A.N: For my beloved Anne-Claire (Artistic-Life on Deviantart)
March 15, 3:07 AM
Rose Garden
Franziska is wandering back and forth the length of the sandy path, looking more relaxed than she ever has in the last few days.
"It would be an honor for me to serve justice by prosecuting in the Cohdopian court of law."She says seriously.
He watches her cradle her phone against her ear as she bends to smell a peach rose.
She sits on the edge of the pool, crossing her legs elegantly, just a few feet away from the statue of 'The Queen Who Spoke of Love to King Primidux'.
Serious-eyed and stone-faced, with her silver-blue hair shining in the moonlight, Miles thinks she looks a little like a queen herself…
"If you would be so kind as to put a good word in for me, Ambassador Palaeno, I'd be in your debt."
He can't hear the man's answer, but if the smile on Franziska's face is anything to go by, she most certainly got what she wanted.
"You have my gratitude, Ambassador. Goodbye. "
He comes and sits next to her, calmly waiting for her to acknowledge his presence.
"Miles Edgeworth…" She greets him, but doesn't spare him a glance. Instead, her eyes rise to the dark shape of the building that surrounds them, sliding over the separation wall to lose themselves in the immensity of the dark sky.
They haven't been alone with each other in what feels like forever. They had no time to keep in touch, let-alone have a real talk. His only memory of that happening is that time in the airport, almost two years ago. He has a lump in his throat.
Away from his little sister, she has grown into a distant figure. She is a stranger to him, a stranger whom he dreads and loves equally.
What he feels now in her presence is far from the happiness he used to feel on those few instances when she visited him, all those years ago.
She would always blow in unannounced, in the wake of her father, bouncing up and down around him and teasing him like the kid she truly was, and he was much too young and naïve to notice the subtle changes in her personality every time they met…
No- What he feels now is just the painful bite of sorrow. It is much rather like what he felt when he had to look into her tear-soaked eyes, what he still feels whenever he needs to go up against her, against those wrenching ideas her father planted in her head.
The soft murmur of water, the sweet fragrance of roses lingering in the air… It is one beautiful night in Los Angeles, and yet, he feels gloomier than ever.
She rouses herself from her contemplation, tearing her turquoise gaze off the crescent moon that bathes the courtyard in dim light.
She catches him staring at her.
"What is it?" She frowns.
They must be the last two investigators in the embassy. The investigation wrapped up just a few minutes ago, with the leader of the smuggling ring being dragged down to the precinct by a fairly relieved Detective Gumshoe.
"I wanted to thank you."
The upper corner of her mouth rises in one of those smirks that belong to her only.
"What for?"
"For offering me your precious help in this investigation."
Her arrogant smile doesn't falter.
"I was only doing my duty as a prosecutor."
"Furthermore, you are the one that assisted me, don't you forget that." She adds, wagging her finger at him cockily.
In the mean time, he can't help but notice that this strange hungry glint he saw earlier is back in her eyes.
"It stands to reason that up until the case closing form that waits on my desk is duly completed and signed…"
It all happens too quickly- Franziska is moving, cat-like, and he immediately gets a nagging sense of danger.
"…you still are under me."
She all but purred. The words sound almost… licentious said like that. Back up on his feet, he stumbles backward, and finds himself cornered.
She is all over him. Her hands find their way to his shoulders, and before he knows it, he is sitting on the pedestal of the statue, and she is way too close for comfort.
Her whip is nowhere to be seen.
But he doesn't get too much time to think about her bizarre behavior, for her warm body is pressing against his urgently, and he can't suppress a shocked gasp.
A soft laugh escapes her and he feels her lips move against his ear.
His heart is beating much too fast.
Her tongue grazes his ear lobe, ever so lightly he thinks he must have imagined it.
His last doubts are discarded as her deft fingers find their way to the ruffles at his neck, in a way that leaves no room for mistake.
"Why did you do that?" He breathes.
He is not fond of the touch of leather against his skin, but the way her hand works at the bow is sending chills down his spine. This is wrong, he knows it, but the physical sensation of it more than clouds his reasoning.
This has already happened before, he recalls, sometime, someplace else…
He flinches when he realizes that it was only a month ago- That hellish display of insanity, that criminal play in the icy setting of Eagle Mountain…
The dramatic events that took place lead to his first and last trial as a defense attorney… The courtroom proved to be an even colder battlefield, that day, reality being far from his childhood fantasies.
Franziska was true to herself, living up to her reputation as the prosecuting prodigy. Still, there was nothing she could do- Not when he had the truth on his side.
Memories flow like rivers, but he prefers to dwell on a particular one, a moment he treasures above all. A dream amongst nightmares… The phantom feeling of Franziska's soft mouth on his, their clumsy, passionate embrace on the stone floor of the inner temple.
"Do what?"
Her steely voice snaps him back to reality, back to Allebahst and its garden of roses.
He focuses his gray eyes back on the ones of the woman who is glaring at him, and voices the question that has burned in his mind for two days.
"Why did you try and have me take the fall for a crime you knew for a fact that I didn't commit?"
He can't help but bring up the never-ending conflict between them. This is just how he is- obsessed with truth, and unrelenting. He despises lies with an almost abnormal passion, and the ones that woman utters all the more.
She bends to try and silence him with a kiss but he dodges.
"Please, Franziska."
He wants answers. Though he very well knows why she did it, he can't chase away the idea that he must hear the words out of her mouth. Some part of him believes it is their only way out… and his only path to forgiveness.
By now, he is almost waiting for her usual rant about how much of a disgrace to the von Karma name he is. After almost seventeen years of knowing her, he has grown accustomed to her using criticism as a convenient excuse, whenever she feels threatened.
But, quite unexpectedly, she doesn't get angry… Instead, she hesitates and tears her gaze away. "Revenge" is the term you are searching for, Ms. Franziska von Karma.
"All suspects are to be treated the same."She finally says.
But her voice is devoid of passion, her words an empty shell. The sentence is just another made-up line she picked up from her father. Nevertheless, he takes the time to correct her. He always does.
"All suspects are to be presumed innocent until proven guilty."
Her hand immediately clenches around his cravat, an involuntary twitch that almost instantly turns into an impromptu punishment as she makes the most of the tiny bit of power she has over him. Her grip on the fabric tightens, making it hard for him to breathe. In the mean time, he doesn't feel the need to fight back. Her icy blue eyes are watching each of his reactions, remorselessly, and he knows he's being put to the test.
He feels her warm breath on his face before she whispers in his ear, almost sensuously, honey fighting the poison in her voice.
"You are all but innocent, Miles Edgeworth."
A brisk tug from her hand and the bow comes undone, releasing him and baring his neck to the cool night air.
Her words hurt but, more importantly, he knows that she means them. He has indeed, in her eyes, committed some unforgivable sin.
He fled when Franziska needed him the most, away from his mentor's sickening influence, away from the tensions that plagued his relationship with her ever since Manfred decided that the ultimate way to make them achieve excellence was to turn them against each other.
Or, maybe, he was just driven by the need to get away from the nightmares that seemed to follow him wherever he went…
In the end, Miles left Franziska in the hands of the man who wanted nothing but mold her in his image. By doing so, he saved what was left of his sanity and inevitably lead her to her ruin.
Whatever little softness she had left as a child gradually deserted her in his years of absence, until there was nothing left… Nothing but the cold wall Manfred von Karma built around her heart.
His Franziska is gone now, forever replaced by the heir to an infamous name.
He killed her as surely as if he had driven a knife through her heart.
Dark thoughts are chased away by the heat of the moment, leather-gloved fingers now tangling in his hair and yanking his head back to expose his neck.
A part of her hates him, of that he is deadly sure. But, still, he can't keep himself from wrapping his arms around her slender waist, in a desperate try to bring her closer to him. And even though he knows this doesn't mean anything to her, he can't help but hope he will get to her somehow, that their doing this isn't just a pale imitation of love.
She rains a trail of kisses down the side of his jaw, down his throat, pressing her lips to the pulse that beats just beneath his skin. Bittersweet desire is consuming him.
He takes advantage of the moment to grab each of her small hands in his owns, sliding those infernal gloves off her fingers to reveal pale, delicate skin.
The very scent of her is driving him crazy with lust, and it isn't long before he yields to temptation. She does not resist him.
Her sharp, manicured nails leave trails of fire on his nape as he lavishes her pale skin with kisses.
"You saved me, Miles..." She gasps. "I didn't think you would."
Unlike you, I never vowed to watch you fall, he muses, but bites back the sarcasm.
They will have all the time to talk… later.