Okay, so I finally got around to writing this one-shot. Surprisingly, it took me like, three hours cooped up in my room with nothing but a can of soda, a Bon Jovi CD, and my computer. It's a lot longer than I thought it would be. According to my Corel program, this is nine pages long, with the amount of words in the 4,000 word range. (I was expecting like, two thousand ...)

Beware of a horrible attempt at trying to make readers cry. Also, it mentions events in my other Miego one-shot (Dry Your Tears) a couple of times, so you might want to read that afterward.

I was too lazy to get one of my friends to beta this and I suck at editing my own work, so if you see any mistakes, point them out. :) I'll gladly fix them.

Disclaimer: I don't own Phoenix Wright. I can't think up these kind of amazing plot ideas, as much as I wish I could.

–August 26, 10:05 P.M.
Grossberg Law Offices–

Mia poured over some old case files, brow furrowed as her eyes watered in the harsh light of a lamp right in front of her. Diego, who was leaning against the wall with his own file in hand, glanced at her with concern. She'd been quieter recently, and she'd devoted more time than ever to researching the kidnapping case in which Dahlia Hawthorne had been involved. This showed, considering how late she was staying at Grossberg's every night when she could be home, watching TV or something.

Abandoning his position by the wall, he walked over to Mia and set the file beside her hand. She was so absorbed in her reading that she did not notice Diego hovering behind her until he cleared his throat.

"Kitten?" he asked, breaking the long, prolonged silence. Mia turned around in her seat to look at him.

"Yes, Diego?" she replied drowsily.

"I think that's enough for tonight. You've been staying here late every night for a couple of weeks now." He beckoned with his fingers. "C'mon."

Mia shook her head and turned around again, back to the file. "Sorry, Diego, but I'm staying here for another hour at least."

"Ha!" Diego shook his head, grinning. "That's not exactly a great time for a young kitten to be out on the streets alone, is it? And don't you need to ... oh, I dunno, sleep?"

"I've managed for the last couple of weeks," replied Mia, not looking up from her reading. "Besides, I'm not tired." Contradictorily, she yawned.

Diego shook his head. "If you're going to actually stay for that long, you might as well have a cup of coffee." He got to his feet and wandered over to a coffee maker set up on a small table on the other side of the room. As he began making it, he could hear Mia yawn again and the rustling of pages.

A few minutes later, Diego returned, holding a cup of fresh coffee. He set it on the table in front of her and said, "Diego Blend #102. My personal favourite."

Taking the mug without looking up from her file, Mia asked, "How many blends of coffee do you have, anyway?"

Diego grinned. "More than a hundred and fifty. And I'm always making more."

Mia shook her head hopelessly and set the mug down by the file, continuing with her reading.

There was silence for a few moments as Diego picked up the file he had set down minutes ago and began to read it, leaning against the desk. After a moment, he said carelessly, "Ms. 'Teen Angel' called me this afternoon."

Mia's head shot up faster than she could spot contradictions in a cross-examination.

"Dahlia Hawthorne called you?" she asked.

Well, that got her attention.

"Ha! Didn't I just say that?" Diego rolled his eyes.

"What did she say?" asked Mia, completely unfazed by what he just said.

Picking at the top of the desk with one hand, Diego rummaged in his pockets, finally producing a small gray cell phone. After flipping it open and pressing a few buttons, he set it down on the desktop, right on top of Mia's file. After a couple of seconds, Diego's voice issued from it.

"Hello."

"Is this Diego Armando?"

That voice ... Mia remembered that voice. She could picture its owner perfectly; a young woman of average height, with red hair that reached a few inches past her shoulders, part of which was braided into a crown of sorts around the top of her head. Her eyes, light brown, were so wide and innocent, yet there was something deadly in them, too. The pink dress, and that pink parasol that she always clutched ... it all stood out so clear in her mind, as if she had just seen the woman the day before, and not six months ago.

The surprise in Diego's recorded voice was obvious as he replied, "Speaking." He recognized the voice, Mia was sure. As if to prove her right, he added, "Is this Dahlia Hawthorne?"

"Yes, of course." Mia could imagine the sweet, innocent smile plastered on Dahlia Hawthorne's face as she said this. "I hear you've been researching my kidnapping – you and Mia Fey."

"Ha!" The recorded Diego, the surprise evaporating from his voice as quickly as it had come, laughed. "You have no idea ..."

Dahlia laughed softly, but there was not even a trace of humor in that laugh. "I want to talk to you about that, as soon as possible. There's something you might want to know about it."

"You can't tell me it now?" asked Recorded!Diego.

"No."

Well, that was blunt and to the point ... Mia thought.

Dahlia continued before Diego could add in his two cents. "I'd prefer to talk to you ... face to face."

"Ha!" A momentary pause on Diego's end convinced Mia that he'd taken a drink from one of his ever-present coffee mugs before continuing. "Settling it old-fashioned style. I like it. Where and when?"

Dahlia seemed to have had her answer prepared, because she answered as if she was reciting a well-known line. "How about the courthouse cafeteria, tomorrow at one o'clock?"

Another pause. Probably another drink of coffee. Then, Diego replied, "Tomorrow, in the cafeteria? That's a tad short notice, but my kitten and I will be there."

"Your ... kitten?" Dahlia's voice was full of disdain and slight confusion.

Mia gave him a look of feigned reproach, but there was laughter in her eyes. "You always have to call me your 'kitten', don't you?" she asked him.

Diego grinned and paused the recording for a moment. "Ha! Kitten, you're living up to your name, unsheathing your claws like that. Too bad you don't do it more often." He took it off pause and both of them fell silent, listening.

"Yes. Mia Fey. I do believe you've made her acquaintance."

The image of Dahlia rolling her eyes at this piece of information came to Mia's mind just then. "Of course I have. No, I think it's only necessary for one of you to hear this."

"My kitten's coming with me." Diego's voice was full of resolution as he said this. "She's a good, loyal kitten. She won't scratch you like she did in that trial ... but I won't guarantee that she won't bite."

Dahlia sighed. "Fine. Tomorrow, one o'clock, the courthouse cafeteria. Just you, your ki–Ms. Fey, and myself. The coffee is on me."

The recording was done. Diego shut off his phone and stowed it back into his pocket, looking at Mia. Before he could say a word, she said, "I can't come tomorrow. I'm visiting my sister, Maya, and my aunt and my cousin in Kurain Village at that time." Lowering her voice, she added, "Besides, I don't trust her. You shouldn't go."

"Ha!" Diego flashed a grin at her, his teeth gleaming in the light. "A gentleman always keeps his promises, Kitten."

"In case you've forgotten, this is Dahlia Hawthorne," responded Mia, slamming her fist upon the desktop for emphasis. "She's been at the centre of three crimes; the kidnapping case, Valerie's murder, and Fawles's death. I don't trust her. Neither should you."

"Kitten, what could happen? She can't do anything to a person with eyewitnesses galore. She is trying to avoid one death penalty already, in case you've forgotten."

Mia took a deep breath. "Listen, Diego, I honestly think you shouldn't go. Please, don't." Her voice had taken on a pleading, desperate tone now. "What if something happens to you?"

"That's highly unlikely."

"What if it happens?" she repeated firmly.

Diego was quiet for a moment. Finally, he pointed at Mia's abandoned cup of coffee. "Are you going to drink that?" he asked.

Mia rolled her eyes. "You coffee addict."

As usual, Diego grew suddenly defensive as he reached for the mug. (Apparently, he took her reply as a "no.") "'You can never get too much of a good thing.' Coffee is dark and bitter, just like the world we live in, and the disposition of Ms. Hawthorne. Yet, this world can be a good place, and Ms. Hawthorne must have had her good moments. Just like coffee."

"Sure." All the sarcasm that Mia could muster was put into that single word. Yawning, she closed the case file and stood up. "I suppose I should be going home. The train to Kurain leaves early tomorrow." She glanced at him anxiously. "Are you still going to go tomorrow?"

Diego smiled softly. "Didn't I already tell you? A gentleman always keeps his promises, even ones like this."

She frowned. "I don't trust her."

"So you've said."

Mia walked over to a coat rack hanging by the door. It was chilly for August – well, at least when she had come to Grossberg's a few hours ago, which was why she had brought a coat. Putting her right arm through the sleeve and with her back to Diego, she asked quietly, "Do you promise you'll come out of that meeting tomorrow alive?"

She turned around to find Diego had followed her across the room. He stood about a foot away, his face all smiles.

"I promise, Kitten," he said, raising hand as if he were a witness at a trial swearing to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Mia grinned. "Well, goodnight."

Mia took a step forward, wrapping her arms around him. "Goodnight, Diego." Diego wrapped his own arms around her waist and kissed her. They stood like that for a moment, and their lips only parted long enough for Mia to say this, "Your breath always smells like coffee."

Diego laughed softly. "I know." He was about to let her go when Mia tightened her grip on him.

"One last kiss?" she asked, smiling. "For luck with your meeting tomorrow."

"There's no such thing as luck," Diego tried to tell her, but she didn't listen. They kissed again for a much, much longer time than their previous kiss.

Of course, Diego was right. There was no such thing as luck ... and fate seemed determined to prove him right.

–August 27, 1:01 P.M.
District Court
Courthouse Cafeteria–

"Good afternoon, Ms. Hawthorne," Diego curtly acknowledged the woman sitting opposite of him. She was rather pretty, with flaming red hair and wide brown eyes. She had a heart-shaped face and pale skin, and was wearing the same pink dress and carrying the same pink parasol, probably to ward off the blazing sun on her way to the courthouse.

She looked the exact same as she had six months ago, during that trial.

Rather than replying with the same curtness, a smile blossomed on the woman's face. "Please, call me Dahlia." She laughed softly, but, just like in her call yesterday, it held no humor, nor did anything about her hinted that she felt amusement concerning her statement. "I'm so glad you could come and meet me today, Mr. Armando. But where is Ms. Fey?"

Unlike Dahlia, Diego did not object to being acknowledged by his last name. "Kitten? She's gone to Kurain Village for the day, to visit her family. That's where she's originally from."

"Oh, I know," replied Dahlia, still smiling. Diego's eyebrow rose, and she answered his unasked question defensively. "The, um, DL6 incident involved a Ms. Misty Fey, correct? I'd heard that her oldest daughter became a lawyer. I assumed Mia Fey was that daughter."

Diego shrugged and leaned toward her, elbows resting on the table. He had no cup of coffee to hold. He had forgotten his thermos at home, and didn't have enough time to get coffee from the cafeteria before his meeting with her started. "So, Ms. 'Teen Angel', what did you want to tell me?"

The perfect smile on Dahlia's face might have been sweet and innocent, but her eyes were hard as stones. Fiddling with her parasol, she said carelessly, "Ever the same, aren't you, Mr. Armando? Except for your coffee, of course. Would you like some? I did say that the coffee was on me."

Diego nodded. "I'll take it black. But, I'll pay for my own ..." Dahlia, who was already halfway across the cafeteria, either didn't hear him, or was pretending not to. He watched her as she headed toward the counter where a grumpy, middle-aged woman was tending to the cash register. He never took his eyes off her. Dahlia must have known this, because she turned to look at him and smiled. Her smile was not returned.

A few minutes later, she returned, holding two cups of coffee and some napkins in her hands. She set one down in front of Diego and, sitting down again, took a sip from her own. As Diego took his, he couldn't help but notice that her coffee was black.

"Ha! You drink real coffee, I see." Diego sniffed his own, then took a swallow, waiting for her response.

Dahlia smiled. "Of course. But we have more important things to discuss now."

"To me, very few things are more important than coffee," pointed out Diego.

"Yes, I suppose there are." Dahlia's smile widened. "But one of those things would be your 'kitten', right?"

"And justice." Diego took another sip of coffee, trying to contain the anger that suddenly rose in him like a snake. What business did this woman have of speaking of Mia, whom she had wounded so terribly in the Fawles case? This, this demoness, who he detested so deeply had killed and escaped justice. She wouldn't this time, though. Not if he could help it.

"I suppose justice would be important to you." Diego hinted a trace of mockery in Dahlia's voice. "You are a defense lawyer."

"I am a defense attorney." Diego said it proudly, then took a sip from his coffee. "I am a defense attorney who is looking for justice concerning two cases."

Dahlia smiled. "Two cases?"

"Obviously, the kidnapping case," replied Diego, setting his cup down. "And ... Valerie's murder."

Tears suddenly came to Dahlia's eyes. "Y-You still think that ... that I killed my own s-sister?" she asked. "Y-You and M-M-Mia Fey think I-I could d-do such a th-thing?"

"We think you could do such a thing quite easily, and without any problem whatsoever."

A tear trickled down Dahlia's cheek. "I-I c-could n-never k-k-kill anyone."

"Save it for the prosecutors when we get enough evidence," spat Diego. "You have no evidence that the kidnapping wasn't staged, and that you didn't kill Valerie Hawthorne. The truth will always prevail in the end."

Dahlia ignored the last sentence. "I-I do not have evidence, b-but I-I do have a w-witness to w-what happened o-on the bridge."

Diego, who had been taking a swig from his coffee cup, sprayed it all over the table in shock. He stared at Dahlia. "A ... witness?" He slammed the cup on the tabletop, and some coffee slopped out of it and landed in a small puddle around the cup. "Damn it!"

Sliding the napkins over to Diego, Dahlia nodded. "Y-Yes. She's a nun at the training dojo on Eagle Mountain."

"Why hasn't her testimony appeared in any of the old court files?" he demanded, beginning to mop up the puddle of coffee.

"She's ... very meek, and not suited to testifying. Besides, she saw the same thing as the prosecution's witness. Why must she have repeated what Valerie saw?"

Diego frowned. "I'd still like to interview her. Do you know her name?"

Dahlia shook her head. "All I know about her ... is that she is a nun at the mountain dojo."

Standing up and holding the soggy napkins, Diego said, "I'll put these in the trash – I'll be right back." As he left, he barely registered a soft clink, like metal against metal.

After he deposited the napkins in the garbage, he returned, sliding into his seat. "Thank you for this rather odd show of cooperation, Ms. Hawthorne."

Beaming, Dahlia stood up. "You're welcome, but it will not help you much, Mr. Armando. She will give the same testimony as my dear sister did." If she knows what's good for her, anyway, Dahlia thought venomously. "I must be going now. I ... I have something to do."

Diego nodded and followed her with his eyes as she walked over to the set of double doors, barely registering that she was carrying something clutched in her hand. Thoughtfully, he raised his cup and rested the rim against his lips.

--

Dahlia knew he was watching and forced herself to keep walking at her normal pace, to not look rushed and to not look worried. Once she was out of the cafeteria, she would run as fast as she could, for she knew something that Diego did not.

--

As the double doors closed behind Dahlia, Diego tipped the cup so that the coffee trickled into his mouth.

He instantly noticed that something was wrong, even before his throat closed on him, before his insides felt as if they were burning, and before the eerie feeling of something creeping in his veins arrived. He struggled to breathe as he collapsed, onto the table, knocking over his coffee in the process.

The last thing he thought before it all went dark was that he didn't keep his promise to his kitten.

--

Dahlia was walked quickly toward the reading room when she heard the cries of alarm from the cafeteria. She smiled in spite of herself. What a fool. Did he not expect this to happen?

Her grip tightened around a necklace she was carrying. It had a pendant shaped like a heart with a small bottle inside. She had used the bottle to carry the poison, and now, she had to plant it upon someone else.

She slowed down as she saw the door to the reading room, telling herself to calm down. Stopping completely beside it, she smoothed her dress, commanded her quickly-beating heart to slow down, and checked her reflection in the door's window before entering.

Almost instantly, she saw a young man browsing the shelves. He looked unperturbed, unaware of the "tragedy" that had occurred in the cafeteria. He had a pale face and dark, spiky hair, with dark blue eyes and a happy-go-lucky air about him. She could have sworn that she'd seen him at her university before.

Dahlia nodded.

He was perfect for this job.

All smiles, Dahlia walked up to him. "Um, hello ...?"

–August 27, 5:34 P.M.
Grossberg Law Offices–

Mia had barely been inside Grossberg's for five seconds, and she already knew that something terrible had happened.

The secretary looked glummer than Mia's little sister, Maya, when she was denied a cheeseburger. Several of the attorneys that worked in the building were gathered in small groups, muttering amongst themselves. Grossberg himself was pacing back and forth across the room, a cell phone jammed to his ear, muttering something under his breath.

At that moment, Mia's phone rang.

Flipping it open and pressing "Talk", she said, "Hello, Mia Fey speaking."

"Mia! Oh, thank God ..." Grossberg. Of course. "Everyone tried to contact you, but your phone was turned off."

"Um, Mr. Grossberg? Can you do me a favor?"

"Mia, there are no favors when–"

"Just turn around."

Grossberg turned around and spotted her. He pursed his lips and said into his phone, "Oh." Turning it off, he walked over to her, looking stricken. "Mia, something terrible has happened."

Mia gazed at him. "What? What happened?" Suddenly, fear gripped her heart, making her stumble. "Is it–?"

"Diego ... Diego was poisoned!"

Even though Mia had feared this would happen, the feeling of hearing those three simple words was much more terrible than she could have thought. "D-Diego's dead?!" she yelped, causing everyone to look at her.

"He is not dead." Grossberg looked resigned, even as he said it.

Relief made Mia's legs feel as if they were about to collapse beneath her. "Thank God – but where is he?"

Grossberg sighed. "In the hospital. He is in ... critical condition. He's in a coma."

The relief sapped out of Mia faster than it had come. It was probably something to do with grief that made her grab Grossberg's suit and try to pull him toward her. Unfortunately, Grossberg was rather heavy, so she satisfied herself with sticking her face in his. "What hospital?" she demanded, tears blinding her. "Wh-What hospital?"

"Hotti Clinic." Grossberg tried to ease himself from her grip. "But it will do you no good."

However, Mia had already turned tail and ran out of the office, with a new destination in mind; the Hotti Clinic.

–August 27, 6:29 P.M.
Hotti Clinic
Ward #102–

Mia was perched on a stool beside a hospital bed. The ward itself was white, with lots of medical equipment surrounding the white bed. She didn't recognize any of the medical equipment, nor should she, as she wasn't a doctor or a nurse. Her gaze was fixed upon the occupant of the hospital bed, her face streaked with tears as she did so, for the occupant was none other than Diego Armando.

He looked so peaceful with his eyes closed, and yet out of place in the white room. He also looked small, smaller than he had when he was awake. She held one of his hands, letting the tears pour from her eyes and the sobs to break the silence of the room, except for the group of doctors and nurses standing in a semi-circle on the other side of the ward, talking amongst themselves.

"You promised to come back alive, and you did ... just not in the way we expected," she whispered to him.

She knew that it was a rare poison that he had consumed. The doctors had told her that much before she came in. It was also strong, according to them. Diego was lucky to be alive.

"Dahlia Hawthorne must have slipped it into your coffee. Who else could have done it?" she continued softly.

Diego was in a deep coma, the doctors had said. He may never wake up, but modern medicine could keep him alive, just in case.

"She deliberately lured you there. Why, oh why did you have to go, Diego?" Tears fell onto his white blanket.

Dahlia Hawthorne had been arrested in connection with Diego's "death". However, they still needed to find decisive evidence before she could go to court and be tried.

"Wake up, Diego. Wake up!" More tears fell as Mia desperately sobbed, "Please, Diego! Please wake up!"

Dahlia Hawthorne might not be tried for this. Mia hoped with every fibre in her being that she would. Her hatred for the woman increased with every passing moment.

"Wake up!" she begged, gazing at his face. It looked so still and peaceful, but it also looked ... cold, somehow. Distant. "Don't leave me, Diego. I can't finish this on my own!"

She knew what Diego would say to her if he was awake; "Kitten, you can always finish anything if you put your mind to it. Whether or not you do ... that's your problem."

"Dahlia will get away with this too." The hand that was not clutching Diego's balled itself into a fist. "She's gotten away with the kidnapping, and Valerie's murder. She'll get away with this as well."

"The truth always prevails, Kitten," he would tell her, giving her one of his cocky smiles. "Justice will serve. Always."

"Dahlia's other crimes ... they mean so little to me, compared to this," Mia confessed to Diego's body. "The kidnapping was so long ago, wasn't it? And I never even knew Valerie before she was killed. Fawles is, in a way, a victim of Dahlia's; both in his suicide, whether it was intentional or unintentional, and the kidnapping. He mattered to me, but not like this."

Now, he'd probably say something philosophical, and mix in a metaphor with coffee somehow.

"You always, always tell me this; 'A lawyer can never cry until it's all over.' That's what you always say." Mia's grip on Diego's hand tightened. "It is over, Diego. I can't keep going."

"Hey, hold up." Mia could almost imagine Diego sitting up in his hospital bed and looking at her reproachfully. "Since when does my kitten give up when something fluffs her fur? Don't hang that pretty head. Unsheathe those claws of yours, and don't let go of Dahlia. Justice and the truth are as reliable as the darkness and bitterness of coffee."

"Justice doesn't exist anymore," Mia insisted. The doctors were looking at her strangely, but she didn't give a damn. "If it existed, Dahlia would have been in jail before this happened." She dropped the subject, though, and clutched his hand desperately. "Oh please, Diego, wake up. I can't do this alone."

Now, he'd say something about how no one can do anything alone, and make himself his seventh cup of coffee in the last hour.

Tears kept falling, and Mia succumbed to a fit of heaving sobs before finally saying, "Diego, you once told me to dry my tears, and reminded me that lawyers can't cry – that all they can do is smile. And you reassured me that I was a lawyer, through and through. I cry, and I can't smile. I'm not a lawyer."

Memories came back of her failed attempt of continuing her law career. They made her cringe, and the tears intensified.

"I want you back, Diego. I need you back." Mia took a tissue and wiped at her eyes, realizing that she had never felt so alone and helpless. Not even when her mother had left after the DL6 incident, not during her first (and last) attempt at continuing her law career, and not when she'd failed Fawles in that case back in February.

And then, she was faced with the raw, painful reality of it all. Diego, who meant so much to her and who could always bring any conversation around to coffee, was gone. She could never see him smile, or drink his coffee and comment on its darkness and bitterness. He would never laugh when she wrinkled her nose after taking a drink of coffee. She could never hear him say his sayings, or call her "Kitten" ever again. He would never again do those things that brought a smile to her face, or make her laugh.

It was almost the exact same feeling when one is faced with the truth that a loved one is dead; an immovable truth that you can't face or bear, and wish it didn't exist at all. However, it was worse in this case. To know that Diego was still alive, but might never awaken again, drove a knife through Mia's heart.

"I'll come and visit as often as I can," she said to the immobile body lying in the hospital bed. "I'll come here every day until you wake up. I promise."

There was no response. Mia didn't expect there to be one. She kissed Diego on his clammy cheek and got up from her stool, wiping at her eyes as she left the ward.

She'd stop at Diego's favorite café before she went home, just to smell the coffee he loved – no, that he loves – so much.

My aim was to get people to cry, or at least get tears in readers' eyes, but I don't think I succeeded. I didn't even feel a single tear in my eyes while I was writing/rereading this. Then again, I'm an unemotional person who only cries at funerals and when I've been (badly!) injured by frying pans, basketballs, soccer balls, falling on my head, etc. Maybe I did succeed. -shrug-

I'm writing at least three more Miego one-shots. Yay? XD The next one could be up as early as today. I'm writing like wildfire.

--Lingering Spirit/Smart Aleckette