DISCLAMER: Phoenix Write: Ace Attorney games and related characters do NOT belong to me, no matter how much I want to steal them. Godot and Larry are sole property of Capcom- Go thank them for making awesome characters.

Okay, so I'm really really psyched for writing my first Phoenix Write fanfic. I'm also really surprised that I'm, like, the ONLY Larry/Godot shipper on the net. o.o ...Ahem, anyways, I hope you enjoy~! (Don't forget to review, Pwease? w)

Larry groaned under the crumpled sheets. How much had he drunk last night? It couldn't have been enough to create this major a hang over. Unless… One, two, three… four… five, six… Oh, God. He couldn't even count the drinks. He groaned again and stretched out on his bed.


Oh shit.

His arm had hit something. Something warm, something that was gently raising and lowering to the steady breath of deep sleep, and something that was certainly not female.


Larry froze, daring not even to breath, and slowly turned his head just far enough that he could see the figure out of his peripheral vision. He couldn't see the head, which was higher up on the bed then his, but instead saw their – his – body. It was tanned and muscular and completely naked. Thankfully the sheet was covering the, er, lower extremities, but they were still thin sheets and didn't leave as much as Larry wished they did to the imagination. He quickly looked at the ceiling.

How did..? What? …Who?! The questions raced through Larry's brain, unfortunately not coming across any answers. The previous night was kind of blurry, and thinking wasn't made any easier by the throbbing pain in his head. The only way to know was to look. Larry didn't think he wanted to know. Knew he didn't want to look, and face whoever it was when they were awake. However, life wasn't leaving him any other options at the moment. He would have to deal with the mess he had gotten himself into.

So he cautiously raised himself from the mattress and slid his legs out from under the tangled mess of fabric. Larry stood up slowly, checking himself over. Wearing boxers. At least fate had granted him that small mercy. While the fog of shock was still fresh in his mind, Larry took a deep breath and turned around, to see the person on earth he was least expecting to see.

Angular features, dark stubble on his chin, a pale scar across his nose, and most strikingly, incredibly white hair. Godot. The prosecutor. The murderer. In sleep, the hard expression and cup of bitter coffee were absent, replaced with one whose closed eyes looked completely at peace. Restful.


Larry fled the room, closing the door behind him louder then he meant to. Down the hallway, to the kitchen. He needed coffee. To clear his head. To look back and try to make sense of fuzzy memory. Because he was completely freaking out. So Larry pulled out the pot and dumped the old stale stuff down the drain; fumbled for the tin of grounds on the counter. One, two scoops of grounds. Larry's thoughts flashed back to the prosecutor soundly slumbering on his bed, and added a third scoop. For all Larry knew, he had been the one to make the advances, and it wouldn't be fair to not think of the victim party…

VICTIM PARTY?!? Was he going nuts?! Sure, when it came to beautiful women Larry was the first to admit he was always suggesting possibilities. But with men, it was a completely different story. Larry wasn't interested in the least. No amount of alcohol could change that.

So why did you sleep with him, huh?

Now there was food for thought. Why had he? Larry furrowed his eyebrows in concentration, trying to think. Women were the center of his world. What had happened to cause him to make such a sudden, and quite frankly creepy, decision to swap teams? Had he… Had he been drugged? Larry squinted, looking back.


Larry jumped, startled, but reminded himself it was just the coffee pot. He grabbed a cup, and took a deep drought to clear his mind. Then promptly spewed it back out into the sink. Larry poured out half his cup and replaced it with water, diluting the crazy strong and bitter coffee he had made, and downed half the cup.

Remember… remember… Last night. Joann broke up with him. After agreeing to date him a mere two hours earlier. On a dare. That's right, he'd been heart broken. It had been the third time that week he had been dumped. The one before that was Marcia, and before that was… was Ruth.


Ruth had been Larry's girlfriend on and off for three years She had been dating him way back when he was still in his "Laurice- Artist Extraordinaire" phase, and had been by his side quite often ever since. But… she broke up. Permanently, engaged to some fancy lawyer-type with big bucks. Not Nick or Miles type lawyer, but the kind that works for a really big firm with marble lions at the entrance and has no emotions as a person. It was the worst type of betrayal.

So Larry hit the bars to drown his sorrows with various liquid intoxicating substances, like booze. He cried. A lot. Halfway through the night memory started getting fuzzy, probably due to what was in his system at the time.

Larry took another gulp from his coffee mug, And then jumped a couple feet in the air at the jarring sound of water running through the pipes in his apartment. Oh, God, Godot was taking a shower. In his bathroom. Naked. During the "morning after".

Well, there went any idea of rational thought process.


How had he…? When had he…? Why had he…? Larry was back at his first three questions, speculating at the speed of light, but not getting anywhere. Thinking in a circle, chasing his tail. Panic was not good for rational thought.

So he just sat there and listened to the water running. Trying not to think at all. Soon enough there was a thunk as the water turned off, then quiet for a moment. It suddenly hit Larry that he was standing in his boxers and a man who he had suposadly had… had… had sex with would be walking in any moment. Oh shit. This could not end well. Hopefully Godot had the sense of decency to put clothes on. Larry was trying not to shake with the total panic running through his veins.

The soft creak of a door opening. The tump tump of footsteps. Larry strained his ears to hear every motion, to be prepared for the moment of confrontation to arrive. Hah. Like he could ever truly be prepared.

Before he knew it, the man himself was standing in the eve of the hallway. He was wearing jeans, probably from the night before (Larry shivered at the thought that he had been the one to unzip them), but no shirt. Water droplets still clung to his skin from the shower, and he had a towel around his neck, which he was using to ruffle his white hair. The mask, with its three glowing bars that had helped incriminate the man five years earlier, was in place.

Godot grinned at him, "Good morning."