WARNINGS: Spoilers for most of the games. Will contain graphic slash, descriptions of self-harm and abuse. References to dub-con. Oh, and there will be OOCness. Plus a lot of angst. A LOT of angst. A very mentally unhealthy amount of angst... There's gonna be angst.

Ace Attorney: We Are Made From Broken Parts
Chapter One:
- If You Can Lose It All -
By Soulkit

'How did I get into this situation?'

The thought came to Phoenix, not entirely uncalled for, as he stared at the kid sitting opposite him in the basement of the Borsht Bowl Club. Not for the first time, and probably not the last, he wondered if the boy really was twenty-one years old because he sure as hell didn't look it. He couldn't linger on that thought for very long though, because if he did then he'd start questioning everything about the kid and he was very sure he wouldn't like the answers. So for now he'd simply accept that the kid was twenty-one, there was a reason he was wearing clothes that looked like they belonged on a hobo (like he could talk), there was agood reason for why he was playing poker in the basement of a freezing Russian restaurant at one in the morning, there was a very legitimate explanation as to how the kid got his hands on two hundred dollars, and… well his name was apparently 'Apollo', not 'kid'.

He resisted the urge to cringe as Apollo glanced up from his cards and stared back at Phoenix with barely contained disappointment. The kid (and it didn't matter what his name was or how old he actually was because Phoenix couldn't think of him as anything else) really needed to learn the meaning of a good poker face. It may only have been the first hand, but Phoenix wasn't worried about losing. Apollo only seemed to vaguely know what he was doing and his poker face left nothing to be desired, so Phoenix found his mind wandering in order to answer the question still storming around his head.

How the hell did he get into this situation?

It had started out the same as any day and the thought made him moodier than he'd already been. He'd woken up in his run-down apartment, alone like always, and after rubbing the sleep from his blue eyes he'd dragged himself up to take a shower. Only once naked and under the spray did he realise he didn't have any hot water… again. Too late he remembered he hadn't paid the bill for that month. Still, a little warning would have been nice. It was the fifth time in three months that his landlord had cut it off without telling him. Not that he'd ever expected the fat, stinking man to do it anyway. Nothing happening to him nowadays could surprise him.

So he'd taken a quick, freezing shower, eaten breakfast – cold leftover pizza and a bottle of beer – and then spent the rest of the afternoon in his boxers staring blankly at the TV as he automatically played Steel Samurai reruns and drank until the room was spinning. He'd regretted it later, as he usually did, when he'd stumbled into the Borsht Bowl Club at seven o'clock and did his best to key out a tune on the old piano while his employer glared at him from across the bar. It was almost funny how infamous Phoenix's piano playing had become in recent years. When he wasn't in the near-perpetual drunken state he found himself in nowadays, he was actually pretty good. He'd had lessons when he was younger (hadn't that been a bucket of fun and a half) and it turned out his muscle memory was stronger than Phoenix had ever given it credit for. Not that he'd been unhappy to be proven wrong. When you were fired, branded a traitor and treated as a leper in your old profession and by most of your old friends, you kind of needed something to support yourself with.

'Right, because being employed as a piano player for a stupid Russian restaurant while moonlighting as a poker player to pay for your rent is such a good definition of supporting yourself.' He'd thought glumly as he pulled his hood up over his spiky black hair and huddled into the over-sized garment, wishing all the while he could just crawl inside himself and be done with it. Watching his breaths form a cloud of mist in front of his head, he'd taken a break from his abysmal playing and wondered just what unlucky star he'd been born under.

He was thirty-three going on thirty-four, practically half way through his life, and instead of standing in the courtroom doing what he'd always dreamed of, he spent his days drinking and gambling. Although, honestly speaking, he couldn't say he hated his job entirely. Phoenix enjoyed playing poker for the most part and his seven-year winning streak proved beyond a doubt he was damned good at it to boot. He was actually proud of his record. But he was breaking the law for a living and, like it or not, he would always be a lawyer at heart. It was hardly a surprise he could barely look at himself in the mirror anymore.

He needed the money though. That's what it all came down to in the end. No-one wanted to hire Phoenix Wright: disgraced attorney and remorseless liar. Thanks to that he remained in the hovel that was his life now, too ashamed to talk to the friends who still wanted to know him and getting increasingly frustrated his mission to prove his innocence was hitting nothing but dead-ends. How did he think it was going to happen anyway? That decisive evidence would just show up at every turn? That he'd back to his old life within a few months? This wasn't a courtroom. He couldn't just flip everything he knew on its head and the answer would suddenly present itself. There was no reason to wake up and force a smile on his face no matter how bad things were because nobody was around to see it. Nobody who cared anyway.

His increasingly darkening thoughts were eventually, thankfully, interrupted when closing time came around and the first gamblers of the night made themselves known. It was a group of five, professionals apparently, and each of them took one look at Phoenix and could barely contain their scoffs. Phoenix had long since stopped caring about what his opponents thought of him. They were as bad as he was. Besides, he knew at the end of the night they would all be going home with empty pockets while he would hopefully have enough money to pay for his hot water to be put back on. The only drawback of this was that their egos couldn't handle when they were beaten by someone they had decided wasn't worth their time from the start and it tended to elicit rather violent reactions. His employer did his best to step in but the way things were going Phoenix was starting to consider officially changing his skin tone from white to black and blue.

Thankfully, two hours later all five of them had lost and Phoenix was walking away a thousand dollars richer and, for once, without a frustrated beating from the losers. It had been a lucky night, especially after a particularly shaky start with the alcohol still clouding his judgement. But every player had ended their game by shamelessly going all-in and Phoenix had walked away with the lot. They'd been too cocky at the prospect of beating Phoenix's record. They always were, and they always lost. It made no difference. He was starting to think nothing ever would.

Then the kid had shown up.

Phoenix had been genuinely surprised as he'd stepped out of the lukewarm basement and into the freezing restaurant to find his employer, Alexei Petrov, standing next to someone who, at this time, could only want one thing: a game of poker. As Alexei explained what he already knew, Phoenix examined his newest 'challenger' and found himself at a complete loss on how to react.

It was very rare for anyone younger than about twenty-five or so to come into the club for one of the poker matches, and even then he was pretty sure none of them had actually played. They'd just accompanied the actual participant. But the man (boy more like) standing in front of him couldn't have been older than twenty-one and was completely alone. An oversized grey Gavinners t-shirt contrasted with his thin frame, a pair of unintentionally ripped, faded jeans and trainers falling apart on his feet completing the picture. He had messy, light brown hair with a few bangs that hung low over his face and intense brown eyes which met Phoenix's own with a defiance that seemed to stem from principle instead of any real animosity. The nervous twitching of the boy's hands had told Phoenix all he needed to know in the end, and he shook off the uneasy feeling weighing on his shoulders while he turned and called for the kid to follow him.

"C'mon, Kid. We play downstairs."

"The name's Apollo," Phoenix stopped and turned to stare at Apollo as the boy spoke, but a moment later had absolutely no idea why he did. Apollo moved towards him as he continued. "And for the record, I'm twenty-one."

He stopped beside Phoenix and motioned for him to lead the way. Phoenix shrugged, allowed a small smirk to play around his lips and was unable resist replying, "Whatever you say 'Apollo-and-for-the-record-I'm-twenty-one'."

Anger blossomed over the kid's face and Phoenix hid his growing smile by reaching up and adjusting his hood as he turned once again and made his way down to the Hydeout.

And now here he was, sitting opposite Apollo and wishing as usual that he was anywhere else on the planet than where he was now. Phoenix barely even noticed as the first round ended, half-heartedly pulling his winnings over to himself as Damion the dealer shuffled the cards.

At Apollo's request, they were playing a version of poker called Texas hold 'em. To start with, Damion dealt both of them two cards, face down. They were known as the hole cards. While Phoenix was more used to five-card draw, he was well-versed in Texas hold 'em and the same principle of bluff still applied. You try to make pairs, three of a kind, a full house and so on, from five face-up cards that everybody used, but everything depended on your own hidden cards. They may be great, they may be terrible. The secret was to make sure no-one knew either way. Phoenix watched as Apollo raised the corners of his cards with his thumb and did only a slightly better job of hiding his emotions than last time. The thought the kid might be bluffing did cross his mind, but the reaction to Phoenix's little dig earlier made him doubt it. Apollo wasn't the type to hide his emotions very well. Phoenix checked his own cards. They was nothing to get excited about but he kept his own face blank as they began their bets.

It didn't take long for them to reach what Phoenix decided would be the final round. Apollo had slowly improved as the game continued and the older man got the impression he was slowly remembering the game rather than being just a beginner. He had won back a few hands and Phoenix had slowly found it progressively harder to read Apollo's face, but the majority of chips were on Phoenix's side and by this point he just wanted to go home and pass out. He held his poker face, however, as Damion dealt them their hole cards, silently accepted their bets and dealt a further three cards – the flop – face up on the table.

By the time the fifth and last face-up card had been dealt, Phoenix found himself looking at the jack of diamonds, the seven of hearts, the ace of clubs, the nine of hearts and the jack of hearts. The ace of clubs joined by the pair of jacks made this for an extraordinary round. If this had been a real casino, the bets might have climbed to the hundreds of thousands of dollars. But it wasn't. It was an illegal game in the middle of the night and Phoenix didn't care anymore. He just wanted to go to his bed. So, with barely a moment's hesitation, he laid his hands flat on the table and used the wedge created between his thumbs to push all of his chips into the centre of the table.

"All or nothing." He spoke quietly, but the challenge was loud and clear. He had won for seven straight years. He wasn't afraid.

Apollo looked at Phoenix and he suddenly had the weirdest feeling. Like he was a bug under a microscope being examined by an unfeeling scientist about to dissect him. He was about to say something when the feeling passed as quickly as it came. Phoenix blinked. Did that really just happen? He didn't have time to consider as Apollo shoved his far smaller pile on top of Phoenix's.

"I'm in."

Phoenix paused, slightly put out for a second, before nodding and reaching for his cards. He waited a moment before turning them over one at a time. The first card was the jack of clubs. Three of a kind. A very good hand. But the real triumph came when he turned over the second card to reveal the second black jack – the jack of spades. The odds of getting four of a kind in Texas hold 'em was four thousand one hundred and sixty four to one. It was incredible luck. But Phoenix had always been well-known for that.

He sat back and waited for Apollo to get angry, waited for him to throw his own cards down in disgust, waited for him to sigh and shake his head, waited for him to show inevitable disappointment and frustration… and Phoenix waited.

Because Apollo did none of those things. He looked at Phoenix's hand without a shred of emotion on his face before nodding like that was what he expected (which was completely impossible) and then sat for a moment. Phoenix frowned uneasily. He had four of a kind. There was no way Apollo had beaten it, was there? But the kid was sitting there, completely aware they were waiting for him and still not moving. Then he reached for his cards. And grinned.

Phoenix could only watch as Apollo turned over the seven of hearts. And then he turned over the ten of hearts.

A long stretch of silence followed as the truth sank in. The seven, nine and jack of hearts were already on the table, face up. Put them together with Apollo's cards and he had a straight flush: seven, eight, nine, ten and jack. And in the rules of poker a straight flush beat four of a kind.

Phoenix had lost.

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The look Alexei gave him as he handed four hundred dollars over to Apollo would have been priceless if Phoenix wasn't feeling the same emotions crossing his employer's face: a mixture of confusion, anger and a staggering amount of shock. There was something else, however, stirring in his stomach and weighing on his chest and making him feel like he was about to be sick. The alcohol had passed out of his system a while ago, but he suddenly felt like he'd drunk ten shots of vodka in a row. He was starting to wish he had.

It was stupid. It was just a stupid game of poker. But it was something Phoenix was good at when most of the time he could barely get a glass of water without fucking up. Even if his record always brought guilt whenever he thought about it, he had nothing else to put claim to, nothing else he could say that he had done, nothing else that in the long seven years since his disbarment he hadn't mangled and ruined beyond repair. Now some scruffy, underfed, naïve kid who had barely stopped fidgeting nervously since he walked in had proved that Phoenix couldn't do anything right. Not really. Not without messing it up eventually. It was completely and utterly and totally stupid.

And Phoenix had never felt more like going to sleep and never waking up again.

"Oi, I ain't gonna tell anyone."

Phoenix had been heading out the door, hood pulled down so low he could barely see and hoping Alexei wouldn't call him back to ask what the hell just happened (what did it matter anymore), when Apollo spoke. His basic instincts told him to keep walking and never look back ('Run run run like you always do you pathetic little birdie'), but something else made him stop. He turned his head in time to see Apollo walking straight past Alexei and Damion, who had come out of the Hydeout, towards him. The kid hesitated when he reached Phoenix, glanced back at the other two men and then stared straight into Phoenix's blue eyes with his own brown ones.

Phoenix was suddenly unnerved. The way Apollo was gazing at him – intense, serious - made him feel like the kid could read his thoughts. Apollo wasn't fidgeting nervously anymore and his face was completely unreadable. He barely even looked like the same person who had walked in just under an hour ago. There was a… stillness to him. Phoenix didn't know how else to describe it. A stillness right at the heart of him. It scared Phoenix and for a second he didn't know why. Then he realised.

It reminded him of Edgeworth.

"I came here cos I needed a lot of money quick and there wasn't anywhere else I could get it. I don't care about your 'poker record'. I don't have anyone worth telling even if I did," Apollo spoke quietly but firmly, his stare never wavering. "I'm sorry."

The stillness left as soon as the kid stopped talking and Phoenix was once again standing before a twenty-one-year old who looked sixteen in over-sized, over-worn clothing with hands that wouldn't stop fidgeting. Before the older man could respond, Apollo was gone. It took Phoenix a moment to register the kid's quick exit but as soon as he did he found himself following. He wasn't sure why.

Although it was the middle of January, the night air was far warmer than the arctic temperatures of the Borsht Bowl Club. He wondered how Apollo had survived with just a thin t-shirt. Phoenix glanced down the street and caught sight of Apollo walking away, limping slightly on his left leg.

"Hold it." The familiar phrase tripped off Phoenix's tongue and he physically winced at the memories that came with it and hated himself a little bit more. It did the job, however, as Apollo froze at the sound of his voice and slowly turned to face him.

"What?" The kid asked, eyes darting nervously around. He actually took half a step back as Phoenix moved closer causing the older man to stop and hold his hands out. The younger man's face wasn't hard to read now. Phoenix idly noted the confusion and slight fear crossing it.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He reassured.

"Oi, what d'you want then?" Apollo repeated his question, still sounding suspicious.

The problem was Phoenix was wondering the exact same thing. He opened his mouth to reply but nothing came out. After several seconds of silence, Apollo started to move off again when Phoenix finally pinpointed what was bothering him.

"I don't care if you tell. About winning, I mean. I don't lie to people."

He wasn't entirely sure why he wanted Apollo to think that he wasn't a bad person ('Because you are, aren't you?'). To be honest Phoenix hadn't given a damn about what people thought of him ever since… well, for a while now anyway. Maybe it was because Apollo had beaten him, maybe it was because he was probably never going to see the kid again, maybe it was the way the brunette had looked (like Edgeworth) in the few moments before he left the club, but, for some reason, he cared about what Apollo thought.

Apollo frowned. "You're a poker player. You lie for a living."

"Yeah but I wasn't always," Phoenix grimaced slightly as he replied. The kid obviously grasped the concept of a poker face far better than he'd thought. "And I can't say I don't enjoy playing poker but… I hate people who lie. So I don't do it if I don't have to."

Something flashed across Apollo's face as Phoenix spoke but it was gone before he could identify it. The kid bit his lip as he looked at Phoenix and once again the older man experienced the weird sensation that he was being thoroughly examined. Like before, the feeling passed after a moment and Apollo spoke, shifting uncertainly. "Why are you telling me this?"

"… I don't know," Phoenix answered truthfully. It would have been kind of counterproductive to make something up now. Apollo paused, nodded once and started to head off when the older man stopped him for a third time. "Just… one more thing."

Rather than ask what it was, Apollo simply tilted his head to the side.

"Why did you say you were sorry?" The raven-haired man asked. Apollo shrugged.

"Cos it matters a lot to you, that you lost, and I'm sorry for doing it."

Phoenix didn't have a reply to that. His first impression had more or less set the kid up as an idiot, but he was starting to realise there was far more to Apollo than first impressions could glean insight to. He examined the brunette again, eyeing the worn clothes, the unhealthily thin frame, the dirt and bruises and scars (so many, too many) that marred almost every inch of the gently tanned skin, the way he held himself – shoulders hunched, head down, making himself small – like he was trying to remain unnoticed, and a sudden thought flashed into Phoenix's mind. He quickly pushed it away, unwilling to jump to conclusions, but he couldn't help but wonder if Apollo kept as many secrets as Phoenix found himself keeping these days. As he did, growing uncomfortable in the silence hanging between the two of them, he said something he regretted instantly.

"Right, well… you better run off home then. Your parents will be worrying about you."

However Phoenix expected Apollo to react, he certainly didn't anticipate the kid's face to suddenly twist into a mask of anger.

"They never have before. I don't see why they should start now." Apollo said with such bitterness he practically spat the words out. Phoenix was in no doubt now that the kid was hiding things he'd rather not remember and the raven-haired man felt an abrupt sense of kinship. Other than that, the rest of his mind screeched to a halt as he tried to think of some way to apologise ('God, you can't do anything right. Not even for people who show you kindness you pathetic piece of shit.').

"I didn't… I mean…"

"Oi, I know," Apollo shook his head. Any trace of anger or sadness had disappeared. "It's fine. It ain't your fault."

Phoenix scratched the back of his head awkwardly, unnerved by the sudden switch of personas and not believing Apollo was fine for a second. He glanced behind him, saw that Alexei and Damian still hadn't exited the club (probably talking about him) and started to unzip his hoodie. Maybe it wasn't much in the way of an apology and maybe he couldn't do anything right, but maybe, on a rare occasion, he could do some things a little less wrong.

"Here." He muttered as he held the hoodie out to Apollo. The kid blinked and cocked his head to the side again.

"Uh, why are you giving me your hoodie?"

"It's a little warmer out here than it is in the club, but you're going to catch a bad cold if you walk around in just a thin t-shirt. I've got other hoodies at home," Phoenix still spoke quietly, feeling embarrassed by the way he was acting but not regretting his decision. What was it about this kid? "Besides, if the Gavinners make clothing the same way they make music, you may as well be walking around shirtless."

Apollo snorted and for the first time Phoenix saw him smile. Not a triumphant grin, but a real smile that lit up Apollo's eyes, made his face seem fuller and actually look twenty-one years old. The older man barely noticed the sudden desire to stare at the smiling face all day. Without further complaint, the kid took Phoenix's hoodie and pulled it on. It was far too big for him. He was practically drowning in fabric. But at the same time, Phoenix realised the blood red colour of the clothing suited Apollo.

"Oi, I should beat poker legends more often if I get free clothing," Apollo huddled into the hoodie with a grateful hum. "Thanks… Mr Wright."

Phoenix blinked at the formal way he was addressed. He hadn't been called that for years…

"It's Phoenix." He corrected and Apollo's smile widened.

"Thanks Phoenix."

The way Apollo said his name, like it was some sort of privilege (and without spite or hate or fear or worry, it was his name), caused Phoenix to awkwardly scratch the back of his head once more. He wondered how often Apollo actually interacted with people. The kid didn't seem particularly against the idea, but the raven-haired man got the impression he was seriously attention starved.

"Yeah… just make sure you put that money to good use."

"Oi, don't worry. I will. And who knows? Maybe I'll see ya around." With that determined statement stuck firmly in Phoenix's head, Apollo turned and finally left. Phoenix watched as he faded into the night, then slowly started heading back to his apartment. Despite the cold air seeping through his skin making him shiver violently and the exhaustion clinging to his eyes, Phoenix walked with a small smile on his face. It felt odd, as if the muscles in his face had forgotten how to smile, but it felt… good.

Maybe it wouldn't be as difficult to get out of bed the next morning as he'd thought.

AN

First off, this isn't a complete AU as you might be able to tell. The two major differences is that Phoenix never adopted Trucy, the effects of which are pretty clear in his character, and Apollo never idolised Nick as a kid. He still wanted to become a lawyer, but he doesn't recognise Phoenix or think of him as his idol. The plot will follow the basic design of AA:AJ, so this is kind of a retelling but it won't mindlessly follow the game. Athena's going to show up a lot earlier (Nick'll need a lawyer right?) and Trucy will appear at some point, though it remains to be seen if Nick will still adopt her.

If you don't like this, then go and read something else.

Misc Section: This is actually a list of plot points, excuses and explanations:

The plot follows (more or less) the game with changes occurring as I desire.

Phoenix used to be in a relationship with Edgeworth.

Apollo was also in a brief relationship with Clay but it won't really affect anything.

Clay will also appear a bit on in the story and the space centre will feature pretty heavily. This means some of Athena's motives and secrets will come out sooner as well.

Apollo will find out about his family (well, half of it) but I won't say when.

I have Trucy separated from Phoenix and Apollo for now because, while I love her and her relationship with Nick and Polly, it would be boring and pointless. There's far more angst to be had in removing her for now (*evil grin*), plus it means that Phoenix and Apollo will grow a lot closer a lot quicker since they have no-one else to confide in.

I'm not going to bash any character (again it's boring and pointless) so any ill thoughts towards people will be the character's viewpoint, not mine. I'm not going to bother saying Phoenix and Apollo won't be OOC, because they will be, but I've tried to make sure they're still themselves at heart and I've done my best to keep everyone else in character, so if I've failed, I hope I've at least done so in an entertaining way. All characters will be interpreted as I view them.

On the surface, Phoenix and Apollo will occasionally act like they're a lot happier than what they're thinking, but sometimes the most depressed people are the ones who are the best at pretending to be happy. They'll banter and put smiles on their faces, but it'll be a long time before they're anywhere close to being fixed.

As for pairings, Phoenix and Apollo will really be the only ones in this story. I'm planning on writing a sequel covering Dual Destinies where other pairings will start to appear (Athena/Blackquill, Clay/Starbuck, possibly more) but don't expect them in this story.

Finally, I'm planning to update on the 10th of every month so if you're going to review just to tell me to update faster, don't. The second chapter will come out on the 10th of September and it will be monthly after that. Still, like all writers, I appreciate your opinion and welcome all reviews (that aren't flames or update complaints).

The AJ:AA plot won't kick in for a little while, so for now, kick back and enjoy the angst!

~Soulkit~