Disclaimer: Ace Attorney and all characters are copyright by CAPCOM; I'm just a fan imitating. The stories presented are influenced by the multiple games as well as the comic (Manga written by Kenji Kuroda).

Chapter 17

Never Point a Weapon at Anything You Don't Intend to Kill

Phoenix climbed onto the bus at the stop outside the pedestrian gate. He felt conspicuous in camouflage, but there was no getting around it. It took almost forty minutes to get to the building—not because it was far—but because he was an idiot who didn't drive.

Naturally, as these things go, he was ridiculously early for his appointment at the range. Well, better early than late. Edgar was a retired Marine, and he ran the qual program at the range for the last several years, so he recognized Phoenix right away.

"You're early again, Nick," Edgar said.

Phoenix only shrugged sheepishly and rubbed his neck, "You can put me to work if you want Eddie, or you can show me where I can take a nap."

Edgar laughed and shook his head, and waved at Phoenix to follow him into the building. The went into the indoor range where Edgar had a rack of forty or so Beretta M9s aligned neatly in four rows on two shelves on a narrow cart.

"You know, Nick, I get Seamen coming through here, Lance Corporals—I even had a couple Airmen—Air Force Airmen—come through last week. But no one ever offers to swing by early and help prep—except this fighter pilot Lieutenant—a full Lieutenant…"

Phoenix ran a hand sheepishly through his spikes, "It's not really altruism if I'm here because of my own shortcomings, sir."

Edgar stopped and stared at him, "What shortcomings? You're an awesome kid, Nick. Your parents must be real proud of you."

"Eddie stop, you're going to make me blush."

Edgar motioned toward the cart, "Do you remember where the clearing barrel is?"

"Yes," Phoenix said.

"Come find me when you're done, Nick," Edgar left him with the cart and Phoenix pushed the entire thing toward another room in the back where a red painted metal barrel filled with sand and marked up with yellow warning and caution stickers was propped in a wooden frame so that it lay at a 45 degree angle. He paused to grab an empty pickle bucket that he set near his foot and picked up the first gun.

Release the magazine—it doesn't have one. Open the chamber—empty. Safety, on. He set the pistol back on the cart and picked up the next one. This one still had the empty magazine in it, so he dropped it in the bucket. Chamber—empty. Safety, on. Next…

He made short work of the tedious job—liking the chance to blank out and focus on one thing. He ended up only having to clear one gun.

That group paid attention…

He wheeled the cart back to where Edgar had first showed it to him and carried the bucket with him into the antechamber where Edgar was busy sliding live rounds into piles of magazines. Phoenix joined him—setting down his bucket at his feet.

"These are all empty?" Edgar asked him.

"Yes, sir," Phoenix reached toward the small table Edgar was using for his task, and dropped a handful of unused cartridges onto the table. He got to work without being directed to do so, pressing cartridges into each magazine and sorted the loaded ones into separate containers.

"So, I wasn't expecting to see you until after the holidays," Edgar said without looking up or pausing in his task.

"Yeah," Phoenix frowned, "I had an accident underway—I had to bail. So they sent me home."

Edgar met his eye and actually set down the magazine he was working with, "Oh gosh, son… I'm terribly sorry…"

Phoenix chuckled and cocked his head, "Things like this happen, I suppose."

"Do you know if they'll let you fly again?"

Phoenix met his eye mischievously, "Well Eddie, I cant fly if I'm not current on my quals."

"Are you okay? Buddy I knew ejected from a hornet… He never ran again… let alone flew."

Phoenix frowned, "Yeah Eddie, I'm doing pretty good so far. I ran the other day and didn't die—so that's good."

Edgar shook his head, "You're something special, Nick."

Phoenix smiled, "You know the real reason I like coming early is so you can tell me how awesome I am, Eddie."

Edgar laughed and shook his head.

When they were done prepping the magazines, they went through the gun belts, making sure none were tangled or had anything extraneous in the nooks and pockets.

Phoenix made a face at Edgar in the middle of this, and held up a small balled up foil wrapper, "Gum in the holster."

Edgar cursed under his breath.

With Phoenix's help, they made short work of the task, and waited in the classroom for the others to show up. Edgar regaled him with stories of the Marine Corps in the '90s. Kosovo and Somalia, a different world and time. The other students trickled in; most of them Air Crew Petty Officers from other commands, one or two randoms hoping to earn the ribbon, and finally, about three minutes after they were supposed to start, a pair of nurses out of Portsmouth who were slated to go to Iraq.

The two sat near Phoenix, seeing that he was the only other officer in the room. They were still chattering at him about their special deployment when Edgar entered with handouts for the group.

The first part of the qual consisted of reviewing the Navy's Instruction on Small Arms Handling for Force Protection. Mostly it drilled the Universal Weapons Safety Rules, and conditions 1, 3, and 4 as they applied to the M9. Then the class moved into the antechamber of the indoor range for practical instruction.

"I've never shot a gun before," the ginger nurse told the blonde nurse.

Phoenix looked over his shoulder at them and put a finger to his lips to shush them, unfortunately this led to a fit of giggling that made Edgar stop the class.

"Excuse me," he said calm but grim, "You might want to pay attention."

He walked them through the practical function of the weapon and then explained the qual, three, seven, and fifteen yards within a given time limit. It wasn't difficult, really. Edgar liked to describe it as 'sailor proof' shooting.

Next, each student was given a gun belt and an M9. They all loaded their magazines and were shown how to access the safety and the cock the hammer with the non-firing thumb. Keep your finger off of the trigger until the target was in your sight. How to sight the weapon. How to check to see if there was a round in the chamber. Release the magazine with the non-firing thumb—okay put it back in.

Edgar had Phoenix assist the ginger nurse and as he went through the steps with her and she kept insisting that he call her by her first name—which was Mary-Ellen or something—but all he wanted to do was get this over with. They were allowed into the range in groups of three and four to take a few practice rounds to sight the gun and get a feel for it.

Blonde nurse's hands were shaking. Phoenix swallowed, this was actually pretty dangerous now.

"Hey," he told her sternly, "You're okay. Follow instructions."

She nodded and turned to look at him while magazines for the qual were being handed out—the gun was still in her hand and she pointed it up directly toward his face. Phoenix blinked. He felt his heart stop—thankfully his hand had already grasped hers before he'd paused to think about it, and he slid the safety on.

"Oh my god," Phoenix muttered and pulled the gun away from her, surreptitiously checking the chamber to find it loaded. He grimaced—that might've ended badly.

"Look," Phoenix said, "Maybe you should come back another time."

She looked up at him with her big green eyes welling up with tears, "I have to get this qual—it's a pre-deployment requirement."

He glared at her incredulously.

When the qual was done, Phoenix hung back watching the Petty Officers comparing results and anticipating which device they'd get to add to their uniform. At least he got his qual done.

Mary-Ellen and the other nurse, Victoria, managed to qualify as well, despite the shaky start. A lot of them folded up the target sheets, which were used to score the qual to keep. Phoenix threw his away but accepted the memo saying he'd passed.

"Lieutenant," blonde nurse—Victoria—ran after him when he left the building, "Sir?"

He stopped to look at her—probably a little more sternly than he'd meant to, "What's wrong, now?"

His curt reply left her nervous and shy but she looked at him with her shoulders squared, and a healthy defiance, "I just wanted to say thank you—for-for not turning me in…"

Phoenix laughed and shook his head, "This is me gambling that you're actually a nurse and not like a security guard or something."

She laughed and ginger nurse—Mary-Ellen—caught up to her, eyeing him curiously, "Hey, yeah, thanks for helping us out, sir."

"Don't worry about it, okay," Phoenix shrugged, "Just be careful with your weapon okay—Never point—"

"Never point your weapon at anything you don't intend to shoot," they giggled as they repeated the rule simultaneously.

"Kill…" Phoenix corrected, finger raised, "Might as well say kill, don't shoot it if you wouldn't want to kill it."

"I'm sorry," Victoria started to say, Phoenix only smirked and turned away.

"Where are you going?" Mary-Ellen jerked a thumb in the other direction, "Parking lot's that way."

Phoenix turned back to them and grinned sheepishly, "I'm going to the bus stop—bike's in the shop—and I like to keep my carbon footprint small."

"Oh my God," Mary-Ellen said, "Where are you going? We'll drop you off."

"That's how I met them," Phoenix said leaning over the railing.

"You're insane," D'Andre laughed and paused to light a thin cigar, "Why do you keep doing this to yourself?"

"I swear, it wasn't like that," Phoenix said, "I just really wanted a ride back to the hangar."

"Phoenix Wright!"

"What?"

"You know you're cute right? You know that?"

Phoenix shrugged, "Look I…"

"You need to stop picking up random chicks," D'Andre said, "Period."

"I wasn't picking—"

"Yes you were…" D'Andre waved his hands emphatically, "You think you're just being friendly, but they be thinking you're interested."

Phoenix glowered and shook his head, "I wasn't even being friendly—"

D'Andre laughed at him, "You are too nice…. You're always being friendly… When I first met you I didn't believe you were in the Navy, because I thought you was high. High all the time. Hey man, that's cool dude…"

"I don't talk like that…"

"When does that ship get back?"

"I don't know… December last I heard…"

"Damn, Nick…"

"What?"

"What do you mean what? You can't be by yourself. That's what!"

Phoenix crossed his arms and glared back at him.

"Stan's gone now, I'm 'bout to head out, we need Adrian…"

Phoenix laughed, "You're exaggerating, Dee…"

"No I'm not," D'Andre pointed emphatically at him, "You need a roommate or a dog or something… 'Cause you can't be by yourself. You gonna get in trouble."

"I don't like dogs," Phoenix said, "and I don't need a roommate…"

"Then how you gonna make this right?"

"Make it right? I didn't do anything wrong…" Phoenix put his head in his hands frowning and running his fingers through his spikes, "I mean I wasn't trying to start anything…"

"I know, Nick," D'Andre flicked the tip of his cigar toward the balcony edge and then snuffed it out in an ashtray on the small table on his balcony, "That's why I worry about you…. Everybody's gone now…. And the ones that are left aren't the kind I would trust…"

He leaned back in the high-backed leather chair, scrolling through the news feeding into the browser's default homepage. He had physical therapy to look forward to that afternoon—and he was dreading it. Chief had stepped out for lunch, and he didn't feel like going anywhere, so he hid in the office.

He was lost in the quiet—thinking about D'Andre's comments last night. That he couldn't be alone.

I'm actually alone quite a bit…

He clicked on an article about the weather back home going into Halloween. After Miles' father died, Miles spent a few weeks in a home. There'd been rules, protocols… So those weeks were hard, because he was so close and yet unable to visit the way he had before. It was the first separation Phoenix experienced since his own father had left…

It felt like abandonment…. It felt like betrayal…

He clicked away from the article, and found something else that covered the local news in Southern California. Maybe D'Andre only recognized that gregarious side of him—the part that liked large groups and house parties. The part that had nowhere to be just then, because that part was alone.

It feels like abandonment…

Phoenix flipped back to his e-mail—nothing from Miles. He moved back to the browser and accessed his personal e-mail—nothing there either. Miles had that thing in Hawaii, he was probably busy packing and checking off the ship.

"Nick?"

Phoenix looked over in surprise, Celeste was at the office door. He smiled.

"What's up?"

"I haven't seen you since Monday," she said stepping into the office and taking a seat in front of his desk, "I popped over to see how you were doing."

"I'm great," Phoenix said, "Happy to be here… How're you?"

"Great," she said and he noticed she had a plastic yogurt cup and a spoon in her hand, "Did you eat lunch?"

Phoenix glanced away from her and stared at his computer screen with a frown, "Not today… Last week I actually threw up after physical therapy… So I figured I could wait a few hours…"

"Oh God," she said, "You threw up?"

He bit his lip and nodded but didn't look at her.

"What are they doing to you?"

He laughed and shook his head, "I get get some time in traction, and then we work on strength training…. I don't know why it hurts like that…"

"Your back?"

He nodded glumly.

"Didn't slow you down the other night, did it?" Celeste said opening the foil top of her yogurt.

Phoenix smiled sheepishly, "Ha… no…" Then his face fell in horror, "Celeste… Um… About that night…"

She shook her head and smiled waving off his concern, "It's okay, Nick…"

"Dee thinks it's hilarious to get me drunk and see what I do…" He muttered abashedly.

Celeste laughed, "It doesn't take much, does it?"

Phoenix felt the heat rise up his collar and stared pointedly at the screen, "Yeah, I'm kind of a cheap date… Then you get me in the lights and the music—at least he didn't drag us out for karaoke…"

She raised an eyebrow, "You sing too?"

He laughed, "No, but I karaoke…"

"I've been missing out," she said.

Phoenix lay back on the cushioned table, knees up, back straight, his fingers clawing into the foam of the table. He was sweating, but not from exertion and he could feel a tremor running up from his hands to his shoulders. His breath was coming in short measured gasps where he was trying to control it.

"Already?" He was a Lieutenant Commander, about his age, with a thick shock of black hair slicked back.

"Yeah Doc," Phoenix managed to choke out between gasps.

"Okay," the Doctor said, "Take a minute—whatever you need. When you're ready I need you to sit up for me."

Phoenix acknowledged with a thumbs up.

Doc patted his knee, "I'm just going to go update my notes."

Another thumbs up, and he sighed in frustration.

I could just lay like this until tomorrow…

"Don't go to sleep," the doctor called from the other side of the room, as if he'd heard Phoenix's thoughts. Phoenix raised his arm and gave another thumbs up.

After a minute, or ten, but it only felt like a minute—it was way too short; Phoenix steeled himself. He set his teeth in a grimace and pulled himself into a sitting position. His back hurt like hell and he relied mostly on the strength of his arms to lever himself into an upright position.

The doctor was beside him immediately, and even through the thin cotton t-shirt he was wearing, Doc's hands felt cold when they touched him and he jerked away at first.

"Sorry," Doc said.

"It's fine," Phoenix mumbled, wincing was those cold fingers pressed against his spine.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's what it is…" Doc mumbled, "When do you follow up with ortho?"

"Next month," Phoenix replied, trying his damnedest not to let his voice waver, "First week of December."

Doc frowned, "I'm going to go in and see if there's anything earlier… I really don't think this should wait."

Phoenix started to turn to look at him but it hurt so he straightened, "What's wrong?"

Doc had already moved to the other side of the room, where he had a heavy government issued laptop he was working on.

"I'll show you in a minute," Doc said absently, "Geez… the next available is the end of February…."

Doc stepped out of the room and came back a minute later with a plastic model of a spine, Phoenix eyed the model with dread. Doc stood in front of him, mouth grim.

"You're on a profile, right?"

"Yeah," Phoenix said.

"You're not running, are you?"

Phoenix frowned, "I've only gone like twice in the last three months."

The doctor shook his head and gave him an annoyed look, like he was dealing with a toddler that just didn't want to listen. Phoenix already felt his defenses rising.

"You're talking about my LIMDU profile, right? It says 'at own pace', for everything."

Doc nodded like he didn't believe him, "You don't happen to have a copy with you?"

Phoenix pointed to a chair where his sweatshirt was balled up on top of a beat up blue folder he'd carried with him since Bethesda. Doc went over to grab the folder and handed it to him so he could pull out his profile chit. Doc took the paper from him and glared at it before handing it back to him.

"Okay," he said, "It should be no PT."

Phoenix looked at the chit in his hand and frowned, "Oh."

Then doc pulled the spine model out from where he'd tucked it under his arm, Phoenix grimaced at it, they showed him this in Bethesda too.

"When you ejected from the plane," Doc began, and Phoenix nodded.

"Yeah, that's what they said in Bethesda—it compresses the spine."

The doctor paused and looked at him and then held up the model, "Well, everyone is different. Part of managing the pain and healing the injury is knowing what exactly is damaged in your specific case."

Doc pointed at the thick vertebra at the bottom of the model, "These are the lumbar vertebra, they're the most load bearing vertebra in the body, and the most likely to have problems with degeneration in the discs. Now, I'm not an orthopedist, but the surgeon you're seeing in December is good. He'll be able to fix this."

"Okay," Phoenix was frowning at Doc.

"What I think is likely is that you're bone to bone right here between L3 and L4–that's why it hurts like hell and that's why you shouldn't be putting extra pressure on your back."

"I thought you said—"

"Yes, because that is most often the case, but your back is good. Muscle tone is good. This pain is in the bones and that's why it feels like it's in the bone."

Phoenix stared at the doctor, "And they can fix that?"

Doc nodded, "More or less…. The ortho surgeon, will be able to pin-point where the problem is and the most likely solution is to go in and fuse those vertebra."

"And that will…?"

"Stop the pain," Doc said with a slight smile.

"But will I still be able to fly?"

Doc met his eye and hesitated and then turned with a shrug, "I'm not a flight surgeon—but I don't see why it would affect your ability to fly."

Doc went back to his laptop and added to his notes and then began banging out what might've been a letter or an e-mail. Phoenix just stared at him.

I don't see why it would affect your ability to fly…

"So, I'm going to redo your profile chit—no PT okay? That's an order. No push-ups, no sit-ups, no weight lifting—"

"Biking?"

The doctor didn't even look up at him, "Biking should be fine couple times a week—nothing crazy over terrain or anything—"

"My daily commute?"

At that the doctor stopped typing and stared at him, "Seriously?"

Phoenix glared back and nodded, defensive.

"You should drive then, until after you've had your surgery."

"Doc, you don't understand. I don't drive. I walk or I ride my bike."

A/N: Poor Phoenix and his lack of transportation...

In case you were wondering, Phoenix is an expert marksman on the pistol—but that's really not as impressive as it sounds. You just have to get a high enough score on the qual, and if you have to do it regularly, it's not hard. TBH I wouldn't bet on a Navy shooter in a gun fight... I'd probably have better luck throwing the gun than shooting it...

Do you like the chapter title? See what I did there? okay maybe no one gets it but me...