AN: So… this is the magical sequel to my 1st fic, Imperfectionist that I've been talking about for about a year and finally finished. The idea has been changed about 10 times. This is the winning idea. It's about 3 times longer than the original. Yeah.
So, this fic includes a lot of flashbacks to Imperfectionist, and the poem The Courage That My Mother Had by Edna St. Vincent Millay.
Ok, scavenger hunt time! In the fic, I included: An OC from another one of my fics, one of Manfred von Karma's only lines in AAI (though it's said by someone else…), one flashback that, although it is in the same format as all the other Imperfectionist flashbacks, is not from the original fic, and some random inside jokes that very few of you will get.
Disclaimer: I don't own the poem used at the end of this fic. I don't own Franziska von Karma, Miles Edgeworth, Manfred von Karma, or the mentioned in passing (though not by name) Gregory Edgeworth, Dick Gumshoe, Byrne Faraday, Kay Faraday, or Mack Rell. I only own the OC's. And yes, that includes the judge, the random cab driver, franziska's mother, the bailiff, the defendant, the detective, and the defense attorney who I was too lazy to name and will from now on be known only as 'the judge', 'the cab driver', "her mother', 'the bailiff, 'the defendant', 'the detective', and 'the foolish defense attorney'. K? K.
Happy reading!
Franziska von Karma held the long piece of leather tightly in her hands, palms facing upwards, so that the tips hung over, just barely touching the ground. The whip had been a gift from her papa. It wasn't a congratulations gift. It wasn't an "I'm so proud to call you my daughter" gift. It wasn't even a gift for her birthday (Which he had forgotten. Again.). He had just marched into her room the morning of his departure for America and handed it to her as she stared back, stunned.
"If you lose your first case, Franziska, you will never be taken seriously as a prosecutor," he had said. "You are going to receive enough ridicule as it is, you standing in a courtroom at your age." He stared down at her, and she nodded back. She knew better than to take it as a compliment. It wasn't.
"It will not do to simply tell people you are a von Karma. You must show them." As if on cue, Franziska grasped the whip in one hand and thrust her arm forward, watching in silent awe as the energy traveled through her arm and into the whip, causing it to curl and snap with a loud CRACK! at the end against the wall. There came a crash from the room next door and she smirked. Fool.
Manfred nodded curtly and strode out of the room, closing the door behind him with a slam. No wishes of luck. No apologies for choosing to go to America to help Miles Edgeworth with his first case over watching his own daughter's. Not even a simple 'goodbye.' Nothing.
Not that she should have expected anything.
Now, exactly 49 hours and 17 minutes later, she stood in the same room, staring at her reflection in the mirror, her eyes darting down to the whip in her hands every 2 seconds. She began to pull her hands away from the center, farther and farther away along the length of the leather until she couldn't stretch her arms any farther. She couldn't reach the ends. It felt… odd. Her old riding crop was barely even ¼ the length of this. She was at a whole new level now.
"Miss von Karma?" Herr Abendroth, a worker for her papa for as long as she could remember, knocked quietly on her door. "The cab is here for you."
She cracked her whip in response. There was a pause, then she heard quiet footsteps leaving. She knew he felt sorry for her, but there was nothing he could do.
She looked out the window. There was, indeed, a cab waiting outside for her, waiting to take her to the courthouse. Alone. Suddenly, she felt angry. More angry than she had ever felt before in her life. In one swift movement, she chucked the whip across the room where it hit the wall and crumbled down in the corner. A strangled sob left her throat as she snatched up the riding crop from her desk, along with the case files, and prepared to storm out of her room dramatically. As her hand grasped the doorknob, she turned automatically, like she did every single day, and stared back into the room. Back into the corner, through the slightly open double doors that led to her closet, and into the back corner of the bottom shelf at the object she hadn't touched in 7 years. No one else knew it was there. Everyone else thought it was long gone.
They were wrong.
In five long strides she crossed the room and reached back into the corner, retrieving the gold and blue broach she had rescued from the branches of a bush that night seven years ago. That night that still brought tears to her eyes.
"What's this? A gift from your mother?" Manfred laughed. "No such object will be allowed it this household!"
…
"You're as worthless as she was! You'll always be like her! Imperfect! That word does not exist in this house!"
She didn't attempt to put it on. She wrapped her fingers around it and, after a brief moment of hesitation, walked out the door.
Why did it always have to rain when what she needed most was something to cheer her up?
Franziska sat, slumped, in the back of a taxi cab, watching as the drops of rain on the window slid down slowly, absentmindedly stroking the blue glass of the broach, wiping dust and who knows what else from the surface in the process. She knew she should probably be reviewing the case notes in her lap, but there was no point. She had every detail memorized, and she was too lost in thought to focus anyway. She broach… the rain… it all brought back memories. Memories she had tried to keep hidden for years.
Her mother turned to her, tears in her eyes. "Franziska, I want you to have something..."
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a broach. It was in the shape of a triangle; light blue and trimmed with gold. It was the most beautiful thing Franziska had ever seen. She handed it to Franziska who could only stare back in horror, speechless. She knew what her mother was going to do, and she had to stop her! She couldn't! She... she wouldn't!
"M...mother..." Franziska managed to choke out.
Her mother smoothed her hair. "Goodbye Franziska..." She kissed her lightly on the forehead, then turned and walked out the door.
It was a few seconds before Franziska could come out of her trance, 20 minutes later, long enough to pay the fee for the cab. She stepped out slowly, and the cab driver drove away quickly before she could remember that he owed her change. She ran into the shelter of the courthouse quickly, running her fingers through her hair and over her clothing in attempt to dry off. She could at the very least look presentable, even if her mind was elsewhere today.
She looked at the clock. She had 5 minutes. Shaking her head in attempt to get herself to focus, she went through the case file one last time. She froze, and groaned inwardly. The defendant was on trial for shooting a 39 year old woman outside late one night. And the only known witness? The victim's 11 year old daughter. She looked over at the witness in question. Izabel Jung was a small girl with long, pale blond hair that reached halfway down her back and large eyes that were staring at Franziska nervously. Franziska frowned. She had questioned the girl just the other day. She didn't think she had been that harsh…
Next to Izabel was the detective in charge of the case. He was watching the clock with a serious expression on his face. Franziska hoped that this detective was more competent than the one she had met back in America during what was supposed to be Miles' first trial. Her gaze followed his. According to the clock, it was time. She placed her papers back into her folder and tapped the bottom of the folder onto the table in the corner lightly so all the papers lay neatly on top of each other inside. With the folder under her arm, her riding crop in one hand, and her mother's broach grasped tightly in the other, she strode past the bailiff with her head held high. She saw, out of the corner of her eye, the bailiff watching her confusedly. He looked at the detective, asking with his eyes what was going on, but the detective just shrugged. Franziska resisted the urge to whip them.
"She and Papa were arguing… again… I was scared… he was shouting. So I went in my room… and I heard the front door slam. And I heard my mother scream. I ran downstairs. They were both gone. I ran outside… and… and…" Izabel burst into tears. "Th- that man. That one right there. He… he shot her! He k-killed her! He killed my mother!" She had turned completely to face Franziska now, and was shouting at her with a fierce expression on her face, as though the louder she shouted it the higher the chance was of Franziska believing her. At least the girl had enough sense to realize that Franziska was the one who would basically decide the verdict for the defendant. Obviously it wasn't going to be the defense. She wasn't even sure he believed in his own client. As for the judge, who was currently trying to quiet down the witness, well, let's just say he would have been more useful waiting out in the lobby until the end.
"He killed her…" Izabel sobbed. "She fell… and he ran away. It was dark…. But I could still see. There was light…"
The foolish defense attorney and judge were looking around awkwardly, as though not sure was to do. Franziska gritted her teeth, clenching the broach tightly in her hand so hard it cut into her skin.
"Mother!" Franziska screamed, and began running as fast as her legs would carry her. She ran for what seemed like hours before she realized she had lost sight of her mother. She fell to her knees and started sobbing. Despite the late hour, there were many people on the streets, running for shelter from the rain. None of them cared enough to stop and help the 6 year old girl who was crying all alone. Franziska picked up her broach, which she had dropped, and looked at her reflection. It was hard to tell what was tears and what was rain.
"Objection!" Franziska was snapped out of her reverie once again as the defense attorney shouted out.
"Your Honor, it has already been established that it was dark outside when the murder took place. The witness cannot be absolutely sure about who she saw. Furthermore, it is impossible for the witness to be standing so close to be able to see the face of the killer without him seeing her in the process! Therefore…"
"Objection," Franziska stated calmly. "Like you said, it was dark outside. It's possible that the killer just didn't see Fräulein Jung..."
"Objection!" The defense shouted louder than necessary. He glared, not about to be outdone by a 13 year old. "You just contradicted yourself. If it was so dark that the shooter did not see the witness, then what makes you think she would be able to see the shooter?"
The gallery started to whisper, and Franziska rolled her eyes. The argument was pathetic, why couldn't anyone else see that? But it didn't matter. She had been waiting for this.
"Furthermore," the defense was explaining, "as it has been established earlier in the trial, the victim and the defendant didn't even know each other, and we have been unable to find any motive. I assume that the Prosecution has not been able to do so either?" He smirked in Franziska's direction.
"Actually, I have." He stopped smirking and scowled. "Your Honor, I present to the court a letter, discovered only yesterday near the scene of the crime, which the defendant had dropped during the shooting. If you'll take a look, I think we will all agree that this letter makes is clear that the defendant was hired to kill the victim by none other then the signer of this letter, Herr Jonathan Jung. Or, as the court may know him as, this witness' father, and the victim's husband."
The whispers from the gallery grew louder, and the judge had to bang his gavel multiple times to silence them. Franziska didn't look at the witness or the defense to see their reactions. If she had they would have seen the distraught look on her face. She didn't understand why the case was affecting her the way it was. She had been taught to stay strong no matter what.
Izabel Jung started crying again, and the defense shook his head, laughing, though he looked slightly nervous. "So… what you are saying is that Herr Jung ordered the killing of his own wife? That he hated her so much she wanted her dead?"
Franziska clenched the broach so hard that the sharp corners cut into her skin and drew blood. "It's not…. impossible…"
"I don't belong in this family. I never did. I'm sure you have heard this a thousand times, but a von Karma is perfect, and I am far from perfect…"
"Let me guess, you have a motive?" The defense asked angrily, and extremely unprofessionally.
"Yes…" He looked at her strangely, probably noticing how she was looking down at the floor, and how her usually formal manner of speaking was gone.
Before she could say anything else, the defense spoke up. "Your Honor, we need to perform a handwriting analysis test on this letter."
"Hm…. yes… yes I agree," the judge said. He banged his gavel. "There will be a 20 minute recess. Miss von Karma, have the letter analyzed. Court is adjourned."
The defense attorney turned and strode out angrily. Izabel, who was currently screaming at Franziska, had to be escorted out by the bailiffs. After a moment's hesitation, Franziska followed.
After the arrangements for the handwriting analysis tests were made, there was nothing left to do but wait. Or so she thought.
"… Franziska?" Of course, just when things couldn't get any worse…
"… Don't try to ignore me Franziska. We have to talk about this." She had never noticed before… the clock on the wall was slightly dented on the side…
"Franziska." He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she spun around to fully glare at him.
"What are you doing here, Miles Edgeworth?"
"I'm here to watch your trial."
"What? When did you get here?"
"… Approximately 32 seconds ago."
"Shouldn't you be in America for your trial?" she asked angrily.
He was silent. "The trial is over."
"And?"
"…and the trial is over."
"Did you win?"
"No."
She gaped at him. "You… lost?"
He glared. "No. No verdict was decided. The defendant was poisoned and was killed. By the real killer."
"So… he was innocent?"
He continued to glare. "No, he was not innocent. No verdict was decided."
She looked down, feeling foolish.
His gaze softened. "I read about the case on the plane flight-…"
"Of course you did."
"…. Are you sure you are okay handling this case?"
She looked up in surprise. "O-of course! I am perfectly capable! Why wouldn't I be?"
He paused. "Do you remember that case I took back in America which was supposed to be my first case? Where the defendant and original prosecutor were murdered?"
"… yes…"
"And you remember that little girl… the prosecutor's daughter?"
"… yes…"
He looked down, refusing to make eye contact. "During that investigation… seeing her… loosing her father at such a young age… it… kept bringing back memories for me. Of the day I lost my father in that same courthouse."
Franziska took a step back. She had almost forgotten about that. "… where are you going with this, Miles Edgeworth?"
He finally looked up. "I remember what happened 7 years ago, and I know you do too. I know you've been trying to forget, and this case isn't helping." He pointed at the hand holding the broach. "And that's my proof."
Silence.
"I know you need to get back to court soon. But… if you need my help…"
"I don't need your help."
"…But the offer is still there, remember that."
"I'll consider it," she replied sarcastically.
He paused, staring at her, as though studying her. "You really are a perfectionist, you know that?"
She scowled back. She knew that. Of course she knew that. Everyone always told her that. Including….
"Where is your papa, Franziska?" Her mother spoke from the doorway, where she had been watching Franziska work at her desk for the past 10 minutes.
"Most likely preparing for a case he has coming up in a couple of days. He says that his case must always be perfect."
She sighed softly. "Your papa… he is a perfectionist. When I was a prosecutor… I was nowhere near as perfect as he was-something that always infuriated him. He would-…" she cut off. "I guess you could say I'm more of an… Imperfectionist." She laughed without humor.
There was a brief moment of silence. "What are you working on, Franzia?"
Franziska smiled. Normally she hated that nickname. But she was too glad that her mother was here to care. "A project for school. Papa says that I am too young to be a respected prosecutor yet- but I can still attempt to live up to the von Karma name by being the perfect student..."
She went silent when she saw that her mother was no longer listening, staring off into space with a sad expression on her face.
"Mama? Are you alright?"
"It's nothing… I was just thinking…" She trailed off again. "Why don't you take a break from that, Franzy?"
"No! It has to be perfect!"
She looked sad again, then faked a smile and laughed softly.
"You are just like your papa, Franzy. You are a perfectionist. You always have been, always will be…" she said, walking over and hugging her…
"Fräulein von Karma?" the bailiff asked, and she was brought back to the present time. Miles was staring at her, eyebrow raised. "We have the results from the analysis."
"V-very well. I'll be there in a moment." The bailiff walked off.
She turned back to Miles. "I assume you'll be watching?"
"Of course."
"Fine." She turned to leave. "I'll see you after the trial."
"Wait." She turned back, irritated. "What now?"
He paused. "Just… don't be ashamed of who you are."
She laughed. "Why would I be ashamed? I am a von Karma. Papa said that is an honor."
"That's not what I meant…" He gestured to the broach in her hand. "Just…" He shook his head. "I have to go now." He turned and talked out of the room. Franziska stared after him in wonder. Where had that come from?
The results proved the guilt of the defendant and Herr Jung, of course. A von Karma never made mistakes. The defense attorney realized that all hope was lost the minute that Franziska von Karma marched into the courtroom with a triumphant smile on her face. The judge must have noticed it too, for he was watching her warily.
"Is…. The Prosecution ready to resume the trial?"
She hesitated.
The courage that my mother had
Went with her, and is with her still:
Rock from New England quarried;
Now granite in a granite hill.
The golden brooch my mother wore
She left behind for me to wear;
I have no thing I treasure more:
Yet, it is something I could spare.
Oh, if instead she'd left to me
The thing she took into the grave!—
That courage like a rock, which she
Has no more need of, and I have.
Franziska looked down at the broach in her hand and picked it up with the other, seeing the indentions it made in her skin. Then she looked up and pinned the broach to her collar and smiled.
"Of course, Your Honor."