(A/N: DISCLAIMER: I wrote this before finishing Spirit of Justice. Which makes me question my own abilities, considering the ending of this fic. Although I suppose Phoenix hating airplane rides got de-canonized, althought that makes NO SENSE considering he canolically has acrophobia, and— *cough* ANYWAYS. This oneshot takes place during Spirit of Justice after the final trial, when everyone believes Justice Minister Inga still has Maya captive and they're going to Khura'in to rescue her. Also, I'm a little lacking in my knowledge of canon: I haven't finished playing the first Apollo Justice game, I haven't yet played Dual Destinies, and I haven't even touched the original trilogy besides watching the anime. So if anything is OOC or uncanon, it's because… yea… my knowledge is scattered. X'D) (P.S. I wasn't going to post this fic until I had finished the Apollo Justice trilogy, but then my hand slipped and I wrote a 16 page Christmas fic which kinda-sorta sequels this one, and I wanted to post THAT one on Christmas, so… yeah.)

(P.P.S. My Ninjago followers already know this, and I've already said "no slash" in the description, but this is NOT A SHIPPING FIC. Please kindly refrain from reading my stories if you can't accept what I write as platonic affection/admiration/ect.)

—

Yesterday, I got caught up in a mysterious court case that I had no intention or desire to get involved in, wandered around a dark cave for several hours with my adoptive father whom I hadn't seen in over ten years, got trapped in said cave while it was flooding, and almost drowned.

Earlier today, I went head-to-head in the courtroom with the one person whom I admire the most, witnessed said person having a mental breakdown, and learned that there was a hostage involved whom we would have to rescue before the end of the day.

And now, I'm sitting with my back pressed against a large leather seat while my heart pounds at probably a million beats per minute from shock, fear, confusion, admiration, and no small amount of anxiety.

—

"Apollo! Hurry up!" a grave voice called from ahead of me.

For once, I obeyed Athena's command without hesitation, despite my lungs begging me to slow down. My pace quickened to match that of the rest of our group, which consisted of Athena, Prosecutor Edgeworth, Mr. Wright, and Dhurke. Under normal circumstances, I might have been mildly excited to be traveling as a group, but unfortunately, the circumstances were anything but normal. Ms. Fey had been kidnapped and was being held hostage in Khura'in: her life was on the line, and every minute we wasted was a minute closer to the end of it. Not to mention how terrified I already was at the prospect of traveling back to my childhood country— by plane. It wasn't my first experience with airplanes, of course, but those looming metal death traps never got any less frightening.

We sped through the airport so fast I hardly even had enough time to take in all the sights I usually did. In the past, I'd found that spending obscene amounts of time focusing on the tiny details of the people around me helped to decrease my anxiety somewhat, but now there wasn't any time for that. I was hardly able to take in the mother feeding her baby, or the man adjusting his yellow hat, or the little boys dashing away from the airport security, before I suddenly found myself looking at the interior of an elegant but primarily functional private plane.

"Get in, get in!" I heard Mr. Wright yelp, and suddenly realized I'd been standing on the steps of the plane as if paralyzed. I shook off the paralysis and obeyed his orders dutifully. Nausea and anxiety wasted no time rising up in my stomach, apparently ready to keep up with the quick pace around me to ensure that I was miserable— with or without the chance to overthink all the possible scenarios of how we were all about to die.

I suddenly found myself seated next to a window, which was less than fantastic, and next to Mr. Wright, which… might have been fantastic in a different situation, but was currently only serving to heighten my anxiety.

I had to admit, it had shaken me up quite a bit to see him in court earlier that day. Not just seeing him on the opposite side of the room (although that had caused enough fear, regret, and despair to fuel my nightmares for the rest of my natural life), but seeing him actually break down in the middle of a case. The Turnabout Terror hardly ever got worried, and even when he did, he never let it show. "It's when times are hardest that lawyers have to force their biggest smiles," he'd always told me. And I'd always tried my best to follow that advice. So seeing him unable to hold his head high… I'd be lying if I said it hadn't done a number on me. If he was scared of how things would turn out, what hope could I possibly have?

The plane started moving down the runway. I stole a glance over Mr. Wright, wondering for a brief minute why he hadn't opted to sit next to Prosecutor Edgeworth. However, whatever I'd been thinking about was dashed from my brain when I saw my boss's face. My stomach plummeted— he looked as bad as he had in the courtroom, maybe even worse. He was deathly pale, and his expression was nervous but grim, as if he'd already resigned himself to some terrible fate that awaited us all. Furthermore, his hands matched his face in color as they clenched onto the armrests in anger— or, at least, anger was my guess, probably towards Justice Minister Inga. I was terrified for Ms. Fey, but the man who had dared to kidnap the spirit medium in the first place was in for a far worse fate than her.

Unfortunately, I was so lost in thought I kept my gaze towards Mr. Wright for longer than I should have. He noticed me and immediately tried to put on a calm facade, even removing his hands from the armrests and folding them rather unnaturally in his lap. I, of course, quickly looked away and played dumb, hoping that by some stroke of luck he hadn't actually caught me staring (and probably looking like a scared little kid).

Suddenly, the plane started taking off… and that's when everything happened at once. My stomach lurched and I grimaced; take-offs were the absolute worst part of plane rides, because they were both physically taxing and marked the point of no return. I didn't even have time to think before both my hands automatically shot to the armrests and grabbed hold of them for dear life, as if somehow they would protect me if the rest of the plane broke down and plunged us all to our deaths thousands of miles below.

But aside from the usual fear and nausea, there was another sensation that quickly took hold of me— literally. Almost immediately after the first time, my stomach flipped again, this time from the sudden awareness that someone had grabbed my left hand in a crushingly tight grip. I flinched and turned my head instinctively to see what had happened, as Mr. Wright did the same.

We probably looked at each other for a grand total of 0.092 seconds, but the awkwardness contained in that span of time was more than enough to make it feel like an eternity. There was a sudden realization for the both of us that the other had tried to grab the armrest— a sudden realization of what had happened due to that— and then, perhaps the strangest and strongest of all, the sudden realization that neither of us wanted to let go. Whether it be from a need for safety, or a feeling of inadequacy, or a desperation to know that the previous day's court case wasn't going to mess things up between us, I had a sudden, uncontrollable urge to cling to my boss's hand like my life depended on it. To say 'I had the feeling' wasn't even exactly accurate— it was more like the feeling was suddenly there, in the plane, weighing down on both of us like a twenty-ton weight. Almost completely unconsciously, I turned my hand so my fingers interlocked with Mr. Wright's, creating some confusing, unspoken pact that if one of us fell, the other wouldn't let go.

And in an instant, the eternal split-second was over, and both of us quickly looked away— although our hands remained locked in position. I stared at the floor with an intensity beyond anything from any pre-flight meditation. Gradually, I shifted my attention to the sounds of the others, who had started to talk about our plan of action once we landed. My head felt uneasily light as I tried to make out what they were saying. The altitude was already getting to me, apparently. Were the others not aware of what had just transpired? Of course they weren't, that would be ridiculous— but still, I could've sworn I felt some sort of weight drop over the entire plane. They would've felt that too, right…? I was vaguely aware that I wasn't being logical, but I wasn't able to capture my thoughts clearly enough to figure out how or why. My brain had gone fuzzy. There was only one thing I was fully aware of, and that was the constant, crushing pressure against my left hand, making my tight bracelet feel oversized by comparison. That, and the warmth accompanying the pressure, which made my own hand feel curiously cold. But in all honesty, I didn't mind— far from it, really. It was extremely comforting somehow… he was strong… and warm… and safe…

—

So now here I am. Eyes locked on the floor, constantly reminding myself not to look up for possibility of seeing the window, heart pounding faster than should be humanly possible, and experiencing about a million emotions a second. The best distraction is focusing on how terrified I am of being up this high, which… actually only makes the problem worse. The second best distraction is listening to the conversation of the others, who have calmed down a little after the initial shock but are still anxious over how "slow" the plane is moving. Mr. Wright joined the conversation a little while ago, actually, and is somehow remaining completely calm. I'm glad to hear he's doing better, but I'm bewildered at how he can sound so normal and, y'know, not be panicking. Haha… I'm an idiot, of course he's fine, he's Mr. Wright. I'm the one who feels like they're going to leap five feet in the air out of shock every time their boss slightly rubs their thumb against my hand like he's— aH—

My heart speeds up again momentarily. I don't know why he keeps doing that, but it seems we've both firmly agreed not to reference our position, so I'm not asking any questions. I bite my lip and try to figure the answer out on my own. Is— is he trying to comfort me? I'm afraid that's the answer for a moment, but then I remember what I saw in the 0.092 seconds of clarity earlier: No, he's definitely scared, too. Of the plane, or for Ms. Fey, or about the hostage exchange, I don't know, but his fear is at least equal to mine.

I almost look out the window by habit, then remember I'm not in a car and manage to catch myself before I see how high up we are. As I start wondering exactly how high that really is and how painful it would be to land if I dropped from such a distance, I try to direct my thoughts elsewhere again. The last few days— heck, just the last two days— have been one rollercoaster after another. Nothing's gone as expected. I don't even know what to expect by now. I wonder where I'm going to be by this afternoon. Hopefully in Khura'in, if nothing happens to the plane. What will happen there? To Ms. Fey? To Dhurke? To us?

Suddenly, I have the abrupt realization that when we reach our destination, neither of us are going to acknowledge that this ever happened. I don't know how I know it, but I do.

Mr. Wright rubs his thumb against my hand again and my heart rate spikes like it does every time he makes the gesture— but this time, I realize why he's doing it. I have no idea what's in store for us once we get to Khura'in, but we're likely not going to be able to have a conversation for a very, very long time.

I squeeze my eyes shut and rub back.