Chapter Text
“Phoenix. I’ve adopted a dog.”
“E-Edgeworth, what?”
Miles lets his fingers dig into the sofa’s armrest, tension unfurling toothily into his gut.
Said dog is watching him keenly from across the room, still underneath the table near the wall where she’s been for hours. She is sprawled mock-sleepily, but there is tension frozen in the set of her ears and the utter stillness of her tail. Her amber-gold eyes are trained on his every movement.
He swallows past the brick in his throat.
“I’ve, ah, adopted a dog from the local shelter. A Borzoi. Her name is Pess.”
“...Huh.”
The utter disbelief in Phoenix’s voice is not as well-hidden as he thinks it is. Edgeworth can hardly blame him. This had rather taken him by surprise, as well.
One minute, he had been arriving at the shelter for the meeting he’d scheduled about starting a recurring donation, or perhaps sponsoring one of the kennels or events. Miles was unlikely to readily admit it, but there was still a softness in him for dogs; though nearly beaten out of him by extenuating circumstances, even after all this time he still has vague memories depicting a little ball of brown fluff, skittering around his father’s ankles, nails clicking on the linoleum.
Besides that, he thought charity might be something good to focus on at times like these; something external to lend him an air of magnanimity and graciousness, while he remembers how to find his feet back in this country, and sweeps all the dust from the hard-to-reach corners of his living room.
What he hadn’t planned on was spotting Pess during a tour of the cages for large dogs at the back of the rescue. To be truthful, he’d been struggling a little amid the sheer volume of the place, especially this area. It was a veritable cacophony of barking and howling as he went by, pitbulls and mastiffs and mutts of every shade, in a seemingly endless corridor of cages. He remembers, though, a brief moment of clarity when he saw one unlike all the rest; a tall, aloof silhouette at the back of one of the cages.
At first glance, she’d seemed dignified and assured - imperious, even, with her long aquiline nose, and the dense curls in the ruff of fur around her shoulders. Underneath, though, there was unease that was as clear to Miles as if it had been spelled out there; uncertainty rigid in her posture, shivering at every new noise, and golden eyes rimmed with just slightly too much white for comfort.
There was something intimately familiar to him about that particular duality.
The paperwork and handover had passed by in a blur - he has vague memories of signing his name, talk of two-week trial periods and regular vet appointments, and a warning that Pess could perhaps be a little difficult for a first time dog owner. She’d struggled with anxiety in the shelter environment, and she was a hound to boot - Borzoi in particular were famously independent and difficult to train.
“I’m not a first time owner,” he had snapped, but he might as well be. The memories of a little brown dot are foggy for a reason, and he’s certainly never had full responsibility for a dog - or properly cohabited with any other living creature as an adult, humans included.
Still, the staff member had acquiesced, and sent him home with Pess’s wide martingale collar and a flier for their training program and puppy classes.
“Edgeworth, do you really think this is a good idea?” says the voice on the other end of the phone, after a long silence.
“Not particularly, but I intend to follow through with it.”
Something tightly wound in his chest had settled as soon as he’d seen her looking back at him through the bars of the cage, and only relaxed further at the sight of her in his home. He was not one to put stock in superstition, nor observations that could not be reasoned with quantitatively, but it had just felt right , somehow. He could count on one hand the decisions or events that had rung true like that in his life thus far, and most of them had to do with that man, as outrageously foolish as that was.
Besides, he was someone who stuck by his convictions, and he’d made a commitment to the shelter for Pess’ trial period, so that was that.
“But you’re barely in the country for five minutes at a time.”
Phoenix doesn’t bother to hide the acid in his voice at that. It’s so unlike the wide-eyed version of him Miles remembers, but he swallows the memory and lets the well-aimed barb hit home. He deserves the venom, after all.
“Yes, that’s true.”
“So, getting a dog...? How does she fit in with that?”
“I will change my plans, Wright. I…” He fights against the heavy sigh waiting at the base of his throat. He can’t be entirely honest with his answer. Not to this person in particular. “It has been a goal of mine to spend more time here, regardless of this development, so I intend to make good on that, as well.”
Miles can’t quite parse the tone of the silence on the other end. Disbelief? Envy? Disappointment? He suspects that something like all three is probably written on Phoenix’s face, and he is shamefully a little glad that he doesn’t have to witness it firsthand.
“Well. Not that I can stop you, obviously, but good luck, I guess.” There’s a brittle kind of silence, but then Phoenix mellows. Even with this unfamiliar hard outer shell, he always does, sooner or later. “How’s she doing?”
“I’m… not quite sure.”
“What does that mean, Edgeworth?”
Miles lets his forehead collapse down into the hand that isn’t holding the phone, suddenly feeling the weight of the day catching up to him.
“She’s… Well, they said that the acclimation process varies, and that she was very anxious in the shelter environment so she’ll need some time, but she hasn’t done anything since she came here. She barely moves, but she’s not really sleeping either. And every time I get up, or do anything at all, she watches me intensely the entire time. It’s…” He forces himself to exhale. “Unnerving.”
“Oh. Well, that makes sense.”
“I don’t know whether I should be giving her space, trying to reassure her with affection or what have you, or whether this... Perhaps it’s a sign that all of this was a bad idea, after all.”
“Like I said.”
“Yes, Wright, as you said.”
Both of them snapping and neither of them truly meaning it… finally, this conversation is starting to feel normal.
“What did you do? With Trucy? N-Not to imply that this situation is at all analogous to your daughter, of course, because-”
There’s a hazy chuckle on the other end of the receiver.
“Asking me for advice, are we?”
Miles lets himself scoff.
“Don’t bother to pretend this is the first time, because we both know it isn’t.”
“I mean, you’re not totally wrong, Edgeworth. It’s not the same, but…” He exhales, and the shakiness from earlier is gone. “Trucy’s very resilient, you know what she’s like, but even she took a few days to warm up to me, and start behaving like herself. And Borzoi are real reserved and snooty or something, aren’t they? So I think you just gotta let her take her time, and come to you when she’s ready.”
“Hmm.”
“She’ll mellow out, I know it. After all, she’s got a lot of new info to digest right now, so I don’t think you getting up in her space or giving her more to think about will help, anyway.”
Even now, he always knows just what to…
“Surprisingly wise, as always, Wright.”
“Thanks,” he says flatly, but the sarcasm doesn’t go very deep. “I mean it, by the way. Good luck. I’m sure this’ll be good for you.”
“I… think so too. I hope so, at least.”
A different version of him would never have admitted that. But the version irrevocably touched by the man on the other end of the line did admit it, and he feels a strange kind of peace at doing so.
“I should go, anyway, Edgeworth. Gotta start making dinner.”
“Yes, alright. Thank you for accepting my call.”
“Anytime.”
Phoenix hangs up. Miles just stares at the call ended text for a while before he can catch himself and put it away.
With the distraction of the phone call over, Miles is left with no choice but to return to the situation at hand.
Pess is as still as ever. And she is still watching him from the same place she’s been for hours. Despite Phoenix’s reassurance, he feels the same heaviness he’s felt all day twist in his stomach.
After getting home from the shelter - after which he’d had to lift her out of the car’s backseat when she refused to jump down herself, which would have been entirely humiliating if anyone else had been outside to see it - she hadn’t done any of the bounding around or barking he’d come to associate with canine behaviour. She hadn’t clung close to him either, though, merely taking a cursory lap of the room she was currently confined to (the shelter had said limiting her space was good, to prevent her being too overwhelmed). Then, she’d taken up residence underneath the mahogany side table near the doorway, beneath which she seemed determined to stay, though she just barely fit there - it was a tall table, but then, she was a very tall dog.
Those gold-brown eyes zero in on his knee, which he belatedly realises has been jiggling up and down with his nervousness. He forces himself to take a breath. This is not the courtroom, and that stare may be analysing him in a way that is eerily familiar, but it also belongs to a dog , not his ex-mentor or a defense attorney intent on picking apart every flaw and secret.
A dog. His dog. God. What has he got himself into.
Suddenly resolute to do something - anything - he hauls himself up off the sofa and goes to crouch near the edge of the table that has become her little refuge. He’s far enough away to stay clear of her personal space, though she does flinch backwards a little, pressing into the wall.
"Hello, Pess."
Her ears prick up at the sound of his voice, but she doesn’t move.
"You'll have to forgive me, I'm afraid. I suspect that I am not very good at this."
Miles would feel silly to an extreme for speaking to her like this, except for the way that Pess thaws, ever so slightly - her tail twitches, her head dips a little from its stiff posture, and she huffs out a long breath, heavier than her shallow meter from before.
"I'm aware you don't understand me, but I am quite certain that I understand you, Pess, at least a little. And I want you to know you are safe with me in this house, and that this will be your home so long as you are happy here.”
Her tail sweeps gently over the floor, just once.
I don’t want to overwhelm her, so it’s best that she stay in this room for today, but I’m reluctant to leave her alone...
There’s a pause. She watches him as keenly as ever.
“I see you are a good listener. Not that you have much choice otherwise, I have to admit, but nevertheless, I do approve.” He doesn’t move any closer, nor does he touch her. Instead, he takes a seat on the floor in a way he hasn’t since childhood, and leans his forehead against the leg of the table. It’s dusty down here. He should really make a note of that for later.
Then, he sets about his most important task of the day - keeping her company.
“Let me tell you some things you ought to know, while we are here, Pess. You have an aunt. You might not meet her for quite some time, but nevertheless, her name is Franziska, and…”