trace (vestiges)
"Say hello to her for me!" Frederik calls, sweeping his belongings into his bag with a speed and fervour Miles has never seen the perpetually-calm older man demonstrate.
Miles sighs, massaging his temple as he replies dryly, "You could perhaps stay here and say it yourself-"
"No can do, Miles," the elder cuts in without hesitation. "I have things to do-"
"And prosecutors to avoid, I see," he adds, raising a brow, bemused.
Frederik pauses by the side door, letting out a long, world-weary sigh. "Miles…" After a moment, he lifts his face as he looks at his mentee, his smile rueful and affectionate and wry. "I'm glad you came to fill the position." He says these words so earnestly that Miles cannot help but flush, mouth gawping at the elder as Frederik takes the opportunity to slip away, the door closes silently behind him.
It is perfect timing; the moment that side door is closed, the elevator doors open, a familiar, haughty voice filling the air. "Little brother, I have arrived," Franziska calls icily, pausing a few feet away. "Now, for what did you call me here? My time is valuable, you know."
Miles' brow twitches. As much as he cares for his younger sister, he cannot help but mildly envy Frederik's easy ability to escape; it has been a long day, and it shall only undoubtedly grow longer now that he has devoted himself to spending the evening with her.
Still, seeing the vigour in her steps and the shine in her eyes and the confidence in her smile will always ease his heart. Miles quietly slips on his jacket before gesturing for the woman to join him, guiding her to the nearby restaurant where he has already made reservations. As they walk, he makes sure to take the less-populated hallways in order to spare his coworkers the memory of Franziska's… overzealousness; he knows just how unprepared the firm had been to accept her as a temporary member of their team upon his departure the previous year, and he is not in the mood to soothe any disgruntled tension which may linger.
No, Miles has only one mission today. His fingers tighten around the key object in his pocket; he must get this done, so that it no longer haunts him.
Once they are seated, Franziska's light chattering about the importance of her current work with Interpol fades away in an instant, her words dying inverse to the discomfort growing upon her perfectly-arched brows. "Did that Wright fool get you that?" she mutters, gesturing to Miles.
He glances down. He had momentarily set his phone and keys upon the dining table whilst removing his coat; the Pink Princess keychain is quite conspicuous in contrast to the elegance of this upscale French restaurant. "Indeed it is," he replies carefully, keeping his words measured and light. "He knows I personally enjoy the… narrative style of the franchise."
His sister raises a pale brow, deadpan, clearly doubtful of his words. After a moment, she mutters, "Are you truly content to associate with such a fool, little brother? You were raised by von Karma- there are so many other options for people of our-"
"I am quite happy indeed, Franziska," Miles replies gently. As she continues to mildly pout at him, not even bothering to take a look at the wine menu placed before her by a shy waitress, Miles adds, "And I would like to add that whatever route for happiness you should take, I will support you- whether than involves someone else, or whether you decide to be alone."
Franziska rolls her eyes and scoffs, picking up the menu with an air of superiority. Her eyes scan the list as she mutters, "I certainly do not need anyone for such an insipid reason as to be 'happy'."
Miles bites back his smile, peering at her overtop of his menu. Her eyes have drifted down to focus upon the seasonal selections, giving him time to look at her properly; although she is only nineteen, the strength and confidence in her demeanor is normally so prominent. Catching her off-guard like this removes years from her already well-experienced visage. She almost looks her age, pouting and full of doubt and, much to his amusement, jealousy.
Gently, he says, "I do not doubt it. Franziska von Karma has always been quite independent."
At this validation, the young woman's smile grows, a bit of proud ferocity returning to her manner.
Well. I suppose I need to do it now. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out what he has been holding onto all this time- the reason behind his request to meet this day. Miles pushes the object across the table, gesturing for Franziska to take it as he catches the waiter's eye once again, his own order ready to go.
Franziska picks up the set of keys with disdain, her snub nose wrinkled in confused distaste. "And what might this be?" she asks, voice flat and wary.
"It is a spare to my apartment in LA," he explains. The waiter comes by, and Miles places his order. After Franziska has done the same, he adds, "I should have done this long ago. There's no sense in you staying in hotels when you are in America."
Franziska's jaw drops, and then, her mouth closes. She hangs her head low, face hidden in shadow. Miles does not push; he has no idea what may be running in her mind, but Franziska von Karma has always done whatever she pleases at her own pace, and no amount of coaxing from him would cause her to speak before she is truly ready.
This silence carries on for their entire meal. Miles barely tastes the food, his eyes constantly drifting back up to examine Franziska's troubled expression. It is only once the meal is finished and Miles has procured his card to pay for them that she finally takes in a long, deep breath, settling back into her chair, steeling herself to speak.
"I do not understand why you continue this farce, Miles Edgeworth," Franziska whispers at last.
Miles frowns. "I'm not sure what exactly-"
"Why do you cling to this pathetic connection we have?"
His breath catches in his throat. Franziska's eyes lift. Gone is the proud, intelligent confidence which had radiated from her form. Gone is the haughty, comfortable air about her, making her the most imposing presence in the room. Instead, her shoulders shrink, her chest hollowing, her lips quivering as she watches him in absolute uncertainty, confusion and fear oozing from her every pore.
She sucks in a haggard breath, clearing her throat to no avail. Hoarsely, she repeats, "Why cling? My father is gone, Miles Edgeworth. You were raised in von Karma, yes, but this-"
"Why would that affect our-"
"I know what my father did to you!"
The intensity of her cry shocks him. He sits back in his chair, stunned. A quick glance around tells him that the other patrons are also just as unnerved by her fervent claim; their eyes, uncomfortable and curious and intrigued, dig into his skull, increasing his weariness tenfold. A part of him longs to be brusque, to say anything that could get him away from these prying eyes.
He does not follow that desire. Instead, he thinks of Maya. Maya smiles all the time.
Ever since meeting Maya, Miles has always wanted Franziska to find that same joy. She deserves it.
Quietly, Miles leans forward, pushing the keyset towards her. "I will not lie, Franziska," he begins quietly. "Much of your father's tutelage was suffering, and I do not think I had ever properly grieved my father's death until after the DL-6 incident was put to rest thanks to Wright. I- I could not move on without finding the truth of that case."
Franziska is silent, her hands balled up tightly into fists upon the edge of the table, jaw clenched tight.
He continues gently, "But not everything about my time here was bad. I learned more than I could have ever hoped. I am happy with the career his teachings have led me to, and…"
"And?" she fills in, quiet, expectant.
He smiles. "I was an only child. I had always wanted a younger sibling."
Franziska leaves. She does not say a word, merely grabbing her overcoat and storming out of the restaurant, head held high without a glance to spare Miles' way. Miles does not follow her; she has always been free and wild. She can come to her own conclusions.
When he looks over at her side of the table, however, his gift is gone. And, three weeks later, when he receives a frantic phone call in the early hours from Phoenix begging to know why Franziska is invading Miles' house and what to do about it, Miles knows that he has made the right choice. "You come with Maya and Pearl and whatever other child I'm sure you'll manage to scrounge up by the time I see you next," Miles rasps bluntly, barely awake, "and I bring with me Franziska. Enjoy." And he hangs up, ignoring Phoenix's pleas and protests that Maya isn't violent, so this isn't equal.
It doesn't matter. He swears he can hear Franziska cry out, "I will not accept you as my little brother, Phoenix Wright!" echoing in his dreams long after he has hung up the phone. For some reason, he does not feel any concern; his house is big enough to accommodate his only sister, always.