Chapter Text
Dear Prosecutor Edgeworth—
The letter, against all odds, was already more entertaining than the one before it. No longer did the fool appeal to familiarity by addressing his correspondence simply Edgeworth or—even closer—Miles, but he finally acknowledged the position the name belonged to, prefacing it Prosecutor, though Dear still hung at the head, pitiful in its tender naïveté.
That word still feels unnatural to write, after all the time you’d spent when we were kids gushing over your father, the defense attorney, and how badly you wanted to be like him. Even now, having read article after article about this “Demon Attorney” who has your name, I find it near impossible to accept that that’s you.
Manfred von Karma’s amusement faded slightly at the reminder of the late Gregory Edgeworth, only to return anew at the appeal to a shared childhood. How fitting an argument to make, when this Wright clearly had the mind of a child.
But I can’t very well deny it anymore, can I? Not when I’ll be facing you down before long. You can ignore this letter like all the others, but I thought it would be fair to try to warn you: you won’t be able to ignore me when I’m on the other side of the courtroom. I’m a defense attorney now, like you always should have been. By the time you receive this letter, I’ll have started work under one Mia Fey.
The pride expressed for that paltry profession, too, should have made him laugh, and it almost did until that name soured the mood. Mia Fey had not become the thorn in von Karma’s side as the elder Edgeworth had, but given enough time, she could sharpen herself beyond her peers enough to pierce his hide anew. She had given his protégé some trouble, he noted, glancing over the page at the man in question, and while Edgeworth claimed victory in the end, even as a rookie, it had been on technicality, and she had been a rookie herself at the time.
That was no guarantee this Phoenix Wright could grow into as great a nuisance. Mia Fey had sprouted from the otherwise barren, worthless soil of Marvin Grossberg, after all, and every impression von Karma had of this new seedling lawyer was that he was a buffoon. Yet the possibility remained that if Fey trained Wright right, took on more sprouts, or if Wright then nurtured sprouts of his own, untended, von Karma could have a veritable bramble bush to wrestle with.
Wright’s full attention seemed to be on Edgeworth, but Edgeworth’s successes and failures were a reflection on von Karma as his mentor and adoptive father. Edgeworth and Franziska were, unfortunately, the most vulnerable wings of his grand fortress. Visions of weeds growing in the cracks of stone walls, destabilizing and crumbling the foundation filled his mind.
Von Karma continued to scan the letter as he mulled over how to tackle this situation before it got out of hand. Defense attorneys. He had every aspect of every case he took under his thumb except the defense. Consorting with those lowlifes held no interest to him, but as long as they could sprawl about, untamed…
I beg you, one last time, answer me and to think about who you are. I don’t want to have to fight you, Miles. But I will fight you, if it comes to that, and for you, for the man I know you to be, deep down. This isn’t you. I don’t know what got into you, but I’m going to bring the old you back, kicking and screaming if I have to.
Sincerely,
Phoenix Wright
His eyes caught on the line above the signature. There was a smudge as though a word had been erased and “Sincerely” written over it. He could make out a Y-O-U, and from the remaining obscured lines could infer that Wright had initially signed “Yours” instead.
“Yours.” Now that was an interesting prospect. He might have a way to reinforce Edgeworth’s vulnerable walls after all.
Von Karma holds the letter out to Edgeworth, whom had joined him for breakfast, as he often did when they were in the same country. Though Wright had sent many letters over the years—three within the last month alone—von Karma had allowed Edgeworth to read few of them. None at all, in fact, in the early days of his adoption, and the first only long after Edgeworth had ceased begging for permission to or attempting to snatch them behind his adoptive father’s back. Even that morning, Edgeworth didn’t reach for the paper immediately.
“Read this one, Edgeworth. I found it...inspirational.”
Edgeworth set his teacup down and took the letter. Von Karma ate his breakfast and watched from the corner of his eye as Edgeworth read. Edgeworth’s lips curled down, jaw tightening as his eyes roved the page. Something stopped him, and von Karma would wager it was the same name that gave him pause. He looked at von Karma, who waved for him to continue reading.
He set the paper on the polished table between them when he was finished. “Wright’s determination is impressive, I grant, but beyond his attainment of a badge and the identity of his mentor, I fail to see the importance of this letter above the others.”
“As I said, I found it inspirational.” Von Karma rose from his seat and paced the length of the dining hall. “There’s a problem with your record, Edgeworth. It’s not as excellent as it could be. True, you have never lost a case,” he said, raising a finger from his cane to silence any objections Edgeworth might have had, “and rarely let them stretch beyond a single day, but you have stumbled. That Mia Fey has tripped you up before, and no doubt she’ll teach this Wright her methods.”
He paused by the window, pretending to watch the horizon instead of Edgeworth’s reflection. “When I took you under my wing, it was with the expectation that you would uphold the von Karma reputation, and I am neither disappointed nor satisfied.” He watched his protégé’s hand hesitate around his teacup. “If you have any hope of keeping up, you’ll need an edge.”
“And you found some suggestion in Wright’s letter of how I might make one for myself,” Edgeworth replied slowly, running his thumb along the rim of his cup. “I’m sorry to say that I’m not quite sure I follow how.”
“Read that letter again, particularly that last paragraph.” Von Karma took his time returning from the window to the table. He came to a stop looming over Edgeworth, his cane tight in his hand, and traced a finger over a particular line. “‘I will fight you, if it comes to that, and for you.’ Note that loyalty to his image of you, that single-minded devotion.”
Edgeworth’s face betrayed nothing: no fear at being crowded in, no disgust with the suggestion, no flash of uncertainty, though his Adam’s apple dipped before he spoke again.“You suggest I use that loyalty and devotion to make Wright himself my weapon. An interesting notion, but how do you propose I go about doing so?” He curled his fingers firmly around his tea and brought it to his lips.
“You propose.”
He furrowed his eyebrows at von Karma over the edge of the cup.
“You marry him.” Edgeworth nearly choked, clapping a hand over his mouth to mute the sputtering and reduce the mess, though some tea still sprayed from between his fingers. Von Karma straightened up and went on, unperturbed. “He has enthusiasm for acting in your best interest; all you need do is guide his hand.”
“Why must that involve asking his hand?” coughed Edgeworth. He wiped his hand off on his napkin and smoothed down his cravat. Faint pink dusted his cheeks. “Surely, befriending him would be enough.”
“Perhaps.” Von Karma rapped his cane on the floor. “Perhaps not, and you should despise anything less than a decisive solution as much as I do. Anyone could become a higher priority than a friend, even one with whom a reunion was sought so desperately. But a spouse is far harder to leave by the wayside, wouldn’t you say?”
“More often than not, certainly, but how can I be certain a man I haven’t seen in years would even accept?” Edgeworth argued.
“A man you haven’t seen in years who has written you a mountain of letters, even without a response to encourage it.” Von Karma clapped a hand on his shoulder. “He won’t deny a meeting. You can gauge his interest then, but you can’t win without playing.”
“I—” He looked like he might knock over his chair and bolt for the door. Von Karma tightened his hand on his shoulder, firm stare fixed on his face. Edgeworth met his eyes, and von Karma could see the moment his last protest crumbled. “Very well. If you wish it, sir, I will...acquiesce to your judgment.”
Von Karma scoffed internally at the idea that this conversation could have ended any other way. Edgeworth was a weak man from weak blood, and it was only von Karma’s own efforts that had hardened him into the stone he’d become. Nevertheless, he smiled, holding eye contact a moment longer before finally releasing him.
“I trust you can write a proper invitation to dinner on your own?”
~----------~
Mia’s first words to him when he walked into the office, following, “Good morning,” were, “What’s that?”
“Hm?” Phoenix followed the point of her finger down to the letter in his hand. He’d been in such a daze after reading it, he hadn’t realized he was still holding it all the way to work. “Nothing. Just a dinner invitation from an old friend.”
“Your face says it’s more than ‘just’ a dinner invitation,” she retorted. Mia didn’t say as much aloud, but Phoenix got the impression she was trying to nip a potential distraction in the bud. She held her hand out. “Mind if I take a look at it?”
He stood before her desk, fidgeting as she scanned the page dispassionately. She moved to hand it back, but suddenly froze. Her eyes were locked on the bottom of the letter, about where the signature sat. “Miles Edgeworth,” she read. “It can’t be that Miles Edgeworth, could it? The one they’re calling the Demon Prosecutor?”
The silence between them served as an answer. A complicated sorrow and frustration flitted over her face, then she turned a serious look on him. “Three years ago, after the Dahlia Hawthorne case…” Phoenix flinched, but she pressed on. “When you told me you were studying law to save a friend, you didn’t mean you needed to defend him in court.”
“No,” he confessed.
Mia examined his face. Something in his expression made her own soften, though he wasn’t sure whether it was in sympathy or pity, as thin as the line between the two was. She turned back to the letter as if it were a vital piece of evidence in the court record. “The invitation extends to ‘a parent or guardian’ as well. Do you have someone to go with you?”
“No, I—” Phoenix rubbed the back of his neck. “I was just going to go alone. My parents aren’t really—That is, mean, I don’t really have—”
“I’ll go with you.”
“…What?”
“I’ll go with you,” she repeated. “In fact, I’ll insist on it. This could be an intimidation tactic. I’m not letting them chase off my pupil if I can help it.”
“‘Them’?” he asked.
“Edgeworth wouldn’t have requested you bring someone along unless his own mentor was going to be there.” Then, before he could ask any more questions, she looked at his desk pointedly and said, “I think there was some research you were supposed to have on my desk by this morning.”
“A-ah! Right!”
~----------~
Without Mia’s intervention, the nervous anticipation the invitation inspired in Phoenix might have obliterated all else in his mind. Even with her intervention, it was hard to focus on anything beyond the fluttering of his own stomach. The stretch between the arrival of Edgeworth’s letter and the appointed dinnertime was an excruciating, anxious experience.
Even when the next day rolled around and time came for him and Mia to hail a cab, he could hardly keep himself still. Shaky fingers fumbled with his tie, even though he’d already adjusted it time and time again before he even met back up with his boss, having taken some time to clean up and refresh himself earlier, just to do something to make up for his lack of a nicer suit.
“It’s going to be fine,” Mia said, flashing him a smile. “He’s an old friend of yours, right? I’ll admit, the last time I saw him, he didn’t seem the sort to have many friends, but...”
“That’s all the more reason for me to reach out to him,” replied Phoenix.
She nodded. Her expression grew grim, and she crossed her arms. She didn’t say much else the whole cab ride through, staring intensely ahead. They had spoken little of Edgeworth in the time they’d known each other, after Phoenix’s graduation or before it, but the rare time he’d come up in conversation, it was clear he was a sore subject with Mia, though Phoenix suspected it was far more complicated than the rumors surrounding Edgeworth’s reputation or even bitterness towards a prosecutor she’d faced in court.
Any thoughts he’d had along that line stopped the instant they reached their destination. Phoenix had a vague memory of the Edgeworths being more well-off than his family or Larry’s, but the mansion standing before them, boastful in its very existence, awed and humbled him immediately. A shiny red sports car that probably cost more than his apartment sat in the driveway. (If this is an intimidation tactic, it’s working already.)
Mia nudged his arm. “Come on.” They each paid half the fair and hopped out of the cab.
A maid greeted them at the door and led them inside. The grand foyer had dual staircases leading up to a balcony, elaborately carved banister running without obvious seams from the end of one staircase up, across, and to the other, curving around in almost a horseshoe shape. Two sets of two wide doors like Phoenix had only seen at the courthouse graced both the upper and lower floors. The floor under their feet was polished to a reflective shine, showing Phoenix his own astonished face when he looked down. The walls were bare except for two built-in bookshelves on the second floor, but the hall was far from unadorned; gold molding lined the ceiling, and intricate detailing graced much of what was visible, down to what must have been custom-made doorknobs on both sets of doors. He could have gawked at the blatant show of wealth all day if the maid hadn’t ushered them on further into the mansion.
The hallway they passed through gave him the same impression of lavish and expensive but impersonal design, even the vase of flowers he spotted reminding him of a generic arrangement he might see in a home living catalog for the disgustingly and unabashedly wealthy.
Finally, she led them to a dining room spacious enough to be used for a trial. The long table at the center of the room was large enough to seat about everyone Phoenix knew and a few more. A man he didn’t recognize but guessed must be Manfred von Karma was seated at the head of the table, far from the doorway, with an empty seat to his left between him and Edgeworth. A tea set sat far to that side of the room, indicating no need to sit so far from their hosts. As they drew closer, von Karma rose to greet them.
“Phoenix Wright, I presume?” Von Karma rested one hand on a cane, but the one that grasped Phoenix’s in a handshake was as hard as steel. He smiled with such cruelty and hunger that Phoenix didn’t think it would be any more terrifying if his teeth were razor-sharp. His eyes wandered from Phoenix’s face to Mia’s, and the evil grin shifted, though it was no less harsh or predatory. “And Ms. Mia Fey.” He released Phoenix, but did not offer her his hand. “Thank you for coming. Sit down.”
Mia redirected Phoenix to her right, taking a seat between him and von Karma. Phoenix smiled at the tea set as he sat down across from Edgeworth. The set was primarily magenta, a white border with rossette patterns and gold filigree towards the rims of the cups and the spout of the pot. Unlike so much of the mansion, that did feel personally and recognizably Edgeworth. He looked up to a blank look from the man in question.
“Long time, no see, Edgeworth,” Mia said.
“Ms. Fey,” Edgeworth replied with a nod. He turned from her without further adieu and inclined his head to Phoenix. “Wright. It is a pleasure to see you again.”
“Likewise.” Phoenix wanted to say more, but he wasn’t sure where to start. He examined Edgeworth’s face for any indication his words were more than empty politeness, any hint of familiarity or warmth. His eyes seemed colder than they had before they’d ever spoken as children, void even of a hint of life. His eyes were shadowed and heavy. He looked aged beyond their twenty-four years.
The clack of a plate being set before him drew Phoenix’s eyes away. He’d forgotten, until more dishes joined the first, that they’d been invited for a meal, not just a stare-down. The aroma and the arrangement of the food was amazing, but his eyes were drawn towards the green bell peppers in a bowl of grilled vegetables. He stuck his fork in one and ate it very slowly, looking at Edgeworth the whole time. Edgeworth glowered at him across the table and forked some of the peppers into his own mouth as if to make a rebuttal. Phoenix stifled a laugh and dug into his food without further taunt.
“What did you want to discuss, von Karma?” Mia asked partway through the meal, cutting into her fried pork. “I doubt you would have called us here for the pleasure of our company.”
He smirked, closed-lipped, a more honest gesture than his previous smiles. “Your presence, Ms. Fey, is like beating around the bush: I resent both. The matter at hand is a simple one. It’s high time my adoptive son took a spouse, and he chose your...ah, pupil, if he accepts.”
She gave him an unimpressed look, to which he only raised an eyebrow. “What’s your game? Somehow, I doubt you would call us here for something as ridiculous as a marriage proposal.”
“You’re a bigger joke than I could ever make, Fey.”
Phoenix looked at Edgeworth again, searching for any hint of affection for him. He barely even looked at Phoenix, mostly staring at his food with only the scant glance sent his way. If Edgeworth felt anything at all for him, it was muted behind that haunting, exhausted emptiness. In that instant, Phoenix decided he would try anything to get the old Edgeworth back, even something impulsive and stupid.
“I’ll do it,” he said.
“What!?” Mia’s fork clattered to her plate as she rounded on him. “You can’t be serious! You haven’t seen this man in years; now you’re agreeing to this…this farce of a proposal without question? At least wait until you have a little more information!”
A loud, unnatural-sounding snap echoed through the room, making Phoenix jump but barely earning a reaction at all from Mia or Edgeworth. Von Karma glared at Mia, hand still outstretched. “The boy said he’d do it, so he’ll do it. There’s no use arguing a done verdict.”
“This isn’t a court battle,” she growled, slamming her hands on the table, rattling the cutlery. “It’s a major life decision!”
Phoenix slammed his own hands on the table in response, bouncing the teacups in their saucers. “And it’s my decision to make! Mine…and Edgeworth’s.” He stared unblinkingly at Edgeworth, daring him to look him in the eyes for more than two seconds. “Is it true? Do you really want to marry me?” (I want to hear it from you, not the demon in bedazzled clothing.)
Edgeworth looked up at him, finally holding his gaze. “I would have no one else,” he said after some time, neither his voice nor his expression betraying anything.
(Good enough for me.) Phoenix nodded. “Then I accept. After all,” he paused and prayed silently that no one called his bluff, “I’ve been in love with you since we were nine years old.”
For the first time all meeting, Edgeworth was caught off-guard, giving a sharp gasp as his eyes went wide. Mia hissed his name beside him. Von Karma grinned like he’d struck a sword into a dragon’s heart. But Phoenix held Edgeworth’s gaze as long as he could, looking at him with as much adoration his will could muster.