AN: So I have a bad habit of finishing something all at once and posting it in a rush. *gulp* It's absolutely ridiculous. Sometimes I write like a slug. Other times I leap to the end. Uggggh. I can't promise any good quality here, much as I'd like to. *facepalm* Why do I suck...
Anyway. Franziska and Miles. I love, love, love those two, so much. It's crazy. NaruMitsu is probably my OTP, but Franziska and Miles just write themselves. Writing them is just so easy and fun and cute and they are just amazing. Oh my god.
So, yes. Also I may or may not have made a slight reference to one of my other Franziska/Miles oneshot. Or just Case 4 of AAI. You know. *cough cough*
I hope you enjoy! Apologies for any mistakes beforehand. I'll probably spot them as SOON as I hit publish. Sigh.
Disclaimer: Ace Attorney belongs to Shuu Takumi and Capcom
Foolish Sentimentality
She hit the floor with a thud, her hand still poised to pull open the taxi door.
Instantly, there was a scream.
Franziska couldn't tell if it the sound belonged to her, or an innocent passer by caught up in the frenzy. All she knew was that there was an intense, burning pain flaring through her right shoulder, and she wished that it would stop.
It didn't. The fires spread, licking through her arm, up to her neck. It was mind numbing agony that sent the blood rushing to her head. Her ears roared, a continuous, thunderous noise, and she felt faint. The world slipped in and out of darkness as she struggled and clung to consciousness. She kept her eyes open, kept her breathing steady - but it was a difficult feat. Suddenly, the world narrowed down until it was just her and the pain - pain that was tearing at her sanity, gnawing and biting and ripping and shredding until she couldn't feel anything else.
She had been shot.
For one brief moment, Franziska Von Karma wanted to cry.
It hurt. Through the haze of fire had become her right shoulder she felt a vague dampness spreading through her clothes, something red and sticky. Blood. Her eyes felt heavy, and abruptly she thought: I am going to die.
For a moment, there was panic. There were even a few tears. She couldn't die. She couldn't die. She was Franziska Von Karma, she couldn't…!
The pain, if possible intensified, and as she lay, curled around her injured arm and trembling from the shock of being shot, Franziska allowed herself something that was almost a whimper.
But as soon as that embarrassing display was over, as soon as the pain became constant enough to be tolerable, as soon as she realised that death had yet to close its fingers around her, she began to seethe at the indignity of it all.
How dare they! How dare they, whoever they were, shoot her? Franziska Von Karma?! On the day when she was going to finally defeat Phoenix Wright, no less!
Unforgivable. It was more than just embarrassing. It was humiliation. It was fury. She swore to herself then that she would bring the culprit to justice.
As if to add insult to injury, Miles Edgeworth's face appeared suddenly before her.
"Franziska," he said, and though his voice seemed cool Franziska could hear a new, unfamiliar emotion. "Franziska. Can you hear me?"
Of course I can hear you, you fool. She wanted to snap, but was surprised by the pain in her own, strained voice. She had thought she had grown used to the agony by now. Evidently not. In the end, the only dignified response she could muster without a tremble was: "… Yes." And even that took up half of her concentration.
How absolutely pathetic.
At her word, however, something in Miles' expression cleared. Open relief flooded through his features, reflecting in the slight, upward curve of his mouth, in his cool, silver eyes, in the faint tremble of his lips, as though he were about to say something but couldn't quite bring himself to say it.
In the end, he said this.
"You have been shot in the shoulder," he informed her, and if the circumstances had been different, Franziska would have rolled her eyes. "The police are hunting for a suspect. We have a possibility at the moment, but right now, it is only that." His eyes locked on to hers, and even though he had sounded cold and unaffected when he spoke, Franziska knew him well enough to know when he was pretending. "The police are chasing him right now. I will take you to the hospital."
"N-No…" she protested, hating the weakness in her voice. Miles was helping her gently up to her feet, but despite all the care he took, her wound was disturbed and when the pain flared aggravatingly Franziska couldn't hold back a hiss of pain. "M-Miles Edgeworth…" She gasped, through the dizzying waves of unbearable agony. "I… I have a trial to…"
"Don't be a fool," Miles interrupted, his voice breaking just enough to reveal his true terror. Something in his words were so reminiscent of her Papa that for a moment all arguments died in Franziska's mouth. Miles, however, did not seem to notice. "We have to extract the bullet," he said, keeping his gaze fixed firmly ahead. "We have to tend to your wounds. The trial can wait."
Franziska had to grit her teeth as her brother attempted to guide her towards his car, and she could feel, through his hand on her back, that he was trembling minutely. Miles Edgeworth was scared, she saw it and felt it. Scared of her dying. The idea made her want to laugh. It didn't matter that she herself had been gripped by the same fear mere moments ago.
Miles Edgeworth was a fool, no doubt about it.
"Wh-What will happen t-to the case?" She managed to gasp out, and the effort of speaking such a sentence almost made her faint. Unwittingly she tightened her grip upon her wound, and the sharp burst of pain helped her, at least, to focus. "M-Miles Edgeworth, I…" She breathed in deeply. "I am going to defeat… Phoenix Wright… A-Ah, today…"
"Forget the trial," Miles spat, and his own fingers clenched with sudden fierceness upon her good shoulder. "You are going to hospital."
"Y-You're a weakling, M-Miles…" She snarled at him, wishing she had the strength to slap his arm away.
Miles said nothing this time, his lips drawn in a tight, thin line.
Her adopted brother's flashy sports car was parked almost right next to where she had fallen, and when they reached it Miles tugged open the door with more force than was strictly necessary, his hand slipping once on the handle. Once the door was open he all but shoved her on to the seat. Only when she took a sharp breath of pain did his eyes soften, and there was hesitance just before he shut the door, his eyes lingering longer than necessary upon hers.
The slamming of the door ended their eye contact, and presently Miles appeared round the other side with something like grim determination lighting his silver gaze.
"We are going," he said shortly.
And that was that.
Before they left, Miles helped her into her seatbelt, ignoring her plaintive protests. Then, with a twist of the ignition, the car purred to life and Miles pushed it into the throngs of police cars and civilian cars curious to see the commotion. He drove faster than he normally would have, bursting through the red lights with his knuckles white around the wheel.
They had been driving for five minutes before Franziska spoke.
"You fool," she rasped, as they shot over a speed bump that made her head rattle. "Stop panicking, Miles Edgeworth. You are over the speed limit."
Her words broke his trance, and with something like a shudder he stepped sharply upon the brakes. Behind them, a series of indignant horns blared in response, voicing their drivers' united fury, and Miles, face flushing, pulled his car stiffly to one side. There, he bowed his head, and took in several deep breaths.
Franziska laughed. The action pulled at her wound, but she was finding it easier to speak seated down. "This is… unbefitting for a disciple of Von Karma," she couldn't help but mock, her hands still clamped insistently upon her shoulder. "M-Miles Edgeworth… I… I thought you knew better…!"
Miles lifted his head, and looked at her. "Franziska…" He murmured, expression pained. "Stop. Let me help you. Let me take you to the hospital." His voice dropped, quiet and low. "You need to be treated." He was pleading now. "Please."
Franziska shook her head. "You are…" She sucked in a breath against a sudden, rising nausea, waiting until it passed, before continuing. "You are… a fool," she bit out. "Miles Edgeworth, there is no need for a hospital. I am…" Pain flared. "I am perfectly fine. Perfectly able to attend court today." She breathed in again. "Perfectly."
"Don't be ridiculous!" Miles snapped, and his whole body seemed to be shaking from the force of his exclamation. He sounded so desperate, so terrified, that Franziska found that she could only stare at him in shock. Miles Edgeworth, calm, composed, logical Miles, her brother since as far as she could remember, was falling apart before her. Because of her.
Miles didn't seem able to get a grip of himself. Something had overcome him, cold terror reflecting in his silver eyes that was almost infectious. "Franziska…" He whispered, and his gaze moved, stiffly, towards her shoulder. "It's the same… He knows…"
"M-Miles, s-stop blabbering," Franziska tried to command him, if only to disguise the panic she herself was feeling. If even Miles is… "Wh-What are you talking about? I don't understand…"
Miles shook his head. "I did this," he muttered, lowly, and it was as though he were reciting an ancient curse, chanting it to himself, again and again. "The right shoulder… It was the right shoulder…"
"M-Miles!" Her voice turned shrill. She was scared. He was scaring her.
Miles' head snapped up, disorientated and confused. Then finally, reasoning seeped through.
"Fuck. Oh fuck," he swore, and Miles never swore. "I'll get you to the hospital. I'm sorry, Franziska." He tugged at the gear shifts, so hard Franziska was sure that it would snap. "Shit. I'm sorry. Are you OK?"
"Miles…" Franziska rested her head against the window in order to look take a better look at the man before her. "Y-You're… This isn't you, Miles." She bit her lip. "My little brother never panics… Wh-What are…?" She tightened her grip upon her wound again. Pain, yes, more pain. The only thing anchoring her to her consciousness. "What are you doing here?"
Miles glanced at her, quickly. He was speeding again, though he didn't seem to notice, and Franziska was not in the mood to tell him. "Wh-What do you mean, Franziska?" He demanded, brows furrowing. "This isn't the time…" he swerved, just in time to avoid another honking vehicle, "…for riddles!"
Franziska sneered at him. "I said," she repeated, bitterly. "You, are not my little brother."
Miles opened his mouth. Franziska silenced him.
"My little brother never panics, and nor does he speed." She took in a deep breath, before continuing. "My little brother is worthy of the Von Karma name. You, are not." She punctuated the 'you' with a harsh glare that would have been a whip lash if only she had her trusty weapon with her. "… Give me my little brother back."
Miles fell silent, the skin upon his knuckles stretched white from holding the steering wheel.
Then abruptly, the car slowed.
"I'm sorry," said Miles, and Franziska noted with some satisfaction that it was Miles who spoke. "I wasn't… thinking clearly, Franziska. I'm sorry." He shook his head. "I'm sorry."
Franziska huffed, allowing her body to relax a little more. Miles was here. "As well you should be," she murmured, and darkness clouded her vision for a moment.
Miles looked over at her. His expression softened.
"Sleep, if you want, sister," she heard him say, dimly, as though from a great distance, but now there was something reassuring in his voice. "… I'm here."
Franziska smirked, but it turned into more of a smile as she finally allows the darkness to engulf her.
"Try not to get us both killed," she mumbled, wryly, before losing herself.
Franziska woke up to hear two separate news: the first being the successful extraction of the bullet in her shoulder. The second being that her trial was taken off her, by none other than the traitorous man she called her brother.
Neither surprised her. She had suspected as much. It merely irked her to think that all her careful preparations would now work in the favour of him rather than her. Miles Edgeworth was a fool who could not push his verdicts through.
She glared when said fool entered the hospital room, refined and elegant, brows faintly creased with worry.
"Franziska," he murmured, urgently, upon seeing that she was awake. "How are you feeling?"
"Just fine," she growled. His appearance, though secretly welcomed, did not really ease her mood. "This is the third time you're here today. Surely you understand that I must rest?"
"I do," Miles agreed, frowning, "but I thought that you would like to be updated on the investigation progress. Or is that not the case?"
Franziska scowled at him, and turned her face stubbornly away. "Well then," she muttered, grudgingly, wishing that she had her whip with her, "what's going on?"
And Miles told her everything. Of De Killer's card, Celeste Inpax's suicide note, and the rescue team he had dispatched in search of Maya.
"The Fey girl has been kidnapped?" Franziska noted, frowning. "Hmph. I would never have allowed such a situation to befall me if I had been in her place."
Miles brows furrowed slightly. "Franziska," he admonished, seriously, "Ms. Fey's life could very well be in danger. I would appreciate it if you did not speak of her situation so lightly."
Immediately, the girl's face flushed, and she began to fidget with her bandages. "O-Of course," she began, voice shaking slightly, "it is your utmost priority to locate her, Miles Edgeworth." She glared at him. "You had better find her alive and well, and fast. If it were I handling the case, I would have found her immediately."
He chuckled softly at her words then, expression amused, and irritated, Franziska slapped his arm.
"I'm serious, you fool. Don't laugh."
"Of course, I intend to do my best when it comes to finding Ms. Fey," said Miles, and his tone was filled with the quiet determination that dominated so many of his actions. "She is… I feel very fond of her. She has done much for me, and I feel that I, at least, should return the favour."
"Oh yes, I've heard a little of her deeds." Franziska tutted. "Reckless girl, though admittedly rather admirable at points. She was present for Papa's trial, wasn't she? I seem to recall that she took some important evidence that secured your acquittal."
A startled look crossed Miles' face, and his complexion paled immediately. "F-Franziska," he gasped, "where did you hear that from?"
"I am not aware of the details," said Franziska, stiffly, "but Papa was somehow involved with the killing of that defence attorney, Robert Hammonds, was he not? I seem to remember that Maya Fey secured the evidence that proved his guilt. At least, that was what you told me, Miles."
"Y-Yes…" Miles nodded, though he still appeared a little shaken. Hesitantly, he reached out a hand and clasped it around hers, and abruptly diverted the topic. "That's right. I'm… glad you're alright, Franziska."
Franziska huffed, though she allowed their hands to remain linked. "Don't go all sentimental on me, you fool," she muttered, face flushing just slightly. "I'm not a little girl. I don't need your pity."
"It's not pity," murmured Miles, and his hand tightened around hers.
Franziska watched him for a long while. She disliked sappy displays in general, and to see Miles Edgeworth in such a state should have disgusted her even more so. He had always been a soft, sentimental fool, who worried and fussed over the smallest of details. It was irritating and tiresome, and more often than not, Franziska would find herself snapping at his paranoia and his foolish sentimentality.
But there were times when she would think differently. And this was one of those times. With both seated in companionable silence, holding on to each other's hand, she felt… just a little bit contented to have him there.
"I'm alright." She said, quietly.
Miles returned once more, in the evening, carrying with him a backpack that appeared jarringly out of place in comparison to his suit and cravat. "Good evening," he stated, coolly, and Franziska arched an eyebrow at him in response.
"Pray tell, Miles Edgeworth, why you're bothering me again?" She asked, haughtily, as he set down his bag beside her bed and pulled a chair up next to it. "You have work to do, don't you?"
"Of course, but I thought I could enjoy your pleasant company whilst doing so," Miles returned, smirking slightly. "If it's not too much trouble, Ms. Von Karma."
"Hmph. If you truly wish to." Franziska retorted, and wished that she could fold her arms. "Just don't bother me too much, Miles Edgeworth. I'll be trying to sleep soon."
"It's just past eight," he frowned down at his watch, and then up at her. "Isn't it a little early?"
"That as it may be, but I have a trial to take charge of tomorrow," Franziska returned, huffily. "I will end this ridiculous facade you've been running, Miles Edgeworth. By the end of tomorrow, Matt Engarde will be found guilty."
"Don't be stupid. There's no way the hospital will allow you out when you are still recovering," Miles answered immediately, his brows knitting tightly together. Nevertheless, he seemed set on diverting the topic. "Speaking of the hospital, how are they treating you? I trust the meals here are to your taste?"
At this, Franziska sat up and glared. "Absolutely disgusting," she spat, grimacing at the memory. "I'm sure that Scruffy McScruffcoat Detective enjoys better delicacies than the slop they serve here! I wasn't aware it was even edible!"
"Perhaps you're too picky, Franziska," suggested Miles idly, and yelped when, out of nowhere, a cracking whip whistled down upon his shoulder. "Nngghh…! F-Franziska! Where did you get that from?!"
"I asked an officer to pick it up for me when they interviewed me about my attacker," stated Franziska, smirking slightly at her brother's horrified expression. "Why, Miles Edgeworth, did you believe you could say whatever you wished if I did not have that with me?"
Miles made a strangled noise that was probably a 'yes', so Franziska struck him for it.
"I'm… slightly less inclined to give you what I'd gone to the trouble of buying now," muttered the young man as he rubbed at the fierce red mark streaked across his arm. He frowned, and reached into his backpack. "But… anyhow. I bought you some Swiss rolls from the court vending machines. I hope that they will be more to your taste than whatever horrors it is they apparently serve you here."
Franziska regarded him with suspicion as he retrieved the packets, and couldn't help but shake her head in disbelief as he discarded them upon her bed. "Really, now," she tutted, tapping her whip against the floor. "Swiss rolls. Like I said, Miles Edgeworth, I am not a child."
"They are my condolences, for your unfortunate incident," murmured Miles, tugging open a packet and handing it over to her. "I was rather occupied today in the investigations, so I had no time to visit the shops. The court vending machines were the only available venues. I thought… they might bring back some memories."
"Indeed," Franziska acknowledged, somewhat grudgingly, and took a bite. It didn't taste as bad as she seemed to remember. "Are they still as expensive as before?"
"Hmm…" Miles nodded, distractedly, though his attention was more focused upon her. "Are they any good?"
Franziska paused to consider. "… Better than hospital food," she admitted, grudgingly. "But hardly up to my standards, if you ask me." She hesitated. "Still, it's… tolerable."
Miles smiled. "That's what I want to hear." He looked at her. "I can buy more, if they're not enough. It's late, but perhaps I can find a shop nearby –"
Franziska interrupted him with a wave. She had already finished both the Swiss rolls in the packet, and Miles helped her open another. "This is enough," she said, offering him one of the Swiss rolls which he took with a nod. "… Th-Thank you, Miles."
"You're welcome," Miles answered, and brother and sister ate the rolls in silence, dwelling quietly upon the first case they had solved together, at a time which truly felt like an age away.
"How long do you plan to remain, Miles Edgeworth?" asked Franziska eventually, when she had finished the roll. Ruffling the pillows, she settled down until she was comfortable, and peered up at him. "I hope you'll realise when you've outstayed your welcome and take your leave when it is appropriate."
"Naturally," Miles nodded. "I have a busy day ahead. The situation with Maya and Engarde has… complicated matters, but I'm sure Wright and I will sort something out." He stroked a hand absent-mindedly through her hair. "Sleep well, sister. I will try and be quiet."
"If you insist on spending the night," muttered Franziska, closing her eyes, "then perhaps I can break your leg, so that you may share the hospital bed next to me."
"Hilarious," grumbled Miles, and kissed her gently on the forehead. "Go to sleep. Your body needs to recover."
Sentimental fool, she thought to herself.
The rustling of his papers accompanied her into peaceful slumber.
Bleak, morning light was just beginning to peer through the curtains when Franziska opened her eyes once more.
She groaned, stretching her arms lazily until a sharp pain reminded her not to jostle her right shoulder too much. Grimacing, she rolled across on to her left shoulder instead and saw the dark form of Miles Edgeworth, slumped upon his chair, snoring quietly.
She blinked blearily at him for a moment, and then allowed herself a chuckle of exasperated amusement. So he had stayed, after all. She could see, despite the dim light, that he had hung his magenta suit upon the chair, and that his cravat, too, had been discarded on the top of his backpack. The papers he had been reading, too, lay scattered across the floor, slipping quietly out of his fingers. Franziska reminded herself that he must have been tired, very tired, from the day. Not only was he conducting his investigation, he had been chasing down a kidnapper, preparing for his trial, worrying over his sister…
She felt a little sympathetic for him. A little touched that he, for all the times that he had abandoned her, was by her side now.
Sentimental fool.
Franziska did not like to let emotions get the better of her. A Von Karma, after all, must not be blindsided by such trivial matters. And Miles, of course, had also excelled at logical thinking.
Surely logical thinking would have told him to go home. Surely logic would have told him that he should have focused solely upon the investigation, that his sister was safe from attacks deep within the hospital, that even if he remained with her, he could do little against the likes of Shelley De Killer.
Logic should have told him that he would look a mess in the morning for the trial, staying a night like this in the hospital. Logic should have told him that his house was closer to the courts than the hospital was.
It was with his logical thinking that Miles pulled further and further away from her, every time she tried to reach out to him.
Abruptly, Miles' hand slid and swung from his lap, bringing with it the last of the papers he had been clinging on to.
Franziska watched him sleep, and, without quite knowing herself why she did so, reached out and took his hand.
Even though his eyes were closed, and his breathing continued - slow, deep and even, she felt his grasp tighten, ever so slightly, around hers.
It was this sentimentality, Franziska was certain, that made Miles Edgeworth such a weak, vulnerable fool.
It was this sentimentality that made her happy to know that he cared.