Fire and Spice (Part 1)
Wow, it's been a long time since I've been on LJ, hasn't it? Almost a year... 0_o
So yeah, here's a fic!
Title: Fire and Spice
Pairing: Edgeworth/Phoenix
Theme: Romance, Comedy, Hurt-Comfort, Fluff, Fantasy
Warnings: Somewaht AU (tries to slot into cannon as well as it can), Fantasy, Shapeshifting, Age Reversion (not shota!), Character "death", Emoworth
Summary: When Phoenix gets shot from behind by an unknown gunman, Miles is left distraught... until he discovers that Phoenix is much more than he ever appeared to be.
Part 1: Bullet holes and Transformations
It was a horrible day for Phoenix Wright, even before he got shot.
It was bad enough waking up to find Miles gone, again. What did that man have against cuddling? Of course, it could've been the fact that it was already 10 o' clock when Phoenix opened his eyes, but that was beside the point.
The rest of his day was just as rotten. He arrived at work to find a stack of burger bills on his desk and his assistant, Maya, gone off to Kurain again. No clients, nothing to do but stupid old paperwork, paperwork, clean the toilet and more paperwork. Finally, after a cold dinner of leftover noodles from the office minifridge, Phoenix packed up his bags and left for home at about 8 'o clock.
As soon as he left the office, Phoenix felt something odd, but he was feeling too rotten to care. He slouched down past the park, towards his bus-stop, completely unaware of the person keeping step behind him. He did perk up a little at the bus-stop, though. He loved that bus-stop, a small patch of relative quiet in the big city, right next to one of the lesser traveled bridges. He liked to stare down at the Los Angeles River, flowing along in its concrete bed towards the ocean.
Is it deeper today? Phoenix wondered, leaning over the safety railing for a closer look. Must be. Spring's here already, huh? Maybe things were looking up after all.
He smiled and started to step back, but he heard an odd click sound from behind him, and something struck his back like a hard punch. He toppled forward, head over heels over railing as the odd, numb shock of it gave way to pain.
Phoenix felt an odd sense of deja vu as he tumbled down the concrete slope towards the river.
I've been shot, he thought, strangely calm. I've just been shot, but I've been shot before. When was I shot before?
Phoenix could feel himself slipping away, the rushing sound of the water fading into silence. As he rolled into the waters of the Los Angeles River, Phoenix's mind went completely and totally blank...
Then the world snapped back into focus.
Phoenix coughed wetly as he lay on the concrete, however far downriver from where he'd fallen in. The water tugged at his bare legs, trying to pull him back in.
Wait, bare legs? Phoenix looked down at himself, then looked at himself again to just make sure.
Oh shit, he thought with a burst of annoyance. Not AGAIN!
________
Miles Edgeworth looked over the report for the two-hundred-and-twenty-fourth time, some desperate vestige of his brain vainly hoping that it would transmute into something else, anything else.
The prosecutor had kept coming back to the crime lab report over and over as the search of the area ever broadened. For eight hours the police had been combing the nearby river, banks, streets, parks, anything for a sign of Phoenix Wright.
Man's suit jacket, blue... Wallet found in left breast pocket... Defense Attorney's badge on left lapel... Miles wasn't even reading the report anymore, he had the details memorized by now. He wanted to concentrate on the beginning of the report, the identifying information, but his mind kept slipping to later, damning details.
Details like the sheer radius of the bloodstain on the jacket's right side, just where his heart had to have been. The bullet must have entered from the back, according to the report, and passed clean through his body.
Phoenix's body.
Even after eight hours, it didn't seem quite real. The warm body Miles had woken up beside just that morning, the goofy smile, the strong hand on his shoulder... they were lying somewhere, as cold and dead as any of the other cadavers Miles had seen in his long career. Suddenly, sickeningly, he was gone, a huge, raw hole ripped out of Miles's already fragile heart.
Miles jumped when Gumshoe touched his shoulder.
"Anything?" He asked quickly, not hopefully but desperately.
But the detective shook his head. "Sorry, sir, we've got nothin'. Not a sign since we found his pants."
Miles sagged even lower, slipping the report into his briefcase. "Keep looking. We have to find him, no matter how long it takes."
"And, Mr. Edgeworth, sir..." Gumshoe shifted from foot to foot. He'd obviously been crying, unlike Miles, who couldn't even seem to cry, "I know this means... I mean, it's, he was your..."
Miles shot Gumshoe a "don't you dare finish that sentence" glare, and the big detective thankfully trailed off.
He fiddled awkwardly for a moment before starting up again.
"Sir, you have to go home." He said it almost authoritatively. Well, authoritatively for Gumshoe.
"Out of the question."
"It's almost dawn!" Gumshoe had never contradicted Miles on purpose before, but then again the detective had never looked this concerned before, either. "You haven't slept since yesterday morning. The rest of us have taken nap breaks, but you- you're going to kill yourself at this rate!"
Part of Miles wondered why that would be a bad thing.
"I'm staying." He said again, woodenly.
"C'mon, sir!" Gumshoe insisted. "You can't do anything until we have a suspect, or more evidence. It's just looking right now, and we've got all the men we need. You'll do far more good in bed than you will here."
Miles opened his mouth to argue, to say that it was only 5 AM , but for once couldn't find the energy. He was exhausted, mentally and physically and, most of all, emotionally.
"Call me if you find anything, and I mean anything," Miles ordered as he dragged himself to his car. Gumshoe offered to drive him, but Miles waved off the suggestion. Detective Gumshoe's driving skills were so abysmal that, no matter how tired he was, Miles was still the safer driver.
With a crunch of gravel, Miles guided his car into the driveway and stepped wearily from the seat. Now he was here, he didn't want to go to bed. The sheets would be rumpled, the way Phoenix always left them. The pillows and the sheets would smell like him, too. That odd mix of cinnamon and honey and something else that always seemed to float about the man, in spite of Phoenix's insistence that he never used cologne.
For a moment, as Miles reached for his keys, he thought he could catch a whiff of that scent. He paused, hand on the doorknob as his heart fluttered uncomfortably in his chest.
There it was again, a whiff of sweetness and spice that sent shivers down Miles's spine. Without thinking, he found himself turning the doorknob, opening the door that should've still been locked. The light was on in the sitting room, and the scent was stronger than ever. A rich, multilayered aroma stronger than he'd ever smelled it before, even when he'd bury his face in Phoenix's hair, just to breathe it in.
Heart pounding in his ears, Miles dashed to the sitting room doorway, but he stopped as soon as he reached it. In his sitting room, in his favorite chair, with his pet dog curled up by his feet... wait, this makes no sense...
"Hi Miles." He was grinning sheepishly, the boy in Miles's chair. A little boy with spiky black hair and bright blue eyes, who couldn't be more than nine years old.
So yeah, here's a fic!
Title: Fire and Spice
Pairing: Edgeworth/Phoenix
Theme: Romance, Comedy, Hurt-Comfort, Fluff, Fantasy
Warnings: Somewaht AU (tries to slot into cannon as well as it can), Fantasy, Shapeshifting, Age Reversion (not shota!), Character "death", Emoworth
Summary: When Phoenix gets shot from behind by an unknown gunman, Miles is left distraught... until he discovers that Phoenix is much more than he ever appeared to be.
Part 1: Bullet holes and Transformations
It was a horrible day for Phoenix Wright, even before he got shot.
It was bad enough waking up to find Miles gone, again. What did that man have against cuddling? Of course, it could've been the fact that it was already 10 o' clock when Phoenix opened his eyes, but that was beside the point.
The rest of his day was just as rotten. He arrived at work to find a stack of burger bills on his desk and his assistant, Maya, gone off to Kurain again. No clients, nothing to do but stupid old paperwork, paperwork, clean the toilet and more paperwork. Finally, after a cold dinner of leftover noodles from the office minifridge, Phoenix packed up his bags and left for home at about 8 'o clock.
As soon as he left the office, Phoenix felt something odd, but he was feeling too rotten to care. He slouched down past the park, towards his bus-stop, completely unaware of the person keeping step behind him. He did perk up a little at the bus-stop, though. He loved that bus-stop, a small patch of relative quiet in the big city, right next to one of the lesser traveled bridges. He liked to stare down at the Los Angeles River, flowing along in its concrete bed towards the ocean.
Is it deeper today? Phoenix wondered, leaning over the safety railing for a closer look. Must be. Spring's here already, huh? Maybe things were looking up after all.
He smiled and started to step back, but he heard an odd click sound from behind him, and something struck his back like a hard punch. He toppled forward, head over heels over railing as the odd, numb shock of it gave way to pain.
Phoenix felt an odd sense of deja vu as he tumbled down the concrete slope towards the river.
I've been shot, he thought, strangely calm. I've just been shot, but I've been shot before. When was I shot before?
Phoenix could feel himself slipping away, the rushing sound of the water fading into silence. As he rolled into the waters of the Los Angeles River, Phoenix's mind went completely and totally blank...
Then the world snapped back into focus.
Phoenix coughed wetly as he lay on the concrete, however far downriver from where he'd fallen in. The water tugged at his bare legs, trying to pull him back in.
Wait, bare legs? Phoenix looked down at himself, then looked at himself again to just make sure.
Oh shit, he thought with a burst of annoyance. Not AGAIN!
________
Miles Edgeworth looked over the report for the two-hundred-and-twenty-fourth time, some desperate vestige of his brain vainly hoping that it would transmute into something else, anything else.
The prosecutor had kept coming back to the crime lab report over and over as the search of the area ever broadened. For eight hours the police had been combing the nearby river, banks, streets, parks, anything for a sign of Phoenix Wright.
Man's suit jacket, blue... Wallet found in left breast pocket... Defense Attorney's badge on left lapel... Miles wasn't even reading the report anymore, he had the details memorized by now. He wanted to concentrate on the beginning of the report, the identifying information, but his mind kept slipping to later, damning details.
Details like the sheer radius of the bloodstain on the jacket's right side, just where his heart had to have been. The bullet must have entered from the back, according to the report, and passed clean through his body.
Phoenix's body.
Even after eight hours, it didn't seem quite real. The warm body Miles had woken up beside just that morning, the goofy smile, the strong hand on his shoulder... they were lying somewhere, as cold and dead as any of the other cadavers Miles had seen in his long career. Suddenly, sickeningly, he was gone, a huge, raw hole ripped out of Miles's already fragile heart.
Miles jumped when Gumshoe touched his shoulder.
"Anything?" He asked quickly, not hopefully but desperately.
But the detective shook his head. "Sorry, sir, we've got nothin'. Not a sign since we found his pants."
Miles sagged even lower, slipping the report into his briefcase. "Keep looking. We have to find him, no matter how long it takes."
"And, Mr. Edgeworth, sir..." Gumshoe shifted from foot to foot. He'd obviously been crying, unlike Miles, who couldn't even seem to cry, "I know this means... I mean, it's, he was your..."
Miles shot Gumshoe a "don't you dare finish that sentence" glare, and the big detective thankfully trailed off.
He fiddled awkwardly for a moment before starting up again.
"Sir, you have to go home." He said it almost authoritatively. Well, authoritatively for Gumshoe.
"Out of the question."
"It's almost dawn!" Gumshoe had never contradicted Miles on purpose before, but then again the detective had never looked this concerned before, either. "You haven't slept since yesterday morning. The rest of us have taken nap breaks, but you- you're going to kill yourself at this rate!"
Part of Miles wondered why that would be a bad thing.
"I'm staying." He said again, woodenly.
"C'mon, sir!" Gumshoe insisted. "You can't do anything until we have a suspect, or more evidence. It's just looking right now, and we've got all the men we need. You'll do far more good in bed than you will here."
Miles opened his mouth to argue, to say that it was only 5 AM , but for once couldn't find the energy. He was exhausted, mentally and physically and, most of all, emotionally.
"Call me if you find anything, and I mean anything," Miles ordered as he dragged himself to his car. Gumshoe offered to drive him, but Miles waved off the suggestion. Detective Gumshoe's driving skills were so abysmal that, no matter how tired he was, Miles was still the safer driver.
With a crunch of gravel, Miles guided his car into the driveway and stepped wearily from the seat. Now he was here, he didn't want to go to bed. The sheets would be rumpled, the way Phoenix always left them. The pillows and the sheets would smell like him, too. That odd mix of cinnamon and honey and something else that always seemed to float about the man, in spite of Phoenix's insistence that he never used cologne.
For a moment, as Miles reached for his keys, he thought he could catch a whiff of that scent. He paused, hand on the doorknob as his heart fluttered uncomfortably in his chest.
There it was again, a whiff of sweetness and spice that sent shivers down Miles's spine. Without thinking, he found himself turning the doorknob, opening the door that should've still been locked. The light was on in the sitting room, and the scent was stronger than ever. A rich, multilayered aroma stronger than he'd ever smelled it before, even when he'd bury his face in Phoenix's hair, just to breathe it in.
Heart pounding in his ears, Miles dashed to the sitting room doorway, but he stopped as soon as he reached it. In his sitting room, in his favorite chair, with his pet dog curled up by his feet... wait, this makes no sense...
"Hi Miles." He was grinning sheepishly, the boy in Miles's chair. A little boy with spiky black hair and bright blue eyes, who couldn't be more than nine years old.