Archive of Our Own

Miles is sitting in his detention cell, waiting. As he got so used to doing, for the past several days. Waiting was a very focal part of his days lately, of his entire life, really. Waiting for the bus at school, waiting for his friends to come visit him after school, waiting for his father to finish a trial, waiting for his father in the hospital to come and pick him up and tell him that everything that happened in the elevator was just a horrible, awful, no good bad dream, despite knowing deep down that will never happen; waiting for his judgement, his punishment, every single day waiting to finally be discovered for the atrocious murder he has committed against his own flesh and blood, against a man who loved him unconditionally and yet all he had to repay him with was a bullet to extinguish his life. Waiting for court trials, waiting for the defense, waiting for the guilty verdict. 

Waiting for judgement. 

Waiting. 

Waiting. 

But this morning, he wasn’t waiting for that. Nothing quite so dramatic, he was simply waiting for the paperwork to be filed for his release. He was innocent, a concept which a traitorous part of his mind still struggled to grapple with. He was not the killer. No, instead it was… 

His mind seems to pause in its train of thought. As if merely giving the thought any tangency was a foul act. Like, if he lets the thought conjure in his mind, it will finally materialize as the awful truth he still cannot stomach, cannot accept, because how, how did he live for so many years and never even faintly suspect anything, how could he be used, exploited, toyed with so, how- 

In the end, he doesn’t get to finish his running thought, - which may be for the better, he considers - as he hears footsteps approach. Right, the paperwork must be finished. He is free to go now. Of course the officer coming to escort him out of his cell was none other than Detective Gumshoe, because who else would it be; it’s a wonder Gumshoe didn’t get fired for his incessant favouring of- of the defendant, not even trying to prove his guilt but rather playing along with the defense- 

But he has no right to complain, does he? He is innocent. He needs to keep reminding himself of that, innocent, not guilty. Innocent. Not guilty. 

“This court finds the defendant, Mr. Miles Edgeworth not guilty!”

Not guilty. 

Miles is once again shaken out of his thoughts when Gumshoe barks at him “Good morning, Mr. Edgeworth!” with a bright and wide grin. Miles almost lets himself wonder what the man looks so happy about before he has to remind himself once again, that he was acquitted yesterday. Seems the detective didn’t quite fully process that information himself, but he looks to be dealing with it in an entirely different manner than the prosecutor. 

But Miles doesn’t need to outwardly show that. He isn’t going to be beaming at the detective because that would be all too much of a strange behaviour for him and he cannot be acting strange and besides, he has nothing to smile about, not genuinely. Even if he was found innocent, this feels like just another burden on his soul than relief. 

“Good morning, detective.” Miles replies, stiff as cardboard as he stands from the harsh metal bed of the cell and ties his dress shoes. If there is one thing he won’t miss, it will be that poor excuse for a bed. Miles realizes with a start that he is genuinely looking forward to sleeping in a real bed again. Not a sentiment he ever thought he would experience and thinking about it, not a sentiment he should be delighted with, being forced to just yearn for something as simple as a godforsaken bed. 

The keys rattle and tingle in Gumshoe’s hand as he unlocks the cell, the iron barred door opening with a mighty creak. Embarrassingly so, when Miles steps out of the cell he turns around, hands behind his back and Gumshoe gives him a concerned “Sir…?” before he snaps out of it. Of course, he is not leaving in handcuffs this time. He is a free man. 

Free. 

Not guilty. 

Gumshoe still looks concerned when he turns around, despite Miles’ efforts to look as unbothered as he possibly can. “Sir, are you feeling alright? You do not look well.” 

“I did not sleep particularly well.” Not a lie, he barely slept two hours last night. He was used to having nightmares about his father’s awful killing, but now the nightmare had been rectified, also including a form of Ma- of the killer shooting his father in cold blood without a second of hesitation. 

Gumshoe still looked concerned, but he tried to smile encouragingly. “Well, now you can go home and rest, Sir!” As much as he missed the sentiment of sleeping in a real bed, Miles doubted he could actually get in any real sleep. He’d rather not be plagued by his new nightmare again. Just a cup of chamomile will do perfectly to ease his nerves, Miles swiftly decides in his head. 

As Gumshoe walks him down the hall, Miles can’t help but look at all the detainees in the iron barred cells. All of them downstricken, waiting for their trials.

Waiting for judgement. 

Waiting… 

Before all this, Miles saw every defendant as nothing more than irredeemable criminals. But now that he got to sit in the defendants’ chair himself, experience that awful dread, that anticipation waiting for the guilty verdict, waiting for judgement- 

… 

He can’t help but sympathize with these detainees now. Somehow. Even though he has no idea if any of them are actually innocent or guilty, he still feels empathy for them. A very foreign feeling this is for him, still. Barely a week ago, he had no empathy for these lowlives who got accused of crimes and now… now, he can’t help but wonder just how many of them are truly innocent. How many of them went through something similar as he did, just sitting here, waiting, uncertain of their innocence yet unknowingly being falsely accused. 

But at least none of them had the unfortunate experience of being lead on their entire lives by a person they thought they could tr-

Miles spitefully swallows the thought. He doesn’t really know that. Who knows? Maybe some of these detainees went through worse things than he did. He cannot know. He has no right to judge. 

He lost the right to judge people from the moment Phoenix Wright first showed him just how corrupt he was. 

Without even noticing or realizing the passage of time, or that they were moving through the building at all, Miles quickly finds himself in the detention center parking lot as Gumshoe is leading him to his hunk of junk patrol car. The men sit without much of a fuss, Miles once again forcibly reminding himself that he is not in fact handcuffed, he is sitting in this car as a free man. 

Free, free, free. 

Not guilty, not guilty not- 

Gumshoe’s car starts up with an unbearable racket that Miles can’t help but wince at. His head already hurts from sleep deprivation as is, he realizes. The detective gives him a sheepish chuckle. “Sorry, Sir… I should really get this old junk fixed, but ah…” He does not need to speak further for Miles to understand and so he does not. 

There is a constant mechanical whirr as the car drives and strangely enough, Miles finds it soothing in this moment right now. Soothing, grounding. It is distracting, but this one time, he doesn’t seem to mind this particular distraction for some reason. However, there is another distraction he does mind, mainly his nose notes that there is a particularly unpleasant odor in the car, - he does not even want to start wondering what the cause of said odor is - which prompts him to roll down the window at his side. Gumshoe continues to drive unbothered. 

The silence resumes, in which Miles takes to staring outside the window. December 29th. Yesterday, the statute of limitations closed for the case of that awful day. Another year passed. Another year, making fifteen. Fifteen years he was left waiting. Waiting for the guilty verdict, waiting for judgement, waiting, waiting, waiting… 

After the long, long wait, his judgement arrived indeed. Innocent. Not guilty. Innocent. Not guilty. 

Someone else was guilty instead of him. 

“Oh, that reminds me.” Gumshoe suddenly pipes up, making Miles snap out of his reverie, eyes turning swiftly to the detective. The man’s eyes only briefly glance away from the road to look at the prosecutor beside him. “I took care of your dog while you were gone, Mr. Edgeworth.” 

Miles feels something sink in his stomach. God, he hasn’t seen Pess in three whole days, she must miss him so much. He couldn’t fathom how Gumshoe could find the time to take care of her in his stead all while investigating his case, but… maybe that didn’t matter right now. “Thank you, detective. That is kind of you.” 

“Of course, Sir, you’re welcome!” 

Miles makes a mental note to repay Gumshoe’s thoughtfulness in a meaningful way at a later date. For now, the drive continues in silence as Miles keeps looking out at the snow covered streets. 

He always hated winter. Always, ever since that day, because winter was a constant reminder of that day, of everything he lost. Every year he would need to be reminded of just how alone he was since he lost his father. Christmas was supposed to be a holiday of joy, but Miles found no joy in this time of year for many years now. Especially after getting arrested on Christmas, no less. He doubts this event will make him any more fond of the holiday. Then, there was new year’s in just a few days, but he did not even want to think about it. He did not want to think about any festivities. Because he may have learned the truth, but in learning, he lost another part of himself. All because of one man who murdered his father. A man who he admired, respected, practically sang his praises for all these fifteen years. That is the kind of man who took everything from him unbeknownst to him.

Miles shivers. It’s cold in the car. It is cold outside too and it was equally as cold in the prison cell he spent his last three days. The sentiment of a heated apartment and a hot cup of tea is a welcome one, unlike the pathetic desperation of his missing a mere bed. 

He just barely realized in time that the car had stopped moving. He nods at detective Gumshoe, muttering another thank you to him and he steps out of the frigid car into the equally frigid street. The lock on his front door feeling relatively lukewarm is evidence of Gumshoe’s coming and going through his apartment in the past few days. As Miles fumbles with the lock, his traitorous mind reminds him that the number of trusted people who own a spare key to his apartment has now been reduced to one. It used to be two. But now Gumshoe is the only one who has access to his home. But perhaps that isn’t so bad, now that he considers it better. After all, he has learned that the other party couldn’t be trusted. He shouldn’t trust people with the property of his own home so easily. 

As soon as he steps inside the apartment, frantic paw clicks and barking greet him as Pess runs up to him, jumping, panting and just being absolutely delighted with his presence. Miles takes off his coat and shoes and hangs his coat, then kneels down to shower his loyal pet in all the affection that she no doubt craved in his absence. “Hi, Pess… missed you too, girl…” He murmurs to the dog who is now cuddling against him entirely. Miles wraps his arms around her and feels her warmth. Pess’ presence would have been great in that cold, dark and unforgiving detention cell, but that hardly mattered now. The point was he was here now and she was here with him. She’s been here. Waiting. 

Waiting… waiting… 

Miles lets out a soft breath, then he lets go of Pess and straightens up. He figures he might as well grant her a treat for being such a good and patient girl. He retrieves a particularly sizable dog treat from his kitchen and places it in Pess’ bowl. Pess, like the well behaved canine she is, waits for Miles to land her treat in her bowl before pouncing on it, sinking claws and teeth into the precious snack. Miles watches her lick and nibble at the bone before turning on the heater and returning to the kitchen to brew himself tea. It feels strange to be home. A part of him considered the possibility that he will never get to come home again during his captivity while he waited… for the guilty verdict, for-

The kettle whistles and Miles removes it from the stove swiftly, pouring himself a cup. The first sip is already heavenly, it is warm, it is relaxing and he hopes that the chamomile tea can finally ease the tension he’s been feeling all week. He considers turning on the TV, but then it occurs to him that it would no doubt be full of newscastings of his trial and he doesn’t want to see any of that. Doesn’t want to witness the press pouncing on events of his life and dissecting it all to the last dirtiest detail, like his life was nothing more than a novel of entertainment for the masses. Miles can’t help but scoff at the thought. He takes another longer sip of his tea and takes to watching Pess munch away at her treat. He considers that maybe he should walk Pess today. As much as he loathed himself for even thinking this, he had to admit, he did not exactly fancy going back to work in his office today. Maybe not this whole week. 

He’s never taken a vacation in all his years of prosecuting. 

…

Miles almost drops his teacup with the realization of just how eerily familiar that sentiment sounds and no he cannot think about this, he can’t keep thinking about this, he is not him, he is gone, he is not a part of his life anymore, he is guilty, Miles is innocent, free, not guilty, not guilty, not- 

Miles gulps down his tea before he could drop the cup and carefully lowers it on the coffee table in front of the armchair he was sitting in. Might as well shower before he walks Pess. He hasn’t looked in a mirror in days and he cannot imagine how dreadful he must look, having gone ungroomed for seventy-two hours. That number seems grander than Miles feels comfortable with, which prompts him all the more to hurry to his bathroom with a fresh set of clothes. He hasn’t even changed clothes, he’s been wearing the same suit for three whole days, god that is just an unacceptable disaster; it is a good thing he has spare suits. Though he won’t need any suits as long as he doesn’t go to the office, so he settles for a more leisurely wear of a white button up and a thick red wool sweater. It was not a bad thing to dress properly for the cold weather, even if it may look unprofessional. But Miles assures himself that it’s okay, he doesn’t need to dress for anyone as long as he is not at work. 

As Miles steps into the bathroom, he considers all out avoiding his reflection, before realizing that is nigh impossible, since he needs to brush his teeth and comb his hair properly as well. He hesitates before approaching the menace that is the reflective surface on his wall and just as he feared, he looks a mess. His face is white is a marble wall, whiter than usual, his usually neatly styled hair is now all tangled and protruding in every which way, he definitely lost a few pounds, judging by the way his cheekbones are a little more apparent to his eyes than it is normal. His eyes, which also have dark, heavy bags under them, his gray irises carrying an unmistakable haze of exhaustion.

Miles tears his eyes off the mirror with a huff and gets to brushing his teeth, then combing his hair and he washes his face too, for good measure. Then he gets in the shower. A warm and clean shower feels more refreshing than he would care to admit, so he does not spend too much time with it. He does not want to dawdle too much, he just wants to act like everything is normal again now that he is home, now that he is a free innocent man, not guilty- 

Aftergetting dressed, Miles chances another glance at himself in the mirror. He washed his hair and it is still a little damp, ashen strands almost sparkling in the light. His face still looks sullen and ghostly and not right and Miles represses the urge to cringe at it. It’s fine, he can work through his lost diet and sleep at a later time. For now, he just wants to relax and stop thinking about anything relating to the past several days. 

Miles doesn’t even need to say a word to Pess for her to read the situation. Miles wearing the coat and holding the leash always meant walking and the dog knew that very well. Judging by the sparkle in her eyes, she must not have been walked ever since Miles was gone which makes him feel like a terrible owner again. But he will rectify his mistake now. Pess sits very still and obediently as Miles attaches the leash to her collar and the two of them head off, Pess sauntering a few steps before Miles, like she always used to. The walk goes well, Pess pees on a few trees and fire hydrants, plays a little in the snow, tries to play fetch with Miles a before giving up, upon realizing that snowballs do not work the same way as the plastic balls that squeak and bounce. Miles lets her run around a little bit longer, release all her energy that’s been no doubt pent up with the lack of exercise, then when she returns to his side, panting and clearly exhausted from her playing, that is the sign for Miles that they oughta be heading home. So they walk back the same way they came and once returned inside, Pess settles down in her dog bed, thoroughly spent herself and ready for a nap. 

As for Miles, he can’t exactly figure what to do with himself. He tries to read, but the letters blur together and he can’t pay attention. The TV, he absolutely refuses to touch today, probably for the rest of the year as well, because he just knows he will be swarmed by unpleasant news bulletins. He considers maybe cooking something, but he doesn’t have the energy or the appetite for that matter. Sleeping is out of the question, that’s just asking for more nightmares. He could attempt to go into the office for work after all, but considering he can’t focus on trying to read, it is doubtful he will be able to spare his mind to work, either. As infuriating as it is. His brain is a traitor. Miles is at a loss for what to do. 

He is a free man.

He is free. 

Free, not guilty. 

Yet, right now, for some reason he cannot find anything to do with his freedom. Although he, in reality, knows the true reason for this dilemma. 

It’s because he did not think he would be free again after he first walked into that detention cell. He’s spent the past fifteen years waiting, waiting, waiting for judgement, for the guilty verdict, waiting for his fate to be sealed but his fate wasn’t sealed because he is innocent not guilty not guilty not guilty and the man who was found guilty instead of him was someone who he thought he knew but he did not know him, he knew nothing about him, considering the man, the killer was able to play him like a fiddle for the longest time and without him even knowing and that man was the true perpetrator all this time, for all these years, despite Miles’ beliefs, he had always been innocent, notguiltynotguiltyNoT- 

Miles realizes too late that his breathing is growing unnaturally heavy and that he is shaking and that Pess got up from her bed to whine at him in concern. Miles soothed his dog with a trembling hand and fought to regain control of his breathing. He didn’t know what to do. Clearly, as much as he wanted to ignore everything that happened in the past several days and just relax, his vile, cruel, evil mind would just not let him have this. He couldn’t focus on anything, he couldn’t work, he couldn’t sleep-

Then, the other side of Miles’ brain jumped to the only last option he had left. One option. Yet it was somehow the most dreadful one. Because how, how, how, how could he possibly face that man right now of all times, now after he had been disgraced, after he had sunk to the lowest of low, after everything in his life had been exposed for the wicked lie that it always had been without his realization- 

But that doesn’t matter. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t matter. Because all that matters is that he is innocent, not guilty. Innocent. Not guilty. Free. 

And it is all thanks to that man. 

The least he can do is express proper gratitude. Pay his defense fees while he is at it as well. 

He says goodbye to Pess and does his best to assure her that he will in fact return this time, he won’t be gone forever, he tries not to think about the fact that he could have lost Pess forever and she could have lost him forever less than twenty-four hours ago as he heads out into his driveway and gets in his car, because his mind is way too overreactive and dangerous to let himself walk anywhere alone right now, so it is best to be quick about this. Just a quick trip to Wright, pay his fee, then he will drive back home and decide what else to do with his miserable life now that he is free and innocent and not guilty and lost, more lost than he ever had been.

Luckily he still remembers the address of the office from the Fey case. More or less. He doesn’t get too lost during his drive, in any case. 

He parks his car, then approaches Wright’s office and resoundingly knocks on the door exactly twice. He stands, waits, waiting, waiting and buries his hands in his pockets while he is at it because his hands are getting cold, he should have brought gloves, but he supposes it hardly matters. This is only a brief visit. However, he does not hear any sound of footsteps or anything from inside. Observing closer, the window blinds are shut. Miles glances at the watch on his wrist. It is past eight o’clock now. Wright’s office should be open, unless he isn’t working today. Though personally, it feels strange for Miles to just take a day off in the middle of the week, then again, considering the stressful week Wright had, he certainly wouldn’t blame him if that was the case. Nevertheless, he knocks again, a little louder this time. If Wright really isn’t here, he may consider leaving the money in his post box, because driving up to his personal apartment just to pay him his defense fees feels like too much. 

But luckily for Miles, he hears a faint voice behind the door, exclaiming “Coming…” and he straightens himself a little, hands emerging from his pockets. Sure enough it is Wright, however this time he is without that god awfully tasteless blue blazer and garish pink tie of his, only wearing a loosely unbuttoned white dress shirt. Judging by the way the man looked ungroomed himself, Miles could only imagine the kind of night Wright had as well. The defense attorney looks startled to see him, to say the least. “Damn- S-Sorry Edgeworth, just uh… long night, and um- a-anyway uh…” Wright seems to lose his train of thought when his eyes properly trail over the prosecutor’s face and Miles has to avert his gaze because he cannot handle that soft worry in those sapphire irises. “... Are you okay? You look-”

“Don’t say it.” Miles hisses in a low tone and Wright quickly swallows his words, running a hand through his unruly spikes. “Sorry… just…” Whatever Wright wants to say, he seems to think better of it at the last minute. “Nevermind, what’s up? Did you need something, are you doing okay?” 

Miles tries not to roll his eyes because the man asked the same thing twice now in the span of ten seconds, but regardless, he quickly gets to the point. “I just came to pay.” 

Wright tilts his head, brows furrowing. “Pay…?” Then, he seems to realize what Miles is saying without the prosecutor needing to explain himself, fortunately for both of them. “Oh! Oh, oh! R-Right! Uh…” Wright grins half heartedly, looking away. “Well, you know, you don’t really… have to, I mean… we’re friends. You know?”  Wright smiles more fully and his eyes shine with that softness again. Somehow, Miles can recall that softness from many years ago when he stood up for a certain boy who was getting bullied in class. But unlike Wright, the little boy in Miles has been dead for a long time. 

Friends… 

Miles cannot fathom how Wright can still see him as a friend, why Wright would go out of his way to get him declared not guilty, innocent, not guilty, innocent- him, Miles Edgeworth, the demon prosecutor, the man who became a pawn to his father’s murderer, the corrupt, vile, ruthless- 

“Edgeworth…?” Wright’s voice snaps him out of his spiral and just like that, his eyes are soft with concern again, instead of something warm like moments earlier. “Seriously, are you okay? I’m worried about-”

“I insist.” Miles replies before Wright even gets to finish his sentence. But it seems the attorney is only confused by the interjection, so Miles clarifies. “You saved my life. I wish to pay.” 

For some reason, Wright still has a sad softness in his eyes and god Miles can’t stand all this pity, he has half a mind to just scream at the man to stop looking at him like he even deserves his friendship, like he is something so precious, something so pathetic to be pitied. “Right… if you insist…” Wright presses out slowly. Miles digs out his wallet and hands Wright several bills. Blue eyes grow wide. “E-Edgeworth… I… this is… fifty grand, I can’t-” 

“Just take it.” Miles gives Wright his best glare, which the other man seems to cave at without another word and he takes the money. “Th… Thanks… you… didn’t have to pay so much, I hardly charge ten for my-”

“I don’t care, Wright.” Miles hisses without being able to stop himself because how can this man be so infuriating right now, he already did way more for Miles than he could ever deserve and he has the gall to act like he deserves less than Miles ever did. “I should go now.” Miles turns on his heel sharply, perhaps if he is quick enough, he can still-

“Wait, Edgeworth! Don’t go yet!” 

Curse him, curse Phoenix Wright and curse his stupid idiotic big dumb naive heart and curse Miles for caving under it.

“What.” He looks back as coldly as he can manage. “Stop bothering me, Wright. I only came to pay.” 

Wright falters again, but this time there is something solemn, almost serious in his gaze and Miles realizes too late that maybe this was admittedly the wrong thing to say to the man who quite literally saved his life barely a day ago. Surely enough, the retort follows. “Seriously, Edgeworth? I just saved you from two murder charges and you still don’t trust me? Why are you still shutting me out? Why are you still trying to hide from me?” 

Miles’ breath hitches and his hand instinctively goes to clutch his elbow, a futile protective stance, as if he could ever protect himself from any and all harms of the world by shielding himself so. “That… I… I’m sorry… that’s not what I meant…” Miles mumbles quietly between clenched teeth, averting his gaze. But even then, he can see Wright soften again. 

“Want to come in? Seriously, you don’t look well and I don’t want you to brood alone in this state.” 

Miles has half a mind to shoot back, that he is not brooding thank you very much, but knowing that Phoenix Wright is the most infuriating stubborn buffoon Miles ever had the misfortune of meeting, he bites back the retort and begrudgingly walks back to the office door, Wright opening it for him wider. He doesn’t take off his coat, because he doesn’t want to give Wright the impression that he intends to stay longer than ten minutes, but of course Wright just has to chime in. “You can hang your coat on my rack, you know. You’ll get all sweaty if you wear it inside.” Because he needs to be enlightened about that, as if he was still a child. Wright is still as incapable of reading the room as ever, but Miles has no more energy to argue with this brick wall of a man, so he hangs his coat on the rack after a moment of glaring at Wright.  

Wright seems to ignore his glare this time though, which just annoys Miles all the more. “You hungry? I imagine detention food doesn’t taste great.” 

It really did not, though Miles could have ordered the menu any time he wanted, however he could never find an appetite for it. “Not hungry.” Miles says, flatter than a paper sheet. Wright, ever the mule he is, doesn’t relent so easily though. “Ooookay, but you should eat something, you look-” 

“I know I look like a corpse, Wright, shut up.” Miles blurts out without thinking, immediately caving on himself at revealing such information to Wright. He is perfectly aware that he looks awful and now he acknowledges it in front of Wright, which, as expected, already leads the attorney to jump to conclusions. “... Guess you’re in a bad mood, huh…” That is all he says though, despite his expression being easier to read than a neon sign. 

“Excuse me for not jumping in joy, Wright.” He snaps. Wright is such a selfish idiot, all he can think of is his own victory, his own ego that he won two high profile cases back to back meanwhile Miles is trying to pick up the remains of his life after they have been ripped to shambles and burned to fine ash after learning that the one man he held above everyone else was the man who was plotting his downfall for all the time he knew him. 

He expects Wright to bite back with an offended or defensive reply, instead the spiky man’s face falls. “... Right… I’m sorry, I… I forgot that… of course, you’d feel awful after… I’m sorry…” 

…

That is when Miles is reminded. Of course, Wright isn’t like any other attorneys. He is kind, he is considerate, determined and he is nowhere near close to being selfish. He isn’t like Miles, who only took up prosecuting out of a selfish and deluded desire to punish the guilty, what a pathetic excuse for locking away any and all people he could get his hands on regardless of their innocence or guilt. No, Wright was not like that. Wright took up his trade because he genuinely wishes to help everyone. Even someone as selfish and corrupt as Miles. Wright is much kinder than this world deserves, than he deserves. 

The world needs more of the Wright brand of kindness. 

“I’m sorry…” Miles mutters quietly again, trying to stop his hands from shaking. “I am just… having a hard day…” 

“Want to… talk about it?” The silence speaks louder than words ever could. Wright frowns. “Okay, well, I won’t force you, but… you know you shouldn’t keep to yourself, whatever pain you are holding.” 

“Of course.” Of course he would know that, Miles bitterly thinks, holding his pain is what led him to become such an easy target, such a weakling. “Do you want to eat, though?” Wright asks again. Miles sighs. “You won’t leave me alone about it, so fine.” 

He hears Wright chuckle quietly under his breath in victory, but Miles is in no mood to be chuckling. Wright disappears behind a door and Miles listens to the sounds of his rummaging before hearing his voice echo in a distance. “Um… I don’t actually have a lot right now…” He returns to Miles’ side, scratching his head sheepishly. “I am kind of behind on rent again, so… if you don’t like instant ramen, I can uh… order burger take out?” 

Miles audibly snorts. “As if I would ever eat something so disgustingly unhygienic.” 

Wright laughs softly at his disgusted reply. But then, as if a puzzle piece, something seems to click in Miles’ mind. 

Burger take out… 

“... Where is Maya?” The silence feels cold and hard, but more than usual at this moment. Something painful flashes in Wright’s gaze, which leads Miles to immediately assume the worst. “Don’t tell me-”

“She… went back home, to continue her training. She left early in the morning.” 

Ah, so nothing too drastic. They did not have a falling out or anything of the sort. Still, Miles can’t help but feel somber. Maya took part in greatly aiding him during the trial as well and he did not even get to thank her properly yet, let alone say goodbye. “I should try to call her. I assume you have her number?” 

Wright clicks his tongue. “I wouldn’t try if I were you. That is, I tried and it looks like there is no signal wherever she lives.” 

Miles quietly wonders to himself just where Maya could be where there is no reception in this day and age. “Then I suppose I will send her a letter.” 

Wright smiles again, a small but honest one. “Hey, that’s nice of you to be so devoted to talking to her.” Miles feels the heat rising to his cheeks at that comment, but luckily for him, Wright doesn’t notice. “I should send her a letter too, maybe. Or two.” 

“What’s her address?” 

“... Shoot…” Miles sighs. Because only Phoenix Wright would decide to want to write someone a letter and then forget about the most crucial detail. “Nevermind, I guess…” He mumbles, defeated. “I’m sure you’ll get to talk to her later, though.” 

Miles silently agrees. He hopes he can. It would be very regrettable if he couldn’t say his gratitudes to Maya in person. 

“So uh… unless you want ramen…?” 

Right, they were still on the topic of eating. Miles was this close to suggesting that he just won’t eat if Wright has nothing to offer, but he knows better than to say that at this point. He already dug himself too deep in this hole. “I suppose we can dine somewhere if you wish to eat so badly.” 

Wright blinks. “D-Dine? Like in an actual restaurant? I don’t know if I could pay that.” 

Miles huffs. “Well I am not going to do your grocery shopping for you, so we are just going to go out, eat real food and I will pay.” 

Wright scoffs at that. “Wow, okay, Mr. Big Bucks Fancy Smancy Prosecutor.” 

Miles rolls his eyes. “It was your idea.” 

“Still, I didn’t exactly make this offer with the idea of you treating me.” 

“Then get better food.” Miles shuts him down easily and Wright seems defeated, for once. Miles can’t hide the small self satisfied smirk from his face at winning this particular battle of wits against Wright.

Right as they are about to head out, getting into Miles’ car, Wright addresses him again. “By the way, Edgeworth… you know, I defended you because you are my friend. Not for the money. So don’t ever feel like you need to repay me in money, because there is no amount of money in the world that would be worth more than our friendship to me.” 

Miles doesn’t know how to respond to that. 

His heart clenches so much at the words, it almost hurts. 

They ended up going to a sushi joint because Wright was too humble to eat out in anything too expensive or fancy and he said that this is the only other place he ever eats out if he can afford himself the luxury, so Miles relented. He did not eat sushi often, but he remembers trying it on occasion once or twice and it wasn’t so bad. So they both order their respective preferences and sit and wait. The place was surprisingly crowded and Miles hates crowds, but he tries to ignore it. 

He glances at Wright and the man is fiddling with a button on his sleeve that keeps slipping out, from the looks of it. Just like Wright to own the cheapest kind of even something as simple as a dress shirt. But on closer observation, Wright wasn’t actually fiddling with his button for any particular reason than to give himself something to focus on, because he buttons up his sleeve again properly and looks at Miles. He most likely gained the courage to engage in a conversation and Miles can already tell he is not going to enjoy this, whatever Wright has to say.

“So… how have you been? I mean… I know you’ve been really… awful during your trial, don’t try to lie to me, anyone could see you were not well.” Wright comments as he sees Miles’ frown deepen. “But how do you feel now that you are free?” 

Free.

Free. 

He is a free man.

Free, innocent, not guilty… 

“I… don’t know.” Miles replies as honestly as he can without giving away too much. Wright hums, eyes not on Miles, but staring gazelessly at the tablecloth. “Yeah, I don’t blame you. I guess I’d feel the same. I still kind of do.” 

Miles doesn’t speak. His forefinger taps his bicep impatiently and one of his shoes taps against the floor, both sounds just barely imperceptible enough for Wright to not notice. 

“Miles…” Miles’ eyes briefly shoot at Wright at the first name and the man corrects himself. “Um- sorry, Edgeworth. Can I ask you something?”

“Hm.” 

Wright draws in a quiet breath and Miles finds himself doing the same. “Why did you never answer my letters? You were in so much pain and you chose to suffer in silence, if- if you’d just answered my letters, I would have been right there by your side in no time at all. Instead you chose to hide everything and essentially forced me to track you down, so I could figure out what was going on with you. Why?” 

Miles has to suppress the urge to just laugh at the absurdity of the question. “Are you serious?” He asks incredulously and of course Wright has the nerve to look confused. “What?” 

Miles smiles ruefully, his grip on his arms tightening ever so slightly before his stance and expression relax. “Nevermind.” 

Luckily, their food arrives and Miles is grateful for it because Wright has enough table manners to not try to speak while he is eating. They eat in silence but there is a certain tension at the table now. It’s clear from the way Miles holds his chopsticks a little too tight, or how Wright is picking at his sushi a little clumsy, or how both of them unknowingly leaned further away from each other in their seats. But besides the vibrating tension, they eat quietly. 

Miles is starting to feel sick, not because he dislikes sushi, but because it occurs to him in this moment that his diet in the past three days has been dangerously minimal and his stomach is suddenly overwhelmed by such a large meal, but he forces it down all the same, even if it is in small nibbles. 

It all goes well until Wright finishes his plate and turns back to Miles and Miles has to brace himself. 

“This just goes back to what I said back at the office. Why? Why keep shutting me out? We’re friends, right?” 

Friends… There is that word again, friends. 

But Wright doesn’t know, he doesn’t get it, he doesn’t understand that this is not as simple as he makes it look in his head and Miles wants to grab him and violently shake him in frustration. 

He forcefully slams his chopsticks down on the table, nearly breaking them in the process. “Friends… How can you say that so easily, Wright? You don’t even know me.” 

Wright blinks at him, like he is shocked at what he is hearing. Shocked at hearing such an obvious truth, because what does Wright know about him at this point, nothing. All he did was force himself back into Miles’ life a mere four months ago and suddenly he claims to know everything when he doesn’t. 

Miles doesn’t let him continue. “Just because you forcefully barged into my life again and forced me to accept your defense-” Miles raises his voice when he sees Wright attempting to interrupt and he doesn’t care that he’s almost yelling at this point. “-does not mean you suddenly know everything about me, or my life. You don’t know me! You don’t know what I’ve done, you have no idea who the hell I am anymore, so how can you pretend you do? How can you act like you know anything when you don’t!?” 

Wright’s face twists and suddenly he’s raising his voice too. “And whose fault is that? Who was the one who ghosted me for fifteen years, who refused so much to acknowledge I exist, even though I sent you hundreds of letters!?” 

“How the hell can you be so self-centered, Wright!? What did you want me to write to you about, ‘Hello Phoenix, I think I murdered my Father’, is that what you expected to hear? Or about how I spend my day to day life sending people to life in prison or death row, people who I have no idea if they even deserve the fate I am dishing out to them, but I act like I do because I am a naive fool who has been exploited, abused, manipulated by the one man who took everything from me and I was too blind to even see that because I’ve never stopped being a stupid foolish idealistic ignorant-” 

“Miles?” 

Wright is… Wright is touching his hand and Miles’ hand is shaking and Wright’s hand is cold and he is looking right at him, he- he doesn’t look angry, he looks worried again, but how, how, how can he look at him like that, how can he look at him like he knows him, how can he still act like they are friends, how can he pretend that Miles is innocent, not guilty, innocent, not guilty- 

Because how can Miles ever claim to be not guilty when he has done atrocities without the bat of an eye for his entire life- just because he did not murder his father does not make him any less of a killer for- for- for-

Miles suddenly bolts from his chair and all but sprints out of the restaurant and to his car, leaning against the window frame. He can’t breathe, he can’t take a full breath, he is panting, his face is swimming in sweat and he suddenly feels like he is in an elevator again because there is no air and he can’t breathe and the gun- he picks up the gun, the gun fires, he shoots the killer- shoots von Karma and von Karma enters and shoots his father and- 

Miles can’t, can’t, can’t, he is fighting but he can’t suppress it, the tears fill his eyes and wailing, strangled, painful sobs leave him and he can’t do anything to stop it, he squeezes his eyes shut as he collapses into the snow against his car and…

… Someone is sitting next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Miles raises his head with a start to see Wright staring right at him and he immediately bolts to his feet and pushes him away, rubbing silken sleeves frustratedly against his still wet eyes. He feels Wright’s hand return to his shoulder and he shoves it away. “Miles- Edgeworth, hey-” 

“D-Don’t touch me, d-don’t look at me-” Miles hiccups and he hates that his voice is still wobbling. Wright ignores him and Miles wants to shove him away again, slap him away, but for some reason his limbs refuse to obey him and then Miles realizes he came outside without his coat on and he feels cold. Then he feels something warm wrap around him and he notes too late that it was his coat, Wright brought it out for him. Miles sluggishly pulls the coat around himself, still sniffling as much as he is trying to suppress it all. 

“So that’s what it’s all about, huh…?” Miles can only half hear Wright’s voice, he feels dizzy and he was sure it wasn’t from the cold. “I’m… I’m such a jerk, Miles, I’m sorry, of course I- I should have figured, I… I’m sorry. But, I don’t care if I have to force it out of you, we are going to talk about this, okay? I am not letting you go home alone until you tell me everything that’s going on inside your head. I don’t even want to hear you protest, we are doing it now.” 

“Wha… b-but… I haven’t paid yet…” Miles tries, it is a very weak attempt and Wright seems to be ahead of him, as he always is in everything in their lives. “It’s fine, I paid for our food, let’s just go home. You look like hell and you need to rest.” 

And suddenly, Miles no longer finds it in himself to protest against that. He’s cold, he’s tired, even if he hates to admit it. 

“I can drive, if-” 

“No.” Miles cuts him off. “You don’t even have a license and I am not letting you drive my car. I can drive fine.” 

He sees Wright roll his eyes, but it looks strangely more… fond than anything, out of all the options. “Alright, fine. Just be careful.” 

“As if you’d even need to tell me that…” Miles grumbles half to Wright, half to himself. As they sat in the car, Miles took a glance at himself in the car mirror. His eyes were still puffy and red. Just as he is about to reach for a handkerchief in his pocket, Wright is already handing him one. He mumbles a quiet thank you and fixes his eyes before focusing on driving. 

“There is one thing I want you to know right away.” Wright began. The two of them return to Miles’ apartment, the stubborn attorney truly refusing to leave until he had a proper talk with Miles and the prosecutor could no longer find it in himself to oppose. “I don’t care what you’ve done, we are still friends. You are not von Karma.” 

Miles lets out a quiet, shaky breath, lips trembling in a weak, decrepit smile. “That’s foolishly naive, Wright, I hope you realize that. Or perhaps you are just being willfully ignorant.” 

“Maybe… or maybe you are just being too hard on yourself.” 

Miles’ hold on his teacup tightens. Pess is watching them from the corner of the room, clearly able to detect the tension in the air. “Do you even realize the extent of my actions, Wright? I’ve ruined lives. More lives than I can attach a number to. Worst yet, I’ve been a blind fool all my life.” 

Wright’s frown deepens. “Edgeworth, just because von Karma… you are not responsible for his actions. It’s not your fault he hated you and your father.” 

Hated… that’s right, Manfred von Karma consciously plotted his downfall for fifteen years, he was aware of what he had done to Miles, what he took from him and yet still, Miles still… “But he still succeeded.” 

“Succeeded… how…?” 

“He killed every remnant of my Father left inside me. I don’t know if that was his intention from the beginning, but if it was, he has done his mission successfully.” Miles huffs. It’s meant to sound amused, but instead it sounds hollow. Wright inches a little closer to Miles on the sofa and Miles can’t help but scoot further away, averting his gaze. “Look… yeah, maybe he tried, but I don’t believe you. I don’t believe what you are saying.” 

“What do you mean?” Miles asked, still without looking back at the other man, thumbs carefully tracing the rim of the porcelain cup.

“The Miles I’ve known is still in there, he always has been.”

Miles bites back a scoff. There’s Wright’s blind idealism again. “I don’t know what it is you are seeing in me, but it’s not there anymore.” 

“Then I will explain to you what I am seeing!” Wright grabs his chin and forcefully turns his head to face him, startling Miles enough to not have enough time to not be able to push back. “You were in pain for all these years. For all these years, you were just waiting to be found out.” Waiting, waiting, waiting for the guilty verdict, for judgement, waiting- “In your mind, you were guilty and you wanted to be found so.” Wright leaned closer to him until the only thing in Miles’ line of sight was that resolute expression, those strong blue eyes burning with the same determination they carried when Wright stood against the literal God of prosecutors, when he insistently claimed that there was another person outside the elevator during DL-6, when he held a metal detector to von Karma’s shoulder until the courtroom grew deathly still with the beeps that came of the device. “If you were truly only of Manfred von Karma, if you had no Gregory Edgeworth left in you, you would not have wanted to be found guilty so readily. You would not be bracing yourself for losing your freedom. You would not possibly accept being so imperfect, right?” 

Imperfect.

Imperfect. 

Miles laughs, actually laughs an empty and joyless laugh at the sheer irony of that because of course Wright just had to remind him of everything with that one word, how weak he is, how much he’s destroyed his own father’s good name, how he just blindly sent so many people to their demise without a care in the world, of course he could not let himself be any more imperfect than that-

“Manfred von Karma only ever cared about his obsessive perfection, his impossibly perfect ego.” Wright went on, Miles only half hearing him over his storming thoughts. “You, on the other hand, care about justice, care about what is right, you care about helping people just like you always had. You still have the same spirit in you that I saw when we were little kids. von Karma’s actions are not yours, Miles, nor his intentions. He exploited your pain and that never was and never will be your fault.” Miles opens his mouth to reply, but Wright seems to be ahead of him again just like always. “And before you even try to claim you are weak for getting exploited, you are not. This was never your fault. There was no way you could have known what von Karma wanted to do to you beforehand.” 

Miles takes another longer sip of his tea to try to relax his overgrowing breathing. How can Wright be so… idealistic, how can he believe so fantastically so easily, how can he make everything sound so simple when- when- 

“Wright, you don’t understand.” Miles forced his eyes to not stray from sapphire blue ones. “I… I still followed von Karma’s ways, I still- d-destroyed people and everything I’ve known and been taught had been nothing but lies and I- I-” Miles’ hand unconsciously grips his bangs. “I can’t come back from this, I can’t take back what I’ve done, I-” 

Wright gently takes his hand and Miles shivers at the touch. “Then I will just have to help you through this. I will be here to pull you back on your feet and if you cannot see yourself the way I see you, then I just have to prove to you how wrong you are about yourself.” There was a brief pause in which Miles blinked away a thin layer of moist from his eyes, gaze never straying from Wright, for once. For some reason, he was just glued to those resolute irises. “von Karma is gone, Miles. Maybe remnants of the pain he caused are still there, but that’s why we just have to make steady steps at healing from all that pain. I will be here for you through all of that. I swore to myself that I would help you and I will keep my word. You are free of him now, Miles. He will not hurt you again anymore.” 

Free…

Free…

Free, innocent, not guilty. 

But… no, that was wrong. He wasn’t innocent. He was still guilty. “I don’t know how I could forgive myself.” 

“That’s okay. You just have to take it slow. I will be here for you through everything, I promise. If you don’t trust yourself, then at least trust me.” Wright’s brows furrowed in what Miles could only describe as fear. “You… trust me… right?” 

Trust… friendship… 

It would have been easy, frighteningly easy to just say no. A different day, a different time, Miles would have shut down the idea immediately. But for some reason, he found it hard to reject the man before him now. When he thought back to the past several days, of all the fear, hopelessness, resignation and hollow emptiness that Miles felt, how he resigned to his fate, how he was ready to face death unflinchingly in the eye for a murder he did not even commit… Wright was the only person, the only source of light for him through this darkness. 

And no matter what odds were stacked against him, Wright still kept fighting, until Miles was finally free. Free, innocent, not guilty, not guilty…

If Miles tried to tell Wright that he did not trust him at this point, after all the belief and faith he put into this man for the sake of his own life that he had already given up on before all this, he would not only be lying to Wright, but to himself as well. 

“I seriously hope that is a rhetorical question, Wright.” A tinge of amusement creeps into Miles’ tone for the first time in what feels like forever and Wright blinks before laughing softly. “Okay, yeah, har-har, you had me worried there for a second, you dumb jerk.” 

“In all seriousness, though…” Miles finished his remaining cup and lowered it to the coffee  table. “If I am being honest, I still don’t know how you can just believe in me. I don’t believe I will ever understand what it is that drives you, Phoenix Wright. For you to pursue me all our lives and continuously stand against me in the face of my own feelings and judgements of myself…” Judgement… judgement… Miles’ face sours at that single word. “Then again… I suppose I haven’t been the best judge of character for quite a long time now. I should really stop questioning you at this point and just accept that this is simply what makes you Phoenix Wright. Given that you already saved my life… I suppose I can muster the courage and will to… to…” Miles swallows thickly. “To keep you in my life this time around. If you will have me.”  

Miles saw Wright’s expression flash through several different stages while he was speaking, until it just settled for an earnest smile. “Of course I’ll have you. I didn’t want to meet you just to say hi in passing and then never see you again.” The smile on Wright’s lips softens into something more wistful. “I… missed you. A lot. I’m… I’m glad, really. I’m glad we are… friends again, you know?” Miles could almost share the sentiment, strangely. Though, he does not admit it out loud. “What do you say? Friends again?” Wright extends his hand and Miles stares at it for a pause before taking it. 

“Friends again.” 

“Pleasure meeting you again, Miles Edgeworth.” Wright smiles. 

“... Likewise, Phoenix Wright.” And Miles finds it in himself to smile back. 

Even though the sun was starting to set, there was one last place Miles really wanted to visit. He makes annual visits here, however he did not get his chance this year, given this whole incident. But that does not mean he will neglect his visit entirely. Wright is still with him as they step out of the car, Miles holding a bouquet. He does not even need to look where he is going, the steps, the path is ingrained in his memory, to the point that his movements feel mechanical now, more than anything. Six years of visits here does that to you. He did not get to come here when he still lived in Germany, but he made it a tradition when he moved back home. 

The silence between them is only broken by the soft crunch of the snow, feeling harder and less wet now that it has been left to freeze over the ground for quite some time. Until they finally reach the headstone.

Gregory Edgeworth

1966-2001

Loving Father and the Greatest defense attorney.

Miles silently places the bouquet over before the headstone and just stands quietly. Wright seems to be polite enough to remain quiet as well, which Miles is grateful for. 

After fifteen years… it really was over. Miles was free, innocent… not guilty… It took this many years, but maybe now he can count that his father will be able to rest in peace. No small thanks to the man beside him now. A part of Miles still feels like it would have been better if it was him, instead of von Karma. The part of him that is still struggling to cope with the reality of this new truth that has been unveiled to him. But maybe… maybe now, he can admit to himself that his father would be happier for him with these turn of events. 

“I wonder why he lied…” Miles wonders semi aloud, Wright turning his head from the headstone to him. “He had to have known Yogi didn’t do it.” 

“Maybe…” Wright responds quietly. “But even then, I don’t think he could have sold you out like that. Your father loved you so much, Miles.” 

But of course, he knew that. That will be one thing he will never stop missing. His father’s warm, gentle, unconditional and unbreakable love for him. The only kind of love he had ever been given in his life and the kind of love that was absolutely indispensable, because no matter how many allies Miles has in his life, nothing will ever compare to the bond he shared with his father. 

Miles feels something wet on his cheeks and he sniffs, bringing a coated sleeve up to his face. He feels the warmth of Wright’s arm around his shoulders. Wright pulls him closer and Miles indulges the gesture enough to let his head drop on the man’s shoulder. “... I miss him. Every day.” Miles croaks, eyes never leaving the gravestone with those fated words carved inside of it. 

“Yeah…” Wright speaks quietly and Miles could almost swear he may be in tears too, but he doesn’t want to move his eyes. “I miss him too. He was like a dad to me and Larry too. He was… so… so nice. Sometimes, I still can’t believe this had to happen to him.” 

“... Me neither.” 

Yet, no matter the pain… It is over now. The nightmare was finally over. The truth, however painful it was, was finally out in the open now. The killer was duly punished. That may not mend the deep wound still festering over Miles’ heart, but at least… At least, maybe now he can finally start facing better horizons. Maybe he can finally honor his father’s memory in a proper fashion. Maybe now, Miles can finally start accepting the truth and begin his path to healing.

Miles continues to stare at the headstone for a few more moments before taking a deep, shivering breath. “... We… We can go now.” 

Wright nods. Both of them solemnly look at the stone as a silent goodbye before turning back the way they came, the crunching of snow once again being the only disruption of silence between them. The drive goes silently as well. Yet, right now, the silence does not feel as tense as it used to. Right now it feels more solemn, peaceful, calm… and Miles likes it. 

“You sure you’ll be fine on your own?” 

“Yes, Wright, I have been quite capable of it for the past several years and I don’t see why that would have to change now.”

“Call me if you have bad dreams, though.”

“I am not a child, Wright.” 

The man only chuckles. “Sorry, sorry, can’t help but worry.” 

Miles stays by Wright’s side until he finally opens the door to his apartment. But he doesn’t step inside yet, instead, he takes to staring at Miles. Miles almost asks what the problem is, before Wright suddenly grabs his shoulders and pulls him in for a hug, then lets go almost immediately. The gesture happens so quickly, Miles doesn’t even have time to react properly. Wright sheepishly smiles. “Sorry, just… I wanted to hug you for a while now.” 

Miles scoffs very audibly. “Sentimental idiot…” 

Wright just laughs again at that. “Alright, good night, Edgeworth. Don’t be a stranger and take care.” 

“Yes… good night, Wright.” He is about to turn around and leave before he remembers something important. “And um… thank you. For… for today and… and… everything else.” 

Wright continues to smile softly at him. “Yeah, of course. We’re friends, remember?” 

Right, friends… Miles has to get used to the feeling of having friends again. It has been too long since he allowed himself to have any genuine ones. He waves goodbye to Wright and reenters his car, just sitting and staring at his ceiling for a few minutes.

Today was hard… the following days will not be a lot easier, Miles can already reckon. But… something tells him it will be alright now. He is still waiting, waiting, waiting, but no longer for horrible judgement, or for the declaration of his guilt… just waiting. For better horizons. For everything to start getting better again. Because he somehow feels like they can still be.

Because he is free now. 

Free of von Karma.

Free of the nightmares.

Free, innocent, not guilty…

Not guilty… 

He has an easier time believing in those two words now.