what you were busy with yesterday, huh?"

"Hey Miles, does someone have a crush on you?" Lang laughed too.

Miles only shuddered and ducked into the main NEX store, which, this being early on a weekday, was blessedly deserted.

"So am I in trouble?" Lang asked as they passed displays of expensive cosmetics and perfume, "Why do I need an escort?"

"You're not in trouble," Miles said, "But just in case, I've got one ready."

He turned then and smiled at Phoenix and Phoenix returned the gesture in kind.

"Ugh," Lang said and walked ahead of them, "what do you want me to stand look out so you guys can use the fitting rooms."

Phoenix raised an eyebrow suggestively and Miles frowned.

"Is that all you guys think about?"

They ganged up on him after that, making suggestive comments about every mundane thing they encountered in the store. Miles tried his best to ignore them, checking his phone and his watch as he walked around the store. He went to the register to buy a packet of gum and a set of fingernail clippers and had paid and started to walk out when he realized that he was alone.

"Oh brother," he muttered under his breath and turned to walk back into the store when his phone buzzed.

"Lieutenant Edgeworth," he said into it stopping just outside the store.

He listened while MAC ironed out their plan on the phone, surreptitiously looking for Phoenix and Lang.

"Yes Chief," Miles said into the phone, "You want to meet us here and we can grab lunch?"

He hung up after Chief replied and looked up toward the store entrance to see Lang and Phoenix walking together toward the register. It was startling to see, they looked very formal, very serious together in their uniforms. Posters for the service. He tugged at his tie anxiously, he suddenly felt like he was only pretending—he didn't really fit in.

He looked down at his hands where his own fingers slid along his neck tie. He wore the gold stripes on his cuffs, just like they had, but instead of stars his sleeve had the double oak leaf of the JAG corps. This was pretend. He'd never be anything but a lawyer, or a judge. A professional jurist playing dress up.

Phoenix exited first and smiled at him a little sheepishly—he used to do that when they were teenagers. But the rest of him was worlds apart from that boy he used to know. Miles must've been gawking or frowning or something, because Phoenix's smile faded into concern as he approached. He ran a hand over his hair, showing the star on his cuff, the movement causing light to gleam across his gold wings.

"What?" He said stopping next to Miles.

Miles dropped his gaze to the deck and shook his head.

"Aww Miles," Phoenix said turning his cover in his hand, "We were only messing with you, you know that right? It's only because you get so flustered and—"

"I love you," Miles said meeting his eye, and Phoenix stared, shocked.

Miles continued to stare back, shocked that the words came so easily from his lips. Worried that Phoenix didn't seem to have any reply.

"Nick…"

Phoenix grinned suddenly, "How could you not? I mean… Just look at me…"

Lang was standing over his shoulder now, looking at whatever he'd purchased in the bottom of the small plastic bag. Miles glanced at him, suddenly wishing he would disappear.

"Eh," Lang said dismissively, "I like them just a little taller."

"Screw you," Phoenix said grinning at Lang.

"Nah," Lang said taking the little box out of the bag, "I still have to live with your boyfriend. I don't like drama."

"Come on," Phoenix took his elbow and steered him toward the food court, "Didn't you say something about lunch?"

"Chief is on his way to meet us," Miles said, "Maybe we should wait—"

"He'll find us there, I'm sure Chief gets it," Phoenix smiled and let his hand drop down Miles' arm so that their palms touched momentarily, "Chief wont want to see any drop in our health and welfare…"

Miles chuckled and gazed sidelong at him as they walked toward the only part of the NEX that seemed to be bustling with people, most of them enlisted sailors wearing the green and brown pattern of the NWU Type III. Several curious looks darted their way as they walked.

"Speaking of health and welfare," Lang spoke up behind them, still staring at the little box he'd purchased, "Thanks for taking my advice."

Phoenix shot Miles an inquisitive look, and Miles shook his head, "Senior said it may be up to a week before results are posted, since it has to be sent off ship."

"Is someone doing drugs?" Phoenix sounded scandalized and turned back to look at Lang, "Not one of your guys?"

"No…" Lang huffed, sounding defensive, "My sailors know better…"

"They don't know enough not to get arrested though," Phoenix grinned at Lang but Lang was glaring at him now.

"Sorry," Phoenix frowned, obviously aware that he'd crossed a line.

"You'd better be," Lang said coolly, "If your concerned for your own health and welfare…"

"Please gentlemen," Miles looked stiffly between them, "That's unbecoming…"

Chapter Text

Phoenix and Lang were already eating when Chief joined them. Miles had that disdainful droopy look of disappointment on his face watching them, waiting for Chief. He was so polite.

Chief didn't seem bothered at all, so no harm done, right? Miles didn't say anything when he left with Chief to get food. Phoenix elbowed Lang when they moved out of ear shot.

"So who's doing drugs?" Phoenix asked, like any sailor he was eager for shipboard gossip.

"What, you mean besides all the pilots?" Lang smirked at him.

Phoenix rolled his eyes and turned over his lo-mein with the wooden chopsticks, "Whatever, Ops…"

Lang chuckled, "You know he thinks you're going to die or something. From the amphetamine and all the flying, and not eating…"

Phoenix dropped his chopsticks and glared at him, "Seriously?"

Lang laughed at his plate, "He told me that you look like you've lost weight," Lang shot him a pointed look, "From where, I wonder… You don't have an inch to pinch…"

Phoenix picked up his chopsticks and raked his noodles, "He worries too much… We're probably going to have another week of downtime after we get underway. Then our schedule is pretty light for a while. I might even get a chance to get fat and you can pinch as much as you'd like."

Lang laughed, "He's never seen you guys at the end of deployment…"

"Right?" Phoenix paused to shovel some noodles into his mouth, "This isn't even bad."

Lang chuckled and they fell silent for several minutes. They'd both removed their jackets and were sitting in their white shirts and shoulder boards, looking a lot more like airline pilots than sailors. Phoenix had pulled his sleeves up as far as they would go and loosened his tie. Lang had tucked his tie into his shirt, which Phoenix thought looked funny—but then this Lang guy was pretty funny.

They'd opted for the cheap Americanized Chinese buffet, it was a nice change from galley food and boxed sandwiches.

"So," Lang was looking at him, it was always a little unnerving—sure Lang wasn't a bad looking guy, but he had kind of a menacing, predatory stare, "Lieutenant Engarde, is he a close friend?"

Phoenix paused to chew and swallow, a little startled at the question, "I mean, we know each other from flight school… I don't know that I'd call him a close friend…"

"What's his problem?"

Phoenix met his eye and stared, "Uh… Did something happen?"

"I've never met him before this port call," Lang said, "But he seems to have it out for me."

"Probably thinks you're hot," Phoenix laughed and went back to his food, "You should ask him out."

Lang's expression turned grave, "He tried to jump me last night. We were in the hangar bay, so the watch got involved, and we both ended up spending the night in the brig."

Phoenix paused and looked up at him and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, "Geez, I'm sorry… He was pretty drunk last night. He came around where we were trying to start a fight."

"Well, I didn't think he was just drunk…"

Phoenix frowned and picked up the styrofoam cup in front of him and took a sip, staring at Lang, "What do you mean? Why would he—?"

"That's why I asked," Lang threw his head back a little and gave a slight smirk.

"They had him on go-pills too," Phoenix said shaking his head, "For longer than me. It isn't pleasant."

"Some people pay good money for those pills," they both glanced in Chief's direction, "You don't think he's hoarding them up in order to get his hands on something stronger?"

"Wow," Phoenix grimaced, "Maybe you should write books… Telling stories like that… You didn't share your theory with Miles?"

Lang shook his head, "Of course not, he's the JAG."

Phoenix slapped the table with his palms, "So here's how it works. If mission warrants it, and Doc thinks you need them to keep up, he'll give you the pills—one dose at a time, and you have to sign a page13—every time. They take it very seriously. There's no way he'd be hoarding pills."

Phoenix frowned at his plate and stirred his noodles, "Besides, why would he need to sell pills? We get paid pretty well—Flight Pay and all that… Plus Matt’s family has money... When we were in school, he was getting a stipend—on top of what the Navy pays... And there’s no where to spend that money while we're under way. I mean, I don't think he's married or anything…"

Lang paused thoughtfully, fingers twined together in contemplation, "I don't think I did the wrong thing…."

Phoenix looked sidelong at him, "What did you do?"

Lang shook his head, "I got Miles involved… He's the one that made the request."

Phoenix swallowed and stared solemnly at him, "Engarde? You had Miles order a health and welfare on Matt Engarde?"

"Actually, he had both of us checked, so no one would get suspicious," Lang pursed his lips and stared at the table, "If he's clean, he's got nothing to worry about, right?"

Phoenix frowned and pushed his plate away, "Because he pissed you off? You're going to ruin this guy's career because he made you mad?"

"If he's taking something illegal, how is it my fault?"

Phoenix shook his head, "It's not right…. What if there's some… I don't know—misunderstanding?"

"That guy was out of his mind last night," Lang said, "I don't think it's just beer."

"Of course not," Phoenix said, "Most of them were drinking more than just beer. But to assume there's drugs…"

"It's not unheard of on a big deck like this," Lang added solemnly.

"Yeah, below decks," Phoenix said, "He's an aviator—a fighter pilot. They don't just let anyone do this… But they've got all kinds on that crew, don't they? Gangsters and drug addicts—"

"So every joker that flies a plane is infallible? You guys don't get substance abusers or criminals—?"

"I didn't say that," Phoenix said, "But that crap you're implying is rare—very rare. People like that don't usually make it all the way through training. Not to mention all the screenings…"

Lang sighed and shook his head, "I don't think I did anything wrong. Besides, you were the one who asked."

Phoenix sighed and crossed his arms, "Fair enough…. I guess I didn't think it would be one of our own…"

"You guys think you're something special…"

Phoenix smiled at him, "We are special…"

Lang smirked in reply and picked up an egg roll and turned to see Chief returning with a grin and a plate from the same Chinese counter.

"Where's Miles?" Phoenix asked looking at the big Chief.

"He's paying," Chief said, "Mister Edgeworth is so kind."

Phoenix smiled and took another drink from his cup, "Mister Edgeworth…"

"Are you ready for your little talk with NCIS?" Chief looked at Lang and started laughing.

"So what do we do while they're in the interview?" Phoenix looked at Chief curiously as the big man scarfed down the crappy Chinese food.

Chief paused and looked at him, "Well, pal, I have to teach you how to use the full body cuffs for when we have to take him in."

Phoenix grinned and Lang scowled, "You'd trust this goofy fly boy with the body cuffs?"

"What is a body cuff?" Phoenix asked still grinning.

"It's a restraint," Miles answered curtly and set his tray on the table next to Phoenix, "It allows the prisoner full use of their hands, in case you're escorting them to sign documents or to eat in the galley."

"But you can restrain them with one pull if they get uppity," Chief added demonstrating the motion in front of them. Lang made a face and finished his egg roll and dabbed his mouth with a napkin.

"Really, Miles?" Lang sat up and glared at him, "You manage to get off the ship and you decide to get a salad?"

"This is the first time in weeks we've had access to fresh food," Miles said, "No mealy apples and wilted greens…"

Phoenix and Chief laughed knowingly but Lang grimaced, "Still…"

"Oh be honest, Miles," Phoenix said, still chuckling, "You're scared you're going to get your coat dirty."

"Not at all," Miles said

"You're so fancy," Phoenix said leaning a little too close to him, Miles shoved him away and Phoenix had trouble hiding his dismay at finding Gumshoe eyeing him curiously and then looking away a little too pointedly.

They were finishing up and engaged in a merry conversation about where the ship might pull into next, when she shuffled over to them in a rumpled pantsuit and her badge and ID pinned to her belt.

Phoenix frowned, eyeing the gun at her belt, the recoil on that thing would probably break her arm.

"Hello boys," she said in a creaking voice that grated on the psyche. Her eyes fell greedily on Miles and she smiled in a way that might have been coy in a girl, "JAGgey-poo."

Miles cringed and grimaced in a way that made no guesses about how she made him feel—except maybe for her. She moved to stand behind him and dug her boney hands into his shoulders, "He's a doll, isn't he? Reminds me of my third husband Randy."

Gumshoe was frowning at her, but Lang grinned, a mischievous gleam in his eye, "What happened to Randy?"

"Oh he died in the war…"

Phoenix shuddered, what War? World War Two? Just how old was this broad anyway?

She was eyeing him now, like a fat kid at the desert table and Phoenix could feel his pulse speed up, "Are you Lieutenant Lang?"

"Huh, no," Phoenix said, and thank God for that…

"I'm Lieutenant Lang," and he stood and put on his blues jacket and offered a hand in greeting, "Shi-Long Lang, ma'am."

Miles looked like he was going to gag, and Phoenix might've laughed if the situation hadn't seemed so dire.

She was grinning at Lang, transfixed, "Hello there, sonny."

"Where should we do this?" Lang growled still smiling and she tripped forcing him to offer an arm.

Miles was staring at them with a grimace plastered across his face.

"Uh, Sir?" Chief poked Miles in the arm, "One of us should go with them, right?"

"Er…" Miles stammered, "Sh-sh sure… I'll um…"

"I'll go," Chief said bluff and with a hearty resignation, "I don't like the way she looks at you."

Miles nodded weakly, "Th-thank you, Chief."

"Hey, Pal," Chief turned his determined look on Phoenix, "I'll have to teach you how to use the cuffs another time."

"Um sure Chief," Phoenix stood to put his jacket back on and took his time buttoning the double row of gold buttons, "We'll do it some other time."

When Chief had left them to catch-up Lang and Agent Oldbag, Phoenix took Miles under one arm and pulled him bodily to his feet, "Come on, you look like you could use some air."

Phoenix kept a firm grip on his arm and led him out of a side door closer to the food court. There was a small courtyard with paved walkways leading to the other parts of the building, Phoenix was surprised to note that the building was actually U-shaped. There was a weather beaten gazebo near the base of the U for smokers and a few metal picnic tables set along the courtyard. The grass too looked sad and weather beaten, but refused to give up—especially between the concrete blocks of the sidewalk.

Miles leaned against the picnic table they were closest to and took a moment to compose himself, "That woman is—nnnngggh!"

Phoenix laughed and adjusted his cover, "I'm guessing you had to work pretty closely together yesterday?"

Miles nodded sullenly, and straightened, sliding his hands into his pockets. Phoenix crossed his arms over his chest and resumed his study of the courtyard.

"So we just wait here?" Phoenix asked when it seemed like the silence would continue to drag on. Miles only nodded.

Phoenix cleared his throat and tried to meet Miles' stare, but the other man seemed transfixed by something on the opposite side of the courtyard.

"Miles," Phoenix said, "You don't really expect to have to arrest Lang do you?"

"No," Miles turned to him and smiled slightly, "I thought it might be nice to sneak off the boat with you. Plus it made Shi-Long nervous."

"So this was your way of trying to spend time with me?"

Miles rolled his eyes, "What?"

Phoenix grinned, "It's sweet, Miles. Thank you."

"Besides, I wanted to keep an eye on you."

"Aww," Phoenix grinned more broadly, "So… so um, are we going to just stand here in the dead grass getting cooked by the sun?"

Miles sighed and glared at him, "You dragged me out here."

"I thought you were going to have a panic attack or something," Phoenix looked around again, "But you seem calm now."

"I'm fine now," Miles said.

Phoenix turned back toward the door they'd exited, "Lets go back in, and see what else they have in this building."

Miles followed him without comment, but at least he took his hands out of his pockets. They walked back through the food court away from the NEX toward the U bend of the building. It was deserted again once they left the food court.

Many of the offices and store fronts looked derelict and shuttered as they made their way back.

"Wow," Phoenix said, "this place looks so sad."

Miles was looking into one of the office windows, "Someone was telling me yesterday that they might decommission this NSA."

"It looks all but decommed already."

"This building was a rec building, I imagine it would be the first to go…"

"Nothing lasts forever…"Phoenix quipped absently staring at their reflections distorted in the papered-over glass of the shop window. Miles' reflection was frowning at him. Phoenix frowned back at him and turned his combination cover in his hands, dropping his gaze to study the officer's crest with it's silver eagle perched on a shield flanked by gold anchors, "Nothing really does…"

The crest winked in the fluorescent light, and somewhere one of the lights flickered, adding to the feeling of abandonment and neglect. Miles sighed and turned to look at him before walking further down the hallway. Phoenix tucked his cover back under his arm and caught him up and walked beside him.

"Miles," Phoenix was watching his expression in the artificial light, "Why were you talking to Lang about me? I'm fine, you know, you don't need to worry."

Miles stopped walking and let out an exasperated sigh, "How can you expect me not to?"

Phoenix stepped back from him, surprised, "What exactly are you worried about, anyway?"

Miles glare hardened, "You, flying those jets over the water. Catapults. Ejection seats. Fire. Hypothermia. Birds getting sucked into your intake… meteorites… UFOs…"

Phoenix laughed, "What have you just been googling all of the bad things that can happen when flying?"

Miles stared at him. Phoenix shook his head and grabbed him by the elbow and led him further into the U bend. "We take precautions on every flight. It's hard to find candidates to fly, let alone train them. I'm insured for two point five million. Larry is insured for one point eight. The plane costs over 70-Million dollars. It would kind of suck all around if something happened. So the Navy is very dedicated to making sure nothing does."

"How is that supposed to be comforting?"

"Miles, really, you're being ridiculous," Phoenix put a hand on his shoulder, "Even if I wanted to, I can't just quit flying tomorrow."

"Can't you?" Miles' voice came out a little desperate—like a whimper.

Phoenix opened his mouth to reply, but couldn't find any words. Finally he switched his cover to his other arm and ran a hand through his hair, "Miles…"

"I just got you back…" Miles turned and continued walking, his expression grim, "It makes me crazy to think that... Something could…"

Phoenix felt his face color in indignation. He bit his lip and hesitated, unwilling to speak just then. Knowing he'd say something he'd regret. But seriously, what right did he have to make demands like that?

Miles had continued walking and was a ways ahead of him before he stopped and turned. He looked a little surprised. Maybe even a little helpless.

Wasn't it this way before…? Yeah, except I was the one standing there helpless…

He took another minute of hesitation to steel himself and then he walked toward Miles, he forced himself to smile. Tried to act nonchalant.

"So my mom," Phoenix was trying to stifle his own surging emotions and his voice sounded incongruously cheerful. He certainly didn't feel cheerful.

"My mom had this saying," Phoenix hesitated, "She used to tell me—whenever I got to asking about my dad… She'd say something like… like… If a bird and a fish fell in love where would they build their home? Where would they raise their kids?"

Miles was glaring at him.

"Like… One would always be wanting the water, and one would always look toward the sky…" he scratched his head, "Something like that."

"Are you calling me a fish?"

Phoenix startled and then shook his head laughing. Miles was laughing too and then he sniffed and unceremoniously dragged his brocade sleeve across his face.

"Oh jeez, Miles," Phoenix pulled his arm back, "You're going to ruin your jacket."

"I know perfectly well, that I shouldn't—couldn't ask it of you," Miles sobbed, "But I can't make myself stop thinking about—what if something…"

Phoenix shook his head emphatically, "We should go find a head and clean up."

Miles nodded, and ran his sleeve over his face again and turned to the wall.

"It's like we can't go more than an hour without fighting about this," Phoenix glared at the floor.

Miles sighed again, "I don't want to fight you…"

Phoenix crossed his arms and stared at Miles' back, it wasn't fair. Why does he keep doing this?

Phoenix bit his lip. Does he really not understand?

They stood there in the derelict corridor with only the flickering light and the buzz of the fluorescent lights to bear witness to this impasse. Time dragged on. Miles sighed again, his breath steady. Apparently he'd managed to compose himself.

"Miles, I'm not going to stop flying," Phoenix sighed, "You can take that however you like. But that's my bottom line."

Chapter Text

Miles blinked at her, "I'm sorry, Ma'am, I didn't catch any of that."

That's it, it's over…

Special Agent Oldbag leaned forward toward him and smiled, "I said that other whippersnapper has no clue what he's talking about. These twerps are bad eggs."

You've managed to push him away again…

Miles sighed and leaned away from her, "I'm not worried about whether or not they're good or bad. We're just looking for the truth," he looked at his hands clasped on the table in front of him, "The truth is, there isn't enough evidence to convict them."

He's had enough…

"JAGgey-poo," she cooed looking through her eyelashes at him, Miles slid his chair back from the table.

You’ve ruined it again…

"Now see here," he was suddenly stern wagging a finger at her, "if you haven't found anything new by now, I think we should end this investigation and we'll get with the embassy and we'll bring those boys home."

It's over…

Her glare hardened momentarily and her mouth fell into a scowl. Then she smiled at him sweetly, like a grandmother doting on a grandchild, "Edgey, sweetie… You're young, of course you have a hard time understanding…"

He's gone…

"Understanding what exactly? None of them—not a one— has ever seen her. The local police refused to even try to collect physical evidence—"

For good…

"This is a foreign country," she pursed her lips and met his eye and for the first time he could see the shrewd investigator before him, "Girls back home might get it, but can you imagine how traumatic it might be for her to be looked at like that? After what happened?"

Forever…

He stared, choking back emotion that had nothing to do with the conversation before him, "Please, excuse me."

Miles stood abruptly and left the small office, Gumshoe was standing outside and immediately stepped in beside him, "Is everything good then?"

Miles swallowed, they could've chosen a better place to do this…

"Chief, why don't you take them back to the ship, and come back later? Or if it takes you away from your duties, I'll make my way back on my own."

Miles didn't wait for Chief to reply but pushed into the bathroom and walked to the furthest stall and locked himself inside. He leaned against the beaten metal door, painted a sickly green tinged beige, and pointed his head toward the ceiling. Then he cried. He squeezed his eyes shut trying to contain it, bit his lips so as not to shout too. Sobs racked his chest.

Oh what terrible timing…. It wasn't supposed to go this way at all…

He started to unbutton his jacket and hung it on the hook on the back of the stall door, then he sat on the toilet and hugged himself and cried some more.

He heard the main door creak open and held his breath, trying to stifle his sobs, "Hey Miles," It was Lang calling to him across the bathroom, "Chief's going to take us back to the ship. I guess we'll see you later."

The door closed, and he was alone again with his grief.

'We'll see you later…' I doubt he wants to see me any time soon…

Miles sat still a while longer, he was calm again. His eyes burned though and a sob still forced its way through now and again. He glared at the floor and the artificial light glinting off of his patent leather shoes.

'I just don't understand how you think this is okay? I'm always waiting on you…'

Miles remembered that day all too clearly. It haunted him. Those dark eyes, shining with barely repressed tears, accusing. Pleading. Angry. Hurt…

He was nineteen, and Nick almost. He was only back for a visit—because he was going back again. Because it was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

'I want you to be happy…'

Phoenix had laid it all out then and there. Why on earth was he surprised at this?

'But I don't know how you can expect me to be happy waiting around here forever…'

Miles shook his head, still glaring at his shoes and the worn linoleum of the floor, "I'm sorry. Again I'm sorry…"

'At some point, I'm going to go my own way…'

Miles wiped his face with his hand and unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt so he could pull them up near his elbows and opened the stall to wash his face in the sink.

'And you'll just have to let me go…'

Special Agent Oldbag was still waiting when he returned—it must've been a half-hour later. She looked at him once and then refused to look at his face. Did she recognize what had happened? Did he look angry or mean?

They ended up leaving the sad NEX building and walking back toward her office. He had little to say, preoccupied with his own personal dilemma, but he knew he still had a job to do.

"Give it a few more days then," he told her as they entered the small square building that housed the NCIS field office, "I'm going to reach back to RLSO Naples to see if they can send legal counsel. I guess if we have to take this to court, we have to take this to court."

"Doesn't the ship leave tomorrow?"

"They can get underway without me." Maybe it would be better all around if she did.

Miles walked off NSA via the main foot gate and called Chief. Chief wouldn't have time to come back. So Miles walked toward the nearest cab stand, which wasn't far at all—the local cabbies probably made brisk business on the young sailors trapped out here and looking for a little escape.

It was expensive to ride out to the pier, but at least it was direct and he walked into the complex—droves of sailors in civilian clothes crowded the pier—and that impression he'd had of a fairground returned to him.

He didn't linger but made his way onboard and made a beeline for the 0-3 Level and walked straight into Flag Admin. He was startled to find Lang standing there, having exchanged his blues for his NWUs, and talking with Lieutenant Yew. He must've frowned.

"Welcome back JAGgey-poo," Lang grinned and Yew stifled a laugh.

"Do you know if XO is in?" Miles pointedly ignored him.

"He's in his Stateroom now, but hurry," Yew said, "he and Skipper were going to join the crew for their last night on the pier."

Miles gave her a curt nod and turned to follow the blue tile to the executive passageway and jogged up the ladder with its rails decorated with rope and knots, recalling some ancient habit learned from the days of sailing ships.

He banged on XO's door and was startled when the man opened it himself rather than call him in. A steward was clearing his table of dishes and cutlery, obviously following an intimate meal with someone. XO went back to sit on his bed—he had a bed—to finish blousing his pants.

"Is that you, JAG?"

"Yes sir," Miles stepped in and brought himself stiffly to attention.

"When are these guys coming back aboard?"

Miles frowned and shrank a little where he stood, in the confines of the stateroom XO seemed all the more imposing, "Not before she gets underway, Sir."

XO's normally jovial face darkened menacingly, "What the hell is going on now?"

"Sir, the local magistrate plans to push forward with an indictment hearing, despite the lack of evidence."

XO frowned, "What's going to happen to those Sailors?"

"Well Sir, RLSO will be sending legal counsel for their defense and the State Department is continuing to assist. I can stay as well and see this through."

"Is there a chance this will end in a favorable resolution?"

"I'm quite sure sir," Miles said, "I think this indictment is mostly for show. There are a lot of Borginians unhappy with our presence here and the spectacle of three sailors in court was just too much of a propaganda opportunity to pass up. Whether or not they can actually be indicted, they'll have a chance to splash this all over the media."

XO slapped his hand to his forehead, "An international scandal…"

Miles raised his chin, "I really don't think they have a leg to stand on. This has become mostly a diplomatic ploy—albeit one that is weak and rather ill advised."

XO looked at him solemnly, "So you think you'll still be able to bring them back?"

"Of course, sir," Miles gave him a forced, tight-lipped smile, "It's just going to take me a few more days."

XO leveled his piercing green eyes at him, "You do what you need to do, JAG."

"Aye Sir."

Miles felt suddenly drained as he made his way down the ladder and back into the executive passageway. He turned absently and found himself in the squadron spaces, where the passages were decorated with their garish symbols and every hatch painted in a show of unit pride. He almost started crying again.

He managed to keep it reigned in and made his way quickly through the familiar 0-3 level and back to his berthing. He was relieved to find that Lang was not there and took off his blues and hung them up before gathering his shower things and going to the head.

The head too was deserted and Miles was grateful for these rare minutes of privacy. He was worried he'd cry again, he certainly felt like he would, but he seemed to have poured most of it out in that dingy little bathroom at NSA.

It was early but they were at liberty, so he went back to his stateroom and climbed into his rack. Phoenix was probably out there anyway. Showing away and making people laugh. No he couldn't dare go out onto the pier tonight.

He slept fitfully and awoke early to the dim stateroom. He was surprised to see Lang sitting at the desk and writing by the light of a headlamp. He looked grim and very focused about his task.

"Shi-Long," Miles whispered.

"Good morning, Miles," his voice was clipped, "Are you up for the day?"

"Yes," Miles continued to stare at him. Was he upset? He seemed so serious.

"You don't mind if I turn on the light then?"

"Not at all."

Lang flipped the light on his head lamp to red and then got up to turn on the overhead light. He turned off his headlamp and stowed it before returning to his task without so much as a glance at Miles.

Miles blinked in the sudden brightness of the room, his place on the top rack put him a little too close to the naked lightbulb that lit their room. He took a few moments to let his eyes adjust, before climbing down from his rack.

He moved to the lockers, very close to the desk, and retrieved his overnight bag and tossed it onto his rack, and then he pulled out his mesh laundry bag and gathered what laundry he had, mostly uniform clothes, and then changed into a clean set of NWUs.

Lang didn't seem to notice him at all.

Miles glanced at him as he buttoned the pants and then slipped the khaki colored riggers belt through his belt loops, "Are you writing letters?"

Lang paused and turned his head but did not meet his eye, "Why yes, Miles. Some of us still remember how to do things this way."

He returned to his letters without any more comments. Miles tightened his belt and clasped it and then sat on the deck to put on his boots. Lang scoffed suddenly and balled up the letter he was working on, tossing it toward the other side of the stateroom.

"I was going to wash my laundry, if you have anything you need me to wash."

"No thank you, Miles," Lang said and turned his glare on him.

"Is something the matter?"

Lang sighed and shook his head, "They're my sailors, and we'll be getting underway without them."

Miles frowned.

"So I'm writing their mothers…"

His eyes widened at the revelation and he stared at Lang.

"I e-mailed them yesterday," Lang continued, "So I could get word to them quickly, but I find the mothers appreciate a handwritten letter."

"It's going to be all right, I'm staying to see to it."

Lang eyed him sidelong frowning, "Are you staying for them or for yourself, I wonder?"

Miles' glare darkened and he stood to grab his things, "Please don't."

Then he left Lang to his letters and went to put in his laundry. He took his time getting his things sorted and into the machines, letting his mind go blank as he focused on his task. He filled out the log on the clipboard hung up in the cramped space and returned reluctantly to his stateroom.

Lang was standing at the door talking to someone Miles didn't recognize. He was of middling height, with his salt and pepper hair cropped short, and wearing his NWUs. The man turned to look at him and Miles recognized the eagle with arrows in its talons embroidered in sliver on his collar.

He stopped at once, "Good morning, Captain."

The Skipper eyed him with slight amusement, "JAG… You bring those boys back, you hear?"

"Yes, sir," Miles said, a little shaken at being addressed so directly.

"Have a good one, gentlemen," Skipper said and then turned to leave.

Lang eyed Miles coldly and went back into the stateroom, but he left the door ajar for him to follow. Lang's letters were sealed and addressed on the tidy desk and Miles noted with curiosity that there were four of them. Only three sailors had been detained.

Miles walked into the room and dragged his bag down from his rack and he started to pack.

"When do you head out?"

"Soon," Miles said arranging his things in his bag, "I have to wait for my laundry, but obviously I have to be off before they bring up the gangplank."

Lang nodded soberly, he was still standing near the door, though it was closed now, his arms crossed over his chest and his expression solemn. Miles had never seen him so serious, it was more frightening than Lang in the throes of his anger.

"So Skipper came to talk to you," Miles wasn't really that concerned about it, but he didn't want the silence. Anything was better than the silence.

"I'm kind of a big deal," Lang said without any of the usual energy or mirth.

Miles put his partially packed bag back onto his rack and looked at Lang.

"I could mail your letters while I'm ashore," he offered.

Lang nodded solemnly, lips pursed. Miles noticed the movement of sinew in his cheek as he clenched and unclenched his jaw.

"I believe they're innocent," Miles added trying to placate him.

"I've never doubted them," Lang muttered, "I just…. I don't know what I'll say to the rest of my sailors, when we get underway and they're still not here."

Miles frowned, "Does this never happen?"

"Not usually, no," Lang continued to stare at the deck.

"Nothing bad is going to happen to your sailors," Miles said, "They just got caught up in the politics of this place, that's all. They'll be back soon."

"I really hate Borginia," Lang muttered.

Miles managed to make it off ship later that morning, and stood on the pier to watch her get underway. It was quite the spectacle, seeing the gangplank drawn in and the open hatch of the hangar close. Small boats cleared the harbor and several tugs went alongside to pull her out. Seeing so massive a ship move so close to where he was standing was breathtaking. He was a little sad to see her go.

After another expensive cab ride to NSA, Miles was able to get a room at the crumbling Navy Gateway on the base and made his way to the NCIS field office.

He wore his NWUs as he hadn't been expecting the defense counsel so soon. But there he was, "Lieutenant Gavin, I presume?"

Lieutenant Junior Grade Kristoph Gavin was a slender man with blonde hair cropped short and wire-rimmed glasses that glinted in the light. He had a young genial face and a sensitive and inquisitive gaze that he leveled at Miles before offering a light smile and his hand to shake.

"Lieutenant Edgeworth, sir," he nodded, "a pleasure to meet you."

"Yes, you as well," Miles said, "although I didn't expect you to get here so fast."

"We've got sailors in trouble, Sir. I'm sure no one is going to be upset that I took no time in getting here."

"Not at all, Mister Gavin," Miles offered a tight lipped smile, well at least he was enthusiastic.

They sat together in a small cramped conference room to go over the case, and then Miles laid out plans for them to visit the embassy the next day to retrieve Mister DeLite and then try one last time to have the case dropped before moving forward with their own counsel.

Miles felt drained after that and was glad of an excuse to retire to his room. He busied himself there prepping his blues for tomorrow and dressing down for the evening. It was early, probably around fifteen hundred, but all Miles wanted to do was go to bed.

There was a knock on the door a few minutes later, and Miles hesitated before answering it. It was Gavin, wearing tidy slacks and a simple button down shirt, asking if he'd join him for dinner. Miles stared at him incongruously long. I really ought to, we’ll be working together after all.

"I'm sorry," Miles said, finally, "I'm sorry to admit it but I am tired this evening and I was going to read some and go to bed early."

Gavin's eyes widened at the revelation, but he was too polite to comment on it, "No need to apologize, Sir, I imagine it's not very comfortable living on a ship. I'll see you in the morning then."

"Yes," Miles said, "zero seven, we'll get breakfast before heading over, they don't Ike to do things very early here in Borginia. Have a pleasant evening Mister Gavin."

"Yes, sir," Gavin smiled, "You do the same."

Miles stood by the door for a few moments before turning the bolt and sliding the door chain into into the metal track. He walked the perimeter of the room slowly, stopping to stare out of the window at the crumbling and forsaken Navy Base.

That's my bottom line…

The sidewalks leading from the building were cracked and grass grew long and wild. He was starting to notice other windows in other buildings that had been shuttered or boarded over. A road blocked by the debris of its own destruction.

Miles I love you too! So I stayed, and I waited… But I had to do something with my life…

He turned and crawled into the small twin bed. It was lumpy and much abused—in what way he shuddered to think. Obviously the mattress was kept past its prime because there was not going to be a replacement. Nothing lasts forever.

If you can't love this about me then you don't really love me. It isn't right to ask me to drop everything for you…. It's not as if I took up some hobby, or picked up a bad habit… This was a commitment I made. Because you'd made your commitments a long time ago.

Miles hugged the pillow to his chest and buried his face in it. Listening to his last conversation with Phoenix Wright echo in his head, and he cried himself to sleep.

Chapter Text

He slammed the car door and stomped back toward the ship, still feeling a little righteous and indignant. He stuck his glasses on and pulled the combination cover on with the visor low over his forehead, maybe no one would recognize him.

Lang at least had showed a surprising intuition and had the common sense not to ask him about it. Not that it was anyone's business.

There were several cat calls and whistles as he passed one of the tables, it must've been the other guys from the Air Wing, making fun of him being in uniform. Phoenix didn't spare them a glance and continued with a single minded determination up the gangplank and then toward his stateroom. He took the ladders quickly, bounding three or four of the narrow steps at a time.

Larry was gone when he entered the room. Probably out with the others—this was their last night in port after all, and they'd be pulling out tomorrow. He stowed his cover and then took off his jacket and hanged it up, adding his pants and his tie before slamming the locker shut.

He didn't bother getting dressed and slid his black socked feet into his flip flops and grabbed his kit out of his bag and walked quickly out of the stateroom and across the corridor to the head. He grimaced, worried that he wouldn't make it, so he ran into the head and made it into the first stall, not bothering to lock it before throwing up into the metal bowl.

This really sucked. It hurt.

He threw up again, and then flushed away the sick. His guts were roiling and his head was starting to ache. Phoenix spat and stood up, but another wave of nausea had him kneeling back down on the deck.

"Hey man," Phoenix didn't look up to see the other guy push in the door, "You okay?"

His stomach lurched and he vomited again. He felt shaky and gross.

"Nick Wright?"

Phoenix spat again and turned to see Matt Engarde standing over him. He looked pale and wan and sort of shrunken in his Navy sweatpants and a t-shirt with the logo of some band. Phoenix frowned up at him and flushed the toilet.

"Hey," Phoenix stood and brushed past him, "Excuse me."

"Are you okay?" Matt followed him over to the row of sinks and watched him splash water on his face and rinse his mouth, "Why are you throwing up?"

Phoenix frowned as he dug his toothbrush out of his kit, "It's either shitty Chinese food or I got car sick."

Matt laughed, "Car sick? From a guy who lives on a ship and flies jet planes."

Phoenix chuckled and gave him a shrug and then stuck his toothbrush in his mouth. It felt awkward standing here with the man, after they'd been talking about him earlier.

He spit into the sink and rinsed his mouth again, "Well we're almost never in cars, and they made me sit in the back seat."

Matt chuckled, but to his dismay, it didn't seem like he was going to leave.

"Why are you hanging around up here? Everyone's down on the pier," Phoenix said finally and turned to look at him.

"I'm confined to berthing until we get underway," Matt frowned, "I kinda got a little carried away last night."

Phoenix gave him a knowing look but didn't reply.

"Nick," Matt sounded nervous all of a sudden, "I'm sorry if I said or did anything…"

Phoenix chuckled, "It's fine, Matt, everyone knows you're a dick—we're used to it by now."

Matt gave a nervous laugh, but still made no move to leave. Phoenix tried to push past him, "excuse me."

Matt was glaring at the deck and refused to budge.

"Come on man," Phoenix said, "I feel like crap, I just want to go lie down."

"I don't want to be by myself, Nick," Phoenix met his eye then, frowning.

"They got an MA on my door, I'm only allowed to go to the head," Matt continued when Phoenix didn't speak, "I haven't talked to anyone all day."

Phoenix sighed and ran a hand through his hair, he was tired and upset. He wasn't sure if he even had the emotional reserves to talk to anyone in good spirits—let alone this… He looked at Matt with a frown and Matt sat on the deck.

He hesitated and then joined him—it wouldn't be right to leave a guy hanging. Even if it was Matt Engarde.

The deck was cold against his bare legs and he was still wearing his socks which made his flip-flops feel weird on his feet. Matt rubbed his face and sighed gazing absently around the room.

"I messed up, man," Matt said finally, "Big time."

Phoenix shook his head, "I don't want to know about it, Matt…"

"Yeah, I know… I don't want to put you in a tough situation…" Matt tugged at his hair and shook his head, "I just… I mean, who else is going to understand?"

Phoenix crossed his arms, mostly because he was starting to shiver from sitting on the cold deck, "Matt, I'm sorry…"

"I don't want to give this up…" Matt shook his head, "But I let… I lost control…"

Phoenix looked at him frowning.

"It's been pretty hard this time and I just wanted to have a little fun, you know?"

Matt shook his head, "Now all of this…All of the work I've put into this…"

"I'm sorry," Phoenix stood and pulled Matt up with him. He gave him a hug, unsure what else he could offer, Matt squeezed him back a little desperately. Phoenix frowned, thinking of Matt's ugly words the day before and what Lang had said earlier about his own suspicions.

But it was still sad, and he could sympathize with Matt, especially after Edgeworth had basically asked him to give up the same thing.

Phoenix pushed him away and held him by the shoulders at arm's length, "Don't give up, buddy. Whatever happens, happens… Maybe this just wasn't meant to be."

Matt nodded, eyes shut and frowning.

"You should get back before that MA comes looking for you."

Matt stared at him directly, and Phoenix couldn't tell if he was angry or upset at him, "It's unreal, you know…. How one guy can have it all, and still be so… so like you."

Phoenix blinked, and then chuckled pushing Matt toward the door, "Go, I don't want to be questioned by the MAs, and I want to go to bed."

Finally freed, Phoenix went back to his stateroom. Did Matt really think he, Phoenix Wright, had it all? Well, that couldn't be true. Because he could never really have Miles Edgeworth.

He went into his stateroom and leaned with his back against the door and sighed. He felt sick and drained, not to mention utterly devastated.

'No matter what…'

He smiled at the empty stateroom and turned off the overhead light, so that only the dim red glow lit the room. He got into his rack and stared at the metal bars separating him from Larry's rack. Miles had hit his head on those bars.

He dug under his pillow and pulled out his phone, it was barely after eighteen hundred. He shouldn't even be in bed. Maybe I should've been more patient…. He would've come around, right? It's not like we have anywhere else to go…

Phoenix sighed at the rack above him and put his hands behind his head. It made him feel ill. He remembered feeling like this before. Except he was eighteen, and lonely, and uncertain, and hopeless. He had a lot more going for him these days.

He'd been through the gauntlet to get where he was. All of the study, late nights, grueling exams—struggling to graduate with high enough marks to be considered. The reams of questionnaires and the poking and prodding by doctors. The physical trials, fire and water, and the zero four wake ups. Survival school…. And that was before they ever let him touch a plane.

You shouldn't be so selfish…

Phoenix put a hand over his eyes, his head hurt. It'll be okay, give it a little time. Talk to him tomorrow.

Phoenix drifted off thinking about how he could placate Miles this time. Stop crying about him—that guy doesn't cry over you…

He awoke famished and hot to the rumble of Larry's drunken snores. He must've got up there, last night. Larry had a leg dangling from his rack and Phoenix stood and moved his leg back onto the rack and tucked him in.

It was early when he went to the head, though the deserted feeling the berthing had the last couple days in port was gone. There was a feeling of anticipation and a closeness on the ship. In a matter of hours they'd be underway again.

Phoenix had breakfast alone in the aft mess and then started up to the O-3 level. Maybe Miles would be there. The admin door was closed and locked. He climbed up onto the deck from there and walked around on the catwalk, staring out at the harbor and the last minute prep of the sailors.

He made his way onto the flight deck itself where sailors were rolling up the hoses they'd used to wash down the deck during the port visit. Others were lined up and doing a careful sweep of the deck for foreign object debris. Phoenix watched them for a while, some Chief had probably set them to it as busy work to keep them occupied in the hours before they got underway.

The sun was still low and bright, giving the deck a cheery golden sheen and causing whatever moisture remaining on the deck to cook off in a light haze of steam. He walked across the deck seeing figures silhouetted against the still gray water of the harbor. This was magic. These moments made it all worth it.

Miles if I could show you this…

He walked toward the bow of the great ship where the deck narrowed and the tracks of the catapults ended in open sky. The watch greeted him, he was a young man with a lank build wearing rumpled coveralls and sporting over-large headphones that gave him an unbalanced alien appearance. Phoenix stood beside him and looked over the edge of the deck, gazing at where the harbor followed out of a man-made concrete channel and flowed into the open sea, shining golden in the rising sun.

He slapped the sailor standing watch on the shoulder and the other guy grinned. They stood together not speaking for several minutes, two small men set against the immense expanse of the deck of a US Navy Aircraft Carrier.

This is my siren song…

There was a barely perceptible lurch and a buzz as the ship's engines fired on, she was completely alive again. Phoenix nodded once more at the watch and turned and walked abaft and starboard toward the catwalk that would lead him back into the ship. He smiled as he walked along the metal catwalk, the floor beneath his feet was made of mesh and he could see the water underneath him. He almost didn't see the other man until he all but ran into him.

"Matt?"

"Hey Nick," the other guy said.

"I guess they let you out?"

"Yeah," Matt Engarde sounded a little distracted, "They're pulling in the gangplank here in a bit… So I can't escape now…"

Phoenix chuckled uneasily, it was hard to tell if he was joking or not. Either way it wasn’t really funny coming from Matt...

"Hey, um," Phoenix motioned along the catwalk, "Let's go inside."

Matt sighed heavily, "I kinda wanna see her get underway."

Phoenix jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, "Wouldn't we see it better from the port side?"

Phoenix didn't wait for Matt to reply, but took him by the elbow and they crossed the deck to the port side where they watched the gangplank being brought in. They felt more than heard the heavy buzz of machinery as the hangar bay was closed and then an announcement over the 1MC, almost lost to them from their vantage on deck, announced the arrival of the pilot and set the sea and anchor detail.

Phoenix gazed out at the pier, several tiny figures in civilian coveralls were moving around. He caught one tiny figure standing a ways back observing the activity wearing what was definitely the blue of NWUs. He grinned at Matt, "Hey look."

"Oh man," Matt leaned over to look at the guy watching the proceedings on the pier, "He's in trouble."

"Idiot," Phoenix shook his head, "He's going to miss movement while standing on the pier watching the ship get underway."

He left Matt on the catwalk and walked toward the watch on the forward deck motioning for his attention. It took a minute for the watch to spot his gesticulations but he ran over as soon as he did and met Phoenix halfway.

"Hey!" Phoenix has to shout over the guy's ear-pro, "There's a guy on the pier! A sailor on the pier!"

The watch acknowledged with a nod and called it into his radio. They walked back to the port side edge of the deck together so Phoenix could point the guy out. The radio fizzled and popped in the watch's hand, and he brought the receiver to his mouth and spoke into it.

All they could do was stare. The deck lurched and the capstan clacked loud and metallic under the deck as they weighed anchor. Men on the pier with bull horns were shouting, calling orders. The massive cables slid from the pier as the hands onboard dragged them in.

Phoenix startled when the watch banged him on the shoulder, "Sir, he's authorized. He's staying behind."

Phoenix looked at him eyebrows raised.

"It's the JAG—that's what they said."

Phoenix watched the little figure on the pier. Was he waving?

Miles? He's staying?

Already he could see the tugs maneuvering as the ship pulled away from the pier.

Miles…. What the hell?

Phoenix stood watching him even as he disappeared in the distance. He frowned as the pier shrank away and then disappeared as they entered the channel. He didn't notice when the watch left his side and returned to his post on the forward deck. Phoenix walked aft slowly, shocked. How could this happen?

How did he pull this off?

Halfway across the deck Phoenix stopped and turned to cross back to the catwalk on the starboard side of the deck. It was startling to see the little tugs peel away as the ship steamed through the channel and exited into open sea. Watching the minuscule puffs of froth from the ship's wake, immensely small in the water below. Already the horizon loomed before him, endless and jewel bright in the late morning sun.

Can he do that? Just leave like that?

Phoenix, discomfited, frowned at the horizon. He passed several other observers as he made his way back to the hatch and entered the ship near the familiar squadron spaces on the O-3 level. The same level Miles worked…

Used to work…

He passed ATO and the Air Wing's board, the ready room and then stepped out of the squadron spaces. The corridor was quiet, deserted.

Phoenix stuck his hands in the pockets of his flight suit and frowned. He wasn't sure how this JAG thing worked—maybe they could come and go as they needed?

Does this mean he'll come back?

Phoenix startled when the first light flashed, he hadn't been expecting it. He stopped where he was and looked up at the overhead. Yep, the lights were flashing.

The alarm sounded next and it took Phoenix another moment before his boots had him turned around and running back toward the squadron spaces.

"MAN OVERBOARD! ALL HANDS MUSTER WITH YOUR STATIONS! MAN OVERBOARD!"

He ran through the quiet passage, jumping through the hatches to avoid the knee-knockers. Already he could hear the rumble of sound as sailors moved down the ladders to get to their work centers. He was the first one there, and went to pull out the binder with the personnel roster in it. And then it hit him. Matt was up there.

Yeah and you left him alone.

"MAN OVERBOARD! ALL HANDS MUSTER WITH YOUR STATIONS! MAN OVERBOARD!"

Phoenix dropped the binder and left his squadron's space. The passageway was a sea of people now. Some still only partially dressed, some hung over, and probably some still drunk. He pushed through the crowd, several Chiefs were herding sailors along to their respective work centers. Then Phoenix saw Commander Armando.

"Sir! Commander Armando!" Phoenix wrestled with the crowd, shoving through the passageway to get to him, "Diego!"

Commander Armando glared at him, "Wright! You're going the wrong way!"

Phoenix grabbed his sleeve and leaned into him, "Sir! It's Engarde! Matt Engarde!"

Commander Armando gave him a hard look, "Are you sure?"

Phoenix nodded.

Oh God, you left him up there and he…

"Go and get mustered, Wright!" the commander shoved him back the way he'd come.

"MAN OVERBOARD! ALL HANDS MUSTER WITH YOUR STATIONS! MAN OVERBOARD!"

Phoenix had an easier time navigating the crowd going the other way. When he got to his squadron's work center, it was more crowded. Someone grabbed him roughly, "I found Wright!"

"Thank you Larry," Commander Johns frowned as he examined the roster, "Just waiting on Chief then."

Phoenix pulled out of Larry's grasp and looked around the room with a frown then sat in one of the metal folding chairs set against the bulkhead. He put his head in his hands.

"MAN OVERBOARD! ALL HANDS MUSTER WITH YOUR STATIONS! MAN OVERBOARD!"

Chief Armstrong stumbled in next, he was carrying a walkie-talkie in one hand and a clipboard in the other.

"Kaye," Commander Johns said stiffly, "we're all here."

Chief looked over the group with a slight frown, "We just wait now."

Maya came over to sit on the floor beside Phoenix and he saw Chief's gaze follow her pointedly.

"AM3," Phoenix said, "it's going to be okay."

She looked like she was going to cry and hugged her knees desperately on the floor beside him, "They said it was an aviator."

Kay looked over at them at that, looking apprehensive.

Phoenix… What did you do? Why'd you…

They waited, silent in anticipation, and the minutes dragged on. It seemed an impossibly long time before the lights stopped flashing, and the all clear was announced.

They sat still despite the all clear—the passages would be crowded anyway.

A few minutes later, Skipper himself came on the 1MC and announced the successful recovery of the sailor, and thanked the SAR swimmer by name.

A few cheers rose up in the passageway and Phoenix closed his eyes and sighed in relief.

Chapter Text

Miles glared at him incredulous, "Surely this can't be the case? There's no logical—"

Mister DeLite's wide-eyed gaze flipped from Miles to Gavin, "N-no, that's what they said."

Gavin leaned over and whispered, "Sir, it's quite possible that the laws in this country—"

"That's why these agreements are in place," Miles grimaced and Mister DeLite shrank into himself even more, so much so that the shoulders of his suit were starting to bunch up.

How could he not be intimidated? He sat across from them in the small konditerie across the street from the municipal building that housed the office of the magistrate and the detention center for newly arrested awaiting trial or disposition into the Borginian prison system.

Both of them were rather taller than him and wearing the black jackets with gold brocade on the cuffs, crisp white shirts and black ties of the Navy Officer service dress blue. There was a formality leant to their stance by virtue of the service. Ron DeLite didn't stand a chance.

"Well," Gavin smiled congenially at Mister DeLite, "If we must go forward, then we're prepared to do so. But I will be the defense counsel, these men are subjects under the Constitution of the United States of America, and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. Not the obvious machinations of this island."

Miles leaned forward, glaring, an eyebrow raised for emphasis, "Were the crime less… vague… if the evidence in any way decisive, I'd concur… Let them suffer the consequences. But I cannot allow this. These are three young men, who may in fact be guilty of drinking too much, and while we may bring them to mast for that, we are certainly not going to hand them over for political use."

"Yes—y-yesss Sir…." Mister DeLite raised his fist and coughed into it nervously, "But we don't have any authority here, sir…. We… cant… really…"

Miles sighed, he was tired of this, "Mister DeLite, I demand to speak with the Ambassador. If you cannot navigate—"

"No no!" He squeaked in reply, "I assure you I c-can, Sir."

Miles leaned back in his seat and glanced at Gavin, "We could perhaps negotiate a SOFA for Borginia, for future altercations, to prevent this situation in the future. And of course, we'll be returning our sailors to their ship."

Mister DeLite frowned and crumbled forward in his seat, "We've been asking for this for decades! I just don't think this circumstance is…. going… to change…"

His voice trailed off. Miles crossed his arms in and continued to glare daggers at him. Gavin sipped his tea and smiled gently at Mister DeLite.

"Try me," Miles smirked, "I'll talk to the Magistrate himself, and the judge, and the governor, and the whomever I need to, to get this resolved. If the State Department wants to continue to kowtow and simper to the government of Borginia, fine. But the Navy is not going to get involved."

Gavin looked over at him eyes wide. Almost as wide as Mister DeLite's eyes.

"Lieutenant Edgeworth," Mister DeLite said, his voice was trembling now, "You don't speak for the US Navy… you… can't… just…"

Miles leaned forward menacingly and Mister DeLite leaned away from him and raised an arm defensively, even Gavin seemed taken aback.

"Actually, Mister DeLite, in this matter I do. I have one job here and that's to return our sailors to duty. If you're not helping, then you are an obstruction, and I will seek a higher authority."

Miles turned to Gavin, "Mister Gavin, let's go back. I need you to talk to those boys, give them what comfort you can. Tell them they will be tried today or not at all."

Gavin nodded and finished his tea before rising and picked up his combination cover, "Yes, Sir. We will be standing by."

"Very good," Miles turned his glare back on Mister DeLite, "You will take me to speak with the magistrate now—no more games Mister DeLite."

He nodded reluctantly in resignation, and stood to follow Miles and Gavin out into the street. He shuffled behind them, they'd put on their covers and now had a decidedly martial air about them. As they jogged determinedly up the steps he fell further behind and Miles, holding the door for Gavin to enter turned to glare at him again.

"Come along, Mister DeLite," he said, and Mister DeLite picked up speed and all but ran up the stairs and into the building.

The Magistrate's office was dark and imposing. Unlike the rest of the building that had small industrial windows, reminiscent of bomb shelters or cellars, this room had been modified significantly so that one wall had been fortified with metal and the glass panels placed almost floor to ceiling. The light, cold and gray this morning, filtered into the room, giving it a stony cast.

It was sparse, with only an imposing stone desk and a couple of intricately carved wooden chairs set before it. The Magistrate himself was a large, intimidating man, he was tall and even seated presented an imposing figure as he leaned over his desk and glared at their approach.

Mister DeLite shambled ahead of Miles and greeted him Borginian, bowing and nodding like a servant. Miles walked straight up to the desk and gave only a slight bow, his eyes narrowed in scrutiny.

"Good Morning, your honor," he straightened and glanced once at Mister DeLite, "I am Lieutenant Edgeworth, the Staff Judge Advocate for Carrier Strike Group Four."

"Ah, you are Navy Judge, then?" His voice cracked from his throat like thunder and Miles caught himself leaning back slightly away from him.

"Sir, yes, something like that."

The Magistrate turned his dark eyes, further shadowed by a heavy brow ridge edged with thick dark eyebrows, toward Mister DeLite and the other man actually took a step back. His voice cracked out again in rapid fire Borginian and Mister DeLite cowered where he stood.

He nodded, and then looked at Miles, "He says that he has been getting too many calls about these prisoners. I guess, the news is interested—the BBC in fact. There's been a few calls from Senators to the Prime Minister and several of the governors…"

When Mister DeLite turned back toward the Magistrate, the man glowered and spoke again. Mister DeLite stepped forward and made a comment in Borginian and the Magistrate paused, still glaring menacingly. Ron looked sidelong at Miles and Miles crossed his arms.

The Magistrate spoke again and he stood and waved a hand in Miles' direction and then gesticulated with his hands above his head.

"He says that Borginia is not an enemy of the United States, and that there was no intention on their part to create problems. But the Navy cannot expect Borginia to let criminals from any nation cause problems in their country—"

"Ask him what time we go to trial," Miles said, his voice quiet, steady.

Mister DeLite paused at Miles' interruption and rubbed his neck before turning to him, "Lieutenant, um…. There's been no indication—"

"Mister DeLite," Miles said but he was glaring directly at the Magistrate, "I will not stand by and hear these men called criminals when they haven't been indicted, let alone tried for the charges. Until such time that they have been proven guilty, we will not waste time speculating on our diplomatic stance or whatever political implications this crime may have. My job is to see justice is done."

The Magistrate frowned at him, Miles had an inkling the man understood him—as he didn't wait for a translation before turning to Mister DeLite and his voice had softened when he spoke. Ron stepped toward his desk listening, glancing once at Miles while the Magistrate spoke. Miles tugged at his own sleeves where he had his arms crossed, keeping his glare set on the Magistrate.

Mister DeLite nodded emphatically suddenly and smiled, he simpered and replied to the Magistrate before turning to Miles.

"He says they will turn the Sailors over to you," Mister DeLite brightened and bounced on his feet as he spoke, "He says it is not Borginia's job to feed your criminals and that both sides will be better served if you just take them away."

Miles' eyes widened in surprise.

They had to wait for an MA to arrive with escorts for the sailors and a van to transport them. Mister DeLite had gone to talk with his superiors regarding the situation, now seemingly diffused.

Gavin was still talking with the three scared looking young men. They looked harried and worn out from their ordeal, but calm in the presence in of the defense attorney. Miles entered the interrogation room they were sitting in and introduced himself.

"You will be released from Borginian custody today," their relief was palpable, "However, you're not completely finished with this yet. You will be turned over to the precinct at NSA until we can work out transfer back to the ship."

It was a good outcome and much simpler than Miles had been expecting and he expressed as much to Gavin as their dinner arrived. The restaurant was small and local, and near the base and served an eclectic mix of Italian, German and local Borginian cuisine.

"I suppose it couldn't have ended better than that," Gavin said, "But I had been anticipating a trial."

Miles chuckled, "When it happens you may not be so sanguine."

"What else are we here for?" Gavin smiled and looked at him, the movement brought a glare across his glasses, obscuring his eyes.

Miles studied the other lawyer for a moment, thinking his comment odd.

"So Miles," Gavin said, "How did you end up on a ship?"

"I requested it," Miles said, "I didn't imagine I'd be sent quite so soon, though."

"Why would you ask to do that, I wonder?"

Miles only shrugged, and thought of Phoenix. Frowning at the plate set in front of him. Miles looked up at Gavin, he must've been glaring again because the other man looked down smoothing his napkin onto his lap.

"I suppose it seemed only logical," Miles said and shook out his own napkin, "We are in the Navy after all."

"I thought this might be a good opportunity with less hassle," Gavin replied, "But I hope I never have to go to sea."

"I suppose Naples is as OCONUS as you'll ever have to go," Miles blinked at him.

Gavin smiled his subtle smile, "Yes, certainly. You know it's not required in our field."

Miles nodded, "It's been interesting."

"How long will you be with the Strike Group?"

"I'll remain with the staff for two years, if they'll have me. I know I'll be with the underway staff for the rest of this deployment at least. But I don't know if I'll be around long enough for a second deployment."

"I suppose that's not so bad…. What's it like?"

Miles looked at him and met his eye, "It's not really bad. Once one gets his bearings…. I suppose it might be like a cruise—with fewer amenities."

Gavin laughed, "You've never taken a cruise, have you?"

"No," Miles smiled, "It's never interested me."

Gavin laughed harder and wiped his mouth, "You've never been interested in taking a cruise, but you requested sea duty?"

"Well, yes," Miles paused thoughtfully, "Yes, that is the case, certainly."

Gavin shook his head and turned the pilaf on his plate with his fork and took a mouthful.

Cruise ships don't have fighter pilots…

Miles twirled the pasta on his fork and then set it down laughing. Gavin looked up at him in surprise.

"Excuse me," Miles said and dropped his napkin on the table and went to find the bathroom. It was small and cramped and housed a single European style toilet and a sink in a single room. He turned on the sink and stared at himself in the mirror, then he checked one more time that the door was locked and he cried.

I don't want you to leave me angry…

Miles put a hand over his mouth and leaned his elbows on the sink. He sobbed harder. This was awful.

Not like last time…

When he'd finally composed himself, Miles washed and dried his face. He didn't meet Gavin's eye as he rejoined him at the table and Gavin had the presence of mind not to ask him any questions about his sudden disappearance. Nor did he comment on his dampened mood and his laconicism.

He must've been gone half an hour or so, because Gavin was nearly finished now and was eying him curiously as he played with his fork. After a few more minutes, where Gavin brought up some of their mutual acquaintances from the Naval Justice School and their time in Rhode Island in general, Miles gave up and called for the check.

He graciously offered to pay for the both of them and they walked out and started back toward the base together.

"Are you well, Miles?"

Miles stared at the sidewalk ahead of them as they walked and nodded dismissively, "We've done what we have set out to do, haven't we?"

He forced a smile and Gavin cocked his head thoughtfully, "I suppose you miss your ship, sir…"

It was less question than observation and Miles put his hands in his pockets and lowered his head. It’s not really about the ship...

H awoke the next morning still feeling down about Phoenix, but rested at least. He stopped by Lieutenant Junior Grade Gavin's room and apologized for the previous night and bid him safe travel. Gavin was already packed and dressed for his return to Naples.

Afterward, Miles went to the NCIS field office where an MAC working there was able to spare the time to take him to the Temporary Personnel Unit which housed the disciplinary barracks. The three Fire Controlmen were the only occupants of the barracks and after relaying his title and position to the watch, he was allowed into the long open bayed room they were sharing.

They to a man were owl-eyed and nervous looking despite the relative freedom and familiarity they must be experiencing in Navy custody vice that of a foreign magistrate. One of the men, probably Seaman Franks, looked hardly older than LN3 Justice.

"Good morning," Miles greeted them when he entered and they lined up before him and stood at attention. His eyes widened at that but he smiled and shook his head, "At ease, I just wanted to see how you're doing."

A brief chorus of muttered, "fine, sir," followed and then they were silent and morose again.

"Come, gentlemen," Miles said feeling that his cheeriness was forced, "You're out of there, and we'll head back soon. You should be glad."

They only stared back silently with frightened eyes. After several moments of this uncomfortable silence and Miles embarrassed at his own lack of bedside manner, one of the men cleared his throat.

"Sir, has anyone told Lieutenant Lang, yet?"

Miles stared at him a moment and then laughed out loud.

It was late that afternoon when MAC Gumshoe and two of his MA Petty Officers arrived on a helicopter flown by none other than Lieutenant Andrews. They'd have to spend another night, but were expected to leave at first light to meet the ship. Andrews who'd seemed quite congenial in all of their previous meetings greeted him coldly and except to relay the time and location of their expected departure, she said nothing to him.

I don't want you to leave me angry…

It surprised him. Lieutenant Andrews had been so nice to both he and Lang only a few short days ago. But then, she was much more loyal to Phoenix Wright.

Who's angry at whom…

Gumshoe on the other hand was ecstatic to see him and treated him like a conquering hero. His enthusiasm at least was infectious enough to lighten the mood of the three FCs and they talked more openly to the gruff Chief than they had with Miles.

Miles didn't join in but stood back while Chief talked to them about what they could expect upon returning to the ship. They'd probably have to stand before the man at a mast, but not before their Chief and Divo had a chance at them. No there was an order to these things.

He took particular interest in hearing them talk about their Divo with that particular mixture of fear and awe. They revered him despite their fear about his reaction to their ordeal. Miles didn't have the heart to tell them that Lang was just as worried about their well-being as they were at facing his wrath.

He spent the evening alone with his thoughts, depressed but no longer needing the release of crying. Had Phoenix spoken about him with Andrews? Who else had he talked to? He gazed around the still silent room, yeah, he was starting to miss Lang too.

Lang would have something to say to him about this. About pulling his head out of his ass and talking to Phoenix. Something like that.

Instead he only had the gathering night and the far off sound of the ocean to remind him that that world really did exist. It was so quiet. So still. It seemed like forever since he'd felt the deck beneath his feet, rumbling with the power of her engines and the general noise of a hull alive.

Funny how that worked. They'd been so excited for a port call and it had been a disaster in almost every regard. Now Miles only wanted to be underway again.

Chapter Text

"Nick, I thought we were bros?"

Phoenix shrugged, "Yeah… We are Larry…"

He slid out of his rack and opened the locker and got out his PT gear.

"Dude, you ran yesterday…"

"I'm just… It helps me clear my head…" Phoenix tugged on the yellow shirt and frowned up at Larry, "You know, since all the bars are closed."

Larry chuckled nervously, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Phoenix shook his head and dragged on his PTU shorts, he grabbed his phone and the much abused ear-buds he'd picked up for this deployment.

"Nick," Phoenix paused holding the door knob, the door was already open, "Brah…"

"Do you need something Larry?"

"No man," Larry hesitated and Phoenix heard him move on his rack, "We just miss you is all."

Phoenix sighed and walked out, letting the door close behind him. He stuck his ear buds in and paired them with his phone before shoving it into his pocket. He went forward and up toward one of the more secluded gyms—they seemed to be all over the ship.

It felt like forever ago, watching him standing on the pier. The scandal caused by Matt's attempt… They'd been underway three days. Two wake ups since they left the pier. Two restless nights since Matt jumped off the ship. Two days without so much as a glimpse of Miles.

He's not even onboard…

Phoenix didn't want people right now. He wanted to curl up in some dark empty corner and cry. Or drink. Of course, onboard, even dark empty corners seemed to get discovered pretty regularly, and drinking was out of the question. So for the last three days he'd found a gym to crawl into. And he ran.

I wish I could run away from here…

Of course, it had come out. Not in any official forum, but through the grapevine as usual. Lieutenant Matt Engarde had tried to kill himself to avoid the shame of being Detached for Cause. Because he'd popped positive for drug use. Or at least that's what was being generated by the rumor mill.

There's no way the results are back this soon…

There was a dark bit to that rumor that had gotten back to Phoenix as well. It was being said that he disliked Matt, and pushed him off the ship. Well, no one from the precinct had come to talk to him about that.

But still...

It was hard to look at anyone, let alone talk to anyone. Sometimes he even thought there was some merit to jumping off the ship. He wanted to tell Matt that he should've waited until they'd been further along. Like maybe two wake-ups after getting underway.

Don't be an idiot…. Or a coward…

Then there was Miles. Asking him to stop doing what he loved so they could be together…. After he'd taken off to follow his dreams… Maybe Miles hadn't considered the idea of service as part of his master plan, but he was still a lawyer. He could probably influence more policy and do more good here than they'd ever let some dude in his mid-twenties straight out of law school.

No, the Navy was a small sacrifice for Miles Edgeworth.

This was all Phoenix had. If he gave up flying he'd have nothing to fall back on, outside of the Navy anyway. He was a commissioned officer—in the unrestricted line, he could do anything he wanted in the Navy.

If I can't fly I'd rather not stay in…

Phoenix sped up, he'd do this until it hurt. Because then he could lie there in pain and not think all these thoughts.

He swung by the stateroom afterward to grab his kit and hit the showers. He kept his eyes trained on the deck when he was done and limped back to his room and the comforting darkness of his rack.

"Nick," He'd only just crawled into his rack when Larry called to him, "Hey. Chow."

Phoenix climbed out of his rack and pulled out a flight suit.

"Nick?"

"Yeah Larry," Phoenix glared irritably at the door where Larry had it cracked open and light spilled in cheerily, "I'm putting on my boots."

He didn't say anything as he followed Larry to the aft mess, and Larry didn't try to make him talk. They joined Doug and Adrian at a table. Larry told a few jokes, Phoenix managed a few greetings and focused on choking down his food.

"Nick," Adrian said sternly, and he looked up at her in surprise, she was frowning at him.

"Oh honey, I haven't seen you since that night on the pier," she fixed her pale blue eyes on him.

He shrugged and turned back to his meal.

"Nick?" She was glaring at him now, "What happened?"

He frowned, "What do you mean?"

"You're not acting like yourself," she said pointedly, "And you've been hiding out."

Phoenix slid his fork across his plate, and glanced at Larry and then Doug in turn. They were both looking at him, with unfounded concern. Phoenix grinned.

"What? You guys been talking about me?"

"Phoenix Wright," Adrian was still glaring at him, "Something happened…"

"Well probably ," Phoenix paused to take a draught from the cup of grape juice he'd gotten with his lunch, "But I can't know everything that happens…"

"I'm not joking around," Adrian grabbed him by the wrist and leaned in to glare at him some more, "We're worried about you."

Phoenix's glare darkened and he pulled away from her touch, "I'm fine, worry about yourselves."

"I'm flying out to NSA Gatrinkel this afternoon," Adrian said, "to pick up JAG and those guys that got left behind."

Phoenix shrugged and scraped together the last bite of the meal on his plate—mystery meat stew, as far as he could tell—and stood to leave. He smiled and leaned in to look at Adrian, "Now why would I care about that?"

He didn't stay to listen to their protests or rationalizations, he really didn't want people right now.

But he's coming back…!

He didn't go straight back to berthing—that'd be the first place Larry would look for him—but wandered aimlessly instead. He went up a few ladders and down a few others, a few he managed to climb two or three times as he circled around the ship. All the ladders exacerbated the pain in the abused muscles of his legs and eventually he stopped in the LRC.

It was blessedly deserted so he had his pick of the computers and he settled for the one furthest from the door. He glanced once around the LRC spaces before logging in and opening his personal e-mail.

Mom sent another care package…

Phoenix smiled, reading her e-mail. Maybe he should go home…

Maybe go home and not come back…

None of the rest of it mattered and soon he found himself following the news and then links that led from the news into the shadier places of the internet.

Are you calling me a fish?

Phoenix let out a snort of laughter, remembering that. Aww Miles…

I'm going to NSA this afternoon…to pick up JAG…

He had a habit, when he thought Miles was angry he'd poke. He'd try to see what was wrong. The last time Phoenix got angry, they didn't see each other for almost six years. Miles was not one to come around and poke...

I did do this for you...

Or he was just slow about it...

Phoenix stared at the picture on the screen and choked.

Where would they build their home? Of course…

"I can't wait another six years…" he mumbled to himself and reached up to wipe the tear sliding down his cheek with the heel of his hand.

Don't be so hard on him… You can't know what he's going through…

He swallowed then dragged his sleeve over his face and glanced around to make sure he was still alone. Then he hit print. A moment later he pulled his papers from the printer and grinned at them in his hands and returned to do another search.

Phoenix was in much better spirits when he left the LRC almost an hour later. He climbed back up to the O-3 level and stopped at the counter in Flag Admin. The YN1 at the counter eyed him sidelong as he approached.

"Afternoon, Sir," she said, "I'm YN1 May, what can I do for you?"

"Hi YN1," Phoenix leaned on the counter and smiled, "Can I get a folder?"

She smiled back blushing a little, "What color, Sir?"

"It doesn't matter, whatever you can easily spare."

"So I got this one, it's a little beat up, this one, but then I might need it later. Then there's this one, which I think Lieutenant Lang from OEM brought here as a joke."

She held each folder up in turn, a dark blue folder water stained and frayed from use, a green folder with only one set of staple holes on it and a shiny laminated folder featuring the guys from One Direction. Phoenix smiled.

He put his print outs carefully into the folder as he left Flag Admin and then turned into the squadron passageways and made a beeline for the VAQ spaces.

"Lieutenant Wright," AMC was one of the other squadron Chiefs, and the only other person in the space.

"How are ya Chief?" Phoenix grinned and moved to the supply cabinet at the back of the office-like room.

"I'm good, sir," Chief looked balefully up from the binder he was flipping through and stared at Phoenix with his watery blue eyes, "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Oh no, Chief," Phoenix held up the black marker he'd pulled from the cabinet, "just getting a Sharpie and checking the board."

"Bored already, Sir?"

Phoenix scoffed, "I've been bored since I woke up from the last mission," he paused at the board to look at the scheduled flights—yep… nothing for the next five days.

"See ya, Chief."

As he stepped back into the passageway, he heard Chief call after him, "Have a good one El-Tee."

He stalked back to his stateroom glad to find it deserted, and sat at the small desk. It didn't take very long, he'd only printed about eight of them, but they'd do the trick. He closed the folder, sat back in the chair and stretched.

Now, what? He's not even back yet...

Phoenix stared at the shiny folder and managed to waste a few more minutes adding mustaches and glasses to the guys on the cover. He held the folder up and laughed.

You should go visit Matt…. Make sure he isn't dead… Since everyone thinks you might have tried to…

Phoenix hesitated and opened the folder again. He flipped through the pictures and found one that he hadn't marked up. This would work. He pulled the cap off of the Sharpie and wrote on the picture. Then he folded it and put it in his pocket and shoved the folder in his gym bag.

He passed Larry on the way out of the stateroom.

"Hey Dude, you're not going to the gym are you?"

Phoenix paused and stared at him, "No. Not right now."

"I was going to go after dinner, if you're going anyway…"

Larry was looking at him like he'd just been diagnosed with a deadly disease, "Yeah, sure Larry."

"Chow at six?" Phoenix hesitated to reply, Larry seemed so serious.

"Yeah, Larry," he ran a hand through his spiky hair, "that sounds good."

Larry didn't seem like he was going to budge from where he was standing, so Phoenix clapped him on the shoulder and smiled, "I'll see you later."

He pushed past Larry without a second glance and exited the nearest hatch and started to jog down the ladders. He'd only seen the brig once. That was during his first deployment where he and a few of the other new Aviators were given "the 2-dollar tour" to familiarize them with all of the other things that happened on the ship besides flight ops and chow.

The LRC was about the deepest into the ship's belly he ever went on a regular basis. Still he had no trouble finding it and when he entered brig spaces he slowed nervously, looking for the Admin desk.

He stopped at the most likely counter and leaned on it, looking around because there didn't seem to be anyone in the space.

"What are you doing!" Phoenix was startled by the gruff voice and sudden entrance of the Senior Chief that spoke.

The man eyed him suspiciously, probably taking note that he was wearing a flight suit, his hair was too spiky, and he was trying to offer a brave smile.

"Sir," Senior Chief finished lamely and glared at him, "I'm the acting Brig Oh…"

"I wanted to see how Lieutenant Engarde is doing…" Phoenix swallowed staring at the Senior Chief. The man towered over him, and he looked grizzled and mean, also there was something in his mouth, a stick-too large for a toothpick and too thin for a cigarette—not that even Senior Chief would try smoking inside the belly of a ship like that. No, that would be too dangerous.

"Why?" Senior Chief eyed him suspiciously.

"He's a friend…" Phoenix said, "and he seemed pretty down last I saw him."

Senior's eyes widened in incredulity, "Yeah, he's on suicide watch. Caught him jumping off the ship."

Phoenix nodded.

"There's a visitor's log over there," Senior pointed at the counter where one of those ubiquitous lime green log books used by the Navy was sitting closed. The book was hand-labeled in faded marker with the words 'Visitors Brig'.

Phoenix hesitated and stepped forward to open the log book, flipping to the most recent page.

"And I've got to search you before you go in there," Senior Chief added and Phoenix felt the big man's shadow move in behind him.

"Yeah, sure thing," Phoenix finished printing his name and squadron, and the date then he entered the current time and signed. He held his arms out to let Senior pat him down.

"Are you an idiot?" Senior roared at him, his hand still resting on the inside of Phoenix's left thigh.

"Oh geez, Senior I forgot… I always have it on me when I fly," Phoenix rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

"You're not flying now," Senior boldly ripped open the Velcro pocket and pulled out the folded buck knife, and hefted it in his hand. He snorted derisively, "Aviators…"

"I'll get it back afterward, right Senior?" Phoenix grinned.

Senior glared, "You can ask one of your Chiefs to pick it up from the precinct for you. Sometime tomorrow, since MAC is off the ship."

Phoenix frowned, "Okay… Thanks Senior…"

Senior glared at him and then jerked his head for Phoenix to follow. He led him to a hatch painted blue and lifted the bar dogging it down, "He's in the first cooling cell. Holler when you're done."

"Thanks Senior," Phoenix frowned at the man as he walked away and then approached the cell anxiously, "Matt?"

Lieutenant Engarde was lying on the rack with his arm shading his eyes from the bright light of the overhead. He sat up at the sound of Phoenix's voice and stared at him in surprise.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Nothing," Phoenix said clasping the painted metal bars with his hands, "I just wanted to see how you were doing."

"As well as can be, I guess," Matt slid out of the rack and walked over to stand in front of Phoenix. He was dressed in his NWUs, but he'd removed the blouse and he hitched his pants as he approached.

"What brings you this way?"

Phoenix frowned staring into those eyes, pale like ice, in Matt's hollowed out face, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left you."

Matt shook his head and laughed, "Of course you'd find something to come apologize about. Nick, you're something else…"

Phoenix blinked and forced a smile, "It shouldn't happen to anybody…"

Matt crossed his arms and started to pace in front of him, "You know if it was the other way around, I wouldn't be there."

"Yeah," Phoenix nodded, "But I’m not you."

Matt paused and glared and then he shook his head and laughed, "Is that why you came, Phoenix Wright? So you could gloat? So you could stand there and point out all the ways that you're better then me?"

Phoenix shook his head mutely and then sighed.

Matt stuck his hands through the bars and leaned forward resting his head against the bars, "You're the only person that's come to visit me."

Their eyes met, Matt's were rimmed red. He swallowed, "I thought I was popular…"

Phoenix shrugged, "So, I remembered that you liked cats…"

He stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out the paper. He'd folded it in quarters and it still had the stringent smell of the marker ink he'd written the note with. He unfolded the paper and held it up so Matt could see it.

Matt stared and then he laughed out loud, "God! Only you would think to do that…"

"Matt, the whole time I've been in the Navy you've been there. Through Flight School, Fighter School, SERE School… We didn't always get along, but I will miss you. Everything is going to be different from here on out."

Matt was still staring down at the paper in his hands, he was grinning at it.

"That's my e-mail too," Phoenix said and leaned away from the bars, "If you ever end up on the West coast."

“I forgot,” Matt folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket, “Your squadron’s out of Whidbey...”

“Yeah,” Phoenix said, “So I’m not sticking around except to move my stuff...”

“Nick, I haven’t always been—“

Phoenix held up a hand and shook his head, “It’s not about that. I just wanted to let you know that you’re not alone.”

Matt swallowed and put his head down clasping the bars that separated them, “I’ll never get how a guy can have it all, and still be so... so like you...”

Phoenix frowned, “I’ll see you around Matt.”

“Not likely,” Matt gave a sardonic chuckle, “Thanks Nick...”

Phoenix left him then, not really interested in having any deep conversation with Matt Engarde.

Was Matt Engarde envious? I always thought he just didn’t like me...

"Fucking Phoenix Wright," he heard Matt say as he closed the hatch behind him. He was still dogging it down when he felt a shadow approach him.

Phoenix turned to find Senior Chief standing over him glaring at him. He pressed himself against the hatch, suddenly shy, "Senior…"

Senior leaned over him and raised a hand to his mouth to grasp the stick dangling from it. He pulled out a lollipop, and then handed Phoenix's knife back to him, "Don't forget to sign out, Sir."

Phoenix chuckled nervously and took the knife, "Th-thanks Senior."

He joined Larry for dinner that evening like they'd planned and Larry convinced him that maybe they could watch a movie in the Air Wing's Wardroom instead of the gym. Phoenix was glad he didn't have to admit that his legs were sore and he could use the break anyway.

Doug was there, and Juan, and a half-dozen other Air Wing officers. It was something about superheroes that Phoenix had some trouble following, because it was a sequel of another sequel and he'd missed most of the other movies in the franchise.

But it was entertaining. Miles would've liked it…

Phoenix leaned back in the metal folding chair he was slouched into with a fistful of popcorn from the bowl that was being passed around in the darkened room. It was kind of like free movie night at the Y. The thought made him smile. He hadn't wanted people lately, he'd wanted seclusion. But people came looking for him anyway.

You know if it was the other way around, I wouldn't be there.

No, Phoenix couldn't say he felt great or particularly sanguine about the situation at hand, but at least he wasn't Matt Engarde.

He slept in as late as he could and went to breakfast with Larry, where they were joined by Doug and a dark haired man, Lieutenant Nikolai Pravda, from the helo det.

"Adrian told me they'd be leaving Borginia early, zero six. I won't be surprised if she's able to grab lunch with us."

Larry shot Phoenix a meaningful look. Phoenix shot him a glare, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. Larry's eyebrows shot up inquisitively.

"So Nick," Doug began, oblivious to Phoenix and Larry's exchange. Both Phoenix and Lieutenant Pravda looked at him, and Doug smiled, "Oh yeah…"

"I meant Nick Pee," he glanced over at Phoenix, "you can be Pee Nick. So anyway, Nick Pee, I haven't seen you onboard for a month? What happened?"

Lieutenant Pravda frowned at him, "My det's on the Shotgun."

"Oh right," Doug nodded, "Cool, cool. I thought you didn't like us or something."

Lieutenant Pravda stared at Phoenix and Larry in turn, exasperated. Phoenix smiled and shook his head slightly.

"So, how is it on a small boy?" Larry asked, "Do you get seasick?"

The helo pilot smiled and shook his head, "The food is better, eggs—made to order. I like being able to see the sunrise and sunset on the regular. As far as seasickness? You have to remember, she's still a pretty big ship—just not as massive as this one."

"Too bad I can't go on a small boy," Doug said.

"Well you could," Phoenix quipped as he finished up his breakfast, realizing with a slight frown that his eggs probably came out of a box, "You'd have to stop flying and probably go SWO, though."

They all laughed and Larry added, "Who'd want to do that—on purpose?"

After breakfast, Phoenix swung by his stateroom to grab a paper out of his folder and then made his way toward the JO jungle Miles lived in. He knocked on the door to their stateroom and was surprised to find it already open.

"Nosey, aren't we?" Lang's voice came from the bottom rack where he was sitting cross legged with a magazine in front of him.

"Sorry," Phoenix said and stepped into the room, only then did he notice Lieutenant Yew sitting at the desk, she looked like she'd been crying.

"He's not here, fly boy," Lang said looking up at him, "I thought you knew?"

"Yeah, sorry… I um… You left the door open," Phoenix grinned sheepishly.

"Why yes," Lang closed the magazine and leaned forward, "As you might have noticed, there is a female on this deck."

"Yeah," Phoenix looked at Lieutenant Yew and grinned again, "How are you?"

She blinked at him in return.

"Is there something you need, Phoenix Wright?" Lang slid out of his rack and stood glowering at him.

"I just… Can you give him something for me?" Phoenix held out the sheet of paper folded in quarters, "He's supposed to be back today."

Lang's eyebrows shot up and he shot a glance momentarily at the paper before looking back at Phoenix, "Today? Do you know if he got those guys—"

"I only know about the helo," Phoenix raised his hands, palms out, "But I can't imagine he'd come back so soon if he hadn't done what he went there for."

Lang paused, considering his words. Then he looked at Phoenix before focusing on the paper he was still holding out. Lang reached out to pluck it out of his fingers, "What is this? A love letter? Did you two have a fight or something?"

Lieutenant Yew was eyeing them with sudden interest. Phoenix rubbed the back of his head and frowned at Lang.

"He didn't say anything to you?"

"No," Lang said and to Phoenix's dismay, promptly unfolded the paper, and then he laughed.

"Dear Miles… Wouldn't it be nice to live together, in the kind of world where we belonged?"

"Aww," Lieutenant Yew said, "Beach Boys."

"What the hell is this a picture of?"

Phoenix frowned, "It's a cormorant… it's a bird that spends a lot of its time on the water."

Lang shook his head laughing, "What a couple of dorks!"

Chapter Text

He walked in the back of the line as they went into the ship. The group of them entered the hatch and walked the short distance into ATO. It was more crowded than Miles had ever seen it.

Lieutenant Lang was there, arms crossed and glaring hard as his sailors were ushered into to the space, handcuffed. They wore borrowed NWUs with no patches, since they'd been arrested in civilian clothes, and they glanced at him nervously. There was a Chief and a Petty Officer First Class Miles had never seen before—probably the rest of their Division Leadership.

Senior Badd was there and gave him a slight nod from where he stood on the far side of the space, arms crossed and expression grim. Skipper was standing beside him with a Master Chief Miles had never really spoken to, but recognized as the ship's CMC. They were standing close and seemed to be having a whispered conversation.

There were a couple more MAs from the precinct wearing body armor and armed, and looking a little lost and forlorn, LN3 Justice. Miles met his eye as he pulled off his cranial, and offered a nod in greeting. LN3 nodded stoically in reply, and he lifted his chin—seeming to perk up at Miles' encouragement, however slight.

Miles didn't recognize the remaining personnel, but guessed that there was some purpose to their being there. There were a couple of other Officers he didn't recognize, but they wore SWO pins like Lang, and seemed more curious than angry. Finally, there was a man in khakis and a dark polo-style shirt with the ship's logo—their afloat NCIS agent.

He handed his cranial to the Air crewman walking around to gather up the gear, and pulled off the life preserver as well. He saw the flash of green as Adrian and her crew departed without a word. Their job in this was done.

"Welcome back, folks," Skipper said as if they'd just returned from a picnic, "We're all relieved to have you back."

He stepped forward and crossed his arms studying each of the returned sailors in turn, "I hope we've learned a lesson in all of this."

Skipper then turned to leave ATO and the CMC followed, calling "Attention on Deck!"

The group as one stiffened at the order until Skipper muttered, "Carry on," and stepped over the knee knocker and out of ATO. Miles glanced around the room once more as everyone fell back into more relaxed, natural poses. Lang met his eye from where he stood and offered him a slight smile and a nod of thanks.

"Well," Senior sighed looking around the room and pausing on the three sailors, "Go ahead and book 'em."

Miles saw Lang drop his head as the cuffs were removed from the three sailors, and the other MAs moved forward to place the body cuffs on them. When they were so secured, Senior led the way out of ATO, followed by his Brig personnel and the prisoners, and the NCIS agent.

MAC shot Miles a grimace and then led his MAs that traveled with him out next. LN3 took the opportunity of the emptying room and joined Miles. They walked out of ATO together, "Welcome back, El-Tee."

"It's good to be back, Justice," Miles nodded but did not look at him.

"Man, this thing is a big deal," Justice quipped as they pushed past the curtain that separated the blue-tile corridor from squadron spaces, "It was on the news, and Skipper put us in RIVERCITY."

Miles frowned, "The news? There's certainly nothing news worthy about this?"

LN3 shrugged, "It's fine now, I'm sure. But they were making it seem scary on the news. There were Senators and stuff doing interviews, condemning Borginia's actions—Sir, how did you manage it?"

Miles only shrugged, "I just did my job."

LN3 beamed at him as they turned into Flag Admin.

"Lieutenant Edgeworth!"

Miles turned at the sound of his name to see Lang behind him leading his Chief and LPO.

"Justice," Miles said, "I'm going to take my things to my room and change, I'll come down after."

"Okay, sir," LN3 replied and disappeared into the Admin space.

Miles looked back toward the corridor to find that Lang was now standing less than an arms' span away. The Chief and Petty Officer were standing behind him, looking at Miles curiously.

"Men, I'll come find you later," Lang said looking at the deck and then turned to Miles and grinned, "Well, JAG. I'm impressed."

Miles nodded, smiling slightly, and turned sideways to let the other men pass, "I'm running up to the room to drop this off—"

Lang hugged him in the passageway, and Miles stood back startled. Lang let him go and gave his shoulder a final slap, "Thank you."

Miles frowned at him, "Why are you surprised?"

Lang chuckled and shook his head, "Not surprised, Miles, relieved. It started to seem like there was no way out of this—what with the news and everything."

"You can't believe everything you hear on the news," Miles said, "I'm going up now…. I want to get out of these blues…"

"See you later then," Lang grinned, "I'm gonna be busy for the next few hours."

"Because of this stuff?"

Lang shrugged, and turned to walk abaft. Miles chuckled in his direction and started toward the nearest hatch.

"Oh, hang on," Lang turned back to him and pulled a piece of paper out of his shirt pocket, "You got a note from your secret admirer."

Miles looked at the paper in his hand and shook his head, when he looked up, Lang was already too far down the passage for conversation. Miles dropped his bag on the deck where he stood and unfolded it to read it. It made him smile.

He had to report to the XO, and he dressed quickly into his NWUs and then jogged back to the executive passageway. For what he'd thought was a positive outcome and should have been a short report, Miles was disappointed to find that the Command wanted to pursue a mast of the three sailors. It wasn't entirely unexpected, but the amount of vehemence the leadership seemed to have for such a near miss, was incongruent with what had basically amounted to a minor alcohol related incident and a misunderstanding with a foreign government.

"I don't understand how it's their fault," Lang said as he undressed for bed. It was late, almost 2200, when he returned to berthing. He was trying to be quiet when he entered the stateroom, but Miles was wide awake and waiting for him.

"With so much attention, someone has to take the fall for this," Miles replied gloomily, "It's less about justice and more about saving face."

"They're not bad guys," Lang's voice dropped angrily, "It isn't fair at all—they're just starting out."

Miles frowned at him, "Sailors have their rights too, I can look into it for you."

Lang shook his head, "My department head is adamant about it. These guys are going to mast."

"Mast is one thing," Miles said, "But it doesn't have to be the end of their careers. They probably just want to scare these guys straight and show to the outside world when they come asking that, yes, the Navy is taking this seriously. That's all."

"Yeah," Lang turned off the overhead and slid into his rack, "I hope you're right."

Miles smiled at the lagging above him, tinged red by the dim light, "You would be a good father. You care for your Sailors genuinely."

"Shut up, Miles," Lang groaned and Miles heard his rack creak some as he turned in it.

They were up early and dressed in time to make it to breakfast before most of the other officers. Inwardly, Miles was amused at how much more normal this felt than his short time ashore.

"Are you and your pilot fighting?" Lang was focused on buttering some toast when he asked and Miles hoped he hadn't noticed his expression before he could reign it in.

"Why do you think that?" Miles sipped at his coffee and grimaced, "What the hell?"

Lang chuckled, "All that time ashore has made you soft."

Miles frowned and took a bigger draught before setting down his cup, "It's still awful."

"Don't change the subject, lover-boy," Lang glared at him and bit into his toast.

"Oh, it's nothing," Miles said poking at his eggs, "I'm sure we'll be able to talk it out."

Lang swallowed and looked at him incredulously, "That note was weird."

"Why are you reading my private correspondences?"

Lang rolled his eyes, "Speaking of private correspondences, did you mail my letters?"

"No, I read them in the helo and dropped them into the ocean."

"Thank you, Miles," Lang chuckled, "He looked kind of sad when he dropped it off."

"Still," Miles muttered and then took a forkful of eggs.

"He's been pretty scarce since we got underway."

Miles only shrugged in reply and finished his coffee, "I'm going to get some more of this muddy water…"

"You heard about Engarde, by now, I'm sure?"

Miles paused where he was standing, "Did the results come back?"

Lang shrugged and shook his head, "He did jump off the ship though."

Miles set his cup on the table and sat back down, "What?"

"Some people are saying that Wright pushed him."

Miles made a face, "What happened to Engarde?"

"He was rescued and promptly put back in the brig," Lang said casually as he put ketchup on his eggs and turned them to mix it up, "If that's not a guilty plea, I don't know what is."

Miles made a face at him, "Phoenix is not in the brig too?"

"No," Lang chuckled, "He's just hiding out."

Miles got up again and grabbed his coffee cup, "Stupid ship talk."

Lang only laughed as he walked away.

"MAC was looking for you," LN1 told him as soon as he'd returned from the staff meeting that afternoon. Miles nodded and walked back out again and headed down to the main deck.

All talk had been focused on the recently returned sailors and their disposition. Arguments from the department heads involved had gotten heated. Obviously Lang was fighting for his sailors. Miles didn't think they had anything more to worry about than a few hours of EMI over this, but he was surprised how much emotion was involved.

When he'd exited the ladderwell into the main deck, Miles was relieved to find it relatively deserted. When he walked into the precinct, Senior Badd was there with MAC and a medical officer Miles hadn't met before.

"Afternoon, gentlemen," Miles greeted as he entered, "I was in the staff meeting."

"No I understand perfectly well, Sir," Senior Badd said as he stood up, "We have a dilemma."

Miles could only frown in dismay. The morning for him and his legal team had been cluttered with prepping paperwork for the Captain's Mast of the three sailors. Questions and speculations seemed to be talked about all over the ship and Miles had a time trying to quell as much of it as he could. Even Lieutenant Payne had stopped in to give his two cents—and basically demanded that these guys be raked across the coals. He couldn't imagine something worse than what this case had become.

Miles raised an eyebrow at Senior and bade him continue with a nod.

"We got the results of the health and welfare back," Senior said grimly, "He's clean. They were both clean."

Miles blinked and shook his head, "I don't follow, how is that a dilemma?"

"We already have a confession of misconduct, plus the whole jumping off the ship thing," Senior frowned.

Miles scratched at his forehead and sighed, "Ah, yes… This has become quite sticky…"

"Mister Edgeworth?" The doctor offered a hand, "Lieutenant Commander Dick Hickfield, I'm the flight surgeon."

Miles looked at him surprised, and shook his hand, "Staff Judge Advocate, Miles Edgeworth."

"I'm here to speak to Lieutenant Engarde's medical history—within HIPAA regulations—in case there are questions."

"I see," Miles said—so this is the guy feeding all the pilots amphetamine, "Em, nice to meet you, Doctor. While I do appreciate your enthusiasm, there is currently no case on file regarding Lieutenant Engarde. We will contact you for a statement, in the very near future."

"Thank you sir," the Doctor smiled congenially, "I'll await your contact."

They stared at Commander Hickfield as he turned and walked out and then MAC sighed in relief, "We could not get rid of that guy."

"I think someone high up in the AirWing put him to it," Senior muttered and then looked at Miles, "So where do we go from here?"

Miles rubbed his face, "I'll have to look at his record."

"We're still holding him for his safety, but he's a pilot—they're going to try and squash this."

Miles frowned and shook his head planting his glare on the deck, "Is that all, gentlemen?"

"For now," Senior Badd muttered, "But this thing's going to be a mess…"

Miles met his eye and gave a smirk, "When it rains, it pours…"

When he got back to his stateroom it was after 1800, Lang was sitting on the deck with paperwork laid out in front of him. Miles frowned and stepped gingerly over Lang's work.

"Where've you been?" Lang didn't look up at him.

"Guess," Miles said grimly and shoved the brown tri-folder he had with him under his pillow, "Did you eat yet?"

"No," Lang muttered soberly at the folders and papers stacked in front of him, "We should go, before they secure chow."

He started stacking the paper work together and Miles bent to help him, "What's all this?"

"I've got the DORs for those guys, and I'm in the middle of Second Class Midterms…" Lang stood, and stacked the folders and papers carefully on his rack, "I supposed we're making up for all that liberty we had in Borginia."

Miles smirked at the sardonic quip and followed Lang out of the stateroom.

"Oh," Lang paused on the ladderwell and pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket, "I didn't read it this time, but I'm assuming it's as corny as the last one."

"Did you see him?" Miles asked unable to hide his concern.

"No," Lang continued down the ladder, "It was stuck in the door."

You really need to talk to him…

Miles frowned at the accusative voice in his head, and opened the note as they stepped out of the ladder well. There were only a handful of stragglers left in the mess and the two of them were able to walk right up to the CS1 working the counter.

"Whatcha be coming up here so late, for?" the man grinned at Lang, "Lieutenant Lang?"

"I'm busy," Lang crossed his arms and frowned at the meager pickings left available, "This is it?"

"Yeah Sir," CS1 said pointedly, "We's about to secure chow here. I mean, if you want to run down to the enlisted galley, they're serving for another hour yet."

Lang made a face and started down the line asking CS1 for extra helping of the sides since they'd run out of entrée. Miles copied him—he'd missed lunch in all of the meetings and running up and down all over the ship, and breakfast had been more than twelve hours ago.

They sat together and Miles almost laughed at the look of disappointment on Lang's face as he stared at his plate of potato salad and two helpings of spinach casserole. Lang met his eye and sighed before tucking in.

They didn't speak, hungry as they were, and only paused when CS1 approached them carrying one of the large metal serving containers, "Here, we're making Chicken Parmigiana for Midrats, you guys probably want something more than spinach and potatoes."

He served them each a breaded chicken patty, still hot from the ovens.

"Thank you CS1, you're the best," Lang quipped looking much more relieved. Miles thanked him as well and went back to his meal.

"I ain't gonna let none y'all go hungry on my watch," CS1 said before turning to head back into the galley.

"We're lucky it's his watch," Lang chuckled, "Chief would sooner see us starve."

Miles shook his head and laughed.

They were most of the way through when Lang looked up at Miles, "What did he say?"

Miles blushed slightly and pulled the paper out of his pocket and held it up for Lang, "It's a flying fish…"

"I won't give up on us….." Lang read it aloud and then shook his head laughing, "He's such a poet…"

"We had an argument that day at NSA," Miles frowned, "He told me some anecdote about fish and birds not being able to live together…"

Lang's brow furrowed, "You guys fought about that? About the habitats of fish and birds? You guys are so weird."

Miles sighed, "No… I told him what I felt about him flying."

Lang shook his head chiding, "Oh Miles, you told your aviator you don't like him flying? Can you tell a rainbow to tone down its colors?"

Miles frowned at him.

"Well, whatever happened, he's obviously sorry. You should be nice. Phoenix Wright is a catch, don't give him up because birds don't swim and fish don't fly."

Miles smiled and held up the picture again, "This fish can fly."

"Nerds," Lang said and finished his dinner.

They went back to the stateroom after dinner and went through the DORs Lang had on his sailors. They really were good sailors, heavily involved in Command activities, good evaluations on job performance, good PT scores, and enough well documented work ethic and acumen to make any DIVO want to gloat. They'd each won at least Department Sailor of the Quarter and FC3 Flonkerton had won at the Command level.

Miles was starting to realize why Lang had been so upset about the incident. It was so perfectly incongruous with their normal behavior that it seemed almost as if they'd been mixed up with three different people.

"Obviously, we take into account the Sailor's history," Miles began in another attempt to ease Lang's mind about the upcoming mast. Their DRB was expected to take place the next day and the XOI had been scheduled as well. No, nothing was going to derail this train.

"Are you going to be in the Mast?"

"I'm the cognizant Staff Judge Advocate," Miles frowned at him, "So I have some oversight of the proceedings, but for the most part this will be in Skipper's hands."

They retreated to their racks after midnight, anxious but tired none the less. Miles stayed up another hour and a half, trying to study Matt Engarde's record by the glow of a book-light he had for the long flight over. He hadn't touched it since coming aboard—until now.

He fell asleep with the folder still clutched in his arms and let the little book-light tumble to the deck.

"Dammit Miles!"

He startled awake to Lang's rough shaking.

"Get dressed and get up to Admin, hurry!"

Now that Miles was awake, Lang sat on the deck and pulled on his boots. He hopped back to his feet to cinch his NWU belt and tugged the sleeves down so that his arms were covered.

"Miles let's go, get moving!"

That's when he noticed the alarms going off.

"GENERAL QUARTERS! GENERAL QUARTERS!"

Miles slid down from his rack and tugged on his NWU pants, "What? Are we getting attacked?"

"ALL HANDS MAN YOUR BATTLE STATIONS!"

"Miles, are you going to be okay getting to Admin?"

"Yes, of course—"

"I have to run," Lang said and turned and bolted out of the door.

"GENERAL QUARTERS!"

Miles tugged on his second boot and grabbed his blouse and Engarde's record. The red lights were still on in the otherwise darkened passageway—so reveille hadn't sounded yet.

"GENERAL QUARTERS!"

Miles was slightly disoriented in the gloom and sailors rushed past, heading to their Stations, like phantoms in the darkness.

"ALL HANDS MAN YOUR BATTLE STATIONS!"

Fortunately, his feet seemed to know the way to Flag Admin better than he was able to remember just then. He entered the already crowded Admin space and shoved his way back into legal and glanced around. LN1 stood with her back to the counter wide-eyed in fright. Miles glared at her.

"Where's LN3?"

"GENERAL QUARTERS! GENERAL QUARTERS!"

"He's at his repair locker, he's on repair party two," LN1 Iney cringed ever closer to the counter.

Miles frowned, "What do we do now?"

"ALL HANDS MAN YOUR BATTLE STATIONS!"

"All we can do is stay out of the way, Sir."

Miles frowned considering her words and fell against the bulkhead as the ship turned suddenly and the deck lurched beneath him. Minutes later he heard the slide and bang of the catapults.

Chapter Text

Phoenix paced the deck in front of their stateroom for several more minutes before glancing down at his watch. They probably weren't going to show then. He stuck his hand in his pocket and glanced surreptitiously around the passageway before leaning into their stateroom door and tucking the folded sheet in the tight space between the door and the jamb. He ran a hand through his spikes and exited the berthing. Making his way back up to the squadron.

It was annoying, Commander Johns had called them all in to do some studying for the next NATOPS exam—even though it would be another month before they were tested. Phoenix entered the squadron frowning, though whether it was because of this bothersome order to study or the fact that he still hadn't seen Miles, even he wasn't really sure.

He's definitely back onboard…

He grabbed one of the thick plastic covered volumes and sat next to Lieutenant Commander Masters.

"Morning Eddie," Phoenix said and cracked open the massive book.

"Hey Nick," Masters replied already deep in study.

Just the sound of the pages turning made him want to yawn. Phoenix blinked at the words as they faded in and out of focus and looked up to stare at the board, three days before the next flight. He drummed his fingers on the edge of the book and read the same paragraph about ejection procedures again.

"Nick, did you hear?" Masters looked at him, obviously bored of the same task, "the VFA is looking for someone to replace Engarde. Didn't you do a tour with them?"

Phoenix turned a page in the manual and looked over at Masters, "Yes…"

"I mean just temporarily…" Masters added, "I guess they came over here because our schedule isn't as tight right now. Now that Zach is back—"

Phoenix narrowed his eyes and looked at Masters with scrutiny, "It sounds like you're trying to talk me into this…"

"I'm just letting you know, man," Masters' reply sounded defensive and Phoenix laughed, "You know how it goes, if no one volunteers, one of us will get picked."

Phoenix leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face, "I don't know, I got pretty beat up when we surged last month…"

"Everyone did, Nick," Masters frowned at him.

"Larry will get pissed," Phoenix added thoughtfully.

"The other EWOs want a turn at the cool stuff. This ain't the Larry Butz show…"

Phoenix laughed, "Yeah, I can see that."

"I know you're ready to see your name on that list in December… This is the kind of stuff that gets you noticed."

Phoenix put a hand over his chin and contemplated, "But ew… it's Engarde's plane…"

Masters laughed, "They'll clean her out for you."

Phoenix hesitated and then met Master's eye, "Are you absolutely sure Rico doesn't want this?"

Masters laughed, "I tried to talk him into it earlier when I first heard."

Miles wouldn't like this if it got back to him…

Phoenix frowned at the manual on the table in front of him, "No... I mean I'll do whatever they ask me to do, but I'm not going to volunteer."

Masters looked at him sidelong, not quite able to hide his disappointment.

"Come on Eddie, you don't want to volunteer either…"

"But you're younger than me and Rico. And you have more hours with a VFA, you're the best candidate for this. I'm getting married next spring… and Rico's got kids… You…

You're the best candidate for this…"

Phoenix glared at him, "You mean I'm more expendable. Because I don't have a family?"

Masters met his eye guiltily, and then tugged his ear nervously, "I didn't mean it like that, Nick…"

Phoenix slammed the book shut, "How else could you mean it?"

"It's a couple extra flights, man," Masters was pleading now, "You're bored hanging out here anyway. Don't leave it to chance. Help us pick up Matt's slack."

Phoenix sighed and rubbed the back of his head.

"Maybe next time time you wont go pushing VFA pilots off the ship."

"Screw you, Eddie," Phoenix said then he shook his head and laughed, "I'll go talk to Commander Johns…"

If this gets back to Miles, he'll kill you…

Phoenix picked up the NATOPS manual and went to put it back on the shelf, then he paused by Masters on his way out, "Do you know where Commander Johns is?"

"Probably in his stateroom," Masters said.

Phoenix went to the hatch that led out of the VAQ spaces, "Nick, you're a good guy."

Phoenix frowned at Master's remark—being a good guy never seems to do me any good…

He dogged the hatch behind him and paused to consider which way he should go. He was already walking toward the blue tile passage and peering into Flag Admin before he'd consciously made his decision.

"Can I help you?"

Phoenix startled when Lieutenant Yew appeared seemingly out of nowhere and leaned in a little too closely. Phoenix took a step back from her and shook his head, "I'm just passing by."

"He's been in meetings all day," Lieutenant Yew added without prompt, "he's going to be busy with this mess for a minute."

Phoenix nodded and made to walk away, but she grabbed the sleeve of his flight suit, "Hey, um are you guys… Really?"

He frowned at her, "What?"

"Is it serious?"

Phoenix stared at her and then turned to leave, tugging his sleeve out of her grasp, "I don't see why you should be concerned about it."

The nerve of her…. Is it serious?

Phoenix frowned as he left the blue tile and entered the wide corridor that passed in front of CVIC and exited the nearest hatch.

Well, is it serious? Was it ever serious?

Phoenix clambered slowly up the ladder, turned on the landing and went up the next ladder before exiting in the wide cool passage. The lights here had been flipped to blue—tactical blue—and it made Phoenix roll his eyes.

The Air Wing O-5's had a small berthing near here and he entered the bright fluorescent light of the berthing with not a little apprehension. Commander Johns was sitting at his desk just inside his stateroom with the door propped open. Phoenix paused in the doorway and knocked. The commander only spared him a glance before turning back to his desk.

"What do you need, Wright?"

"Sir, I just came by to tell you that I'll do it. I'll take Engarde's flights until his replacement gets here—or whatever."

"Outstanding," Commander Johns said, "That makes my life a whole lot easier. I'm sending Commander Woodward an e-mail in this regard. Go ahead and go down there and introduce yourself. Doc's going to want to make sure you're good as well."

"Yes, sir."

Phoenix started to leave, "Oh, and Wright?"

"Sir?"

"Thanks a bunch, really good of you."

"Sure, no problem."

Commander Woodward was not in his stateroom, nor was he in the VFA work center. Phoenix had to poke around the hangar bay until he found him sitting with Lieutenant Corrida, Lieutenant Swallow, and Lieutenant Williams. The other three greeted him congenially, while the Commander glared at him as if he were an intruder.

"Good morning, sir," Phoenix said, "I'm Lieutenant Wright, from the VAQ, Commander Johns sent me over here to meet you."

The Commander's glare softened and he stood and shook Phoenix's hand, "Oh awesome, we weren't sure who we were getting, but I'd heard your name bounced around."

"Oh yeah, Bob, Nick's cool people," Doug said, "We fly with him all the time."

"You guys know each other?" Commander Woodward said, "That's good, very good."

"Nick's fresh from a VFA himself," Juan added, "He'll fit right in."

"Awesome," The Commander smiled, "Well, have a seat join us."

It was nice to join them and talk about Florida and Virginia. He'd never met Commander Woodward before, but he was pretty good friends with the other aviators. It wouldn't be too different than what he was already doing. Just a couple extra flights until Matt came back or a replacement was sent out. He knew the platform already and he had many more hours with the VFA than he had flying his Growler. Nothing to it.

Miles is so gonna kill you…. Yeah, well he's not even talking to you right now…

Phoenix joined Doug, Laurence, and Juan for lunch and they sat together in the aft mess under the television, mostly joking about Phoenix getting lonely without Larry in the plane with him. Phoenix didn't want to point it out, but no one seemed miffed about losing Matt at all. It was kind of sad really.

"Whoa," Juan was sitting beside him facing the television and threw an arm out to get his attention, "Hold-up brah…. What the hell is going on?"

Phoenix stopped mid-sentence in his conversation with Doug and glanced up at the television. It was a news program by the look of it, with title bars and logo graphics, and it showed a harrowing aerial view of rockets firing in a city street. Doug and Laurence leaned over to watch too. Several officers that were eating in the mess got up as well and the group around the television swelled.

"Where is that at?"

Phoenix didn't catch who asked but he answered absently without looking away from the screen, "That's Cohdopia… Specifically, Babahl city in Babahl…"

"Didn't we surge last month because those jokers couldn't keep their shit together?" Juan frowned at Phoenix.

"I don't know why we have to bother with them," someone in the crowd behind them quipped, "let them fight it out right?"

Phoenix smirked, "We don't get paid to make big decisions, we just do what we're told… But yeah, this just got interesting…"

Suddenly the televisions turned off and the group began to curse and complain as if the TVs had decided to go off on their own free will. The screens flashed and the news program was replaced with one of the new Star Wars movies that Phoenix hadn't seen yet.

"What the hell?" Juan said.

"I guess no news is good news," Doug laughed and returned to his lunch. Phoenix frowned as the other officers moved away, some of them looking concerned and others upset.

He tried Miles' stateroom again after lunch, something about the news getting cut off from the ship had left him uneasy.

I just want to see him…

But no one was there. His note had been removed, and he could only hope that Miles had seen it. Phoenix grimaced at the unmoving door, where the hell was he?

That afternoon, Commander Johns sent him back to the VFA, he'd be standing by with them for now. He got a chance to meet Matt's maintainers and look at the plane, and aside from "LT. Matthew 'Nickel-Samurai' Engarde" painted below the canopy, he could see nothing about her to complain about.

"Dude, why?" Larry was staring down at him from his rack frowning, "What about me?"

Phoenix was sitting at the lone desk in their room thumbing through his personal copy of the F-18A/EA-18 NATOPS manual, and looked up at him slightly confused, "It's only a couple flights, man. We'll be back together again."

"We only just started really getting good. We had a chemistry. People were noticing us…"

"Larry, it's not forever…"

"Nick, why didn't you talk to me about this first? You can't just go running off wherever doing whatever you want without consulting me!"

Phoenix grimaced at Larry, "We're talking about me flying another plane right? Because this just got a little weird."

Larry shook his head, "We really had something special Nick, and you're throwing it away to fly some other guy's plane."

Phoenix dropped his head into his hands, but he laughed.

They met Adrian and Nikolai and the VFA guys for dinner, and they were the largest group in the mess. Despite the rumor of bad news, the group seemed in very good spirits. They talked loudly, telling stories and joking about the port visit. Phoenix was sitting beside Adrian, and despite the general merriment at their table he was subdued. She seemed to catch on immediately.

"Nick," she bumped him with her shoulder, "Did you miss me?"

"Yeah," He replied but his smile was forced as was the enthusiasm in his voice, "How was your visit to Borginia? Do any sight seeing?"

"Oh yeah," Adrian made a face at him, "I wasn't flying over the ocean for hours or anything, playing taxi to a bunch of troublemakers."

Phoenix glanced sidelong at her.

Should I ask her?

"How about you? You seem better than last I saw you."

Nah, don't ask her…

"I'm great," Phoenix forced another smile, "Happy to be here—like always."

"It was crazy yesterday," Adrian said, "The Ship's CO and CMC were in ATO when we got in. NCIS was there. Like half the MAs from security. They had guns and everything."

Phoenix raised an eyebrow, "Were these guys hardened criminals or something?"

"Maybe," Adrian laughed, "You might've thought that if you'd been there."

Miles was there… Don't ask her!

"Wow, sounds like a good time," Phoenix stared at his plate, "So… So Adrian, did you see Miles?"

She looked at him and hesitated, "Yes, of course, he was the one who got them out of Borginia."

"Did he…"

Did he say anything about me?"

"Did he look okay?" Phoenix was staring at her now.

"He looked as stuck up as he always does, Nick," she took a forkful of dinner in an obvious attempt to end this line of questioning.

"I thought you liked him," Phoenix drooped and set his fork on his plate.

"I like you, Nick," Adrian met his eye and smiled, "If this guy makes you sad then I don't like him."

Phoenix bit his lip, "It was my fault…"

"Aww, Phoenix," she rubbed his back, "He is handsome though… I can see why you'd get upset…"

"Do you know what those guys in Borginia did? Because I haven't seen him since he got back…. I hope he's not avoiding me…"

"I don't know what happened, but it seemed like a big deal—I'm sure he's just busy."

Phoenix nodded and picked up his fork, his own subdued emotion was drowned out in a raucous retelling of someone's dance antics at the Dining In.

Adrian bumped him again, "Cheer up Nick, no one would want to give you up for long."

Phoenix frowned.

Miles didn't seem to have any issues leaving him before…

They'd decided to do an impromptu karaoke night after the mess cleared out. But Phoenix found he had no interest in it and made his excuses and returned to his stateroom. It was nearly 1800—too early for bed. He paced around the stateroom for several minutes and then dressed down for PT.

He's just busy…. Don't freak out…

The forward gym was quiet as usual, the space was cramped and small yet somehow both treadmills had been squeezed in there. Phoenix was pretty sure that the claustrophobic confines of the space was what kept most people away. Well, all the better for him.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and set it on the console and frowned at the time, 1823. He started to walk. These treadmills were not electronic, but the belt was curved and designed to move with the runner. It was supposed to be more like actually running. He picked up his pace.

They were quieter at least, and they were not quite as popular with the other sailors. His mind was flooded with concern now, over Miles. That Miles didn't like his stance and was perfectly happy moving on. Miles that had come back heroic and far too busy to waste time on the likes of Phoenix Wright.

Then there was this resurgence in fighting in Cohdopia. What would this entail? The last time this happened they surged. When he's finally done with this case, you'll be too busy flying.

This is so hopeless…. Doomed the moment you ran into him on that ladder…

Or maybe it had been doomed before all of that…

Phoenix clenched his teeth and his fists, he was running all out now. As if he could lose all of it if he could just go fast enough.

This was doomed the moment you stared into those sad gray eyes and promised you'd always be there….

He closed his eyes and gasped, losing control. He had to slow down to steady himself.

You promised you'd always be there, and then that was too much for you…

It was almost 2100 when he stumbled out of the forward gym, mind dazed and blissfully blank. He jogged back toward berthing and had to sit and rest on the top step of the ladder. He leaned against the rail and wiped sweat from his face. Sweat and tears.

He knocked out after a shower and long before Larry returned from karaoke, so he didn't see him come in. No, he was completely out; dead to the world—until the alarms blared.

"GENERAL QUARTERS! GENERAL QUARTERS!"

Phoenix gasped and sat up in his rack, Larry moaned above him.

"ALL HANDS MAN YOUR BATTLE STATIONS!"

"Aw… for real?!" Larry groaned.

Phoenix slid out of his rack and pulled out a clean flight suit, he grabbed socks and his boots and sat at the desk chair to get out of Larry's way as he put on his boots.

"GENERAL QUARTERS! GENERAL QUARTERS!"

"Larry, come on! Get moving!"

Larry was still wearing his flight suit and sat on the deck to pull on his socks and boots, yawning hugely as he did so.

"ALL HANDS MAN YOUR BATTLE STATIONS!"

Larry hadn't stood up yet after tying his boots before Phoenix grabbed his arm and shoved him out of the stateroom. He was the first one to the hatch and opened it and locked it open and he started down the ladders, grabbing the rails and jumping straight to the next landing.

"GENERAL QUARTERS! GENERAL QUARTERS!"

Larry fell behind, but only until he got his bearings. Voices and the clatter of steps told him that there were others making their way to their battle stations too.

"ALL HANDS MAN YOUR BATTLE STATIONS!"

Phoenix was the first to exit into the corridor and he locked the hatch open before running toward The Air Wing passages.

"Wright! Ready Room!" Phoenix paused when Commander Woodward called to him and Larry slammed into him from behind.

"GENERAL QUARTERS! GENERAL QUARTERS!"

Phoenix steadied Larry and shook off the surprise of getting slammed like that, "I'll see you later, man."

Larry nodded and then went toward the VAQ work center.

Phoenix entered the ready room and looked around apprehensively.

"ALL HANDS MAN YOUR BATTLE STATIONS!"

He startled when Maya burst through the open hatch, dragging his helmet bag and his gear, "You forgot your stuff," she whispered when he went to retrieve them from her, "Be safe okay?"

"Always," Phoenix gave her a wink and touched her shoulder before turning to find a seat in the ready room.

"GENERAL QUARTERS! GENERAL QUARTERS!"

Doug came in after Maya left, his hair was disheveled and he looked owl-eyed and sleepy. Phoenix looked at him and then turned to Commander Woodward.

"Air Defense picked up four fighters within five nautical miles of us. One of them buzzed the shotgun earlier."

"ALL HANDS MAN YOUR BATTLE STATIONS!"

"Where's Williams?" The Commander grimaced as he looked around at them, his eye paused on Phoenix, "The whole point was so we could maintain a full compliment."

"He's here sir," Juan pointed as Williams entered panting.

Commander Woodward glanced over at the flight surgeon who entered behind him, "Doc?"

"Two minutes," Commander Hickfield said and he stopped at each of the aviators in turn. Phoenix busied himself in putting on his gear, the life preserver, the harness. One of the ops Petty Officers had opened the safe and handed each pilot a gun and a clip.

The blaring of the sirens began to fade and the noise of movement in the passageways became clearer. The doc stopped in front of him, Phoenix paused and glanced at him with a frown and finished strapping his gun into his holster.

"Ten Milligrams now," Doc pressed the packet into his hand, "Ten more if you're still flying after 1200."

Phoenix nodded and unzipped the pocket at his chest and slid the small packet inside and zipped it back up. He looked over at Juan and gave him a nod. Juan smirked and stepped forward into the passage.

"Make a hole!"

The deck was hushed and silent in the darkness and the four of them stood silently and waited to be called forward. The echo of voices and the whir of machinery was lost in the roar of the wind over the inky black ocean.

Phoenix followed suit when Juan put on his helmet and then clipped on his mask before sliding his gloves on. His heart was pounding and he hadn't even swallowed his pill yet.

Juan led the group, armored knights meeting their war mounts.

Phoenix steadied his mask against his face and frowned behind it.

I never got to tell him I'm sorry….

Chapter Text

Miles sat on the deck after an hour of staring anxiously around at LN1 and the YNs from admin. He may as well try and get some work done. He had Lieutenant Engarde's record open on the deck in front of him and the remains of a beat up yellow legal pad that he was sure went mostly into a paper airplane contest while he was in Borginia.

"Hey El-Tee!" Miles looked up at the lumpy alien creature and backed up as far as he could.

"Nnnngggh!"

LN3 took off the helmet and face mask and grinned.

"Petty Officer Justice?"

"Sorry Sir," LN3 scratched his head sheepishly, "I didn't mean to scare you."

Miles tugged smooth his NWU blouse and crossed his arms, "No one is scared, Justice."

"We got all excited and ready for action, but man…"

"Well, I've a friend who tells me a boring watch is a good watch," Miles sniffed and returned to the record laid out on the deck.

"Is this for the FC's case?" Justice said leaning over despite the bulk of his fire suit.

"No," Miles said, "this one is the pilot that jumped off the ship."

"I heard he got pushed off," Justice quipped.

"Justice, you are a Legalman, are you not?"

"Yes sir."

"Then you should seek truth and not fall prey to baseless rumor."

"Yes sir," Justice grinned at him, "That's why you're the best."

Miles shrugged off the compliment, "So how long do you have to man your repair locker?"

"Until we're secured from Battle Stations, but Chief's letting us take breaks. So I've got ten minutes before I have to go back."

LN1 joined them shortly and Miles took the opportunity to give them some training on legal procedure. It ate up LN3's ten minutes fast and after he left, LN1 lost her momentum and went back to her magazines.

Miles went back to studying Engarde's record and taking notes. He didn't notice the time pass and was startled when he felt her sit beside him and move in just a little too closely. He glared sidelong at her for a moment and then cleared his throat looking at his notes.

"Miles," Lieutenant Yew said lazily, "What are you doing?"

"My job, Lieutenant Yew."

"I wonder what happened?"

"I'm sure they'll inform us in due course," Miles pointedly picked up the tri-folder containing Engarde's record and stuck his nose in it.

She didn't budge but sighed heavily, "It's been almost three hours…. Reveille! Reveille! All Hands, heave out and trice up…"

Lieutenant Yew mimicked the reveille call in an undertone ending in a forced sigh through closed lips. It made a rude noise and Miles glared at her.

She crossed her arms beside him and stared blankly at the overhead, she started to hum absently—some song Miles didn't recognize. He sighed and closed the tri-folder and stacked it against his legal pad.

"Lieutenant Yew," Miles turned to her, glaring, "Is there something you need from me?"

She turned to him and stared stonily at him, "Miles… You're the only one here that has decided to work. There's no such thing as 'tactical admin'. What if we get called away to help out? It's a bad time to bury yourself in paperwork."

Miles didn't reply, but stared at the deck, arms crossed and frowning.

"Are you worried about your pilot? They scrambled jets this morning."

Miles shook his head, suddenly solemn, "He doesn't fly a fighter, he flies a Growler… I don't think they'd scramble a Growler."

"Oh," she said absently and started to rub the hem of her blouse staring at her own fingers as she did so, "I'm worried about Shi-Long… He gets so passionate about these things…"

Miles' glare slipped into puzzlement, "Passionate about his work, you mean? Isn't that what's expected?"

She leaned back and pulled out her compact, "Don't tell me you're passionate about Big Chicken Dinners and the UCMJ?"

Miles' eyebrows shot up a notch higher, "Chicken Dinners?"

"I just can't be passionate about correspondences," she continued as if she hadn't heard him, "Forms upon forms… the spacing in a standard Navy memo… its bothersome really."

"Lieutenant Yew? We're in GQ… Right now…" Miles frowned at her, "Now is certainly not the time for an existential crisis…"

"No problem for you JAG…" she pushed herself up off of the deck and glared down at him, "You have a purpose don't you? You do your JAG thing! And now you have him all to yourself!"

She stalked back toward the Admin spaces and was just about to step out of Legal when Miles stood and clasped her arm.

"Lieutenant Yew," he said low and forcefully, "This isn't the time or the place for histrionics, if you have something to say to me, say it plain. Don't start a scene here."

She pulled away from him and started to laugh. Miles startled for a moment and then his brow furrowed with renewed chagrin, "Lieutenant Yew…"

She quieted suddenly and met his glare with one of her own, cold and menacing in her own way, "He's my friend… My best friend… now all he talks about is you."

Miles turned away from her shaking his head, "Perhaps all of this excitement and waking up at three in the morning has you confused…"

"I'm not confused Miles Edgeworth…" she said it a little too loudly and Miles glanced around in dismay to see that they had an audience, "But I think you are…"

Miles frowned at the others watching them surreptitiously and then took her by the elbow, "Excuse us," he muttered barely above a whisper before tugging her out into the passageway.

He all but dragged her past the curtain and into the wide empty passage beyond before rounding on her, "What is the matter with you?"

She stared at him still glaring and then she burst into tears. Miles—expecting more laughter from her—was completely taken aback. He could only stare at her in uncertainty, reluctant to get too invested but feeling it his duty to placate her.

"Lieutenant—Cali, please, is this necessary?"

She leaned toward him suddenly and pressed her face into his chest. He grimaced and then patted her back helplessly. He gave her another moment before clasping both her shoulders and pushing her away, holding her an arms length out from himself.

"There now," he tried to force a smile, "What is the matter?"

"You, you're the matter…" her glare hardened despite the tears still staining her cheeks and the residual sobbing still coursing through her, "Until you came aboard, I had him all to myself. He hated his roommate last deployment. And now… and now… You already made friends with all the pilots… and you're friends with security, and the Triad, and everyone just loves Miles Edgeworth… So why do you have to have him too?"

"Erm… Cali—you're talking about Lang, I assume? I'm sorry, if something's amiss, I had no inkling of it. But there's never been any effort on my part to separate you and Lang."

"He didn't even go out with me when we were in port—no, he had plans with you didn't he? He likes hanging out with you, doesn't he? He thinks you're fun…"

Miles gave an exasperated sigh and let her go. He ran a hand through his hair and then shook his head, "You're being silly. There's nothing worth crying over in all this—"

Before she could reply the 1MC popped and a curt voice said, "ALL HANDS SECURE FROM GENERAL QUARTERS."

Miles looked up at the overhead confused before the corridor filled with sailors and their conversations. He moved closer to the bulkhead, pulling her with him.

"Do you want I should talk to him?"

"About what? What good would it do?"

Miles made an exasperated noise, "I should probably get back and try to salvage what's left of this morning. Go find a head and wash your face, this isn't becoming an officer—"

"Aaarrrgh! I hate you Miles."

"That's fine, Lieutenant Yew," Miles glared down at her, "Certainly you're allowed to feel how you like. But you can't act like this in our workspaces. Have some regard for decorum—we are in the military."

He left her then and waded against the crowd to return to Flag Admin and made his way back to Legal where LN1 was eyeing him curiously as he entered. She grinned vapidly at him when he met her eye for a moment. Miles ignored her and stooped to pick up Engarde's record and the yellow legal pad from the deck.

"Are you all right El-Tee?"

"Yes, Petty Officer Miney," Miles looked at her and his eyes roved disdainfully over the magazine she had on the counter in front of her, "I'm very well indeed…"

He ought to say something to her, she was setting a poor example for Petty Officer Justice—not that Justice seemed lacking in motivation—but he'd let her carry on like this for far too long. Miles set the record and the legal pad on the counter beside her and cleared his throat.

"Petty Officer Miney," Miles must've been glaring because she looked up and cringed a little, "Tell me, do you like being a Legalman?"

"Uh," she met his eye, puzzled and flipped another page of the magazine, "Yeah, sure, sir. I like it better than being an OS…"

Miles lay his hand on the magazine and slid it away from her, "You were an OS? So you cross-rated to LN?"

She nodded eyeing the magazine with regret as he flipped it closed, "Yeah, sir."

Miles leaned on the counter with his arms covering Engarde's record and the magazine, "Tell me, why did you chose this rate then? What is your particular interest in the law?"

Her eyes widened and she sat up, "I thought it would be better than Ops, honestly."

"But you have no particular inkling toward say, Criminal Justice, or some career as a paralegal… or… something?"

She smiled at him, "I am a paralegal, sir. I qualified before deployment. It's legit too."

His brow furrowed, "I see… But I also notice that you don't seem to have the same passion for this that—say, Petty Officer Justice—"

"El-Tee," she pouted girlishly at him, "Did I do something wrong?"

He frowned and glanced at his hands thoughtfully before turning back to her, "Nothing wrong, per se… But it doesn't seem to me that you take this as seriously as you should."

Her visage darkened in indignation, "Sir, if you have a problem with my work, you've never said anything before."

His eyebrows shot up, "It's your work ethic that I'm concerned about, LN1, but your work has been satisfactory, in some cases exemplary."

"So what's the problem, Sir?"

Miles stared at her and she met his glare with surprising resolve, "LN1… I'm only concerned for your career and your future, I mean no disrespect."

She blinked as if breaking out of a trance and stuck out her tongue and patted her head, "Oh El-Tee, you don't have to worry about me. I do pretty well…"

Miles shook his head, it really had been a harrowing experience, "Perhaps all of this excitement has us all a little on edge. That and the very early morning."

"You're probably hungry, sir," LN1 grinned and bobbed her head, "It's almost eight and we haven't had breakfast."

Miles frowned and studied her surreptitiously with a sidelong glance, "Perhaps…"

"Do you want a Pop-tart?"

"No thank you," he was still scrutinizing her, comparing her hidden determination with his recent experience with Lieutenant Yew, "LN1, have you considered commissioning?"

She giggled and stuck out her tongue again, "Yeah, but I don't want to be a JAG."

"What's wrong with the JAG Corps?" Miles faced her, suddenly defensive.

She smirked at him, "Because I want to Command, Sir."

Miles almost took a step back from her, he rubbed his neck instead and glanced around hoping that Justice would walk in.

He forced a smile, "This is probably the longest conversation we've had, LN1."

"Huh," she muttered absently and then boldly tugged her magazine out from under his arm, "El-Tee, if you don't mind."

He was still a little taken aback and straightened up so he wasn't leaning over the magazine, "Sorry…"

She flipped through the magazine and blew a bubble with her gum, letting it pop loudly and sucking it back into her mouth, "If you leave that here, I'll get your paperwork together for the Article 32."

"What?" Miles said.

"That's what you do with this case. The guy confessed, he jumped off the ship, but his H and F was clean. So we investigate and then he gets separated, or whatever."

"LN1—"

"We didn't have a JAG last deployment, El-Tee," she looked up from her magazine and met his eye disdainfully, "So I can get on pretty well with or without you."

Miles had to catch himself before he let his jaw drop, he coughed, "Er…. Right… Actually that would be very good."

"You won't regret it El-Tee," she flipped a page loudly, "And I'll thank you not to underestimate me again, sir. I am a First Class Petty Officer."

Miles swallowed, "Yes, ma'am."

"Petty Officer."

"Yes, Petty Officer."

Miles turned to leave. What just happened?

"If you've got that LN1, I suppose I should finalize work on the Mast. I think they're still going to DRB today, in spite of… all this…"

"Take care El-Tee."

He walked back into the admin spaces where several YNs and officers were standing in front of the television mounted on the bulkhead. He paused and scrutinized the crowd before stepping over the knee knocker and exiting Flag Admin. The passage was deserted again and he didn't linger, but made a bee-line for the main deck.

The main deck was crowded with sailors, hoping for breakfast after GQ had been secured. It was after eight and they'd been put on alert at zero three. Miles grimaced at the lines filling the main deck and extending into the ladders. There were four enlisted galleys on the main deck, and every one of them seemed brimming with people.

He was relieved when he turned off the main deck and entered the precinct. Chief Gumshoe had his feet on his desk grinning at something he must've been listening to on the headphones he had attached to his phone.

"Chief," Miles said, but Chief hadn't noticed him. Miles was forced to pat his leg to get his attention, "Chief Gumshoe."

MAC almost fell out of his chair in surprise, "Whoa sir! I didn't see you standing there."

"We're putting together an Article 32 for Lieutenant Engarde, I thought maybe you could suggest an investigating officer…"

"Sure, Sir," MAC grinned up at him, "I'll get together a list for the next available investigator."

"Thanks, Chief," Miles nodded but only looked around the room, unwilling to leave.

"Rough morning," Chief chuckled and then pulled his feet off the desk so he could sit up and stare into Miles' face. Miles offered a smirk in reply.

"That's one way to describe it," Miles stuck his hands in his pockets, "Chief, do you think they're going forward with the DRB—what with all of this going on?"

Chief leaned on his desk and frowned, "I couldn't even guess, Sir. I'm not even sure what's really going on…. They scrambled jets against Cohdopia…"

Chief blinked and scratched his head, giving the impression of a confused gorilla.

"I imagine these things become less important in the face of…all…that…" Miles let his words fade and glared at the bulkhead. He suddenly felt very silly.

JAGs aren’t real Officers... He remembered someone saying it aloud while he was at the Navy Yard.

"I'll see you Chief," and he stepped out of the precinct spaces.

"Take care JAG," Chief said, his shoulders were shaking in silent laughter.

The main deck was still packed with lines of sailors and the open space buzzed with their conversations. It seemed the lines had started moving at least. He found the nearest ladder well he recognized and made his way up toward the officer galleys.

The Wardroom too was crowded, but not to the same extent as the main deck. He joined the line looking around for Lang, or him…. Anybody he knew…

There were several flight suits in the Wardroom—more than he'd ever seen. Miles commented on it to the woman in line in front of him. She turned to look at him with a glare and then grinned.

"Good morning, JAG," she said eyeing him in a way that made him frown more forcefully, "Yeah, so the aft galley is closed. So all the Air Wing is here too."

Miles found himself searching the crowd more desperately. His eye caught a dark-haired green clad Lieutenant only to find that it wasn't Phoenix—he was, however, talking with Lieutenant Andrews and Lieutenant Butz.

Is that…? No, it definitely wasn't Phoenix…

Miles left the line immediately and walked over to their table with no care for pleasantry or small talk, "Where's Lieutenant Wright?"

The three of them looked up at him, surprised and maybe a little angry at his sudden interruption. Larry was the first to break from the group and smile at him.

"Oh, hey JAG dude," he said cocking his head back to look at him, "Nick isn't here. He's flying."

"But…" Miles settled his glare on Larry,"You're here…"

"Yeah," Larry looked away from him, "They needed someone with VFA experience to take Matt's spot."

"Lieutenant Engarde?" Miles could feel his heart sinking as he thought about it.

"I'm sure you know more about what's happening with him," the dark-haired Lieutenant said trying at once to scold and offer sympathy, "You are the JAG…"

Lieutenant Andrews was pointedly trying not to look at him.

"I see," Miles said. He didn't care what any of them were thinking or speculating.

He looked around the crowded Wardroom, he couldn't stay here.

"Oh hey, dude," Larry called after him, "Don't worry, man, Nick's a good pilot."

But Miles was already rushing out of the galley, not caring that he had to shove a couple of other officers aside as he made his escape. His upset must have been palpable and obvious, because no one made any protest.

He got into the nearest ladder well and jogged up the ladder toward the JO jungle.

He's going to be fine…. Don't freak out…

The stateroom door had barely closed behind him before he was nearly doubled over in grief.

You shouldn't have listened to Lang…. Then that other guy would be flying…

He took nearly half an hour to compose himself.

Stop freaking out…. He's fine…

He returned to Flag Admin. The space had cleared out—most of them probably trying to get a meal in one of the galleys. Lieutenant Yew was still there, staring intently at the television mounted on the bulkhead. Miles looked pointedly away from her and went into the legal spaces. No one was there and he logged into their lone computer—anything was better than being idle.

LN1 had left Engarde's record on the makeshift desk, a green folder lay atop it now, he didn't open it but he knew it was the report for the Article 32. He frowned again.

You were doing your job…. It was the right thing to do…

Miles looked away from the folder and focused on his e-mail. Clicking through the usual slew of Command e-mails and deleting them.

Nothing's going to happen… He'll be fine…

The Skipper had sent an e-mail to all of the staff and crew, including the Air Wing, addressing recent news out of Cohdopia. Thanking them for their quick action and compliance with the emergency that morning. Asking for their continued patience and dedication during this tense time.

He's fine…

Miles looked up at the commotion at the Flag Admin door. It was Lang with an armload of cookies individually wrapped in clear plastic wrap. Miles glanced at the time on his computer screen… almost 1500…

"Cali!" Lang called, "Stop moping around…. I don't have a whole lot of time."

Miles stood and walked over to the Admin side and Lang grinned at him as he entered.

"How are you Lawyer-Boy?" Lang looked pale and exhausted, his jovial greeting forced. Lang laid his cookies on the admin counter and then leaned on it. Miles noted that he seemed to be trying to play off his fatigue.

"Are you all right?" Miles asked scrutinizing him.

"Yeah," Lang sighed and turned to look into the spaces behind the counter, "Cali!" He turned back to Miles and smirked, "Long day…"

"Hmm," Miles nodded and stuck his hands in his pockets, "I imagine it's been tough on your lot…?"

Lang laughed, "Yeah Miles, I've been running forward and aft across the length of this ship all day. This is the first break I've had since they called us to GQ…. I'm trying to get something to eat before I have to be back up in CDC."

Miles' gaze dropped to the pile of cookies Lang had lain on the counter, "Something more substantial, I'm guessing?"

Lang chuckled and tossed one of the Saran-wrapped cookies at him, "Just like Mom's… Courtesy of the US Navy. Hey, have you seen Cali today?"

Miles frowned examining the cookie in his hand before sticking it in his pocket,, "Yes, actually, she was just here."

"I think she's mad at me," Lang shrugged, "Women."

Miles frowned, "That's a little misogynistic… Don't you think?"

"Okay Miles," Lang chuckled and put his hands on his hips, Miles noted the slight tremor in his hands and arms, "But this is Calisto Yew we're talking about."

"Shi-Long," Miles frowned, "Are you well?"

"No I'm not, Miles," Lang craned his neck and looked over into the deserted Admin spaces again, "Cali!"

"She must've left while I was knee deep in my e-mail," Miles approached Lang still frowning, "Did something happen? She was upset this morning."

Lang glared and shook his head, "She craves drama. Have you been to the galley?"

"This morning," Miles said.

"I need to get some real food," Lang said looking at the pile of cookies he'd left on the counter, "Come on."

"She seems to think it's something to do with me," Miles added, ignoring him, "What does she think is going on?"

Lang slapped a hand on Miles' shoulder and urged him out of the door, "Come on, I can explain this over lunch or dinner or supper or whatever…"

Lang left his cookies in Flag Admin and led Miles back up to the forward Mess. Miles was surprised to note a difference in the activity on the deck, it was much more quiet. He must've been staring at his e-mails longer than he'd realized.

Meals weren't being served, but rather, boxed lunches. Lang asked for two and they sat in the nearly deserted Wardroom. Miles frowned at the white box in front of him while Lang tore into his first one with not a little desperation, "Man, I'm starving…"

"Do you know what's happening?" Miles asked, hoping he didn't show too much concern.

Lang swallowed the chunk of sandwich he'd torn off and then shook his head, "They thought we were going to be attacked. So they scrambled fighters and we manned our guns."

"It's been twelve hours… Why aren't they back yet?" Miles said.

Lang shrugged, "No idea, but it's been quiet. They'll probably land any minute now."

"You know Nick's flying," Miles quipped trying to sound conversational but not quite able to hide all of the accusation in his tone.

Lang finished his sandwich and sighed before tearing into the second box, "That's what pilots do."

He's got a point, you know…

Miles waited a few minutes watching Lang eat, he felt a little sorry for him.

"What did Cali tell you about me?" Lang asked as he finished his second sandwich and balled up the plastic it had been wrapped in, "Was she crying again?"

Miles' brow went up sharply at the revelation and he smirked, "She's really upset about you."

Lang shrugged as he pulled the other items out of his lunch boxes, piling them together. An apple and a banana, a can of Coke and a can of Sprite, two plastic wrapped cookies, two packets of gum, two sets of individually wrapped plastic silverware and napkins, complete with salt and pepper.

He piled the trash together and popped open the can of Sprite, "She's mad because I didn't hang out in Borginia with her… And I finally told her the truth…"

Miles opened his own lunch box and stared at the contents, "The truth?"

Lang met his eye and frowned, "I'm married. I'm a married man… she wasn't happy about that."

Miles smiled at him, "You're married? But you don't—"

"I had one of those silicone wedding rings, but it got caught in some machinery…" Lang reached into his shirt front and pulled out the chain tucked under his tee shirt, "So I keep the real one with my dog tags."

"But you've never said—"

"No one ever asked," Lang growled and finished his soda, he stood and started to tuck the remaining food items into his pockets, "I should get back. You should eat. Maybe you can bring Cali a lunch box too."

He gathered his trash and walked away, as he did so, the walkie-talkie on his belt fizzed and popped, "Lieutenant Lang?"

Miles hadn't noticed it, but he watched curiously as Lang dumped his trash and yanked the radio off of his belt, "Lang."

"Sir, we need you at the number three…"

"Yeah, sure, I'm on my way…"

Miles gathered his lunch box and paused to collect a second one for Lieutenant Yew and headed back to Flag Admin.

He'd just entered the O-3 level passage when he was startled by another flashing light.

"GENERAL QUARTERS!"

He hurried back to the blue tile area and ducked into admin frowning. Lieutenant Yew was standing in front of the counter glaring.

"GENERAL QUARTERS!"

"Oh God! Twice in the same day…" someone quipped as they ducked into Admin behind him, it was one of the YNs.

"ALL HANDS MAN YOUR BATTLE STATIONS!"

Miles forced a smile at Lieutenant Yew and handed her the lunch box, "Lieutenant Lang sends his regards."

She took the box with a frown and the the ship lurched suddenly and Miles fell against the bulkhead. A scatter of cookies littered the deck around him.

"Definitely not a drill…" the YN said and offered an arm to steady him.

"GENERAL QUARTERS! GENERAL QUARTERS!"

Chapter Text

Phoenix stared at the orange glow hovering at the edges of the lightening sky. Up ahead and and about two miles higher than him, he could just make out the speck of Juan's plane. Laurence and Doug were the leading element and flew in the #1 and #2 positions—invisible from his vantage. If he didn't have the glowing green indicators on the console in front of him, he wouldn't have known they were there. This was Juan's first time leading an element—that used to be Matt's job, and Phoenix, despite any prior experience, was the FNG.

There had been a glaring mistake, there were actually seven Cohdopian fighters that had come over them in the night. The fact that all seven turned tail and ran when the VFA scrambled was testament to their reputation as the superior air power. That didn't make this any less nerve wracking.

Phoenix let go of the throttle and brought his hand to his mouth to unclip his mask and tugged his glove off with his teeth. Then he took off the other glove and secured his mask. His hands were sweating—but that was probably just from the go-pills.

Aviate… Navigate… Communicate…

He studied the glowing console, checking his gages and waited for the flight leader's directions. They were right of course, it was lonely without Larry. The sun was above the horizon now and Phoenix let go of the throttle again to fumble with the chest pockets on his flight suit. It was a little awkward but he managed to slide his sunglasses on under the visor of his helmet.

The comms channel in this helmet cracked, "Red Four, this is Red Three."

Phoenix pressed the comm, "Red Four."

"Powerline said we're nearing Cohdopian airspace…"

Geez, we've been flying for hours… They must've been real desperate to harry the ships from this far off…

"Climb five zero zero, over."

The comm fizzled, "Copy, over," Phoenix replied.

He pulled the stick gently toward himself, light pressure, only using his index and middle fingers, and she started to climb. It did feel weird without the extended cockpit of his Growler, the machinery behind him seemed crowded in and a little claustrophobic.

Fucking Lang and his fucking accusations….

'I don't think he was just drunk…'

Phoenix checked his altitude and then leveled off. He pressed the comm and let Juan know he'd reached altitude. The view from the canopy showed another bright beautiful day over the ocean. He stayed on Juan's wing and they flew. There was very little talking. Something about this seemed so much more serious than anything they'd ever experienced.

Doug called them to rejoin and Phoenix gave her a little more throttle, he could see Doug's plane now, ahead and above him. Juan and Laurence hovered ahead to the right and left of him respectively. He saw the trail, stark and white as one of the Cohdopian fighters crossed in front of Doug's plane, Phoenix kept his eye on Doug's wing tips as they banked in formation, already anticipating the turn before they'd started.

"Red One, Red Two," the comm fizzled and Phoenix heard Laurence's voice, "Gimme one…"

Phoenix frowned, Laurence was sucked and falling out of formation. Up ahead Doug wagged his wings from side to side. Phoenix glanced over at Juan's plane and slowed to match his speed as Laurence pulled back into formation. There were two trails now, hanging in the blue sky ahead.

"Red One, Red Four," Phoenix said when Doug still didn't react, "Tally Ho."

"Red Four, copy. No Joy, Red One Over," Doug was probably looking in the other direction. He glanced glanced at Juan's plane just in time to see him break formation.

Doug what the heck?

Phoenix was focused hard on Doug's tail, but no one spoke.

Aviate…. Focus… Don't lose your Lead…

Laurence tipped out of formation and broke away, and before Phoenix had time to register what was happening, the ugly foreign camouflage of the Cohdopian fighter split him from Doug.

Navigate… Come on, stay calm…

He banked hard and fell in behind the Cohdopian fighter, cutting on her inside as her pilot maneuvered away from him. He could feel the strain in his arms as the plane fought against air and gravity and the myriad of other forces pressing on the plane.

Breathe…

Focused on the target now, Phoenix tried to identify it—something Russian… Definitely a Sukhoi…

But that paint job…. Yeesh… Post Soviet Police State chic…

The pilot pivoted and changed directions in an effort to lose him. He followed, feeling a tremor in his arms as he pulled on the stick. He rested his elbows on his thighs and held her steady bringing his nose around to get a lead on the target. He flipped the cover off of the cannon's fire control.

Aviate… Navigate… Are we supposed to fire?

He held her steady and followed the target.

Maybe just a warning shot? They did buzz the Cruiser…

He tapped the cannon's trigger once and the curve of the twenty millimeter bullets disappeared against the sky. The Sukhoi banked again, trying to get out of his view.

But he stayed on her, a predator determined in the hunt.

Like white on rice…

He almost startled when the console reported a lock.

Geez and Larry's not here to do his thing…

Phoenix banked the other direction and pulled up and away from Cohdopian Airspace. No need for heroics…. This isn't war…

Not yet…

"Red Team, Red Leader!" Doug sounded scared.

"Red Four," Phoenix said.

"Red Three."

"Red Two."

Doug wiggled his wings again, calling them back into formation. Phoenix gasped, he'd been holding his breath.

"Red Team, this is Red Leader," Doug was calmer suddenly, "Stay out of their air space."

"Red Four, copy," Phoenix said, he caught a glimpse of Laurence on his left, focused on the HUD in front of him.

Juan and Laurence echoed their acknowledgement of Doug's order. They circled away from the black line and lined up to do another fly-by. The radar on his HUD showed the green blips of the Cohdopian fighters blink and then disappear.

They were close enough that Doug was able to motion with his hands to get their formation organized the way he wanted. Phoenix dropped altitude while Laurence and Juan climbed higher. Doug tipped his wings as a sign and led the formation into another turn, skirting the Cohdopian border.

Warnings flashed in red and orange as the enemy's Air Defense locked on them. Phoenix was clenching his teeth behind his mask.

Breathe… Focus… Aviate…

"Red Leader, this is Red Two, Bingo in five…"

Phoenix's eye dropped momentarily to his fuel gage, remembering the pre-brief.

"Roger Red Two, Red Team, let's get the hell out of here."

Hah… That wasn't so bad…

They stayed close until Doug had them about twenty knots out of Cohdopia and they loosened formation for the return flight home.

"Dude…" Doug said into the comm, unconcerned with breaking protocol in his relief, "Why come out and buzz us if they were just going to run home and hide?"

"It's a trap!" Juan exclaimed ala Admiral Akbar.

Phoenix let out a snort of laughter, not yet relaxed enough to be so free and easy about this. He leaned back trying to ease some of the tension in his shoulders and leaned his left arm on the throttle quadrant scanning the sky ahead of him and noting the subtle movements of the other three planes.

The sun was high up now. Had they really been flying so long?

He blinked at the open sky, beckoning and inviting. The ocean was still and smooth as glass, and stretched below them in an endless expanse that could really only be appreciated by Jet Pilots and Astronauts. He grinned giddily...

He scanned the HUD and then reached up to yank off his sunglasses.

What the heck?

He dropped his sunglasses in the narrow space beside his seat and frowned after them for a moment before checking the HUD again.

No fucking way…

He was holding the rear of the formation and likely the first one to notice. So he pressed the comm.

"Red Leader, this is Red Four. Bogey on our six," He eyed the blip on his console, "about twenty-five knots, holding steady."

"Red Four, copy. Red Team, straight ahead."

Doug wagged the wings of his plane and slowed so that they closed in. Phoenix scanned the wide empty ocean feeling nervous again. The ship's wake was visible before they could see her against the gray water.

Haze gray…

"Tower this is Red Leader," Doug said over the comm.

"Red Leader, Red Team, this is tower, climb to two zero and hold pattern," this was the ship.

Phoenix frowned at the deck just coming into his field of view.

They're sending up more planes…

Below them in the churning water the ship was turning. He could see the other plane on deck firing her afterburners into the JBD panel. He checked Juan's position ahead of him and then looked down to see the catapult fire the other plane into the sky below.

The next one on deck had her throttle open shooting flame into the JBD. He felt guilty, but he couldn't help the feeling of relief that they'd be landing soon. Someone else was going to take the fight to Cohdopia.

Miles will probably still be mad at you anyway…

Two more planes shot off into the sky to engage the approaching Cohdopian planes. Phoenix watched as the ship turned again. Two more planes launched from the flight deck as he followed the pattern around again.

"Red Leader this is Air Boss, we are engaged, we are unable to recover at this time."

What the fuck? No way…

"I repeat we are unable to recover at this time, report to Eagle Team Leader."

"Red Leader, Copy," Doug didn't sound as upset as Phoenix expected him to be.

"What's going on?" Juan did sound upset.

Doug broke out of the pattern and followed in the direction of the other planes, Laurence tight on his wing. Juan hesitated and Phoenix had no choice but to stay on him.

"Red Three, Red Four, you're sucked," Doug's voice crackled, they were too far behind.

"Punch it, Red Three!" Phoenix shouted.

Juan accelerated in the direction the other element had gone, Phoenix on his wing. He took them up higher. It wasn't long before Phoenix could see the other planes fanned out in the sky below. Juan decelerated and dropped into his spot to Laurence's left.

As he followed, carefully joining the formation of ten, Phoenix got an eyeful of their attackers in the air before them. They had six fighters, different from the ones that harried them initially, and hidden at their rear, protected by the fighters, a Cohdopian bomber.

They must have known… How long have they been watching us? Studying us?

The ship couldn't recover aircraft while launching aircraft. They had it almost perfect, but probably hadn't expected a second sortie to launch before Red Team had landed. Phoenix eyed his angle relative to Juan's plane, he wished he'd had some time to fly with Juan before this. It seemed like he was wobbling all over the place.

Breathe…. Steady now…

The signal was almost missed in the tenseness of the situation. Phoenix scanned the sky as he followed on Juan's wing and they drew one of the Cohdopian fighters out of it's formation. Eagle Leader and his first two elements were focused on the bomber itself, it posed the biggest threat to the ship.

Okay, one for each…

Phoenix let Juan cut ahead tailing the Cohdopian fighter, and then swooped in on the one that went after Juan. He managed to split him off of Juan. The other plane spun and dodged trying to lose him. It became frightening. No less than a dozen planes engaged in rather close quarters. He was starting to have trouble keeping his eye on his target while scanning the rest of the crowded sky around them.

He shot off his cannon in warning. Pop! Pop! Pop!

He was close enough to see that at least one bullet hit the Sukhoi's wing and she wobbled in the air before attempting to twist out of his way again. He stayed on her this time anticipating her turn before she started and too late for her to switch directions. He let off a couple more warning shots over the plane's nose and she broke off suddenly, heading back toward Cohdopia.

He caught Juan in his periphery, grinning, and slapping the canopy of his plane with an open palm. Phoenix shook his head and mimicked the gesture, "Air five…"

The plane Juan had engaged was smoking from one engine and retreating as well. Phoenix scanned the sky, now darkened slightly with the smoke of their firing.

Something whipped past him and he tipped right so that his wings were perpendicular to the sea churning below them, Juan copied his motion in the other direction.

What the hell was that?

Phoenix looked toward the bomber, still harried by four fighters, trying to force her to turn. As he righted his plane he dipped to let Juan get ahead of him and then took up his position on Juan's wing.

"Red Three, did you see what that was?"

"Brah… I'm pretty sure that was a missile…"

Oh God no….

"Red Leader this is Red Four, they just fired on the ship!"

Doug didn't reply right away, he was probably conferring with Eagle Team Leader, "Red Team, stop that bogey!"

Doug appeared over him on his left taking position in the lead, Laurence on his wing as Juan corrected to fix their formation. In the distance, looking small and alone, the Carrier was making a large white swath of foam as she turned.

Doug had them climb suddenly and Phoenix heard the thrum of the CIWS before the missile exploded harmlessly over the water drifting down to float atop the waves in black debris and swathed in fire and flame.

"Tower, this is Red Leader, we're five past Bingo," Doug said.

"Red Leader you may begin approach."

Phoenix was close enough to see Doug hold up four fingers at Laurence. Laurence shot him a thumbs up in reply. He moved his eye to check Juan's wing. Doug pitched out of the formation.

One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand, four one-thousand…

Laurence pulled away to enter the pattern.

One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand, four one-thousand…

Then Juan.

One one-thousand, two one-thousand…

Phoenix saw it before he realized what it was and banked immediately to put some distance between him and the second incoming missile. He turned hard in the other direction feeling the disorienting rush to his head as he flipped upside down momentarily. He grit his teeth and got his lead on it and fired his cannon. Grinning as she dropped her trajectory and started falling toward the sea.

He felt rather than heard the CIWS fire again. Juan was arched high above the ship, trying to get out of her line of fire. But Laurence was caught and his plane shattered in the sky.

Phoenix could only stare, his breath caught in his throat and then the missile exploded. The sky around him grew dark and menacing and the concussive force from the explosion tumbled his plane wildly like a kite with it's string cut. Alarms and warnings filled the cockpit while plane spun out of control. There was no time to think. He closed his eyes and tugged the ejection seat release between his knees.

All was darkness and flame and a roaring so loud it beat on him from every direction. Heat and pressure squeezed him as the rockets fired from under the seat. He sucked in a breath as the seat fell away from him and he was jerked up as the parachute deployed.

He opened his eyes, but there was nothing, only darkness.

He gasped again, was it a second, a minute later? He was in the water—his legs were… slipping in slowly… It was almost like slow-motion after all of the zooming around at supersonic speeds.

Phoenix clawed at his helmet. The mask and the harness, all of the cables and tubes had been ripped from him. There was fire on the water. All he could see was flame.

The raft deployed next popping him back up to the surface of the water. He felt broken like a doll tossed too hard and too far…

His hands found the last strap holding his helmet on and he tore at it desperately. When he got it off he inhaled deeply, taking in a good lungful of the acrid smoke rising from the oil and debris on the burning ocean surface.

You crashed Matt's plane…

Phoenix stared up at the small patch of blue sky still visible from where he lay adrift. The tiny patch of blue hope peeking through all of the smoke and haze and dazzling flame.

Miles is gonna be so pissed at you…

Phoenix laughed out loud.

Chapter Text

All they could do was stare.

The Air Wing Commander spoke first but had to leave, was it because of the emotion? Two planes were lost and one pilot unaccounted for. Miles pushed out of the crowd gathered around the television and went back into legal. Phoenix Wright was unaccounted for. The other pilot, Lieutenant Williams, had been pulled from the water, broken and mangled and burned—but somehow, still alive.

CAG said Lieutenant Wright's beacon was going off, so he'd ejected. The skipper came on the television, asking for the crew's patience and prayers. Miles wasn't very religious—the Von Karma's were marginally Catholic—but the thought of asking for prayers at a time like this felt like they weren't terribly sanguine about a good outcome. It felt like giving up hope.

Hang in there Phoenix...

Miles sat alone in the legal spaces and stared at the bulkhead. The sandwich he'd eaten a couple hours ago was churning and roiling in his stomach. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to curl up and die. But they were still in GQ. No one could go anywhere.

"El-Tee," Petty Officer Justice walked-in, he wasn't wearing the fire suit but he had his flash gear on and all of the buttons on his blouse buttoned. He looked scared.

Miles choked down his own hurt and beckoned the young man over, he couldn't waver in front of them. Maybe he'd never Command but these two were really starting to feel like his Sailors. "What's wrong, Justice? Two GQs in the same day, you're probably tired."

"Yeah," LN3 said gazing down at the deck, "El-Tee, does this mean we're going to war with Cohdopia?"

Miles frowned. Does it? Was this how it happened?

"I don't know," Miles shook his head soberly, "Hopefully it's just a tragic misunderstanding."

"I don't think cruise missiles can be construed as a misunderstanding," Miles looked up, he hadn't seen LN1 come in, "I think 'act of war' is more like it…"

Miles only sighed. All of it was still too raw to make any sense—let alone make any light of it.

"I hope they find Lieutenant Wright though," she continued, flipping through another magazine, "That guy was soo hot."

"Excuse me," Miles said, and he left legal and shoved through the crowd in Admin, and walked into the passageway. The nearest head he knew of was on the main deck, so he went into the nearest ladder well instead. He sat on the deck beside the ladder and hugged himself.

'That guy was soo hot…'

'was…'. No, don't think that…

Miles didn't cry—couldn’t cry. He felt devastated. Broken. Worse than all of the imagined outcomes he'd ever thought of regarding Phoenix and his daredevil job could have made him feel. Because this is actually happening.

There was a clatter of footsteps on the ladder and Miles stood up and tried to look bored and nonchalant.

"Petty Officer Fey?" He must have had a scary look on his face because she backed away from him at first.

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you—"

She ran down the last couple steps and threw her arms around him, Miles threw his arms out helplessly and glared down at her, "Petty Officer Fey…"

"I was looking for you, JAG," she sobbed into his blouse, "Because I know you love him too. They still can't find him! Every hour… every minute that passes means he's closer to not making it."

Miles sat on the ladder and held her by her green-sleeved arms and stared into her face, "Please, Petty Officer Fey… Don't—"

"Of course I'm worried! It's been two and a half hours! He's in the water!"

Miles stared, he hadn't thought about that.

Hypothermia… Sharks… Drowning… Stop it!

"Please, we're still in GQ. You shouldn't have left your work—"

"You're here too…" she stared into his eyes, making a concerted effort to compose herself, "JAG…"

Miles shook his head and looked down at the narrow metal steps of the ladder, "I'm scared too. But we mustn't lose hope…"

"NACES are designed with a raft and a survival kit…" Petty Officer Fey said and she raised her chin defiantly, "Nick's tougher than he looks…"

Miles offered a tight lipped smile, and felt his own tears spill over and slide down his cheeks, "Yes he is."

"He crashed his bike into a fire truck once, and walked away with a sprained ankle…"

Miles laughed despite himself and when Petty Officer Fey threw her arms around his neck he hugged her back. They barely knew each other, but they both loved Phoenix Wright. That was all the connection they needed.

Miles let her go and she stepped back to wipe her face with her sleeve. Miles stood and did the same, he smiled at her abashed.

"We should probably return to our respective work centers…"

"I know he's not dead," she fixed her hazel eyes on him, they were bright despite the dimness of the ladder well, like they held a light of their own, "I know he's not dead, because I can call the dead. He's not answering."

Miles swallowed and stared at her uncomfortably for a minute or ten.

You know there is a line…

"Erm, yes… Petty Officer Fey, I'll escort you to your work center, in case your leadership has an issue—"

Miles turned and started up the steps from where she came, but Petty Officer Fey interrupted.

"JAG, my squadron is here on the O-3 Level as well…. I uh… I got lost looking for Flag Admin. We're not supposed to walk in the blue tile area…"

"Right, I see," He said and backed down the ladder and then turned to open the hatch. He motioned for her to go ahead.

"You'll find me if you hear anything?" He dogged the hatch, trying not to sound too desperate.

"Only if you do the same," Petty Officer Fey shot him a determined look.

She hesitated at the curtain that separated the blue tile passage. He looked at her and jerked his head, "I'm escorting you. You're just on the other side of the hatch here, right?"

"Yeah," Petty Officer Fey said brightly and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Miles left her once she was safely in Squadron spaces and frowned thoughtfully as he backtracked to Flag Admin.

Lieutenant Yew was staring hard at him when he walked in. He only spared her a glance as he made his way back to legal. He frowned at LN1 but said nothing.

"Sir," LN3 said a little too loudly, startling Miles, "How…. How long do you think before they'll let us send e-mails again?"

Miles stared at him a moment and shook his head mutely. No one spoke after that and after another minute or two of awkward silence, LN3 went into Admin to join the others in their vigil.

A few minutes later, they were secured from GQ but a medical emergency was announced on deck. A murmur rolled through the crowded spaces. Miles glanced at LN1 and caught her studying him surreptitiously. Then he sighed and went back into Admin.

"…recovered…"

"Is he alive?"

He almost choked hearing the murmurs from the group and rather than join in the solemn vigil in front of the television, Miles left the space again and made his way back to berthing. What a terrible day.

He dropped himself heavily into the lone chair at the shared desk and took off his boots and socks. He stripped down to his tee shirt and hanged his uniform before climbing into his rack.

He wasn't sleepy, but he felt drained. Drained of emotion, of energy… Drained of hope…

You called it, didn't you…?

Lang entered several minutes later, looking pale and frightened. He emptied his pockets on the desk and stripped out of his uniform. He paused to stare at Miles but said nothing before grabbing his shower kit and walking back out of the stateroom.

Miles hugged his pillow to his chest and stared up at the cables and pipes in the lagging above his head.

Nick…

He swallowed, but he didn't cry. He seemed drained of tears too. He didn't see Lang return before he finally dozed off in restless sleep. When he awoke, the ship was quiet and still. The room was bathed in the dim red lighting that stayed on at all time in case the crew had to move about in the dark. Like when they were called to General Quarters at zero three…

He lay there for a while, blank and calm and starring at the lagging. Then it came rushing back with a vengeance.

Sailors arrested in a foreign port, an international crisis. Scandal in the Air Wing… Rumblings of war on the horizon, scrambling jets…. Phoenix Wright…

He's tougher than he looks…

Miles sighed and sat up. He hesitated a few more minutes in the silence before climbing down from his rack. The cold deck felt dirty and he hobbled across the stateroom on his tiptoes trying to keep the least amount of contact with the deck as he could before retrieving his flip flops.

He then bent to dig out his shower kit and a towel, pausing to look up at Shi-Long Lang. Lang was sitting on his rack, it was still made—so he hadn't slept.

"Shi-Long," Miles called softly out to him. Lang had his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. His head was down buried in his arms, his face hidden. He didn't stir.

Miles took a step closer, "Shi—"

Lang picked up his head and glared menacingly, "What do you need, Miles Edgeworth?"

Miles frowned, Lang looked terrible, drawn and tired, his eyes were rimmed red and bruised looking, "Are you okay? Did something happen?"

Lang only shook his head and buried his face again. Miles stared at him unbelieving, not sure what he should do.

"I'll be back n a few minutes," he said finally and turned to exit the stateroom, but Lang never stirred.

Lang refused to speak or move or anything, and when Miles finally convinced him to finish getting dressed and go to with him to the Wardroom, he followed silent and wooden, and refused to eat. Miles' was trying to ignore the thoughts racing in his head about Phoenix, and wasn't able to do much better. Eventually, they both got up and left the Wardroom, and left for their respective work centers.

Miles knew something was wrong, even if they hadn't been roommates for the last several months, Lang's actions and silence were worlds away from his usual. Not that Miles needed to press him about it to find out. One, there was always talk on the ship, and two, he was the Staff Judge Advocate. If it was serious, he'd learn about it.

So when the rumors that the planes had been shot down by the ship's Phalanx were corroborated at the staff meeting, Miles could feel his heart slide further down his throat and into the pit of his stomach. He felt nauseous, but he hadn't eaten that day, so he didn't think he was at risk of throwing up. No wonder Lang was upset.

And yes, there was going to be an investigation.

There were medical personnel at the staff meeting, reporting on the pilots. Both were in critical condition, and once stabilized they'd both be flown off the ship to some big hospital in Europe.

He's alive…

The CAG looked pale and worried, but she stood bravely in front of the Skipper and told him that Naval Air something or other would be flying out an investigator as well to make his inquiries. They'd lost two planes. It was kind of a big deal.

He's going to be okay…

The mast of the FCs, and Engarde's Article 32, would proceed with only minor delays. Life would go on. Nothing would change for him. But then, nothing could be the same.

Miles returned to Admin following the staff meeting, and went over the package LN1 put together, and managed to be impressed at her work. Neither of his Legalmen were in the spaces. It must be after 1600. Miles sighed and sat at the shared computer and started logging in. No sense in wasting time, even if it seemed to be dragging on so slowly.

"Have you seen him, today?"

Miles startled at her voice, he must've been glaring because she flinched slightly at his look.

"Lieutenant Yew," he turned his eyes back to the computer screen, "Yes, I've seen him. He's upset. But he won't talk to me about it."

"Those pilots should have known better," she said coldly, "they got in the way."

He didn't spare her a look and only pressed his lips together in reply, he was focused on the screen in front of him.

"He probably blames himself, but he's in charge of four of those guns… He can't be everywhere at once."

Miles met her eye and frowned, "I think perhaps it's better not to discuss it, Lieutenant Yew."

She glared and then turned to leave muttering something about him being a cold-hearted bastard. Miles closed his eyes and sighed and turned his attention back to his e-mails. Nothing was allowed from outside of the ship's networks, so it was more sparse than normal. He answered two of them related to the FC's mast and one regarding Engarde's case, and then logged out.

He saw Lieutenant Yew in his periphery as he walked out of Admin, she was pacing under the television in the deserted spaces, head down and arms crossed. He didn't pause as he stepped out into the blue-tiled area.

He entered the hushed but cheerily lit berthing and frowned as he pushed into their shared stateroom. Lang wasn't there, but after he'd dressed down he found a note on his rack. It was a piece of printer paper folded in fourths, his heart leapt at seeing it and he plucked it off of the drab wool blanket covering his rack and unfolded it. There was no picture and the tidy hand that had written it was Lang's—not his.

Miles, it's bad. I went to sick call. Probably wont be back tonight. —LT Lang

Somehow it was comforting to know that Lang was being responsible about it. That's probably why he'd written the note. Despite his bravado and his joking demeanor, he was very observant, and surprisingly pragmatic.

Two days passed in a suffocating haze of grief and frustration, without Lang's odd wisdom to buoy him, nor word of any change in Phoenix's condition. Not that Miles had much time for idleness.

He hadn't been allowed in the DRB, that was a Chief thing, and MAC took that one, but they were rushed into the XOI the same day. The mast took place early the next morning, in service dress whites—the uniform for the season. There was a lot of scolding and lecturing about behavior in foreign ports and representation of the service overseas, but in the end the three FCs were given restriction and suspended busts. A wrist slap really, considering how badly the situation might have escalated. Lang would've been pleased.

Miles returned to his stateroom to change uniforms and was surprised to find Lang had returned. He looked drawn and ill, but he managed to grin at Miles as he entered in his whites.

"White is definitely not your color," he said.

"Welcome back," Miles smiled in reply, unable to suppress his relief.

"How'd it go? I really should've been there…"

Miles shrugged as he pulled the tail of his shirt out of his belt and began unbuttoning it, "fourteen days restriction and suspended busts. I would argue that your presence was certainly felt in spirit. Every one of them mentioned their DIVO."

Lang nodded and managed to look flattered and proud.

Miles hung up his shirt and kicked off his shoes before sliding out of the white slacks, "I hope you're feeling better."

Lang grimaced and hugged his knees, but he didn't speak.

Miles had dropped his white tee shirt in his laundry bag and pulled a blue one over his head before he paused to stare at Lang.

"Shi-Long?"

Lang shook his head, "You'll forgive me, wont you Miles?"

Miles frowned, "We shouldn't discuss—"

"Right, because it's under investigation," Lang dropped his arms to his sides and glared into his lap, "Miles, I have to know that you don't blame me."

Miles sighed and busied himself with pulling on his NWU pants, the khaki rigger's belt jingled as he slid them on. He tucked in his shirt and cinched his belt with his brow furrowed in contemplation.

"You were doing your job as far as I can tell," Miles grabbed his blouse, "and nobody died."

He slid his arms into his blouse and tugged it over his shoulders before buttoning it, "Come on, shipmate… You look like you need a sandwich."

Miles looked over at Lang when he made a noise, still smirking at his joke, when he realized that Lang wasn't laughing. He had brought his arms up to hide his face and sobbed.

"Shi-Long?"

"I'm so sorry…"

"Look, I don't think anyone really blames you."

"I didn't even think he'd be flying…"

Miles frowned helplessly at him.

Yeah… He shouldn't have been flying…

He didn't know what to do. This wasn't his strength, and yet it seemed he'd been asked for comfort lately with an inordinate amount of frequency. All he could do was stare in impotent silence. Lang rocked madly and tore at his own hair.

"I'm sorry…" Lang choked again, "I'm so sorry…"

Unsure and feeling awkward too, Miles sat beside Lang in his rack. He hesitated and then hugged him, tentatively at first but more tightly as he felt Lang relax into him.

This is what he would do…

The thought made him smile.

"I'm so sorry…" Lang sobbed again, his face pressed into Miles' shoulder, "I'm so very sorry…"

He left Lang alone in the stateroom after the other had composed himself and fallen asleep, he did look exhausted, and Miles had his own worries and cares. He paused at the head in their berthing to wash his face and hands, feeling the need of it, but finding no relief in it. The mast had been a few hours long—long enough to leave him drained, and his recent interaction with Lang hadn't helped. Miles dragged himself back to Flag Admin to check in with his department anyway.

"Hey El-Tee," LN1 greeted him from behind the computer.

"Good afternoon, LN1," he replied woodenly and opened one of the cabinets to retrieve a notebook.

"Doing okay, sir?" She quipped and he heard her pop her gum.

"Yes," Miles said, "I'm going to the staff meeting."

"Kaye, sir," LN1 said, "Hey, some guy from the Air Wing came by looking for you."

Miles turned from where he'd already started to step out of legal into Admin, "Oh, really?"

Phoenix…?

"Yeah," LN1 flipped a page in her magazine, "Commander Armadillo… Amarillo… something…"

"Oh… I see…" The CSO, probably wanting an update regarding Engarde's Article 32, "Thank you, LN1."

"Yeah, sir."

He was one of the first to arrive in the wardroom for the meeting and took a seat against the back wall. He flipped through his notebook, looking for an empty page. He didn't notice when Commander Armando joined him and only turned when the smell of strong bold coffee wafted over.

"Oh," Miles was a little startled, "Good afternoon, Sir. I was told you'd come by legal looking for me?"

"Hello JAG," Armando smirked at him and then took a draught from his coffee, "I was curious to see how you were holding up?"

Miles looked quizzically at the Commander, somehow he managed to look dashing in the baggy, utilitarian, and olive green flight suit.

"Er… I'm very well, sir…"

"They're going to fly them out tomorrow morning," Commander Armando spoke into his coffee mug without looking at Miles, "I thought you'd like to say goodbye."

Miles blinked, shocked, "He's awake?"

The Commander shook his head gravely, "Stable… but not conscious… still though… You should see him before they send him off. You don't when or if you'll see him again."

Miles nodded and stared at the notebook in his lap, "I… Er… I would appreciate it, sir, very much."

Commander Armando grinned and slapped his shoulder before standing to join CAG when she came in. Miles stared at the notebook in his hands and clenched his fists. Willing himself to stay calm and composed.

Don't let the scary XO see you crying in the wardroom…

The thought almost made him laugh, and despite no small amount of effort on his part, he eventually did and a few of the other officers gathering in the room glanced curiously at him. Miles covered his mouth with the cuff of his sleeve and sucked in a breath to compose himself.

Stable… but not conscious…

Miles stood abruptly and hurried out of the room. He actually passed Skipper and the scary XO as he made his way toward the nearest head.

You don't know when or if you'll see him again…

Miles closed his eyes as he pushed into the door to the head.

…thought you'd like to say goodbye…

Chapter Text

It was wet. He was wet. He could feel the weight of the water in his soaked flight suit. Familiar… Because they'd trained for this. Phoenix tried to sit up and gave a shout of pain.

God it hurts…

He hissed through his teeth, trying to get his bearings, trying to sit up a little. He realized then that he was on a raft, part of it had caught fire and it was mostly deflated. He leaned back and felt his head go in the water. He was barely afloat on the thing, but he was afloat. He reached up toward the vest over his shoulders and neck and pulled the beady black handles. He felt his head and shoulders rise as it inflated, and his legs slid into a more vertical position.

He spat, trying to rid his mouth of the briny taste of the ocean. This was familiar too, but not because of his training. Sure, sometimes they swam in the ocean, but most of it was done in swimming pools, heavy and stringent with chemicals. He remembered this from a childhood spent near the sea.

You used to love the water...

Phoenix tried to reach down and take off his boots, this was part of his training too. Pain, white hot, burned through his legs and his spine, and he gasped pulling his head up and back as his vision blurred and darkened.

Then there was nothing.

"Phoenix!"

He tried to turn and look toward her. He didn't recognize the voice at first.

"Phoenix!"

Mom…?

There were sharks in the water… circling….creeping…

Phoenix stared at them in awe, their fins cutting through the water…. Legs, kicking and splashing…. What…?

One of the sharks leapt at him and wrapped it's big muscular arms around his aching body. Creepy shark man… He tried to fight him off… but it hurt…

Viktor Krum… It was just like Viktor Krum in that movie…

Shark head…

Man body…

Gross…

Phoenix gasped and opened his eyes. It burned. They were going to boil him alive.

Please don't eat me mister shark…

"What's your name?"

Light, in his eyes… Blindingly bright…. He squinted into the light. They'd been trained for this too.

"Can you tell me your name?"

I'm Phoenix Wright…

"…unresponsive…" he didn't know that voice.

Lieutenant Phoenix Wright, zero-five-zero—

"Get him warmed up," he didn't recognize that voice either…

Are you even listening to me?

She turned to look at him, her eyes were like sweet tea in the summer sun. Heh… sweet tea….

"Funny seeing you here…"

She was very pretty and it made him nervous, so he laughed. Like an idiot…

"Ha yeah…" he rubbed the back of his neck, "I uh…. I don't normally…. This is actually my first time, believe it or not."

"You're one of the pilots, aren't you? From the other night?"

"Heh yeah…" he smiled sheepishly.

"Juan something or other?"

"Wright."

"Yeah," she turned coquettishly as she spoke, gazing at him sidelong, "Matt talked about you…"

Matt? Oh she thinks—"No, my name is Wright, Phoenix Wright…. Like the Wright brothers…"

She giggled sweetly and he found it was getting harder to breathe.

"Oh," she cocked her head, finger on her chin, "I thought you were someone else… My bad…"

Phoenix burst out laughing incongruously loud relative to her comment. She gazed around and focused over his shoulder, "The line is moving…"

"Oh yeah…"

Then she lifted the parasol she had in her hand and stabbed it right through him, into his stomach and out of his back…

Screaming… someone was screaming in the dark…. He opened his eyes but he saw nothing, only blackness.

Stop screaming…

A sudden coolness in his arm. It rode up his veins and then it was gone… numbing… soothing… suffocating…

"Oooh Buurrrn!" They called in chorus, but Phoenix didn't spare them a glance. He squared off against Engarde instead, focusing the heat of his glare on the other man.

"You don't know," he said and he clenched his fists, "You had no right to… What makes you think you—"

Matt grinned at him brushing his bangs off of his forehead. His hair was too long again. It was sloppy. Unprofessional.

"Nicky, really," Matt stepped closer to him, "They said you were smart... So why can’t you get it in your thick skull that it’s over... You’re done..."

Come on fucker… one more step… Phoenix brought a fist to his hand and cracked his knuckles…

Whistling Dixie…

"Because she's crazy," Lieutenant Commander Armando stared across the table at him, "I'm starting to wonder if he isn't crazy too…"

Phoenix could only frown at his own wrists on the table… Handcuffed… Hands bruised… This guy didn't understand…

"It's the sweetest little kittens that'll tear you up the most—maul you like a tiger…"

The Lieutenant Commander smirked at him and raised the coffee mug in his hand, it was large, made of heavy ceramic, with a logo for the training squadron on one side and his name scrawled along the bottom in a calligraphic hand. He took a long drought from the mug and then brought it around to smash Phoenix in the face.

Oh I wish I was in the land of cotton; old times there are not forgotten…

It didn't hurt, but it surprised him. He tumbled off of the stool and fell into the grass. He kept falling—no wait… he was rolling in the grass, down a slope. She was there too. Laughing. Tumbling. Eyes like fresh brewed sweet tea held up to the sun. So sweet you could see the clear wavering of syrup twirling around in the glass. Like the madness in those eyes…

Look away…

"Virginia is the South," Miles looked at him as he filled his plastic cup from the drink dispenser… Ice and water…

"Well, I guess," Phoenix frowned, and stuck his cup under the juice dispenser, no grape juice today—not until they took on stores… but apple juice was okay too.

"It was one of the first states to secede from the Union, and the Confederate Capitol was Richmond," Miles continued pedantically.

"Nobody cares Miles," Phoenix took his tray and claimed a table, "that was, like, the dark ages…"

"The United States did not exist in the Dark Ages…"

Phoenix smirked at him, "I'm starting to wonder if you did…"

Look away…

Miles burst into tears, Phoenix swallowed, not sure what to make of it. This was the first time talking to him since he got back. The last time he'd seen Miles, he was nine years old. They were in Miles' dorm room at Ivy. The room was sparse and impersonal, like he'd just arrived, but Miles had been enrolled for months now.

Miles dropped his face into his hands, as if he could hide the fact that he was crying. Phoenix frowned mutely at him and then cleared his throat.

"Dude? What's wrong? Do you want me to come back some other time?"

"No," Miles grabbed his sleeve, unable to hide the note of panic in his voice, "I want… This is good, I'm just happy…"

Phoenix could only stare at him. What a strange way to act happy…

Miles was pale and so thin he looked like he might be sick. He and Phoenix were of like height, maybe Miles was a finger's width or two taller, but Miles' height was made more gawky by his thinness.

"I was afraid that you wouldn't want to talk to me after… after all…"

"Miles, I've been trying to get you to talk to me since I first noticed you were back. I feel like you've been trying to avoid me."

Miles said nothing and only ran the sleeve of his coat over his face, in a desperate attempt at composure.

Dixie land…

He wasn't driving, but he'd been hurt bad…. Phoenix looked around the sanitized space of his hospital bed. The room was cluttered with equipment, cables and tubes snaking around, digital numbers scrolling or flashing, machines attached to machines… the smell of antiseptic….

"Phoenix?"

"Mom?"

Darkness and shadow as she put her arms around him, cradling his head. He had one arm in traction and the other was heavy in a cast. He couldn't hug her back.

"Mom what happened?"

"Shhh… Don't talk, just rest… You're going to be all right…"

God this was painful…. What the hell was going on?

I wish I was in Dixie….

"You know how you know it's the South," Larry grinned from the drivers seat, "There's a Waffle House on like, every street… and there are fried chicken places across the street from fried chicken places…. They don't just put sugar in the tea, they boil it so they can add more… It's basically tea colored syrup water…"

Phoenix leaned back in the bucket seat of Larry's tuned up Honda Civic. There was a joke that Aviators always went out and bought some kind of muscle car and picked up a blonde girlfriend within the first week of reporting to their first duty station.

But Larry drove a Honda. Phoenix had a bicycle…

Hooray… Hooray…

The beach was a gray expanse stretching into the sky like some alien world. The ocean churned, white froth floating amongst the waves. It had been raining all day and remained overcast when it wasn't. But the clouds were starting to part. The setting sun was starting to break through, red and golden and desperate in her final throes before nightfall.

It made his gray eyes alight with fire and flame. He had on a coat—at the beach. Phoenix almost laughed, but Miles Edgeworth probably wouldn't appreciate it.

"Miles…" Phoenix looked at his friend, standing in the fading daylight, his thin shoulders hunched in the overlarge coat, so that he seemed about to collapse into himself like a dying star makes a black hole.

Phoenix reached up and wiped roughly at the tear that had escaped onto his cheek.

"She really wants that?"

Phoenix shrugged and stared at the water washing over the sand and then receding, "She thinks it's better than me wasting my life in college, changing majors, and having no idea what to do with my life."

"Where do you go for that? Isn't it all on the East Coast?" Those gray eyes raked over him, scrutinizing him. Disappointed. Phoenix shook his head and turned so that he wasn't looking at Miles.

"What difference does it make, Miles? You won't be here to miss me anyway…"

"Don't do this to spite—"

Phoenix rounded on him, "This isn't about you…. Look, I'm sorry your life sucks, okay. I'm sorry about your dad… I'm sorry you had to get tangled up with those people…. But I can't just sit here and wait for you to figure it out. I have to live my life too…"

Phoenix sat heavily on the wet sand. His jeans were rolled up to his calves and his flip-flops were grimy with wet sand.

"It's not easy on my mom…. Trying to pay for college… with her loser son that has no goals…"

"So you don't want to be a lawyer?"

Their eyes met and they stared for a long time.

"I guess not, Miles…" Phoenix frowned, "I'm sorry…. That was your dream…"

"I wanted to follow in his footsteps…"

"Yeah, I get it Miles… But I don't have footsteps to follow…. I just…. I don't have anywhere… anything… I can't sit around here waiting for you to come back."

"But why the military? What if they send you to war?"

"Isn't that what the military is for? At least that would be something…"

In Dixie land, I'll take my stand to live and die in Dixie…

Their drill instructors at Officer Candidacy School, were Marines. Enlisted Marines…. They seemed to get a kick out of picking on the college kids coming straight from school the most. Especially if they were skinny boys from California with Liberal Arts degrees…

"On the ground, Wright!"

Phoenix stared at the gruff Marine Gunnery Sergeant and frowned, confused, "But Sir—Gunny, I—"

"Get on your face now you little shit! I'm gonna smoke you till you pass out, then I'm gonna wake you up and smoke you some more! Teach you to stop flapping your pinko little mouth! Push ups! Git there!"

Phoenix dropped to his knees and then put out his hands and straightened his legs in position behind him. He'd barely steadied himself in position when the Gunnery Sergeant began the count.

"Down."

"One, Gunny."

"Down."

"Two, Gunny."

"Down."

The worst part was being on display. Knowing that all of the other guys in his rifle division were staring down at him. His arms started to shake at about thirty—he wasn't used to this.

"Git your ass out of the air, Wright!"

Gunny pushed down on his butt with his foot, between the sudden pressure and his trembling arms, Phoenix fell flat on his stomach. He scraped his hands and his chin on the concrete, and bit the inside of lip.

"Did I tell you to relax?"

"N-no, Gunny."

Phoenix got back into position. He could taste blood in his mouth.

"Down."

"Thirty-three, Gunny…"

"Down."

"Thirty-four…"

He let go then and slammed into the cement so hard he shattered like a porcelain doll. He could see them sweeping away the pieces of him. Weird.

Away, away, away down South…

Miles was laughing at him. Hands in the pockets of his khaki shorts, that pink button down shirt showing away the angles of his lithe figure. He was so beautiful when he smiled. Phoenix could almost forgive him that bow-tie.

"So, let me get this straight… Your life flashed before your eyes?"

Phoenix nodded mutely and glanced through the port hole into the ocean churning beyond.

"Was it boring or something?" Miles smiled again, teasing him.

Phoenix smiled abashedly and put his head down, "Maybe…"

"Boring is okay," Miles said sagely, "I'd worry less about you."

"You don't need to worry about me…"

Miles laughed again and pushed him into the ocean. In his panic, Phoenix struggled. There were shark men in the water coming toward him. He tried to swim, tried to avoid the ship, but she was gone, he was alone in the water with a half-dozen shark men grinning madly with their rows of shark teeth. They were all wearing dark sneakers, and basketball shorts.

Away… Away… Away down South in Dixie Land!

"Texas is not the South," She turned to him smiling, she was lovely, she was fierce.

Special Agent Mia Fey filled out the dark gray pantsuit a little too nicely. Was this the tiger Lieutenant Commander Armando was referring to?

"I really don't care… I'm sorry for calling it the South…. Anyway what would you call Texas?"

She laughed. It was open and sincere. He liked Mia's laugh, "If I owned Hell and Texas, I'd live in Hell and rent out Texas."

His eyes widened in surprise, "Okay…"

"So come on Nick, I'm meeting Diego for dinner, let's wrap this up."

"Are you going on a date?"

She blushed slightly and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, "So, how would you characterize your relationship with Dahlia Hawthorne?"

Phoenix swallowed and clenched his fists.

He opened his eyes to the dim red lights. The room was crowded with machinery and separated with papery blue curtains.

He tried to sit up. But he couldn't move.

Something started to beep, and an HM2 came in yawning to check the machines.

She looked into his face, surprised at first and then she smiled and walked back out of the room. He let himself relax into the pillows. What the hell?

There was a radio or something somewhere playing that annoying song. If he was feeling up to it, he'd sing it to Miles. Just to watch him blush.

She came back in several minutes later and fumbled with this IV. It wasn't very much longer before the pain started to fade from his poor broken body and he eased back into sleep and the strange mix of dream and memory forcing him to reevaluate his life.

The first vision that greeted him when he closed his eyes was Laurence's plane, shattering in the sky above the ship as the CIWS tore into her. Phoenix startled awake and looked up at the overhead. He felt numb, he felt like he was floating.

I wish I was in Dixie… Hooray…Hooray…

"Don't listen to them, baby," Phoenix winced as mom rubbed the cuts and scrapes with antiseptic and then slathered them with ointment, "They don't understand you. That's why they do things like that."

His arm looked tiny in her hands. She used to be larger than life. Mom was pretty too, her eyes large and expressive, a mouth prone to smiling…. Why were they alone?

He cheeks still felt sticky from the tears but he wasn't crying. He wanted to curl up on his bed and sleep. This had been a pretty rough day at school. Most days were rough.

"Mom, where's my father? How come he left us?"

She paused and frowned, staring into his eyes.

"He's gone, don't worry about it. Don't worry about him—obviously he can't be bothered about us."

"Was it something I did?"

Mom leaned over and hugged him then kissed his cheek. She squeezed his hand where she was still holding it, "Never… You never did anything wrong…"

Phoenix turned to stare at the floor, "Then why did he leave?"

"You know, sweetheart, sometimes people are going to do what they want to do. They look at all their commitments and obligations in a different way. So it makes it easier for them to just move on."

Phoenix frowned, he wasn't really sure what she was talking about. She turned him and put her arms around him, "But I got you, so I'm the lucky one, right?"

He nodded, still confused.

"Think about it like this… if a bird and a fish fell in love, where would they build their home? They might be in love, but they are fundamentally different. Because a fish needs the water to live and a bird will always want to wander the sky."

Phoenix sighed.

Mom hugged him and he closed his eyes. The she let him go and he fell into the water. Sinking like a stone. He could see the sun from under the surface, beckoning him.

In Dixie Land, I'll take my stand to live and die in Dixie!

Phoenix blew the air out of his mouth and stretched upward, kicking hard. Feeling the weight of water against his limbs. He broke the surface and gasped. Miles was looking down at him from the pier. Smiling. His hair was too long. Long like it was when he was a teenager. The wind tugged and whipped it around his head.

"Miles!"

Phoenix could feel his hand in his. He squeezed it. There was sinew and bone. Miles had soft palms. Warm.

Miles seemed to have no trouble pulling him out of the water with just one hand. But then… all of this was weird…. Disjointed…

What if the last thing you see before you die is an endless dream? Wandering endlessly through the recesses of your mind? But really, you've already died. There's nothing left.

He wanted to cry.

"Nick?"

"Miles, I'm sorry…"

"Don't worry about it…. Just rest, get better…"

"Miles?"

"Shh… Whatever you do, Nick… Don't go toward the light. Stay here, please?"

Phoenix laughed. Sort of. There were tubes in his mouth. He was strapped in in case the ship lurched. Everything hurt.

Miles don't leave me…

"..much improved… But he's not out of the woods. But the facilities at Sigonella are state of the art. He'll have the best care there is."

Shadows and light. Movement.

"Make a hole!"

They were playing Danger Zone over the 1MC. He'd laugh if he could.

There were people all around and then the air, sea air, breezy… Cool…. The smell of salt, faint behind the smell of JP-5 and oil.

The grinding sound of the elevator nearly drowned out the bridge of the song. The guitars, the bass, probably a little synth too—it was the eighties after all…

Then they were on the deck. Shouts and noise whipped by the wind on the open sea, a cacophony of life at once familiar and so far away.

He felt the rotors chopping the wind as they rushed him aboard.

There was someone else ahead of him, getting strapped in. The whispered orders between the crew as they did their work.

He was lifted into the helo next, buried in the noise and swell.

Wow… What a send off…

Chapter Text

"I thought we'd lost you," Commander Armando found him in the head after the Staff meeting.

Miles was standing at the row of sinks glaring at his distorted reflection in the polished metal mirror. He made a pointed effort not to look at the Commander.

"Do I need to—"

"No," Commander Armando said, "If you're ready though, I can take you to sick bay."

Miles sighed and nodded.

He followed the Commander back into the corridor, and they had to squeeze through the passage, where the remnants of the meeting still hovered outside of the Wardroom. Miles kept his gaze focused on Commander Armando's collar, and made a concerted effort not to meet anyone's eye as they walked.

He waited while Commander Armando paused at a hatch and pulled the bar dogging the heavy metal cover and let it swing open. The Commander in turn waited for him to step through before closing it and dogging it down again. Then he took up his lead and Miles followed him down one ladder and another, exiting onto the deck above the hangar bay.

Miles was momentarily caught exploring what he could of the spaces with his gaze alone. He hadn't yet seen this side of the medical bay. A couple of HMs passed them in the corridor, eyeing the two of them curiously and greeting them as they'd been taught to greet officers.

He caught himself holding his breath as they turned into the sick bay housing intensive care patients. He would've been amazed by the genius of the setup if he hadn't been so worried about Phoenix. The other pilot caught his eye first, he was sitting up and smiling despite the bandages generously swathed over his head and covering one eye. Miles recognized the two men in green flight suits at his bedside from the dining in and copied Commander Armando in greeting them with a silent nod.

"Commander Armando," another Officer, wearing a white coat over the blue camouflage of his NWUs pushed the curtain aside and offered to shake his hand.

"Doc, this is Lieutenant Edgeworth, the CSG's Staff Judge Advocate—apparently these two know each other from back home," Armando said, "he wanted a chance to say goodbye."

The doctor eyed him sidelong and then pulled a covered clipboard from the metal bed, "He's not conscious…"

Miles bit his lip and nodded solemnly, trying to choke down the sobs threatening to rise out of him again. He was afraid to speak; afraid to breathe. He took a step forward toward the hospital bed. The smell of iodine and blood was heavy in the space around him.

Phoenix was still wearing his flight suit, but parts of it had been cut away. The kind of decorum expected in most hospitals was extraneous here, they didn't cover him up and the bandages, though clean and recently changed, were stark and visible against his skin. He had an IV in with several bags hanging from a pole secured to the bulkhead.

Miles took a step closer, frowning at the body on what amounted to an ambulance gurney strapped to the deck. His skin discolored by the staining of iodine, blood, and bruises. It didn't look like Phoenix, the poor mangled person strapped there. Lines from the IV taped to his arm. Tubes obscuring his face. Miles stared, watching the steady, shallow rise and fall of his breathing.

Is this really him?

He wanted look into his face. To see that it was really him, and not this sad anonymous wreck of a human strapped and bandaged and intubated in front of him. The doctor and Commander Armando were speaking in hushed tones, something about his prognosis and the likelihood Phoenix would ever fly again.

Miles clenched his jaw hard and closed his eyes, trying to not to listen. I'd settle for him waking up again…. Smiling again…

Miles stumbled slightly then and caught himself on the edge of the gurney, where Phoenix's other hand lay. The one not caught up in the tubes and cables from all of the monitors and machines keeping him alive. He glanced surreptitiously at the Commander and the doctor and reached out to take his hand.

It was cold and still. Roughened by myriad cuts and abrasions he must have sustained in the crash.

"Nick…"

He wasn't sure of it at first but he thought Phoenix squeezed him back, "Nick?"

Phoenix's breathing hitched and then he turned his head as much as he could with all of the tubes stuck in his mouth and nose. Phoenix tightened his grip on his hand, it was still weak and tenuous, but there was no doubt about it now.

"Hey, don't move…"

Phoenix's head moved again his voice barely audible and muffled by the tubes.

"Don't worry about it," Miles said and then reached out to touch the small bit of his cheek visible among the tubes and bandages obscuring his face, "Just rest, get better."

Phoenix tried again, his breathing quickened and Commander Armando and the doctor both stopped and turned to look at them. Miles was still leaning over him, touching his face, "Shh… Whatever you do, Nick… Don't go toward the light. Stay here please."

Phoenix's breath hitched again, a few times in succession—he was laughing. Trying to.

"Is he awake?" Commander Armando moved so that he was standing next to Miles and the doctor frowned.

"He's been in and out the last couple of days, I'd say he's much improved. But he's not out of the woods yet. Unfortunately, we've done all we can for him here, but the facilities in Sigonella are state of the art. He'll have the best care there is."

"Do you know when they're headed out?"

Miles tore his gaze away from Phoenix to catch the doctor's reply to Commander Armando's question.

"They're supposed to take off as soon as they can after reveille, the MEDEVAC helo DET, arrived earlier today, and they're expecting a pretty long flight."

Miles gazed down on Phoenix again, he was still again, his hand lax in his.

Stay here…

Lang was sitting up in his rack owl eyed and hugging his knees. Unable to reign in the guilt and shame he was feeling. He looked up at Miles when he entered the stateroom but didn't say a word.

"How do you feel?" Miles asked as he went over to the shared desk and sat in the chair and frowned at his roommate.

Lang shook his head and let his gaze drop to the deck.

"Doc thinks he's going to recover just fine," Miles said, even though the doctor hadn't said anything remotely like that. Miles stared at Lang, willing him to speak. Hoping he'd let go of the ridiculous notion that it was his fault and his fault alone. Miles could use a friend right now.

Lang shook his head, "I'm sorry…"

Miles sighed and turned to stare at the desktop. He didn't know what else to do.

What else can you do?

"I think he recognized me," Miles said staring at his own boots on the deck, "He squeezed my hand."

"How did he look?" Lang asked, his voice was rusty with torpor and emotion, but his eyes showed sincere concern.

Miles shook his head, he meant to answer, but it came over him out of nowhere. He dropped his head into his hands and lost all composure. Lang looked devastated watching him break down. Miles turned so that his elbows rested on the desk, his face toward the wall.

He's going to be fine…

Miles sobbed and let let himself sink into his arms on the desk, he tried to stop it; tried to hold his breath. All he could see behind his eyes was Phoenix's mangled body on the white mattress of the gurney. Tubes in his mouth. Bloodied bandages. Was that from the crash? Did they have to operate?

He's tougher than he looks…

They were in the middle of the ocean too. Hundreds of miles from the nearest shore—let alone a medical trauma center. He could still smell the dull pungency of the iodine. The close, warm penny smell of blood.

You don't need to worry about me…

He was lost now. In his despair. They were flying him out tomorrow.

You don't know when or if you'll see him again…

"Miles!" He hadn't noticed that Lang had approached him until he felt the other man's hands on his shoulders trying to coax him into standing.

"Come on Miles," Lang said, "Take off your boots, and get in your rack."

Miles stood, nodding, trying to compose himself. He pulled away from Lang and bent to take off his boots. He sank to the floor instead, hugging himself, his back against the cool metal of their lockers. Lang hesitated before joining him on the deck. Miles didn't spare him a glance and was grateful when Lang chose to remain silent.

They sat there in silence as Miles tried to rein it back in. The darkness was getting harder and harder to control. He sighed and dragged his sleeve unceremoniously over his face.

Be calm… be still…

Beside him Lang was cradling his head in his hands. Silent. But grieving too.

"It's not your fault, Shi-Long," Miles said to the deck as he unlaced his boots, "Nobody blames you. So stop blaming yourself."

Lang only shook his head in silent response and then pushed himself up off of the deck and stumbled the few steps over then dropped heavily into his rack.

Miles finished removing his boots and then took off his uniform. He put it away and slid into a pair of pajama bottoms and climbed into his rack. He sighed. He wouldn't be able to sleep. He wasn't sure how long he lay there staring at the lagging in the dim red light. But after some time Lang cleared his throat in the rack below him.

"I'm glad he's going to be okay."

Miles startled awake at the bugle calling reveille through the tinny speakers of the 1MC. At least he had fallen asleep. He lay in his rack staring up at the overhead again listening to the standard morning message asking all hands to heave out and describing the uniform of the day…

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, Air Wing, Staff, and Crew…. This is your Captain speaking…"

Miles sat up in his rack, this was new. He heard Lang stir in the rack below.

"I wanted to let everyone know, Lieutenant Williams and Lieutenant Wright, both flying for the VFA, are in stable condition, and they'll be headed out to Sigonella this morning. I know we're all a little sad to see them go so soon before the end of deployment. They were great guys. Great part of our team here. But they're off to bluer waters and better care than we're able to give. There is a danger inherent in the life a fighter pilot chooses. They knew the risk. Accepted it. With a little luck, our thoughts and our prayers, they’ll fly again. Here's wishing our brave aviators fair winds and following seas!"

The music started as soon as the Skipper finished his message. Miles didn't recognize it at first, the song was popular long before he was born. He frowned at the heavily synthesized rock and roll and he recognized it. He looked at Lang and grinned. Lang started laughing, and then he started singing along.

"Highway to the DANGER ZONE!"

They joined the line in the forward mess later after shaving and dressing and were surprised at the number of people already in line. It usually wasn't crowded this early in the morning.

"Why is everyone up so early?" Miles asked Lang looking around at the crowded wardroom.

"Probably, because of Skipper's message this morning," Lang was subdued and glaring, "They're probably hoping to catch a glimpse of him, maybe sneak in a conversation… face time…"

"Morning boys," she sounded so sweet they almost didn't recognize her, "I haven't seen you two in a while."

"Cali, good morning," Lang only spared her a glance.

"Good morning," Miles added.

She shot him a glare, "Well, I've seen him… Where've you been hiding Shi-Long?"

"I haven't been hiding anywhere," Lang crossed his arms but didn't look at her, "It's been busy."

Miles looked from Lang to Lieutenant Yew frowning, feeling like he'd been caught in some secret argument.

"It seems you always find an excuse lately," she scoffed and turned away from them to find a place in line.

Lang's hands dropped to his hips and he shook his head. Miles felt it was better not to ask.

Despite the change in atmosphere, breakfast turned out to be a bleak affair. They spoke little to each other and said nothing to anyone else. Then they left the wardroom to go their separate ways with little more than a nod of acknowledgement. But Miles didn't have time to contemplate Lang's issues. XO and the CAG were waiting for him in Flag Admin.

"Hoo… Good morning Worthy! How's my favorite JAG?"

Miles glared up at the scary XO apprehensively, "Good morning, Sir," and glanced at CAG, "Ma'am."

"Do you know why we're here?"

Miles froze. He didn't want to guess. Was it because he'd walked out of the staff meeting yesterday? He glanced down at his uniform, was he missing a patch or something?

"So all of this stuff that went down… Lieutenant Wright and Lieutenant Williams… The planes getting shot down?"

Miles' open bewilderment darkened into a glare, "Yes…. I'm not sure what this has to do with me…?"

"The JAG Report?" XO peeped at him over tinted glasses. Miles met his stare with a frown, there was no way those glasses were regulation, but he got away with it because he was a Captain—and scary. Miles sniffed and glanced away.

"Right sir," he moved past them to grasp a notebook from the legal cabinet, "I wasn't aware the matter was under a collateral investigation."

XO grinned and leaned over him menacingly, "Why that's because you walked out of the staff meeting yesterday. What happened JAG? Were you sick?"

Miles grimaced, "Er… Yes sir."

"Miles," CAG offered a gentle smile and put a hand on his shoulder, "Lieutenant Portman was appointed to investigate a couple days after the crash. He thinks there's real cause to look at this as a criminal matter. We were just checking to make sure you received his findings from the investigation."

"Ma'am, I have not," Miles frowned at her, "Although, I haven't looked at my e-mail yet."

She glanced at XO and then smiled at Miles again, "No worries, we just wanted to make sure you were aware."

"Thank you, Ma'am," Miles looked at the XO, "Sir."

XO shot out a boisterous fit of laughter and slapped Miles on the shoulder so hard he almost lost his balance, and then abruptly, he was serious, "JAG, I don't like it when there's tension between the Air Wing and the crew. That's what's going to happen if we don't move quickly on this matter."

"Yes sir," Miles already had a sinking feeling in his guts. XO wasn't very subtle at all.

"Can I expect your report today?" XO grinned.

"Yes sir," Miles met XO's glare and then looked away, "I'll make it happen, sir."

He watched them walk out without ceremony before crumpling into the nearest seat—in this case, a metal folding chair—and clasping his forehead in his hand.

Things just got worse…

Of course, nothing could prepare him for just how much worse it really was, not until he'd read the investigator's report. He grimaced as he read it, feeling somewhat indignant at some of the conclusions Lieutenant Portman had come too. He wondered how much of this Lang was aware of. But worst of all he was intimately aware of both sides of this. How could he write an unbiased report?

Miles couldn't blink without seeing Phoenix laid out like that with the tubes and the bandages. It was obscene. Like seeing something noble and wild in too small a prison.

My bird in a cage…

He was still stumbling over the first paragraph of the report body when LN1 and LN3 entered, he startled and glanced at his watch.

"Good morning, what happened?"

"Quarters, sir, and we did CMEO training," LN1 said and she came around to peek over his shoulder to see what he was doing, "They already did a collateral investigation? That was fast…"

"It does seem pretty sudden," Miles frowned at her, "And the scope is rather narrow, if you ask me."

"Can we read it too, El-Tee?" LN3 perked up, looking toward them.

Miles glanced at him and then at LN1 and he smiled, "Yes of course. We are a team, are we not?"

LN3 went to bring another chair over and LN1 went to the locker behind their single desk, "I'll get the JAG-man, sir."

They were serving dinner on the mess decks when Miles finally sent the report and let the team break off to fend for themselves. He was hungry too and had to make the next staff meeting. So he didn't notice the green suited figure catch him near the forward galley and follow him into the Wardroom.

"Hey, um, Lieutenant Edgeworth," Miles turned, startled.

"Oh…" was all that came to his lips.

Larry looked concerned but he tried to smile and scratched his head, "Just ah… I was looking for you all day. Are you cool if I join you for dinner?"

Miles hesitated studying Larry's expression, "Er… Yeah. Sure, Larry."

They joined the line together, but didn't talk, and Miles scanned the space surreptitiously, looking for Lang, but didn't see him.

They found a smaller table and sat together and Miles looked at Larry while Larry poked at his dinner, "Is everything all right?"

Larry paused and met his eye, "I didn't get to see him before he left. They kept saying he was unconscious and there was no point."

Miles frowned, "Yeah… I'm sorry, I couldn't get in to see him either—not until Commander Armando pulled some strings."

"Doug and Juan said they saw you go in there last night," Larry was staring at his plate, not eating.

Miles picked up his fork and pushed the food around on his plate, "He looked bad Larry. I think he recognized me, he seemed like he woke up a little… but he looked bad."

"All of his stuff is still in our stateroom," Larry sighed, "But I'm pretty sure he isn't going to come back."

Miles looked at him, scrutinizing his movements, trying to read his face, "I'll help you get his things to him."

"We were going to room together in Whidbey, at least until he got settled. He still hadn't moved out of Virginia Beach before he met us for this deployment."

"What's Whidbey?"

Larry met his eye and smiled, "Oh yeah. Our squadron is stationed at Whidbey Island in Washington State. Nick's from California, so he—"

"He wanted to be closer to home…" Miles finished, feeling the flood of emotion threatening his tenuous composure again.

He was trying to come home…

Miles sighed and looked down at his plate, trying not to think about it.

"He was a cool dude," Larry said absently and started to pick at his dinner. Miles stood and bowed slightly.

"I'm sorry Larry, I… I'm not feeling very well…"

Larry looked up at him frowning, "Nah dude, you're good. I'm sure we'll hear from him soon, right? I'll find you then."

"Anytime, Larry," Miles forced a smile, hoping it didn't come off as a grimace and then took his tray and headed toward the scullery.

He found Lang in their stateroom after a very abbreviated staff meeting. He hadn't heard back about his report and he was distracted by his own thoughts about Phoenix and the impending challenge this new investigation implied.

Lang was sitting at the desk in their stateroom typing on his personal laptop and he didn't turn to acknowledge Miles with even a look. Miles took off his blouse and hung it in the locker. He sat on the deck to take off his boots.

"Commander Harold, came by looking for you…" Lang didn't look away from the computer.

Miles had to think for a moment, "Oh. What did he need?"

"He said there's an opening for you in the Staff berthing."

Miles pulled off his boot and started to loosen the laces on the next one, "Oh, I'm perfectly fine right here."

"I think there's probably a bigger reason they want to move you," Lang said cryptically and then glared at him.

Miles pulled off his second boot and met his glare, "I know…. They've completed one investigation already."

Lang turned in the chair and slouched, he seemed to shrink into himself, "I'm scared, Miles."

Miles nodded and frowned.

Lang put his face in his hands, "No matter which way you turn this thing, I feel like I'm culpable."

Miles could think of nothing to say to him.

Chapter Text

They were lying on the cool wood-paneled floor of the office. Face to face but with their legs pointed in opposite directions. Like a yin-yang symbol. Legs curled around in opposing forces so they could fit in the small room and only their heads level, so that they could stare into each other's eyes.

"Hey Miles," Phoenix stared into the endless dark of his eyes. The lights were off too, so it gave them that dark, dangerously tempting look—how a thirsty man might see a cave pool. Necessary, inviting, but also hiding something dark and deadly.

Miles blinked and looked away from him, turning his chin down toward his chest so that Phoenix could only see the dark feathery locks at the top of his head. Miles had blushed and now he was speechless. Phoenix could feel dread rising in his chest.

"I've never kissed anyone, before," Miles said finally, his words whispered into the wood floor. Phoenix swallowed and then turned to stare at the ceiling.

Mom didn't use the room very much, but she'd kept it in tact. The way his father had left it. He wasn't sure what possessed him to hide in here with Miles. Maybe because he knew that if Mom did come home, her habit of avoiding this room would give them some time.

Time to pretend they were only curious. That they were looking at Dad's books. That nothing happened. Well, nothing happened. It was only a kiss.

"I'm sorry…" Phoenix frowned at the bumpy popcorn texture on the ceiling. It's supposed to keep things quieter. But it never drowned out the shouting.

"No…" Miles said and Phoenix caught the movement in his peripheral vision when Miles lifted his chin to look at him again, "Nothing to apologize for."

Phoenix reached out and fumbled for his hand and then squeezed it, half expecting Miles to pull away. Miles didn't pull away but reached up from where he was lying and took Phoenix's face in his hands.

They started to spin and the world became a close, suffocating vortex. There was fire all around him but no heat. He could still feel Miles' hands on his face—no it was the straps from his helmet, choking, crushing him.

Phoenix could feel the water cradling him, but there was no cold. Wasn't it cold?

Then there was pain.

Phoenix Wright opened his eyes in the white room, blurry and unreal. He opened his mouth to gasp but there was something plastic obscuring his face. He tried to sit up, but his body did not respond.

He closed his eyes to escape into the comforting darkness, but it did nothing to dull the pain. Then there was screaming.

Who's screaming?

Screaming and the desperate beeping alarms from the machines in the room with him.

God it hurts.

He wished it would stop. Stop screaming and let me rest…

Hands. Voices. Shadows warring against the light as they surrounded him. Then numb.

Then nothing.

"Oh, sweetheart! You're so skinny!"

Phoenix rolled his eyes. He'd gained almost twenty pounds in OCS.

"Mom," she had him in an iron hug and clung desperately to him, "Mom, you'll wrinkle my uniform."

She let him go then and took a step back to appraise him. Her eyes filled with tears and she brought up her hands to cover her face. Phoenix frowned at her in concern, she seemed so small now. So diminished.

"Mom what's wrong? Please don't… Mom please don't cry…"

He put his hands on her shoulders, they were in ceremonial dress for the graduation, so he had white gloves on. Were those really his hands? They seemed so large on Mom's shoulders—kinda like Mickey Mouse hands. She sobbed and buried her face into his chest and slid her arms back around him.

"Nick I'm so proud of you…"

His eyes shot open and he stared at the white ceiling above him. Sterile, blank, and foreboding. It was like standing in front of a blank canvas in class, the bored looking model seemed about to doze off, and everyone seemed intent on what they were doing. He couldn't decide where to start.

His eyes were watering from the intense light and he blinked to let them adjust. He was alone in the room. There were sunflowers in a vase on a small table near the window. Window? He closed his eyes again. It was quiet. It was still.

When did he leave the ship?

"Then what?"

Miles sidled closer into him. It was way too cold for camping, but this was the first long weekend they'd had together. Certainly it was a better option than a hostel, and there was no way they'd be able to afford a hotel room.

"I'll come back here to take the Bar," Miles said casually and leaned his head on Phoenix's shoulder, "Try to find work with a municipal court to start."

"Wait, when you say you'll come back here, do you mean here here?"

Miles frowned, "I mean, I'd have to go to the city. For the exposure, and the kind of work I'd like to do."

Phoenix drooped and pulled away from Miles, "So you don't even plan on coming back here."

"Here? This town… This place…" Miles chuckled , "There's nothing here…"

Phoenix could only stare, choked up, angry and hurt…

I'm here…

Phoenix opened his eyes and gasped. His breath hitched in a sob.

"I'm here…"

His voice rattled out of his throat like a croak. Weak, and barely audible.

Phoenix tried to sit up, but his arms and legs were leaden and unmoving. It was like being trapped in his own body, only having the window of his eyes to stare out of.

"I'm here…"

He was alone in the over bright room. Sun streamed cheerily into the room from the lone window. It was so quiet. Eerily quiet.

He couldn't control it. He started missing classes. He couldn't eat, couldn't sleep. Not long after he went home. Because he wasn't sure what else he could do.

At least Mom was always happy to see him. Even if she fussed over him and gave him a hard time about school. This semester was shot. But he'd go back for the next one. He'd managed to withdraw and not fail, that was worth something at least.

"He left, for who knows how long…"

"Nick…"

He cried that night, but Mom didn't pry. She just held him. Like she understood. Because she'd had a man walk out of her life too.

He never came clean to her—not until after he'd joined the Navy. But she must've known then. Of course she did.

He startled awake when he felt them pulling and prodding him. They moved him into a wheelchair so his bedding could be changed. She wheeled him into the bathroom to help him wash up. It was humiliating.

His arms and legs still felt heavy and didn't work exactly the way he wanted. But he managed and she helped without causing him too much embarrassment. She was a stout woman, the nurse, in her mid-forties probably, with a beautiful Mediterranean complexion and a dark sultry stare.

By the end of the week she was doting on him.

Laurence started coming by to see him around that time. He had bandages on his face, and there was no doubt he'd come through this with scars. But Laurence still always managed a smile. It could've been worse. He could be laid up like Phoenix.

"Hey bro," Laurence came in one day wearing regular clothes and grinning ear to ear, "Heading home tonight—well back to the states anyway."

Phoenix tried to smile when he looked at him. He wanted to show that he was happy for Laurence.

"They're sending me to Walter Reed in DC," Laurence continued, "For an evaluation. Then I'll go home."

Phoenix turned away from him and looked toward the window, he was happy for Laurence—really. But it made his situation seem all the more dire.

The days blended together for him. He might've been there for a few days or several weeks. He couldn't tell. There was so much time lost too. Because of the anesthesia and the complicated surgeries. He'd never admit it out loud, but sometimes he hoped they'd put him under and let him stay. There was no way this would end well.

It would've been so much easier to die.

Stay here, please…

He fell back into the rumpled white sheets of the hotel bed and tried to catch his breath. Sunlight filtered through the thin translucent curtains hanging from the hotel window. Miles was still down there, exploring. He was surprised really, Miles had always been so shy about these things.

When Miles finally joined him at the head of the bed, sharing his pillow and grinning, Phoenix couldn't help himself. He watched, detached, dreaming, while his own fingers found that face. His thumb, darker than Miles' face, was stark against his skin as he traced the curve of those lips. Miles smiled again, showing his pretty teeth, and Phoenix felt a buzz of electricity course through him as those teeth scraped lightly over the skin of his thumb as he took it into his mouth all the way to where it joined his hand.

Miles sucked playfully at it and then met his eye. Phoenix started to laugh and pulled his thumb away from the clutch of Miles' lips, but not quickly enough stop Miles from clamping down on the tip of his thumb with those pretty teeth. Phoenix sucked in a hiss of pain and pulled his hand away.

"Damnit Miles," the playfulness in his tone was almost lost in the breathy hoarseness of his voice. Phoenix couldn't stop now and he climbed on top of Miles, straddling his hips between his knees a hand at each of his shoulders. Miles looked up at him, those gray eyes dark and endless and those pretty teeth catching a gleam from whatever light made it past the shadows his body cast while hovering over him.

Phoenix leaned down and kissed him, foreheads pressed together as he pushed into him, desperate, seeking, hungry. He felt Miles slide his hands over his shoulders and wrap his arms around his neck. Phoenix thrust his tongue into that mouth and Miles accepted sucking, letting his teeth scrape against the flesh of it.

He had to pull away to catch his breath. He leaned back feeling the press of Miles' thighs behind him as he looked down at him. Miles was breathing hard and Phoenix marveled at the sight of him in the sudden light, the swell and retreat of each breath, so alive.

Phoenix bent again, this time finding his collar bone and letting his own teeth bear down. Miles arched his body up to meet his and Phoenix moved his hips into him, grinding into him so hard he could feel the press of his hip bone. He could feel Miles stiffen against him as they warred with each other before finally falling into rhythm.

Phoenix blushed so hard she laughed out loud at him. Geez, she was in her forties, surely this Italian Mamma had seen a hard-on before. She was trying to pretend she hadn't noticed. But of course she had, how could you not?

The embarrassment alone was enough to bring him down. Thankfully, she never said anything about it, and she seemed to dote on him all the more after 'the incident.'

It was good, actually. She'd wheel him around the corridors on the floor they were on—which was better than lying in bed all day. When he was ready to try, she helped him stand and let him lean on her to take those first tentative steps outside of his wheelchair.

Before he knew it, he was wheeled into the doctor's office. Phoenix didn't recognize the man. Maybe he'd visited before, but Phoenix couldn't remember. He'd lost time and memories with it.

"I'm Commander Steinberg," the doctor offered a hand and Phoenix shook it tentatively.

"Good afternoon, Sir," Phoenix wasn't sure what to say.

The doctor chuckled at his very formal reply, "Well, Lieutenant Wright—what do people call you? Can I call you Phoenix?"

Phoenix shrugged, "Sure, okay."

"It's been a rough couple weeks for you hasn't it?"

"Um…"

"Those ejection seats, huh? They save lives, but man they sure do a number on you, amirite?"

Phoenix frowned at the doctor's incongruous cheeriness.

"How do you feel?"

"I'm fine—"

"Probably like you smashed feet first into a brick wall, huh?"

"Um…"

"I tell you what Phoenix, you are one lucky ducky. I was looking at your chart, you really are lucky to be alive, my friend."

Phoenix stared at him and swallowed.

"You were in the water for almost three hours—"

"There was a raft…"

"I know—had to have been, skinny kid like you would be dead in half an hour in water like that."

Phoenix glared. You can hardly call me skinny…

"You broke both your knees, man—ouch! They pulled you out hypothermic, then you had a bout of pneumonia. And don't let me get started on the number this did on your spine."

Phoenix suddenly felt sick. My spine...? That's scary…

"Doc, will I be able to—"

"Oh yeah, walk, run, fuck… I mean someday. You just need to take it a day or a week at a time. You'll be all right son. But it won't all come back over night. I want to send you back stateside as soon as possible, because you have a couple more surgeries to get all your bits back in order."

"All my bits…?"

The doctor laughed and shook his head, "One lucky ducky…"

Back in his quiet, lonely room, Phoenix stared at the ceiling. Light still reflected from the window casting everything in cool shadow as the sun set.

One lucky ducky…

His PERS status was going to be changed and he would be pulled from his billet in the VAQ. Because they needed a pilot who could fly... Because this wasn't going to be over any time soon. He felt like crying. But all he could do was stare at the deepening shadows as they ate up the ceiling.

Phoenix awoke to the sound of birds outside his window and the cheery light from a newly risen sun. He frowned. Part of him kept hoping he'd wake up and learn that this was a dream. A very awful dream.

Another part of him hoped he wouldn't wake up at all.

Lucky ducky…

Giselle, his nurse, was kind enough to bring him to the hospital's sundries shop. Mostly it sold get well bouquets and stuffed animal gifts. But he managed to find some stationary and a packet of pens.

If you can't love this about me, then you don't really love me…

He's probably pissed at me…

Phoenix frowned at the small white plastic bag in his hands. It had an NEX logo on it. The last time they'd spoken was at the NEX in Borginia.

Will he love you now? Broken and useless like you are?

Would you force that on him?

Giselle stopped pushing the wheelchair when he let out a sob. He dropped his head into his hands, trying to stop it. Hoping he could hide it.

He saw this coming…

The little white bag slid off of his lap and Giselle came around to pick it up. Then she pulled him into a rough embrace. It was awkward because he was sitting in the wheelchair, but he squeezed her back as best he could and cried like he was six years old again. Scared, uncertain, and worried about everything spinning around him. The only thing that seemed certain was that it was his fault…

The tray with his dinner was waiting for him on the little table thing beside his bed. A new envelope was sitting on the table too. The homemade "Get Well Soon" cards must have piled up on the ship for a week or two before they could be sent over on the COD. The hospital must still be sorting through it—so he'd gotten his well wishes one or two at a time over the last several days. Still nothing from Miles, though…

Can you honestly blame him?

That's my bottom line…

Phoenix shoved the covered plate on it's tray to the side and set the unopened envelope on top of it. He laid the pad of writing paper on the table and then broke open the cardboard backing of the blister pack to get out a pen. He clicked the pen and picked off the wax seal on the writing ball, and stared at the blank stationary pad in front of him.

The paper was thin and green colored. It seemed odd, but it was the only paper they had in the little NEX. Well there was pink too—but seriously?

The blank ruled page glared back at him forebodingly and his thoughts drifted back to those blank canvas days in class. The feeling of confusion and apprehension—of not knowing where to start.

'Dear Miles…'

He stared at the words with a frown, long enough for them to start blurring on the page. What was the point in holding back?

'I'm sorry about the way things turned out while we were in port. It kills me to think that the last time we talked, I made you unhappy. I'm sorry. I don't think I'll ever be sorry enough.

I missed you when you got back onboard, but not for lack of trying. I hope you weren't trying to avoid me, but I understand if you were. I'm sorry.

I miss you now. I'm not really sure how long it's been (I don't even know what day it is), but it feels like forever. Like the last six years all over again. I can't wait another six years. I miss you. I love you. I'm sorry.

I don't really know when of if I'll ever be myself after this. I completely understand if you don't want to deal with this. I wouldn't want you to suffer because I'm an idiot. I love you. I'm sorry.

They're sending me back to the States soon. Because I need more surgery. The Navy is putting me on LIMDU and they'll look at me in six months to see if they're going to keep me. It's pretty likely that I'll not just be broken, but unemployed too.

Maybe it's my fault for not listening to you back then. I do regret it sometimes.

There's a lot of things I regret. A lot of things that are too late to fix. But I've never regretted you. I love you. I wish I hadn't said those things to you in Borginia. Because now I'm not sure if I even really meant them. I guess I was just trying to make you feel like you had a good thing. I don't know. Maybe I'm just stupid. I don't know.

The only thing I'm sure of is how much I love you.

I'm sorry. I really am.

I know I've probably ruined this again—just like last time… but I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me. Because I don't think I can forgive myself.

I missed you ever since you left back then. I miss you now. I love you.'

He stopped and stared at the already rambling letter. He ought to start again. But as he watched his own tears fall on the thin pages, creating little round splashes on the paper, Phoenix realized that it didn't really matter. If these were going to be his last words to Miles Edgeworth, they may as well be the truth. The whole truth.

And nothing but the truth.

Chapter Text

Miles flipped through the sheaf of pale green writing paper in his hands and smiled through his tears. The letter was a little rambling, and some of it didn't make sense, but it was so Phoenix. The one thing that was perfectly clear was that Phoenix wasn't ready to give up on them—and he felt just as guilty as Miles did.

The stateroom door opened with a creak and Ensign James entered frowning, he looked away from Miles and went to his locker without uttering a word. Miles wiped his face quickly and slid out of his rack, "Good Morning."

The Ensign was at least five years older than him, but probably closer to ten; he was an LDO with eight years experience enlisted before he was commissioned. He seemed to resent everything about Miles, and though they'd shared the stateroom for almost two weeks, Miles still felt like an intruder.

Ensign James glanced at him sidelong, not quite glaring, but hard enough to discourage conversation, and nodded. Miles, not very keen on conversation himself, replied in kind and moved to tuck his letter into the pocket of one of his uniforms. He gathered his laundry things and stepped out—why waste a perfectly good Sunday?

He hadn't seen Lang since that day he'd been ordered to move to the other stateroom. No one said it out loud, but there was an obvious problem with the JAG sharing a room with a Sailor that was being investigated for criminal negligence.

Still, Miles didn't think Lieutenant Lang was a bad person—or negligent for that matter—but perception was ninety percent on the ship, and one must keep up appearances.

It was different now. He could no longer wake up and look forward to running into Phoenix. Even when they weren't talking; even if he was laid out in sickbay—at least he was near. The mundaneness, the loneliness… The shunned life of an independent staff officer… Isn't this what he'd been warned about?

But it hadn't been that way. Being on the ship had been eye-opening, a little scary even, but it had been amazing the first few months. Because Phoenix was there.

"Fancy meeting you here," Miles looked up from his thoughts and smirked at Lang when he entered the laundry space. Lang was sitting on the deck with a magazine and his earbuds on in front of the row of industrial sized dryers the wardroom had purchased before deployment.

"Yes," Miles said as he walked along the row of washers looking for an available one, "It's been a minute hasn't it?"

He checked the number on the only available washer and went to write his name on the log.

"I haven't seen you in the gym," Lang chided as he pulled his headphones out of his ears.

Miles rolled his eyes and put soap in the drum before adding his pile of navy blue tee shirts and black socks, "Have you been stalking me, Shi-Long?"

"Absolutely, Miles," Lang grinned, "You were the prettiest roommate I've ever had. Now I get to stare at ol' Lieutenant Payne… Gross…"

Miles laughed and closed the washer door and set the machine before starting it. He leaned against it facing Lang and smiled, "How have you been?"

"Fine," Lang looked down at his magazine and frowned, "Taking it a day at a time."

"I'm sorry…" Miles frowned too and shoved the empty laundry bag into the cargo pocket of his NWUs.

"Don't," Lang didn't look up at him but Miles noticed the deepening furrow on his brow, "It's your job. You're doing your due diligence—I appreciate that."

Miles nodded, "They brought in a NAVAIR investigator. He's a scary Marine—he must be nearly seven feet tall."

Lang grinned and made a noise, "That is scary—but I don't think they let pilots get that tall."

"Weren't you the one who said there was a waiver for everything?"

Lang laughed, "I don't think there's a waiver for 'You don't fit in the cockpit', actually."

Miles shrugged, "Not all Aviators are pilots and not all pilots are fighter pilots."

"Touché, JAG," Lang gave him a wink and smirked, "Look at you going all logical over there."

Miles turned to look at Lang as he made his way out of the hatch, "Take care, Shi-Long."

"You too Miles," Lang was already shoving his earbuds back into his ears.

Miles stopped in the passageway outside of the Wardroom laundry and frowned thoughtfully at the deck. It was different now, too different. This was like starting all over again—alone.

Miles made his way toward the O-3 Level, there was work to distract him at least. Lately it seemed there'd be enough to get him through the rest of deployment. The Flag Admin door was closed and he punched in the cipher code absently and entered the space letting the door click closed and lock itself behind him.

He made his way toward legal in the darkened admin spaces and was surprised to see the light on back there. Shock and concern quickened his pace and he popped his head into legal glaring hard enough to scare LN3.

The younger man hopped to his feet and stared up at Miles with a frightened expression that was presently fading into nervous anticipation, "G-good morning, Sir…. I… um…"

Miles offered and tight lipped smile and slid his hands into his pockets, "I wasn't expecting you in today, Justice."

"Oh yeah…" LN3 rubbed his head sheepishly, "I um…. We have the exams coming up so I was trying to get some studying in…"

"Right," Miles moved past him to go to the lone computer, "Don't let me interrupt."

He waited while the computer logged him in, frowning at the screen with incongruous focus and all but forgetting that Justice was in the space with him.

"El-tee?" Miles startled a little but looked over at the nervous young man.

"Is there something I can help you with LN3?"

"Um… yeah, so…" a slight blush was spreading across his cheeks, "Well, I wanted… I'm thinking about… What made you want to be a JAG, sir?"

Miles met his stare, frowning, "Petty Officer Justice, what's gotten into you?"

"Well sir," LN3 cringed a little and smiled in a way that was more like a grimace, "Well I… Sir, I'm just curious, you know? I'm thinking about maybe making this a career, and I thought… well…"

Miles nodded and relaxed, "Are you considering a commissioning program?"

"I am, sir," LN3 Justice grinned at him, "I mean, I think maybe it'd be better than what I'm doing now—don't get me wrong, El-tee, I like this—I just…"

Miles smiled and turned to face him directly, "I studied law at University, I suppose I've always wanted to be a Lawyer. My father was an attorney and he had his own practice… so it seemed… well it was a natural path to follow…"

"So you went to law school before you joined the Navy?"

"Yes," Miles said and paused, frowning, thoughtfully, "I doubt I'd be able to offer very much advice…. I was a direct commission."

LN3 looked away from him, blushing slightly, "Yeah, that's what LN1 said, but I still want to hear what you think about it—about being a JAG I mean. I like what we're doing, but I want to be a real lawyer…. Like you."

Miles stared at him, surprised, "Em… I think it's a noble profession, Justice. I don't know very much about commissioning programs, but I think there is one for JAG officers. I'm not sure what I can tell you."

"What's it like?"

"What do you mean?"

"To get to stand in a hall of Justice and defend the constitution," LN3's eyes shone now and he looked earnestly at Miles, "those guys in Borginia, they could've ended up in a foreign prison, but you saved them! And that creepy HM1, you got him out of the Navy so he could stop victimizing Sailors…. I bet you've got a ton of stories like that."

"Em…" Miles felt the heat rising in his face, and he chuckled, "I… yeah…. We can try looking up some of these programs—at the very least I can write you a recommendation. It might help."

LN3 joined him at the computer with barely restrained eagerness, "You don't mind, sir? I mean, you probably came in to work on—"

Miles chuckled again, "Nonsense, Justice, I can spare time for this during our holiday routine."

He moved over so LN3 could see more easily over his shoulder, and brought up the Navy Personnel website. LN3 pulled over a chair and sat beside him.

"So, um… LN1 said you were a practicing attorney before you commissioned," LN3 said as Miles navigated the clumsy website, Miles paused and looked at him.

"She said that?"

LN3 frowned, "So it's not true?"

"Well, it is true… I just never thought she paid that much attention."

"Oh don't underestimate LN1, El-tee, she's some kind of evil genius."

"I see…" Miles glanced sidelong at LN3, "So do you guys just sit around and talk about me when I'm not here?"

LN3 blushed and rubbed his head sheepishly, "Yeah sir. You're kind of our mascot here."

"Wonderful," Miles drawled as he back tracked after navigating to the wrong page, "what were they thinking when they designed this website?"

"So, anyway, sir," LN3 pressed on, "How come you joined the Navy? I mean, if you were already a lawyer?"

Miles frowned intently at the screen watching the letters blur on it's face as passing thoughts of Phoenix entered his mind. He cleared his throat and clicked another link, "I wanted to serve my country," he said flatly, "and pay off my student loans."

"Look, I think that's it," LN3 said turning them away from an uncomfortable bend in the conversation, "It just looks like a link to the JAG website."

"Yes, of course," Miles navigated to the JAG website, "It makes sense, I suppose, it is a JAG program."

"I joined the Navy to get away," LN3 added turning somber, "I didn't want to stay where I was."

Miles had to force himself not to grimace as he waited for the page to load. He leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms, "Maybe the JAG webpage is too intense for the afloat internet."

LN3 made no reply, and a sidelong glance in the younger man's direction showed him staring morosely into his lap. Miles swallowed, why was this guy doing this?

You know why... He's your Sailor, he looks up to you.

"I suppose the Navy is a good first step, if one is looking to get away and maybe get ahead," Miles regretted saying it as soon as the words left his mouth, but the look on the young Petty Officer's face was almost worse. LN3 Justice was looking at him like some kind of hero.

"How long have you been in the Navy, Sir?"

Miles had to choke back his laughter, "Not quite three years."

"Oh," LN3 seemed disappointed, "So we've been in almost the same amount of time."

Miles frowned at the revelation, "Yes, so it seems."

"But you've already done so much more than I have."

Miles shook his head and looked away from the webpage that was still loading, "Justice, I'm further along on my path than you are, perhaps we've the same amount of time in service, but I've also completed my studies as a jurist and I've worked in a municipal court. All of us have to start somewhere."

"I know," LN3 smiled shyly, "The waiting and the working is the hard part."

Miles turned back to the website, "Now look, the most important thing is to make the right choices. You can't control where you'll end up as far as case work or investigations—but you can control your readiness to take on whatever you may encounter."

"El-tee, I just want to help people. Sometimes I think people don't always do the right thing, because it's hard. I don't want to be like that."

Miles looked at LN3, surprised. LN3 didn't wait for him to comment, but continued enthusiastically.

"Like when those guys in Borginia got arrested—you could've left them. We don't have SOFA with Borginia and they got in trouble. But you stayed until you could bring them back."

"I was just doing my job…" Miles grimaced and glared at the screen.

"I want to be like you, sir. I want to do the right thing—no matter what."

Miles stared at his hands.

This guy really thinks that? He has no idea how much is just chance. Being in the right place at the right time…. Isn't it like that?

"Excuse me, Justice," Miles stood abruptly and pulled his CAC out of the computer, "There's something I have to do."

"Um…" LN3 stood too out of courtesy and rubbed his head, "Yeah… okay, sir."

"Take a look at that website," Miles said as he walked hurriedly out of the legal space and into admin, "I think you'll make an excellent JAG."

Miles tugged his blouse straight as he stepped into the blue tile corridor and made his way toward the executive spaces. He'd been toying with the notion for a while now, but it was going to be hard, and the XO was frightening.

I want to do the right thing—no matter what.

Miles smirked and ran his hands through his hair, pushing it back as much as he could to hide the fact that it was probably longer than it should be.

Thank you Justice.

He steeled himself with a steadying breath and knocked on the XO's door. XO answered the door wearing PTUs and rubbing his eyes.

"Oh, hello JAG," XO grinned, "You have news, I take it?"

"In a manner of speaking, Sir," Miles had his hands behind his back as he addressed the scary XO, relieved that the man couldn't see his fists clenched in nervous anticipation.

XO stepped away from the door and motioned Miles inside his stateroom. He sighed as he walked back toward the rumpled bed and sat before motioning for Miles to take his desk chair. Miles sat stiffly and tried his best to look stoic in front of him, not looking at him directly in the eye but shooting a thousand-yard stare over the big man's shoulder.

"Is this about Engarde or Lang?"

Miles swallowed, "Lieutenant Lang, sir."

"I thought that one was still being investigated," XO said dismissively.

"Yes…"

"Did something come up that—"

"Sir, I cannot move forward with this case," He spoke forcefully as if he had to get it out or change his mind.

XO stared at him for several moments, "I see…. Is there something wrong with the way the investigation has progressed?"

"No sir," Miles met the XO's eye directly, "It's me. I feel like I cannot approach this without bias. I want to recuse myself from this case."

XO stared at him some more, his normally smiling visage was set in a serious frown. Miles didn't break his stare, but he could feel his palms starting to sweat.

Suddenly the XO's expression softened and he smiled at Miles, looking more like a doting uncle than the scary Executive Officer he was.

"I know you two were roommates for a couple months," XO said, "Cooped up in this tin can, it's understandable that you might become close—friends even. But I need you to do this, Miles. If we don't handle this quickly and handle it the right way it can throw off the whole ship. You can't quit on me because you like the guy."

"Sir, it's not about my feelings toward this individual—even looking at the evidence subjectively, I simply don't agree with this conclusion. I cannot fight for something that I don't believe."

XO stared again his green eyes smoldering now as they bore into Miles. Then he burst out laughing and slapped his knee for good measure. Miles stared at him in shock.

"You seem to think you have a choice about this, Worthy! You forget that we are in the military, you have to follow orders," he stopped laughing abruptly and glared at Miles, "Do you understand me, Lieutenant?"

Miles glared back at him, seething.

"There are still parts of this investigation ongoing, Worthy, evidence being collected. If your conclusion changes based on that evidence—well… that's another story. But you can't just quit because you don't like what you've seen so far. I didn't think you were the type, Worthy."

Relief overcame his shock and Miles shot a smirk at the XO before he could stop himself, "Yes sir, I understand."

"Now get out of here kid, you're interrupting my nap time," XO ushered him unceremoniously toward the stateroom door and slammed it behind Miles as he exited the stateroom. Miles grinned in the empty passage and made his way toward the admin spaces.

"I don't know ma'am," Miles heard LN3's voice before he came through the curtain, "He said he had something he had to do—there he is."

The woman turned and Miles was surprised to see it was CAG standing at the door to admin talking to LN3.

"JAG, just who I was looking for," she glanced back at LN3, "Thanks Petty Officer Justice."

"Ma'am," Miles felt some apprehension as he neared and stopped in front of her in the passage way, "Did you need something?"

"Yes, have you met with the investigators yet? They were supposed to come by and see you yesterday."

"Er, no ma'am. I got pulled into an impromptu meeting and I missed them."

"Well, JAG, lucky I managed to track you down, then. They're flying out this afternoon, but they're done with their part in the investigation. I thought you'd like to meet with them. I'm sure you'll gather something relevant in their findings…"

Miles almost grinned at her, "yes ma'am, very good, ma'am."

"They're in the Wardroom, if you're free now."

"Thank you ma'am," Miles said and turned to go toward the Wardroom, CAG was already heading back toward squadron spaces.

He entered the Wardroom to find it mostly deserted except for two Naval Officers, a Commander and a Captain, and a Marine Lieutenant Colonel. He'd seen the man once already, from a distance, but seeing him seated across the table from the other two was startling, as he was immensely tall and cut an imposing figure up close in his Marine Service Uniform with the Globe and Anchor on his collar and the bright Silver Oakleaf shining against the green of his jacket.

Miles paused nervously at the Wardroom door, not wanting to interrupt the other men, and stood as if waiting to report.

"Ah," The Marine's voice boomed in his direction and Miles shuddered slightly, "Come in Lieutenant—this is probably the JAG," the Marine continued turning back to the other two officers.

All three of them stood as he approached and Miles suddenly felt very small and insignificant in their presence, "Good morning," he offered his hand obsequiously and bobbed his head in a slight bow, "Yes, I'm Miles Edgeworth, Strike Group Staff Judge Advocate."

"Commander Riley," The Naval Commander shook his hand, "Jim, if you please. We haven't met formally, but I've seen you around. I'm part of the Aviation Mishap Board."

"Lieutenant Colonel Zak Enigmar, I'm with NAVAIR," The Marine greeted him next and Miles caught himself staring at the high stack of ribbons on the man's coat.

"Captain Benjamin Lauden, Naval Safety Center," the Captain offered his hand and then motioned for Miles to join them, "have a seat."

"So, Mister Edgeworth," The Captain bore into him with pale steely eyes, "Your Air Boss wanted us to talk to you, do you know why?"

Miles felt his heart rate speed up and he had the sinking feeling all of the sudden that he was in trouble, "Em… No, sir."

LT Colonel Enigmar burst out laughing, Miles pulled his hands under the table and tightened his fists, willing himself calm. The Captain glanced over at the big Marine and smiled, "Zak, don't scare the kid…. We read your report, Edgeworth."

"Oh," Miles said still eyeing the Marine sidelong, "You did?"

"It was well written," the Captain continued still smiling, "I'm almost sad to throw it out."

"Th-throw it out, sir?" Miles stared at Captain Lauden, "Is something the matter?"

"It's a class A mishap, we've got safety privilege. So you can relax and let us do our job."

Miles exhaled in relief, "Is that all, sir?"

The Captain chuckled, "Yes, Lieutenant, that is all… Well, actually, do you know Lieutenant Lang?"

"Yes, sir," Miles looked around at the group and landed his stare on the Captain, "Would you like me to send him in here?"

To his immense relief, Lang was still in the Wardroom laundry. He still had his earbuds in and didn't look up from shifting his wet laundry from washer to dryer.

"Shi-Long," Miles said, and when Lang didn't look up, he tapped his arm, "Hey, Lang."

Lang smiled wolfishly at him and slammed the dryer door shut, "Well Miles, do you miss me that much?"

Miles grimaced at him but paused as Lang pulled out his earbuds again, "Shi-Long, they want to interview you—in the Wardroom."

Lang paused, hands still raised near his face with an earbud in the fingertips of each, "They? Who are they?"

"The investigators I told you about. NAVAIR and NAVSAFECEN."

Lang's eyebrows closed into a 'v' and his eyes narrowed menacingly, "Why?"

Miles grinned and motioned at him with a pointed index finger, "Nothing to get angry or suspicious about, they believe this is a Class A MISHAP, so you've got safety privilege. They just want to hear your side of the story."

Lang's guarded expression fell into disbelief, "What? Just like that?"

Miles shrugged, still smiling, and nodded emphatically, "We're going to drop your case."

Miles almost fell over when Lang threw his arms over his shoulders and pulled him into a rough bear hug.

"But, I didn't do anything…" Miles protested.

Chapter Text

Phoenix,

Thanks for the package. Also I've taken care of your request about Maya—she's thrilled. I hear she'll be pinned at the next command quarters.

Everyone is relieved to hear that you're back in the states. Though Lang told me to reiterate that it is messed up that you went and crashed that plane. There are easier ways to get out of Open Mic Night.

I'm well. Things are starting to calm down, so I don't know what to do with myself.

I miss you a lot. This ship isn't as interesting without you.

I hope you're focused on healing, I want to see you standing on the pier when we pull in—although, Larry says he can't tell me when that will be, exactly. But I'm sure you have a way of finding out. (December is my estimate)

I look forward to spending Christmas at home with you—are you sure your mother doesn't mind? Either way, I'm ecstatic to spend a Christmas in the sunshine sans snow.

Send pictures! If you don't I'll e-mail your mother.

Did you get the photos I sent? The ones from the Labor Day thing?

You were truly missed that night.

I love you, miss you. Write back soon. (Or you can e-mail too… you have my e-mail.)

Miles

It was brief. Written in Mile's tidy hand on a bright yellow piece of legal paper. But Phoenix chuckled as he read it again. Then he folded the much abused paper and stuck it back in the envelope it came in. He stared at it in his hands for a minute or ten—until the sudden descent caught his attention and he looked out of the small plastic portal of the civilian passenger jet to see the clouds thinning and the ocean shining down below.

The letter had found him in DC, at the hospital in Bethesda. He'd spent nearly three weeks in Italy and another ten days in Bethesda. It felt like months. There were drugs and surgeries in all of that time, and now as the plane took him into the airport in Norfolk, his apprehension had grown.

He was the last one off the plane, because it was still hard to walk. The flight had only been a couple hours long, but it was enough to leave him drained and in pain. The handsome blonde attendant on the flight had taken a shine to him and insisted on pushing the wheelchair.

Phoenix was just too tired to argue. At least Norfolk International was small. Dulles had been a nightmare even in the haze of OxyContin that had sustained him over the long transatlantic flight.

"Is someone coming to meet you?" The flight attended asked, leaning over Phoenix's shoulder.

Phoenix startled a bit and then nodded, he'd almost forgotten about that guy. He rubbed his face wearily pausing to scratch at the sloppy weeks old beard that had grown in since the crash.

"My roommate," Phoenix said dismissively and stared as the baggage claim belt started moving.

They didn't talk as the bags started coming into view and they were soon cut off by other passengers anticipating their bags as they closed in around the carousel. Phoenix sighed and took out his phone—well the burner phone he'd picked up in DC. His phone was still on the ship.

He waited as the screen turned on and stared at the generic face of it. It still had that stupid picture of grass and sky it came with.

"Well, honey," the flight attendant said still standing behind him, "I'm gonna get my bags. I have an early flight tomorrow."

Phoenix only frowned at the words. They sounded strange coming from this guy.

"You sure you don't need any help?"

Phoenix nodded and then turned to look at him, "Yeah. My roommate will be here. I don't have a lot of luggage."

"It was nice to meet you," the flight attendant gave his hand a final shake before he stepped off toward the baggage claim.

Phoenix stared. Maybe you could do that?

He looked down when his phone buzzed in his hand. Stan had finally answered.

Hey man. It's bad timing. I'm in Washington this week.

I called someone else for you. I figured you were in the air.

Phoenix shook his head and grimaced. So he didn't even know who was picking him up.

As the group around the baggage carousel thinned, Phoenix wheeled himself toward it. His duffel sat forlorn on the belt waiting for him. He pulled it into his lap and wheeled himself outside.

Hey Buddy.

Phoenix frowned as he texted Stan back.

Who did you say was coming?

He only waited a few moments before the reply buzzed his phone.

Matt. Matt E.

Phoenix sighed and leaned back in the wheelchair. Well, this is going to be awkward. Thanks, Stan.

He sat outside for nearly half an hour before he was startled by the obnoxious red and white sports car that stopped at the curb in front of him. Matt Engarde hopped out, grinning maliciously as he adjusted his sunglasses and tossed his hair.

"Well, well, well…"

"Hey Matt," Phoenix said with forced cheerfulness, "Thanks for coming to get me."

"I know, huh? Even though you crashed my plane and everything."

Phoenix frowned up at him, "Yeah… So…"

"I'm just messing with you," Matt said and went behind Phoenix to push the wheelchair.

"Oh no," Phoenix stood shakily, "They didn't give me one. This one belongs to the airline."

Matt laughed and offered an arm to help Phoenix into the car.

"Dude, you look like one sad sack of sh—"

"I know Matt. Thanks." Phoenix put his head down and sighed.

"You still live up there by the base?"

"Yeah."

It was awkward. The last time he'd seen Matt was in the brig on the Carrier. Now here he was, laughing and smiling. Regaling him with his adventure on board and his departure. It was so much less dramatic than Phoenix's departure.

"JAG didn't think it needed to go any further. But that CAG. What a bitch."

"Captain Skye?" Phoenix was surprised, most of the Air Wing was pretty fond of her.

"Yeah," Matt was looking around as he turned into the apartment complex, "She gave me a letter of reprimand. Told me I was a poor example."

Phoenix didn't want to argue, so he said nothing. It really might've been worse.

"So what are they going to do with you?"

Phoenix cleared his throat, "I'm going back to Oceana while I'm on LIMDU. I don't know how this will work out."

Matt frowned sidelong at him, "Will you fly again?"

Phoenix only shrugged.

"That's a bummer, dude."

Phoenix nodded reluctantly.

Matt stopped at his building and parked the car. Phoenix got out immediately.

"You gonna be alright, man?"

"Yeah," Phoenix said, "There's an elevator."

"You got my number, right? Holla if you need anything."

Phoenix shouldered his duffle and smiled, "Thanks Matt."

He didn't stay to watch Matt drive off. Instead he limped toward the nearest exterior door and entered the complex.

He didn't remember the elevators being so far inside the building. By the time he got to his floor he was sweating and in pain. The medicine was wearing off.

The apartment was shockingly bare. He'd moved his things into storage before he left for deployment and now Stan had his own things boxed up for his eventual move to Washington State. Yeah, Stan had been awarded his spot with the VAQ. At least it was someone he liked.

Phoenix dropped the duffle on the floor inside the door and went to sit on the sofa. He didn't have a bed here anymore either. That was in storage with the rest of his things.

Everything had gone completely sideways. Even sitting on the sofa was painful. Phoenix groaned and thumbed the screen of his phone. Miles had e-mailed him—probably while he was flying—which meant he wasn't sleeping again.

Nick,

Let me know when you get in. What's your new phone number?

Miles

He took a moment to reply and then stood wearily to retrieve his bag and his meds. He wanted to sleep. Sleep and not think about how alone he was now. How this homecoming was mostly just sad and hopeless.

It was dark when he woke up to the unfamiliar ring tone of his new phone. He stared at it startled and dazed for a moment before picking up up to answer it.

"Hello?"

There was a wave of static that suddenly filled the receiver and then Miles' voice, a little distant but clear, greeted him ecstatically.

"Nick how are you?"

"I'm good, Miles," he smiled in spite of himself, "It's good to be back home—well, somewhere familiar anyway. How are you?"

"Better, now that you've picked up the phone," Miles laughed and the sound was washed out in static, "I think this is the third time I've called."

"Sorry," Phoenix said frowning, "I fell asleep."

"It's all right, you should be resting. I was just anxious to hear your voice."

"Guess who ended picking me up from the airport?"

"Wasn't it your roommate—Stan or something?"

"Matt Engarde," Phoenix said, "Stan's out of town this week."

"Wow, he beat you back to Virginia? I suppose he flew off more than a week ago…"

"It was totally awkward… How's everything going?"

"Oh, it's fine… It's starting to become monotonous…. Do you know what the shellback ceremony is?"

"Oh geez Miles, you're not really going to—"

"LN3 and I are both pegged for it, we cross the equator next week I think."

"Make sure you get knee pads," Phoenix said, stifling his laughter.

"But yeah, that's why I wanted to call, we're definitely spending Thanksgiving out here."

"You're still slatted to come home in December though? Right? Mom's super excited."

"And there's something else… I have a family… erm situation… that's come up. So I'll be up in New York for a couple weeks after we pull in."

"Oh," Phoenix could feel the heat rising, "This couldn't wait until after the holidays."

"No, if it could I'd let it wait. I don't really want to go up there for this."

Phoenix stared at the cold darkened and lifeless apartment, "What's going on Miles?"

"It's complicated, and I don't know how to explain it over the phone… I promise I'll make it up to you."

Phoenix hesitated, "Yeah… No, I understand."

"I'm so sorry," Miles started and Phoenix shook his head and then realized Miles couldn't see him.

"It's fine… I'm half-out of it as it is. I don't think I'll be very much fun to hang around."

"Phoenix Wright…"

"It's fine Miles," Phoenix smiled into the empty apartment, but he could feel disappointment and a selfish anger start to burn in his eyes, "It's a couple extra weeks, right? I have surgery after the new year. So I'm going to be busy too. But it's okay. We'll be fine, right?"

"I miss you so much," Miles said before another wave of static drowned him out.

Phoenix wasn't listening as the static subsided. Miles was explaining something about a man named Von Karma and his daughter. He could only think about the distance. Six years was a long time. Three thousand miles a long way. They barely knew each other anymore. The distance had never felt so remote and unreachable.

"Miles, I can wait… But don't forget about me," Phoenix interrupted him, "I-I can't… I need you right now. I don't know what's going to happen to me. I don't know if I'll…. I'm by myself here."

The silence between them filled with static. Miles wasn't saying anything.

"Miles?" Phoenix asked finally, nervous that the tenuous connection had already been lost.

"I'll be down there to see you, Nick," Miles said, "Just not as soon as we had planned."

Phoenix frowned and shook his head, "I'm sorry…. I don't mean to sound so pathetic on—"

"I can't imagine what you're dealing with right now. I hate that we're so far apart, Nick. But I am hopeful for you. Truly."

"Miles I really don't know what's going to happen…"

"Whatever happens, you'll do well. A lot of pilots fly again after ejection. You're one of the best."

Phoenix laughed, "Who told you that?"

"That's what everyone's saying."

"They're just being nice, I think," Phoenix said.

"Did you see the pictures from the Labor Day thing?"

"Not yet…" Phoenix frowned at the night sky outside the apartment window, "I literally got in and fell asleep."

"That's good. You need to rest. To heal… I mean…"

Miles faded into another wave of static and Phoenix reached up to wipe at the silent tears of regret and self pity that started to slide down his cheek.

"I miss you," he mumbled into the phone.

They stayed on the phone together for a few more minutes. There wasn't much to say really, but it was hard to say goodbye. So they stumbled over that and it was drawn out in long awkward pauses and filled in with static from whatever magical satellite connection the Navy used to enable the liberty phones on the ship.

He sat back on the sofa after the call was ended. The cold, empty apartment was all the more oppressive after talking to Miles. He suddenly felt more lonely and disconnected than he had when he'd first got in.

He winced at the pain in his back and then slowly slid off the sofa onto the floor, back flat against it, knees up. It brought some relief, but not much. He looked at the time on his phone—it was still to early for more medicine. He could do some Ibuprofen—they gave him plenty of that. He fell asleep on the floor still trying to decide if he should take the Ibuprofen or not.

Miles had sent pictures which were mostly poorly lit photos from the hangar bay with a bunch of random officers Phoenix couldn't remember. The video was from Larry. It was touching really, even though the recording—probably made on Larry's phone—was poorly tracked and the sound distorted and tinny.

Juan had joined Lieutenant Yew for the duet, dedicated to a surprised and bashful Miles Edgeworth. Juan had stopped the song's opening lines to announce the dedication to loud cheers and laughter. The song—Phoenix couldn't remember where it was from—but it was some incarnation of Jefferson Airplane or Jefferson Starship and it wasn't "We Built this City".

Juan was in his element up in front of the over-large inflatable screen set up in the hangar to host the open-mic night to celebrate Labor Day underway. The karaoke screen appeared only as a glowing silver square in the video casting Juan and Lieutenant Yew in stark silhouette against it.

Phoenix was shocked. She sounded amazing belting out 'Nothing's gonna stop us now' in a pretty close imitation of Grace Slick's contralto. He grinned as he watched it a second time. The song was interrupted in a few places by Larry's misplaced commentary, but Phoenix got an impression of what it must've been like.

He must've played it through on the apartment floor three or four times as the gray morning gave way to the sunrise. It was chilly, but it was a pretty day.

Finally, Phoenix stood up. He struggled and had to use the couch for support, and the pain brought tears to his eyes.

He grinned through his tears and took his medicine. He didn't have a lot with him, so he'd have to go out into the world on his own. He grabbed small clothes and a t-shirt out of his bag and went to get a shower.

The song rang in his head as he limped back to the shower. They still had each other.