A/N: I haven't written in a long time but I recently dived headfirst back into Ace Attorney and fell in love with Miles Edgeworth all over again so needed to write some gratuitous catharsis. For my lovely sister.
Edgeworth found himself checking his cravat for grease stains for the fifth time that hour before he heard a rare sigh come from his dining partner as she stopped mid-sentence in her horrendously incorrect and poorly researched argument that the Pink Princess was in any way superior to the Steel Samurai.
"Edgeworth, why did you really want to talk to me?" Maya Fey said as she shoved another fry into her mouth. It was rare for Edgeworth to find himself in a burger bar, such establishments didn't appeal to him, but he knew he needed Maya in a good mood if he hoped to get her to agree to his plan, and he'd known her long enough to know there was nothing she wouldn't do for a good burger. She appeared to have caught onto him though. As sharp as ever I see; no wonder Wright speaks so highly of you.
He looked away, embarrassed. Even in his own thoughts calling him Phoenix often felt like he was stepping over some invisible boundary that he was forbidden from crossing. Which was ridiculous, considering.
Maya's voice snapped him out of his thoughts, but there was a softer tone to it this time, "Is everything okay, er, you know, between you and Nick? Only, I usually see you guys together; it's been ages since it was just you and me," she frowned and her eyes narrowed, "Nick didn't cheat on you did he? 'Cause if he did I'll-"
"No!" Edgeworth cut her off as she was rolling her sleeves up, ready to demonstrate just how serious she was about punching Wright - no, Phoenix - in the face. "Actually, it's rather the opposite."
Maya relaxed and inclined her head curiously, urging him to go on.
He took a shaky breath before he did; this would be the first time he would be saying it out loud, it would make it real, something he could no longer go back on and pretend he had never thought about in the first place. "I-" he started and his mouth went dry. Just pretend you're in court, you always know what to say there. He closed his eyes and pictured the looming ceilings of the courtroom, the polished benches and austere decor, he tried not to think too hard about who he imagined on the other side of the room. "I'm going to ask Phoenix to marry me," he said so hurriedly he wasn't sure whether it was even understandable.
The look on Maya's face was even brighter than when Edgeworth told her she could have as much as she wanted from the menu. She let out what sounded like an excited squeal, "That's wonderful news! Does he know? Does Trucy know? Can I be Maid of Honour - no, wait, that'll be your sister won't it? Oh! But I could be a bridesmaid! Me and Pearly and Iris could all wear matching dresses and," she paused in her tirade and her face fell a little, "You…don't seem as happy as I thought you would be."
Edgeworth inwardly cursed. It was Phoenix who was good at hiding his emotions, at bluffing and putting on a poker face. Edgeworth's face seemed to be an open book to those close to him.
"He doesn't know," he admitted quietly, "You're the first person I told because," he hesitated, but it was now or never, "Because there's something I have to do first, and you're the only one who can help me."
Maya stared blankly back at him for a second before realization dawned on her face. She sat back a little and her childish demeanour seemed to evaporate, "This is about channeling, isn't it?"
Edgeworth nodded silently.
Maya straightened up again, "I don't know, sometimes people think that it'll help, seeing their loved ones again, but it often just makes things even more complicated."
He had expected such an answer, but he spent his life anticipating arguments and how best to counter them, and now he had managed to get his request out into the open, it felt easier to remember the arguments he had prepared for this occasion.
"I have had a lot of time to get to know and understand myself, largely thanks to…well, you know who that's thanks to."
Maya tried to hide her girlish smile behind her hand. But she didn't try awfully hard.
He cleared his throat and continued, "I've found that I value certainty and the truth, even if it's a truth that's difficult to hear. I never told my father that," he found the words sticking in his throat and Maya reached her hand across the table to give his hand an encouraging squeeze, "I never told him that I'm gay." He felt a rush of shame as he instinctively reached for his arm. Apollo Justice had once pointed out that he always clutched at his arm when he was nervous and he'd been painstakingly aware of it ever since. He made himself drop his hand to his side.
Maya smiled, "So you want me to channel your dad so you can come out to him?"
"When you put it like that it sounds a little pathetic, I admit."
"It doesn't," she said, rolling her eyes, "I get it, you need to know what he would think of you and Nick before you can commit to asking him to marry you, I just…what if he reacts badly, what if he's, like, super not okay with it?"
Edgeworth grimaced, "It's a possibility I've considered, Maya, but I've heard hard truths before. The man who raised me killed my father, I've heard hard truths before."
She sighed, "You're really serious about this, huh? For what it's worth, if certainty and truth and all that is so important then, you should know that I forgive you."
Edgeworth blinked at her, "What?"
It was Maya's turn to look away now it seemed. "I know you still beat yourself up over your old cases," she looked up again, meeting his eyes dead on now, "I forgive you for accusing me of murdering my sister, for how you acted back then. I forgave you a long time ago."
"Oh." He didn't really know what to say to that. It was hard sometimes to reconcile the childish, playful nature of Maya with her surprising maturity and sensitivity at times. "Thank you," he simply offered, "I'd like to think we've become good friends."
And the childish grin was back as she laughed, "I'd like to think so too! So I'll do it, just this once, consider it like an early wedding gift."
Relief flooded every inch of his body and he allowed himself a small smile.
Maya clapped her hands together, all business, "So! We should discuss logistics, when do you want to do this, where do you want to be; I'll need a photo of your dad, preferably one from roughly around the time he died."
That would be easy enough, he had a copy of a photograph of his father with Eddie from their last case together, the case that…
He didn't need to think about that right now.
"I can get you a photo, and I'm making a rather selfish request so it only seems right that we work to your schedule. As for location, I did have somewhere in mind but I wasn't sure whether it needed to be in a - what do you call them again? Channeling chambers?"
Maya rolled her eyes, "Honestly, most of that stuff is just tradition and trying to make us look more mystical, I could channel in a drug den if I wanted."
"Er, right, well that's definitely not where I had in mind."
"Did you want to use your office?" Maya's face lit up again, "You'd be able to show him where you work, and your super cool Steel Samurai statue," she finished, with more than a little jealousy apparent in her voice.
"I was actually thinking of the Wright Anything Agency." In truth, he had considered his own office first. It looked impressive and undoubtedly gave people a very quick impression of who he was. But he felt the familiar unease in his stomach whenever he realised he wasn't sure he wanted his father to truly know who he was, who he had become in his absence.
The Wright Anything Agency had seemed like an obvious choice after that, it was where he felt most comfortable. It was where he felt most at home.
And it might be able to add some context to what he needed to say.
"Apollo's flying in this weekend to stay for a bit," Maya said, "And I think Nick, Trucy and Athena were all planning to meet him at the airport, we'd probably be able to have the place to ourselves for a bit, if that'd work for you?"
Miles smiled despite himself, "You know, when Wright asks me that he usually has other things in mind."
He deftly dodged the chip Maya threw at him, "Gross," she wrinkled her face up to demonstrate her point, "Don't make me regret helping you out. Anyway," she said, pointedly switching back to Master of Kurain mode, "Sometimes people like me to wear something belonging to the deceased to make it a bit less weird, especially if he had a hat he liked to wear or something, otherwise my hair can be kind of distracting."
In all honesty, he'd sort of forgotten that her hair didn't change when she channeled people; he had seen her do it precious few times and tended not to ask about it. Talking about channeling always came dangerously close to talking about DL-6, about Misty Fey, about what his father had told the police the last time he'd been channeled.
Don't think about that, he reminded himself sharply, that's not what you came here to talk about.
"Yes, he did, um, he had a hat, I think Eddie still keeps it in his office, his old coat too."
Curiosity returned to Maya's face, "Eddie?"
"Oh, you've not met him I don't think, he used to work with my father. He's been a good friend to me too, I'll talk to him before the weekend."
The details sorted, Maya returned to her lacking defense of the inferior defender of Neo Olde Tokyo as Edgeworth paid the bill and drove Maya to the hotel she was staying at for her visit. "Thank you," he said again, as solemnly as he could as she got out of his car, "This means more to me than you know."
She smiled, "Hey, if it's what it takes to see you two finally tie the knot it'll be worth it."
"Maya, we've only been dating for two years, it's hardly 'finally'"
Maya looked incredulous, "Uh huh, whatever you say chief," she said as she closed the car door and waved goodbye.
Saturday seemed to roll around both too quickly and painfully slowly. Phoenix had been surprised that Edgeworth wasn't joining them in picking up Apollo, but he accepted the pitiful excuse that something had come up at work without question and smiled as he kissed him goodbye.
Edgeworth loved that about him. The way he could practically feel how happy Phoenix was pressed into his skin. I make Phoenix happy.
It was that thought alone that stopped him bolting out the door before Maya arrived and he could no longer turn back. She arrived fairly soon after the others had left. He suspected she had probably been watching from nearby, he only hoped she had been subtle about it.
"Hey," she said as she flounced over the threshold, "You still wanna do this?"
He nodded curtly, he didn't trust himself to speak too much.
Maya seemed to sense his apprehension almost immediately, he wondered whether she had something like the weird stone Phoenix had once given him to use to break people's psycholocks. He still wasn't entirely sure that hadn't been some kind of hallucination.
A hand on his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts and he nodded again, "I've prepared everything now, there's no point chickening out."
He led Maya into the office and lifted his briefcase onto the already hopelessly cluttered desk. He had stashed the coat inside so that no one asked him any questions about it; Eddie was tactful and hadn't asked why he suddenly wanted it, just handed them over and told him not to be a stranger.
"I brought the photograph you asked for," he said, flashing the picture of his father and Eddie at the scene of his final case. Maya couldn't stop smiling as she looked at it.
"He's just like I imagined," she said fondly, "You take after him a lot."
I take after von Karma, Edgeworth thought bitterly, suddenly very conscious of how he was dressed. It may not be as ostentatious as his attire when he first began prosecuting but people were still known to mock his grandiose sense of fashion. He had worn his suit because he thought it would make him look serious and professional. Now he worried he simply looked pompous and conceited. But it was far too late to worry about that now.
"I brought some other photographs with me too," he explained as he picked up a small pile of pictures from the case. He knew full well he could have just used his phone but he wasn't sure he would have time to explain modern technology to a man who had died decades ago now, and he liked having the physical copies in front of him. It felt like evidence, it made it feel tangible, real. "I thought it might help when explaining some things."
Maya handed the picture back to him, nodding in agreement as he put the pile on the desk, "That's a good idea. And Miles?"
He paused. She rarely used his first name, as close as they had become over the years, he was always Edgeworth to her.
"I'll give you a few hours, okay? And this is the only time I'm gonna do this, so anything you want to tell him, you need to tell him today. He's been channeled before so at least you won't have to explain that part."
He nodded, words escaping him once more. Court, he reminded himself.
She smiled again and plumped up a cushion before settling down on it on the sofa, Edgeworth watched her amused as she pouted at him, "I'm gonna be sat here for a while, my butt needs to be comfortable."
He smiled. She is trying to make me feel relaxed, he realised. "Very important, I'm sure." He sat opposite her and tried desperately to recall everything he had meticulously planned to say to his father but his traitorous mind had gone completely blank as Maya shimmied into the overcoat and giggled as she pulled her hair back and placed his father's old hat onto her head.
"It's time," she said simply as she placed her hands together and started to chant. Edgeworth tried to hear what she was saying but she suddenly sounded so far away, and the words seemed to travel to him in slow motion. His vision started to blur and a familiar scream filled his head.
No, he thought desperately, not now. He forced his eyes shut and breathed in deeply. Think about something else, he ordered himself, anything else.
And so he made his mind go to the one place it always ended up eventually. He thought of Phoenix.
That's why you're here, remember, you're here for him. You're only here at all because of him.
He opened his eyes again, his vision slowly steadying and coming into focus.
Focus enough that he could now see his father staring back at him. Panic washed over him again and threatened to drown him. He clung to the thought of Phoenix, of his sure and steadfast hands, of his stupid confidence and his ridiculous hair and of the way he smiled into the crook of his neck when he hugged him. He swallowed, ready to talk, but his father spoke first.
"Miles?" He asked softly in that same formal, clipped tone he had always had and Miles thought he finally understood what people meant when they spoke of physical heartache. He hadn't heard that voice in twenty-five years, he could not even, to his shame, remember the last words his father spoke to him, but hearing it again made it feel as though he had heard it only yesterday, as though his father's voice was somehow always speaking to him.
"Yes," he managed weakly, "I-" Pull yourself together. He cleared his throat and tried to sound as professional and put together as he could muster, "I suppose you know what's happening."
His father frowned, a small crease appearing in his forehead. Phoenix always teases me about that, he thought. So maybe he did inherit some things from his father after all. He selfishly clung to that fact.
"I assume I'm being channeled again," he said, "Although judging by how much you've grown, it's been some time." The look on his face, which had lapsed into a fondness that Miles hadn't noticed as a child - Had it ever been there? Or was I just too young to notice? - suddenly darkened and he let out a small, barely audible gasp, "They reopened the case," he said and the fear in his voice reverberated through Miles' head like a bullet.
He really thought that I-
No. He would not think it. Could not.
He stared down at his hands, suddenly desperate to look anywhere but the barely concealed panic in his father's features, "They did, but that was a long time ago, that's not why I…" His voice trailed off.
This isn't why you came here, he reminded himself again. He had promised himself that he would not talk about the DL-6 incident. That no good would come of asking his father about it.
But his father was asking him about it. Surely that made a difference.
"Why did you tell the police that Yanni Yogi killed you?" he asked. He regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth; he was painfully aware of Maya's warning. Perhaps he should have listened after all.
"Miles," was all his father had to say, the pain in his voice was apparent, too raw.
So it's true, Miles thought as he felt his heart twist painfully in his chest, he thought it was me.
"I didn't kill you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "I fired the gun, it was an accident, but it hit…it hit someone else, someone outside the elevator." He finally gathered the strength to look his father in the eye again, "But you thought it was me." He didn't even bother phrasing it as a question, they both knew it was true.
It still hurt when his father nodded.
"Then why accuse an innocent man?" Miles cried. He didn't want to go here, didn't want to be angry at his father, but this-
"Do you have children, Miles?"
The question caught him off-guard, he hadn't expected it and he hated himself for how quickly the lie came to his lips.
"Yes," he said, "A daughter."
He noticed his father glance briefly towards his left hand before he nodded. No wedding ring, he thought uncomfortably, he is probably wondering about her mother.
"If something happened to you, if there was any way she might take the blame for it, what would you do?"
He bristled, "I-" He wanted to say that he would do the right thing, the honest thing, that if Trucy was somehow involved he would have to admit that, he was the Chief prosecutor and it was his legal and moral responsibility.
But that was an even bigger lie than before.
Trucy had already been accused of murder once and had gone through much more besides, the idea of her being arrested again, the idea that it would be because of him.
"I don't know," he admitted, feeling his anger fading, "I'm sorry, I never really thought how that might have been for you, I…I haven't been a father that long."
His father smiled, it was small and sad, but the tension seemed to have eased.
"Is that her?" He asked, pointing at the stack of photographs on the table. The picture of Eddie and his father had slid slightly to the side as he had put them down, half revealing the photo underneath. Miles saw Franziska's large grey eyes staring back at him and he felt his mouth run dry. This wasn't going to plan at all.
"Ah, no, she is, um, her name is Franziska, she's my sister." He pushed the top photo aside completely and passed the picture of himself and Franziska to his father. It had been taken fairly shortly after he had been taken in by von Karma, Franziska was still a toddler and Miles was holding her, looking a little scared that he'd drop her.
"Your sister?" he asked, intrigued, "She's very cute."
Edgeworth snorted, "There are many words I would use to describe Franziska and I can assure you that 'cute' is not near the top of the list, I'm not sure it makes it on at all."
"No?" His father smiled, "Then how would you describe her?"
"Headstrong," he said immediately, "Proud. Imperfect."
His father raised his eyebrows, "You don't appear to have a high opinion of her,"
He shook his head, "On the contrary," he faltered, he rarely spoke so candidly about his relationship with Franziska. They had both been raised together in that house, had been pitted against each other and discouraged from expressing any kind of positive sentiment. Von Karma had always been too busy hating Miles to love Franziska and as a child she had resented him for it.
But the few fleeting good memories he had of that time were all of her, and there had been times when she had proudly displayed her exam results to him in the guise of boasting when he knew that she really sought love and praise, when she had cried in front of him and gone to him for help. She never cried in front of her father. Perfect daughters did not cry.
As adults, she had helped him out more times than he cared to remember, and he had returned the favour a hundred times over, although she would never admit it.
"She means a great deal to me," He said simply, a few hours would never be enough to explain Franziska.
"I suppose I'm not used to sibling rivalry," his father offered, his attention drawn back to the photo still clutched in his hand.
That is the version of me he remembers, Miles thought miserably. I killed that boy.
It was a few minutes before his father looked up again, or perhaps it had only been seconds; it was hard to make sense of anything right now. He looked as if he were about to ask him something when he was interrupted by the shrill brring of the office phone.
"Do you need to get that?" His father asked.
BRRING BRRING.
"Ah, no, I'm sure they'll leave a message if it's important."
The ringing stopped and a familiar automated message filled the room.
"Hey! You've reached the Wright Anything Agency but I guess we're all out. Bummer. If you're looking to apply or you need defending, just leave us a message and Daddy might even remember to get back to you!"
A loud beep followed, and then silence except for the sound of someone hanging up.
"Probably not important, then," Miles huffed before turning back to his father, who had a bemused look on his face as he glanced around the room, seemingly taking it in for the first time. With the assortment of magic props and legal texts he supposed it must look incredibly odd from an outside perspective. It had become so familiar to Miles that it was easy to forget that.
"The Wright Anything Agency?" He asked, "What, ah, what exactly is this place?"
Good question.
"A law office, amongst other things" he said, and his heart didn't miss the proud look that passed over his father's face. He thinks I work here. He knew he needed to tell him the truth, but he dreaded seeing his father's face lose that barely concealed pride.
"And the girl on the answering machine?" His father asked, "Is she your daughter?"
"Ah, yes," he replied, feeling guiltily relieved that he had changed the subject, "That was Trucy."
"Trucy," his father repeated, smiling softly.
Miles reached over to the photos; the next was another of Franziska, but older now; her big childish eyes replaced by sterner, more world-weary ones. Beneath that was a picture of Trucy, clad in her blue silk cape after one of the first performances Miles had watched. Below that, a picture a few years later with Mr. Hat. And one more after that, for good measure, a recent shot of her with a pair of magician twins she knew, he couldn't remember their names; it had been impossible to choose just one.
"This is her," he said hesitantly, handing the pictures to his father. He felt weirdly vulnerable sharing this part of his life, he still struggled to think himself as a parent to her; his own experience with adoption after losing his father in a courtroom had left an impression that was impossible to ignore. He could still remember his apprehension when Phoenix had first told him that he had adopted an eight year old child that he barely knew.
He supposed that it was really no surprise at all that it was Phoenix, again, who had made him see things differently, had made him realise that while the situation may have been frighteningly similar, the man made all the difference. He had been selfishly jealous of both of them at first; of Trucy for having a father after she had lost her own and of Phoenix for having a family, for so easily falling into the role of loving (if undoubtedly irresponsible at times) parent. For years he had wanted to be part of that family and it took far too long for him to notice that with all the time he spent with them, he already had.
When Trucy was twelve, she had asked him out of the blue whether it was okay if she called him 'Daddy' too. He hadn't missed the crushed look on her young face when he told her that probably wouldn't be a good idea, especially considering he hadn't even told Phoenix how he felt about him at that point. Even once they had gotten together, she never asked again and Edgeworth hated how much he secretly hoped she would. He hadn't been ready at that point, but now…
"She looks older than I expected," his father said with a furrowed brow, "How old is she?"
"Seventeen," Miles told him and saw his father's eyebrows raise slightly. He quickly guessed why, he hardly looked old enough to have a seventeen year old daughter, "She's adopted," he clarified quickly, "And technically not my daughter yet, not legally at least. That's actually why I asked Maya to channel you today"
"Maya? She's a spirit medium I suppose?"
Miles nodded, "And a very dear friend, she used to work here a long time ago."
The question in his father's eyes didn't need saying out loud.
"I don't work here," he added hastily, trying his best to tell himself that the look on his father's face now wasn't one of disappointment.
"Where do you work?" He ventured, "You look like you're doing well for yourself."
Miles felt as though his entire body had turned to ice, "I don't think you'd say that if you knew," he said stiffly.
The frown lines appeared on his father's forehead again and Miles felt a pang of guilt that he was responsible. "What makes you say that?" He asked cautiously.
"For a moment you thought I'd followed in your footsteps, that I'd become a defense attorney."
That sad smile again, "In fairness, we are sat in a law office, and you always say, or, said I suppose, that you wanted to be one." he shook his head, "But I think a lot of nine year olds probably want to be their parents, that doesn't mean I'm disappointed you chose a different path."
Miles let out a small laugh, but there was no mirth in it, "I have done nothing but disappoint you since the day you died," he said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice, he only hoped his father knew that none of it was intended for him, only for himself and what he had allowed himself to become.
"I very much doubt that," his father said softly, "You are my son, you could never disappoint me."
"I already have, believe me," he said, reaching into his pocket to feel the familiar cool, sharp edges of his badge. It was now or never.
He placed it on the desk between them, suddenly feeling as though he had presented decisive evidence to prove his own guilt, "I'm the Chief Prosecutor," he admitted and did everything in his power to not turn away, to face his father's disappointment head on.
His father looked back at him, and in all honesty he looked a little dumbfounded.
"How old are you?" he asked.
Not the question he'd been expecting. But at least it had a simple answer.
"I'm thirty-five," he said, puzzled, "Why?"
"So you became Chief Prosecutor at thirty-five and you thought I'd be disappointed? Miles, that's a remarkable achievement."
He blinked and tried to work out whether he had misheard, "I…It's anathema to everything you taught me, everything you stood for-"
"It's not." His father hadn't raised his voice, but there was a certainty and resolution to his voice that made Miles feel a little as though he were being scolded anyway, "A just legal system needs the prosecution as much as it needs the defense."
"I know that, believe me," Miles sighed. Phoenix taught me that a long time ago.
"Besides, the prosecutor's office could do with some more honest prosecutors if my last trial was anything to go by."
Miles had felt ashamed many times in his life. Under von Karma's tutelage he had felt shame whenever he showed any signs of perceived weakness He had felt morbidly ashamed when he had first realised how he felt about Phoenix and every day he carried the shame of his early career.
It was that shame that came crashing down upon him now in a wave more intense than anything he had felt before.
"You assume I have always been honest," he said quietly, his resolve crumbling as he once again dropped his gaze, it was too painful to look now, "You assume I would never act like Manfred von Karma," the name still felt like poison when he said it.
"You remember him then," he heard his father say, his tone calm and even, but Miles could hear the question underneath. Would you?
"Oh I remember him," Miles said acidly, "I tried to be him."
"Be him? Why?" The hurt in his father's voice was unmistakable. It made him feel sick. He knew this would come up sooner or later, that he would have to explain who had raised him after he was left with no family. He wanted so desperately to lie, to hide the whole cursed truth from his father. He thought again of Trucy, how he would feel if someone manipulated and twisted her into a mockery of everything she believed in. Now he just felt sicker.
But he had made the truth his creed, regardless of how difficult it could be, and he would not back down from it now.
Pretend you are on the stand, he told himself, simply state the facts as if you were giving testimony.
"He raised me," he said as evenly as he could, but he could hear the way his own voice pitched slightly, "After he…after you died he adopted me. Franziska is his daughter."
"I don't understand," he heard his father say slowly, as if he were trying to solve a puzzle, "Why would he - he didn't even know who you were, I certainly never mentioned you to him, I barely knew him myself."
"Because he wanted revenge," any attempt to keep his voice even now had flown out the window, "On you, for tarnishing his perfect record with a penalty, and on me," it was now or never, he supposed, and pushed ahead, "For shooting him." He swallowed and tried to blink away the tears that he could feel forming in his eyes, "He killed you, then made it his goal to turn me into someone you would hate and he succeeded. For four years I had a perfect record, regardless of the cost. Victory was all that mattered, I didn't care whether the person I was prosecuting was really guilty or not."
For a moment the only sound he could hear was his own increasingly ragged breathing, before his father's voice cut the air again.
"What changed?"
"What?" He was baffled that that was what his father wanted to know, part of him wanted to scream at him, tell him to be mad, to confirm all of his worst fears. But a small, selfish part was also relieved, clinging to that hope of unconditional forgiveness.
"You're speaking in the past tense, and I'm assuming your career is longer than four years if you're the chief. Miles, look at me."
He raised his head and his father offered him a small smile before he continued, "You don't exactly sound proud of yourself either, so something clearly changed. Did something happen?"
"Someone," Miles corrected him softly.
"Trucy's mother?"
He had to tell him the truth, this would be his only opportunity and it was the entire reason he had wanted to talk to his father again after so many years but he couldn't find the words. Perhaps it would be better after all if his father thought he was in love with a woman, perhaps then he could rest in peace.
Lying again. I haven't changed at all.
He opened his mouth to speak, but still he couldn't say it.
His father looked sympathetic, "Miles, if she truly helped you, if she's the reason that you…that you found yourself again, then I promise there's nothing about her that would make me disapprove."
He very much doubted that.
But every time he referred to this alleged woman Miles felt a knife drive deeper into his heart, he couldn't bear much more.
"Do you remember," he started shakily, not caring now that he had once again fallen into his hold habit of clutching at his arm, of shielding himself, making himself smaller, "when I asked you how old you had to be to get married?"
"Yes, it was a few weeks ago. For me at least, I'm surprised you remember. I thought there was probably a girl at school you liked."
The knife twisted again.
"There was a boy."
There was a silence that followed, as if his father expected the sentence to carry on; 'There was a boy who wanted to know' or 'There was a boy who liked the same girl as me' or maybe 'There was a boy who teased me for not knowing'.
But there was no more to it.
There was a boy.
That was all.
For the first time that day, his father's voice wasn't what brought him back to reality and out of his ever-spiralling thoughts.
It was his hands.
His father had never been a touchy-feely person, he had been quiet and reserved; but he could still remember his hands. His hands that had held his own as he walked him to school, that had rested proudly on his shoulders when he had received praise from his teachers, that had worriedly felt his brow when he had a fever.
Those hands that were gently lifting his face to meet his gaze. "Miles," he said softly, moving his hand so it was cradling his cheek. Miles felt like he was nine years old again.
"When you're alive you always take it for granted that you will see your children grow up, that there will be all the time in the world to tell them everything you want to, you tell yourself there's always tomorrow, and you keep doing that until there is no tomorrow after all.
"Not many parents are as lucky as me…I get the chance to see you one more time so I can let you know that I love you, regardless of what mistakes you think you might have made as a prosecutor in the past-"
"Mistakes that probably ruined innocent lives." Miles interjected, hating how small his voice sounded.
His father sighed slightly, "As you pointed out, I did much the same, and I would do the same again to protect you because there is nothing in this world or the next is more important to me than you, and you being gay doesn't change that."
"Oh." Was all Miles could manage as he felt wetness rolling down his cheek. Tears. He rarely cried; he learnt as fast as Franziska how to survive in that house. His father wiped the tears away with his thumb before slowly pulling his hand back; the lack of warmth felt like a sting; he only had his father for a few precious hours, he knew he shouldn't crave his presence so badly, that it would only hurt more when it was ripped away too soon once again, but that was a problem for his future self, right now he just wanted to cling on to every touch, every word, every heartbeat. "I thought," he said as steadily as he could manage, "That you might disapprove, that I wasn't living up to your expectations."
There was a sadness in his father's voice when he responded, "Then I can only apologise for making you believe that. Did I, ah, say something?"
Miles shook his head, "No," he admitted, "But I think…Over time it was hard, sometimes, to remember what you were actually like, I think I ended up with a skewed version of you from von Karma and from…my dreams."
"Your dreams?"
He did everything he could not too shy his face away again as he spoke, "Every night for fifteen years I had the same dream; I was back in the elevator, with you and Yanni Yogi, I'd throw the gun and then…Every night I killed you over and over," he managed to keep his eyes up, but he could already feel more tears consuming them.
The sound his father made sounded like a wounded animal, "But I thought you'd shot Prosecutor von Karma?"
The pain on his face was too much and Miles felt like a coward as he turned away, "I didn't find that out until fifteen years later, when Phoenix found out the truth, when he saved me."
"Phoenix? Your friend from school? He-oh."
"Phoenix Wright," Miles said, and if Manfred von Karma's name was poison, then Phoenix Wright's was surely the antidote. Even just saying his name made his heart feel a little lighter, made talking that much easier, "This is his office, he's Trucy's father and I'm going to ask him to marry me." He looked his father in the eye again, "That is legal now, for the record, things have changed somewhat since you died."
A small frown materialised on his father's face and Miles felt his stomach fall to the floor. Hadn't he said that this didn't change anything? Or did it suddenly seem too real?
"Can I ask just one thing?"
Miles nodded, his newfound confidence vanishing as quickly as it had arrived.
"Are you only doing this because you think you owe him? For saving you?"
"No, I assure you I- I love him very much," he tried to hide his embarrassment by picking up the last few photos he had brought with him, "This is him with Maya; she's the woman channeling you." He passed it over to his father, followed by the final picture, a candid shot of the three of them: himself, Phoenix and Trucy. Athena had taken it allegedly as 'practice' for getting good crime scene shots. Miles had scolded her for taking photographs of people without their permission, but he had kept it anyway. "And this is my family."
He knew the picture like the back of his hand; he was teaching Trucy how to play chess, her sweet face screwed up in concentration as Phoenix, who was supposed to be doing casework at the time, was watching them; the look on his face still gave Miles butterflies.
He waited expectantly as his father looked at the photos, an unmistakable smile now lighting his face, "Tell me about him," he said simply as he looked back up.
"He's remarkable," Miles breathed, "He's never given up on me even after…after everything I've done, he's a defence attorney, like you, I think you'd like him, he never backs down, even when arguably he should, he-"
Suddenly the sound of the door latch clicking interrupted him as a cacophony of brightly dressed defense attorneys (and one magician) stumbled into the room.
"-is home earlier than I expected."
An unbearably awkward silence followed for what felt like the longest four seconds of Miles' life before Athena, presumably trying - and not altogether succeeding - to be tactful, clapped her hands together and turned to Apollo and Trucy.
"Hey, we should go get your luggage from the car!" She said far too loudly as she half-dragged them out of the room before they could object. Phoenix watched them go with a mildly bemused look on his face before turning back to him.
Miles expected his expression to darken as he did, but a surprising softness fell over it as he glanced over to his father.
"So this is the real reason you didn't come, huh?"
He didn't sound accusatory. If anything, he sounded relieved and Miles realised guiltily that Phoenix had probably already guessed he had been lying earlier but had chosen not to say anything. He had simply trusted him.
He wasn't sure it was possible to love him more.
He had been wrong before.
He wanted to speak, to explain why he needed to do this, but he wondered now whether he even needed to, and words didn't seem to be cooperating well with him at present.
Instead, it was his father who spoke for him. He couldn't see his expression anymore - his eyes had a habit of lingering on Phoenix when he was around, as if he might disappear if he looked away, as if this was all some wonderful dream to make up for fifteen years of nightmares - but the tone in his father's voice was easy to interpret by itself; there was no question remaining, no animosity or bitterness, just love and pride.
"You must be Phoenix Wright," he said, and Phoenix jumped a little at being addressed,
"Oh, um, yeah, hi, er, Mr. Gregory Edgeworth, we met once or twice I think but it was a long time ago." Phoenix ruffled the back of his hair in that awkward way he did when he wasn't sure of himself as he stumbled over his words and Miles felt another wave of fondness wash over him.
"I think," his father continued, sounding slightly amused at Phoenix's nervousness, "That my son has something very important he wants to ask you."