Work Text:
The minute that Miles Edgeworth enters his office, he shuts the door securely behind him and reaches for his phone. The others in the building cannot know this is going on. While the sound of dialling rings throughout the room he stares down at the defence attorney’s badge in his hand, smoothing it with his thumb as if he’s afraid of scratching it. He still can’t believe Wright would give this to him. Perhaps there is still time to return it with the argument that the man is clearly delirious from fever—but the severity of the situation is all too real. It has to be seen through.
‘ ...lo? Hallo? ’ Miles is startled out of his thoughts as he realises the phone has finally been answered. Franziska’s voice is heavily punctuated by sleep and thorough annoyance. He remembers that it must be the middle of the night in Germany as he remembers that fateful phone call he received from Larry. The familiar worry is disturbed somewhere deep inside him at that memory like a stone skipping clumsily over water.
‘Franziska, it’s me.’ He finally says after far too long. ‘I need—’
But before he can finish his sentence, the phone beeps at him almost mockingly as Franziska hangs up. Miles huffs lightly. He knew that it would be difficult to get her to listen after what they talked about at the airport. So many times while he was abroad, he wanted to find her and turn over every emotional stone—as much as von Karmas are capable of doing such a thing, anyway. Manfred von Karma raised them both to be in perfect control of their emotions, and look where that has landed them. They have turned not only on themselves but on each other. Miles could never bring himself to reach out beyond the basic pleasantries and catching up over the phone while he was abroad, to the extent that Franziska probably never knew he left the States at all.
He dials once again, reminding himself of the trial and what there is to lose if he can’t do what he promised to Phoenix Wright. He is consistently at a loss for how the defence attorney can have such unwavering trust in his clients, but right now, Miles needs to garner some trust of his own in preparation for court. Trust that the client is innocent, that Wright knows what he’s doing, and that Franziska von Karma can be convinced.
‘What do you want?!’ Franziska shouts down the line, startling Miles once again.
‘Franziska, please,’ His words come out rushed and somewhat desperate, somewhere stuck between trying to talk fast and trying to maintain that polite, formal distance that was instilled in him by his sister’s father. ‘I need… We require your assistance with something.’
The sound of shuffling is heard on the other end. He can practically picture Franziska’s room, with the blue slippers set neatly by the bed in just the right position for her to put them on every morning. She has always had every detail down.
‘Why would I help you?’ The tiredness in her voice is now replaced by bitterness, resentment. ‘Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth can do everything by himself.’
Miles thinks back to that day, after the whole mess with Matt Engarde and Shelly de Killer was finally put to rest, and he had followed Franziska to the airport. You’ve always left me alone and walked on ahead without me. That terrible feeling in his gut in that moment as he had asked Franziska what she was going to do next—was it pity? Guilt?
‘Look,’ He began pacing then, a rare occurrence for him, but somehow he needed to keep his mind moving. ‘I can’t this time. You’re the only one who can assist. It’s for a trial—’
‘Do you not have a whole building of prosecutors?’ The sound of padded footsteps on the other end almost rhythmically lined up with her clipped voice. Then, the faint clicks of lights and doors and other household sounds filled the background. ‘If you have simply taken ill, I don’t see why I must be your substitute when I am not in the same country.’
‘My colleagues cannot know the entirety of the request I have been—’
‘Besides, when has Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth let an illness stop him from attending court? This is simply foolish and I won’t have any part of it.’
Miles feels the frustration burning up quickly. It’s clear that he must cut to the chase, as it were, if he wants her to really listen. More than anything, he just wishes they could be talking in person instead of being able to maintain all the barriers that telecommunications bring.
‘Just listen to me!’ He snaps. Franziska falls into silence on the other end, footsteps and all, and that silence is even louder than the outburst. It sends an unexpected hit of guilt to Miles’ gut, but he has to push through and state his request. Pushing the stray childhood images of Manfred von Karma out of his head, he refocuses on his task. ‘It is not I who has taken ill. It’s… Phoenix Wright has asked me to defend his client.’
The silence draws out longer and longer. Miles is about to speak again, worried that this outburst had actually frightened away his sister, but then he hears a sudden, sharp laugh. Another beat of silence, and then more laughter, harsh and dark as it always sounds.
‘You want… You, Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth,’ Franziska almost sounds hysterical, laughing and catching her breath. ‘You want to defend ? You woke me up to tell me that?!’
‘I will email you the case file to read if that would convince you any more,’ Miles leans against his desk and stares down at the defence attorney’s badge. ‘Phoe— Mr. Wright, he’s in bad shape, but he promised the client he would defend her. He asked me to step in until he recovers.’
The background noise on the other end has started up again—the clink of metal cutlery, the whistling of a kettle, the pouring of water. ‘If any other prosecutor saw you on the defence’s bench, you would be in a great deal of trouble.’
Miles nods, even though Franziska can’t see him. ‘Precisely. I already requested a judge who I am certain will not recognise me, but now…’
Franziska hums curtly. ‘You need me to be the prosecutor.’
They both silently listen to the satellites catching their staticky signals for a moment. Finally the basics of the matter are laid out, but the complicated, awkward tangles of emotional conversations still linger on the horizon. Miles knows that neither of them have the first clue on how to breach those.
Finally, Franziska breaks the silence, but not with a real answer like Miles had hoped. ‘You will do anything for that foolish man, Phoenix Wright.’
It is true. If it had been anyone else in that hospital bed, he would’ve refused to put his career on the line like this. But for whatever reason, the universe has entrusted Phoenix Wright with the ability to trust his clients to the very end and find out the truth to any situation. Despite all the trouble some of that trust has gotten him into, every single murder he’s gotten himself wrapped up in… Something about him just makes it all work out. With Phoenix’s badge, with the facts and evidence he’s gathered already, and with that unwavering, almost unscientifically explainable trust and belief, Miles knows it’ll be okay.
‘Wright has a very solid case, and he trusts his client, therefore I do.’ He condenses all of those funny feelings and those thoughts that constantly run away from him into his usual formality. Even so, it is hard to hide from his big sister.
‘You have lost hold of yourself ever since we lost Papa. You have grown soft in your affections for another. There is no room for friends in a court of law.’
And now, the floodgates stand before the both of them, with hurtful topics and emotions banging down the doors. Miles looks to his left, to the table where he’d placed his bag containing the magatama, then to his right, where a photo frame sat on the corner of the work desk, with the photo inside only recently torn out and replaced. There is no way out except through.
‘You are probably correct.’ Miles says, hearing the immediate scoff on the other end of the line. ‘Phoenix Wright has proved to me time and time again that he is someone to depend on. He has helped me and I intend to help him in return. He can be infuriating, relentless… but when he cares, he cares with his whole heart. He is so trusting yet it is not easy to deceive him. Perhaps he has turned me soft,’ He catches himself, flushes lightly as he realises he has been basically monologuing about Phoenix over the phone. Manfred von Karma would never have tolerated something like this. Perhaps it’s just freeing to be able to talk about it now. ‘I may wish to take a leaf from Phoenix Wright’s book. I hope that someday you will become soft too, Franziska von Karma.’
Another sharp laugh pierces through the line, like the lash of a whip. ‘As if I would wish to become more like that emotional, bumbling idiot.’
‘You don’t have to become more like Phoenix Wright. You just have to… break the rules from time to time. Do the things that our father forbade.’
The sound of cutlery and water that had been sounding quietly for about thirty seconds suddenly interrupted itself and quietened. ‘And—why would I want to do that? What does that have to do with anything?’
Miles had been experimenting with some of this rule breaking himself. He had rearranged the books in his office, replaced the photo on his desk so that the man who killed his father would not stare him in the face every time he read through files. He put his elbows on the table while he ate dinner, in his apartment by himself. After a few months of practicing this he had the courage to do the same while having dinner with others, because it’s not like most people care for proper dinner table etiquette anymore. Because of all this, he had learned one sage piece of advice.
‘Why not?’
Franziska stammers. ‘I am getting tired of your riddles, Miles. Why not what?!’
He can imagine the absolute pristine state of Franziska’s apartment right now, even as she takes this phone call and putters around making tea. Even if he can’t see her he knows that she smoothed out the bedspread perfectly in place when she got up, and closed every door behind her. He knows that right now she is cleaning the mug she just drank out of, and swishing water around the sink, and drying the mug and putting it away instead of leaving it on the side.
‘Manfred von Karma is not here to enforce the rules anymore. So, there is no reason why you should continue to uphold his standard.’
‘But I am a von Karma!’ Franziska’s voice has a bite but Miles can’t miss the undertone of fear, like a cornered dog. ‘von Karmas are perfect in every way! I will be a von Karma until the day I die so I will be perfect until the day I die.’
‘The von Karma legacy is not equated with perfection. Not anymore, anyway.’ Miles hears the hitch in Franziska’s throat. ‘Our father ruined his own legacy with his crimes. You couldn’t do any worse than that, right?’
Somehow, he feels as though he’s finally getting to her. Maybe he’s gotten off track from what he was originally asking of her, but it feels like a proverbial weight has been lifted as he waits for the cold silence to be broken again.
The loud sound that clatters up the line puts a swift end to that hope.
‘Franziska?’ Miles stands up from his desk, confused and concerned and wondering if he went too far. What could that sound have been? After a few seconds, he hears a faint sound of crying. ‘Franziska, what happened? Are you hurt?’
Two memories flash into Miles’ mind. The first is from early into his years in the von Karma household, when he saw Franziska in the kitchen taking her spelling test out of her book bag after school. He watched her stare at the paper with tears in her eyes, ball it up and hurl it at the fridge. Then, she immediately crouched on the floor to find it, smoothed it out with all the care in the world and left it on the table for their father to look at later.
The second memory is from the end of the Matt Engarde trial. When Franziska declared that Miles was no longer a perfect von Karma and stormed out of the defendant’s lobby, she threw her whip on the ground in her anger.
Now, listening to the quiet sobbing over the line, he is sure of what has happened.
‘Franziska, did you just throw your phone at the wall?’
There’s a moment of shuffling and more clatter as she moves around and picks up the phone. ‘It’s not damaged. The phone isn’t damaged. The wall isn’t scratched.’ She says, as if she’s comforting herself in between deep breaths.
‘It’s okay,’ Miles tries to keep his voice level. ‘Nothing bad happens if you find a scratch. Nothing bad happens if you get angry.’
There’s still a whole lot to be resolved, but right now Miles feels like they’re at a checkpoint of sorts. Franziska’s shaky but calmer breathing echoes down the line as she audibly processes the words. ‘Nothing bad happens.’
‘Nothing bad happens.’
They stay silent for a long time, but nobody hangs up. Miles sits down properly at his desk and listens to Franziska walk aimlessly around her apartment, still opening and closing every door neatly as she goes.
Finally, Franziska speaks quietly. ‘I will take you up on your request.’
A smile tugs at Miles’ face despite himself. ‘Very well. I will arrange the private jet and email you the case file.’
‘It is not at all for the benefit of Phoenix Wright. I still think your decision to switch sides is extremely foolish.’
The mention of Phoenix Wright catches Miles off guard, and he’s glad that Franziska can’t see the redness on his face. ‘He knows what to do. I think you will see when you arrive.’
‘Very well,’ Franziska stifles a yawn. Miles had forgotten momentarily about the time difference. Surely his sister is exhausted from this late-night/early-morning conversation and from her outburst, but still he can hear the brave front laid over her voice. ‘Anyway, it will be fun having the opportunity to crush you in court.’
Miles laughs unexpectedly, something he hasn’t done in quite a while. It almost feels like a bad ghost leaving his body. ‘Likewise, sister. Now, get some sleep before your flight.’