Happy (one day late) Valentine's Day, Ace Attorney fandom (even though this story begins before Thanksgiving)!

I've been writing this story for about a year and a half, and I thought it was finally about time to start posting it. At 120 pages currently, it's the longest thing I've ever written, but I hope you enjoy every word as I do, reader.

Also, in my story it gets cold and snows and stuff in Los Angeles, because this is Japanifornia, darn it, where there are apparently mountains right nearby as well as rivers and who knows what else... there are no rules.

Please enjoy my love letter to the Ace Attorney series!

Project: Matchmakers

Chapter 1: The Sandwich and the Stalker

Pearl Fey tried to remember how she had ended up hiding in the bushes, watching Mr. Nick have a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich by himself at the park.

It had probably started with that rumor Trucy had whispered to her one day after school. "Daddy's seemed unusually preoccupied lately," she'd said behind her white-gloved hand. A mischievous glint appeared in her blue eyes. "I think he's dating someone."

Now, Pearl was a young adult. At 18 years of age, she had long since outgrown her childish fantasies of Mr. Nick sweeping Mystic Maya off her feet and then the two of them getting married in a rose garden and leaving on the backs of winged horses to live in a castle. Completely. She was absolutely over entertaining such naive delusions.

But hearing that Mr. Nick was dating someone and knowing it wasn't Mystic Maya had made her a little more upset than she'd thought it would.

So she'd done something a little naughty. It had started off innocent enough: she happened to catch a glimpse of Mr. Nick walking down the street on her way to the bus station, and wondered briefly, I wonder if he's going to meet his girlfriend.

Before she knew it, she was quietly walking down the same street. She wasn't following him, she reasoned. Wasn't there an ice cream parlor on this street? Yes, that was it. She was going to get some ice cream, and Mr. Nick just happened to be walking down this same street. What a coincidence!

But as it turned out, Mr. Nick wasn't going for ice cream. He walked straight past the place, his pace constant and measured, the gait of someone who knows exactly where he is going. You know, I don't want to spoil my supper, she'd thought suddenly. I think I'll just...take a walk instead.

And so she'd followed him. All the way to the Prosecutor's Building.

Is his girlfriend a prosecutor? she had thought, a bit alarmed.

She'd waited out there, hiding behind the mailbox across the street from the Prosecutor's Building, until finally, two people came back through the front doors.

One of them wore blue. The other wore red.

Isn't that Mr. Edgeworth?

They made their way down the sidewalk, talking quietly. Pearl couldn't catch much of their conversation from across the street, but it sounded like they were talking about work. Ho hum.

She was just about to turn around to go home when she heard a certain phrase that made her reconsider:

"So, I hear you turned down yet another lovestruck lady. You're so cruel, Edgeworth."

Well, of course Mr. Edgeworth would have the occasional admirer. He was dashing and smart and talented. But "yet another"? How often did this happen? Pearl cautiously looked both ways for traffic the way Mother had taught her and tiptoed across the street to follow the two men more closely.

"...make me out to be some kind of heartbreaker, Wright," Edgeworth was replying, sounding both embarrassed and grumpy. Then again, he usually sounded grumpy.

Mr. Nick laughed, nudging Mr. Edgeworth's shoulder. "What's the matter? Afraid you're too out-of-practice? You want to go over some pickup lines?"

"You're one to talk. You haven't had a date since college," grumbled Mr. Edgeworth. He walked a little further apart from Mr. Nick and changed his briefcase over to his other hand.

"Ouch." Pearl saw that Mr. Nick was making a slightly pouty face that reminded her of Mystic Maya's face whenever she missed her favorite television programs. "How do you know I just haven't told you about all the dates I've had?"

"Because if you'd had any, I am sure your daughter would have told me." Mr. Edgeworth's voice was smooth, matter-of-fact. "She seems to think it is her job to keep me updated on any and all developments in your life." Switching to a light, nonchalant tone, he added: "How's that skin issue of yours, by the way?"

Mr. Nick's face flushed. "Damn it, Trucy," he muttered under his breath.

Mr. Edgeworth laughed, though Pearl only knew this because his shoulders moved slightly and he made a small "Hmhmph" noise.

Pearl found a smile spreading across her face, too. There was something in their easy banter, the way everything bounced to and fro like when she used to toss her favorite ball at the wall: she knew it would always come back to her no matter how she threw it. Well, unless it ricocheted and smashed a sacred urn, but that hardly ever happened.

By the time Mr. Nick and Mr. Edgeworth parted at the parking garage, Pearl had already been tailing Mr. Nick for an hour. She felt almost disappointed as she watched Mr. Edgeworth get into his stylish red sports car and drive away. What had she been doing this whole time? She could have been doing homework or refining her artistic skills!

She was mentally scolding herself for being so foolish when she walked right into Mr. Nick.

"Wah!" squawked Mr. Nick, whirling around. Evidently her sudden collision had startled him. He looked around wildly for a brief second before his gaze shot downwards and found her. "Pearls? What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I, um..." She averted her eyes and clutched the fabric of her yukata nervously. "I-I just was in the area to get some ice cream," she finished lamely.

Mr. Nick eyed her searchingly, and then his eyebrows shot up as if he had suddenly seen something invisible to everyone else.

Oh, rats, she thought. I almost forgot. Thanks to the Magatama she and Mystic Maya had given him all those years ago, Mr. Nick always knew when someone was lying.

"Pearl..." His voice had taken on that particular chiding tone he usually reserved only for Trucy and Pearl herself. She winced. "Were you really here for ice cream?"

"Well...no," she admitted, fidgeting and biting her thumb a little. She felt her heart sink a bit with guilt. What had she been thinking? She glanced up at Mr. Nick, who was patiently waiting. "I'm kind of...lost," she said. It wasn't really a lie. She'd followed Mr. Nick for so long that she didn't know how to get back to the bus station.

Mr. Nick sighed, ran a hand through his spiky hair. But then he smiled at her warmly. "Don't worry, Pearls. I'll get you home." He took her hand and started walking again, pulling her along after. As her tiny fingers gently wrapped around his larger ones, she had wondered briefly if this was what it felt like to have a father.

Since then, she'd found herself watching Mr. Nick and Mr. Edgeworth closely. She didn't go out of her way to tail them anymore (well, not often), but whenever she happened to be walking along and spotted Mr. Nick apparently waiting for someone, she'd...also wait. Out of sight. Even when said waiting involved watching her older friend eat a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich alone on a park bench.

Mr. Nick was bundled up against the November chill in a blue fleecy jacket, but other than that he made no attempt to dress warmly. Pearl herself was wishing she had brought a scarf or some gloves. This waiting had gone on longer than she'd thought it would.

Maybe Mr. Edgeworth isn't meeting him today? she thought, but then, as if in answer, the prosecutor appeared from around the corner of the footpath.

"Hey, there he is," greeted Mr. Nick. "Geez, do you ever wear casual clothes?" He sounded almost disappointed. Indeed, Mr. Edgeworth was dressed in his usual maroon suit, though with the addition of a classy black double-breasted coat.

"Perhaps it is a luxury you may enjoy, but unfortunately, the Chief Prosecutor cannot be seen in public looking like a layabout."

Pearl couldn't see it, but she was positive that Mr. Nick rolled his eyes at that. "Sure, blame it on the job," he sighed. "I bet you don't own a single pair of jeans," he said in a tone that sounded very much like a challenge.

Chief Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth ignored this slight on his fashion sense. "Leaving the matter of attire aside," Mr. Edgeworth said smoothly, sitting down beside the defense attorney, "what in the world possessed you to request that we meet here rather than at the Prosecutor's Building?"

Mr. Nick took the last bite of his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. "You might think this is ridiculous," he started.

"I usually do, when it comes to you," Mr. Edgeworth said, a mixture of affection and exasperation in the wry smile Pearl could see from her vantage point.

"I..." The defense attorney hesitated. "I think I'm being followed, lately," Mr. Nick finally said in a hushed tone.

Pearl felt like a bucket of ice had been poured on her. She was rooted to the spot. She willed her breathing to be as quiet as it possibly could. There was a moment of silence that seemed to stretch on for eternity.

Then Mr. Edgeworth started chuckling. Pearl didn't think she'd ever heard him laugh for so long before, hunching over slightly and bracing his palms on his knees. After a few seconds, he quieted, though his shoulders still quivered a little with suppressed laughter.

"Are you done?" Mr. Nick asked, annoyed.

"I'm not sure," replied Mr. Edgeworth.

"Edgeworth, I'm being serious."

"I-I'm sorry. You're right." The prosecutor took a deep breath and let it out. "Please, do go on. Tell me who in the world would bother stalking you." Though his tone still sounded amused, Pearl couldn't help but notice that his sharp eyes were locked onto his friend intently. She suspected that he was more concerned than he was letting on.

"It's a good thing I know you so well, or I'd say you were an absolute jerk," Mr. Nick grumbled. "I don't know who would follow me, okay? It's...just a feeling I get. I can't describe it." His voice had trailed off, as if he regretted bringing it up and wanted the words to just fade away.

"And...how exactly am I supposed to help here?" Mr. Edgeworth's voice was no longer mocking, but genuinely confused, as he pulled his glasses off and began to polish them with a cloth from his pocket. "After all, you haven't given me enough information to start an investigation, and it doesn't sound like you have any suspects."

"I don't know," the other man shrugged, an imitation of nonchalance. "I just felt like I had to tell you." His words were so quiet that Pearl had to strain her ears to hear them.

Mr. Edgeworth pushed his glasses back up his nose and fixed his eyes on the defense attorney again. The normally fierce gray had softened with worry. "You...Would you feel more comfortable if you had police protection?" Pearl was rather startled at the offer. It seemed he was taking his friend's claim seriously after all.

"No, no, I don't think that's necessary." Mr. Nick laughed a little awkwardly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to imply that you had to do something about it. I just wanted to..." He crumpled the wax paper that had held his sandwich in his hands. "I just wanted to tell someone, I guess. In case...anything happened."

"Do not talk like that," Mr. Edgeworth reprimanded sharply. "Nothing will happen to you, Wright." A small pause. "I won't let it," Pearl thought she heard him add in a mumble.

"What?" said Mr. Nick.

"Never mind that," the prosecutor said briskly. "Was there anything else you wanted to tell me?"

"Um...no, not really, except maybe thank you for agreeing to meet me out here."

"It was nothing."

They sat in silence for a few moments, their soundless breaths puffing out in pale clouds.

"Well," said Mr. Edgeworth finally, "I suppose I should get going, then." He got to his feet.

"Right," agreed Mr. Nick. "Thanks again for your time." There was a sadness in his tone, and he slouched slightly, rubbing his ungloved hands together.

"Of course." Mr. Edgeworth turned on his heel and began to walk away, his silver hair almost indistinguishable from the stormy gray winter sky. Suddenly, he stopped, and turned around. "Oh, and Wright?"

Mr. Nick straightened again, and turned to face the direction Mr. Edgeworth was headed. "Yeah?" Pearl could see his face now, and thought he looked rather hopeful.

"...Please...if you have any further concerns...call me anytime," said the prosecutor. "I will help if ever and however I can." He sounded uncharacteristically compassionate.

Perhaps it was the cold, but the girl hiding in the bushes thought that Mr. Nick's cheeks went slightly pink. "You will? Are you serious?"

A small smile spread across the other man's face. "Have you ever known me to be anything but, Wright?" Not waiting for an answer, he turned again and strolled out of the park.

Pearl had to remain crouched in the bushes for a while even after that, because Mr. Nick spent quite a while staring after him, a smile of appreciative wonder stuck on his face. Pearl's heart skipped a beat.

It was quite distressing, Pearl thought. For years previously, she had been quite fixated on the idea of her cousin and Mr. Nick living happily ever after. Even after she had accepted that this would never happen, she was always somewhat enamored of the idea that one of them would someday be caught up in a whirlwind romance, passionate and adventurous.

So she was rather surprised to find herself immensely enjoying the steady, familiar relationship she saw between a defense attorney and a prosecutor. It wasn't loud or flashy or wild, but calm and reliable and quiet. Rather than a blazing fire that consumed everything, theirs was an affection like a candle flame, bringing forth light and warmth.

Well, except for when they were in court. Then they were rather more like two overzealous flamethrowers.

The interactions she observed between the two of them were that of two people who had known each other for a lifetime and who sought each other out regardless of situation. They didn't make grand gestures or bold statements (again, except in court). They were never overemotional or shmaltzy. There were no wasted words or actions between them.

Of course, this meant that whenever one of them did say or do something, it meant everything.

There had been the time she had seen Mr. Nick grab onto Mr. Edgeworth's arm when some construction had made the earth briefly shudder beneath them, a momentary and minute tremor that nevertheless had Mr. Edgeworth's knees buckling. Mr. Nick hauled him to his feet, rested his hand on the prosecutor's shoulder for a brief moment, and then released him, continuing to walk forward with him as if nothing had happened.

There was also the time months ago that Mr. Nick had neglected to bring an umbrella to court (Pearl had watched the day's proceedings from the gallery), and when he saw how it was pouring outside, he ducked back into the courthouse with a groan. "Unprepared as usual, Wright?" Mr. Edgeworth had said mildly, smirking, and before Mr. Nick could protest he had tossed him a collapsible umbrella. "Keep it," said Mr. Edgeworth, "and see that you don't lose it."

And then there was that moment last week that an angry ex-prosecutor had stopped them in the street to publicly and loudly yell at Mr. Edgeworth, and Mr. Nick had stepped in front of him to say "Unless you want to see us in court on charges of slander, I'm going to ask that you step away from Prosecutor Edgeworth." The furious man had practically turned purple with suppressed rage, but stomped off, not wanting to face the wrath of both the Chief Prosecutor and the Turnabout Terror. "I know you didn't need my help," Mr. Nick had said afterward as Mr. Edgeworth opened his mouth to protest. "He was just annoying me, so I wanted to make him leave."

On yet another occasion, Mr. Nick's stomach had growled loudly in front of Mr. Edgeworth when they'd all run into each other outside People Park, and the prosecutor said not a word in reproach, but simply insisted that dinner at his usual (fancy, five-star) restaurant would be dreadfully boring without someone else there. Mr. Nick and she had returned to the Agency that night with four large styrofoam boxes full of gourmet food for Trucy, Mystic Maya, and Miss Athena. "I didn't think the really fancy places had these Styrofoam boxes," Trucy had said, savoring her meal while Maya chewed loudly and Athena looked almost ready to cry at the wonderful taste. Mr. Nick had informed them that the restaurant did not, in fact, have Styrofoam boxes and that Mr. Edgeworth had helped them smuggle them in and out of the place.

There was just something about how Mr. Nick understood Mr. Edgeworth without even having to ask, dared to push the other man to open up where all others had given up, supported him without asking for anything in return. And Mr. Edgeworth allowed his humanity to show a little more around Mr. Nick: he smiled more, even laughed sometimes, and surprised her once in a while with frank and sincere gestures of concern or affection. They relied on each other, communicated without words, and stood up for one another.

As it stood now, Pearl found herself once again consumed with fantasies about soulmates and true love.

She just never expected that the flights of fancy would star Phoenix Wright and Miles Edgeworth.

He had the sensation again that he was being watched.

Phoenix Wright ran a hand through his hair, more out of nervousness than any need to adjust his spikes, and tried not to whip around every five seconds to try to catch someone staring. This had been going on for nigh on a month now, and he was beginning to wonder if he really should take Edgeworth up on his offer to provide him police protection. But he just couldn't justify that kind of waste of resources.

He let himself sigh and slouch a little as he walked, jamming his hands into his jeans pockets for a little warmth. The orange glow of the streetlights illuminated the sidewalk, but Phoenix still felt like something was there, just outside the light.

For what felt like the tenth time already, he replayed his conversation with Edgeworth in his mind. Call me anytime, he'd said to him, and he'd sounded so...human. Concerned. Kind. Knowing that he cared for him, would go out of his way for him...Phoenix felt his heart glow like one of the streetlights. Edgeworth had really come a long way from the cold, almost robotic man he had met again as a rookie lawyer. Was he mellowing with age (Edgeworth would get really huffy if he said that), or was it because...?

No, he told himself yet again. I can't take credit for Edgeworth's personal growth. Still, a part of him wanted to believe that it was because of him that Edgeworth had started to change. Edgeworth had even told him as much, once or twice. He felt a smile spread across his face unbidden at the thought.

He was snapped out of his reverie by the very quiet sound of leaves rustling, and he whirled on the spot to look around. Nothing in the trees. The bushes were also clear. Perhaps it had been a bird? He hoped desperately it had been a bird.

It had been bad enough having Pearls suddenly start tailing him all the time for no apparent reason (none that he could ever get out of her, anyway), but this past month he was convinced someone else had been following him, too. Sometimes he thought he was imagining it—he didn't really have any evidence that it was happening. It was just a feeling he got, along with an occasional shadow darting past or a rustle behind him or the tiny sound of a twig snapping. It was enough to almost drive him nuts. He knew he should have confronted Pearls about the stalking a long time ago, but the truth was that he had no desire to. He actually preferred those times that Pearls was stalking him, with her clumsy hiding skills and, occasionally, almost endearingly loud steps (how could a person so tiny make so much noise just with sandals?). When he heard those footsteps or saw a little bit of a pretzel hairdo sticking out from behind a tree trunk, he felt reassured. He wasn't alone with whatever lurked just behind his back. If something happened to him, Pearl would surely call for help.

But the streets were empty now, except for the occasional passing car. He swallowed nervously and increased his pace, all too eager to get home to his apartment. Trucy was probably starving by now. Maybe he should call her, just to have someone to talk to? No, he was almost home. There was no need for that.

He broke into a light jog, and before he knew it, he had reached the door to the apartment building. He swung it open, and it creaked in protest. Panting slightly, he began the journey up the old stairwell to the third floor. Why did these three flights of stairs always feel more like ten at the end of the day?

Finally, he stopped in front of the familiar dark blue door with the peeling "311" sticker. He must have been making a lot of noise looking for his key, because he heard Trucy say "It's open, Daddy!" from inside. Gratefully, he turned the knob and pushed open the door.

"You're supposed to keep the door locked when I'm not home, Truce," he said as he stepped inside.

Trucy was sitting on their beat-up brown couch in her pajamas, her feet propped up on the coffee table in front of the television. She popped a forkful of spaghetti into her mouth. "If I did that, I'd have to let you in all the time," she pointed out.

"Well...I guess I can't deny that," Phoenix admitted, kicking off his sneakers and hanging his jacket on the hook by the door, next to the one that held Trucy's cape and hat. It looked like his little girl hadn't been starving after all. When did she stop relying on her Daddy so much? He felt oddly wistful.

"So where were you this time, Daddy?" she asked as he dropped onto the couch next to her.

"The park," he said, leaning his head back to rest on the top of the couch and letting the sounds of the cartoons Trucy was watching wash over him.

"The park?" Trucy twirled another bite of spaghetti around her fork. "What for?"

"To eat a sandwich," he replied simply, propping his own feet on the coffee table as well. Once upon a time, there had been a strict "no feet on the coffee table" rule, but that had long since become a thing of the past.

Trucy poked him with her toe. "Oh, sure, because sandwiches aren't any good unless enjoyed in nature," she said, smirking at him. "Were you meeting Mr. Edgeworth?" On the television, a character was yelling out, "Absolutely!" as if in answer.

He looked at her in awe. How had she known that? "What makes you say that?" He tried keeping his voice casual.

"Magician's intuition," she answered with a shrug. Even out of her hat and cape, Trucy was ever the budding magician. Even her white pajamas were covered in red and black card suit symbols. She held out her bowl to him. "Want some spaghetti?"

"Nah, I'll heat up some of the leftover chicken from yesterday later." He glanced at the clock above the bookcase. It was actually only 7:30—he'd eaten his sandwich a mere three hours ago for a very late lunch. He was hungry again somehow (probably from all the walking), but he was feeling too drained to even pop the chicken in the microwave. The truth was that he hadn't been sleeping much lately—he'd been too paranoid to let down his guard often these days.

After a while, his daughter hopped up and rinsed her bowl in the sink. "Daddy, have you ever thought about maybe starting to...put yourself out there? Ask someone to dinner?" she said, glancing at him over her shoulder.

Unbidden, Edgeworth's face flashed through his mind. He shook his head, both to get rid of the thought and to answer Trucy's question. "Wh-where did this come from all of a sudden? That kind of thing is the last thing on my mind!"

"What a joke!" giggled a character on the television.

"Well, maybe you should," said Trucy, walking back over to curl up next to him again on the couch. "I worry about you being alone."

"I'm not alone," he pointed out. "I've got my little girl!"

"Daddy, I'm almost 18," she said sternly. "I'm not going to be around here forever."

"Ouch!" yelled a cartoon character, having just been punched.

"Trucy," Phoenix said dejectedly, slumping a little, "Daddy's not ready to hear you say things like that..."

"Oh, don't give me that," his daughter said, nudging him with her bare foot. "Look, I'm not saying go and try to chat people up." She glanced at the clock and flipped the channel with the remote, and the Steel Samurai theme song began to play—even now, the show was popular in reruns. "I'm just saying," Trucy continued, putting the remote on the coffee table and leaning back, "that if there's already someone in front of you, maybe you shouldn't wait forever, hm?" She looked at him meaningfully, one dainty eyebrow raised.

Phoenix gulped, and refused to let a certain person come to mind again (though it was getting increasingly harder with the Steel Samurai blaring over the speakers). He broke their gaze and stared at the screen, unable to meet her blue eyes, which always seemed to see straight down into his soul. "You let Daddy worry about his love life, okay?" he said. "You should be focusing on your own life and your own friends. Don't worry about me."

She flopped against his shoulder. "I'm always gonna worry about you," she said simply.

Phoenix smiled and stroked her smooth brown hair, tousled the two little cowlicks that never seemed to lay flat. "I'm always gonna worry about you too," he replied affectionately.

The two of them watched The Steel Samurai mostly in silence, and Phoenix found his thoughts drifting to that case he had worked all those years ago, defending Mr. Powers. That had been the first time Edgeworth had ever worked with him instead of merely against him. He smiled to himself at the memory. Gradually, he felt his memories and thoughts swirl and blend together to the familiar background noise of the television. He had been anxious and paranoid all day yet again, his thoughts fixed on this persistent feeling of being watched. But with the warmth of Trucy beside him, the comforting sounds of the television show around him, and the sweet nostalgia of fond memories within him, he finally began to let his eyes fall closed.

In the midst of a half-sleep haze, he felt a gentle peck being pressed to his forehead. "Good night, Daddy," a beloved voice whispered in his ear. He smiled, eyes still shut.

He had a dream of walking alongside a figure in red, of his hand clasping the other's. The warm feeling that bloomed in his chest felt a lot like...bliss? Was that it? No, that wasn't quite right. Friendship? Solidarity? No. What was the word...

Love, that's what it was.

Wasn't it?

When Phoenix woke again, the apartment was dark, and the afghan they usually kept folded over the back of the sofa had been spread over him and pulled up to his chin. Trucy had tucked him in like a child, he realized.

He rubbed his eyes and turned on the light next to the couch to check the clock. 12:30 AM. He groaned as he got to his feet and arched his back, his spine crackling, and decided to forego the chicken for tonight in favor of getting ready for bed.

If he was lucky, he thought, sluggishly brushing his teeth, maybe his dream would pick up where it had left off.

Next chapter: Trucy goes to the zoo. Miles slams his fingers in a filing cabinet.