AN: I have written Phoenix/Edgeworth in the past but I was never satisfied with the results. So I'm testing myself with a flow of a story and seeing just how well I can get through this. There is a possibility I might not like it, but oh well. Please, enjoy!

PW: AA does not belong to me. All (w)rights go respectfully to Capcom! This fic is all I own.

It started out in darkness.

He couldn't see a thing. There were two other people there. One he knew well and the other he had just met. There was an odd familiarity to this atmosphere... Something he never wanted to go back to.

But here he was, trapped in the darkness of his past.

He could hear shuffling across from him and voices that he couldn't make out because the air was so thin, his brain could not focus. He couldn't do anything productive in such a situation, and suddenly he felt useless. He was troubled, and that's when he began to panic. As he opened his mouth to speak, no sound was able to escape. He tried and tried and tried, and still his attempts to make his voice surface failed.

There had to be something... As he felt around his feet, his fingertips happened to brush something smooth and cold. Wrapping his trembling fingers around it and picking it up from where it lay, he had come to find the object quite heavy for its size. He could hardly hold it, and it didn't help that his hands were shaking so hard as it was.

Suddenly, he became aware of just what this said object was, and he was frightened.

'Not again!' he thought, nearly dropping it. The next thing to come was undoubtedly inevitable, and he could feel tears rolling down the sides of his cheeks. The shuffling and muffled voices loud in his ears, his hands lifted themselves with the object weighing heavy in them. Despite his consistent inward protests, his hands decided they had a mind of their own.

With that, he chucked the object across the room.

That's when it happened.

A loud bang and a flash.

And a piercing scream.

And then... Nothing.

Edgeworth gasped, sitting up suddenly in his bed. His breathing was uneven and sweat poured from his forehead, his bangs plastered to his forehead and messy. Mixed in the sweat seemed to be tears, the man wiping furiously at his eyes. He was frightened, sad and alert... But most of all, he was confused.

How long had it been since he had that unpleasant dream?

No, it wasn't a dream.

It was a nightmare.

But why now? After so many years... The nightmare had returned to him, even though he knew the truth behind it. He knew he hadn't killed his father, but it reappeared unexpectedly without much of a warning. To make matters worse, the tears would not stop falling; Miles Edgeworth didn't cry. This was all very confusing and it wracked at his brain to the point where he began to develop a migraine. And suddenly, he was annoyed.

Rubbing at his eyes and forehead, he grunted, pushing back the covers of his bed and swinging his feet over the side. He needed to distract himself, and his throat was dry. Quickly glancing at his alarm clock on the nightstand by his bed, a frustrated sigh left the prosecutor's lips.

"Three in the morning," he grumbled, pushing himself up on his feet. "How wonderful." Sarcasm dripped thickly from his words, making his way into his bathroom and quickly splashing his face with water. As he was doing so, he couldn't help but look back at his reflection. Grimacing, he took measures to take a closer inspection, and he regretted it. He looked horrible. His eyes were puffy, red, and bloodshot with bags underneath to match, and his cheeks were streaked with tear trails. His usually perfect hair was a tangled, wet mess. Disgusted, he quickly wiped his face with a hand towel and left the scene, making his way toward the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. After standing in his kitchen in silence with the thought of the nightmare weighing on his mind, he sighed inwardly and set the third-way filled glass of water down in frustration.

He breathed, "Why the hell did that awful dream plague my mind once more? I... I don't understand. It was so long ago. Why would it..?"

When the answer didn't present itself soon enough, the prosecutor began to panic slightly. When his logic began to fail him, he knew this wasn't good in the least. And he began to think that maybe he needed to let someone hear about this. A list of people ran through his mind. He couldn't call Detective Gumshoe, he'd be too much of a handful to let him in on this "nightmare" business, and Larry was as good as useless. Franziska would only laugh and say something along the lines of "My little brother? Nightmares? Ha! Such a pitiful and foolish thing! You'll get over it. We aren't kids anymore, after all. Now, think before calling me about such petty things. I am a busy woman, after all" and that would more than likely leave him off worse than before.

Just as he was going to think he ran out of ideas of whom to turn to, one last person flashed before him in his mind. He was silent, staring off in disbelief of what he just suggested to himself.

Never in a million years would I think of calling HIM.

But just as soon as he thought it, he took back his own words. The man really was there for him when he needed him, and he understood him the most. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. And just then, Edgeworth had made up his mind.

Retrieving his cellphone from its charger, he quickly swiped through his contacts until his finger hung over a familiar name highlighted on the screen. Right then, he hesitated.

It's three o'clock in the morning, he thought to himself, sighing. I doubt he's even awake. He probably wouldn't even dare to answer, or rather so much as to look at the cellphone itself. This was undoubtedly a mistake–

Before he could even finish his own thought, his finger had subconsciously pressed the dial button, bringing up the familiar call screen. His eyes widened. It was too late; he had to speak with him now.

Slowly putting the phone up to his ear, he waited patiently. It rang a total of five times before someone picked it up, a drowsy voice following a large amount of unnecessary static.

"H-Hello?" the other man blurted, trying to sound awake.

Edgeworth was silent a moment, trying to find the correct words to speak. "...Wright." His voice accidentally cracked and he mentally cursed himself, hoping he hadn't noticed.

The one opposite of the line went dead silent. Dammit, he noticed...

It was a little while before he spoke again, and Edgeworth almost considered hanging up.

"Edgeworth?" Phoenix asked, obviously confused. "Why did.. Are.. Are you okay?"

"...I..." Calm yourself, Miles. Don't lose it. Just tell him. "Wright. They're... They're back."

A soft rustle on the other line. "What? What are you talking about?" There was general concern in his voice. "Edgeworth is everything okay?"

Oh, no. He started to shake. He couldn't speak, his voice was drying up. Do it, you fool! Say it!

"...Everything is... is..." Is not okay. Please...

It was tearing him apart. He couldn't say it, and without noticing, a small sob sounded into the phone, catching the defense attorney off guard. That was enough to tell him that Edgeworth was in trouble, and he needed him.

"...Understood," Phoenix replied softly. "I'll be right there."

AN: Well.. That could have turned out better. I don't particularly like it. I loved writing it at the beginning but it all descended from there. Sorry if it doesn't make sense or they don't sound like themselves at all. This is my first TRUE Ace Attorney fanfic and I wasn't expecting anything AMAZING to come from it. If you guys end up liking it, I might just consider continuing it. In the mean time, please read, enjoy, and review! :)