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Franziska von Karma rarely did things by half. If she liked something, she was going to like it perfectly, thank you very much. So, when she said she liked sex, that meant it was true. But it was also true that she liked feeling clean, and could only bask in the afterglow for so many sticky moments before Maya would let her leave to brush her teeth and freshen up.
Which is why she had the unique and perfect pleasure of surprising Maya when she walked back into their shared bedroom, having brushed her teeth more quickly than expected. The Master of Kurain had rolled onto her back, with her left hand above her head, twisting her wrist left and right to admire the ring Franziska had put there only a few hours ago as it caught the light.
A warm, girlish smile crossed Maya’s face, unguarded and open. It wasn’t like Maya put up a façade, but there was a uniquely vulnerable look that Franziska only saw when Maya thought she was alone, there in the dim light. Franziska was not sentimental. But if she took a few moments to admire her fiancée’s wistful, happy look, no one would blame her.
Franziska felt her heart clench, and though she knew it was impossible for it to explode, she allowed herself to foolishly wonder if it would. In the soft light of their room, it was enough in that moment to simply admire Maya Fey, as she reached down to grab one of their shirts, unwilling to look away.
But she had to, for a moment, look down and make sure what she was grabbing was actually a shirt – it was Maya’s Steel Samurai tee, soft and worn despite that Maya didn’t often have the chance to wear anything but her robes. And by the time she looked up to admire Maya again, the Master of Kurain had rolled onto her stomach, to look at her looking at her. The vulnerable look was gone – Maya knew she was being watched again.
“Hi.” Maya whispered, smiling, eyes sleepy.
Franziska pulled the shirt on, relishing in the way Maya bit her lip – it was a turn on for Maya, she knew, to see the prosecutor in her clothes, especially ones with art of that ‘foolish, if charming children’s show.’ She rubbed the hem near her waist with her fingers, wondering if getting cleaned up had been a mistake when Maya seemed ready to pull them into a second round.
The wondering didn’t last long. Maya yawned as Franziska lifted the blanket to join her in bed, and the moment burst, the heavy heart sick ache – the good kind, from being so happy and so in love, not the fear and trauma of legacy and birthright – shifted into an easy familiar contentedness. Maya snuggled into Franziska’s arms, lazily kissing whatever uncovered skin she could find, warm and sated.
Franziska kissed her head, and only then replied, “Hello yourself.”
“I don’t think I can sleep, Franny,” Maya huffed the words out, ending the sound with a soft sigh as Franziska stroked her hair. “’m too excited. This is real!” She felt the ripple of Franziska’s chest as she laughed. “I want to scream. And call Nick maybe, even though he’d kill me for waking him up at this time of night.”
Franziska’s eyes sparkled with mirth, her grin curling up into a predatory smirk. “You should most definitely call Phoenix Wright and his daughter at two in the morning. I am certain we will hear their screaming from here.”
“You’re horrible, Franny,” Maya spoke tenderly.
Franziska just hummed, burying her nose into Maya’s hair, letting the other woman fall into a soothing ramble.
“There’s so much planning to do, y’know? God, where are we even going to start? I mean I’m glad it’s with you though, there’s no one I’d rather go through this with than you. Well, I guess that is why we’re getting married. Oh my god, Fran!”
Franziska looked up. Maya’s eyes were wide and sparkling, far more awake than she herself was. It was foolish that after all this time, Maya still hadn’t realized the effect she had on her, Franziska mused, that she had interrupted the near sleep her own voice could easily produce in the woman.
Maya bridged the distance and kissed her nose, wiggling back to her place in Franziska’s arms with excitement. “You could wear a suit! Or I could wear a suit! Or a dress! We could wear either or both! You would look so hot in a suit, Fran. I mean, not that you wouldn’t look good in a dress but-”
“Is me in a suit something you think about often?” Franziska interrupted suggestively.
Maya squeaked. “It might be something I’ve imagined once in awhile.”
Franziska made a mental note to file that particular bit of trivia away, and maybe call around to a tailor’s shop the next time she went travelling. The look on Maya’s face would be well worth it. “It’s not like you aren’t allowed to think about me like that, Maya.”
Maya squeezed her eyes shut through her blush. It awed Franziska that even now, she could fluster her. She took a breath, and smiled, enjoying the flush, rathering than trying to hide it. “I know. I’m just so excited, but I’m trying not to take over the planning, and make sure I compromise. I’m sure you’ve had plenty of wedding fantasies you’d be interested in exploring for our wedding.”
Franziska bit the inside of her cheek. “Ah, no. Not, not really. Not since I was very young at least. Weddings were to be simple, traditional and professional business transactions. Not fun or self-indulgent or…”
Maya winced. “Shit Franny, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed. I had a while where I didn’t imagine getting married one day because I was struggling with being a lesbian and the Master of Kurain, and didn’t think I deserved to be married, but I feel like that’s not quite the same is it?”
“Not quite, no.” Franziska felt her traitorous heart begin to beat too fast, as they approached the threshold of topics she really didn’t want to be talking about. “But I will admit that I feel like now I am able to daydream about weddings and what I might want, now that you have said yes.”
“You never thought about it before? Not even once while we’ve been dating?” Maya tried to keep the surprise out of her voice, but she had never been nothing if not straight forward. They had talked about marriage as a possibility, an abstract, had drawn clear boundaries that that was something they both wanted – the asking of it was not a surprise, just the when, and the where.
“I considered the practicalities, but no, I never let myself indulge before tonight. I wanted to be sure, of course.” It felt like a practiced line, a deflection.
Franziska really hadn’t thought about the fun and beautiful parts of a wedding since she was a little girl, and still had time to play with dolls. Back before her and Miles had been taught to hate each other, when she could still convince him to play with her and her toys and imagine lives no better than their own.
There was an undercurrent of anxiety that came with planning any sort of big event, but that fizzled in comparison to the anxiety that she didn’t even know how to deserve something as nice and good and beautiful (selfish and indulgent, an angry part of her brain said) as a wedding with Maya Fey.
For some reason, Franziska felt like she should say sorry. When she opened her mouth to do so, Maya kissed it out of her.
“Nope, no apologizing, Franziska. You didn’t do anything wrong.” When Maya talked to her or about her, it was always Franny or Fran, or Franzy, or even worse, some sweetly endearing pet name that would be a death sentence for anyone but Maya Fey, but never Franziska. Maya always spoke her full name carefully and slowly, as though worried she would stumble on the syllables. But she never did. When Maya said her name, Franziska felt like herself, free from the karma it implied.
Maya kissed her a few more times, just to make sure her point was taken. Eventually, they shifted to sitting up, Maya pulling Franziska over to lean against her. It was time to accept that this conversation was going to be a lot longer than sugary pillow talk before falling asleep.
“Okay, let’s get really self indulgent then. First thought, best thought!” Maya shouted.
“What?” Franziska still found Maya baffling sometimes.
Maya’s eyes sparkled intensely. “Your ideal wedding! Pick anything, even if it’s impossible. Heck, especially if it’s impossible! I just want to know what the most selfish wish you have for our wedding is. What is your first instinct?”
Franziska felt her cheeks color. There was one thing she had considered before, more than once. “Maya, though it is not traditional, I would like my brother to walk me down the aisle.”
It felt foolish to ask for it. Partly, she knew it was about spiting her father, and that was a terrible reason to do something this important. But mostly it was because she wanted Miles there. She did not just want him standing there as a best man, she wanted (needed) him to be involved in the process. Their relationship had never really worked with talking about feelings. They were doers. “I know the idea of ‘giving’ someone away for their marriage is highly patriarchal, but I –“
Maya, blessedly, understood without explanation. “I think he would love that, Franny!” She pulled Franziska’s hands into her own, rubbing soft circles on her knuckles.
Franziska looked down, and allowed herself to feel. It was nice, being reassured by Maya. The anxiety within in her loosened, fractionally and she let the idea of the wedding become concrete, permanent, real.
“Horses,” she murmured.
“What?”
“If I’m being selfish, I’d want horses at my wedding.” Franziska swallowed.
Maya tried not to laugh. She tried, really, really hard. But it was a losing battle. “Oh my god Franny, I forgot you were a horse girl.”
Franziska groaned, face red. It was bad enough that Miles remembered her horse obsession and teased her about it, but her soon to be wife too? She couldn’t help the pout on her face.
“You wound me, Miss Fey,” she snarked, soothing some of her fluster with bite.
“It’s cute!” Maya insisted, laughs bubbling up between words. She laced their fingers together, pulling Franziska’s hands up and kissing them.
It was, Franziska supposed. Laughing at herself came more easily these days. She had too many foolish fools in her life that had taught her it was okay, that they wouldn’t leave, that they weren’t laughing to hurt, that they wanted her to laugh with them. For once she did, feeling safe enough to laugh at her four year old self, so obsessed with horses she had told Miles she had wanted to be one when she grew up – the greatest horse prosecutor in the world!
It wasn’t even embarrassing when she snorted, the laugh full and real and hard, rare but genuine.
“The horses would probably drive Miles nuts, huh?” Maya mused, when she calmed down.
The mirth drained out of the room. That brought Franziska back. Horses were actually comparatively easy to bring to her wedding, just a few phone calls, should she decide it wasn’t utterly foolish. But her little brother? That was a different story.
“You’re worried about asking him aren’t you?” Maya was far too observant for her own good. Franziska supposed this was why Phoenix Wright had let her help with his investigations, beyond just for the foolish notion of ‘company’.
Franziska felt her tongue stick in her mouth. She wanted to reply with something witty, some bitingly sarcastic or sardonic words that didn’t make her feel this vulnerable half sick ache. But she was tired, and sated, and Maya was there, safe and warm and loving, so easy to fall into. Franziska let herself fall. “Admittedly yes. While our relationship has improved over the years we still struggle to communicate when it comes to our feelings. I am not very emotionally open.”
Maya scoffed. “Doesn’t seem that way with me Franny, you tell me stuff all the time.”
As if I could ever do anything else. Franziska moved one of her hands to Maya’s chin, grabbing it gently. She tilted her head, up to a proper eye level, and Maya’s eyes went round as saucers. Franziska didn’t let her look away. “First of all, you’re my fiancée,” Maya preened at that, “and would not be if I couldn’t tell you anything. Secondly, you know it took me quite some time and unique circumstances just to open up to you.”
Maya laughed. “Yeah, I couldn’t get you to tell me anything super emotional or intimate until you were tired from sex.”
A thought dawned on Franziska. “Miss Fey, did you only sleep with me so often to steal all my secrets?” There was no malice there, only light teasing.
Maya blushed, remembering the first few months of them dating. They hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other, were like horny teenagers, and Franziska had even pulled Maya into her office once, and locked the door, an adventure they still hadn’t repeated, but that Maya definitely wanted to.
There was no shame in her voice, just a flirty, breathy explanation as Maya replied, “A girl has needs Franny! Because honestly, Kurain is a terrible place to try and deal with pent up feelings on your own. It’s like almost impossible to masturbate there. Getting to find out all about you was just a bonus.”
The two of them stayed lost in their remembrances like that for several moments. Franziska released Maya’s chin, trailing her hand down her pale throat, past her collarbone, tickling her shoulder, and then sweeping down her side –
Maya knew what her fiancée was doing. “You’re trying to distract me from going back to the conversation with more sex. Well, I’m more mature now, and that’s not going to work on me, Franny.” She crossed her arms and pouted.
Franziska frowned, very mature indeed, Maya, but moved to wrap her arms around Maya, and pull her into a hard embrace. Maya reciprocated, situating herself back into Franziska’s lap and leaning her face into Franziska’s bad shoulder.
“He’s not gonna say no.” Maya reassured her, muffled and warm against her.
“I know, Maya. But it is still frightening.”
Franziska paused, trying to find the words to explain, and Maya held her breath so she would give her fiancée the space she needed. “It is similar to when you came out to your sister. You knew she would be fine with you being a lesbian, since she was one herself and yet you were still so scared you threw up on her carpet.”
Maya burst into giggles. The story was hilarious now, with time and distance blunting the pain and fear. She had told it to Franziska three months into their relationship, tipsy and sentimental around the anniversary of Mia’s death.
Understanding warmed Maya immediately. She’d been thirteen and so scared. Had wondered if her sister who loved her and was also a lesbian, would hate her, because maybe it wasn’t okay if it was her, Maya, if it meant she couldn’t become the perfect master who would give Kurain perfect children to inherent the line. She’d thrown up the perfectly good burgers her sister had bought her for lunch, and that was even more shameful, and she was sure her sister would hate her even more for ruining the carpet.
And then she didn’t – Mia just cleaned off her face and let her cry into her perfectly pressed suit jacket even though it would need to be dry cleaned, tousled her hair and comforted her. She didn’t even get mad when Maya still couldn’t tell her, just let her help clean, hiccupy with emotion, as she cried herself out. And then finally, when she said it, out loud for her sister, Mia just smiled and asked about the girls that she liked. And that had been that.
“You know, we never could get that stain out of the carpet. Mia had to move her desk around to cover it up, it was so bad!” Maya swallowed down the bitter that was dredged up with the sweet at that memory.
In that moment both women felt the ghosts of those long dead, but they were gentle ghosts. Franziska wished she could have met Mia, wished she could have seen her alive, instead of this half truth way, the washed-out version she only glimpsed sometimes from Maya.
It was that gentle ghost that Franziska felt let her keep talking. Mia had been kind, would have believed in her, had been too good, like Maya, for such a cruel world, and Mia would’ve wanted her to say it, to admit it.
“There is also the matter of asking itself. Were this somehow happening years ago, before,” and Franziska didn’t need to elaborate on that, years of unspoken history already settled between them, “I would simply tell my little brother what was happening and that he had better be on time on threat of whipping. But, I want to ask, I want...”
What did she want, really? Franziska von Karma dared not voice it beyond that aborted thought, hanging heavy in the air.
Maya knew. “You want him to say yes because he wants to do it, not because he has to.”
There it was. The event horizon of feelings she had been trying to avoid crossing the entire conversation. Getting dragged across it by the woman she loved wasn’t nearly as bad as crossing it by herself, but it still hurt.
Because Miles would say yes, just like Maya had reassured her, but it was why he would say yes that really had her worried. They were siblings, but it still surprised her sometimes that he wanted to do nice things for her, not out of any sense of debt or retribution, but because for some reason he still liked her. She still hadn’t forgiven herself for saying that she hated him, and maybe sometimes she still did hate him, because he left her all alone in the world, and only came back for Phoenix Wright.
He hadn’t come back for anyone else, but especially not for her, and she wondered if it was because it was her – if she still had too much of von Karma in her, even now all these years later. And yet she’d always loved her little brother despite what Manfred von Karma had wanted.
They had forgiven each other, had begun to learn how to be brother and sister properly when he came back to the world of the living, yet it felt like he was always leaving her behind, softened and sentimental and too good these days.
Walking her down the aisle meant something, it wouldn’t just be a held over patriarchal tradition desperately shoved into a non-traditional wedding to make it more palatable. Miles would come for her, and they’d walk down the aisle together, her holding his arm. He’d be too sappy and sentimental to even look at her, would probably only survive by looking at his husband’s face (because of course Maya was going to have Phoenix Wright as her best man), but he’d squeeze her shoulder, soft enough that she almost wouldn’t be able to feel it. And then he’d let her go, to welcome Maya into their family, to become his sister-in-law twice over.
At least, that’s what Franziska wanted in the few rare moments she allowed herself to indulge in syrupy fantasies that had no place in a carefully ordered life. (But who really cared about order when Maya Fey was involved?) She could only hope Miles wanted the same thing.
Franziska didn’t realize she’d been crying until Maya brushed her tears away with her thumb.
“Do you want me to go with you?” Maya held the lifeline out gently, perfectly.
Franziska did not take it. She couldn’t. This was something she had to do, alone. “I appreciate the offer but I think that would merely make me more self conscious rather than less.”
Maya nodded. “Okay, so we’re gonna do self care. You ask Edgeworth, however horrible it’ll be, that you want him to walk you down the aisle, just absolutely push through. I know you’re brave enough to do it. And then you can come back here to me.”
Maya nuzzled into Franziska, under her chin, kissing her skin softly. “I’ll draw you a bath, and pour you some of that strawberry wine you like so much, and you can read one of my trashy romance novels that you pretend to be above liking until you feel better. How does that sound?”
“That sounds amenable, Miss Fey. Thank you.” Franziska cringed inwardly at her own words. You get all formal when you wanna avoid emotions – and after sex, Maya had told her.
Maya swatted her on the arm, lightly. “Just say I love you, silly.”
Franziska laughed. “Ich leibe dich, Maya.”
“I love you too, Franny.”
-------------
Franziska tried to breath deeply as she walked the long hallway to the High Prosecutor’s office, to ground herself as she counted the doorways she walked past. This was supposed to be a social visit, with the only family she’d had left, so she’d forgone her whip, and wished she hadn’t. She needed something to do with her hands, needed the familiarity, the soothing crack of it, or she’d fidget and wring her hands, maybe even flap them if she wasn’t perfect, and that was no way for a von Karma to act and and and
And she was spiralling and still had three doors to go. Franziska took her gloves off, and rubbed the tiny braided ‘friendship bracelet’ Maya had woken up early to make for her.
“You have to promise you’ll let me buy you a ring, Franzy! I want everyone to know you’re taken.” Maya had a surprising streak of jealousy and possessiveness in her that Franziska still hadn’t fully unpacked. “Until then, wear this. It’s purple and blue, our favourite colours and the knot is ceremonial, representing love and commitment.”
The threads were tightly and expertly woven, and Franziska found the texture soothing. She rolled it on her wrist as she traced the threads, trying to pick out each line, to focus on a single thread and follow it from one place to another.
By the time she had gotten once around the circuit of the bracelet she was standing in front of the door to Miles’ office, grounded, but only just. It was a slow day, and even the ragtag bunch of orphans and hard luck cases that had come to make up the people of Mile’s found family would not bother him during his lunch break. Which meant she had a few moments before the clock ticked over to exactly one pm to put her gloves back on and straighten the parts of her clothes that she knew had gotten ruffled in her anxiety.
Franziska knocked three times, in a firm staccato that her gloves did nothing to muffle because she respected his position. And then she walked in anyway, because she was his sister and she felt she did not need to be invited in.
“Hello, Franziska.” Miles did not look up from the paper he was reading.
She waited for him to finish, tuck the paper back into the manila folder on his desk, straighten it, and then meet her gaze before replying, “Hello, little brother.”
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Miles asked doing that infuriating, foolish half bow that he did in court sometimes.
Franziska grit her teeth. “Am I not allowed to enjoy a social visit with my little brother during one of our few mutual breaks?”
For his own sake, and not hers, Franziska was grateful that he didn’t bring up that they would be seeing each other in only a few days anyways for one of their monthly family dinners, Phoenix Wright – unbearable brother-in-law, general annoyance, That Man, and of course, Miles’ Husband – made tolerable only by the delightful girl that she was now aunt to. And wine, of course.
Miles shrugged in answer, finally getting up to play the good host. She heard his back pop. He hadn’t taken a break yet then, and likely wouldn’t have if she had not come by. Foolish. As he busied himself with the electric kettle he kept in his office, she moved to take out the cups and saucers. The low coffee table he had in his office was flanked by two couches, and covered in far too many case files than there should’ve been for someone as clean and organized as Miles Edgeworth. She had a feeling it was not his doing, but rather a certain fop and his cases that kept the office in perpetual disarray.
With no small amount of satisfaction, she put the saucers and tea cups directly onto the case files. She wasn’t going to clean for him, obviously. Then, arms crossed, she sat down primly on his couch, waiting for the water to boil.
When Miles joined her, sitting on the couch opposite, he had the kettle on a tray artfully arranged with several kinds of tea – three English, her favourite black German tea, and a Kurainese blend that he could’ve only gotten from Maya. Franziska selected the Kurainese blend, pouring the leaves loose into the bottom of the cup, (as was traditional, Maya explained) and then the hot water on top.
Miles selected his tea, pouring it into a fancy reusable tea bag, which he covered in hot water, and left to steep. He crossed his legs, and they waited. It was a familiar, comfortable silence that followed. This kind of waiting was something they’d always had, and it was always nice, one of the few familiar routines they’d never had to recarve after von Karma’s death. There was no worry that at the end of the time there would be abuse or trauma. Just tea, and their company.
They didn’t speak until halfway through their cups.
“I would’ve thought,” Miles suggested around a long sip, pausing deliberately to irritate her, “given your plans,” another long sip and pause, “that you would be spending as much time as possible with your girlfriend today.”
Franziska wanted to him to stop being obtuse and just ask her already. But that wasn’t how their relationship worked. Edgeworth was kind, but he would not beg. She would not give him the satisfaction of answering the question hidden in his words right away. Instead, she poured more leaves and hot water into her cup, taking a sip before it was even cool enough to drink.
“She said yes.” Franziska spoke, enunciating each syllable.
Some of the frost in the room melted. Miles drowned his smile deep in his teacup. He was secretly very sentimental, Franziska knew. She had, after all, been around for most of his life, seen him watch those episodes of romance and intimacy in his silly children’s show with even more care and reverence than he did any other part of it. Finally, he smiled right at her, unable to hide it anymore, and Franziska allowed herself to smile back at him.
“I’m happy for you, Franziska. She’s good for you.” It would’ve been a beautiful and touching response, had he not added in teasingly, “And this means I finally get a sister who appreciates the finer points of good television.”
They rolled their eyes at each other and then went back to the companionable silence that could only be found in sharing tea. Unfortunately soon, Franziska finished her’s. Which meant she would have nothing to do with her hands anymore.
Miles was staring at his law books, but it was wistful, pensive. He wasn’t actually looking, just trying not to get in trouble for staring off into space and zoning out. He did a remarkably good job of scanning the books perfectly, moving his head just enough that a lesser person would not know he wasn’t in deep concentration.
Normally Franziska was not one to interrupt, but she suspected he was merely thinking about her foolish brother-in-law and whatever infuriatingly sentimental thing he had done that morning, so she felt no such qualms.
“Miles.” The teacup seemed to clatter horribly in the silent space as she placed it perfectly gently into its saucer on the low coffee table.
Her little brother did not answer, just trailed his eyes slowly to meet hers, quirked his brow. It was a testament to how much he’d relaxed since marrying Wright, that he did not snap his gaze and narrow his eyes. The corner of his lip twitched, holding back that tiny genuine smile he had for only certain people. She knew because when he was holding back a smirk it was the other side of his mouth that moved.
Franziska swallowed heavily, certain Miles could hear it and her heart. Her stomach felt watery, but she absolutely refused to throw up in front of Miles. Especially in his office, on his floor. No, he wouldn’t get angry at her, but she refused to give him the chance all the same.
The silence stretched for longer than was appropriate and Franziska felt a horrible pressure behind her eyes, right in her sinuses. She had stopped herself from throwing up, but she didn’t think she’d also be able to stop herself from crying too.
The panic felt like it was going to overwhelm her, and then, Maya’s reassurances came through the static of her brain, and the wave of worry washed over her, leaving her soaked, yes, but alive on the other side.
“You know you’re probably going to leave him speechless, Franny. I know you like doing that.” Maya had said as she fiddled with Franziska’s bow, pulling her back for kisses in front of the door when she’d been trying to leave that morning. “And if it helps, don’t think of this as asking for help or a favour. You’re doing a nice thing for each other. Weddings are about familial love too, not just romance. And that’s what you’re asking for.”
Franziska didn’t have the heart to tell Maya that asking for that love might be even scarier than simply asking for a favour. She didn’t have time either, because Maya had kissed her foolish, tied the bracelet around her bare wrist and then playfully spanked her as she pushed her out the door.
“Go get ‘im Franny!” She’d shouted, winking.
With a breath through her nose Franziska finally spoke, grateful for her brother’s patience and lack of teasing. “There is very little about this wedding which will be traditional, little brother. Not only because we are both women, but because neither of us wants much to do with tradition on what is supposed to be such a happy day.”
Miles nodded, folding his hands in his lap and giving her his full attention. His posture was immaculate, his face neutral. No further explanation was needed. Miles knew that ‘tradition’ was several steps too close to ‘perfect’, that it had taken too much from all of them.
“But,” Franziska began and when she couldn’t reach for her whip, she gripped her wrist tightly with her other hand, only just able to feel the outline of the bracelet through her gloves. Miles noticed; he tilted his chin kindly, an indication for her to keep going.
“But, there is one tradition that I am interested in keeping.”
Tension seeped from Miles’ frame. Franziska didn’t have time to try and work out what he had been worried about when she started the conversation, intent on barreling forward before she lost her nerve and made everything a mess where Miles would have to do the asking or assuming.
“Anything you want, Franziska, I’ll help you with.” The words were quiet and careful, not as though Miles was worried he’d set her off, but like he was holding a precious moment, and talking too much would shatter it.
It made Franziska’s heart lurch in that way again, that one that had her wondering if hearts really could explode. She didn’t have enough practice with Miles and emotions, not the way she did with her fiancée. She almost wanted to shatter it all, just to stop feeling so much, even if it wasn’t fair to her brother.
“Little brother, I would... like it... if you could walk me down the aisle. Please.” At the last second Franziska remembered to quirk the inflection of her speech up, making it undeniably a question, even if it came out less steady than she wanted.
It did leave Miles speechless, and that comforted Franziska, allowed her to feel in control again, like she was on the offensive of a fight they didn’t know they were in. He puffed up like a cat, a full body startle response that he quickly pushed back down, but Franziska couldn’t help but notice the tears pooling at his eyes.
How foolishly sentimental.
Miles’ smile was the small genuine one, rare but becoming less so as the years went by. He gripped his jabot, trying not to ruin the moment with an excess of feelings.
“Yes, Franziska. I would be honoured for the opportunity.”
He let the words hang in the air, holding their feelings in tension for several long beats.
Then his lips turned up in a smirk and the moment was mercifully over, so they could go back to bickering. “I suppose we will have to coordinate our outfits. Since I assume you’re wearing your whip, should I bring a riding crop?” He teased.
“You will do no such thing you fool! If you show up to my wedding like that you’ll be uninvited and further more I will be checking your outfit choice beforehand.” Franziska yelled.
The feelings inside her uncoiled and snapped like her whip, and she felt like she was finally deposited on solid ground after nearly drowning.
“Well, I’d say that’s quite unfair, sister mine.” Miles started.
Franziska did not like what that tone implied. It held the promise of embarrassment and teasing. Miles was taking advantage of her lack of weapon today and she was definitely going to need to punish him for it. She glared at him, waiting for him to get his last dig in at her expense.
“How will I ever handle all the horses you want to have at your wedding if I don’t have a riding crop?” Miles teased like he knew he was on thin ice, but wildly brave enough to press on anyways.
Franziska felt her whole face go hot, her hands bunching into fists, and she wanted to petulantly stomp her feet. She reminded herself she wasn’t a child anymore, and just bit her tongue instead. “Little brother, I was four when I told you that. Perfect though I was, even I wouldn’t take four-year-old me seriously on that.”
That should’ve been the end of it, but Miles’ smile only got bigger, if that was possible. “No, you were four when you said you wanted to be a horse when you grew up. You were seven when you said you wanted to have horses at your wedding, remember?”
Franziska did not remember that. Likely she had repressed it out of absolute embarrassment, but it seemed like Miles had not.
“I ha—” Franziska stopped herself just in time. Miles didn’t seem to mind, but even jokingly, she wouldn’t say that she hated him again. Instead, she settled for, “You’re an ass, Miles. And your invitation is on thin fucking ice.”
He snorted. Miles Edgeworth actually snorted, unable to contain his mirth. He held his hands up in surrender and began to gather their empty cups up, throwing her a bone.
“As much as I enjoy your scintillating company, big sister, I do need to eat during my break.”
Franziska (to her horror) stood up too quickly, lost her balance, and yanked herself up again, before even hitting the couch in a graceless series of flailing limbs. She finally stood and watched Miles cross the room with the tray, smoothing at imaginary wrinkles on her clothes. He was too kind, and said nothing of her sudden lack of balance.
“Good, you should. I don’t want to receive another phone call from Wright whining about me keeping you too busy to eat. I will find a way to whip him over the phone if he calls me about that again.” Franziska considered that as getting the last word in, and walked to leave the office, stepping hard enough that Miles could tell she was stomping, but that a lesser person would not even notice the difference in.
“Franziska.” Miles’ tone stopped her, just as she was reaching for the door knob of the door. It was soft, and laced with some emotion she could not name. Not for the first time, Franziska wondered about their respective emotional capabilities and how much more he had grown than her.
She turned, and he was there right in front of her, having closed the short distance quietly. The tension came roaring back into the room, the wave that Franziska thought was gone, cresting, rolling over and growing in size again as it barrelled towards her.
The next move he made was tremulous; he was as frightened as she. When she didn’t move away, or kick or threaten he placed his hands warmly on her shoulders. Franziska suddenly felt small, and that was something she never felt around Miles, even with the considerable inches of height he had on her.
“Thank you for asking, Franziska. I really am happy for you.” He squeezed her shoulders, and the tension roared to a fine, hard pitch.
Miles kissed her on the forehead, tender and familial, and, terribly, she knew that he saw right through her, all of her posturing, her bluffing, her sarcasm and yelling.
For a moment her vision went dark and then she was being pushed out of Miles’ office, not unkindly. The door closed, and she felt herself crying again. It would be several long moments before she could compose herself to walk out of the building and drive anywhere, but then she could go home to Maya, and all would be well.