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The date arrived sooner than Miles expected. In spite of his routine countdown and the hours spent dreading it impatiently, it managed to sneak up on him.
“Are you ready?”
They’d been parked in front of the detention center for a few minutes now, and yet he hadn’t let go of the steering wheel. He didn’t have much longer to stall.
“Yes,” he said, though his voice betrayed his nerves. “I-I have to be.”
With a deep exhale, he practically threw himself out of the car. His body didn’t feel like his own as he walked into the too-familiar detention center. His voice sounded foreign when he stated his business. And as he sat, waiting, the empty chair behind glass seemed to belong to a completely different universe.
He reached to fiddle with his cravat, his heart only stopping for a moment when he was met with a simple tie instead. Right.
The door from the cells opened with a threatening growl. Miles sat straighter, crossing his arms over his chest. Each footstep rung loud until the imprisoned man sat down. As much as he didn’t want to, he forced himself to make eye contact.
“Von Karma.” He tried to keep his voice as flat as possible. He was no longer the grief-stricken teenager so starved for family that he would work himself to death for crumbs, even if the aging visage of his mentor made his body react as if he were.
He was Miles Edgeworth; semi-well-adjusted adult and soon-to-be Chief Prosecutor.
The wrinkles on Von Karma’s face had seemingly grown deeper in the decade or so he’s been locked behind bars. His eyes were dull and lifeless, dark shadows weighing down his cheeks. It was almost a miracle he had even lived to see his execution date. “How ironic; once again, Miles Edgeworth is the reason his father dies.”
Miles gripped his sleeve and tried to control the outburst bubbling in his chest. He couldn’t give this man the satisfaction of getting under his skin again, not now.
Von Karma laughed, and it was just as booming as he remembered.
“Reckless, sentimental fool ,” he said. “You’re a prosecutor. You’ve sent dozens of people to die, and yet here you are, letting yourself be overtaken by your emotions. I thought I taught you better.”
“The only thing you taught me…” Miles started. “...is the kind of man I never want to be.”
“One day, you’ll understand. Someday, you’ll have to make a choice to cast off the chains weaker men use against you regardless of the consequences. Then, maybe, you’ll understand.”
There’s a moment when Miles considered leaving. What was this accomplishing, other than giving Von Karma one last opportunity to terrorize him? Then the words he intended to say returned to him, the ones he’d practiced in the mirror over and over again, without any of the lingering guilt that initially came attached.
He had nothing to prove. He had everything to prove.
“Has Franziska come to visit?”
Von Karma said nothing.
“She told me she wouldn’t,” Miles said.
“Franziska is an independent woman, she—”
“She wanted you to know you were dying alone.” Miles remembered the long conversations that led her to that decision. All the tears they’d spilt together when the date was confirmed, turning to each other as if they weren’t equally lost. Ultimately, he decided he had unfinished business, and she decided she wanted to deprive him of saying goodbye to his little girl. “So tell me, if you’re so much wiser than I, why does nobody give a damn that you’re about to die?”
“And you’re doing so much better, ‘Demon Prosecutor?’ You think there’s a single person in the world who could love you after all you’ve done?”
Miles slammed his fists on the table, throwing himself onto his feet. He knew Von Karma didn’t mean it. Most of his crimes were ones he’d learnt from his mentor, after all. No, he was saying it because even after all this time, he knew which cuts would make him bleed the most.
Then he looked down at his shaking fist, clenched as tight as his teeth, and let himself breathe. The gold band didn't sparkle in the dull light, but it was still just as beautiful as it had always been. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his partner waiting, just out of sight. In case he needed help. Or emotional support. Or a reality check.
“He’d probably drop dead on the spot if he knew about us.”
It was a joke, he had insisted. Yet the thought intrigued Miles nevertheless.
“I’m married,” he said.
“So was I, once.”
“If you really want to play that game…” Miles said, finally meeting Von Karma’s eyes again. “...I was where you were, once. The only difference is nobody is coming to save you. Unlike you, I didn’t marry someone I didn’t love for power and money. I married someone who saw the good in me when even I couldn’t. You had kids because you wanted another thing to show off. You took me in because you saw an opportunity. My partner took in our daughter because she needed a home.” The swirl of conflicting emotions heating up his chest was almost too much. “Don’t believe for a second that the man I am today resembles you in the slightest.”
Miles’ breathing seemed to echo off every wall in the facility. The seconds stretched on, the fabric of time fraying at the seams. Then there were footsteps and a hand on his shoulder.
“I think it’s time to go,” Phoenix whispered into his ear.
“Wright?!” Von Karma yelled. “What is that inane defense attorney doing here?”
Miles shared a reassuring smile with Phoenix, who squeezed his shoulder gently.
“Von Karma, I’d like to introduce you to Phoenix Wright. My husband.”
The color—what little there was, anyway—drained from Von Karma’s face. After looking over the two of them, he steeled his face into neutrality.
“To think I wasted so much effort on you,” he said as he stood, escorted back towards his cell by the guard.
As soon as the door closed, Miles’ knees gave out beneath him and he collapsed onto the chair. He clutched at Phoenix’s suit and cried. His body was tired, as if holding himself together took strength he barely possessed. His throat burned with how hard he cried, unable to feel ashamed of wailing into his husband’s jacket in public. Phoenix held his trembling body close. Almost tight enough to hurt.
“Let’s get you home,” he whispered, placing a gentle kiss to the top of his head.
Miles didn’t move at first. He was too focused on trying to remember how. His body ached, hollow, but his head was too full. Wasn’t he supposed to feel some level of relief, of closure? Shouldn’t he be celebrating the weight off his chest? The tension hung heavy, like he tried to let go of every unspoken word but couldn’t break his tether to them.
“Okay,” he eventually said. He fought to catch his breath and wiped at his eyes. In his faint reflection in the dividing glass, he could tell he looked a mess. An ugly, broken mess.
Phoenix held his hand to steady him as he stood. Phoenix, who had loved him at his ugliest, messiest, most broken. As he let himself get led back to their car, he held onto this reminder for dear life.
There was a lot Miles had that Von Karma didn’t; a conscience, a family, and a future.
Before he buckled himself into the driver’s seat, he whispered to himself, yet it felt like a shout; “Goodbye, Von Karma.”
And then, for good measure; “Rot in Hell.”