Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney / Gyakuten Saiban, its characters and settings, are property of Capcom, and are being used here without permission. Rated PG.

This fic takes place during the crime of GS3 case 2, Stolen Turnabout. Spoilers for that case.

Sustenance
Part 1

For several long, tense moments, the faint echo of Aiga's breath was the only sound in the office. He told himself to move over and over but the message never reached his limbs. His hands were still clutched tightly around the heavy, hardcover records book, his feet rooted firmly to the ground. And despite the anxiety clawing at his ribs he couldn't take his eyes away from the scene he'd created.

Busujima's corpse was growing stiff in a corner of the room, but it wasn't his grotesque, bloated face that held Aiga's strict attention. It was the slumped pile of silk and lace at his feet. He hadn't realized just how hard he'd struck the Phantom Thief until now, agonizing minutes later, with still no movement. His adrenaline was finally catching up to him. With each passing heartbeat against his temples his composure began to slip, faced with the possibility he may have killed his young accomplice.

If Amasugi was dead, there was no way to frame him for murder—how could two men kill each other exchanging blows to the backs of their heads? Aiga's mind spun as he finally tore his gaze away, sweeping the room. He hadn't left any evidence of himself here, there was no way to link him to either murder. His plan could still be played out. There was no reason for anyone to suspect him at all…

If Amasugi was dead….

Aiga shuddered, tossing the book away as he dropped to his knees next to the young man's crumpled form. "Amasugi!" In a moment of thoughtless panic he shook Amasugi's shoulder as if to wake him. When he realized what he was doing he quickly stopped, and hesitated another moment in silence to see if the thief would stir. But there was still no response, and with a wary grimace he reached forward, carefully removing the polished silver mask.

The disruption of Amasugi's costume caused a little bit of his red hair to stick out from the carefully stitched cowl. His face…appeared calm, as if he were merely asleep. There was color in his cheeks. But Aiga was still concerned; he tugged one of his gloves off, pressing his hand over Amgasugi's nose and mouth.

Slow, shallow breath tickled Aiga's fingers, and he sighed openly in relief. Quickly his mind arranged itself back into order. His plan was working perfectly after all. All he had to do was alert security, make his escape, return to the exhibition, and the police would…

Aiga shifted on his knees, feeling a familiar anxiety creeping over him. His stomach felt hollow as he began to draw his hand back. Amasugi's cheek was soft beneath his own coarse fingertips. He hesitated mysteriously, resting the backs of his fingers against Amasugi's curved jaw.

It was the first time they'd met face to face since that night in the alley. Amgasugi looked just as young, as innocent and foolish as he had then. And yet for the last several months he had been the perfect solution, the answer to a lifetime's vexations. Aiga could not have asked for a more fitting partner, and their fame would outlast even this unfortunate incident.

There was no reason to believe that either of them would ever be that lucky again.

That was over, now. Ever since receiving the unwelcome green envelope Aiga had acted on a flurry of instinct and desperation, trying not to consider the consequences of this plan. Even if everything went perfectly, if he remained unconnected to either crime and went back to work without a dent in his reputation, it still meant his dream was at an end. No Kamen Mask meant returning to seemingly ancient way of life, without flair or stimulation, without recognition or respect…

Aiga stretched his fingers, gently tucking the errant strand of red hair back into place. If anyone could have understood the trepidation he suddenly felt, Amasugi could. The game wasn't even up yet and bitter, cold regret was already crawling into his stomach. It hadn't occurred to him until now, watching Amasugi's face, that he wasn't sure he could go back to that world. The thought of giving up the last few weeks of glory for three decades of failure and disappointment sickened him. Amasugi must have felt the same way—it was why he had come that night, to fight against the death of their drama. Why he had dared to risk his life for fame in the first place, just like Aiga had.

But…no. Amasugi would soon be dead anyway.

The detective's eyes thinned, his lips twisting in a pained grimace of a smile. He almost laughed as he gently stroked Amasugi's cheek with knuckles. Here was one man who understood him. For the first time Aiga wished he had disclosed his identity to his oblivious comrade. Through his mind flashed briefly all the possibilities he'd closed off, the heists they could have planned together, the spectacle they could have orchestrated.

Hadn't he crafted this charade in the first place to give himself a chance of gaining people's favor? But what was the point, if in the end all he could do was destroy the single person he trusted?

It had been…such a wonderful dream.

Amasugi murmured softly but did not stir; the quiet sound of his voice jolted Aiga from his musings, and with a start he realized his hand was trembling, almost violently, against the younger man's face. He drew the offending limb back and shoved it quickly into its glove. "Amasugi…." Aiga shook his head, feeling a cold sweat break out on his brow as he clamored to his feet. "Don't…don't despise me."

Aiga stumbled to the wall, still unsteady as he punched the office's emergency buzzer. Even having caused it the wail of the electronic siren made him cringe away. Amasugi would never know who had betrayed him, Aiga told himself, as he drew a hand over his face and headed swiftly for the door. He would be convicted without ever having to lose…whatever respect he might have had in his rival of so few weeks.

And even if the truth were somehow revealed, at least that resentment would die with him.

Aiga fled, giving Amasugi's yet prone form a wide berth. As confident as he was that his plan would succeed his hands wouldn't stop shaking.