Archive of Our Own ^beta

Miles Edgeworth’s ability to have envisioned himself settling back in Los Angeles as Chief Prosecutor was largely reliant on when he would have been asked to imagine it. While he was studying under Manfred von Karma, the title of such a promotion was not nearly as important as the perfection expected of him as a lawyer; Miles didn’t need to aim to become Chief so long as his role as a prosecutor was one that was without delay, penalty, or defeat. It wasn’t as if Manfred von Karma had been Chief Prosecutor himself, thus it hadn’t been a specific goal of Miles either. However, it would have been a lie to say that Miles had never considered the possibility either. 

If Miles had been asked throughout his twenties however, he would have thought the idea impossible. Not with Miles having had to reconsider his entire life in light of the truth about his past, his mentor, and prominent people within the legal system with the former Chief Prosecutor Skye and the Chief of Police. The very thought of Chief Prosecutor was out of the question when Miles was second-guessing what he was doing as a prosecutor at all, especially as the entire legal system seemed to crumble around him. 

But now, in his thirties, the circumstances came together again in such a way that the vision had been within his reach again. Miles had gained international experience, and had grown to be more assured than ever before in his motivation behind being a prosecutor. When the position of Chief Prosecutor was open for him, and the legal system was in desperate need of someone to tackle the dark age of the law that had crept into Los Angeles, Miles knew that he was the person to step up and take on this new stage of his life. 

It seemed that Franziska von Karma also had some thoughts about Miles’s promotion to Chief Prosecutor. He hadn’t been the one to tell her himself, but the news evidently travelled through the legal grapevine rather quickly. Not long after he had been appointed, he received a call from her informing him that she was going to be in Los Angeles promptly, and to be ready for her arrival at the Prosecutor’s Office. 

It was a matter of days after her call, and a week since Miles had officially been active as the new Chief Prosecutor, that he received notice to his office from a staff member of the prosecutor’s building that Franziska von Karma had arrived and was already on her way up to his office. It was a mere few minutes afterwards that Miles heard a firm knock at his door before she opened the door herself. 

“Little brother.” 

Franziska stood in the entryway to his office. Until that sight of her, Miles hadn’t realised just how long it had been since he had seen her last, almost a year at that point. She still wore the same style of clothing, grand and pristine, with her heels and signature whip. Her hair had changed however, its length even shorter than it had ever been, now in a pixie cut, which served to further sharpen her features. Miles had seen her dress up in this style since she was a little girl that sometimes he forgot that she was now well and truly an adult until moments like these reminded him. 

“Franziska,” Miles greeted. He stood from his desk. “Come in. It’s good to see you again.” 

Franziska stepped over the threshold to his office. They had reached a place where he could welcome her, but it wasn’t the norm for either of them to greet much more warmly than that. Where some other people may have joined together in an embrace, or even some sort of handshake, Franziska lingered at the floor of his office. Her eyes roamed his office, taking note of its layout. Miles had already moved his things into the Chief Prosecutor office and kept the decor similar to his old one, with burgundy curtains and cushioning of the same colour on his chairs, his first suit jacket framed and displayed on the wall, and his Steel Samurai figure by the window. The main difference between the old office and this new one was the much larger size, with an additional wall of shelving for case files and documents, the shelves of which reached to the even higher ceiling. There were multiple ladders of various sizes in the room in order to allow for Miles to access each and every one he would need.

The heels of Franziska’s shoes clacked against the wooden floorboards as she walked across to examine the shelves. Miles leaned against his desk as he watched her. “Looks like you’ve already made this office yours,” Franziska commented with a nod. 

If it was one thing they could more often than not agree on, it was their interior aesthetic sense. Miles supposed her comment could have also been her acknowledgement of his suitability of his new position. 

“Have you seen this room much before now?” he asked.

“A number of times,” Franziska said. “The first of which I was quite young, when Papa showed me this office when he gave me a tour of the prosecutor’s building. Then more frequently when I was actively prosecuting here in America for a year.” 

Of course, there had been a time where Franziska had been based here, although that had been when Miles was not. 

There was a pause as Franziska walked along the shelves, her steps approaching the short ladder below her.

“Be careful that you don’t trip over that ladder,” Miles warned her. 

“I am more than capable of having my own spatial awareness, thank you very much,” Franziska replied. Despite her claim, her sidestep around the legs of the ladder did not go unnoticed by Miles. “Besides, that’s a stepladder.” 

“They’re the exact same thing,” Miles said, fighting the urge to sigh. He more than understood by now Franziska’s almost reflex instinct to counter everything he said, but surely she didn’t need to be so excessively pedantic about it. 

“Absolutely not,” Franziska said. She pointed to the other ladder in the room, the tallest one that reached the ceiling. “That one is a ladder.” She then gestured to the smaller one near her feet. “This one is a stepladder. Even one without any sense of observation can tell with a simple glance that these are two different objects.” 

“May I ask what makes the name we refer to the ladder so allegedly distinct?” 

“Are you mocking me Miles Edgeworth, or are you just that much of a fool?” Franziska pointed at the small ladder once again with her whip in hand. “It’s in the very name. This has clear steps in its design, ergo, a stepladder.” 

“All ladders have steps on them,” Miles said. “It’s the very basis of a ladder’s function.” 

“They most certainly do not!” Franziska’s voice raised in disbelief. “Ladders have rungs , which is not the same as an actual flat step to place one’s foot upon when climbing up.”

“If one is still stepping up on rungs to climb up a ladder, then functionally are they not still steps?”

“I believe you’re just arguing against my point for the sheer sake of it.” 

He was the one arguing for the sake of it? When the very discussion originated from her nitpicking? Miles would have laughed if Franziska wasn’t still holding onto her whip. 

“Perhaps we are operating on different definitions here,” Miles suggested instead. “Care to clarify how you define a ladder? And in comparison, a stepladder?” 

Franziska crossed her arms, huffing a breath from her nose. “The framework of a ladder consists of vertical bars, upon which horizontal rungs are evenly placed apart. Ladders are not secure on their own, and rely on its two legs being carefully placed and balanced up against another surface, or attached close to it, like the one at the shelf over there. A stepladder has a secure base of its own, often shorter but not always, and typically opens up to have four legs with proper flat steps.” 

“You claim these are entirely different objects, but I wouldn’t say that it is incorrect to refer to a stepladder as a ladder,” Miles argued. “I agree that a ladder’s structure is made up of vertical bars, and horizontal placements to step upon to reach higher places. The nature of the legs or steps are irrelevant; a stepladder also suits this definition. A stepladder is a type of ladder, much like how a square would be a type of rectangle.” 

“But only a fool would look at a shape with four perfectly equal sides and choose to call it a rectangle rather than a square,” Franziska retorted. “And it’s not as if ‘square’ and ‘rectangle’ can be interchangeably used in both directions.” 

“That doesn’t change that someone who refers to a square as a rectangle would not be incorrect. I don’t think you can prove otherwise that a stepladder is a sub-category of ‘ladder’ in itself,” Miles said. “If I were to apply this concept to something else, say that a lawyer were a ladder-”

“Miles Edgeworth, what are you blathering on about now?”

“Then a prosecutor would be a stepladder,” he continued. “A type of lawyer, a type of ladder. One term is obviously more specific than the other, but the broad one is just as correct. In the same way, becoming a Chief Prosecutor has made me no less of a prosecutor.” 

Franziska frowned. Miles saw the clench of her jaw, no longer hidden behind the curtain of pale blue hair. “I suppose… you make a point there,” Franziska conceded. “I can agree that both terms can be used to refer to the stepladder here, so long as you also agree that they are not the exact same thing as you claimed earlier.” 

“I accept.”

In all honesty, Miles didn’t care about the difference between a ladder and a stepladder, as has been his initial position. But there was something refreshing about getting into a back-and-forth with Franziska once again after a long time. When they had been children, the stakes between their competition had been higher, fighting for approval and being a motivation to come out on top as a prosecutor to carry on a perfect legacy. Now, as two grown adults, both with success and accolades to their name across continents, there was no need for competition to have the meaning it used to. They could afford to argue over something that had no consequence. 

In the pointless debate that they had entered, it occurred to Miles that they had not even discussed the main purpose of her visit. 

“Did you come here merely to look at my new office, Franziska?” Miles asked. 

“Obviously not, although it doesn’t hurt to do that as well,” said Franziska. She walked away from the shelves to stand by Miles at his desk. “I came to confirm your reasons for settling back to Los Angeles in the first place.” 

“My reasons?” 

“Yes. I was under the assumption that residing in Los Angeles long-term again was off the table for you.”

“In the past, perhaps,” Miles said. “But it’s been a long time, and both myself and this city are not the same as they were ten years ago. All that I’ve gained while being away from here is what made me ready to come back. It wasn’t my original plan to become Chief Prosecutor, but it is the one that has fallen into place in time.” 

If they were younger, Miles might have assumed Franziska’s questioning came from a place of comparison, of feeling like Miles had achieved a higher position of authority than herself. But that wasn’t the case now; Franziska’s career thrived internationally, and becoming the Chief Prosecutor in one place was not an aim of hers. She had some other reason for seeing him. 

“This country’s legal system is definitely in need of someone competent to get its act together,” Franziska said. She folded her arms. “If anyone is to do it, you may just have a chance. Even if it means the likelihood of myself going face-to-face against you and keeping you in check is significantly reduced.”

Miles couldn’t keep the corners of his mouth curving into a smile. So that’s what it was. It seemed their silly ladder argument was something she didn’t dislike either. 

“I’m going to miss being further away from you too, Franziska,” he said. 

Franziska’s gaze looked up to meet Miles’s eyes. A moment later, her chin tilted up as well. She pointed at Miles with her whip. 

“You better fix this goddamn city, Miles Edgeworth.”