AN: Er, I've been wanting to write a Miles/Franziska story for quite some time now, because I love the pairing. Pretty much my interpretation of their relationship during T&T, and how it starts to evolve.

Fact: the Japanese creators of Phoenix Wright stated that the English version takes place in Los Angeles (although, really, LA has no snowy mountain peaks, canyons with rushing rivers or lakes...).

The title is taken from the poem "Zero Circle" by the Sufi poet Rumi, whose work I absolutely love. It seemed quite fitting, and I've included two lines of it here.

I own none of Phoenix Wright, or its affiliates, however much I may wish to.

Enjoy!

Zero Circle

Be helpless, dumbfounded

Unable to say yes or no.

Then a stretcher will come from grace

to gather us up.

It's been two months since she flew from Germany back to Los Angeles, to prosecute against none other than Mr. Miles Edgeworth. Receiving the call at about 4 in the morning, she had wasted no time at all in getting packed and buying her ticket on the next flight to LA. No hesitation, just like papa had always said.

Franziska Von Karma sat, smiling to herself as she imagined crushing Miles underneath her iron will, on the airplane, in a window seat, sipping a club soda because according to the flight stewardess, she was "underage" and prohibited from alcohol consumption. Being a prosecutor, and knowing the law, she had assumed this to be the case, but she had felt very much like celebrating, and had asked anyway.

Looking out the window at the clouds, she had thought back to the last time she had seen Miles, and felt ashamed. Crying was something she had never allowed herself to do in the presence of others. She couldn't quite remember the last time she had cried, actually, but convinced herself there must have been at least one time before last year. Even she would think herself pitifully foolish and unfeeling to have never cried before she turned eighteen.

She had burst into tears, sobbing, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, stammering out a vow to never relent in her pursuit of success, of becoming the best. His words had triggered something in her she had never felt: absolute terror. She couldn't think why, but something him telling her that this would be where they parted ways, if she was giving up, had made her crack.

Sniffling, and wiping her eyes a few moments after, she had muttered something about catching her flight, and about how foolish she was to cry.

"No," he had said, and then wrapped his arms around her in a brief hug, "It wasn't foolish."

He had left then, not even saying goodbye, although she knew he hadn't felt the need. They'd meet again, of course.

But, still...She cannot remember ever crying like that. Feeling so lost. Searching her sharp memory, she frowned in thought.

'Ah, yes,' she recalls, reaching under her seat for her carry-on briefcase, 'It was when he left.'

And it all comes back to Miles Edgeworth, in the end, she realizes, unlocking the case and taking out the printed case file she had been faxed this morning from Mile's apartment in London.

He's the root of her problems.

She can't ever put her finger on why she feels it necessary to associate herself with him (after all, he's a grown man, and despite their acquaintance, they have no reasons to speak). She thinks it is because she considers him her only friend, although she would never think to say this to him out loud. Ever. She feels an inescapable attachment to him, from the very moment he stepped through the polished wooden doors of the Von Karma estate in Germany. She remembers distinctly looking up at him, a small boy of age nine, and feeling his eyes, sad and gray, stare at her from underneath gray bangs. From this moment on, she has felt a need to be near him, perhaps using the excuse that he is her "little brother". She has to look out for him, because he really is hopeless, after all. But is that really why?

She pulls out of her reverie, forcing herself into the present. She doesn't want to question her motives regarding Miles Edgeworth.

Focusing instead on the work at hand, she glares daggers into the scanned papers on her lap, analyzing every aspect of this case. She must be prepared, after all.

And then the trial was over, and he was standing at the defendant's desk. He's thanking her, in fact.

"You make a wonderful partner."

She's so angry at him, for tricking her into helping that insufferable Phoenix Wright, furious at him for not telling her this before.

She whips that foolish fool of a witness, that artist, and then heads straight for the defense lobby, fuming. He's sitting on the bench near that ugly plant she's always hated, looking relieved, when he spots her coming toward him, and his face stiffens. He looks ready to bolt. She saunters up, hands on her hips and glares at him. He looks almost guilty, and she resists the strong urge to punch him.

"Franziska, I--" he starts, but then stops. "I realize...you hate me. But, this...I wanted to try, and make it up to...I wanted to apologize, but...You know I'm no good with that. So, I--"

And her heart gives a terrible lurch, and it's just like a year ago, when he made her cry.

If anything, she knows Miles Edgeworth better than others do. But now, she feels like an idiot, for not having seen this the instant he spoke to her just a few minutes ago.

"Miles," she whispers, and she feels like crying again, but she forces herself not to. "You...this means we're equals, then?"

He nods, slowly.

"After that day...in the airport, I've been thinking. And, I think I realized that you've been in my shadow. I was unaware of that, until recently. You insisted on calling me your biggest rival, on hating me...But, I don't hate you, Franziska. You and I are one and the same. I knew I could count on you to come here, and put up a good argument, until we could get to the bottom of this, and let the trial go for another day. Then Wright can take over, you see?"

She sits down next to him, the leather seat sighing beneath her as she shifts and leans her head on his shoulder.

"I do not blame you for what happened to my father. You have no reason to feel guilt...He was the one who was guilty. You have nothing to feel horrible about, so stop acting so foolish."

He's silent, and she takes this as a cue that he does feels guilty about it. He looks at her, as if staring at her long enough will reveal she's telling the truth. Seeming satisfied, he gives her a small smile. Standing, he holds out his hand to her, and she takes it, stepping up, and standing on tip-toe to whisper in his ear.

"Thank you...Miles."

He looks at her, almost shocked, and then reaches out, and ruffles her hair.

She suddenly remembers when they were children, and he would reach across the table in the study, and muss her hair, then smile. She would always get angry, but secretly, she would be just as pleased as he was. Everything is going to be alright.

She knows it's not true, it's never true, but this gesture from the man she has loved as a brother, then hated as an enemy tells her that he wants things to change between them.

"So..." she asks, running a hand through her hair to straighten it, "Where are we headed now?"

He raises an eyebrow, thinking.

"I suppose to visit Wright and inform him of today's trial. And then, to the temple and the crime scene. Maya is trapped there, after all. I have errands to run as well, but...I would like to see the temple again, and see if she's alright. Perhaps...You'd like to accompany me?"

Franziska nods, linking arms with him. "I suppose I could. It would be better than going back to my hotel room."

He smiles. "Well, then, let's get going, Little Miss Prosecutor."

For this, she feels no guilt in hitting him, hard, on the arm.

She doesn't quite know what the future will hold. She's never been so uncertain of anything. But at the same time, she knows she can rely on one constant thing, and that is Miles Edgeworth. After all, everything circles back to him, eventually. And that is something she can take comfort in.

So let us rather not be sure of anything,

Beside ourselves, and only that, so

Miraculous beings come running to help.

Crazed, lying in a zero circle, mute,

We shall be saying finally,

With tremendous eloquence, Lead Us.

When we have totally surrendered to that beauty,

We shall be a mighty kindness.