One of Every Color
One of Every Color
xmlns:st1="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags"
xmlns="http://www.w3.org/TR/REC-html40">
and settings, are property of Capcom, and are being
used here without permission. This
In a pervious
still practicing law in
This fic
takes place a few weeks after the events of GS3, and contains spoilers for all
three games.
Prologue
Miles watched the pair from a
safe distance. Despite having been invited
to attend that evening he still felt an uncomfortable stirring of guilt, as if
he were witnessing some event not meant for him.
the train platform, and many of them glanced in the direction of the man and
woman standing face to face. But to them
the scene would have only appeared to be a parting of two lovers like any other
that had been repeated countless times at this very spot in this very
station. It was because Miles understood
the significance that made it feel sinful to watch.
nearly an hour, and the awkward fidgeting in his body language was becoming
almost comical. Ayame wasn't doing any
better. Miles couldn't hear the contents
of their drawn out conversation, but he imagined it must have been remarkably
sentimental, considering he could all but see both of them stuttering.
head scratching, long pauses and childish smiles.
end, when they finally embraced, even someone as unused to this kind of
observation as Miles could see tension in the gesture.
Miles finally diverted his
gaze, instead watching the slow current of moving bodies across the
platform. He didn't look up until he
heard the train whistle; by then Ayame was on her way home, and
vantage point for the past twenty minutes to meet him.
"Sorry."
wasn't about ready to pass out from blood deprivation to his brain.
again. "I didn't mean to make you
wait so long."
"It's
fine," Miles replied easily, giving his suit coat a slight tug to
straighten it. "I didn't have any
real plans for tonight anyway."
behind his eyes that had Miles had been witness to all night, and it made his
expression appear somewhat pained.
"I feel bad," he insisted.
"You're only here for a short time--I must be keeping you away from
something."
"It can wait."
he wouldn't have wanted to come alone, either.
He turned. "Come on--I'll
give you a ride home."
"Thanks."
The evening was unusually
chill even for May, and the two men walked close together back to
In the aftermath of Ayame's trial he had spent
the last several weeks back in
business. The fact that Ayame was being
released from her sentence that very week was mere coincidence, and he had made
the offer to drive them to the station.
Ayame was returning to
hadn't intended to ask
anyway.
"It's probably the best
thing for both of us right now,"
lot. "I would have asked her to
stay in the city for a while, but my apartment is pretty small, and it would
have been…." He trailed off, his
gaze wandering away.
Miles pursed his lips;
dealing out romantic advice wasn't exactly his strong suit.
you've both been through." Hoping
to maybe lighten the mood--and lift him from any advisory obligation--he added,
"That tiny apartment of yours might have reminded her too much of prison
anyway."
lowered: there was still something heavy on his mind.
prayed
involved. But he had already come all
this way, and if he displayed cowardice now he wouldn't forgive himself for it
later.
"So."
the car, separating to their respective doors.
But instead of unlocking it Miles paused, watching
bluntly.
way he avoided Miles' steady gaze. He
licked his lips. "…Yes," he
said after a long, silent pause. "I…I
think so. I mean, I do."
nervously. "I do.
"Don't know what to
do?" Miles echoed. His tone was
curious, prompting
knew how
"You don't want to get back together?"
"It's not that,"
"Especially now that I know it was her all along…"
years. There's no reason why I
know I was right."
Miles clicked the automatic
door lock on his key chain. "So
what's the problem?"
Before
slipping behind the wheel. It was a
deliberate move that gave
a chance to think as he, too, ducked into the car.
openly about their personal lives and the preparation time seemed to do him
some good.
"The problem is, it's
been years,"
of himself then, if not more melancholy, as if finally coming to the heart of
the matter. "A lot has happened
since then, and…I've changed. I know I
have."
He looked up abruptly,
meeting Miles' eyes at last. "I
don't know if I can be for her what I was back then,
or if that's even what either of us wants now.
Do you know what I mean?"
Miles' fingers curled stiffly
around his keys, digging small, tooth-like indentations into his palm.
forward. His own voice was noticeably
less confident as he started the car and gave his answer.
"I know
***
Forty minutes later
finally attending to the "business" he had flown from
to complete in the first place. He
pulled into the driveway of an old, modest two story house, with chipping paint
and rough, overgrown landscaping. The
shutters, which were once a deep blue, were faded, cracked, and sealed shut
over every window. No one had lived in
this house for years, and as Miles moved up the familiar stone walkway he felt
a dull pang of guilt for its poor condition.
Had he not been in such a dramatic hurry two years ago, he could have
made arrangements for it to be better taken care of.
The key he had picked up that
morning needed a little wiggling to fit into its intended lock, and the hinges
creaked something awful, raising the small hairs on the back of Miles' neck as
he finally stepped inside what had once been his childhood home.
in nearly fifteen years. Though the
house had been in his name for all that time, having
been left to him at the time of his father's death, he had never been compelled
to use it. He had lived with the Karmas
in their estate, and after that his own luxurious condominium downtown, closer
to the Prosecutor's Office. By the time
he was old enough to inherit the property it had lost its meaning for him.
Miles walked slowly down the
front hall, which opened first into the kitchen.
when he drew two fingertips across the surface of their old kitchen table he
left a pair of streaks in the fine layer of dust covering it.
eating the scrambled eggs his father had prepared for breakfast before they
would head to court together. He
remembered quite clearly, because he hadn't finished them all--a stubborn
child's protest at being told he couldn't bring his new Red Time Force Ranger to
his father's work, even though it could have been concealed perfectly in his
pocket. It had sat alone on the table all
through that fateful day.
Driven by curiosity he moved
out of the kitchen, past the living room and through a side door into a small
room by the stairway. It was a bedroom,
with a single box spring mattress and lines of shelves set low on the
walls. Several plastic packing bins were
stacked in the far corner. He was drawn
to them, and upon opening the lid found the old toys of his youth, most of
which were bent and scuffed from having been hastily packed.
among them, turning it over in his hands as he recalled the familiar texture of
cheap plastic.
Miles stood in the center of
the empty space for a long time, taking in the musty smell, idly polishing the
toy with the cuff of his jacket. Slowly,
he took a seat on the edge of his old mattress.
Bit by bit memories returned to him: the Saturday mornings he'd spent
arranging his figures on the shelves, his father tucking him into bed at night,
even the faint sound of his mother's voice floating in from the kitchen as she
packed his lunch for school…
Miles continued to stare down
at the figure in his hand, rubbing it with his thumb, as he tugged his cell
phone out of his coat pocket and dialed a familiar number.
soon as the call came through. "I'm
sorry to call so late, but I wanted to know…"
He sighed, briefly closing
his eyes. "Do you know if the
Prosecutor's Office is still interested in taking me back?"