damned_institute | Day 35: Twin Pines Restaurant

[from here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/446999.html?view=36588311#t36588311)]

Quaint.

The word had ceased to have much of a positive connotation a little while ago. The fact remained, this whole place was an anachronism of the highest order, as if it had been frozen in time somewhere around 1951. A few things had changed here and there, but for the most part, the modern conveniences that were even evident in most of the small towns in Europe weren't here. There were no internet cafes, no music stores...but that wasn't all.

What kind of small town didn't have newspapers lying around? Yes, there were newspaper clippings in the window of the Twin Pines Restaurant, but they were yellowed from the sun, and none of them displayed any dates. They could have been a couple of days, or a couple of years old.

Edgeworth asked the hostess to seat him, and then looked around. He saw a few people he recognized, and waved hello to them. It looked as if they were all busy with conversations, so he didn't interrupt.

The hostess said that his table was ready a moment later. She seated him at a table near one of the windows. He took his journal and a pen out, opening up to a blank page. Maybe he could take a few notes while waiting on the menu.

So much for a dashing getaway.

That was a terrible idea. It isn't as if I know how to steal a car anyway. Or, you know, drive, Phoenix mused, glancing in the spotless picture window of the next establishment he passed. He looked back down again after a second, and kept walking for another three or four steps before stopping and backing up as his brain finally caught up with his feet.

He shouldn't have been surprised to spot Edgeworth on the other side of the glass, seated at an unimpressive little table in an equally unimpressive little restaurant, frowning down at his journal. They did have a habit of running into each other, after all.

For a moment, he considered tapping on the autumn-cold pane, testing how long it took Edgeworth to realize that he wasn't being pestered by a homeless man. (Probably a little while -- living in a city had that effect.) But something else occurred to him, and he leaned close to the glass, breathing on it enough to fog before scrawling a carefully-backwards "HI" with his finger. Then he knocked on the window.

It was childish, but after one of the longest days of his life, he felt entitled to a little stupidity.

Edited 2008-09-12 05:48 (UTC)

Edgeworth turned and looked at the window, then looked back down at his journal again, writing a few words. It was a little surprising, but then again, this was the classic stereotypical small town. It made sense that it came complete with that one harmless hobo that everyone knew. Nothing to worry about, and if he ignored him, they would go away soon enough.

Then a surprising realization hit. Wait. There's something awfully familiar about that hobo. And why would they write on the window?

Edgeworth looked up again, slowly turning towards the window. Hooded sweatshirt, black pants, a hat that needed to be burned immediately - and then it dawned on him. His waitress came over with a menu at that point, and he said, "Pardon me for a moment, miss. I need to step outside, but I'll be right back - oh, and do you mind leaving two menus?"

He walked outside the restaurant slowly and calmly, coming up to Phoenix with a look on his face that was a combination of disapproval, horror, and an expression that could only be summed up with the words he said a minute later:

"Wright? What the hell are you wearing? At least get rid of that atrocious hat. Do you realize what you look like right now?" As he spoke, he reached up, fully intending to yank the hat off and dispose of it immediately.

"I'm wearing what the nurses gave me," Phoenix replied matter-of-factly, grinning and holding the hat to his head as he dodged the attempted grab. "No way -- you're going to destroy it and I won't hear the end of it." It wasn't that he liked the thing -- completely the opposite, actually -- or even that he enjoyed goading people on. It was more than it was really, finally sinking in at a basic level that he was trapped. Trapped in a mental institution full of monsters, human and non, which would have been stressful enough without remembering at least once an hour that he was in a romantic relationship he couldn't remember starting but could definitely remember giving up on the very idea of. That would have been enough, but now there was the idea that maybe he was trapped in time, too, and even if he got out of here the rest of their lives were laid out before them ordered and neat as dominoes, and there was nothing they could do to stop it.

All of that, and somehow Edgeworth found it in himself to get indignant over an ugly hat. Phoenix didn't think he'd ever met anyone else with such a boundless and inexhaustible capacity for righteous outrage. There had been times in his life when that had been inspiring, but at the moment it was just funny.

"The nurses gave you a hobo hat." Edgeworth shook his head in disbelief. Yes, it was a petty thing to be upset about, and he realized this. He also realized he was a whole lot more upset about it than Phoenix seemed to be. That didn't entirely kill that sense of indignation, though it did temper things a bit.

I know I'd be upset about wearing it. Maybe I'm projecting?

He sighed, reaching out again. "You won't hear the end of it from me if you don't hand it over." The indignation was tinged with a tiny bit of something else - not quite full-out flirtation, but it was close.

Edited 2008-09-12 18:54 (UTC)

The subtle little differences were still new enough to stop Phoenix in his tracks. The occasional averted glance, the suggestion of affection in his voice, the way his hard-shelled bubble of personal space bowed more than usual to accommodate him: there were things about Edgeworth that were going to take getting used to. But Phoenix recovered his stride after a second, dropping his hand from his hat once he'd danced out of reach again, grin still nestled into the corner of his mouth.

He would hand it over, sooner or later. But for now, the hat had value, if only for amusement's sake.

"Miles Edgeworth," he admonished lowly, faking an affronted tone in an utterly transparent attempt to get a rise out of him. "I can't believe you. You haven't even bought me a drink, and you're trying to take my clothes off?"

Edgeworth was taken aback for all of half a second, and then grinned. Well, if that was how Phoenix wanted to play it, then he'd rise to the challenge. He leaned in just a little bit, then replied, "I've done it before." His tone was smug, face self-satisfied.

The hard part about all of that was fighting off the urge to blush, but he managed. The second hardest part was trying to fight off the worry. The subject of that past - present? - relationship was one they hadn't really gotten a chance to discuss further. It didn't seem like it mattered, but..

He pushed the worry aside. The reaction would more than make up for any nerves, more than likely, and if not, he would cross that bridge when he got there.

Edited 2008-09-12 20:39 (UTC)

From an outside perspective, it must have looked like Phoenix had forgotten how to do anything but stare dumbly and blush. Unfortunately, included in 'anything' was swallowing one's saliva rather than breathing it, so the stare was cut short after a few seemingly eternal seconds by a violent coughing fit he found himself muffling into his sleeve.

We already--? His brain glanced off of the last few words in that sentence, mirror-smooth with denial. It wasn't that the thought was unpalatable -- hell, he'd dreamed about-

Okay, remembering that was definitely not helping with the coughing.

Edgeworth didn't say anything in response. He simply walked up to Phoenix and pulled off the offending hat, sticking it in one of his pockets until he could dispose of it. If he had been the type to do so, this action might have been accompanied by a victory dance.

I wonder if they keep books of matches by their cash register,, he thought.

"...come on inside with me. We'll grab lunch, and we definitely need to get you a glass of water. And - er, I guess we should talk about this whole thing, shouldn't we? We didn't get much of a chance to do it yesterday or last night. I certainly wouldn't want to discuss such a...private topic around Gumshoe, and last night was not exactly the best time, either."

Phoenix managed to nod and croak a 'right', catching his breath by the time they got to the door. Guess I deserved that, he thought with no small amount a chagrin, trying to finger-comb his hair into something marginally presentable as he followed Edgeworth back to his table.

He pulled out a chair for himself and sat down slowly, giving a quiet sigh and leaning back. Even if he'd been fairly aimless in his explorations, he'd been wandering all morning, and getting a chance to sit down was a relief. He dragged the second menu to his place setting, flipping it open without making any real effort to read what was inside.

Well, I guess that does a good job of explaining the yelling, he thought, after a few quiet seconds glancing up at Edgeworth.

Their waitress popped by a moment after Edgeworth sat back down. "We need a few more minutes," he explained. He followed her with his eyes as she walked away, then turned back to Phoenix.

"...where do you want me to start?"

There were a number of reasonable questions - how it all had started, what brought it about, the questions of how far they had gone. He thought he knew all of them, and probably could have started to explain, but the starting point would be helpful.

"The beginning, if you can," Phoenix answered, voice self-consciously hushed. He drummed his fingers on the slightly-scuffed laminated menu, taking a moment to think. "You said that I was already here when you arrived. And . . . it was that night when . . .?" He trailed off, unsure how he wanted to phrase it. When they put your dad's voice in your head? When we got together? When I apparently became an action hero? None of them were really things he felt comfortable saying in a restaurant, now matter how quiet the tones.

Edgeworth took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, composing himself enough to begin. He kept his voice low; while he was fairly sure that the crowd noise would keep any potential eavesdroppers away, he wanted to be sure.

"You hadn't been here more than a day or two when I arrived - long enough to find out the basics of the place and see a bit of them, but that's about it. I woke up here towards the end of the night. We didn't meet till the next morning.

Our positions were just about reversed from what they were when you appeared the second time. As you know, I was brought here directly after the Skye case, but you were from about two months after. You said you had spent a good portion of those two months looking for me, because of that note I left behind."

He reached for a napkin, twisting it nervously in his hands as he continued. "That night, I was taken for that experiment. They were in the habit of announcing who had been taken over the intercom. That's how you knew I'd been taken. This was before maps were so easily available, so you found a couple of people who had been to the second floor, where the experiment rooms are, and had them take you there. Your group wasn't the only one with the same idea. There were a lot of people up there, which turned out to be a good thing. A large monster attacked the group."

"The trained fighters out of the group insisted that you get me out of there. You agreed, and since your room was closer to the stairs than mine was, that's where we went. You got me back there, we talked for a bit, and well, it's when I kissed you for the first time. We talked about it the next day, as awkward as it was, and well..."

Edgeworth swallowed hard, feeling the blush that had only just begun to fade regain its intensity. "Time in the Institute is funny, and it affects everything. It has a way of speeding things up at times. We...well. We escalated things perhaps more quickly than we would have otherwise. That next night, in fact."

"I . . . see."

Phoenix blinked, stunned, fingertips belatedly falling still against the menu. Oh, damn, he thought after a bewildered second. I'm easy.

No, wait, evil Narnia rules, remember that, so if two years equals about a week here, then (divide by seven, remainder three-) theoretically a day is almost three and a half months here, and that really isn't that bad, it's not like I OH GOD WHO AM I KIDDING it was one conversation past the first time we kissed I am so totally easy.

I should have known. Even under normal circumstances I fall too hard and too fast. I wouldn't even be surprised if I-

That thought stopped him cold. He knew what he'd done, now, but what exactly had he said? The Big Three Words did not seem entirely out of the question anymore. It was all he could do not to groan, and he finally looked down at his hands, failing at both not fidgeting and not flushing.

I could have said it. I fall hard. Worse than that, I fall stupid. Ugly sweaters and hero worship stupid. Love sonnets stupid.

If there is a God in heaven, please let me not have composed a love poem.

Edited 2008-09-13 01:30 (UTC)

Edgeworth closed his eyes, rubbing slow circles over his temples.

...I am an idiot. A well-intentioned idiot, but an idiot nonetheless. I just keep dumping information onto him, and I expect him to just process it like it's nothing. It does not work like that in this or any universe that may be out there.

I wouldn't blame him for walking away and never giving me the time of day again. I'd have it coming, for letting him down in the first place then and now, the...everything. The voice, the relationship, the setting, the timing.

He looked up at Phoenix, still blushing. "I know this is a lot to process."

Understatement of the year. Dig that hole a little deeper, don't you.

"But, you asked me for the truth. I don't see any sense in holding anything back from you. What didn't I answer?"

". . . um." He closed his eyes tightly, rubbing at the back of his neck and hoping to regain even a tenth of his usual composure.

He wanted to ask what he'd said, but he wasn't sure that mattered. Whatever he'd said were someone else's words by now, effectively. He was going to have to make his own way from here on.

And when -- if -- he said what he might have said, he didn't want to even suspect that he might just be trying to fill an expectation.

He released a breath, letting himself steady a bit before looking up again. He still felt strange, head tingling warm and faintly spinning, stomach completely uninterested in the prospect of food. But he'd be fine. He had to be fine. The truth couldn't kill him.

"Edgeworth -- you're right. You're not the person I go to if I want a careful, filtered version of what happened. You're the person I go to when I want the whole truth as you see it, regardless of whether it's going to leave a bruise." He smiled, a little shaky but unmistakably sincere, leaning his elbows on the table. "So thanks for that. I think I'm more or less caught up."

Edgeworth nodded. "You're welcome. I don't have much else to add, really; I fell ill and was sent to the infirmary, and when I was released you were nowhere to be found. I started an investigation almost immediately after. This brings us to the present."

The silence that followed that last statement was almost deafening. The details were out in the open, and that meant it was time for the conclusions. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to hear them. Edgeworth twisted the napkin he was holding between his fingers, first one way and then the other. After a long moment of silence, he asked, "Penny for your thoughts, Wright?"

"Thoughts. . . .?" He ruffled at his hair, then straightened it again, after a few moments of thought shaking his head. "You'll get more solid ones in a day or so, but I can give you my best impressions right now."

He wanted to filter what he said. He wanted there to be more careful consideration and judgment behind his words. But in the end, his heart usually beat his brain in the race for his mouth, and today was no exception.

"I just . . . I wish I wasn't making everything this awkward. I wish it still didn't seem so unbelievable. Knowing what happened helps, but it's not the same as remembering it. Right now all I can do is keep trying -- and that's okay, I'm used to that," he admitted lowly, averting his eyes. He vastly preferred extracting confessions to giving them; he had to force the next words out, picking at the cuff of his sweatshirt nervously. "But if I could just start where we left off -- completely seamless, just like you say it was . . . I'd do it." He looked up, swallowing, and the unease of newness shone clear in his eyes beneath the dogged honesty. "I'd do it in a heartbeat."

He let out a breath he hadn't even realized he had been holding. He had expected to hear Phoenix say 'I need some time to think about this', or 'I can't do this with all the history'. What he'd said instead was unexpected, surprising, sentimental - all the things he found endearing.

If we weren't in public - and not just in public, surrounded by nurses - I would lean over this table and kiss you.

They were in public, in broad daylight, and though a part of Miles' brain, aged sixteen, wanted to ask 'hey, wanna go make out behind the bookstore?', or 'you know, I had this crazy dream about you last night, do you want to go re-enact it?', he refrained, instead, just smiling.

"Then, let's pick up where we left off, with one condition - no disappearances on either side. We leave this place together."

With that, Edgeworth extended a hand to Phoenix. "Does that seem fair?"

A thick band of tension that Phoenix had barely been aware of melted between his shoulders, and the smile crept back onto his face, little by little.

This wasn't as new as it looked. There was still trouble, and there was still danger, and they were both still going to beat it. That was all there was to it, and when he looked at it that way, nothing seemed quite as daunting. For a pair of lawyers, nothing was more natural than following precedent.

He took the proffered hand, squeezing it more than he shook it. "'Fair'?" He chuckled, lifting an eyebrow slightly. "Mr. Edgeworth, that sounds perfect."

"I'm glad you see it my way, Mr. Wright." Edgeworth returned that squeeze, smiling back.

The bad mood he had been in just a little while earlier was gone, replaced with a newfound determination and spark. Things weren't as bad as they had seemed only moments ago.

Though he wasn't really in the mood to eat anything now - his stomach was too fluttery, too strained by the shifts between tension and relief - he realized he'd regret it later if he didn't, and Edgeworth flipped the menu open.

"...you know, if we're stuck here after the Institute falls, I have half a mind to build at least one decent Italian or French restaurant here."

Phoenix looked a little green for a moment, then shook his head, looking back down at the menu. "I, ah -- I'm not sure I have a lot of experience with French-" he began, only to halt as the waitress sidled up, looking at them curiously.

"Still need some time?"

Oh, right. Wait staff. Waiting on our entire conversation. Oops. Phoenix at least had the good grace to look chagrined, scanning the menu and answering with the first thing he saw that was boxed in with decorative dark red in that distinctive small-restaurant 'we like this one!' way. "Country-fried steak?"

"Good choice!" She scratched out the order on her notepad, not looking up. "What kind of potato? And soup or salad?"

". . . fries, I guess. Salad with Italian dressing. And can I just get a water?"

"Sure thing." She glanced to the other occupant of the table next. "And you, sir?"

It was Edgeworth's turn to quickly scan the menu and decide on something, also looking a bit chagrined. "Um, I'll have the same, with a baked potato instead of fries, salad with raspberry vinaigrette if you have it and Italian dressing if you don't, and iced tea with lemon." It wasn't his usual style - definitely not - but if every newspaper clipping in the window proclaimed how good their country-fried steak was, there had to be something to it.

Their waitress scribbled the order down, smiling. "I'll get that right out to you."

That bit of business aside, he turned to Phoenix again. "I hate to change the subject so dramatically, but. The voice. It was reacting to something on the bus ride over this morning. I don't think it was anything to do with the kid sitting next to me. Did you notice anything unusual? It could be leftover anxiety from last night, and very likely is, but it's worrisome."

"The voice?" He'd almost forgotten about that, and took a half-second before correcting himself hastily. "Oh, right. The voice." He leaned his chin on his palm, frowning thoughtfully. "I didn't see anything happening along the roadside from the window, so . . . no, not that I can think of. But I don't really know what makes it . . . you know. Speak up."

He tried to sound as nonplussed by the whole matter as he could. After all, if this was weird for him to just hear about it, he couldn't imagine experiencing it. But he couldn't shake the uneasiness that gripped him when he thought about it, either. He'd worked with mediums, but it was easy to tell when they were channeling someone who could potentially hear him and when they weren't. It wasn't anything like this. This was like being in a room with a window of one-way glass, only able to guess whether there was a person watching from the other side.

"It doesn't usually react that strongly most of the time, unless I'm overly stressed or in some kind of trouble - at least that's its usual pattern. It's not reacting right now, and hasn't, really, since I got off the bus, aside from a twinge here and there. I can only guess that stress hormones or fear are the major triggers. It's still strange, though, which is why I was asking if you'd seen anything or run into anyone unusual. It's never reacted like that before, but I wanted to rule it out."

Edgeworth fiddled with a lock of his hair that had fallen into his eyes. When he spoke again, it was in a distinctly apologetic tone. "I'm sorry. I know it's weird. This is going to sound terrible, but I almost wish Maya was here, so I could brainstorm something with her, and maybe figure out how to control it a little better."

He glanced around the restaurant. Any time you want to interrupt us with food, that would be welcome.

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