Adult-FanFiction.org : Games

One of Every Color	By : Croik Category: +M through R > Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney Views: 5688 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorny / Gyakuten Saiban, its characters
and settings, are property of Capcom, and are being
used here without permission.� This fic is rated NC-17 for adult male/male content.� C&C welcome and appreciated.

In a pervious fic I said that Edgeworth was
still practicing law in France after leaving the country in GS1.� I changed my mind about that for this fic so forget that part :D

This fic
takes place a few weeks after the events of GS3, and contains spoilers for all
three games.

One of Every Color
Prologue
Thursday, May 23^rd, 2019.� 7:44 pm

Miles watched the pair from a
safe distance.� Despite having been invited
to attend that evening he still felt an uncomfortable stirring of guilt, as if
he were witnessing some event not meant for him.� There were plenty of strangers moving along
the train platform, and many of them glanced in the direction of the man and
woman standing face to face.� But to them
the scene would have only appeared to be a parting of two lovers like any other
that had been repeated countless times at this very spot in this very
station.� It was because Miles understood
the significance that made it feel sinful to watch.

Phoenix's cheeks hadn't returned to their natural color in
nearly an hour, and the awkward fidgeting in his body language was becoming
almost comical.� Ayame wasn't doing any
better.� Miles couldn't hear the contents
of their drawn out conversation, but he imagined it must have been remarkably
sentimental, considering he could all but see both of them stuttering.� The exchange was a drama of shy glances and
head scratching, long pauses and childish smiles.� It was more painful that charming, and by the
end, when they finally embraced, even someone as unused to this kind of
observation as Miles could see tension in the gesture.� They were as uncertain as teenagers.

Miles finally diverted his
gaze, instead watching the slow current of moving bodies across the
platform.� He didn't look up until he
heard the train whistle; by then Ayame was on her way home, and Phoenix was heading back toward him.� He stood up from the bench that had been his
vantage point for the past twenty minutes to meet him.

"Sorry."� Phoenix was still pink in the face, making Miles wonder if he
wasn't about ready to pass out from blood deprivation to his brain.� He scratched the back of his neck yet
again.� "I didn't mean to make you
wait so long."

"It's
fine," Miles replied easily, giving his suit coat a slight tug to
straighten it.� "I didn't have any
real plans for tonight anyway."

Phoenix smiled sheepishly, but there was that same insecurity
behind his eyes that had Miles had been witness to all night, and it made his
expression appear somewhat pained.�
"I feel bad," he insisted.�
"You're only here for a short time--I must be keeping you away from
something."

"It can wait."� Miles had to admit that if it had been him,
he wouldn't have wanted to come alone, either.�
He turned.� "Come on--I'll
give you a ride home."

"Thanks."

The evening was unusually
chill even for May, and the two men walked close together back to Edgeworth's rented car.�
In the aftermath of Ayame's trial he had spent
the last several weeks back in Europe, returning only now to deal with some important
business.� The fact that Ayame was being
released from her sentence that very week was mere coincidence, and he had made
the offer to drive them to the station.�

Ayame was returning to Hazakurain.� Miles
hadn't intended to ask Phoenix what he felt about that, but he ended up finding out
anyway.

"It's probably the best
thing for both of us right now," Phoenix volunteered as they weaved through the parking
lot.� "I would have asked her to
stay in the city for a while, but my apartment is pretty small, and it would
have been�."� He trailed off, his
gaze wandering away.

Miles pursed his lips;
dealing out romantic advice wasn't exactly his strong suit.� "Awkward," he filled in.� "It's understandable, after everything
you've both been through."� Hoping
to maybe lighten the mood--and lift him from any advisory obligation--he added,
"That tiny apartment of yours might have reminded her too much of prison
anyway."

Phoenix scoffed, and though he was smiling his eyes were
lowered: there was still something heavy on his mind.� Miles' shoulders drooped.� Years ago he would have stayed silent and
prayed Phoenix would drop the subject, keeping him from getting
involved.� But he had already come all
this way, and if he displayed cowardice now he wouldn't forgive himself for it
later.

"So."� They reached
the car, separating to their respective doors.�
But instead of unlocking it Miles paused, watching Phoenix intently from across the roof.� "Do you still love her?" he asked
bluntly.

Phoenix straightened, suddenly looking years younger in the
way he avoided Miles' steady gaze.� He
licked his lips.� "�Yes," he
said after a long, silent pause.� "I�I
think so.� I mean, I do."� He ran his fingers through his hair
nervously.� "I do.� I just�don't know what to do."

"Don't know what to
do?" Miles echoed.� His tone was
curious, prompting Phoenix to continue, though he had a feeling he already he
knew how Phoenix would answer.�
"You don't want to get back together?"

"It's not that," Phoenix insisted.�
"Especially now that I know it was her all along�"� He shook his head.� "I believed in her for all those
years.� There's no reason why I shouldn't still love her, now that I
know I was right."

Miles clicked the automatic
door lock on his key chain.� "So
what's the problem?"

Before Phoenix could answer he twisted the driver's side door open,
slipping behind the wheel.� It was a
deliberate move that gave Phoenix
a chance to think as he, too, ducked into the car.� Neither of them was accustomed to speaking so
openly about their personal lives and the preparation time seemed to do him
some good.

"The problem is, it's
been years," Phoenix told him once he was settled.� He sounded more sure
of himself then, if not more melancholy, as if finally coming to the heart of
the matter.� "A lot has happened
since then, and�I've changed.� I know I
have."

He looked up abruptly,
meeting Miles' eyes at last.� "I
don't know if I can be for her what I was back then,
or if that's even what either of us wants now.�
Do you know what I mean?"

Miles' fingers curled stiffly
around his keys, digging small, tooth-like indentations into his palm.� He was quiet for a long time before facing
forward.� His own voice was noticeably
less confident as he started the car and gave his answer.

"I know exactly what you mean."

***

Forty minutes later Phoenix had been dropped off at his apartment, and Miles was
finally attending to the "business" he had flown from Europe
to complete in the first place.� He
pulled into the driveway of an old, modest two story house, with chipping paint
and rough, overgrown landscaping.� The
shutters, which were once a deep blue, were faded, cracked, and sealed shut
over every window.� No one had lived in
this house for years, and as Miles moved up the familiar stone walkway he felt
a dull pang of guilt for its poor condition.�
Had he not been in such a dramatic hurry two years ago, he could have
made arrangements for it to be better taken care of.

The key he had picked up that
morning needed a little wiggling to fit into its intended lock, and the hinges
creaked something awful, raising the small hairs on the back of Miles' neck as
he finally stepped inside what had once been his childhood home.� It was his first time crossing that threshold
in nearly fifteen years.� Though the
house had been in his name for all that time, having
been left to him at the time of his father's death, he had never been compelled
to use it.� He had lived with the Karmas
in their estate, and after that his own luxurious condominium downtown, closer
to the Prosecutor's Office.� By the time
he was old enough to inherit the property it had lost its meaning for him.

Miles walked slowly down the
front hall, which opened first into the kitchen.� Most of the furniture was still present, and
when he drew two fingertips across the surface of their old kitchen table he
left a pair of streaks in the fine layer of dust covering it.� Fifteen years ago he had sat at that table
eating the scrambled eggs his father had prepared for breakfast before they
would head to court together.� He
remembered quite clearly, because he hadn't finished them all--a stubborn
child's protest at being told he couldn't bring his new Red Time Force Ranger to
his father's work, even though it could have been concealed perfectly in his
pocket.� It had sat alone on the table all
through that fateful day.�

Driven by curiosity he moved
out of the kitchen, past the living room and through a side door into a small
room by the stairway.� It was a bedroom,
with a single box spring mattress and lines of shelves set low on the
walls.� Several plastic packing bins were
stacked in the far corner.� He was drawn
to them, and upon opening the lid found the old toys of his youth, most of
which were bent and scuffed from having been hastily packed.� He lifted the red action figure out from
among them, turning it over in his hands as he recalled the familiar texture of
cheap plastic.

Miles stood in the center of
the empty space for a long time, taking in the musty smell, idly polishing the
toy with the cuff of his jacket.� Slowly,
he took a seat on the edge of his old mattress.�
Bit by bit memories returned to him: the Saturday mornings he'd spent
arranging his figures on the shelves, his father tucking him into bed at night,
even the faint sound of his mother's voice floating in from the kitchen as she
packed his lunch for school�

Miles continued to stare down
at the figure in his hand, rubbing it with his thumb, as he tugged his cell
phone out of his coat pocket and dialed a familiar number.� "Detective, it's me," he said as
soon as the call came through.� "I'm
sorry to call so late, but I wanted to know�"

He sighed, briefly closing
his eyes.� "Do you know if the
Prosecutor's Office is still interested in taking me back?"
- 1
- 2
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

One of Every Color