(Well, this was originally going to be part of chapter 20, but... I just figured I seperate it because of the way 20 ended. And no, this isn't the last chapter. There will be a few more after this because I want to give you guys some insight into the recovery period without splitting it into a third story because there just isn't enough content.
Oh, and if you guys like to roleplay, Ivy deLeon and I have set up an rp forum for Phoenix Wright. Visit either of our profiles for the link.)
Chapter 21
An eerie silence surrounded them as Gregory let the pistol fall to the floor and turned around to face the other two conscious people in the room. Miles was simply staring in his general direction, looking a bit shocked but mostly oblivious. However, the young lady sitting on the end of the bed…
Franziska didn't move; she couldn't. Her gaze was frozen on her father's bleeding corpse, but she could not see it. Images flashed before her eyes, images of her childhood, of him, of herself, even some that she could not place with remembered events. She had hated him, but she had just watched him die. The man who had influenced her entire life, who had always been there lurking in the shadows or standing before her in his powerful, self-proclaimed glory… He was dead, and she had watched it happen.
Gregory slowly approached the bedside and knelt down in front of his son. "Miles?"
Miles stared back at him, lifting his head off the pillow with some effort. "Father…" He continued to gaze at the other man, noticing that something was out of place. "Where are your glasses?"
Gregory gazed back at him, greatly saddened at the sight before him. "I don't need them anymore, Son," he said with a kind smile, placing his hand on top of Miles'. "I can see just fine now."
Miles looked at him for a moment longer, and then lowered his head and muttered, "How long… has it really been? I can't… I can't remember…"
"Seventeen years," Gregory replied, amazed at this himself. Sure, Miles looked like an adult, but in his current state… it was as if he was speaking to his son as he remembered him: a child.
Without warning, a sob shook the young man's frail body as he continued to look downward. "There's probably… so many things I… I wanted to say…" he choked out between sobs. "B-but… I… I don't even know… who I am anymore."
Gregory's hand moved now to rest on Miles' upper back in a comforting way. "It's all right, Miles," he said in his gentle voice. "You don't have to say anything. It's enough for me to know that you're alive and will recover."
"I-if it weren't… f-for Wright and… the dream I had…" Miles continued painfully. "I… I wouldn't even… know wh-who you are…" His crying became harder and he lowered his head all the way to the mattress to hide the tears that were sliding down his cheeks. "I… I wouldn't even remember m-my own father!"
Gregory leaned forward slightly to embrace his son. "Miles, it's okay. I understand what's going on right now. It's not your fault."
Miles continued to cry into the black material over his father's shoulder as Gregory patted his back gently, but after a while, his sobs died down and became much more manageable. Eventually, Miles stopped shaking and his crying had become nothing but heavy breaths and the occasional sniffle. Gregory gently pushed his shoulders back onto the bed and placed a hand beneath Miles chin to lift his head so that he could see his face. "Just calm down. Everything is all right now."
Franziska had regained awareness a few minutes earlier and was watching this scene thoughtfully. So… that was what it was like to have a father. She had never had this herself, but she felt that Miles was suffering more than she. He had known what it was like to have protection and comfort and it had all been taken away from him to be replaced with bitterness and abuse. She had never known anything besides the latter, so she had nothing to miss.
"I still wish… I knew what to say," Miles mumbled, his voice even more hoarse now than it had been before.
"Really," Gregory smiled. "It's okay. I know you've seen better days and still have many to come; that's why I'm not worried."
Without a word, Franziska rose, crossing the room and doing all she could to ignore the two people lying motionless on the floor, one of them slowly being covered in blood.
"I… must look really bad right now," Miles continued, unable to avoid regretting having 'ruined' what should have been a very happy reunion.
"Don't be ridiculous," his father laughed, running a hand over Miles' cheek to brush back some of his hair. "Even after everything you've been through, you're still a handsome young man like I always knew you would be." His smile was one of pride, and Miles vaguely remembered it from his dream.
"Maybe… I can help."
Both men looked up to see the young woman standing in front of them holding a leather-bound folder in her arms. Gregory noted that she still looked distraught and thoroughly exhausted, but he felt it would not be polite to mention it.
On closer inspection, the folder turned out to be a photo album, and Franziska sat down on the floor next to Gregory—looking a bit shy—and opened it up.
"I brought as many pictures with me as I could find and put this together at the hotel room to try and keep my mind occupied while we were looking for him," Franziska began to explain as she opened to the first page. There, filling up the entire sheet, was an image Miles in a black tuxedo with his arm around Franziska's shoulders. Franziska was wearing a beautiful navy blue dress, which was complimented by silver and sapphire gems. She had her head inclined slightly to rest against his shoulder, and his was tilted toward her so that his cheek rested against the top of her head. Phoenix Wright had taken this picture of them at the prosecutor's dinner while they were out on the dance floor. They had both been reluctant and irritated, but had decided to humor him, and in the world depicted by the photo, they could not have been happier.
"I wanted something to hold on to," she continued, her voice only loud enough to carry to the two men she sat with, for there was no need to speak any louder. "And… I thought that maybe seeing these pictures would help him… remember us."
Gregory looked down at the photo with amazement. He was beaming with pride; his boy had grown into such a strong and handsome young man, despite his adversity, and on his arm was a gorgeous and elegant young woman, who—judging by the fact that she was sitting here with them, having been aiding in the fight for his freedom—was loyal and devoted. He saw no ring on her finger, indicating that they had not legally bonded yet, and he hoped that their relationship would withstand such a traumatic experience.
He looked up from the photo to smile at Franziska. "Miles is a very lucky man to have such a beautiful and devoted lady at his side," he stated and watched as her cheeks flushed and she lowered her head to try and hide it.
"Th-thank you… Sir…" she mumbled, preparing to flip the page.
"If you don't mind, Miss, what is your name?" Gregory questioned politely, and then witnessed the girl tense up considerable.
"U-um… F-Franziska…" she replied slowly, failing miserably to hide her discomfort.
Gregory frowned slightly, though it was mostly out of wonder. "No last name?" he asked, grinning, finding what he assumed to be this girl's shyness somewhat amusing.
"Uh…" Instinctively, Franziska glanced quickly back to where her father's body lay and swallowed hard as she looked back, forcing a nervous smile and tilting her head. "W-well… I-if things go smoothly… m-maybe I'll have the same last name as you two." She laughed a little, hoping he wouldn't figure it out.
Unfortunately for her, Miles' power of observation had not simply been a product of his time spent in the von Karma household. Gregory had long since been aware of her German accent and had noticed her glance. He stared at the young woman, lips parted in shock. "You're… his daughter… aren't you?"
Franziska lowered her head and gaze. Had she not been so emotionally stressed and damaged right now, she probably could have avoided this whole mess by covering up her true feelings with a stoic or confident expression. However, it was impossible now.
"…Oh my God…" He had murdered this girl's father… right in front of her eyes! 'What have I done?' was his only thought, and he felt simply horrible.
"He was an awful man," Franziska all but whispered. "Biologically he may have been my father, but… he never cared in the least. He deserved what he got, and…" She raised her head to try and look confident. "…and I'm glad he's gone."
Gregory continued to watch her, this statement only slightly lessening his guilt. She looked shaken, and even if she wasn't upset about losing her father, she had still just witnessed a murder. He didn't know what to say or do. How do you interact with someone in this situation?
"Dad…?"
Jumping slightly, Gregory looked to his son. "Yes, Miles?" he acknowledged the younger man.
Miles was looking down at the photo, amazed at what he was seeing. "Is that… r-really… me?" It was impossible! There was no way he could look like that! That man was so handsome, well groomed, and had not a single blemish on his face.
His father laughed. "Of course that's you, Son," he replied, ruffling Miles' hair a bit. "And, in a couple of weeks or so, you'll look just like that again. I'm sure of it!"
The young man was smiling now. "Can… Can I see more pictures?" he asked excitedly, leaning forward a little more and trying to ignore the increasing pain in his ribs.
This time, it was Franziska who laughed. "That's what I brought them for," she told him, giving him her best kind smile, though it was still rather sad. She flipped the page to reveal two photos, each showing one of them standing in court behind the prosecutor's desk. In Miles' picture, he was wearing his signature red suit in perfect order and he had his arms folded, a confident stare angled slightly to the left of the camera due to its position off to his left.
Franziska's photo had been taken from the same angle and she was wearing the formal black and white, long-sleeve dress and black gloves that was her trademark courtroom attire, and at the time this photo had been taken, she still carried her whip, which was held up in her right hand.
"These were taken by an acquaintance of ours who has been working in different forms of photography for reporting purposes. They're a bit old, but…"
Gregory scratched the back of his head. "What's that? A whip?"
Franziska laughed nervously. "Oh… Um… I don't, uh… Like I said, these photos are over half a year old. But yes… That's a whip."
"And… is that me too?" Miles asked.
The other two nodded.
"…Wow…" It was still a bit frustrating to him that he couldn't even recognize himself, but this emotion was currently being drown by sheer amazement and curiosity.
Franziska turned the page again and started to laugh once again, this time with amusement. She had seen this picture plenty of times, but it never failed to be entertaining. Miles and Tilea stood about two feet apart, each holding a plastic guitar-shaped game controller and acting as if they were 'shredding' on real guitars, each in some sort of rocker stance. Tilea appeared completely serious about the pose, as if she truly belonged onstage, probably aided by her band T-shirt, skull-and-cross-bones belt buckle, and black jeans. Miles, on the other hand, was in an acceptable stance but looked simply awkward: his face was red with embarrassment and—though he was dressed down from his usual fancy attire—still looked much too formal.
Gregory began to laugh as well while Miles stared on in oblivious curiosity. "What are they doing?" Gregory inquired, still chuckling.
"It's a video game where you sort of… pretend to play a guitar. I think everyone was on a bit of a caffeine high that day." Franziska grinned down at the picture, the memory of all the fun she had had on these occasions, hanging out with Tilea and Ares like a normal young adult. She had loosened up quite a bit during those three months and had realized just how much better it truly made her feel. She had learned what it meant to have friends and to simply enjoy being alive, something she had never known in her life as the von Karma heir.
"Who's that woman?" Gregory asked, pointing to the redhead.
"That's Phoenix!" Miles exclaimed, happy to finally know something for a change. "I mean…" He hesitated, looking across the room at the unconscious man he remembered from his childhood. "… The one that's a woman…"
Franziska smiled, choosing to find this display amusing rather than sad for her own sake. "That is the medium that's channeling you," she told Gregory. "She's a good friend of ours and has been helping Miles for a couple of weeks now until we could find a way to get him out. She's also an FBI agent."
Gregory blinked. "Wow… That's… quite a résumé she's got there."
"And this—" Franziska pointed to the photo on the right hand side of the two currently displayed. "—is Ares." In the photo, the young man was grasping a tree branch with both hands and hanging upside-down by swinging his knees up on top of it. "He's Tilea's partner and closest friend."
"And… where is he?" Gregory inquired hesitantly.
Franziska remained silent for a moment, looking at the picture they were speaking about. "He… If… everything went well, he's getting medical attention… right now." Her smile had left her face as she recalled the gunshot and the sight of this young man flying backward down the flight of stairs into the basement. It had been a terrifying sight and now left her with much worry.
Gregory's expression became one of sympathy and concern. "I… truly hope that you have suffered no more losses here today. And… on that note, I should probably take my leave… so that you may call for help."
"N-no! Father, don't leave!" Miles looked at him pleadingly, reaching forward to grab his father's arm. "I… I want to… be able to talk to you when I get better…" The tears were welling up again, and it was a heart-wrenching sight for the other two.
Gregory stood and bent down to hug his son again. "Miles, it's all right. I have to go now, and when you're better… well, I hope you won't remember any of this." It was a depressing thought, but it was probably the best thing for Miles' in the long run.
Miles shook his head, the tears falling again. "No, I don't want to… forget seeing you, F-Father. I… I…"
"Shh," Gregory hushed him gently. "Son, I can't stay, and you're going to be all right. Just as long as you remember me—not as you've seen me today but as you saw me seventeen years ago—that's all that matters."
"Will I ever… s-see you again?" Miles asked, his voice muffled as he spoke against the other man's shoulder.
"Of course you will," was his reply. "But… Well, let's hope that's a good fifty or sixty years off, and by that time, I'm sure you'll have a lot to talk to me about."
Miles didn't really understand, but he tried to calm himself for his father. "O-okay… G-goodbye… Father…"
"Goodbye, Son," Gregory said. "Get some rest and be strong. You'll get through this and then you and Franziska can live happily together again."
Miles sobbed as his father carefully readjusted him on the bed to a more comfortable—and probably less dangerous—position. Gregory then turned to Franziska, who had closed the album and was now standing with it held against her chest.
"Thank you," he said, giving her a kind smile. "I wish you and your friends the best of luck and you'll always have my gratitude for going through so much to save my son."
Franziska smiled shyly. "O-of course," she stammered. "And… we all owe you thanks as well. I mean… you're the one who… finished it all."
Gregory gave a respectful bow of his head, still wearing that smile. "Take care of him for me, will you?"
Franziska nodded, her grin widening. "As always."
And as she watched, an eerie light surrounded the man standing before her and he began to dissolve into it, his gentle expression the last thing she saw of him before the light became solid. Then, it vanished as quickly as it had appeared and before her stood Tilea, eyes closed and hair hanging in her face as she held her head low. She seemed to hang in suspended animation for a few moments, and then she fell. With a gasp, Franziska dived to catch her before she hit the ground, and managed to slightly break her fall, but the red-haired woman was out cold.
With a sad sigh, Franziska stood and began scanning the floor of the cabin looking for her cell phone, which she assumed must have dropped from her pocket during the struggle she would never forget for the rest of her days.