Good Enough

(Sorry, this chapter is kind of slow, but it is necessary. The next one picks up though, I promise. Please enjoy and send me your reviews!)

Chapter 6

Seven-year-old Franziska von Karma sat alone in an office chair in the corner of her rather empty bedroom. In front of the chair was a small desk with books and papers piled upon it, but she wasn't facing that. The only other things that accompanied her in the room were a twin bed and a mahogany dresser, each on opposite walls to her left and right. There was really no need for anything else; she had all the necessities, and that's all she cared to have.

But of course, she wasn't observing her room; something so plain and simple only needed to be looked over once and never considered again. She sat with her left elbow on the desk and the chair turned sideways; her face was hidden in her hands, and her body shook with sobs. They were nearly silent, for if she was heard from outside of the room, things would only get worse. There were dark bruises running up both of her arms, and had her face been visible, more bruises would be quite noticeable.

The child always tried not to cry when it happened, and sometimes when it wasn't so bad, she managed to stop herself, but it hurt too much now. She couldn't keep the tears back; the best she could do was keep quiet. She wanted to scream, to call for help, but that would aid her in no way and she knew it.

At first, she thought she was imagining it, so she did not respond to the light 'tap tap tap' sound she heard. However, it seemed to grow louder causing her to finally lift her head and look over at her closed bedroom door. She just sat there staring at it as if her brain had momentarily hit pause, not allowing her to understand what the sound was.

"Franziska?" came a voice from the other side of the door. It sounded uncertain, but friendly. Still, she didn't respond. She knew who was there, but she didn't really care to have him come in.

Finally, the door simply opened and fourteen-year-old Miles Edgeworth peered around it, a questioning and cautious expression on his face. When he didn't hear anyone scream at him for just walking in, he opened the door the rest of the way and stepped in, still prepared to defend himself should she decide to throw something or start yelling. Naturally, he was rather concerned when neither happened.

"Franziska?" he said again, watching her with apprehension. She hadn't said a word and she was crying; this just wasn't right. He moved forward slowly until he stood right in front of the girl. He reached out and lightly touched one of the dark bruises on her upper arm, causing her to jump a bit. "A-Are you… all right?" he asked, still expecting to be snapped at any second.

She just looked up at him, though her expression had changed. "What?" she asked before she could stop herself.

"Are you… all right?" he repeated. "You… uh… don't look… so good… I-I mean you…"

She opened her mouth, looking like she was about to snap at him, but she closed it again. Something strange was going on inside her head, preventing her from doing so. "Um… I… I'm okay…" She paused. "…F-Fool…" It didn't sound right at all, the way she had said it; the smirk he was trying to hide told her that.

"Did you know you're bleeding?" he asked, looking at a dark red spot on her cheek.

She looked surprised for a moment, peering down at her hands and seeing traces of red from where she had touched the wound unknowingly, but then tried to recover. "Oh… Of c-course I did," she said, unconvincingly. "It's no big deal. I'm not hurt…"

"Well…" He hesitated, unsure if he should ask or not. "What… what happened. Why did he-?"

"Look out!"

Before he could react, a loud 'CRACK' rang throughout the room and Miles was laid out flat, not even having a chance to cry out in pain before losing consciousness. Franziska stared up in horror at the man towering over her holding a polished dark wood cane in his left hand. She couldn't speak, she couldn't scream.

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"Any serious injuries?"

"No, just pretty banged up. She'll be fine with some rest."

"Well, she's been through much worse, so I'm not worried."

Franziska opened her eyes half way, allowing the fluorescent light to invade the darkness. The scene was blurry, so blurry that she couldn't even tell where she might be. She was lying on her stomach on a bed covered in what must have been multiple blankets. There were voices and sounds all around her, none of which she could understand.

She blinked a few times, but her vision wouldn't be cleared so easily. She tried to look around, and something—or someone—immediately caught her attention. She could see his profile, but there wasn't much about him she could recognize, accept his hair. It was gray and looked to fall on either side of the man's face, though she couldn't see his face very well. He was about ten yards away speaking with someone, but she couldn't hear his voice.

She wasn't sure, but her hope made her do it. "Miles," she said, her voice a bit raspy and weak, barely carrying over all the noise in the room. The man didn't seem to hear her, so she spoke again, this time louder. "Miles."

There was a pause, and then the man turned to look over at her, revealing a face younger and much different than the man whose visage she had hoped to see. However, she recognized him as he began to move over to her, weaving through the various obstacles in the room. "You're awake," he said when he came within a short distance of her.

She looked at him with a mix of surprise and embarrassment. Now that she was getting a good look at him, she wasn't sure how she could have confused Ares with Miles at all. Sure, the hair style was similar, but Ares' bangs were an inch or two shorter and his hair was a lighter shade. Also, this boy was smaller in stature, looking rather underweight in her opinion. However. Ares didn't even mention her mistake as he finally reached her bedside, nor did he look surprised. She figured that he must have realized the slight resemblance before and knew the position she was in.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, taking a seat in the chair facing her bed. He was leaning forward slightly as he spoke, so that he wouldn't have to raise his voice for it to reach her over the other conversations in the room.

She lay her head back down with a sigh. She was glad to see Ares; this meant she was in a safe place, but she had really been hoping to see Miles there. Perhaps that was why she had made the mistake; she was so desperate that her mind was playing tricks on her. "What's going on?" she muttered, not even bothering to answer his question.

"Tilea and I found you and brought you down here to HQ Medical. You'll be safe here, though we're pretty sure he's not coming back." This news would have normally given her relief, but the look on the young man's face told her that this was indeed a bad situation.

"Wh-where's…?" She remembered vividly what had happened back there before she had finally blacked out, watching her father drug Miles and then have him dragged out by another man while she was beaten to unconsciousness… She was expecting the worst.

Ares lowered his head with a sigh, then looked back up. "We're… not sure," he replied regretfully. "Your father headed out of the country on a private jet; we believe Miles Edgeworth was on that jet with him. They managed to jam our radars, so we don't know where they landed, or even if they've landed at all."

Franziska gave a miserable groan and a sob shook her. "M-Miles… No…." She couldn't believe this was happening. Her father was supposed to be gone... forever… But his sentence had apparently not been carried out yet and he had managed to escape. Now, he had Miles and no one had any idea where he was.

"We'll find him," Ares said, watching her with pity. "Phoenix is sparing no expense to track them down and get Miles back alive. In the mean time, we need you to stay here and recover. I promise we'll let you know if we find anything."

She didn't respond at all, though she had been listening to him. She was horrified at the thought of what was happening to him… Her father had been violent toward him on occasion when they were growing up, but most of his abuse had been verbal. However, now there was something else there; Miles knew Manfred's fault in his father's death and Manfred surely hated Miles for being a part of exposing him as a murderer. She found herself doubting that he would survive very long…

With a small sigh, Ares stood up. "Don't lose hope," he said, preparing to walk away. "Miles never doubted your strength to just hold on long enough for us to get to you. You should give him the same faith."

Franziska raised her head as he walked away, staring after him with her lips slightly parted in shock.

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As he stepped onto the first stair to descend into what appeared to be pure blackness, Miles felt two of the men leave the group and head in a different direction. The man that was leading him stayed, keeping a grip on the handcuffs and walking in front of him, and one still walked behind him, pressing the barrel of a gun to the base of his skull. The smell wafting up from this dark basement area was overpowering and disgusting. It smelled as if the place was coated in mold and rot, and the air was so moist that it almost felt as if he had stepped outside into a drizzle.

When they reached the bottom landing, the man leading Miles flipped a switch on the wall beside the staircase, causing a few gas-powered wall torches to light in various locations around the dank chamber. They offered little light, but enough to see the contents of the room, although it took his eyes a moment to adjust to this type of luminescence.

"Welcome to your new home, Boy," said the man leading him with a smirk. He watched as Miles half-heartedly glanced around and lowered his head again. The German man laughed with enjoyment at the young man's apparent fear. He pulled him forward again and walked toward one of the support beams at the far end of the room, which appeared to be the only things occupying it besides the torches. As they came to it, he forced Miles to turn around so that his back faced the column, and the handcuffs were unlocked and removed. "On your knees," he commanded.

Miles could finally see the unfamiliar man with the gun, which was now being held merely a foot from his face. He felt frozen, unable to move in order to follow the first's instructions. He just stared down the gun, his mind numb with terror at what was happening.

BANG!

Feeling as if his heart had nearly burst from his ribs, Miles fell to his knees, the laughter of the two men now ringing through the otherwise empty basement. "A bit gun shy, Dieser Hund! He has not been trained properly, I see."

His head was lowered so that they could not see, but Miles bared his teeth in anger as his blood boiled. However, there was nothing he could do; he was trapped and did not have the means to defend himself. They chained him to the column and then left him alone, heading back up the stairs and closing the door at the top. He heard a click signaling that it had been locked from the outside, and then there was silence.

A shiver ran through his body, partly due to the chill temperature around him and also due to the fear. There was fear for his own sake of course, but as usual there was someone else on his mind as well.

"Franziska…" He muttered the word in a miserable groan, remembering how he had found her before being attacked. For all he knew, she could have been killed after he blacked out, but he couldn't bear that thought. She had to be alive somehow, yet he found himself hoping that she wouldn't come looking for him. Coming to her rescue had nearly gotten him killed once and this time it had gotten him here; if something happened to her while trying to rescue him, he'd never forgive himself. She had already saved his life once, and it had traumatized her; he knew that he was entirely responsible for that and had no desire to be the cause of more damage or even death.

He raised his head to gaze into one of the torches, these fires seeming to make the room even colder despite the laws of matter and energy. How ironic: something that seemed to provide a little bit of light in the darkness was only making it that much heavier.

He lowered his head again, feeling absolutely doomed. If even the lights in this forsaken tomb were evil, what hope did he have?