A/N: Phoenix Wright and Miles Edgeworth don't belong to me; they belong to CAPCOM. The plot and the characters of Brian & Sheila De Young, and their children, are mine.

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Phoenix wakes feeling very low one morning, fragmented memories of a rather noxious case they'd tackled over six months earlier once more invading his thoughts. Can Miles help him him to understand why he's feeling so down and, even more importantly, can he help him get over it?

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A slice of life oneshot where Phoenix questions if his work as a defence attorney really makes any difference to their clients' lives. Can Miles help him break out of his depression?

This fic idea came about as the result of a news story over a year ago here in Maine about the killing of a woman and her two children by her estranged husband who then killed himself after the murders. I remember being disgusted by his family and those who supported him since it was so obvious that the man was a monster-and I still am since they're so obviously in denial-and wondered how those who were closest to him couldn't see the monster he really was; it's clear that he showed others a very different face than the true one he showed his estranged wife and children but its still disturbing to me that he could have fooled them so completely. Surely there had to be signs in his behaviour that something was amiss somewhere.

At any rate, the idea for this fic was born although it has a happier ending than the one in Maine did. It's taken awhile to get it done; some of it was originally part of my Christmas fic, Ghosts Of Christmas Past, but I decided to leave it out and expand it on its own as a stand alone story and here is the result!

You have to wonder sometimes what prosecutors and defence attorneys feel about the justice system, and its all too obvious flaws and shortcomings, and if cases they've either prosecuted or defended ever stick in their minds. I'm sure that often both sides can be frustrated by how a case goes or doesn't go but they do their best with what they have and soldier they remember some of their most memorable cases? They do, often many years after it's ended, according to their recollections of the cases covered in true crime shows such as American Justice, Perfect Crimes? & City Confidential. It can be pretty scary when they relate their experiences in either prosecuting/defending the person charged with a crime, particularly when the defendant is a serial killer!

Anyway, I hope it is enjoyed even though it is disturbing and chilling.

Thank you to all my readers: those who have commented, read, reviewed, favourited/story alerted my stories and thanks also to those who have author alerted/favourite authored, as well! I appreciate it very much! I am glad that you are enjoying my stories and I hope that you will continue to enjoy them in the future! :)

Special thanks to my beloved husband, DezoPenguin, for all his encouragement, love, concern and for reigniting the fire within me to write! Love you, honey, and thanks!

As always, reviews, comments and suggestions are welcomed and appreciated! I aim to improve my writing and comments do help me to do just that: by letting me know what you like, what you don't and what needs improvement. :)

Rated T, male/male relationships, Hurt/Comfort/Drama, Alternate Universe, Phoenix x Edgeworth

Just a warning: there are two curse words here in this fic and one of them is used twice. It isn't enough to warrant a mature flag but I thought that a warning would be in order just in case.

Also published to dA.

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December 16th
Phoenix Wright & Miles Edgeworth Residence
6:45 A.M.

I woke early that December morning feeling very blue, groaning in annoyance as a stray ray of early morning sunlight drifted across my face; I threw my arm over my eyes in a vain attempt to completely block it out but I was only partially successful.

For several minutes I tried to lose myself once again in the world of Morpheus but to no avail; it seemed that, no matter what I did or tried to do, I couldn't get back to sleep and sighing deeply, decided to stop fighting it and just get up.

Now, if I could only get the energy up to move that would be a step in the right direction...

It took me awhile to so so but I finally managed to lift my hands to my face, touching my skin gingerly with my fingertips as they slowly moved upward until they reached the bridge of my nose. Moving them over, I gently wiped the cobwebs of sleep out of my eyes and took a few deep breaths, exhaling slowly, opening my eyes and blinking the last vestiges of sleep away while waiting for the blurred lines of the room to take shape.

I lay there for some time in the deathly quiet stillness, blearily looking at the ceiling and worrying my bottom lip with my teeth, fervently wishing that I could go back to sleep. I felt awful although I couldn't say at this point in time exactly why. I was happy that the nightmares that had plagued me for over six months had subsided which was both a relief and a blessing, to say the least, as far as I was concerned. I knew that there was another reason for my low mood but I couldn't say what that other part was for sure at this point since I was still half-asleep and not yet fully awake.

As I slowly untangled myself from the warmth of the covers and the thick black comforter and sat up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I sighed. I sat there for a few minutes before I looked down at the peacefully sleeping Miles, his eyelashes lying still on his cheeks. I smiled down on him, watching him as he slept and thinking of how lucky I was to have him in my life as my lover and at work as my colleague.

He looks so beautiful when he sleeps, like a dark grey haired angel...

I sat there for some time just looking admiringly at his slumbering form before I slipped my feet, rather regretfully, into my slippers and slowly stood up, doing my level best not to wake my slumbering lover as I did so. I reached for my thick black bathrobe that lay tossed across the chair that was a few steps away from the bed and pulled it on, shuffling slowly to the kitchen to make some much needed coffee.

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7:12 A.M.

As I slowly gathered the ingredients that I needed to prepare the coffee and opening the can, dug in with the spoon, measuring out the right amount of coffee to put in the coffee filtered basket, poured it in, filled the water to the twelve cup level and shut the lid. I pressed the "on" button and watched dispassionately while it slowly percolated and the coffee began to filter through, splashing off the sides of the carafe underneath as it filled.

My thoughts wandered while I stood there watching and I had an inkling I knew at least what some of the cause for my low spirits was and what was bothering me this December morning: memories of the De Young case, a particularly nasty and vicious domestic abuse case where many innocent people had been hurt, and quite badly, by the perpetrator who was-or, in this case, had been-my client's husband.

The ex-husband, to both myself and Miles' disgust, being a respected member of the community, had many defenders; there were many who hadn't believed-or refused to believe-his former wife when she had brought charges against him for domestic violence and there were those who said openly that she was to blame for the situation. That certainly didn't help.

When she had sought our assistance and told us her story of the years of hell and abuse that both she and her children had gone through, we believed her and both Miles and I had prosecuted this case with gusto. To be perfectly truthful, neither of us liked Brian De Young-although, had he been innocent, we would have fought just as hard for him as we did against him, regardless what our personal feelings may have been-and we did our level best to see that every available piece of evidence we had was presented in court. We were determined to rip away the mask that Mr. De Young had worn for so many years to hide the real monster inside and expose him for what he was to the world. And, I am happy to say, we succeeded in doing just that.

We presented graphic and disturbing photographs of his wife and his three children being treated numerous times at the local hospital for bruises and broken bones that couldn't have been accidental and heard from the doctors who had both seen, and bound, their injuries and who witnessed Brian De Young's cold and calloused manner when he came to pick them up to take them home. We heard testimony from Brian De Young's employer who admitted that, while she acknowledged that he was a hard worker and had been a stellar employee in the past, she was afraid of him and his increasingly bizarre, and paranoid, ramblings around the water cooler that others had reported to her; she'd tried-albeit unsuccessfully-to get him transferred out of her office and into another some two hundred miles away.

We presented emails and texts threatening harm to his family if they 'persisted in their persecution of him,' wondering why 'they were out to get him' and called Sheila an 'ungrateful bitch', among a few other choice epithets and his children 'bastards that didn't come from him but one of his ex-wife's many lovers'-which we knew wasn't true and subsequent DNA test confirmed that the children were unquestionably Brian De Young's-'and he could do what he liked to them;' threatening to kill the children and harm to Sheila De Young's parents, going so far as to call the Department of Child Protective Services on his wife, claiming that she was the one who was beating their children, not him.

The final nails in Brian De Young's coffin started first with the testimony of the many friends and family of Sheila De Young over his frequent, and increasingly savage, rages when things didn't go his way or something happened in his daily work life to thwart him that he took out on his wife and children as soon as he arrived home at the end of the day. They'd seen the bruises and refused to accept the feeble explanation of her injuries as being 'accidental,' urging her to get herself and the children away from him and into a battered woman's shelter which she did two months later once Brian had left for work earlier that morning. The final nail was pounded home with the testimony of Sheila herself and, once she was finished, there wasn't a dry eye in the courtroom save for that of her ex-husband, his family, friends and die-hard supporters of which there were, thankfully, few.

Still, it bothered me that there was any support for him at all although I supposed that there would always be those who blamed Sheila for all the trouble and think of her ex as being the real victim in this sordid case. It nearly made me sick to think about it so I did my very best not to.

Needless to say, when he testified in his own behalf-against the advice of his defence team who could clearly see which way the wind was blowing and it certainly wasn't in their client's favor-Brian De Young had nothing good to say about them, either, which wasn't all that surprising. Since she'd left, Sheila had steadily grown stronger until she finally had the courage to seek a divorce on the grounds of abuse and mental cruelty which was granted a little over a year later, with full custody of their three children.

Once he'd signed the papers-I couldn't help wondering exactly what his true motivation had been in doing so in light of his subsequent actions-that made the divorce final, Brian had issued new and even more strident verbal threats against her and their children. It was this newest barrage of venom against her that finally convinced Sheila to seek us out to before pressing charges against her former husband for the same.

One thing was very clear from the outset: Brian De Young loved to control his wife and he didn't like it when she'd broken free of him and sought to reclaim his former power over her through threats and intimidation which Miles and I fervently hoped wouldn't coerce her into going back to him and her former nightmarish life. We both heaved a mental sigh of relief when she stoutly refused to do so, telling her ex face to face in our office that she was done with him and he couldn't hurt her anymore.

I think this was the final straw that caused him to snap and sent him over the edge; his inflated pride and narcissistic ego couldn't stand the fact that both his former wife, and children, had escaped from him and he proceeded to do everything he could to try to get her back, including enlisting the unwitting help of mutual friends to find out at which shelter she had gone to.

When he did finally succeed in tracking her down and confronted her in the foyer of the battered woman's shelter, she refused to listen to his entreaties; she repeated that she was done with him and, no matter what he said or did, she wasn't going to go back to him. His manner underwent a quick change once she stood her ground and it was clear to him that she really meant what she said; from starting out as charmingly wheedling, his tone changed to belligerently threatening in the space of a heartbeat. He'd managed to control himself for a short time, trying fruitlessly to convince her to return but, when Sheila again refused to come with him or even release the children into his custody, he exploded in rage, screaming and threatening to kill her.

The three female staff members who went with her to the door when Brian showed up immediately called the police when the situation threatened to escalate into a violent confrontation; they'd managed to hold him back until the police arrived and he was duly arrested and charged with threatening his former wife who's face was pale and her body shook with fear even though she bravely stood her ground. He'd screamed obscenities at her as he was handcuffed, threatening to kill her parents and the children as he was stuffed into the police car which took him to the station where Sheila, surrounded by friends, came an hour later to press charges against him.

My mouth twisted in distaste at the memories, testified to the three staff members who were with her that day. That was one sick bastard, I thought bitterly, taking another sip of the steaming fragrant brew before placing it back down on top of the table with a faint "click," my brows furrowing, but that's no excuse for what he did to Sheila and the children. I'm glad that the judge didn't fall for it and now he will never see the light of day again. I sighed, lifting the cup and taking another sip. I guess I feel that we didn't do enough and I suppose that I will probably always feel this way...

It was telling that, while those in the courtroom gasped when they saw the photographs and heard the the defendant's own voice threatening various members of the family, Mr. De Young did not. The blazing fury that rose up in his eyes as they flicked over briefly in my direction was answer enough that he was, indeed, the monster we knew he was, and that he was, indeed, very eager to hide.

He wasn't very happy with either Miles nor myself for exposing what he really was but that didn't concern us; we had him right where we wanted him and we were sure that the judge would agree with us that, in order to keep his family and society at large safe from any future predations he cared to make, he deserved to be put into a cage for the rest of his life. Which he did. Brian De Young was duly tried and convicted for domestic abuse, assault and battery and threatening his former wife and their children among a plethora of other charges that assured his terrified victims that he would stay in prison for the rest of his life.

I could recall the relieved faces of Sheila, her children, her family and friends and supporters once the sentence had been passed against her former husband and they'd all cried as they huddled together, their nightmare finally over once and for all.

Even with the successful conclusion to the case, I was still feeling depressed over the viciousness with which he had treated his family and it left a sour taste in my mouth even now, over six months after the fact. I could still remember the pure hate that had burned in his eyes as he was handcuffed and escorted out of the courtroom as he looked at his ex-wife and his children before being pulled away through the door that slammed shut behind him and the bailiff.

It wasn't easy to forget a vicious monster like him although I really did my best to do just that. I sighed, closing my eyes briefly before opening them again. This is definitely the downside to being in the legal profession: that of not being able to completely forget those cases that stand out in our minds.

I took another sip of my coffee, my fingers drumming on the tabletop. I guess there will always be monsters like him, and worse, out there. I looked up at the spackled ceiling for a few minutes before looking down at the table once again, taking a deep breath and slowly exhaling. All we have to do is find them and hope we can get enough on them to put them away before somebody gets hurt. Unfortunately, we can't always do that and innocent people suffer the consequences...

I took another deep breath and slowly exhaled, feeling my spirits plummeting with every beat of my heart. I hope Miles gets up soon; this is really depressing...

I was so deep in thought that I nearly jumped out of my skin when I felt Miles' fingers ghost over the back of my neck as he padded into the kitchen, grabbing the back of my chair with my free hand with an indignant squawk while trying not to spill my coffee. I had no idea that he was even up at that point until he'd touched me.

Miles chuckled softly as he stopped by my chair. "Good Morning, Phoenix," he said softly, leaning over and planting a tender kiss upon my trembling lips, half in apology for startling me and half in loving greeting while I struggled to regain my bearings and stop the trembling in my hands.

"Morning, Miles," I returned breathily, waiting for my heart to return to my chest from its impromptu trip into my throat and for my hands to stop shaking long enough to put down the mug without breaking it. "When did you get up?"

"A few minutes ago," he replied, padding over to the back door stoop behind the breakfast nook table, bent over and picked up the newspaper that lay on the floor inside before putting it down on the table and going over to the counter to fill the mug I'd set out for him with coffee. "You seemed deep in thought although it wasn't a pleasant jaunt if the look on your face was any indication."

"It wasn't," I agreed, taking in short, deep breaths and exhaling which helped to stem the furious racing of my heart. "All in all, I really wish that I could forget."

Miles padded over to the table, pulled out a char across the table from me and sat. I admired the way he seemed to flow into the chair with a cat-like, liquid grace that never failed to astonish me after all these years together and it gave me a momentary pause from the depressing road that my thoughts had taken in remembering this case.

I'll never understand how he does that but I certainly won't complain!

"Oh?" He looked at me closely, his eyes narrowing slightly, a look of concern spreading over his face. "What were you thinking about?"

"The De Young case, for the most part," I replied and Miles sucked in his breath at the name, his mouth turning down at the corners, "but there's something else that I can't quite put my finger on." I sighed again, my eyebrows furrowing. "The first part I understand; it's the rest that I don't. I'm just not happy... and I'm not really sure what the second part of that is or even if the De Young case is really a part of the reason or just the after affect."

Miles raised an eyebrow.

"What is it that's bothering you about it, exactly?" he asked after a few moments of silence, taking a sip of his coffee, his dark grey eyes studying me carefully. "We put that monster away for the rest of his life and his family can now rest easy knowing that he's not going to come back and terrorize them."

My brow furrowed and I thought for a few minutes, Miles waiting patiently until I had managed to compose my thoughts.

"I think it's the viciousness of the man that really got to me: what he did to his family, what hell he put them through for so many years, the public face he wore that masked the monster roiling and twisting underneath his skin..." My breath caught and I quickly took a swallow of coffee, trying to get past the lump that was in my throat, squeezing my eyes tightly shut. "There's so many that were taken in by that public face and it bothers me that his wife and family weren't believed by anyone that were friendly with both of them... at least not at first, anyway. We're lucky that we were able to bring him to justice, a justice that was long overdue to his family and now they can live their lives in peace, knowing that he'll never be a free man again."

I stopped speaking since the bilious taste in my mouth was so sour I couldn't continue; I looked down at the table, my fingers toying absently with the mug handle. "That doesn't make up for the fact that those who knew him openly accused her of lying, to her face and behind her back. That bothers me more than anything: that this monster was able to terrorize his family for so long because no one believed them... or, perhaps more truthfully, they didn't want to accept what they knew to be the truth and the lies were easier for them to justify."

I felt a slight pressure on the back of my hand and I looked up to see Miles' right hand covering mine while his left remained curled around his mug, squeezing it comfortingly, his eyes reflecting compassion.

"But we got him in the end, Phoenix," he said softly, his dark grey eyes gentle as they looked at me. "Never forget that; we got him and he'll never hurt anyone again. He's been exposed as the monster he truly is and will never again see the light of day outside of a jail cell." He squeezed my hand again and we sat for many moments in silence, and I soaked up every ounce of comfort that my beloved provided.

He was right, I had to admit; we did get Brian De Young but how many more monsters like him were there out in the world and how many more terrorized victims were too afraid to come forward since they were either afraid of their abuser or, like Mrs. De Young, weren't believed because their abusers were able to hide behind a public face?

"I know but it still bothers me that there are more like Brian De Young out there," I went on, "and there really isn't anything the law can do to protect them unless they press charges which many of them don't because they're either afraid of what he or she will do to them if they do or they try to convince themselves that he or she will change and all they have to do is to be patient." I stopped and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "It just makes me feel so damned helpless..."

Miles squeezed my hand for a third time and nodded to show that he knew where I was coming from and that he fully understood my conflicted feelings.

"That's why we do what we do, Phoenix," he said quietly after a few moments of silence, his mouth quirking into a half-smile. "We do the best we can in bringing people like him to justice even though sometimes we fail. It's the nature of the beast but we pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off and keep on going."

He looked deeply into my eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly. "Our job is to uphold the law and bring to justice those who break it; that's why we do the jobs we do. It's often frustrating, I agree, and I wish that there was more that we could do for those who come to us seeking our help but we do the best we can with what we have."

He wasn't telling me anything we already didn't know but-

"I know but-" I began but Miles cut me off with a shake of his head.

"The justice system isn't perfect and there will always be monsters that slip through the cracks but we'll do our best to make sure that those who do commit crimes will be punished for them," he said with conviction, his hand tightening around mine once again, looking directly into my eyes as he did so and I could see the sparking grey flashes in his as he spoke. "We can only do so much but we'll always do our best to make sure that justice is granted to all those who come to us seeking our help, no matter what the need. There will be some that will slip away, yes, because we're human and sometimes we make mistakes but all we can do is to pick ourselves up off the ground, dust ourselves off and move forward again until the matter is resolved one way or the other."

It sounds so easy, doesn't it? I lifted the mug slowly to my lips once again, taking a larger mouthful of coffee, his fingers a comforting presence wrapped around my hand. He's also right: we can only do what is humanly possible but we always do our best to bring the guilty to justice and clear the innocent. The corners of my mouth twitched. I can take comfort in that and celebrate our victories and move on from the defeats.

It did give me some amount of peace to know that we'd, by our dogged determination and insistence, managed to put away a monster for the rest of his life and his terrified family could now move on with their lives knowing that he wouldn't be terrorizing them again.

I sincerely hoped that they would recover from their ordeal and all indications were good that they would, taking advantage of family counseling that would help them to pick up the pieces of their lives and, hopefully, end the nightmare that had been plaguing them for so many years.

We do what we can and that's all we really can do. We're not super human, although there are times that I really wish we were, and all we can do is to do everything we can to help those who come to us.

As I sat there pondering what he'd said, I couldn't help but to be very glad that I had Miles in my life as both my legal partner and my lover; his words had done me a world of good. I could feel the depression that had surrounded me like a shroud begin to fall away at last and I smiled over the cup at Miles, squeezing his hand gently before I released it and sat back, a wide grin spreading over my face.

That's why we do what we do: we love our jobs and really believe we can make a difference in the lives of our clients. Sometimes we can and sometimes we can't but that will never stop us from trying. Concentrate on the wins, and not the losses, is definitely some sage advice.

Miles smiled back and picked up the paper that lay on the table and opened it, his eyes scanning the headlines on the front page, his fingers resting lightly on his mug's handle. I looked up at the window and smiled as I watched flakes of snow falling, silently accumulating on the windowsill outside.

Yes, it's going to be a very good day after all...