This is for the September/October challenge at The Domain. It probably sucks, but whatever; the fact that I actually managed to get something finished in time is an amazing achievement. XD
So that T/Ders won't be completely lost when they read this, here's some very basic background information:
-At the beginning of this one-shot, Diego (a defence attorney) is waking up from a five-year coma after being poisoned by a woman called Dahlia Hawthorne, the real killer in another case. She gets away with both crimes – for a bit, anyway.
-Mia (another defence attorney who worked at the same office as Diego) was the lawyer in the aforementioned case. It was her first trial, and her client committed suicide during the cross-examination. She refused to step into a courtroom for over a year, but she manages to get on with her law career after finally managing to get Dahlia put on trial for her crimes.
-Diego loves Mia, coffee (it's impossible to over-exaggerate how much of it he drinks), making his own rules, and using illogical metaphors, and in that order.
All else will be explained below. Now, for the challenge requirements:
Characters from two fandoms: Check. Diego Armando (Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney) and Olivia Eights (Time Hollow – she's there if you squint, but since she's only a waitress, it doesn't really count as a crossover. . .)
550 Word Requirement: Check.
Prompts: Check. Yearning for a lost love and walking through mists.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. If I did, Time Hollow would have been longer and I'd be too busy working on Investigations to write anything.
Coffee.
His eyes flicker open for a heartbeat, or so he thinks. He can't see anything. All there is are darkness and shadows, some moving, some still. He closes his eyes again, wondering if it's just a dream. But then he smells the coffee again, and he knows that, without a doubt, it isn't.
And why would he be dreaming, anyway? He doesn't remember falling asleep. He remembers sitting across from a woman, the contents of an aging manilla folder between them, a cup of the courthouse coffee in his hands. He remembers taking a sip, and then, suddenly, he's here, lying on his back in the dark, smelling coffee.
It's then that he notices the slow, constant melody of beeps, never breaking rhythm. He feels intrigue, not fright. How could he be taking a sip of coffee one minute, and be lying here the next? Where is here, anyway? he asks himself.
Suddenly, someone cries in complete shock, "Oh my God! He's woken up!"
"Who?" calls someone, their voice far off.
"Mr. Armando!" cries the first person, a woman.
There is the sound of quick footsteps – he does not know how many sets – as people rush into the room. Again, he opens his eyes, but he cannot see anything more than the shadowy outlines of people leaning over him. He tries to sit up, but his muscles do not seem to know how, so he lies still and listens to the voices around him.
"Mr. Armando?" asks the woman. She sounds tentative, as if unsure he really is awake. "Can you hear me?"
The woman's voice triggers a thought in his mind. He tries to speak, but his voice is hoarse and quiet, as if he hasn't used it in a long time. Which, of course, is ludicrous. He was just talking to that woman at the courthouse a moment ago. . .
"I'm sorry, what did you say?" the woman asks again, her voice hushed.
He breathes the one word that he can think of, the only thing that is important right now. "Kitten?"
He hears the people murmur amongst themselves, confused. He adds, a bit more loudly, "Mia. . . Fey?"
The murmuring stops suddenly, and the room is silent, except for the constant beeps. He waits for the answer, wanting to see his Kitten even more than he wants a cup of coffee. At last, the woman replies, "You're in the hospital, Mr. Armando. You've been in a coma for the past five years. You were poisoned."
Poisoned? he thinks. I wasn't poisoned. I was talking to that demoness and drank some coffee. Then, I. . .
But he can't finish the thought, because the realization of what the woman has just said hits him like a lightning bolt.
That woman.
The woman with the bright red hair, and the sweet, innocent smile.
The woman who slipped the poison into his coffee.
Someone touches his arm. "Don't worry, Mr. Armando. You'll be fine now that you've woken up."
But he doesn't want to be fine.
He just wants his Kitten.
-X-
Two nurses stand outside Diego Armando's room, talking in low voices so as not to disturb him, one holding his morning cup of coffee in her hands.
"Every morning since he's woken up, he's asked about Miss Fey," says the one holding his coffee. She bites her lip and adds, "Why aren't we allowed to tell him?"
Her companion shrugs. "The doctors are afraid of a relapse," she says, as if this explains everything.
"He deserves to know," the first nurse presses her. "I would want to know, if it were me."
The second nurse gives her a long, defeated look before answering. "That poison really affected his nervous system, you know. It's caused him to go blind, and it's turned his hair white. It's a miracle he's woken up, but he'll have to deal with the repercussions of that poison for the rest of his life – if he decides to keep on living." After a pause, she adds, "Do you have the heart to tell anyone in that situation that the love of their life is dead?"
-X-
He doesn't remember much of the next few months. He doesn't remember the physiotherapy, the constant begging for coffee – real coffee – or the day that the doctors informed him that the poison had destroyed his sight forever. He does remember waking up every morning and asking after his Kitten, and the day he was given the silver mask that allows him to see the beeping machines that kept him alive, to see the looks on the nurses' faces as they ignore his questions, to see everything – except the colour red. His favourite colour.
But when the day his ex-boss visits is the day he remembers clearest of all.
"You have a visitor, Mr. Armando," announces a nurse, opening the door to his room. He looks round quickly, hoping that the one person he wants to see will be standing in the doorway, but instead of a beautiful, brown-haired woman, he sees a fat, gray-haired man in an orange suit, stroking his mustache, a yellow badge on his lapel.
"Ah, Diego, m'boy," says the man, waddling toward a chair beside Diego's bed and sitting down with a sigh. "It's good to see you."
Diego decides not to reply to this. He merely sits on his bed and watches the look on the old man's face as he takes in Diego's silver mask and his white hair, particularly the mask. Of course, he knew that would draw the old man's attention the most. It almost always did.
"I was hoping to come in to see you earlier," the man continues, looking slightly uncomfortable as he fidgets in his seat, "but the doctors decided that visitors weren't exactly the best idea."
"Mr. Grossberg, where's Mia?" Diego interjects suddenly.
Sweat forms on Grossberg's brow as he looks over the rims of his glasses at Diego. "Surely the doctors told you, m'boy?" he asks incredulously.
Diego shakes his head impatiently, waiting for him to give him an answer. Any answer. He would know. Mia might still be working at his law office.
"I'm not sure if it's best for you to find out from me," Grossberg says nervously. "Perhaps. . . someone else."
"Just tell me, dammit," Diego says, glaring at Grossberg even as he tries to suppress his nervousness. How bad could it be? he wonders. Did she give up on me? Or did she find someone else?
Grossberg flinches. "Now, now, m'boy, this really isn't necessary. . ." He trails off as he sees the look on Diego's face – or rather, the half of his face that's visible. "Eight months after you were poisoned, m'boy, Miss Fey managed to bring the woman who did it to justice during another trial."
"Another trial?" Diego echoes, perking up instantly.
He nods in reply.
Ha! I knew you could do it, Kitten, Diego thinks, smiling to himself. You may have given up on yourself, but–
Grossberg looks down at the floor. "Yes, she managed to move on after what happened in her first trial. She even opened up her own law firm. And, I'm sad to say, she was killed only two years ago."
Diego's blood runs cold.
"K-Killed?" he croaks.
Grossberg, still looking at the floor, slowly nods.
He turns away from the old man as his eyes begin to sting, grateful for the first time that the mask hides the upper half of his face.
After a long, awkward silence, Grossberg says, "Well, Diego m'boy, I know it's rather insensitive of me after hearing this news, but when you're released from the hospital, my law office will gladly accept you, if you're interested."
He gets to his feet and waddles out of the room. As soon as the door closes, Diego feels a tear slid out from beneath his mask. He wipes it away, and a single thought, one of his biggest rules, echoes through his mind:
A lawyer isn't allowed to cry until it's all over.
-X-
A month later, Diego leaves the hospital for the first time in five years, stepping out onto the sidewalk. He doesn't look over his shoulder for one last glance of the building as he walks down the misty street – he's seen enough of the hospital to last him a lifetime. Instead, he looks up at the sky, at the clouds swollen with rain, so that he doesn't have to see the stares of pedestrians as they give him a wide berth. Of course they stare. It isn't every day you see a person wearing a mask like his.
His hands are itching for a cup of coffee – real coffee, not the watered-down version the hospital provides. He needs to taste the bitterness of dark, black coffee, if only to distract himself from his thoughts, because for him, thoughts lead to memories, and memories lead to pain.
Soon, he finds what he's looking for, a small café called Chronos. He's never heard of it before, but that doesn't matter; all that matters is that he gets his coffee, and fast.
He enters the café and sits down at a table near the window, turning his head so that the other customers can't see his mask even as he hears people murmuring amongst themselves.
"Hey, Mister! Welcome to Chronos! Can I take your order?" says a bright, cheerful voice from behind him. Diego looks around and sees a pretty, brunette girl standing next to his table, holding a notepad and a pencil. He watches her smiling face falter for a heartbeat before it returns in force.
"Coffee," he says. "Black."
She nods and hurries away. He turns to face the window again, and watches as the rain begins to fall, slowly at first, and then in torrents. He wonders if it's coincidence that the weather matches his mood so perfectly; dark, dreary, and miserable. Utterly, thoroughly miserable.
A few minutes later, the waitress returns, holding his coffee. "Here you go, Mister," she replies with a smile. He takes it without looking at her and takes a sip. As soon as the coffee touches his tongue, he closes his eyes in pleasure and tips back his head, finishing the cup in one gulp.
"Refill?" he asks, holding up the empty mug.
"Sure," she replies, still smiling as she takes the cup and disappears again. She returns a moment later and hands the coffee to him. "You must be really thirsty. I've never seen anyone drink a whole cup of black coffee in one gulp before."
He just nods and takes a slow sip, wanting to take his time with this cup, to savour it as he looks out the window.
"I like your mask," the waitress adds, still smiling at him. "Some kind of fashion statement?"
He shakes his head and pointedly turns his back to her, watching the rain etch watery tracks on the surface of the glass, wishing she would just go away and leave him alone.
"Then why–" she begins, sounding curious, but a man's voice calls from across the room.
"Olivia, can you come over here for a minute?"
The girl, Olivia, bounces away from Diego's table. Gratefully, he takes another sip of coffee and revels in its darkness, its bitterness, in how well it reflects his heart.
A woman enters the café and sits at the table across from Diego's. He glances across at her and takes in her long brown hair, her dark clothes, the tan scarf, and the nine-shaped bead that hangs from a cord around her neck before looking out the window again. Then he does a double-take, and whips his head around so quickly that he feels a crick in his neck as hope swells up inside him like a balloon. But as he looks at her a second time, his hope is punctured and he looks down at the table again.
The woman's hair is long and brown, but it is too light to be hers, and the hairstyle is different, too; layered, with no bangs. The necklace is nothing more than a silver pendant – how could he have mistaken it for hers? – and upon closer inspection, he realizes the clothes, a leather jacket, a pair of navy blue capris, and the scarf – light blue, not tan as he first thought – are something that she would never wear.
It's not her.
It's stupid of him to even think that she is the woman sitting across from him now.
After all, his Kitten is dead.
Dead.
The hand not holding his mug clenches into a tight fist as he glares at the top of the table. He feels tears forming in his eyes even as he tries to distract himself from thoughts of her by taking another sip of coffee, but not even that can take his mind off of her.
He wishes she was sitting across from him right now, drinking her own coffee after adding generous amounts of cream, milk, and sugar. He wishes he could lean across the table and say to her, "Ha! Kitten, it's not coffee if you put all of that in it at once. Real coffee would only have a tiny little bit of cream and sugar, maybe. And milk is for wimps. That's why I don't add any to my coffee. It's one of my rules."
He wishes she would roll her eyes at him and say, "Some rules are made to be broken, you know."
To which he would merely shake his head and smile at her. End of discussion.
Suddenly, he wonders if she used to act out their numerous conversations and arguments inside her head, and wish that she didn't have to imagine. He – rather stupidly, considering the circumstances – wonders if she stopped drinking the brew that was an insult to coffee everywhere. And, most importantly of all, he wonders if she ever visited him, and if the reason he woke up because he smelled coffee and not because she was there means something.
He sighs shakily and raises his free hand to rub his tears away, before remembering his mask hides them from view. His hand drops to the table again and instead, he tries to blink them back, but one escapes and slides down his cheek. He hurriedly wipes it away, because after all, you're not allowed to cry until it's all over.
And then he hears his Kitten's voice:
"Some rules are made to be broken."
-X-
Diego has lots of rules. Always smile, no matter how bad it gets. Try to find the truth. And drink only seventeen cups of coffee per trial.
But on that rainy afternoon, in a small café, he breaks his most important rule, and cries.
I'm not used to writing in present tense. . . and I'm so gonna get my ass kicked in this challenge. XD
On a more serious note, this is an idea I've been wanting to write for a while, but I didn't have much incentive to do so until I realized that it actually fit with what the challenge required. I like the idea of Diego breaking his no crying rule, if only once. Seriously, after all the crap he's been through, he has every right.
Anyway, much thanks for reading (and more thanks if you review, but of course, it's not necessary).
~Alette