January

2012

Chapter One-Part 7

Miles padded down the hallway, dumbstruck by the euphoria of the past two nights. He'd never felt the floorboards of the mansion under his bare feet before. He'd always had to wear slippers, as was proper in the household. This morning, he'd just thrown on a pair of boxers instead of his usual complete leisure ensemble, and the floor felt cool, smooth, different. He felt so different.

Two nights, no nightmares.

He stopped and stared around the dining room. Oh if only they were in one of the country estates. In the city, he wasn't allowed to keep any pets, but in the country, there was always a dog to greet him in the morning. His favorite was Spitz. That would make it perfect.

He grinned to himself, and walked through to the kitchen. Maybe he'd make coffee instead of tea. Why not?

"::My God, Miles!::

Ice water shot through his veins and he froze, nearly dropping the coffee pot.

":: How dare you appear near naked and in a servant space!::"

The huge, imposing form of Manfred von Karma stood in the doorway to the kitchen, glaring, arms crossed. Behind him stood his young daughter, a mirror image in feminine miniature, except instead of a frown she wore a sideways smile.

In German Miles stammered, "::Sir. I didn't expect you home until tonight.::" His voice rang pathetically even in his own ears.

"::And that is an excuse? Franziska and I have been up for 18 hours straight preparing for her exams. She is here to challenge you, and you appear here with such disregard I feel you are not worthy even to loose to her.::"

Miles attempted to keep his composure, but a wave of sudden and intense shame blinded him. He felt sick. What had he done? What did he think he was doing? Miles Edgeworth, the renowned protégé of the great Manfred von Karma, neglecting his obligations.

Then he thought of Phoenix, upstairs, in his bed. Naked.

Everything he had ever worked for, all the guarantees of carrying on the Perfect Prosecutor's lineage, all the break-walls set up to protect him from his past… was he just going to throw that away in a mess of scandal and humiliation? Shit. How could he have been so stupid? How had he let himself forget this feeling of helplessness, worthlessness? A feeling he promised himself he'd never feel again?

"::I am sorry, Sir.::"

"::So you admit you have no excuse. Yet you have disobeyed the laws and rules of this household like a common criminal. I would expect you to rectified this situation with haste and return in no less than 15 minutes prepared to debate Franziska in a mock battle!::"

"::Yes sir.::"

Miles set the coffee pot down on the counter, painfully aware of the von Karmas' eyes on his exposed body as he walked out of the kitchen and bolted up the long staircase to the second floor. Once at the top of the curving flight, he clutched at the wall to steady himself, and prayed he wouldn't pass out.

Full blown panic was constricting his chest. Oh God, not now. The rope coiled around him like a constrictor, all the way up his body, encircling his neck like a noose. His felt dizzy, his world spinning out of control.

It wasn't just the return of Manfred and Franziska; their timing was just off. It was that he'd let himself be tempted. Did he actually think he was going to have some sort of relationship with Phoenix Wright? Phoenix somehow staying in Germany, or coming to be with him in America. It would be a disaster. Years of work down the drain for what? Friendship? Lust? Weaknesses. All of them.

He was not going back. He'd put far too much effort into becoming what he was now, what he had to be: in control, successful, logical. Anything that caused him to lose that control, to ignore his work, was a danger.

He had to get Wright out of there, and out of his life.