House of Cards

by Dark Interval

Chapter 1

"Deal."

It was always the same: the same actions, same moves, same dark and cold environment of the underground club room. Still, it was warmer here than it was upstairs, at least, that was what others told him. For him, it didn't make a difference. It was always cold wherever he went; the customers were different, sometimes, but the sight of their smug, condescending smirks were a constant; the smell of their sweat, greed and desperation for victory unchanging. He supposed he liked that. Not really the competition, rather the predictability. Things had been changing so rapidly in his life, he appreciated a little familiarity, a little routinely reprieve from the same nightmare of different faces he woke up to each and every day for the past seven years.

It was always the same. The customer would throw their cards down and cry:

"Hah! Full house. Looks like your luck's finally run out."

… or something to that variation.

And he would in turn respond with a tip of his beanie and a well-placed smirk, "Sorry," showing his own hand, "Straight flush. Better luck next time, sir."

There would be a moment of befuddled silence; the dealer, Olga Orly, would contain her knowing laughter behind a pair of smiling Russian-red lips; then, the accusations would start flying. Impossible. Swindler. Bluff. Forger of victory. No shred of respect. A leopard never changes its spots. Liar. Deceiver. Crook.

This would then be followed by the demand to search him. He would raise his arms like always, while the customer searched him: his hoodie, inside his pockets, under his beanie, strip him down to his bare, shivering flesh sometimes; and he always let them with that same unassuming smile on his face. From his underprivileged position, it was his only hold over their egos. It brought them immense shame and frustration – they hit him sometimes – but it secretly gave him a rise knowing that he could turn the tables and humiliate them even though he was the one naked and on his knees.

Finally, begrudging acceptance would kick in, the customer would throw their money onto the table with a curse, and he'd pull his clothes on and rise to his feet to collect his earnings for the night.

"Unbeaten Poker King for seven years straight – the rumors hold true," said the customer, stubbing out his cigarette on a nearby ashtray. He was a young man no older than 25; tall, lanky; a street kid with a twisted smile. "Whatever. It's not like I came here to beat a legend anyway."

Olga paused in shuffling the cards, a frown across her brow. With a huff, she blew a stray lock of curly blonde hair away from her face to tuck it beneath her bandanna. She did not just waste her time with a sore loser, paying customer or not.

"What do you mean?" she demanded, slamming the deck onto the table. "People come to the Borscht and Bowl for one reason and one reason only – and I can tell you, it's not for my soup."

Someone laughed.

"Aw… But I love your food, Olga."

"Can it, Wright. We both know how undiscerning your taste buds are." She turned narrowed, suspicious eyes to the young punk and hissed, "Why are you here?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Said the man with a laugh as he turned his leering gaze to the third figure in the room. "I came for a different form of entertainment – a song request if you will. Something you should be more than familiar with… aye, Mr. Ex-lawyer?"

Said man chuckled, waving him off with a shake of his head. "Aren't you an odd one. No one wants to hear me play piano. In fact, their evenings have a happier ending when I'm nowhere near the thing." He avoided the customer's eyes and shrugged. "Besides, I only know one song and I'm not even good at it."

"That's not what I hear, Phoenix Wright." The young man paused before smiling to himself, like he was in on a private joke. "And here I thought you couldn't fall any lower…"

"I'm giving you three seconds to start making sense, or I'm chucking you out!" Olga growled, but fell silent when Phoenix casually inserted himself between them. He glanced at her briefly over his shoulder; a look of trepidation shone through her gaze; and his hollow blue eyes seemed to say, "I'll be alright."

Shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets, Phoenix leaned against the poker table, that same unassuming smile on his face and said, "Go on."

The man rounded the table to slide up next to him, invading his personal space, body language confident and assertive. His dark eyes gleamed with perverse delight, the smile on his thin, pale lips shifting into a wide, malicious grin. He reached up to roughly grasp Phoenix's jaw to force his gaze on him, scrutinizing his features, feeling the barest traces of stubble beneath his fingertips. Despite the tragedy of seven years past, the years had been good to Phoenix: he was as handsome as he always was, the stubble, smoldering gaze and callous attitude lending him a rough, devil-may-care exterior that was both darkly attractive and inexplicably thrilling. Not to mention those gorgeous blue eyes… It was difficult to resist, especially when the opportunity for vengeance against that humiliating poker defeat presented itself so openly, so willingly.

Phoenix felt the man lean in; his hands wandering; could smell alcohol on his breath; but workplace ethics prevented him from pushing the guy away. Instead, all he could think about were those hands and how dirty they made him feel, how he had to bear the shame like he had always done and continue smiling through the despair. It was the one advice from Mia that he had left. Wouldn't she be disappointed? Then again, it's been seven years and her ghost hadn't come back to haunt him, so he stopped thinking about his little betrayal.

He was so preoccupied with thoughts of his late mentor however, that he jumped when the customer slammed a wad of cash on the table.

"Word from the underworld is you're good at another song," the man began as he leaned closer to whisper into Phoenix's ear, hand shamelessly groping his ass.

"Oh? And what might that be?" returned Phoenix mysteriously.

"Fantasie Impromptu. "

Those words were like a trigger and he felt his heart sink. His body was so cold, the thick material of his hoodie could no longer warm him. He felt shut off; disconnected; his world seemed darker, pitch black, lonely. But he had to keep smiling, he told himself. And if it got darker, his smile would only grow wider.

"That's one grand for a night at my place… and a cute outfit," said the man with a wink, tipping Phoenix's chin with a bony finger to get a better look at those hypnotic blue eyes. "More than what you're used to, but I hear you promise a good time for the right amount and I want it all."

When Phoenix looked into his customer's eyes, he already knew what he'd see: pride; a perverse sense of glory and gratification; occasional desire and overwhelming lust. But most of all, if not always, it was the anticipated promise for bragging rights. Most of his clients were men, ordinary citizens who bore no personal grudges against him apart from their losses in poker. No, all they were interested in was the name "Phoenix Wright" and how they would have single-handedly subjugated a once proud and reputable man of law by making him do the basest things in bed. It was a fascinating yet horrifying thing, the human condition: man relished in seeing another powerful man suffer misfortune for it bestowed a sense of privilege for the non-sufferer and by extension, an idea of superiority. Lust for power translated to lust for existential freedom, and that's how Phoenix knew that all his customers were inherently weak. But now wasn't the time to brood over philosophy; it was time to make a quick buck, or in this case, a quick thousand dollars.

He turned his gaze to the cash. Tempting. With money like that on top of this month's earnings, he wouldn't have to worry about rent and getting evicted; no more IOU's at Eldoon's Noodles; he'd be able to stock up on and whip up nutritious meals that were not instant noodles; and most importantly, his main concern, was properly providing for Trucy – his precious little girl, his raison d'tere, his light and his world. She lit up his darkest times with her wonderful smiles and thrilling laughter, lifted his sorrows with her magic tricks, and he promised to protect and love her till the end of time. They had both been alone – she abandoned by her father; him shunned by society. She needed him just as much as he needed her, and they learned to make do with what little they had. If she knew what he did apart from playing poker, she would be heartbroken; devastated… But he needed the money. He could afford new textbooks for her, pay off that overdue school fees, buy her a lovely new dress so she wouldn't have to feel embarrassed around her friends anymore. They could live comfortably for the next month instead of scrimping on the smallest of expenses; and if there was enough left, he could finally get her that pasta display piece she always wanted for her birthday.

Ask him seven years ago and he'd say that money meant nothing to him. What defined him were values like honesty and trust; principles of truth and the happiness of his clients. But that was all in the past, he wasn't a lawyer anymore, and people change.

And so, Phoenix put on his sexiest smirk – the kind he knew his customers adored – and flirted in return, toying playfully with the ends of the young punk's unruly, spiky hair. With practiced sensuality, he crawled onto the man's lap and without once breaking eye contact, plucked the wad of cash from the table top and shoved it into his pocket.

"Mm… Well, when you ask so nicely, how can I refuse?"

The man grinned and wrapped his arm around Phoenix's waist possessively. "Then come with me before the Friday night crowd streams in. I'm... averse to sharing."

"My, aren't we possessive? Unfortunately, I won't be able to provide my full services tonight," he breathed against the man's parted lips, amused by the way they quivered in anticipation and secretly priding the obvious effect he had on his latest customer. "It's my daughter's birthday and I'm needed home, but…" he trailed off suggestively, his hand wandering down to stroke the area between his customer's legs, "if you're not opposed to a quickie, we can do it right here, right now."

"U-Uh..."

"Here's the deal."

Phoenix tugged the stuttering man towards him by the collar of his shirt, licked languidly along the shell of his ear before whispering into it, hot and sensual. "For $1000, I'll even let you blow your load in my ass."

"Deal!"

He bowed his head, the rim of his beanie obscuring his eyes, a small smirk playing across his lips. The extent people paid just to further run his name through the mud. It was painful, but he only had himself to blame. It all started five years ago when someone dangled $500 in his face. He had followed the guy home for a night and word spread like wildfire. Over time, the kinky outfits and accessories they made him wear got increasingly lewd and expensive, as did his techniques and price quotes. But, that didn't stop them from coming back for more. He could only thank his lucky stars that his customers had the sense and sensibility to keep their exchanges from the authorities.

"Wright… Please, you don't have to do this." Olga eyed him unsurely, sadly and he grabbed her hand to shove in a hundred dollar bill.

"For your troubles," he whispered, eyes gentle and kind as he watched her hesitate, bite her lip, before reluctantly pocketing the money.

"... I'll be back in an hour to help you clean up."

Then, with a professional bow to the customer, she turned around and made her way back to the restaurant. As she ascended the stairs, she pretended not to see the eagerness in the man's eyes and Phoenix's despair as he led him into the back room; covered her ears to the crude things the man said he'd do to Phoenix in the next hour. It was times like this Olga wished friendship didn't get in the way of her throwing trash like that out.

An hour to midnight.

Struggling with a big box topped with a bright red bow, Phoenix stood outside the door to his old office-turned-home, catching his breath. Seriously, those 13 flights of stairs were no joke and he wasn't as young as he used to be. That, and he ran all the way up, but there was no way he was going to miss his daughter's 15th birthday.

Inserting his key into the lock, he pressed his shoulder against the door, pushed it open and was just about to announce his arrival, when the melodious tunes of a piano made him stop. There, in the living room, just across from where he stood, sat a beautiful blonde man at the piano; long, slender fingers dancing effortlessly across black and white keys. His complexion seemed tan against the pale, platinum blonde of his hair – remarkably flawless, long, glimmering and styled to the side in an elegant drill. He had enchanting, ice-blue eyes framed by a pair of delicately shaped glasses, which worked to accentuate his overall sophistication. As always, the gentleman was formally dressed like he was heading to a ball instead of paying a casual house visit, his expensive, sharply tailored blue suit further granting him the dignified grace of an aristocrat despite his humble background. But this man had made a name for himself and his business through his amazing intellect, natural charisma, and relentless strive towards perfection.

When Phoenix first met him, the blonde was already running his own law firm and was an established figure in society, recognized by prosecutors and defense attorneys all around. His conduct in court was cool and exceptional, members of the law and civil service respected him, and he bore somewhat of a celebrity status amongst the common folk. His face replaced Phoenix's in law textbooks; his name on everyone's lips. There was no one in need of defending who didn't want him as their lawyer, and there wasn't a single case he lost until this day. His record was clean; flawless; perfect like him in every way… which made Phoenix wonder what on earth the man actually saw in a pathetic, washed up has-been like him.

Phoenix watched the man's eyes slide shut from his passionate play, posture arched in rapture, and he couldn't help but feel both smitten and jealous over his gift of beauty and music. Chopin was his lover's favorite and tonight, it was Fantasie Impromptu. Normally, the song reminded Phoenix of his job and self-loathing, but it was different when it came to his lover. The way the blonde played it; the music itself reminded Phoenix so much of him: how it began in a flurry of mad passion, gracefully descended into a soft and soothing romance, before picking up once more in a frenzied crescendo of power and control. It was complex; a clash between calm and madness; reflected the intricate patterns, ups and downs and profundity of his lover's mind. The man was a genius; ruthlessly professional; courtroom devil with the face of an angel, also known as "the coolest defense in the West"; but to Phoenix alone, he was just Kristoph – tender, kind, and amazingly supportive boyfriend. He was the man who caught him when he fell from grace, believed in him when no one else did, and Phoenix vowed to love him till the day he died.

Quietly placing the box aside, he snuck up behind his boyfriend and wrapped his arms around his shoulders.

"Hey," he breathed, nuzzling Kristoph's cheek, "Sorry I'm late… Did you wait long?"

Said man stopped playing and with a gentle smile, turned his cheek to bump their noses affectionately.

"Not at all," he replied with the patience and gentility of a prince. "In fact, you're just in time."

Phoenix blinked. "For what?"

"Daddy, you're home!"

Kristoph chuckled behind his hand. "That."

Phoenix released him and turned to face the source of that high-pitched, excitable voice. A young brunette emerged from her bedroom, her hair done up prettily and donned in a lovely blue-and-white lace dress. The gown was both sweet and elaborate, suited her perfectly and when she twirled to show off the skirt's numerous ruffle layers, Phoenix felt his heart melt, hopelessly charmed.

She's lovely.

The girl stopped to clasp her hands behind her back while smiling up at him bashfully, a light blush staining her cheeks.

"How do I look, daddy?"

"Like a princess," he answered and she giggled.

"A magician princess?" And as if on cue, a giant wooden puppet with a blue cape and top hat emerged from beneath the ruffles. Phoenix didn't know which was more disturbing: the fact that his daughter still insisted on keeping the thing with her whenever she changed clothes, or that it emerged from under her skirt. But he realised he ought to be used to her peculiarities by now.

"My one and only."

Kristoph approached the pair with a smile, fixing his enchanting gaze on Phoenix. "Do you like it?" he asked with a slight tilt of his head.

"You got this for her?" replied Phoenix in disbelief.

"Custom-made, right down to the exact shade of blue to match her magician costume," Kristoph replied, holding up one of the layers between his fingers. "French lace: specially imported. I even got the designer to embroider the four card suits along the lace trimmings. Here – he held up a section – if you look closely, there's diamonds, clubs, hearts and spades in that specific sequence all around."

"Kristoph…"

Phoenix was at a loss for words. His boyfriend had outdone himself yet again. He wouldn't be surprised if his daughter became the most popular girl in school tomorrow if she came dressed in dollar bills.

Each year, Kristoph's gifts would get grander and increasingly expensive. Heck, two years ago, Trucy received her first magic escape box. The thing was so huge, they had to leave it at Kristoph's place and that led to the longest sleepover of their lives. His daughter couldn't get enough of it and he and Kristoph had to take turns tucking her into bed in it for the first few weeks.

"Forget the designer. The material alone would've cost me an arm and leg," he commented dryly to which Kristoph laughed.

"Well, I wasn't going to let that happen, so I offered my latest pay cheque instead," he replied, pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. "It's only sensible."

"How did you know she wanted a new dress?"

"I remember whatever you tell me, Phoenix. And even if I didn't, trust that I would've gotten her the same thing in a heartbeat."

Overwhelmed with love for this man, Phoenix pulled him in for a sweet kiss.

"You spoil her," he whispered and immediately felt a pair of strong arms wrap around his waist.

"Nonsense. Nothing is too expensive for our Trucy."

Phoenix smirked. "Careful. At this rate, she's going to start calling you 'mom'. Then, we'll really have to get married."

"If it comes to that, rest assured that I'll design your wedding dress."

"Kristoph!" Phoenix smacked his shoulder playfully and the man laughed.

They pulled away from each other and Phoenix went to retrieve his present on the table. When he handed it to Trucy, he had to resist laughing when she excitedly took it in her arms… only to grow worried when she began to shake it violently.

"S-Sweetie… why don't you just open it?"

"But I must figure out what's inside!"

"Um… That's why it's called a surprise?"

"Leave her be, Phoenix," said Kristoph with an amused smile and shake of his head. "She did the same for my present. As long as it's not fragile, I'm sure it'll be fine."

"But what if I got her a puppy?"

"... Then we best pray the puppy has a thick skull." He leaned in to whisper into Phoenix's ear, "I'll be right back," before quietly slipping away into the kitchen.

With a curious frown and pout on her lips, Trucy turned the box around in her hands. It was wrapped with playing cards instead of normal colorful wrapping paper, which meant that the gift was something she really wanted. Her daddy tended to do that: poker cards meant something worth remembering and she enjoyed a little mystery. And then, when she finally lifted the box's lid and peered inside, she let out a loud scream.

"Oh my god – you didn't!" She pulled out a pasta display piece, complete with suspended fork and hugged it tight against her chest. "Pasta! My pasta! I've wanted this for years! "

Small tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and she wiped them away. When she was eight years old, Phoenix took her out on Christmas Eve and she remembered walking past an Italian restaurant's display window and it was love at first sight. Of course, it wasn't for sale, and even when Phoenix pleaded with the grumpy manager, he was quoted a hefty sum that was plain unjustifiable. They were already struggling with their living expenses as it was, so they left. She just didn't realize that her daddy actually looked back.

Trucy ran up to Phoenix and threw herself into his open arms, kissing him over and over on the cheek.

"I love you, daddy," she squealed, "Thank you, thank you, thank you! This must've cost you a bomb!"

"Well, it took me a few years of persistent saving, but I'm just glad you like it," he replied with a laugh, patting her on the head, eyes filled with so much love for his little trickster. "Happy birthday, Trucy. May this year be a good one."

She flashed him a warm smile in return. "It already is, daddy! I can feel it!"

"Sorry for breaking the family moment," interrupted Kristoph as he emerged from the kitchen, carrying a large chocolate cake with 15 candles precariously perched on its surface, "but who wants cake?"

Twin choruses of "I do!" sounded about the room. Trucy clambered behind her birthday cake, eyes already closed and bouncing excitedly as she prepared her wish. Amused murmurs of "wait" and "let me light the candles first" sounded from Kristoph as he struggled to perform the deed without burning the birthday girl by accident. The sight proved so endearing, Phoenix pulled out his camera to video the whole thing. A sentimental smile graced his lips. Seven years… Had it been that long already? He still remembered how tiny and mischievous Trucy had looked in that bright red magician getup when she landed in his lap one fateful spring day; pranking him daily and swapping his shampoo for blue dye once; bringing her to the playground to watch her climb the jungle gym for hours; explaining to angry parents when she had tried to make it disappear along with their children… How time flies. 15 years old and already a teenager. But she would always be his little girl.

After making her wish, Trucy blew out the candles, only to do a double-take when she regarded Kristoph with wide, surprised eyes.

"Mr. Gavin! You have something on your face!"

Kristoph blinked at her curiously. "Hm? I don't think I –"

SPLAT.

"Haha! Now you do!"

After wiping the chocolate icing off his face, Kristoph grabbed a generous dollop himself and proceeded to playfully chase Trucy around the living room, the latter squealing at the top of her voice when he caught her and exacted his revenge. Laughter filled and warmed the walls of the old, once lonely apartment, something that Phoenix would treasure now and for the years to come.

With his camera, he focused on the two people he loved more than life itself: on Trucy's beaming, chocolate-covered face and the honest amusement dancing in Kristoph's eyes. There was a wide smile on his lips, not the smug or mocking kind Phoenix often witnessed during the blonde's trials, but laughing and true. It was rare, beautiful and it was a side of Kristoph reserved for their eyes only. It was a side of him that made him a part of their little dysfunctional family. "You can't see me! I'm invisible!" Trucy exclaimed under the cover of the dining table. "Commendable technique," he remarked, bending to grab the ends of the tablecloth, "but what if I did… this!" He pulled back the cloth; Trucy gasped dramatically; Kristoph smeared more chocolate on her nose and with that, they began to laugh again.

Phoenix smiled behind the camera, let the video linger longer on his lover and daughter as they played, until the battery bar began to flash in warning, and then watched a little longer before lowering the device. This one, he decided, he would keep in a special place in his heart.

"Sorry about the dress, Mr. Gavin," mumbled Trucy guiltily beneath the towel as Kristoph dried her hair. "After all the money and trouble you spent on it, and I got chocolate all over it…"

They were seated in the living room: Phoenix leaning comfortably against Kristoph, an affectionate smile on his face as he absently played with the ends of the latter's hair; while Trucy sat cross-legged at their feet. She had bathed and was dressed down to her pajamas.

"That's quite alright. I'll just get my employee to send it to the dry cleaner's tomorrow."

"Tee hee! You keep making your poor employee run errands."

"If I didn't, he'd either be daydreaming or disturbing the peace with his needless shouting. At least making him run around helps justify my paying him."

With a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, he motioned Trucy over with a finger and she rose to her knees, giggling when he leaned down to whisper something in her ear. She whispered excitedly in return.

"And what secrets are you two hiding from me?" interrupted Phoenix with playful curiosity as he watched them share a knowing grin. "Come on, don't leave your old man hanging."

Kristoph chuckled in response. "Now, Trucy, isn't there something you wish to tell your father?"

Phoenix's eyes narrowed suspiciously. Why did he have a bad feeling about this?

"Kirstoph... what are you planning?"

The man's smile reached his eyes. "You'll know in a second."

"That's right," Trucy chimed in with gusto as she crawled into Phoenix's lap. "I got a job at the Wonder Bar, daddy! Surprise!"

"Wha - A BAR?!"

But Trucy carried on talking, oblivious to the growing aura of disapproval that surrounded Phoenix.

"I know I'm not legally allowed to work, but Mr. Gavin talked to the owner for me and they worked out a sort of agreement. I start next week! That way, you can quit playing poker; the magnificent Trucy and Mr. Hat will finally make their debut on national stage; and best of all, I get paid doing what I love most! Isn't that great, daddy?"

No. No, it wasn't. Phoenix felt his world crash around him as he struggled to process this latest change in his life. It wasn't like he didn't support Trucy's dreams or anything – heck, he loved it whenever she got that sparkle in her eyes whenever she succeeded in her latest trick; but she was only 15 years old, just started high school; least of all legally qualified to work. He had no idea how Kristoph managed to argue his way out of that one, but he didn't like it. As her father, it was his job and responsibility to provide for the both of them. Trucy ought to be enjoying her childhood, not working twice as hard as anyone her age and certainly not at a bar! Sure, the Wonder Bar was the classiest, most talked about entertainment establishment in town, but it was still a bar with adult customers! What in the world had Kristoph been thinking?!

"Judging from the look on your face, I suppose it's my turn to alleviate your fears," spoke Kristoph in his usual calm and collected manner, as if it was a completely natural occurrence for a minor to work after hours in an adult establishment.

"I've done my fair bit of research on the place and spoke with the owner personally. The Wonder Bar caters to families on weekends. We've worked out a comfortable schedule for Trucy, so that it wouldn't cut into her school life. As her father, you're entitled to accompany her during performance nights – all for free, of course."

"But how did you… That is, the owner…" Phoenix stuttered, unsure of where exactly to begin.

"The Gramarye name is known far and wide, Phoenix," he answered simply with a patient smile. "Once the owner heard of Trucy's ties to the famed magic troupe, she wouldn't take no for an answer. In fact, she's promised triple the pay of any full-time employee, per show. That's an estimated $5,000 a month."

"Five thousand?!"

"Of course, no contract is set in stone, unless the father himself approves it," finished Kristoph, curt as always.

"So, will you, daddy? Will you, will you?" Trucy pleaded with wide, eager eyes as she bounced on his lap. "Just think of it; my name in lights: Trucy Wright the Magnificent - sold out for weeks! And since you wouldn't need to work anymore, you can be my–"

"No."

Trucy paused abruptly; her heart stopped.

"What? Why not?"

"I said, no," Phoenix repeated, this time more firmly as he stared into her wide, confused eyes. "I won't have you working when you're supposed to be in school. Your job is to be a student; mine is to look after you."

"But–"

"Sweetie, look, I appreciate your concern, I really do," he continued, hoping that she would be able to hear his desperation and understand his love behind his reasons. "But I'm alright. I'm doing fine at the Borscht and Bowl. You don't need to do all this for me, ok?"

"But daddy, I –"

"It's not terrible there, I promise. They treat me well."

"No they don't!" she yelled, slapping his hands away when he tried to reach for her. "You come back late every night with bruises! Sometimes, you don't come back at all! Even tonight there's a limp in your step! You always try to hide these things from me, but you can't fool my eyes! What's really going on down there?!"

Phoenix started to grasp desperately. "Nothing! You saw it for yourself: just poker –"

"You're lying!" she screamed, hot angry tears streaming down her cheeks. "Why are there blood stains on your pants sometimes? Why do you smell funny whenever you come and kiss me goodnight? Why can't you let me do this one thing for you?!"

"Trucy, please –"

"Daddy, I love you!"

That final scream did it. It shook him harder than any physical blow and Phoenix found himself at a complete loss, staring shamefully at his hands on his lap. Next to him, Kristoph watched father and daughter trade silences for a good minute, before sighing as he rose to his feet. Murmuring a quiet, "It's late," he took Trucy by the hand and gently led the poor, heartbroken girl to her bedroom.

"Don't worry, I'll talk to him," he assured her before bidding her goodnight and quietly shutting the door. Then, steeling himself, he turned to the brooding man on the couch.

"Not exactly the perfect ending to a birthday party, wouldn't you agree?"

"Not now, Kristoph…" Phoenix sighed loudly, tugging his beanie over his eyes so that Kristoph wouldn't be able to see his sorrow. "... How long has she known?"

"I never mentioned a thing, though I believe she doesn't fully know what it is you do exactly."

He took his place next to Phoenix and expressed no disapproval when the latter climbed into his lap and buried his face in the crook of his neck. Kristoph removed Phoenix's beanie and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.

"Trucy's a good kid, Phoenix."

He felt Phoenix nod against his neck.

"I'm just trying to protect her."

"I know," he replied, winding his arms around his lover in a comforting embrace. Phoenix always got exceptionally touchy whenever he felt depressed. "But please understand, we're just trying to help you."

However, as soon as those words left Kristoph's mouth, an inexplicable anger gripped Phoenix and he pushed Kristoph away. Hands balling into fists, he kicked himself off the couch and glared down at his partner, a mixture of hurt and rage swimming in his eyes. It further aggravated him that Kristoph could be so calm at a time like this; look at him with that infuriatingly expectant smirk on his lips and a bemused raise of an eyebrow. Was he a joke? Was that what he was to Kristoph? A big, stupid, sorry joke?

"Help? Help?!" He snapped, resisting the urge to kick the innocent coffee table next to him. "If you really wanted to help me, you'd be working to clear my name!"

The smirk on Kristoph's face was gone in an instant to be replaced with an unappreciative frown.

"Phoenix, we've been through this: for seven years I've stayed by your side and for seven years I've cared for you. Don't you think I tried?"

The aloof way he said it made Phoenix believe otherwise.

"Why do you always have to sound so cold?"

"Would it make you feel better if I coddled and kissed you; showered you with empty promises?" he countered in the same professional tone he used with his clients. It hurt, but Kristoph had a point. He was sharp and direct that way and over the years, Phoenix has grown accustomed to it. But it still didn't make all the pain and frustration go away.

"If you want to help me, let me work in your law firm or something," he grumbled bitterly, which didn't go unheard by the blonde who sighed in exasperation.

"Now you're just being unreasonable," Kristoph commented with a shake of his head. "We both know you lost your badge and your right to practice law. And yet, here you ask me to defy our legal system and make an exception. "

"You're not trying hard enough!" Phoenix growled, chipping away at his partner's cool exterior.

"And I've told you a thousand times, I have!"

By then, they were both on their feet, equally riled up, though in comparison, Phoenix wasn't doing a good job controlling his emotions or his volume.

"Goddammit, Kristoph! Why can't you just shut up and support me?!"

"Tell me how I haven't been doing so for the past seven years, Phoenix," Kristoph barked, on the verge of losing his patience himself. "I sponsored the renovation of this office; turned it into a home; helped pay your daughter's school fees; offered the same for your living expenses. 'Support you?' – what do you think I've been offering you since day one?"

"I don't need your money, Kristoph, don't you get it?!" Phoenix cried, tears in his eyes, nearly breaking down. "I need you! I need you to believe in me and what I can do for myself!"

The blonde lowered his voice into a disdainful hiss. "A rentboy? Is that it, Wright? You're proud of that? You're proud of swindling people with your body and making me live with the shame?"

Kristoph had switched to calling him by his last name. He tended to do that whenever he felt the need to distance himself from him and it hurt, now more so than before because it was here where Phoenix needed his love the most. And now that the truth was finally out, with Kristoph revealing his disgust towards him, it felt like a knife had brutally cut open the lie seven years in the making and Phoenix had to deal with the pain and self-loathing alone.

"Kristoph, I'm sorry, but what choice do I have?" he answered sadly, eyes hollow and the smile on his lips empty. "After that whole deal with the forged evidence, no one would believe me; trust me; hire me. All I had was poker and even that wasn't enough to pay the bills. It's not a matter of pride; it's my duty as a father; to actually be able to do something and do it right."

He paused momentarily, wondering if his lover was mad at him or had really stopped to listen. Kristoph could be as unpredictable as a storm, so he wanted to make sure. When it seemed like the blonde wasn't going to say anything, Phoenix tentatively continued, his confidence building with every sentence.

"I know you hate what I do – I see the disgust in your eyes whenever you look at me, yet you choose to stay and for that I'm grateful." He lifted his gaze to meet those alluring ice-blue swirls he adored so much; tried to ignore the building rage within and his own apprehension. "But Kristoph, making Trucy work in my place isn't going to solve anything. For the rest of my life, I'll have to live with my own shame and uselessness. Not letting me work, keeping me away from society… You're not helping me, Kristoph. You're keeping me down."

And then, it happened: Kristoph moved to strike him and Phoenix whimpered, automatically raising his arms to defend himself. But the usual blow never came and when he peaked nervously, fearfully at his lover, he realised why. Trucy was sleeping in the next room. Come morning and there would be too many questions.

They stood facing each other in complete silence; Phoenix's heart pounding rapidly from the adrenaline, while Kristoph breathed heavily, slowly lowering his hand to his side as if fighting the urge to go through with the deed. A few locks of hair had come undone from his elegant drill and the corners of his mouth twitched in displeasure. Finally, he straightened up, cleared his throat and in a blink of an eye, the aloof countenance was back.

"I'll never understand you, Wright," he commented with a flippant shake of his head, making quick work to neaten his neck ribbon; his suit; his hair and general appearance.

Inwardly – morbidly – Phoenix couldn't help but marvel at his ability to rattle his lover's perfect composure; let a glimpse of the devil within show through the cracks. In the beginning, when they first made love and he'd seen it, experienced its wrath and had the bruises and marks to show for it, he had been frightened. But for all his obsession with control, Kristoph loved him, stayed with him through thick and thin and was always so patient, Phoenix learned to deal with it because he felt that was the least he could do in return for the man's kindness. Also, this side to Kristoph only ever came out whenever he made him mad (and Kristoph never got mad at anyone), so Phoenix figured the fault lied in him.

"I'm sorry."

The apology seemed to leave his lips so easily, like it was programmed into his brain, and when he bowed his head, he realised it probably was.

"As the years go by, I start to understand less of myself; know less of what I once thought I knew. I don't know what I'm doing; what I'm saying; why I say them…"

The more he talked, the more he saw how unreasonable his previous outburst had been and he felt immensely guilty. It wasn't Kristoph's fault. It never was.

He flinched when he felt a hand on his cheek, but it took him a while to realise the act bore no malice. In fact, it was tender and soothing and he found himself leaning into Kristoph's touch, assured and relieved that he was finally doing something right, that he was pleasing the man he loved and devoutly trusted. Smiling, Kristoph held Phoenix close, continued to stroke his cheek and gaze deep into his eyes with what could only be described as immeasurable affection. Then, he closed the space between them and placed a chaste kiss upon Phoenix's lips.

"Do I really keep you down?" he asked, breath hot and voice sultry and had to resist a smirk when he felt Phoenix shudder from the implications.

"Kristoph, I…" But he gasped when the man unzipped his hoodie and pushed up his t-shirt to run his fingers teasingly across his abdomen. It traveled higher and higher; the t-shirt bunched above his chest; and Phoenix let out a low moan when a slender, manicured nail tweaked his left nipple. The finger rubbed and rolled it expertly and it was hard in seconds.

"Phoenix?" Kristoph pressed, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice, a telltale smugness on his lips. "How would I know, unless you tell me?"

When all he got for a reply was another moan, he further pressed himself against the older male and sank his teeth into his neck. The skin broke; Phoenix cried out; and Kristoph began to lick and suck on the wound greedily, possessively; groaning when he tasted the ex-lawyer's blood on his tongue. It gave him a rush to know that he was in control, and Phoenix knew this well.

"What are you – ah!" He felt Kristoph mark him again just beneath the first bite, squirmed and panted in his arms when hands descended down the back of his pants to pry his butt cheeks apart. Long fingers poked and prodded his hole; a bit of semen trickled out and down his thighs; and Kristoph let out a scoff of contempt.

"It appears I have my work cut out for me tonight," he commented, roughly shoving two fingers up Phoenix's ass, twisting and scissoring them mercilessly, generally apathetic towards the other's protests and general discomfort. Phoenix was already wet anyway, an observation that displeased him rather than brought him pleasure. Another man's cum on his fingers and marring his beautiful nails… Disgusting. The way he saw it, Phoenix deserved to be punished for this insult.

"N-No, you're too... r-rough – Ngrh! P-Please, it hurts..."

Kristoph bent his head to growl into his ear, "I won't stop until I've reclaimed every inch of you, until I've drowned out the putrid stench of the lowly animal that fucked you, and you will scream again and again for me to fill you. Your mind will know nothing else. Your body will crave no one else. And I will enjoy seeing you on your hands and knees begging for more and for my forgiveness."

Phoenix blushed from the dirty words that spilled from Kristoph's polished tongue, mortified yet immensely turned on by his brutality. To hear someone so morally upright and cultured speak to him like this... It made him want to please Kristoph in every way possible, just to prove him right.

"K-Kristoph… ah… don't…"

The fingers inside struck and caressed his sweet spot and he momentarily saw stars. Trembling, Phoenix clung on for dear life as the blonde continued to pump his ass, knees weak. More cum flowed out his hole as Kristoph inserted a third finger, spreading him, moving roughly and rapidly inside like he he was desperate to clean him out.

"K-Kri… stoph..." he moaned, eyes hazy and clouded with lust. It felt so good… It always felt good when it was Kristoph who touched him, did unspeakable things to him; and even when it really hurt, his body learned to enjoy it.

Slowly, tentatively, he leaned up to capture the man's lips in a tender, loving kiss.

"I love you," he breathed, soft and full of longing. He meant it with all his heart and every fibre of his soul. It was desperate and needy and it filled Kristoph with pride.

"You're mine, Phoenix."

He felt himself being dragged into the bedroom, stripped of his clothes and forced onto his hands and knees. The last thing he felt was Kristoph entering him roughly from behind and he knew no more as he succumbed to his lover's control.

All was calm and silent in the bedroom; nothing save the muffled sounds of the occasional passing car down along the street. Phoenix himself was halfway in dreamland, his mind and body lulled from the effects of their vigorous and passionate love-making, until the rustling of bed sheets roused him from his half-slumber. It was dark, but not to the extent that he couldn't see Kristoph slide gracefully out of bed to pull on his pants and button his shirt. Turning to his side, Phoenix propped his chin on his elbow and watched him quietly, longingly, almost sadly. When the handsome blonde turned to leave, he immediately sat up, the blanket sliding down his naked body to pool around his waist.

"Won't you stay?" He pleaded in a quiet whisper, knowing full well that Kristoph heard him. The man stiffened by the door; Phoenix licked his lips and decided to push his luck.

"I miss you when you're gone."

He saw Kristoph's shoulders visibly relax, his own heart fluttering in relief and hope when his lover crossed the room to return to his side. He bent down to claim Phoenix's lips in a soft kiss, but it was more apologetic than yielding.

"I'm sorry, but I have some things to settle in the office later. Maybe next weekend?"

Phoenix pouted. "But that's what you said last week! Geez, you're such a workaholic..."

Kristoph chuckled and leaned in once again to plant an apologetic kiss on his forehead. "I'm really sorry. I promise, I'll make it up to you…"

"Tomorrow?" Phoenix finished hopefully. "That's Sunday and we could go to the park –"

"Unfortunately, I'm booked tomorrow… Please don't misunderstand, I'm not avoiding you on purpose," he quickly added as soon as he saw Phoenix practically deflate from disappointment. "I'm to attend a special ceremony down at the precinct. Klavier's going to receive his 'King of Prosecutors' award and he's been asking for me."

Phoenix cocked his head at that familiar name. "You mean your younger brother?"

"That's right - Oh, do forgive me," Kristoph interrupted himself when he made a certain realization. "I hope there's no bad blood between you two from that incident seven years ago… I should've been more sensitive."

"Nah, it's fine," Phoenix waved off his concern. "Even though we never figured out who actually fabricated that evidence, your brother was just doing his job. He did the right thing calling me out. I never held anything against him, Kristoph."

"That's good to know," he said with a smile, ostensibly relieved. Phoenix couldn't stop staring at him. It was truly amazing how Kristoph could be so sweet one moment, and fiercely possessive the next.

"Um… Kristoph?"

"What is it?"

Phoenix clasped his hands nervously, eyes darting to the side as he struggled with himself. He wanted to ask so badly, but he could already picture Kristoph's subsequent rejection clear in his mind. He had tried; asked many times in the past, but to no avail. It was a selfish request, he knew by default, but still, he wanted to try his luck. Maybe one day, Kristoph wouldn't be so embarrassed by him anymore. Maybe things would finally turn around and they could appear in public together.

"Can I come?"

It came out meeker than he expected and he honestly wasn't in the least bit surprised when Kristoph simply shook his head, like a parent berating their child.

"Phoenix, you know very well the severity of your reputation," he admonished and Phoenix had no trouble reading between the lines to know that his presence would affect Kristoph's credibility by consequence. "You'd be under constant scrutiny and I can't be held accountable for people's actions, whatever they may be. In the eyes of the law and the general public, you're guilty. And need I remind you that majority going are prosecutors?"

"No, you're right," Phoenix relented with a sigh, sadness clouding his once bright blue eyes, "it's better this way. For everyone."

Kristoph watched him with growing sympathy. He knew better than anyone of Phoenix's longing to return to the local law scene, his desire to go back to the way things were before those seven years of darkness and reclaim his dignity. But time had been long and cruel, and even he could see the flickering flames of hope gradually die in the ex-lawyer's eyes, despair eat away at his tortured heart. If Kristoph had to be brutally honest, he'd say that apart from Trucy and him, Phoenix ultimately had nothing else to live for.

"Don't talk like that," he murmured, cupping Phoenix's cheeks to turn his face to meet his eyes. "No matter what happens or what people say, I'll always be here."

"You promise?"

"I'll never let you go."

Moved beyond words, Phoenix reached up to place his hands upon Kristoph's. At this moment, he felt incredibly lucky. Here he was, at the lowest point of his life, dating the most supportive, beautiful, sensitive genius of his time and he couldn't ask for anything more. Kristoph Gavin loved him. For some strange, wonderful reason, he loved him. A perfect man with a perfect life, who had throes of admirers throwing themselves at his feet, and Kristoph chose him to spend seven years of his life with and counting. He, who had nothing, while his lover had everything. But most of all, Kristoph accepted Trucy – in fact, he loved her just as much as she loved him and Phoenix thought there could be nothing in this world that could make him happier.

Speaking of Trucy…

"Kristoph," he began all of a sudden, "I've given the matter some thought and I… I think I'll give Trucy and the Wonder Bar a chance."

Kristoph's eyes widened in honest surprise. "Phoenix, are you sure? I wouldn't want you to feel like I coerced you into making such a decision."

"Don't worry, you didn't," he assured him. "Although I would've preferred you to discuss matters like this with me first, I know you did it because you genuinely care."

"You're not upset?"

He chuckled, light and honest. "I said I love you, didn't I?"

Phoenix smiled through his laughter and Kristoph knew that he would be ok.

"Of course."

"When will I see you again?" Phoenix asked, voice soft yet ringing with hope.

"I'll let you know when it's convenient. And preferably somewhere less public."

With one last parting kiss and bidding each other goodnight, Kristoph straightened his suit, adjusted his glasses, and left without once turning back to see Phoenix collapse onto the mattress, a sad, lonely smile playing on his soft, quivering lips.

To be continued...

Author's note:

So, I made Olga a sort of sister-figure to Phoenix because I didn't like the relationship the game gave them and I thought doing this would give a huge boost to her character in the chapters to come. Also, I always thought it would be sort of badass if a professional dealer and professional poker player became close friends. Let's just see how it goes.

This chapter was quite emotionally painful for me to write, especially with all the suffering I made Phoenix go through. I've always been a sucker for angst and I wanted to give this seven-year gap a darker spin, as well as give you guys a better idea of the hardships he's had to endure, both for himself and for Trucy. I think this is the most important aspect of a father's love for his daughter, which I feel the game failed to fully convince.

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