Author's Note:
I try to avoid detailed warnings for the most part for the sake of not spoiling the story.
However, this chapter has a big trigger warning for explicit mentions of child abuse.
It'll come up elsewhere in the story but in much less detail.
If such subjects trigger you, please proceed with caution!

"Papa had to be lying."

She hadn't stopped adamantly repeating that in various wandering ways. Not since before they got into his rented black SUV. Now they were several miles down the road, and Franziska was clutching at the air as if her fingers desperately wanted something to hold and wind themselves around. Maybe it was a good thing her luggage, and her whip, had been lost by the airline.

"He had to have some reason, to... to lie like that. I don't know why. Maybe - there's got to be some logic to it that I'm just not grasping. He had to be lying. He had to be."

Shi-Long wished that he could say this was the first time he had encountered someone talking in circles like this. Fairly common thing, actually. He wasn't the wide-eyed new recruit anymore. He'd thought himself so tough back then, after a handful of years of wild rebellion, but the first homicide crime scene had proved him wrong. Now he wasn't so surprised. Not quite jaded, but on his way there.

"Some sort of end-game strategy. I'll figure it out when - when my head clears."

Denial. Kubler-Ross model. First stage. Next would come anger, and then he would be exceptionally glad that her whip was lost. Then bargaining, depression, acceptance. Maybe not the most traditional application of this pattern, but close enough that he could pick out the tune and hum along. The professional in him was noticing all of this, mentally ticking off each check-box, detached and observing.

Fortunately, the rest of him realized that Franziska needed space to talk.

"It had to be something Miles discussed with him before. Something - some plan -" She sucked in a quivering breath, bringing a hand up to claw at her hair, tugging her bangs. "This is why they spent so much time together, isn't it? It - it has to be - if they could have just told me, I - I could have been smart enough to follow, but Miles and Papa always had to meet alone, damn him, damn him - almost every day at home, I could have killed him if I thought Papa would just treat me the same -"

He had picked up on the odd strain of her voice. And it made him hit the brakes on the car, even though the yellow light was long enough for him to have slipped through the intersection. The jerk forward cut her off.

"Franziska." His voice was low and serious. "You need to listen to yourself." The small noise of a start of a word came past her lips, but as the red light seeped pale through the windshield, he turned to glare at her.

"I..."

When this first began, the glares and grimaces and arguments had been a game, and they were both very conscious of this. But this was different. His tone was as sharp as a handler's sharp tug to a working dog. "You just said that you are jealous of a victim because he was molested and you were not."

Careful, deliberate language. English was not a mother tongue for either of them, and he deliberately did not say any names, keeping cool, professional, detatched. And underneath the sharp lines of his glaring eyebrows, Franziska could see something in his eyes that scared her.

And just outside, the light turned green. Neither of them noticed.

It was not viciousness or harshness that scared her. It would have been much easier if Shi-Long Lang had just stayed the stupid boorish agent that she immediately assumed him to be. But in among those increasingly half-hearted promises that it was just after-hours fun and the whispered midnight conversations across the pillows, something had changed. He'd become her Wölfchen and things had gotten terribly, terribly complicated. And now his eyes were full of liquid, pained concern.

Someone behind them honked. Shi-Long obliged them by turning back to the road and gradually accelerating away from the light. The facade she had been constructing of conspiracy theories was already delicate enough and now it shattered completely. She knew exactly what she had heard from her father's lips.

Wordlessly, she crumpled forward in her seat, sobbing hard. Half a mile down, Shi-Long reached over to put a hand on her back, rubbing gently even as she cried.

Phoenix had been mostly surprised at the translator's willingness to do a rush job, especially with Kay holding her phone up to the recording and the translator emailing them a transcript within fifteen minutes. He wasn't looking forward to the bill, he supposed, but apparently the dialog had been clear and simple conversation was the most basic of services. A good business transaction. He'd printed out the company's contact information and filed it for later - a holdover of Mia's old habits and preference for hard copies.

Maybe still being in that mindset made him go to the office. His own apartment was all of three blocks away, but instead of heading toward it, he had made a detour to a corner store for a tiny bottle of cheap champagne and various snacks. It was New Year's, after all, so wasn't he entitled to something like that? And now he sat on the sofa, having turned around the computer's screen. Maya had shown him some widget to watch television on it. He was fairly certain it was fifteen different kinds of illegal, and had told her as such with stern disapproval. But he figured that all the news outlets were broadcasting it online anyway, so no real harm done.

Somewhere else in the city, a crowd in colorful hats and mittens pulsed and waved as if one. Some reporter who was all shining white teeth was happily chattering away over something that seemed very inconsequential from his perch on the couch.

Kay had emailed the transcript to him immediately, of course. And he'd scrolled through it at the computer, wondering if he should look or not half a second after opening it. And now it was up on his smartphone. He'd already read it through twice, each time having to stop and look up for a few seconds after hitting a few of von Karma's damning statements. Maybe part of him liked torturing himself with this information. Maybe part of him was hoping that it would change and all be a funny misunderstanding that they could have a great big laugh over like the last few minutes of a sitcom episode.

The translator had, without names, simply labeled them 1 and 2. A sensible choice, but the knowledge he had that she didn't was smothering him. His thumb twitched, flicking at the screen, pushing the text along.

1: Are you forgetting that I made you who you are, down to every detail, boy? Down to who you dream of being fucked by? I made sure you love the taste of cock. A labor of love, really, corrupting you like that. Making you so flawed was my greatest masterpiece. My greatest revenge, making sure Gregory Edgeworth's little boy was a pervert.

He always had to look up after that line. Imagining it in von Karma's voice was not as hard as he hoped it to be. His mind knew very well what was being hinted at, and it made him feel sick to his stomach even as he carefully erected fences in his mind to keep his imagination from leaping forward. Nick was used to visualizing crimes, from either confessions or crime scenes; he knew how to pick apart testimonies. But he would really have rather had a nice murder instead.

1: My God, imagine if your father could see you now!

Another breath, and a pause. He looked at the pock-marked ceiling tiles. Counted a few of them. From the computer-turned-television came the sound of cheering sweeping over the audience.

1: And don't look so innocent. Both of us know that violence like this goes in cycles, once it's started. And now that I have made sure such a cycle has begun, it's only a matter of time until you're brought down from your lofty office by scandal, hm?

The countdown was getting closer to midnight, he guessed. No dropping bauble like Times Square, but celebration nonetheless.

1: I wonder just how young you will prefer them, Miles. In any case, you will always remember: I might be gone, but you will always be my whore, won't you, boy?

That was enough. The text hadn't changed, no matter how he kept hoping that it would. It was the missing evidence he had been looking for, though. Even if part of him wished he hadn't found it, the rest of him was satisfied. They had the whole picture now, or as close to it as they could get without Edgeworth's cooperation. Couldn't have been more clear even if it had been a smoking gun or a set of fingerprints. Keeping professional about this, he thought, was a good way to cope, at least right now.

Not that he had any idea what to say to Miles on a personal level, anyway. That twisting sympathy cringing in his heart, tearing itself into knots, was not one that was very suitable to be put into words. 'I'm sorry' seemed so shallow and cheap, like trying to turn a puddle into the ocean. He wanted to say all those crashing waves but only had words for a stagnant shallow algae-filled slick that barely justified wearing rainboots.

People were chanting. "Five, four, three, two...!"

The actual moment of the new year was drowned out by screaming. "Happy new year to you too, Charley," he said tiredly, lifting the tiny bottle of champagne to toast the plant in the corner. It didn't answer, of course, but the plant made as good of a new year's date as it did an office assistant.

"Should old acquaintance be forgot..."

The new year felt very much like the old one, he decided.

And some time before midnight, a black SUV slid through traffic as easily as an eel through seagrass.

"Franziska, do you trust me?"

Shi-Long seemed to realize what a loaded question that was after he asked it. "I'm not going to go jumping over opening drawbridges or anything. Or chasing down criminals. Nothing dangerous. ...I suppose 'trust' is a bit too strong. What I'm asking is if you'll humor me."

She had mostly cried herself out, sobbed as much as she could tonight, but her breaths were still small and shuddering and her throat choked. Instead she managed something between a nod and a shrug. Shi-Long smiled at her, looking away from the road, and moved his hand off the gear shift to her shoulder a squeeze. She tucked her knees closer to herself, folding over in the seat, shying away from the outside world while the last few fits of crying trickled out of her.

He left the key in the ignition, leaving the car pleasantly warm, when they finally rolled to a stop in a well-lit parking lot. "I'll be inside picking up a few things. Don't worry, I won't be long."

Franziska waited until he was sure to be gone before raising her head, letting out a long slow breath. The parking lot was quiet this late at night, rimmed by patches of white snow sticking to the landscaping around it. A gaudy sign helped to light up the night. Superbig Mart. Ah, right. One of these garishly large stores that attempted to sell everything it possibly could at once. Apparently this one even had a liquor store attached to it. Maybe that meant Shi-Long would pick up a decent champagne for whatever he was plotting. He was absolutely ridiculous - she could see him just entering now, having gotten a running start before perching on the back of a shopping trolley left out between two parking spaces, coasting on in with minor childlike glee.

She was still sniffling but at least that was manageable. It took her a moment of pawing around for her to find the switch to turn the inside lights on, and a moment more to pull down the sun visor to use the mirror on its opposite side. Ugh. Hair a mess, eyes red, lips chapped and completely unpainted. No, this would not do. She had been intending to do her makeup at the last minute so it was as fresh as possible when he came, and the fact that he actually saw her in such a state was completely unacceptable. She would just have to -

"Scheiße!"

Her handbag wasn't there. Of course. Now she remembered. It hadn't been in her hands running outside. But no handbag meant no phone, no makeup pouch, none of the other dozens of resources she kept with her...

Franziska took advantage of the fact that she was alone to scream into her hands. It didn't especially help. In fact, when she let her hands drop, her appearance seemed to look even worse despite any kind of logic or reason. If Lang was still here, she probably would have requested for him to at least bring back a little eyeliner and tinted chapstick. Then again, bad things seemed to happen when men were left to shop for makeup. ...Were the bags underneath her eyes really that large? Whenever she thought she had seen every miserable detail, something else cropped up.

Maybe it was for the best. Wouldn't do to try and do her makeup in a moving car anyway. Even if she had gotten good at having a steady hand, ever since age thirteen, when Papa had declared that since she would soon be seen in court, she had to equip all the details of womanhood she could and wear them like armor. He had handed her a large box set without ceremony and told her to get to it. All the different kinds of makeup were surely some other thirteen-year-old's dream, but to her it was merely intimidating, and she felt a little sick to her stomach trying to sort through everything. Thank God a little flyer of how to achieve the 'latest looks' was at the bottom of the case. After a half-hour she had finally gone downstairs, feeling mildly confident, and Papa had been waiting for her. He looked up at her, and then pulled a face, clucking his tongue. "Unacceptable. I did not buy you a gift just to be mocked, Franziska. Go upstairs and do it properly." She bit back tears and hurried upstairs, wiped her face clean and tried again. "Even more miserable than before. Again, Franziska. Though it seems I will have to hold your hand and step you through the process. Just the eyeliner first." She'd cried a little in the safety of the bathroom before pulling out the eyeliner and trying yet again. "No. The left's five millimeters longer than the right. Again." And she had gone back upstairs once more. Over and over, piece by piece, until she was perfect, because that was all a von Karma should ever be. The makeup remover, used so frequently, had left her face red as if sunburned, and her teenage face decided that the best way to react was to break out in pimples. Papa had told her that she was confined to her room because of looking so unsightly. She'd obeyed.

That bitter memory scurried over her thoughts as she looked at her dim reflection in the mirror. And she wondered if Papa had been seeing something more sick and depraved than just his daughter's face when telling her again and again to look not like a girl, but a woman -

She shut the sun visor in one quick and violent motion.

Queasy now. Her stomach always got upset after she cried. And a little headache, just at the top of her spine. She hated crying.

So she curled up again and waited, desperately trying to clear her head, or at least replace the current swirling thoughts with something less painful and sickening. She had almost succeeded when she was aware of the back of the rental car opening, Shi-Long shuffling bags into the back. As soon as he glanced over at her, he apparently tried to move as quietly as possible, closing the door gently. She was not expecting to then be greeted with a blast of cold air as he cracked open her door. Some animal instinct told her to stay still, so she did, feigning sleep mostly to see what he would do.

Franziska definitely had not predicted that he would reach out to take one of her feet, guiding the shoe very delicately off it (to the relief of her half-formed blisters). It made her raise her head in curiosity, sniffling a little, especially to see him pop a pleasantly fuzzy polka-dotted sock on her foot.

"...What are you doing?"

"You were limping a little. Favoring your right foot. Haven't really broken into these shoes yet, I guess, so I got you some socks, and some new shoes." He craned his head a little to look up at her and give a crooked, sneaky smile. Decadently, she stretched her toes out, letting him do the work of taking her other shoe off and replacing it with a fuzzy sock. The plastic of the bag at his wrist made small crinkling noises as he reached into it, pulling something out - and Franziska couldn't help a low laugh leaping out of her from somewhere deep in her belly.

"You got me kitty slippers?"

"Well, you can have the wolf ones if you want. I got two pairs." He slipped one on her foot and she wiggled her toes. Admittedly, they were cute, and very comfortable. He grinned and offered her the bag for her inspection, and she couldn't help another tired laugh.

"Those are siberian huskies, you fool."

"Nope, they are definitely, absolutely wolves." He twisted his head around to grin at her. And she found herself smiling back, however tired her smile was. And as he stood up he leaned in to kiss her ever-so-gently on the forehead, there merest brushing of his lips across her skin.

"You doof."

"What? Just a doof?"

"You're not dignified to be a full and proper doofus yet." She stuck out her tongue at him for a moment before hiding her head in her arms again, grinning in secret. He stuck his tongue out right back at her, chuckling a little as he walked around to the driver's side door once again.

The heaviness of what she had learned still tugged down her mind, but perhaps for a little while, she could push it to the side. It was a Gordian knot that she would sit down and try to pick apart at some later time. For now she understood exactly what Shi-Long was trying to do, and she appreciated it. With a little cooperation, he could help lift the yoke of guilt off her shoulders for the night.

Well. It was worth a shot, anyway.

"Doesn't that sign say no camping along with no vehicles beyond this point?"

"Did it? Whoops," Shi-long said breezily with the sort of tone that indicated he fully knew the sign was there and just didn't acknowledge it. The trees near the bank of the lake were thankfully sparse enough for the SUV to drive along with only the occasional tight squeeze. In the rear-view mirror, Franziska could see bright lights fading; apparently trying to keep up publicity of possible winder Gourdy sightings, the lake's event organizers had come up with a New Year's party. Apparently there were plenty of vendors and a good crowd in the small plaza by the shore, but Shi-Long had quite pointedly turned away from it and driven the other way. She was secretly glad for it. A crush of stupidly happy people was something she wasn't sure that she could stomach.

Another series of distant pops. The fireworks across the lake burst into starry patterns, momentarily illuminating the lake shore.

"Great, we haven't missed too much. Give me just a second, I'll get everything set up." From that grin, Franziska thought, it was obvious that if he had a tail it would have been wagging hard.

It was enough to make her turn around in her chair to look back at him as he popped the tailgate. "You certainly look pleased with yourself. When should I start worrying?"

"When we get past the cilantro vodka."

"The -" She pulled a face. "Eugh! Why would you abuse vodka in such a manner?"

"There's smoked salmon vodka, too. Just tiny airplane bottles, but still..."

"I know you're a carnivore, Shi-Long, but vodka is simply ridiculous." She let her chin rest on the top of the leather seat. "I assume there's more than just vodka."

"Of course. I couldn't forget the champagne. And I even got proper glasses for it! ...They're plastic, but still. Oh, and there's food, too. Something that claims to be a cheese and salami tray, trail mix with pretzels in, and potato chips, plain and -"

Too late, she'd already leaned over the back seat to pluck the bag from his hands. "Curried sweet-potato? Ooooh."

"What, are you going to stack some of the sausage slices on it and pretend it's currywurst?" He teased.

Franziska looked shiftily to the side. "Maybe."

Actually, the longer she thought about it, the more it almost seemed like a good idea. Not that much could compare to proper currywurst (ideally sold out of a van or tiny hole-in-the-wall somewhere in one of the worst neighborhoods of Berlin, because the more the architectural decay and fading graffiti spoke of unhealed wounds and poverty the beter the currywurst), but it would do. And the chips themselves were pleasantly earthy and spicy, not too greasy. As soon as she opened the bag in curiosity her stomach growled and hunger hit her with all the subtlety of a knee to the solar plexus. So she had completely forgotten about the fireworks by the time the next series of pops came from across the lake - and to her embarrassment, she squeaked and jumped out of reflex.

Shi-Long peered back at her, hands full of what seemed to be half a linens store. "You okay?"

"The fireworks just scared me, that's all," she admitted sheepishly, glad he likely couldn't see how she was blushing in the dark.

"Oh! Oh..." He immediately frowned in worry. "I'm sorry, I didn't think - I didn't remember that they probably sound like gunshots -"

"They didn't scare me that badly." It was kind of him to be worried, though, and she hoped she communicated that in her tone. Honestly most of the time the fact that she had actually been shot a few months ago slipped her mind. There was a fair amount of loss of motion, and pain on occasion, but it seemed far more like the sort of soreness that came from sleeping in an odd position than from anything else. And going from hotel to hotel on investigations gave her new aches with every new bed. It all blurred and faded together at some point.

She wiggled her toes in their new slippers before gingerly stepping out of the car. Almost immediately Shi-Long caught her in a new blanket, half-hugging her as he tucked it in around her. Perfect for the cold weather. She tilted her head to one side and resisted the urge to laugh as she finally caught sight of what Shi-Long had been busy making. "...The hood of the car? Really?"

"Hey, I bought plenty of cheap pillows, and we even have blankets. It'll be great." He grinned at her, offering a hand to help her step up onto the front bumper. As soon as she sat down, she had to admit that Shi-Long had a point. The heat from the car's engine radiated up through the hood and through the fluffy blanket he had spread over it all. Pleasantly toasty, and as good as being near a bonfire when it was so bitterly cold. He had even set the bags of food out (though she still carried the potato chips with her, idly snacking on them).

Another bright few pops at the edge of the lake. Half a heartbeat later the sky exploded into greens and blues. She was too busy watching to notice that Shi-Long wasn't staring at the fireworks at all, but instead her face.

"You know, I think this is the first time I've ever seen fireworks, really."

He also did not tell her that he already knew this. There was a certain childlike wonder that had wormed its way into her expression. He'd already been privy to something very few people had been able to see - Franziska von Karma the Imperfect, the Doubting, the Tired, and all else that was left after she let down her guard even for an instant. With most of the rest of the world she treated every experience like court. The more he learned about her, the more it made sense. She hadn't been given the time to be a child, what with becoming a prosecutor at thirteen. That was one thing he had to be thankful for - a childhood. Maybe he had his youth cut slightly short, but that was when he was fifteen, shouldering the burden of his father's casket and guiding it out of the funeral. But at least he'd been able to watch fireworks. She hadn't - at least, not until this very moment. And a potato chip hung right near her mouth, her lips curling into a silent ooh, eyes wide, frozen as she watched another array of purple-blue explosions across the lake.

He was in love with her so much that it hurt, even if he was aware that a year ago if you had told him that he'd be admiring Franziska von Karma's face (the curve of her nose, the little beauty mark by her eye, the way her lips pouted) he would have cackled and howled. Falling in love with a prosecutor, much less her! And yet, here they were.

She finally looked over, noticing his staring, and blinked, quirking her eyebrows in a silent question.

Shi-Long shook his head sheepishly as if to say it was nothing before launching back into the conversation. "Well, don't let my mother know, or else she'll get triple the amount she usually does. ...I did tell you, right, that you're invited to the Lunar New Year celebration my family has? And by invited I mean that my mother basically told me to kidnap you. In a friendly way, but she totally mentioned duct tape and a car trunk." Thankfully, Franziska laughed at this. "So if you'd like to come, you'd be more than welcome."

"I'll clear my calendar, then." She shifted back a little more, finally reclining somewhat as if the SUV's hood were some Roman banquet hall. "So we're at... meet-the-family stage, then?" It was a shy and nervous little question, and Franziska did not have very much practice being shy and nervous.

"If you want to be."

"Well. ...I suppose you've met all of my family that matters when you met Miles," she said, aiming for nonchalant and ending up with a tentative bravery in her voice. "So it's only fair." He generously did not mention his increased wish to go find Manfred von Karma's grave and do something terribly rude to it. "As long as you don't make me eat blood tofu."

"All right, I can promise that." He smiled. Another blaze of fireworks. He managed to time the pop of the champagne opening with the next volley, and she readily took the glass from him when he offered it out.

For a long while they didn't need words. There was just the occasional small sound as they managed to pick and find something like dinner in among the things he had grabbed. He stopped at one glass of champagne but she went on to her second and third. If they were quiet and still, they could just barely hear the music that the fireworks show was set to. Their perch was pleasantly warm, and by the time the engine was cooling in earnest they were nicely cozy in the mess of blankets and cheap pillows.

Shi-Long stretched, putting his hands behind his head. Red and yellow painted the sky.

"Are you regretting it yet?" Franziska asked around a sip of champagne.

"Regretting what?"

She was silent for a long moment. "Falling in love with me."

"Not at all." His answer was quick and confident. "I mean, just look at the facts. I could do a hell of a lot worse than a successful prosecutress -"

"That isn't even a word, you fool -"

"- with a quite frankly sexy accent and an ass so perfect as to be rendered by the hands of the Gods themselves." Franziska shook her head, but couldn't help laughing a little. She had been bracing for a serious conversation, and Shi-Long had expertly anticipated this and decided to foil her plans. "Besides, even if it was a mistake - which it wasn't - I've done much more foolhardy things. Like that time I shaved off my eyebrows."

She had a hand up in the air as if about to stop him and try to turn the conversation towards the grim and serious once more, but at that she simply stared at him. "That time you what."

"That time I shaved off my eyebrows." He looked to her out of the corner of his eye and grinned. "Definitely would not recommend. My mother had to draw them on every morning for a month, and the first time I got caught in the rain? Right off. I looked ridiculous." And the sky above them burst into blossoms of purple-red and white, reflected in the lake.

He wasn't quite offering his arm out, but it was close enough for her to flop down next to him, abandoning any distance between them to nuzzle close. "And why, exactly, did you shave off your eyebrows?"

"Well, at the time, I had bad taste in both soju and friends..."

And above them - rosy-gold starbursts, in tight clusters like falling cherry blossoms.

It was, despite everything, a good night.