Phoenix Wright / Gyakuten Saiban, its settings and characters, are property of Capcom, and are being used here without permission.  This fic is rated R.

 

 

Well Frogs

Chapter 12

 

 

Makoto wasn't used to hearing the doorbell.  It made her jump every time.

 

Oftentimes she would not even bother to go to the door, so it was a good thing that her guest spoke up from the other side.  "Mako!  It's me, your Takkun!"

 

"Takkun?"  It took Makoto a second to remember that "Takkun" was the name Takita had asked her to call him by, but then she crept to the door and opened it a crack.  The afternoon noise from the city outside made goose bumps prickle up and down her arms, but once her eyes adjusted to the light and she saw Takita's bright face peering back at her, she was able to ignore it for the short time needed to let him in.  "Hello…Please, come in."

 

"Hey, Mako."  Takita slipped inside quickly and shut the door behind him; he seemed more mindful this time of her paranoia, for which she was grateful.  He held up a bag carrying two take-out cartons.  "I told you I'd bring food," he reminded.  "It's a little early for dinner, but that's okay, right?"

 

"Oh!  Yes…"  Makoto looked around hesitantly; though she had agreed for Takita to come over, he hadn't given her a time, and the studio wasn't in much of a state to entertain visitors.  The table especially was covered in painting supplies, and she hesitated to invite him to sit at it.  "Um, well…"

 

"Hm?"  Takita followed her gaze, and upon noticing the table he gave a shrug.  "We can eat somewhere else.  I won't make a mess, I swear!"

 

Makoto considered, glancing around the studio and its few surfaces.  She had been trying to keep herself as busy as possible lately, and it had left the place something of a mess.  It was distressing, when she had guests so rarely.  The only room in the house that was presentable was her own room, as she spent the least amount of time in it.

 

"Okay…"  Makoto glanced to her drawing pad which she had left on a chair, considering taking it with her, but…it was only a meal.  She shouldn't have to depend on it for every instance.  With a deep breath she nodded, and turned to lead him through the kitchen into the living area of the studio.

 

Takita followed along, glancing back and forth seemingly with great interest.  On the other side of the kitchen was a short hall with bedrooms on the left, and the bathroom and laundry room on the right.  Makoto was careful not to look at the first closed door on her way into her own room.

 

"Wow, your room is so cute!" Takita beamed as he followed her inside.  It wasn't a very large room, with barely enough space for her bed and dressers, but the walls were covered with various framed drawings Makoto had done throughout her life.  There were a few photos among them as well, and an old Arumajiki Troupe poster on the closet door.  Makoto wasn't sure what about it was particularly cute, but Takita was intent on inspecting her walls, along with her lion-patterned bedspread.

 

Makoto seated herself on the bed.  "Thank you…"  Once Takita had calmed down enough to join her, she looked curiously to the dinner he'd brought.  Though she wasn't very good at showing it, she appreciated his courtesy a great deal.

 

"Did you do all of these yourself?" Takita asked as he pulled out a pair of bento.  He handed one to Makoto that was obviously meant for a girl, with little yellow chicks painted across it.  "Except for the photos, of course."

 

"Yes…most of them."  Makoto peeked into her bento, a little disappointed to see that it had not been hand made.  Takita's mother had made such artwork of their food the day before.  "Some of them are years old, when I was little," she explained as she separated her wooden chopsticks.

 

"Yeah?  You were always a genius then, huh?"  Takita split his own chopsticks and dug right into his own pre-packaged dinner.  "That's really amazing, you know.  You're so lucky."

 

Makoto frowned at his choice of words.  "Lucky…?"

 

"Yeah, really lucky!"  When Takita glanced over and saw her expression, he shrugged.  "You know, being talented.  Not many people can make art like that, right?  It's a big deal, isn't it?"

 

Growing up, Makoto had often been told by her father how marvelous and special her talents were, and she had always believed him--not out of awareness of her own abilities, but because it made him happy.  It wasn't until very recently that she even fully realized what her copying of art really meant, and how dangerous her works could potentially be.  But she had never thought of herself as lucky to be able to do what she did.  It was the only thing she knew, and the best way to keep herself enjoyably busy while receiving her father's praise.  It was never a matter of pride, and certainly never something she was willing to compare to the talents of outsiders.

 

"I…suppose."  Makoto took a careful nibble of her rice.  "I never thought of it that way…"

 

They continued to eat, and for once Takita's usually bright conversation died off for a little while.  Makoto was not used to having to judge the dispositions of others, but when she snuck glances, gradually she became aware of a difference in him.  If I drew him now, it wouldn't match the drawing I did yesterday, she thought uncomfortably.  I'm not sure why, though…

 

"Taki…um, Takkun?"  Makoto swallowed hard, staring down at her bento box so she could get the words out without his face making her nervous.  "Thank you for dinner…but…are you okay?"

 

"Okay?"  She could see him tossing the vegetables in his meal back into the bag to be discarded.  "What do you mean?"

 

Makoto took a deep breath.  Takita had been nothing but kind to her since they met only a few days ago, and she couldn't be more grateful for all the attention and encouragement he'd given her at his house.  Even if she had little to offer in return, she wanted to be of some good to him.  That was what…friends did, or so she could only assume.  "You seem different," she whispered, longing for her sketchbook.  "Are you…okay?"

 

Takita fidgeted, and when Makoto peeked up at him there was a strange look on his face.  His brows knitted together as he set his bento on the floor.  "That obvious, huh?"

 

Makoto was fairly sure it had taken her longer to notice than it should have, but she didn't comment on that.  She followed his example and carefully lowered her bento to the floor, nudging it out of the way with her toes.  "What is it?"

 

"Well…"  Takita scratched the back of his neck.  "You were at the park last night with the lawyer dude, right?" he asked.  "Tranquility Gardens?"

 

"Yes…?"  Makoto couldn't contain a little shiver at the memory.  Spending the night with Odoroki and his friends at the park had been a pleasure, up until their tense departure.  She had gone straight to work once she got home to calm her nerves.  She rubbed her arms.

 

Takita watched her, and her ill ease seemed to make his own worse.  "Did you run into any trouble?" he asked anxiously.  "The police?  Any weirdoes?"

 

"Weirdoes?"  Makoto could think of one that fit that description, and the memory made her skin crawl.  "There was a man…at the snack shop.  He was dressed funny…  He didn't seem very nice."

 

It was a fairly vague description, but the color drained quickly from Takita's face as if he knew exactly whom she meant.  They were seated so close on the mattress that when he shuddered, she could feel it.  Seeing him so upset made Makoto's heart clench with a sudden fear, and she pulled her arms instinctively to her chest.  She tried to make herself ask who the man was and what it meant, but she couldn't get her voice to work properly, and only managed an uneasy whimper.

 

Takita started at the sound of her voice, and quickly made an effort to soften his expression.  "Sorry," he said instantly.  "Sorry, it's just…well, I gotta tell ya."  He turned, folding his knee up on the bed so he could face her directly.  "Something…bad happened," he explained.  "And my dad, he…he's in trouble."

 

Makoto took in another deep breath, and though she kept her arms held in close, she tried to grant some strength to her voice.  "Did…did someone die?" she whispered.  "I'm not…I'm not a child.  You don't have to protect me from the truth."  She shivered, but refused to stop or lower her gaze.  "I…I was on trial, a few weeks ago.  I know what murder is."

 

Takita stared back at her, startled.  "You were on trial for murder?" he asked blankly.  "Oh…yeah.  Odoroki mentioned that…"

 

Makoto nodded slowly.  "Something bad happened at the park, didn't it?" she asked, her voice still painfully soft.

 

"Yeah...."  Takita tugged at a strand of his hair restlessly.  "Someone was murdered.  And the damn cops think it was my dad--but it wasn't!"  He looked to her desperately.  "You believe me, right?  My dad didn't kill anyone!"

 

Makoto flinched when his volume rose, but she quickly nodded.  "I believe you."

 

"You do."  Takita sighed quietly with relief.  "Thanks…"

 

His father is in prison.  Makoto finally had to look away as her own memories resurfaced.  Remembering her short time in detention, half panicked and alone, surrounded by strangers… it was enough to make her shiver all over again, and her heart pounded in sympathy.  But even more frightening than that was the threat of Takita losing his father as she had.  She didn't want to think of Takita suffering that pain, which continued to creep up on her every night when the studio was at its quietest.  Though her hand was shaking she reached out and touched Takita's knee, just barely.  "Does he… a lawyer?"

 

"Yeah, Odoroki's defending him."  Takita glanced down at her hand and then covered it with his own--his palm was rough and warm, just like she remembered.  "I guess he's not a bad guy.  He got me off, too."

 

"He did…?"  Makoto edged closer.  "You were on trial…?"

 

"Yeah, a while ago."  Takita shrugged, and then shook his head.  "It was stupid, really.  I was stupid."  His fingers tightened over hers, but it wasn't painful; he was careful not to be.  "I guess I'm still kind of stupid."

 

Takita pulled her hand from his knee, tugging it forward.  Makoto allowed it until she realized that he was pulling it toward his lap.  In confusion she slipped her hand quickly out of his with a quiet, embarrassed squeak.

 

"Ah…"  Takita blushed and flinched back as well.  "Sorry," he apologized quickly.  "I just…I wanna show you something."

 

Takita reached down, pulling up the hem of his T-shirt.  Makoto's eyes darted between it and the far wall shyly, her cheeks growing red at the sight of bare skin.  She squirmed and almost asked him to stop, until she caught sight of white fabric beneath the shirt.  With Takita's chest exposed she could finally see that he was wrapped in bandages, and the skin around them was red and looked tender.  She had never seen bandages like that before, and the implication of what they meant caused a lump to form quickly in her throat.

 

He was injured.  Makoto trembled as she stared with wide eyes at the fabric, her mind whirling as it tried to imagine what kind of horrible wound must be hidden beneath them.  It must have hurt so much, to need that many bandages…

 

"Pretty gross, huh?"  Takita smirked humorlessly.  "It still hurts sometimes.  Kinda manly, though, right?  Taking a bullet."

 

Makoto couldn't take her eyes off his chest.  She felt as if her own were aching in sympathy with every heavy beat of her pulse.  Without meaning to her imagination fed horrible images to her, of bullets and blood--not that she even really knew what that much blood would look like.  In her minds eye she saw Takita keeling over, his face going white and cold, like her father's had.  She had heard more laughter from him in the past week than she had stretched over years, and the thought that those bandages represented a smile she might have been deprived filled her with an inexplicable sensation of dread.

 

"Mako…?"  The backs of Takita's fingers brushed her cheek, and it wasn't until then that Makoto realized it was to wipe away her tears.  When he tugged his shirt back down it finally broke the spell, and she took in a short, harsh breath of surprise.  "What's wrong?"

 

Makoto looked slowly up into his face.  "That's horrible," she whispered.

 

"Huh…?"  Takita frowned in incomprehension.  "What is…?"

 

Makoto shook her head as she began to cry in earnest.  "That's horrible," she repeated in a choked murmur.  She latched onto Takita's hand, keeping it close to her face in sudden fear that he might slip away.  "So horrible…"

 

"I'm sorry," Takita told her quietly, though he still didn't seem to understand what had upset her.  He squirmed awkwardly for a moment, and then finally gave her a little tug.  He didn't seem to know how to deal with Makoto's fear any more than she did, but it was enough to encourage her closer.  Their legs bumped, and it didn't occur to her to be embarrassed as she curled up against his side, eager for the protective warmth of another body.  After another moment of hesitation Takita wrapped his arms around her.

 

"I'm sorry," Takita said again.  "I didn’t mean to scare you."  He cleared his throat.  "I thought…most girls found it cool or something."

 

Makoto shook her head, unable to voice her denial in words.  The idea that anyone could be faced with such pain and find it laudable made her sick to her stomach.  The outside world had never sounded more terrifying.

 

*****

 

 Odoroki and Naruhodou spent the rest of the afternoon at the office, mulling over the details and evidence they had obtained for the case.  It wasn't until Minuki arrived from her day of school and started asking for snacks that they realized they hadn't paused for lunch.  The three of them took a trip down the street to the very familiar Yatabuki noodle stand for an early dinner of the saltiest noodles around.

 

"I got a 72 on my quiz!" Minuki declared proudly along the way.  She shoved the paper at Naruhodou for his approval.  "I passed!  That means I get to skip tomorrow and come to the trial, right?"

 

"That was the agreement," Naruhodou chuckled as he looked over the results.  "That's even a little higher than last time."

 

"72…?"  Odoroki tried not to frown; it didn't seem like a score that anyone ought to be bragging about, from his perspective.  "Are you sure you want to skip?" he asked carefully.  "School's important, you know.  You're smart enough to do better than a 72…"

 

Minuki ho-hummed, and hopped back to loop her arm around his.  "Don't be silly!  You're going to court tomorrow.  I have to be there."

 

"Well you don't have to…"

 

"Oh come on, you know you'd get nowhere without me," Minuki teased.  She poked him in the ribs.  "Now fill me in on everything I missed.  I'm your assistant, after all."

 

Odoroki sighed, and tried to argue back, but when he heard Naruhodou chuckling a step ahead of them he knew it was hopeless.  "All right," he relented.  "I'll fill you in."

 

Odoroki explained all their discoveries that day over dinner, the three of them seated side by side on the short wooden stools of Yatabuki's stand with Minuki in the middle.  "We still didn't figure out how the gun got from the Kitaki house to the park," he concluded glumly.  "If someone had broken in, I think one of the Kitakis would have mentioned it to me.  It's the most damaging evidence, after all."

 

"Are you sure about that?" Naruhodou asked mysteriously.

 

Odoroki frowned, quickly assessing the case to see if he could figure out what else Naruhodou could have meant.  "Um…yes," he said at last.  "There were a lot of people in the park that night, but only one gun.  Only three people could have taken the gun out, and only one of those was in a position to use it.  It's really damaging."

 

Naruhodou nodded.  "As long as you know that," he said with a smirk.

 

Odoroki rolled his eyes.  Still testing me?  Haven't I proved myself by now?  Determined to display his understanding of the case, he finally admitted to the suspicion that had been nagging at him all day.  "Mr. Akagami is involved, isn't he?"

 

Minuki slurped her noodles loudly and looked to her father, but his expression didn't change.  He was still smiling that damnably calm smile.  "You think so?" she asked.

 

"It's the only thing that makes sense," Odoroki admitted, not without his misgivings.  He understood well enough what he was implying.  "If Mr. Kitaki is innocent, he couldn't have been the one that took out the gun.  And I don't think it was Takita, either.  That only leaves Mr. Akagami." He frowned down at his bowl.  "He already admitted to being in their armory--he could have just taken out two guns instead of one."

 

Minuki wiped her mouth.  "Did you really react to him earlier?" she asked, sounding maybe a little jealous for having missed it.  "Did you spot his tell?"

 

"No, but…"  Odoroki glanced down to his bracelet.  "Now that I think of it, both times was when I asked about when Takita was shot, not this case.  There might be something about that incident we don't know…"

 

Naruhodou cleared his throat, and at last his voice took on a bit more serious tone.  "I know you know this already," he said evenly, "but I'm going to tell you anyway."

 

Odoroki grimaced a little.  Here comes a lecture.  But he truly did value Naruhodou's advice when he had any to give, and he nodded slowly.  "Okay."

 

Naruhodou paused to suck down another mouthful of noodles before continuing.  "Your last trial was a jury trial, but that was just a test run," he continued.  "The system isn't ready to change over completely yet.  It'll be just the Judge again, and you'll have to win it like you have all your other cases.  And considering your client is the head of a yakuza family…"

 

"Reformed yakuza," Odoroki corrected.  "But you're right, I get it."  He stirred his ramen around the bowl with his chopsticks.  "If I ask for Mr. Akagami to take the stand, I have to get him or it won't do any good."

 

Naruhodou and Minuki exchanged significant glances, the latter looking as if she were restraining some remark with great difficulty.  Odoroki sighed.  "Now what?"

 

"Go ahead," Naruhodou told his daughter with a smile.

 

Minuki straightened up.  "Mr. Akagami works for Mr. Kitaki," she reminded him.  "If you implicate him in anything, Prosecutor Garyuu will just argue that he was acting under Mr. Kitaki's orders."  She wagged a finger at him.  "And since Takita is vouching for him, that makes the whole family look suspicious!"

 

"Oh, right…"  Odoroki flushed a little.  "And I know the police verified his alibi anyway.  The best I could prove is that he handed a gun off to someone else…"

 

"Which the little fox is claiming couldn't have happened," Naruhodou stepped in.  "Supposedly they were together all that day."

 

"Yeah....  And if I proved Takita wrong, that would only make him and his father look guiltier…"  Odoroki glared at his dinner with a sudden loss of appetite.  "And that still doesn't prove who pulled the trigger."

 

Minuki's chopsticks darted into his view, plucking a spiral fishcake out of his ramen.  "So who do you think did it?"

 

That was the real question that needed answering, and yet Odoroki wasn't sure he was ready for it.  He rested his chin against his palm, deep in thought.  There were only two he could think of which were truly viable suspects, but he had no strong evidence against either of them.  Even if his hunch about the silencer turned out to be correct and it did belong to a Katagi, that might not indicate either clearly enough for him to be comfortable bringing it up in court.  Kyouya would be expecting it from him.

 

"I don't know yet," Odoroki admitted.  "Yuuri Katagi was in the park but has an alibi.  Mrs. Kanako was in the restaurant, but…I'm not sure if she's capable.  She seemed so frail the other night."  His brow furrowed as he tried to puzzle it out, but then he gave up with a quiet sigh.  "I don't know.  I need more evidence."

 

"Well."  Naruhodou pushed his bowl of ramen away and wiped his mouth.  "What do you know?"

 

This time Odoroki's answer was instant.  "I know Mr. Kitaki is innocent."

 

Naruhodou smirked.  "Then you'll find a way to prove it," he assured.  "It's just a matter of which of them you think you have a better chance of cracking."

 

Odoroki nodded along.  "Even if Mrs. Kanako isn't guilty, Prosecutor Garyuu said he found that note in her room.  She must have known something was going on, and she'll have to take the stand sooner or later."  But he couldn't take his mind off his initial concern.  "But Mr. Akagami knew about that, too…"

 

"I bet we could get him, between the two of us," Minuki said with enthusiasm.  "Do you think Prosecutor Garyuu would call him if we asked?"

 

"I'm sure he would," Naruhodou interrupted.  "But I still don't think it's a good idea.  It'll be a lot easier to pin down one of the Katagi's and get them to implicate Akagami, if you really think he's involved."

 

"I guess you're right…"  Odoroki still felt a little uneasy.  He didn't like to think that he was letting his personal intimidation of Tsudzuo Akagami mar his judgment, but he couldn't shake the sensation that he was the one to be worried about.  But Naruhodou's right.  It'll be easier to get Mrs. Katagi to talk than Mr. Akagami, or her son.  I've got three days in court to prove it - I don't have to do it all tomorrow, as long as I prove Mr. Kitaki isn't the only suspect.  Prosecutor Garyuu is smart, he'll see.

 

Odoroki nodded to himself.  "Okay.  At least I have a plan now."  When he drew his attention back he realized that Minuki was back to stealing out of his bowl, and he snapped his chopsticks at her.

 

"I thought you were done!" she exclaimed, trying to look guilty while suppressing a smile.

 

"Well I wasn't - I was just thinking."  Odoroki drew his bowl closer protectively.  "Finish your own first!"

 

Naruhodou chuckled, pulling out his wallet as the two of them continued to bicker.

 

*****

 

I don't get women.

 

Takita stood back as he watched Makoto wash her face in the bathroom.  The last thing he'd wanted was to make her cry, and even after she'd calmed down and they'd finished their food he still wasn't entirely sure what had set her off.  Usually if he made a girl cry it was because he'd put dirt in her hair, but he hadn't done that since the fourth grade.

 

"Um…"  Takita rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and leaned against the doorway.  "Are you okay?"

 

Makoto turned off the faucet and dried her face on a towel with frogs printed on it.  Though she was no longer crying and the water seemed to have done her some good, she still kept her head down as she nodded, and did not speak.

 

Takita shifted his weight.  "Sorry," he apologized yet again.  "I didn't know… I mean, I thought since it wasn't oozing or nothing it wouldn't…"  When she winced, he muttered a curse under his breath and quickly changed tactics.  "Sorry.  But I'm okay, really.  It doesn't hurt that much anymore at all."

 

Makoto stared down at the floor, still silent, wrapping her arms around herself like she would when holding her sketchbook.  That much at least Takita caught on to.  "Do you want your book?" he asked quickly.  He took a step closer and touched her shoulder.  "Let's go get it, okay?"

 

After a moment's hesitation Makoto nodded, and she allowed Takita to lead her back into the studio proper to retrieve her sketchbook.  As soon as she got her hands on it she flipped to a clean page and drew a sad face.  "I'm sorry you were hurt," she whispered.

 

"It wasn't that bad," Takita lied.  Even his memory of the event seemed more frightening when he heard her speaking about it in that thin, pained voice of hers.  He gave his chest a pat to put her mind at ease.  "See?  I'm fine."

 

"Why would someone do that?" Makoto asked quietly, scrawling more uneasy faces into her book.  "I don't understand…"

 

Takita started to answer, but for the first time in his memory, he hesitated to declare his yakuza heritage.  It had been such a statement of pride for him all his life, but when Makoto glanced up at him with her wide eyes the words froze in his throat.  Dimly he remembered the awe he had felt when faced with Tsudzuo's old battle marks, but there was no chance of Makoto viewing him that way.  She was afraid of his scars. 

 

"It was…"  Takita struggled anxiously over the answer, inexplicably reminded of the way his hands had trembled at the shooting range the night before.  "It was some street punk.  But it's okay now - you don't have to worry about him, okay?"  He stepped forward and gave her shoulders a squeeze.  "Okay?"

 

"Okay…"  Makoto took in a deep breath and seemed to finally compose herself.  "I'm glad."

 

Takita smiled, hoping to encourage her, though by then he felt more confused than anything.  "Maybe I should go," he murmured.  "Tsudzuo's probably worried…"

 

Makoto squirmed beneath his hands, and flipped to a clean page so she could draw another large uneasy face.  "Do you have to…?"

 

"Huh?"  Her unexpected response made his cheeks redden a little.  "You don't want me to?"

 

"You…"  Makoto lowered her eyes shyly - she couldn't have made a better invitation.  "You don't have to go.  If you don't want."

 

"Okay."  As long as I don't bring it up again, I'll be fine, he told himself.  Smiling, he gave her shoulders another squeeze.  "I can stay a little longer.  Will you draw something for me?"

 

Makoto quickly nodded.  "Okay."  She didn't smile, but her face looked a bit calmer as she turned to lead him back into her room.  "I'll draw you."

 

Just as relieved as he was pleased, Takita grinned and followed close behind.

 

 

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