Quicksand

(Okay, here it is, the final chapter! Thank you all for reading and sticking with me, and I hope you've enjoyed this.
Oh, and by the way, I noticed that the editor has been screwing up my uploads. (a little too late, huh) When I get a chance, I'll be going back to put my section dividers back in and changeall the flash-backs to boldface. no wonder you guys have been thrown by the transitions! I didn't know it was doing that.
Anyway, see you all again soon! Hope to read some final comments!)

"…I'm here to see Mr. von Karma…"

The guard looked rather stunned and a bit unsure. It was no surprise that the news of his trial wasn't exactly obscure, but the twenty-four-year-old prosecutor felt no obligation to explain his reasoning. Regardless of how confused this man was, he had no excuse not to let the prosecutor through for a visit; they'd be separated by Plexiglas…

….No harm could be done…

Hah! What a shallow assumption… but here he was, asking for the emotional torment…

"Well, are you going to do your job, or shall I remember that dumb look on your face during your next salary review!"

The guard cringed and jumped up. "O-Of course, Mr. Edgeworth. Right away, Sir!" With that, he went running to alert Manfred of his visitor and then returned to permit Miles to enter the visitation area of the state prison.

As the young prosecutor followed the prison official into the secluded room, he felt his heart pounding somewhere in the region of his temples. He hadn't questioned once why he was doing this to himself, and even at this moment, he still did not wonder. It was like a necessity, a commanding pull that could not be second-guessed.

And there he stood, looking so unfamiliar without all the rich, fancy, expensive clothing. Of course, even in the prison uniform, he managed to maintain that powerful air about him, and the unbreakable barrier between them did little to quell the fear within the youngest man in the room. His insides were twisting, but outwardly, he looked calm and stoic, showing no signs that he was holding in a breakdown.

"You may leave…" Miles said to the guard, though his gaze was currently resting on some point above von Karma's head; he could never look the man in the eyes.

"Mr. Edgeworth, procedure states that~"

"I said leave!" At this point, he turned to the other man, eyes flashing dangerously as he barked this harsh order. He had a lot of respect from those who didn't really know him, and thanks to that, his vicious exterior was more than enough to get him what he wanted.

Within moments, the two of them were alone.

Slowly, Miles turned back to the window, and the first thing he saw was that smirk. It was as if nothing had changed, and though he was the one on the outside, he did not have the upper-hand from the very start of this encounter.

"What are you doing here, Boy?" questioned the German man in his deep, intimidating voice, staring down his apprentice with no lost luster, regardless of the fact that he was being visited in prison.

It was now that Miles finally dropped the façade. His chin dropped, his lip quivered, and he gripped his arm for some false sense of security. "…how could you do this to me….?" His voice was just a tremulous whisper, promising tears. His heart was back in his ribcage now, and it was being squeezed so tightly that the pain was making its way up into his throat and down into his stomach. He felt positively sick, a feeling that had hardly left him over the past few days. He'd barely slept or eaten, and what he had consumed had quickly found its way back up. How he was up and walking around was probably a physiological anomaly.

What he got in response to such a question was a hearty laugh from the older man, and it made him feel like falling to his knees. "Pathetic child!" Manfred exclaimed, getting that same rush out of the control he still had, even after everything that had been happening since Christmas Eve. "Is this really why you came here today, to ask me such a ridiculous question? How could I do this? Hah! Have you really managed to convince yourself that I EVER had ANY regard for you at all?"

Logically, Miles had always known that Manfred had hated him, but some desperate part of his psyche – perhaps in an attempt to preserve what little sanity he had left – had tried to believe there was some human emotion present, some miniscule amount of compassion, or even just the sentimental attachment one would have to a pet or possession. So, as Manfred spoke, it felt like a knife was moving in and out of him. He wished his heart would stop beating, for the stabbing seemed to be its rhythm.

The tears were flowing now, and though his bangs were doing a fair job at hiding them, Manfred knew him well enough to know. The veteran prosecutor laughed again, a dark, satisfied chuckle at how easy these victories had become. "It is almost… disappointing," he mused, smirking as he watched his student – a grown man – stand on the other side of that window and silently weep. "On some level, I almost expected some courage out of you. I thought – perhaps – you would march in here with your head held high and pretend to stand up to me now that I cannot reach you. I thought I might see your anger, but no…"

"No… What I see before me is the broken little toy I discarded, desperate to be wanted again."

Miles choked on a sob and raised his head, a shocked look on his tear-streaked face. He was now shaking, so destroyed that he didn't even need the threat of physical harm to be tortured.

"Even after learning the truth, you wish it had been overlooked, don't you?" Manfred continued, getting quite a bit of enjoyment out of this, as usual. "You want things to be the way they were. You wish I would walk out of that barred door and lead you back home, punish you for leaving the house without my permission the night you were arrested."

Miles cringed and closed his eyes tightly, his fingers digging into his arm so hard that he was sure he'd bruise himself. No! No, it wasn't true! He didn't ever want anyone to touch him again, especially not this fiend! He was free now, and he liked it that way!

Another dark chuckle. "You love the pain. You've always loved it, haven't you? You're nothing but a filthy whore, and that is all you will ever be."

A particularly sharp sob shook the younger man, and he turned slightly, covering his face with one hand while the other grasped at his cravat, crinkling up the previously neat lace fabric. "N-no! No… that's not true…"

"It isn't, you say?" Manfred inquired, placing his hand upon the ledge of the window on his side. "Then tell me, Miles, why are you standing here weeping like a helpless infant? Come now, it's just the two of us, after all. Admit it: you need me. You don't even care about what I've done. You need me."

"No!" It was a surprise that no one could hear him shouting now, but as far as Miles' tortured mind was concerned, they were the only two that existed. "I hate you!" he snarled through his tears, punching the Plexiglas and pushing his fist against it, straining against the anguish and stress. "I've always hated you! You deserve to be where you are now! I hate you for what you did to my father, for everything you've done to me! If it were up to me, I would be the one administering the injection and enjoying every second of it!"

"…Step back."

Miles' outburst had not had any effect on the older man, but those two words, spoken so calmly and quietly compared to his own, had an unbelievable impact on the young prosecutor. Miles seemed to deflate entirely, and after only a moment's hesitation, he took a step away from the window, uncurling that fist to place his hand over his eyes once more, jerking with more sobs, his face and bangs wet with tears.

"Let me see it, Miles." He knew that Miles was fully aware of what he was referring to, and he also knew it was present. He was calling the young man's bluff with complete confidence, and he was absolutely correct.

Barely able to see through the moisture fogging his vision, Miles raised his chin slowly, reaching up with a trembling hand to draw down his cravat, revealing the black leather collar he had never even removed. His mentor's betrayal had hurt so badly, but his emotional sickness had outweighed all natural behavior once again. As angry as he wanted to be, he couldn't even control his own emotions; he was grieving over being set free.

"Now, how many times have I told you never to lie to me?" Manfred's gaze was fixed on Miles, that lust for control and power still present and being fulfilled. "Tell me the truth. You need me, don't you?"

"…yes, Master…"

"You crave the pain, don't you?"

"…yes, Master…"

"Say it: you are nothing but a worthless whore!"

"…I'm… just a worthless whore..."

"You are nothing without me!"

"I… am… nothing without you…"

"You are just a hollow shell, a pathetic slave, a broken toy."

"…just a hollow shell… a s-slave… a b-broken toy…"

That dark, amused and satisfied laugh reached his ears again, an evil grin resting on the lips of the veteran prosecutor. "And tell me, Miles… To whom do you belong?"

"…I belong... to you… Master…"

"Very good. Now, get out of my sight, diseased mutt. I have no further use for you!"

"Master… please… d-don't…"

"I told you to leave, wretch! Do not disobey your master!"

ooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Miles. My love… wake up..."

"Mmph..." He shifted slightly as he began to awaken, immediately noticing the stiffness in his joints. Well, that was what he got for falling asleep on the airplane; even the comfortable business class seats didn't make very comfortable beds. He groaned and opened his eyes, reaching up to rub the sleep from them and then looking up to see Franziska gazing back at him, smiling in hopes of making his awakening more pleasant.

"We are about to land," she informed him in a soft voice, knowing he was still groggy. "You can go back to sleep when we get home."

Miles closed his eyes for a moment, stretching a little to try and loosen up his body and attain a proper sitting position. He didn't speak, his mind a bit hazy from having just regained consciousness and reeling from the memory he had just relived. He could feel Franziska watching him, and he could envision the concerned look on her face; he wondered if she'd ever stop worrying about him now that the truth had all come out.

"Miles, what were you dreaming about?"

Inwardly, he flinched, but he had no visible reaction to her question. "…I don't remember," he lied, and whether she believed him or not, she did not ask any more questions. In truth, she doubted his words, but she wouldn't push him. He'd talk to her if he wanted to.

Exiting the plane, picking up their luggage, and heading back home in a cab felt like an automatic process to both of them, for they had both traveled a lot in the last several years. They did not speak to one another the entire time, and Franziska told herself that was just because they were both exhausted from the trip and everything that had happened while in Germany. This seemed the most logical reason, but there was always that nagging fear that her love was not all right.

Though Miles wanted to go straight to bed when they arrived home, he forced himself to unpack first. Franziska was with him the entire time, unloading her own suitcase and putting everything right back to the way it was supposed to be; they were certainly not the type to procrastinate and leave the house in disarray after their trip. However, when this was done, Miles climbed onto their bed, lying down on his back with a heavy sigh.

The German woman stood there watching him for a short while, and then moved to join him, sitting on the mattress beside him and peering down upon him.

It was… eerie. As she watched him lying there with his eyes closed and muscles limp, she couldn't help but recall the horrors she had seen. It was like looking back in time now, seeing the adolescent version of her lover lying tired and battered upon their bed, as if it were the desk in her father's study. It made her sick to her stomach, and she tried to blink the image away, glad that he wasn't looking at her to see this display.

She supposed he wasn't the only one who had been scarred by all of this, though she wouldn't dare compare her own pain to his. How he was still sane was beyond her.

"…I never wanted you to know about any of this…" Miles suddenly muttered, keeping his eyes shut as he spoke to her. "I'm actually surprised… at how well you're taking this…"

Franziska bit her lip, once more grateful he couldn't see her. "I will not lie to you, Miles Edgeworth," she began. "It does bother me, but what am I to do?" She moved her hand, placing it upon his that was gripping the collar of his shirt. "Knowing the history between you and my father does… disturb me, but what sort of person would I be if… my love for you was so conditional that I could forget what we have in light of this knowledge?"

It was then that Miles decided to open his eyes, staring up at her silently. It wasn't as if he had doubted her affection for him; he had just expected things to become… awkward once all the danger had finally passed. That negative voice in his head had been telling him that she'd decide to end this just on principle, feeling that being intimate with a man that had been what he was to her father to be just too inappropriate.

"Miles…" Carefully, she moved over him, straddling his lap and placing one hand on the bed beside him, while the other reached up to brush his bangs out of his face affectionately. "I've always cared for you on some level, and now I am in love with you. Finding out about what was happening back then does not suddenly change who we are… We have some recovering to do, but we will make it through this."

Miles listened to her speaking, and when she was finished, he felt a small smile make its way onto his lips, showing his relief. "It's good to hear you say that, Franziska… I love you, and… just to clarify… this has nothing to do with what happened back then… I'm ill… but not that ill…"

Franziska mirrored his smile, and she gave a small laugh. "I never even suspected anything like that," she assured him. "And even if I had, I don't think it would have mattered. You know how stubborn I am; I do not give up on things so easily. You are stuck with me, Miles Edgeworth!"

This time, he managed a laugh as well, closing his eyes and resting his cheek against her hand. "Good… I wouldn't have it any other way…"

Franziska felt a little relief of her own come over her as she looked down to see her lover as he was now. Seeing that smile, there was no way she could mistake him for who he had apparently once been. She inwardly scolded herself, for not even back then had she known him as that weak, helpless young man. She had only seen that man in videos, had never met him in real life. So, how then had she ever made that mistake? How foolish of her! It would certainly never happen again!

With a content sigh, she let her weight rest upon him, and in response, his arms curled around her waist. She rested her head snugly against his chest, more than ready to get some much-needed rest and relaxation after the fiasco they had just endured.

Miles opened his eyes once more, just silently watching his young lover as she slowly began to drift to sleep on him. Any psychologist would have immediately proclaimed that he had taken to her because of her father, that he had seen her as the best replacement for the contact he'd lost. However, he would deny that to his dying breath. He could honestly say that he had never seen that vile man within her, even though she portrayed some of his characteristics and attitude. No, their relationship had nothing to do with his nine-year-long imprisonment. Their relationship was a healthy one, composed of two people in a loving partnership. Perhaps his hesitance to trust anyone had made her the number one candidate to get close to, considering he'd known her since he was ten years old, but that was the only connection he could make, and he saw nothing wrong with it.

So now it was time to pull himself together again, to truly recover and put it all to rest. He was sure these memories would haunt him for quite some time. He was sure he had not shed the final batch of tears over this. He knew that recording was still going to earn him plenty of odd stares and uneasiness from co-workers and anyone else who had seen it. He knew he still had baggage to deal with.

Still, Amelinda was headed to prison, along with her most recent accomplice, Ewald Astor. All the recordings had been found and disposed of properly. Manfred had been dead for two years, and Miles had broken the hold that spirit had had over him. He couldn't say for sure it was all over yet, but he decided to remain optimistic, determined to finally get back to his own life and live it normally… the way he wanted to…

"O-oh! Mr. Edgeworth, you're… uh… back…"

The gray-haired prosecutor frowned at the scruffy detective staring awkwardly at him, his gaze calm and cold as he folded his arms across his chest and held his chin up. "Is something the matter, Detective? Did someone suggest my absence would be permanent?"

Gumshoe gave a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his head and averting his gaze. "Well, no, Sir, but um…"

Miles' gaze turned into a glare, and it had lost no power during his absence. "Stop acting like such an imbecile, Detective. I recommend – for your sake – that you stop looking at me like that and get to work! I have not returned with the intention of being gawked at!"

Gumshoe flinched, a little surprised at how the prosecutor's behavior had not seemed to change at all after what everyone had seen. It was… sort of commendable, really! "Y-yes, Sir! Of course, Sir! What do you need, Sir!"

"Hm…" Miles' harsh gaze became a satisfied half-smirk. "The autopsy report. I trust you have it?"

"Yes, Sir!" Gumshoe produced the manila envelope, handing it over with a bit of pride. Miles noted that – at least with this man – his strategy was working. There was no way to erase what had happened, but if he exerted his power, acted confident, and reinforced the demand for respect he had earned before this had all started, he felt he could fix his reputation.

He told himself he wasn't going to address it, but not everyone was as shy about it as Gumshoe.

"I need this faxed over to the precinct and the D.A.'s office immediately."

The woman with short black hair he spoke to gave him a strange look, and then gave a scoffing laugh and muttered something to herself as she took the file out of his hands. Miles felt a surge of anger, but he did his best to keep it at a controlled level.

"I'm… quite sorry, Mrs. Keith, but I'm afraid I didn't catch your remark?" he said, his voice casual and polite on the surface, but his true intention of the comment was not a mystery to anyone.

"I didn't expect to see your face around here again," came the cross voice of the middle-aged woman, though she now had her back turned to him as she worked the fax machine.

"Is that so?" Miles inquired, quirking an eyebrow. "And why might that be, if you don't mind me asking?" Oh, he knew the answer, but he was sort of daring her to say it.

She snorted with laughter, her response spoken in a rather haughty tone. "Are you serious? We all saw it, Edgeworth. I'm sure the state doesn't want to put a prosecutor behind the bench that no criminal will ever be afraid of again."

Miles gripped the sleeves of his jacket as he stood there with his arms crossed, feeling the tension build up. Did this woman not realize that she still worked for him? Did she have so little respect left that she thought she could speak to him this way and get away with it? "I… beg your pardon, but I don't believe this conversation is either civil or appropriate for the workplace." He wouldn't lose his tact here, but he wouldn't back down either.

The secretary turned to face him again, walking to her desk and slamming the file folder down upon it. "Not appropriate?" she repeated icily. "You know, we always had our suspicions about you: the way you dress, how you never even seem to look at a woman, the way your office is decorated. Could you be any more flamboyant? And now this!" She sneered at him, not even pretending to be civil. "You're such an attention whore, I bet you put that video out there yourself. You'd better hope none of the people you prosecute are gay as well; they'd probably remember jacking off to it."

There were so many ways he could have reacted to this, and most of them involved shouting, lashing out. For a brief moment, he thought he'd lose it with this bitch, but he was saved by another female voice from behind him.

"Edgeworth."

He turned quickly to see Chief Prosecutor Lana Skye coming down the hallway, and from the distance she was at, he was fairly certain she had not heard their exchange. "…Chief Skye," he responded, returning the usual greeting of the other's name.

"I thought I felt a chill," the brunette prosecutor commented. "I see you and Ms. Von Karma have returned after all. I trust your personal business has been dealt with."

Miles paused, and then nodded. "Of course. I wouldn't have returned otherwise."

Lana nodded curtly. "As I expected, and I see you've gotten straight to work already."

Now, a bit of a smirk appeared on Miles' lips, and he turned to the black-haired secretary before speaking. "Oh, I was simply about to thank Mrs. Keith for faxing those documents for me. Now, Mrs. Keith, if you would be so kind as to have this office space cleared out by the end of the day, that would be most appreciated. We really do need it for someone who knows how to behave like a mature adult in the workplace, and who is aware that one should really show respect to one's superiors if one intends to keep their job."

The look on the woman's face was priceless, and with a triumphant little laugh and his head held high, Miles turned and walked away, past Chief Skye and back toward his own office. He would not be treated in such a way, nor would he let her biting words get to him. If he really had to re-earn the respect he'd once had around here, then so be it.

When he reached his office, he closed the door behind himself and gave a sigh, hoping that was enough throwing his weight around for one day. He'd just stay in here until it was time to return home, and then be recharged for more of it tomorrow.

"Only a few hours left, Love."

He jumped a little at the sound of her voice, and then quickly calmed down as he looked up to see Franziska sitting on the couch in his office, hands folded in her lap and legs crossed neatly. She gave him that little smile of hers, and that was all it took to allow him to return it. He moved toward her, taking a seat on the couch beside her and leaning back against the cushions.

"It's like starting over again…" he muttered, closing his eyes to rest for a moment. "It's as if I've just arrived here in Los Angeles for the first time and I have to prove to everyone I'm not a child."

He felt her shift a little beside him, and then felt her hand against his chest and her lips on his cheek. "You have a lot more evidence to prove that now, though," she pointed out. "You have the record to prove you are a great prosecutor, and you are in charge of most of the office. All you really have to do is remind everyone of that."

"Mm…" he muttered, acknowledging her comment before he spoke. "But last time… I had the advantage of association." He wanted to bang his head against a wall as soon as he'd said it, but luckily, Franziska did him the favor of turning this into a light-hearted situation, not making any mention of the reference.

"Hmph! You seem to be forgetting about me, Miles Edgeworth," she stated, leaning back a little to look at him. "I'll have you know that my whip has tasted flesh several times already, and I can never get enough of the shocked looks on their faces when it occurs to them that we are a team!"

Miles opened his eyes to look up at her. He stared for a moment, and then laughed, leaning up to kiss her on the cheek and pull her into an embrace. "I should've known," he said with a wry grin. "Well, with the all-powerful and terrifying Franziska von Karma on my side, there's no way I can fail."

"You're a smart man to realize that, Miles Edgeworth," she replied, and underneath the haughty tone was an affectionate purr as she reached up to stroke his cheek with her gloved fingers. As she peered up at him, her eyes shone with happiness, and it sent all the stress and tension fleeing from his body and mind.

No, they weren't out of the swamp just yet, but he could see the edge ahead of them. The worst of it was over. His panicked struggle had nearly cost him his life, but with a little help and support, her guidance and calming touch, he had been able to climb out before the Quicksand could finally drag him under.

oooooooooooooooooooo

"Leave your mark under my skin
Oh my, how strong you are
And feast your eyes on my disdain
And hope this one won't scar

I will never belong to you again
I will never belong to you

Push if you still need my pain
'Cause I will never tell
And scream if you still hate my name
'Cause I'll be where I fell

Come sit close to me
Let me feel your breath
Come sit close to me
Hands around my neck
Come sit close to me

I will never belong to you again

If I decide that I am alive
Then I'm diseased and ungrateful
And if I confide that I am a liar
Then I'm diseased and ungrateful

Push it in
'Til it breaks
If it bleeds
Then I'll be okay

If I decide that I am alive
Then I'm diseased and ungrateful
And if I confide that I am a liar
Then I'm diseased and ungrateful

Come sit close to me"

-Seether "Diseased"