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Cracking his neck, Gumshoe grunted. The headlights of his car were flickering in the dark, reflecting on the fog from the lake, under the bridge. Chewing his lip, Gumshoe looked out the window; his heart was pounding and he didn’t know why.
He may not be smart, but his gut feelings are always right. Something was wrong at the bridge.
Gumshoe breathed deep, trying to steady himself. It’s gotta be a mugging or somethin’, he thought to himself. Nothing big. Nothing to worry about.
But this time, when he looked out on the bridge, someone was standing at the ledge.
He cursed, his car door swinging open from the kick he’d given it. He lurched out of the vehicle, stumbling on the concrete before righting himself and sprinting to the bridge. A little nagging voice in the back of his head told him that if he startled them, he might scare them and make them fall, but he couldn’t listen. He recognized that thin, lithe figure. He recognized the silver hair, windblown and imperfect as it had never been before.
“M-Mr. Edgeworth…?”
Miles didn’t flinch. His head turned towards the detective, the movement slow and tired. His eyes were blank, lightless. “…Detective.”
Gumshoe stopped a few feet from the other, not willing to risk going and grabbing him. He might not have enough time before…
“Mr. Edgeworth…,” Gumshoe began, steadying himself. He forced his breathing to be calm; he needed to give this his all. “Can you talk to me?”
“About?” Miles replied, no life in his voice.
“A-About… what you’re thinking. Why you’re on the ledge,” Gumshoe urged, voice soft.
Miles was silent for a few moments, the breeze rustling his coat and hair. Gumshoe was surprised he didn’t topple over, with how fragile he looked.
“…My whole life,” Miles began, turning to look out over the churning water far beneath his feet, “I’ve followed his word. I strove for perfection to make him proud, and understood the reasons I was disciplined and learned from it.” He took a deep breath. “Herr von Karma taught me that once you’re in the defendant’s chair, you’re guilty. You deserve to be there, and the guilty verdict is necessary. He was never once wrong.”
“Sir…,” Gumshoe said, “you were in the defendant’s chair, and you were proven innocent.”
“I did not kill Hammond, nor did I kill my father, that is true.”
“So –“
“But that has no bearing on this matter. Even if the defendant didn’t commit the crime in question, they’re there for a reason. The mere presence of them is proof of their guilt.” His chin raised, staring straight ahead. A display of confidence in any other situation. “This is the truth of the matter. There can be no other way.”
Gumshoe’s brows furrowed. “B-Boss, you still believe that…?”
“I have to.”
“Why?”
“Did you know that the prosecutor can have a major say in the sentence the criminal gets?” Miles was statue-still, eerie calm radiating from his voice. “Capital punishment is the mark of a ruthless, determined prosecutor. No one kind would sentence them to death, and those without ice in their hearts would fear those who send the criminals to their death just as much as they would fear the executioner themself. Manfred von Karma always strove for the death sentence.
“He took pride in it. ‘Another pest has been put to justice,’ he would say. ‘Another scourge faces the flames.’ He taught me that no criminal should be left alive, lest they reproduce and create monsters of their own. I believed him. No matter the defendant, whether they be small and frail or tall and strong, I would have them killed in the name of justice. Do you understand what this means?”
Gumshoe, although usually dull, understood immediately. “Y-You mean… You’re…?”
“A killer. A murderer. A monster.” Miles’s voice carried dread. “Herr von Karma was right, as I’d said. Once someone is in the defendant’s chair, they are proven to be guilty, even if they didn’t do the crime in question.”
“Sir, that’s not true!” Gumshoe begged. “You know it’s not right, you know it!”
“So he was lying, hm?”
Gumshoe was taken aback by the matter of fact consideration in the other's voice, but recovered quickly. “Yeah he was! He was a monster!”
“Then let’s take him out of the equation. Say he was wrong, and those in the defendant’s chair really are innocent until proven guilty. Where does that leave me?” Miles was so, so still, and calm as could be.
“I… I don’t follow.”
“Well, people accused of a crime can be innocent, yes?”
Gumshoe furrowed his brow, confused. “Y-Yeah…?”
“Then I urge you to remember those I put to death when I ask again: where does that leave me?” Miles finally turned to look at Gumshoe, giving the detective a small heart attack when Miles shifted his footing so his back was to the ledge.
Gumshoe gulped. The grey of Miles’s eyes, blank and dead, were boring into Gumshoe’s brown ones. “…Sir…”
“In both situations,” Miles continued, “I am guilty. It does not matter which is true.” The wind rose, fluttering Miles’s coat again. Though the other stood tall, almost confident, his face was blank and broken. He had bags under his eyes, and a gaunt shade to his cheeks. Gumshoe had to summon all of his willpower to hold his gaze.
“…That wasn’t you, sir.”
Edgeworth’s brow twitched, the first sign of emotion he’s seen through this entire encounter. “Hm?”
“You mighta given the sentence,” Gumshoe continued, a fire starting in his eyes, “but von Karma was the one who made you!” Miles blinked, opening his mouth to say something, but Gumshoe wasn’t done. “I know what you’re gonna say, boss — that you coulda said no, and that you had the choice, but you didn’t!” He realized he was yelling, and maybe he shouldn’t be, but every ounce of the little hatred he allowed himself, reserved for the one who abused and tortured the man before him, poured into the words without his permission. He was mad.
“He was a cheating, lying, manipulating son of a bitch! He knew you were a kid, and everyone knows that you can manipulate a kid much more easy than adults!”
“Gumshoe –”
“I’m not done!” Gumshoe barked, taking a step forward. He bore his gaze to Miles’s, never taking his eyes away from the utter shock on the other’s face. “He knew he could convince you of anything! He coulda told you the sky was purple and eventually you’d believe it! You believed everyone accused of a crime, every single person, was guilty. You really did think they deserved death. You thought you were – no, you thought he was right. You were a puppet for him!”
Miles was speechless, finally breaking the staring contest he’d initiated to scan his wide eyes over the ground. Gumshoe stepped forward again, and his voice softened as the hatred was exhausted.
“He used you, sir.” Gumshoe reached out and took Miles’s hand, and the other was too stunned to fight. “No one coulda made it out of that without having a few shitty ideas drilled into their head. You believed him. Plus, I saw how you were after you lost that first trial!” Miles’s fingers twitched, and Gumshoe tightened his grip. “You were pale as a damn sheet! You were terrified of him, right?! Look me in the eyes and tell me you weren’t!”
Miles’s wide eyes looked up and met Gumshoe’s. The hand the detective held was shaking, shuddering like a leaf. “I-I…” Gumshoe nodded, urging him to speak. Miles tried to start a sentence multiple times, his mouth opening and closing, his breathing becoming desperate. “…I…,” he tried, voice muted and whispery, “…was.”
Gumshoe nodded, remaining silent. Miles’s eyes brimmed with tears, fingers suddenly grasping Gumshoe's hand like a bird's feet on a branch in a storm.
“I was terrified,” Miles whispered. “He’d always told me that I was worthless, that I was nothing but the mutt between the idiot attorney who’d humiliated him and a dead woman who’d never wanted me.” Hot tears dropped from glassy grey eyes onto their joined hands. “He — Franziska didn’t get that whip on her own. Herr von Karma — he — Ich hatte solche ängstlich, Ich hatte solche angst - er würde mich verletzen, er würde schreien wenn Ich weinte—”
The detective let go of the rambling prosecutor’s hand and pulled him off the ledge, wrapping his arms tight around him. Miles didn’t even struggle — just buried his face into Gumshoe’s jacket and let out a choked, ragged sob. Gumshoe swayed back and forth, his grip never loosening, holding Miles while he quietly cried, mourning the childhood that was stolen from him. The prosecutor’s hand was fisted into Gumshoe’s coat, gripping the stained fabric like a child.
Eventually, after who knows how long, Miles’s silent sobs settled into little hiccups and whimpers. Gumshoe’s hand moved to stroke Miles’s hair.
(This wasn’t the first time Miles had cried to Gumshoe: an earthquake had hit while meeting with the detective in his office shortly after they’d met. Gumshoe was first-hand witness to one of Miles’s panic attacks, and he’s never forgotten the scared little boy the prosecutor became when faced with his past.)
Finally, Miles spoke, his face still buried in Gumshoe’s jacket. “I… I don’t want to be a monster.”
Gumshoe hummed. “Good. I’d be worried if you did.” He could feel Miles smile, a little chuckle escaping him.
“I want to be a good prosecutor. I just… don’t know what it means.”
Gumshoe smiled. “There’s never been a mystery you couldn’t solve, boss.” He buried his nose into Miles’s hair, uncaring of the intimacy. “You could investigate.”
Silence fell again, neither wanting to pull away. They remained comfortably quiet, Miles’s breathing becoming steady and slow. He’s exhausted, Gumshoe thought to himself. …But… I can’t let him go home on his own in this state.
“Hey, Boss,” Gumshoe murmured, “let’s go back to my place, yeah?”
He could feel Miles’s nose crinkle in disgust. “I’ve been to your house, Gumshoe,” Miles said. “It’s disgusting. I’m not going there.”
“But —”
“…Let’s go to mine.” Gumshoe barely heard the quiet, sleepy murmur. His heart skipped a beat; he could…?
“...O-Of course, pal. Let’s go.”