I've been wanting to write a Miego one-shot for so, so long ... and now I have. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Phoenix Wright, nor do I work for Capcom. I only wrote this one-shot for my own amusement.

–June 17, 9:50 A.M.
District Court
Defendant Lobby No. 7–

Mia glanced at the young man sitting on the defendant lobby's couch, feeling sweat trickle down her face. She could feel butterflies flutter about in her stomach, and her heart seemed to be beating at twice its normal rate. It felt like it was going to explode out of her chest any second.

"Relax, Kitten."

"Eeeeek!" Mia spun around, her heart rate increasing tenfold, to find a man smiling at her. He was in his late twenties, and he had light brown skin, a goatee of sorts, and somewhat curly, messy dark brown hair. In his right hand, he held a cup of coffee, and even as Mia forced herself to calm down, he took a sip from it, his eyes never leaving her face.

"Oh, Diego, it's just you," Mia panted, her heart slowing down slightly. "You scared me for a moment there."

Diego lowered his coffee mug. "Kitten, you can do this," he told her firmly. "It's a small, simple case. I made sure of that for you."

Mia sighed. "We thought Valerie's murder was a simple case, too," she told Diego. "We thought it was so straightforward ..."

"Listen, Kitten. This isn't a murder trial. It's a trial for theft. You can do this." Diego took another sip from his coffee mug after speaking. Then, he added, "You may get a guilty verdict, but at least it might help you get over your phobia."

Mia took a deep, shuddering breath. "I ... I'll try."

Diego nodded. "Ha! That's what I like to hear," he told her. Glancing at the door to the courtroom, he added, "Kitten, it's almost time for the trial to begin."

Mia could feel herself break into a cold sweat as she nodded and gulped. "Let's ... let's go," she replied, glancing at the young man on the couch again – her client – before steeling herself for the trial that would be starting in a minute.

–June 17, 10:00 A.M.
District Court
Courtroom No. 2–

To Mia, it all looked the same.

The spectators, though fewer than at that trial, talked amongst themselves as they surveyed the courtroom.

The judge sat in his throne-like chair, holding a gavel in one hand and smoothing his blond beard with the other.

The prosecutor, though different from Mr. Edgeworth, had the same businesslike air, and stood on the opposite side of the room, across from the defense's bench. His short black hair was neatly combed, and his dark gray suit and red tie were unwrinkled and tidy.

And Diego Armando stood beside her, holding his cup of coffee and dividing his attention between his mug, Mia, and the defendant.

There was only one thing in the whole courtroom she was determinedly keeping her eyes from – a place where friend and foe had stood, spoke, and, in one case, died.

Mia took a deep breath, trying and failing to steady herself. She didn't know why she was so worked up. There were no autopsy reports to read, no pictures of dead bodies in the Court Record, and absolutely no chance of anything like ... like that of happening in this trial.

But still, she was not comforted.

The judge banged the gavel loudly, and the spectators fell quiet at the noise instantly.

"The trial of Leonard DeCappuccino is now in session," he called. Mia glanced at Mr. DeCappuccino, her client, sitting quietly in his seat, though his black skin was shining with nervous sweat. I wonder if that's what I look like, Mia thought as sweat trickled just past the corner of her left eye. "Are the prosecution and defense prepared?"

"The defense is ..." Mia trailed away, feeling the bottom of her stomach drop away. She was at a complete loss of what she was supposed to say next. Desperately, she looked at Diego. He was calmly drinking his coffee, completely ignoring her. "Diego! Please, help!" she hissed.

Diego lowered his mug and glanced at her. "Kitten, calm down. No one can ever be completely ready," he told her, placing emphasis on the word "ready."

"Well? Is the defense prepared or not?" the judge asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked at Mia.

"Oh, yes, the defense is ready, Your Honor," Mia replied quickly. Oh, great, she thought as her face began to heat up. My face is bright red and the trial has just begun ...

"The prosecution is ready, Your Honor," the prosecutor added.

"Very well, then." The judge glanced at the prosecutor. "Your opening statement please, Mr. Morrison."

Morrison nodded. "I'd like to quickly summarize the crime in question before calling my first witness. On June 15, near seven o'clock in the evening, a masked robber entered Prestigious Banking ..."

Morrison's voice was one of those droning, expressionless voices that could put one to sleep within ten minutes. Mia barely listened enough to glean three facts; her client had brought a knife to the place he supposedly robbed, the place he robbed was a building called Prestigious Banking, and that everyone in the courtroom, including herself, already knew all this information.

At least the drone of Morrison's voice distracted Mia from memories of the last time she'd been in a courtroom.

After what felt like hours but was actually only five minutes, Morrison ended his opening statement. For a moment, no one seemed to realize this, until the judge came out of some kind of stupor and noticed that Morrison had stopped talking. Banging his gavel, the judge said loudly, "Thank you, Mr. Morrison. Are you prepared to call your first witness?"

"Of course, Your Honor," Morrison replied. "The prosecution would like to call the detective in charge of this investigation to the witness stand!"

Mia couldn't help it anymore. At the word "witness," her eyes flickered over to the one place in the courtroom she had refused to look at, the one place she knew that, if she did look at it, memories would arrive uninvited, memories that had left scars for months, scars that would probably always be left upon her heart until the day she died.

The witness stand was the source of these painful, scarring memories.

The moment she saw the witness stand, the memories inevitably began filling her mind. A new, young detective, making blunder after blunder – a sweet, beautiful, "innocent" eyewitness to a "horrid crime" – that same witness being revealed as the victim of a near murder and a possible coconspirator in a kidnaping plot – a young man standing upon that stand, torn between his Teen Angel and an innocent verdict – an empty bottle necklace in the young man's hand – blood spraying from the young man's mouth, and more blood being coughed up – the young man, slumped upon the witness stand, dead.

"I ... I ..." Mia stared at that stand, her head full of those images, which flickered so quickly but seemed to cut at her very being. It was like some kind of slide show playing in her mind. "I'm sorry, Your Honor ... I-I can't d-do this ..."

Blindly, she slid away from the defense's bench and ran for the door leading to the defendant lobby. The spectators murmured amongst themselves, watching her with eyes full of interest. Mia could hear Diego's deep voice say, "The defense requests a ten-minute recess, Your Honor." Before the judge decided whether or not to grant this request, the door had closed and Mia was dashing for the lobby.

–June 17, 10:16 A.M.
District Court
Defendant Lobby No. 7–

Mia sat on the couch where her client had been sitting earlier that morning, burying her face in her hands and rocking back and forth in her seat. Sobs caught in her throat, and tears streamed down her face as she felt someone sit down beside her.

"Are you all right?"

Mia refused to reveal her face or look at the newcomer, but she knew who he was anyway. "I ... I knew I couldn't do it ..." she sobbed into her hands. "I-I'm so sorry, D-Diego ..."

"Kitten, are you crying?" Mia knew, just from the sound of Diego's voice,that it was meant to be a rhetorical question, so she continued to cry, tears falling from her eyes and onto clothes. "Look at me."

Mia looked up and parted her fingers to see Diego's face inches from her own, his eyes full of such intensity that she had not seen since that case.

"Listen to me," he said, placing two fingers below her chin and firmly but gently raising it so that she looked right into his eyes. "Remember what I told you, back in February, the day Fawles died?"

She nodded.

"What did I tell you?" he continued, lowering his voice so that no one could overhear them.

"Th-That a lawyer can ne-never cry ... un-until it's all ov-over," Mia replied, her voice shaking. A tear fell onto Diego's fingers, but he did not move away.

"Ha! So you were paying attention," Diego said. "I just have one question, Kitten ... why?"

One of Mia's eyebrows rose questioningly. "W-Why what?"

"Why are you crying?" he asked. "It isn't over. Not by a long shot."

"D-Diego ... I-I ca-can't do it," Mia sobbed, looking away. "I ca-can't go in there. I ... I just can't. It is over."

Diego sat there quietly for a moment. He slipped his fingers out from under her chin and reached for something on the floor. Sure enough, the smell of coffee filled Mia's nose, but he did not drink from it. He thrust it toward her, one eyebrow raised, as if he was challenging her.

"How many times have you tried to drink the bitter darkness that is black coffee?" asked Diego.

Mia glanced at the mug. "Thr-Three times," she answered, wondering what he was getting at.

"Did you give up after the first attempt?" he continued.

"No," was her answer.

"How about the second?"

"I-I thought I sh-should try again."

"But you gave up on the third?"

Mia began to see what he was talking about, but she played along by answering, "Yes and no." By now, she had stopped sobbing, though tears still trickled down her cheeks, and her voice was much clearer. "I gave up fo-for the t-time being, because I was-wasn't really ready."

"Ha!" Diego nodded, as if he knew that would be her answer. "You weren't ready to handle the bitterness of true coffee. Will you try again, someday?"

She nodded in response. "I ... I think I will. Maybe."

"Kitten, it's that simple. You aren't ready to get back in the courtroom again. But someday, you will be." He held the cup of coffee aloft. "Just like, someday, you'll be able to drink this dark and bitter coffee. But that day is not now."

Mia took a deep breath. "It's just that ... the case with Terry Fawles and Dahlia Hawthorne left so many scars behind ..."

"You need to give time for those scars to heal," Diego assured her. He got to his feet and Mia watched him, half-standing as if she didn't want him to leave. "Listen, Kitten. If you don't think you can handle being in the courtroom today, I'll take over. But first, I want you to do me two favors."

Nodding, Mia replied, "Okay."

"The first," said Diego, thrusting the cup of coffee in her direction, "is to try and drink this."

Mia took the cup wordlessly and looked at the dark brown contents within. She took a deep breath, allowing the smell to envelope her before looking at Diego again. "And the second?"

Diego rummaged about in one of his pockets and produced a few fresh tissues. He dropped these in Mia's lap and told her, "Dry your tears, and tell me the other thing I told you during that case."

Mia thought hard for a moment. Then, she replied slowly, "'A lawyer always smiles no matter how bad it gets.' Is that it?"

"Exactly." Diego smiled at her. "No matter what happens, no matter what hardships you face in life, always keep a smile upon your face. It's what a lawyer does. And even though you can't bear to be in a courtroom right now, you're still a lawyer. You always will be."

Mia nodded, and Diego stood there awkwardly for a moment. Then, the bailiff's voice broke the silence. "Ms. Fey, Mr. Armando! Recess is over, and the trial is about to resume."

Mia sank back onto the couch, holding the cup of coffee, and followed Diego with her eyes as he crossed the lobby and left, closing the door behind him. All was quiet now, for the defendant had left, as had the bailiff. She was the only one in the room.

After taking a sip of coffee, Mia took one of the tissues that Diego had given her and dabbed at the corners of her eyes and thought, A lawyer can never cry until it's all over. They have to keep on smiling, no matter what happens. Only when the curtain falls are they allowed to shed a single tear.

Heh. Considering this is me, I don't think it was too bad. I have a lot of other Miego one-shots I'm planning to write, but whether I follow through with them is a different story ... :)