This fic is actually almost done: it's seven or eight chapters long, but I don't want to put it all online before I've edited it. (Unlike, um, yeah. The rest of my stories.)

Next in line is finishing "Heterophobia" and "No Reason to be Confused," in case anyone cares. And I think I've exhausted Phoenix Wright… with the possible exception of fluffy Edgeworth/Phoenix stuff.

Enjoy the complete lack of Naesala.

Evanesce

I generally don't dream; being one of those people who can fall asleep anywhere, I usually also sleep very lightly, waking as soon as the alarm sounds. But then, that was what developed when one worked in theatre while pursuing a law degree. You learned to live on very little sleep, grabbed whenever you could get it, with a sure expectation of interruptions.

When I awoke the morning of the trial, panting aloud, my heart pounding from a nightmare I could actually remember, the pure fact that I hadn't merely woken to an alarm was almost as frightening as the dream itself had been. Something nuzzled close behind me, and I almost screamed; a split second before doing so, however, I remembered who it was, and clutched his arms to my stomach, ignoring the pain in my wrist.

He usually awoke more slowly than I did, and as a result was even more unsociable in the morning that his usual. Now he sniffed, groaning slightly at being awake, and asked sleepily, "S'okay?" One long-fingered hand closed over mine.

Clearly he wasn't awake enough yet to realize I was still stiff with fear. I forced my body to relax, and squeezed his hand. "Yeah. Just a weird dream. Go back to sleep." A sudden memory struck me: the last day of Matt Engarde's trial, when I'd dreamed of the judge, and I quickly smothered a semi-hysterical laugh. That must be why I'd been dreaming: the trial today was already drawing my stomach into knots.

"Mmright," Edgeworth murmured, nose to the back of my neck, already half-asleep again. A sudden welling of affection came over me—as well as the customary longing that accompanied it—and I sighed, happy at least that he could be uncharacteristically relaxed.

I closed my eyes, knowing the alarm would be going off in less than an hour; already the sun was making use of the curtains to create grey, barely visible patterns on the wall. Trying to go back to sleep would probably be pointless, but there was nothing else I could do. I decided to probe my memory one last time, to make sure I had all my arguments in hand. For once, I didn't intend to fly this trial by the seat of my pants—and if I got anywhere against Franziska, I wanted it to be known that I'd done it through hard work and good research, not luck.

My dream had unnerved me, though. The odd time that I did have a dream, it was usually about stacks of paperwork that filled my desk to the ceiling, until I decided to take a vacation with Maya, usually by waking up. Or something else so specifically stressful, the judge and his gavel being most memorable.

This dream had been more unnerving because of its vagueness: the feeling that something was wrong, then the sudden knowledge that I was alone. But I hadn't seen anything, or known for sure who it was that was trying to kill me, though I had woken up still running away from it.

I sighed, feeling idiotic and wishing I could to wake up the man holding me, and to tell him everything: my stupid dream, the fear about this trial, the hope I had for its finale… But I'd fiercely promised myself that no matter what, I wouldn't ask Edgeworth for help with this trial. Not because I didn't think he'd be able to help: far from it, since probably he knew Franziska von Karma better than any person alive.

Still… after he'd escaped from prosecuting the case himself, Maya and I, with no small amount of effort, had convinced him to take a two-week leave, the first vacation he'd taken in over seven years. He was now on his third day of blissful indolence: to both his chagrin and my intense delight, he was enjoying the hell out of it.

A small feeling of warmth grew on my cheeks, and I sighed, feeling covertly satisfied that I, too, could potentially call off from my job after this trial was over…and abscond somewhere with Edgeworth. I hadn't yet bothered to think about whether or not Maya would come, whether she would even want to: but the thought of having him to myself for a week or more was so delicious that I could almost forget about the day ahead of me.

After all, for the first time in any trial I'd ever been through, I actually felt well-prepared. Last night had been miraculous, the time spent at the detention centre a gift that broke apart the whole case file and reassembled it. Beyond that, my client was neither confused nor panicked, and I could finally count on his cooperation. I shuddered to think of how the case might be going if Maya hadn't intervened.