trace (vestiges)
He hates this. He hates this case, he hates this trial, he hates Larry's idiocy and Bikini's misplaced confidence, and most of all, he hates the goddamned whip. He cares for Franziska- if she were in Iris' place, he would defend her with every last fiber of his being, guilty or not- but the way she is attempting to control this already-ridiculous trial is going to be the end of him.
However, despite every nerve in his body screaming anxiously for the entire trial about how he is going to get caught, and about how his client is going to be put behind bars before anyone can say another word, Miles somehow manages to actually keep the trial going. By the end of the tumultuous morning, with more cross-examinations than he could have ever wanted, he feels almost faint as he steps away from the defense's bench, guiding Iris back to their lobby to the bailiff. She will have at least one more day at trial. Miles has done his job.
All of it feels wrong. She thanks him for representing her in Phoenix's absence, but Miles can barely focus; is this why Phoenix always appears so frazzled? Despite having explained the situation to Franziska, his sister had refused to back down even an inch, employing some less-than-ideal tactics in the courtroom. Is this the kind of exhaustion that Phoenix feels at the end of each case? Does it truly always feel like the he is but a human shield, protecting the defense from every accusation thrown their way?
His weary bones take both pride in, and pure, unrelenting pity upon Phoenix, alongside his own father. How could they keep doing this? How did they go back to the courtroom day by day when they were constantly being assaulted from all sides, fighting to stay afloat amidst a system created to prove guilt above the truth?
Silently making a note to treat Phoenix with far more care and support after the attorney has finished up trials, Miles is able to breathe at last once he is finally back in defense lobby. Iris is taken away with little fuss, her quiet gratitude making her shine brighter than Miles can handle after hours of verbal and physical torment at the hands of the court. After the door has closed behind her, he is finally able to sink down onto a bench, covering his face with his hands as he makes a mental list of everything he must do.
Pearl is still missing. She and Maya's whereabouts are the main priority. Investigating the temple's facilities across the bridge should be possible today- Gumshoe should be able to get me across, even while I act as the defense-
His mind whirs, already leaping ten steps ahead to plan his next moves. He has but the afternoon to finish up what he needs to do before the next court session the next day. With the light shining through the windows of the defense's lobby already at its zenith, he has no time to waste if he would like to make it up and down the mountainside with any semblance of natural light to guide his way.
Unsurprisingly, there a familiar face is lurking by the elevator. Franziska is clearly displeased, her arms crossed below her bosom held with a rigidity that silently screams her discontentment. A strained pull of her lips to one side and the crooked quirk of her brows showcases loud and clear all the words she is clearly longing to hurl at him. He does not say a word; he has no energy to, nor does he need to speak. Instead, he merely reaches out, straightens up her lapel, and presses the elevator button with heavy, exhausted shoulders.
Still, Franziska does not speak. She remains standing there in grim, bitter silence, stewing about her perceived loss (although she has truly 'lost' nothing, in all honestly) in the face of this unexpected trial against Miles. Every once in a while, she snorts humourlessly, her gaze accusatory, glaring daggers into the side of his skull without any reservations.
Miles barely notices it all. The courthouse is busy today, it seems; the elevator takes far more time than he would have liked, and with the lingering exhaustion from playacting as a defense attorney hung like a mantle around his shoulders, he wants nothing more than to sit and rest. That is exactly what he cannot do, however; so, he flexes his toes in his loafers and bends his knees slightly and tries to fruitlessly meditate some fraction of ease back into his weary heart.
The elevator arrives at last. He enters. Franziska follows, arms still crossed and lips now curled into a petulant pout. As the elevator doors close, he opens his mouth to speak-
And then, the lights flicker, and suddenly, that one tiny event adds onto every other tiny event that has been building up pressure in the back of his skull, and Miles cracks.
It has been so long since fear has washed over him like this when entering this elevator. In hindsight, he is sure to realize that his fears of elevators and trembling floors have waned since Phoenix had provided him stability in life following the DL-6 conclusion; as it stands now, however, Miles' breath catches in his chest, vision blurring, heartrate leaping from normal to so frantic he can scarcely hear anything but the sound of a jackhammer between his ears, the violence of that heartrate so powerful he almost wonders whether he has been shot, whether he shall die-
And then, it calms down.
The touch is firm. Uncaring. Given as if it is completely unwilling, a sense of disgust laced through every twitch of a finger, every flex of a palm; yet, as Franziska reaches over and grabs onto his hand, her own petit digits far more grounded than Miles in his exhaustion and delirious anxiety, that silent gesture screams of more love than he can ever remember from the younger woman.
"I knew you would crack under my whip, little brother," Franziska drawls blandly as the elevator's creaking motions come to a halt. Miles starts as it settles into the ground floor landing; he had not even noticed the movements at all. Yet, her hand squeezes his, a wordless reassurance that speaks the truth behind her words.
He knows what she wants to say. How long has it been since she had last said them, though? When they had first met, when had she stopped creeping into his room in the von Karma manor to wake him from the night terrors, scolding him gently back into reality so his cries would stop? Since when had she stopped noticing just how fragile of a creature he truly was?
She squeezes his hand again before letting go, and for the first time, Miles realizes that she does not have her own briefcase with her, nor does she make a move to exit the elevator with him. She truly had been just waiting for him.
She has never stopped noticing.
He steps out, trembling as fresh air hits his cheeks and light illuminates his vision, her fingers slipping from his. Turning on his heel, he watches little Franziska von Karma in all her haughty glory soften for just one moment, a kind of affection shining in her eyes which she barely allows to the surface lighting the way for him. "Just this once, little brother. For doing well in court. You haven't beaten me yet, though."
He smiles. There is nothing left to say. His feet are planted firmly on the ground, and he knows his next steps.
Then, her expression sours again. "Oh, and tell your dear Phoenix Wright that I will destroy him if he dares come back to tomorrow's trial," she hisses as the elevator doors begin to close.
Miles rolls his eyes before walking towards the exit. He can hear the bell of the elevator dinging through the lobby, cutting off her words with the closing of the doors. Perhaps he should be more worried about what she is saying, but as it is, he is not about to waste the newfound calm which her simple gesture has granted him. She has a key to his home- she can come harass him later if need be. He wouldn't mind having her around for dinner whilst Phoenix is gone. In fact, that might be… not terrible.
She refuses the invitation he sends her once he is back atop Eagle Mountain. He doesn't mind; it's Franziska, and they are rivals, and she is nothing if not clumsy when showing affection to her older brother, and he wouldn't change it for the world.
…he would get rid of the whip if he could, though. On that note, he can wholeheartedly agree with Phoenix.