Author's Note:
So, this is my first piece of fanfiction for the AA franchise. I don't own any part of it, Capcom does, but I hope this oneshot does the series and the character justice.
Please review (favorably!), and thanks for reading!
You've changed.
The reflection spoke to her in the voice of her father.
No, not her father. Instinctively she knew - even hoped - it was her own voice, distorted in her head to sound like the man that had held her captive even long after his death.
Franziska Von Karma was sitting at the edge of the Rose Garden pool in the Allebahstian Embassy. The forensics and policemen had long gone, the flood lights had been turned off. What remained was the unsteady flicker of one of the cursed spotlights that had helped produce the Yatagarasu's shadow earlier; it now bathed the garden in a strange, almost unreal atmosphere.
Franziska was exhausted, physically and mentally. She had finally brought to an end an era of evil woven through many countries and lives. No, she corrected herself, no - it had not been her, and that was why she was staring and wondering at her own reflection between the water lilies that had miraculously survived the fool Butz jumping in and diving in the pool as well as the experiment that had helped prove the true mastermind's guilt. It had been her so-called "little brother" that had put in the final nail into Alba's coffin. Not her, the prodigy, who had sworn to make this a perfect victory over the smuggling ring she had been chasing for so long. But, to be honest with herself - in the heat of the moment, she hadn't even minded. And that was what shocked her so much. She had enjoyed bossing Miles Edgeworth around as her subordinate, yes. Still, when it came to the final confrontation, nothing had mattered more than seeing Alba in prison. She shuddered when she realized that this revelation was against the core principle of the "perfection" her father had taught her: to ensure the perfect victory - and that alone. But no, she had come to see that there was nothing like a perfect victory. Perhaps even nothing like perfection. She saw how her reflection instinctively still recoiled at this thought. And she saw how a ripple, caused by the slight wind that had started to blow, distorted her reflection, curling the bluish hair and turning her frown into a very comical expression.
What had happened? From the moment she'd set foot in America, she had been confronted with obstacles on the path she had chosen for herself - no, that her father, her family name had chosen for her. She had always been in control, first symbolized through her riding crop, then through the whip she still was clutching to her chest. She had been perfect. And then, silently, or not so silently, the control had slipped from her grasp. The spiky-haired Wright in his cheap blue suit. Mia Fey, who was dead but whose power as his mentor extended well from beyond the grave. And finally, her little brother, Miles Edgeworth, the man she had ridiculed when he broke out of the invisible chains her father had bound him with - yet, also the man who had given her back her whip when she had reached her breaking point, back then at the airport. All those people had lived for something that was so different from everything she knew. The truth. She had only known controlled perfection. But the truth wasn't to be controlled. It was something that you could only find when you were ready to accept being - well, being imperfect. And she had never been quite ready for that, even if she had noticed feeling different, back when she had finally faced Miles in court - him as a defense attorney, of all things. The Franziska who was Manfred Von Karma's daughter would've whipped him senseless. But the Franziska of that present had begun to understand. And had begun to assist in this quest, even if she still thought she was of a different species than him. Even if she had still felt that need for control and perfection. Yet - she had started to see that being a prosecutor meant something far more complex, far more...daunting, for lack of a better word, than what she had been taught.
And that's why she had taken the Interpol job. She had hated being treated as inferior by Lang and Shih-na, hated being not "the prodigy" but a coworker; however she had come close to something like a mutual understanding with Lang over the last few weeks, or rather days. Shih-na was a different matter, of course. The woman had betrayed them all, had worked hard to destroy what they had built. The worst for Franziska, though, was the glimpse of a truly empty human being Shih-na had presented. Emotionless, cold, efficient. Exactly the attributes she had revered as a true disciple of the Von Karma tradition and which now had stared out of the agent's reddish eyes, the eyes of the woman who had almost succeeded in destroying...the truth. There was this word again. The reflection in the pool narrowed her eyes.
Strange. That one's own ideals could come back to haunt one in every way possible. First through the downfall of her father, and now, seeing into the soul of someone who had been almost the perfect criminal. That woman hadn't had any emotions, something that Franziska had always striven for, as she had regarded emotions as a hindrance, an unnecessary distraction. She had fought back almost every feeling except her anger that she expressed through use of her whip on the fools that dared cross her. Now? Now she wasn't so sure if emotions weren't rather not unnecessary. She remembered Wright's happiness at having his perky assistant back. Miles' relief when his best friend pulled through after falling from that bridge. Those people who had formed a bond, celebrating after a trial, sometimes even dragging her along, which had made her feel even more an outsider. Perhaps, in that search for the truth, feelings were important? She had allowed herself to be really happy when she saw that justice had been served as Alba and Shih-na were led away by the police. And it was a different kind of happiness than the thing she remembered when she had gotten her guilty verdict in trials back in Germany. That had been a "victory". But this now, this was "justice", she felt. That was why she hadn't minded not being the one to deliver the final blow to Alba and the whole smuggling ring. Why she hadn't minded not being in control of everything. Because being "the prodigy" was not enough. One had to leave room for more, like - something that was not exactly new but unfamiliar - trust in others. And despite some part of her, the Manfred part of her still struggling with the relief that came with allowing to feel something that wasn't "perfect" in any way, she suddenly felt like something had been lifted off her heart.
She touched the surface with one finger, gently distorting the reflection of her face while she created small waves in the cool water.