[fic] ace attorney; the thought to tell [franziska/adrian, edgeworth]
TITLE: The Thought to Tell
CHARACTERS: Franziska von Karma, Adrian Andrews, Miles Edgeworth. (Franziska/Adrian)
RATING: PG.
WORD COUNT: 2,374.
SUMMARY: Done for a kink meme prompt (though lacking in any actual porn): "Franziska comes out to Edgeworth. But not some type of angsty, sappy, crying admittance. No, none of that. Instead, she's just really awkward about it. Uses over-complicated language, beats around the bush, etc. Bonus points for implications of Franziska/Adrian." I haven't written anything in about two years, but this prompt was too cute for me to pass up.
--
"Thank you, Franziska," Adrian says as they walk up to her doorway, smiling in a way that reflects in her eyes, "I had a lovely time."
Franziska takes an extravagant bow, a smirk playing on her lips as she straightens up. "But of course. I did as well, naturally." Her arms soon find their way around Adrian's waist, and she pulls her into a kiss -- Adrian places her hands on Franziska's shoulders, and when their mouths break away, keeps them there. Her hold becomes a little tighter, then, and her expression turns into something Franziska isn't sure she likes. Serious, with the ever-so-visible touch of apprehensive.
"Franziska... actually-- well--" Adrian takes a deep breath. Franziska scowls in preparation of what's to come. "I'm going to be visiting my family in San Diego this Christmas, and I was wondering if you'd like to come with me."
Franziska's mouth pulls into a thin, straight line, eyebrows cocked up. "Come with you?"
"Yes." There's a brief pause. Adrian smiles sheepishly. "... As my girlfriend. I mean-- you're a really important part of my life now, Franziska. I just think it would be nice if my family got to know you, and the other way around." When Franziska's expression remains unchanged, and no reply seems to be forthcoming, she quickly adds-- "But if you have other plans, or just don't feel like going, that's alright! I-it was just a suggestion, that's all."
"There's no need to start stammering, Adrian Andrews," Franziska tuts, wagging a finger. "I'll go."
She's honestly not sure what made her agree so readily, but the way Adrian Andrews' face lights up in response makes it wholly and utterly worthwhile.
--
The von Karmas have never been ones for family gatherings. They were all far too busy with their work for that kind of nonsense, and holidays, to Franziska, had always meant being showered with very expensive gifts from Papa, and little else. So it occurs to her, not long after her agreement, that spending her time in the company of Adrian's extended family -- which, according to her, consists of a little more than a dozen people -- might turn out to be nothing short of a nightmare. Of course, Franziska's experience has led her to be more than capable of plowing through long, tedious social events with astounding grace, but that does not mean she enjoys them.
Still, as a von Karma, she has no intention of going back on her word. Especially not when said word had been given to Adrian Andrews. She will go in there, and she will get to know Adrian Andrews' family, and she will leave so good an impression that it will make everyone there regret their choice of obviously-inadequate-in-comparison significant others.
And that's that.
--
It goes better than expected. Not on her part, of course-- Franziska's planned on handling this family gathering perfectly from the start, which she naturally does. But Adrian Andrews' family makes for surprisingly pleasant company, and the majority of them seems to know how to keep up an intelligent conversation for more than five minutes on end, or, barring that, how to refrain from bothering her with an abundance of mindless chatter. And they're all so-- friendly, too. Accepting. Not that Franziska is in any way shy of introducing herself as Adrian Andrews' significant other -- quite the opposite, as the first line out of her mouth upon meeting each one of her family members is "I am Franziska von Karma, prosecutorial prodigy and Adrian Andrews' girlfriend" -- but she didn't expect them to be so completely unsurprised.
At the end of their visit, when they go to leave, Adrian takes her hand in her own, smiles up at her and says, "I'm glad you came."
It's rather nice, she supposes.
--
Franziska doesn't know why she can't stop thinking about it, but she rather wishes she could.
She never thought she'd have this urge to tell people. It's not like what goes on in her private life is anyone else's business, and really, there's no reason why anyone should have to know. And yet, there she is now, wanting to let someone know so badly that the feeling is near intolerable. Things change, she supposes. Much like the way she couldn't imagine ever wanting to be part of something as foolishly time-consuming as a relationship just five months ago.
For some reason, she keeps trying to picture what it'd be like to tell Papa. It's difficult. Probably because she doesn't think she would, even if he was here now. Still, she can just about envision the way he'd react-- can picture the disapproving downwards-tug of his mouth, the creases in his brow as his fingers dig into his sleeve, the anger flashing in his eyes. Things she'd really rather not remember, but can't, for the life of her, get out of her mind.
She thinks of Adrian Andrews' father, the way he had all-too-heartily patted her on the back, then laughed in such a way that made it hard to hold it against him for more than a moment, and said, "Take good care of her for us, will you?"
When a week goes by and the thoughts don't desist, she calls Miles Edgeworth.
--
She is sitting opposite to Miles Edgeworth in a small yet high-class cafe. He is drinking tea. She has a white china plate in front of her, on which there is a small desert, which she has been spending the last minute and a half cutting into small, symmetrical squares with her spoon. This is atypical.
Not the meeting itself, per se. In fact, it's become a sort of tradition for the two of them, though not one they partake in often. It began about a year back -- out of seemingly nowhere, Miles Edgeworth had called her up and said something along the lines of, "It occurs to me that since your coming to America, we have not yet had the chance to meet outside of work, and I would like for that to be amended. Are you, by chance, free on Saturday evening?". Though she'd made sure to properly let him know just how foolishly foolish she found that notion to be beforehand, she did, for some reason, wind up agreeing. And ever since then, once every few months, they meet.
There are, then, two things that make this case in particular stand out. First of all, she had been the one to make the call. Over the course of a year, that did not happen once. Generally, Franziska is not in the habit of calling people -- in fact, you could say it rather goes against her principles. As far as she's concerned, if people need to get hold of her so very badly, they can go through the effort of calling her themselves. She, on the other hand, never needs to talk to anyone so urgently that she feels inclined to make a call. The one exception to that rule is Adrian Andrews, though even then, she is usually the one to initiate their phone conversations. Or, that is to say, the one exception to that rule was Adrian Andrews, as Franziska had rather shamefully made it so that there are now two exceptions, though she has no intention of turning the act of making phone calls to her little brother into a habit.
The second thing out of place is the silence. Miles, being the one insistent on "maintaining their sibling bond" or what-have-you, usually summons her to those meet-ups with the intention of making small-talk. Franziska humors him by replying, but hardly ever goes as far as to bring up new topic on her own. This time, however, he's yet to made any attempt at conversation, and from the way he's eyeing her while sipping his tea, it doesn't look like he's planning on doing so any time soon.
Scoffing inwardly, Franziska wonders if the reason there's an average of three months between each one of his invitations to meet up is because that's how long it takes him to come up with things to say for a friendly conversation.
But she knows better. Knows that he's not looking at her all expectantly because he doesn't have anything to say, but because he knows she has something to say, and is waiting for her to go ahead and say it.
Damn him.
She begins cutting the pieces of her cake into halves. A few more moments of silence pass, and finally, she says-- "There is something that I would like for us to talk about."
"Yes, I had figured as much, considering you actually went to the effort of making a phone call to my apartment," is his matter-of-fact reply over the rim of his teacup, and Franziska grits her teeth.
There's a pause. "Well? I don't suppose you're going to tell me what it is?"
"Miles Edgeworth," she hisses, "You will shut up and patiently wait for me to start talking!"
Seeming to accept this, he leans back in his seat, eyebrows raised. Franziska's beginning to regret this already, but she'll be damned if she backs out of this now. That would mean he and his smug, insufferable attitude had won, and Franziska would sooner die than let that happen.
She clears her throat.
"As you know, I am a very capable, independent woman."
"Yes, you are."
She growls. He relents, one hand raised up in resignation.
"I don't rely on anybody. I don't need to. As a von Karma, I handle things on my own, and I handle them perfectly. That's why I had always assumed I have no need for things such as..." she trails off, then, frowning deeply at her own incompetence at letting out an entire sentence. Really, this is pathetic. Why should she have any problem saying this? It's just Miles. Like she cares what he thinks, whether he approves or not. This is her life, this is her choice, and--
"Franziska... are you seeing someone?"
Franziska promptly stabs her fork into her cake. "I--!"
That appears to be the only answer he needs, and he laughs in that infuriating manner of his, shaking his head through a nonchalant shrug. "Well, if that's all there was to it--"
"I'm not finished!"
The way her voice has risen seems to take him by surprise, enough to erase that maddening expression off his face, for which Franziska is thankful. "Like I said, you will shut up and wait for me to finish talking!"
"Actually," he says with a pointed forefinger, "You had told me to shut up and wait for you to start talking--"
"Silence!"
"Yewoooch!"
"Any further interruptions will met with appropriate punishment! Consider yourself warned!" With that, Franziska puts her whip away and continues from where she'd been most rudely cut off. "Yes, I am seeing someone. But that's not the point. That is-- it's not the entire point. You see, that person is..." No, it's too direct. For whatever godforsaken reason, she just can't say it straight-out like that. Grimacing, she tries a different approach. "Did you know that among giraffes, up to ninety-four percent of the males--" -- was this nonsense seriously coming out of her own mouth? She's never felt so foolish in her entire life-- "Nngh...!"
He opens his mouth to say something again, but a harsh, well-directed glower shuts him up before as much as a syllable can escape. Instead, he pulls out a pen and writes down on the napkin, which he then holds up--
'Franziska, you are aware I'm dating Wright, are you not?'
"-- What?!"
"Ow!," he cries out as the whip once again comes into contact with his shoulder, and then scowls. "Why did you--"
"Miles Edgeworth! You're dating Phoenix Wright?!" She bangs her fist down on the table. "No, more importantly-- how dare you make this about you?!"
"I was not!," he exclaims, clutching his sore shoulder defensively. "I was simply trying to make you understand there was no reason for your nervousness!"
"Who's nervous?!"
"Yeoww!"
--
Franziska cannot believe they'd been made to leave. The nerve of some people! "Making a racket", "Inconveniencing the other customers", honestly, how dare they?! She was more than willing to tell the waiter exactly what she thought of him and his foolish cafe with her whip doing the talking, but then Miles had the gall to pull her away by the wrist, and even left a large, entirely undeserved tip in the way of "apology". As if they had anything to apologize for!
"So, how long has it been?" he asks her once they're a few feet away from the cafe, and he's finally let go of her arm. She's not happy with him, and she makes a point of letting him know that, arms folded across her chest and face insistently turned away from his. Still, since that is what she came here to talk to him about, she figures she might as well reply. "A little over four months."
He doesn't say anything else right away, and Franziska allows herself to steal a glance in his direction. He's not looking at her, but rather at the street ahead, and there's a thoughtful sort of expression on his face.
"Are you happy, Franziska?"
This time, it's her who takes a moment to reply. Not because she doesn't have the answer -- no, she doesn't even have to ponder the brightness of Adrian Andrews' smile, or the warmth of her body pressed up against hers, or the way her hand fits so easily in hers, to know what to tell him. But exactly because it's him, it feels almost strange to admit. Because it's something she never expected him to ask.
"... Yes, I am."
There's a softness in his eyes when he looks at her, and it seeps into his voice when he speaks. "Then I'm glad, for you as well as for Ms. Andrews."
She grumbles something under her breath. He smiles. For the next couple of minutes, nothing else is said; a surprisingly comfortable silence hangs in the air, as the two of them walk side by side.
"... You and Phoenix Wright. Honestly?"
CHARACTERS: Franziska von Karma, Adrian Andrews, Miles Edgeworth. (Franziska/Adrian)
RATING: PG.
WORD COUNT: 2,374.
SUMMARY: Done for a kink meme prompt (though lacking in any actual porn): "Franziska comes out to Edgeworth. But not some type of angsty, sappy, crying admittance. No, none of that. Instead, she's just really awkward about it. Uses over-complicated language, beats around the bush, etc. Bonus points for implications of Franziska/Adrian." I haven't written anything in about two years, but this prompt was too cute for me to pass up.
--
"Thank you, Franziska," Adrian says as they walk up to her doorway, smiling in a way that reflects in her eyes, "I had a lovely time."
Franziska takes an extravagant bow, a smirk playing on her lips as she straightens up. "But of course. I did as well, naturally." Her arms soon find their way around Adrian's waist, and she pulls her into a kiss -- Adrian places her hands on Franziska's shoulders, and when their mouths break away, keeps them there. Her hold becomes a little tighter, then, and her expression turns into something Franziska isn't sure she likes. Serious, with the ever-so-visible touch of apprehensive.
"Franziska... actually-- well--" Adrian takes a deep breath. Franziska scowls in preparation of what's to come. "I'm going to be visiting my family in San Diego this Christmas, and I was wondering if you'd like to come with me."
Franziska's mouth pulls into a thin, straight line, eyebrows cocked up. "Come with you?"
"Yes." There's a brief pause. Adrian smiles sheepishly. "... As my girlfriend. I mean-- you're a really important part of my life now, Franziska. I just think it would be nice if my family got to know you, and the other way around." When Franziska's expression remains unchanged, and no reply seems to be forthcoming, she quickly adds-- "But if you have other plans, or just don't feel like going, that's alright! I-it was just a suggestion, that's all."
"There's no need to start stammering, Adrian Andrews," Franziska tuts, wagging a finger. "I'll go."
She's honestly not sure what made her agree so readily, but the way Adrian Andrews' face lights up in response makes it wholly and utterly worthwhile.
--
The von Karmas have never been ones for family gatherings. They were all far too busy with their work for that kind of nonsense, and holidays, to Franziska, had always meant being showered with very expensive gifts from Papa, and little else. So it occurs to her, not long after her agreement, that spending her time in the company of Adrian's extended family -- which, according to her, consists of a little more than a dozen people -- might turn out to be nothing short of a nightmare. Of course, Franziska's experience has led her to be more than capable of plowing through long, tedious social events with astounding grace, but that does not mean she enjoys them.
Still, as a von Karma, she has no intention of going back on her word. Especially not when said word had been given to Adrian Andrews. She will go in there, and she will get to know Adrian Andrews' family, and she will leave so good an impression that it will make everyone there regret their choice of obviously-inadequate-in-comparison significant others.
And that's that.
--
It goes better than expected. Not on her part, of course-- Franziska's planned on handling this family gathering perfectly from the start, which she naturally does. But Adrian Andrews' family makes for surprisingly pleasant company, and the majority of them seems to know how to keep up an intelligent conversation for more than five minutes on end, or, barring that, how to refrain from bothering her with an abundance of mindless chatter. And they're all so-- friendly, too. Accepting. Not that Franziska is in any way shy of introducing herself as Adrian Andrews' significant other -- quite the opposite, as the first line out of her mouth upon meeting each one of her family members is "I am Franziska von Karma, prosecutorial prodigy and Adrian Andrews' girlfriend" -- but she didn't expect them to be so completely unsurprised.
At the end of their visit, when they go to leave, Adrian takes her hand in her own, smiles up at her and says, "I'm glad you came."
It's rather nice, she supposes.
--
Franziska doesn't know why she can't stop thinking about it, but she rather wishes she could.
She never thought she'd have this urge to tell people. It's not like what goes on in her private life is anyone else's business, and really, there's no reason why anyone should have to know. And yet, there she is now, wanting to let someone know so badly that the feeling is near intolerable. Things change, she supposes. Much like the way she couldn't imagine ever wanting to be part of something as foolishly time-consuming as a relationship just five months ago.
For some reason, she keeps trying to picture what it'd be like to tell Papa. It's difficult. Probably because she doesn't think she would, even if he was here now. Still, she can just about envision the way he'd react-- can picture the disapproving downwards-tug of his mouth, the creases in his brow as his fingers dig into his sleeve, the anger flashing in his eyes. Things she'd really rather not remember, but can't, for the life of her, get out of her mind.
She thinks of Adrian Andrews' father, the way he had all-too-heartily patted her on the back, then laughed in such a way that made it hard to hold it against him for more than a moment, and said, "Take good care of her for us, will you?"
When a week goes by and the thoughts don't desist, she calls Miles Edgeworth.
--
She is sitting opposite to Miles Edgeworth in a small yet high-class cafe. He is drinking tea. She has a white china plate in front of her, on which there is a small desert, which she has been spending the last minute and a half cutting into small, symmetrical squares with her spoon. This is atypical.
Not the meeting itself, per se. In fact, it's become a sort of tradition for the two of them, though not one they partake in often. It began about a year back -- out of seemingly nowhere, Miles Edgeworth had called her up and said something along the lines of, "It occurs to me that since your coming to America, we have not yet had the chance to meet outside of work, and I would like for that to be amended. Are you, by chance, free on Saturday evening?". Though she'd made sure to properly let him know just how foolishly foolish she found that notion to be beforehand, she did, for some reason, wind up agreeing. And ever since then, once every few months, they meet.
There are, then, two things that make this case in particular stand out. First of all, she had been the one to make the call. Over the course of a year, that did not happen once. Generally, Franziska is not in the habit of calling people -- in fact, you could say it rather goes against her principles. As far as she's concerned, if people need to get hold of her so very badly, they can go through the effort of calling her themselves. She, on the other hand, never needs to talk to anyone so urgently that she feels inclined to make a call. The one exception to that rule is Adrian Andrews, though even then, she is usually the one to initiate their phone conversations. Or, that is to say, the one exception to that rule was Adrian Andrews, as Franziska had rather shamefully made it so that there are now two exceptions, though she has no intention of turning the act of making phone calls to her little brother into a habit.
The second thing out of place is the silence. Miles, being the one insistent on "maintaining their sibling bond" or what-have-you, usually summons her to those meet-ups with the intention of making small-talk. Franziska humors him by replying, but hardly ever goes as far as to bring up new topic on her own. This time, however, he's yet to made any attempt at conversation, and from the way he's eyeing her while sipping his tea, it doesn't look like he's planning on doing so any time soon.
Scoffing inwardly, Franziska wonders if the reason there's an average of three months between each one of his invitations to meet up is because that's how long it takes him to come up with things to say for a friendly conversation.
But she knows better. Knows that he's not looking at her all expectantly because he doesn't have anything to say, but because he knows she has something to say, and is waiting for her to go ahead and say it.
Damn him.
She begins cutting the pieces of her cake into halves. A few more moments of silence pass, and finally, she says-- "There is something that I would like for us to talk about."
"Yes, I had figured as much, considering you actually went to the effort of making a phone call to my apartment," is his matter-of-fact reply over the rim of his teacup, and Franziska grits her teeth.
There's a pause. "Well? I don't suppose you're going to tell me what it is?"
"Miles Edgeworth," she hisses, "You will shut up and patiently wait for me to start talking!"
Seeming to accept this, he leans back in his seat, eyebrows raised. Franziska's beginning to regret this already, but she'll be damned if she backs out of this now. That would mean he and his smug, insufferable attitude had won, and Franziska would sooner die than let that happen.
She clears her throat.
"As you know, I am a very capable, independent woman."
"Yes, you are."
She growls. He relents, one hand raised up in resignation.
"I don't rely on anybody. I don't need to. As a von Karma, I handle things on my own, and I handle them perfectly. That's why I had always assumed I have no need for things such as..." she trails off, then, frowning deeply at her own incompetence at letting out an entire sentence. Really, this is pathetic. Why should she have any problem saying this? It's just Miles. Like she cares what he thinks, whether he approves or not. This is her life, this is her choice, and--
"Franziska... are you seeing someone?"
Franziska promptly stabs her fork into her cake. "I--!"
That appears to be the only answer he needs, and he laughs in that infuriating manner of his, shaking his head through a nonchalant shrug. "Well, if that's all there was to it--"
"I'm not finished!"
The way her voice has risen seems to take him by surprise, enough to erase that maddening expression off his face, for which Franziska is thankful. "Like I said, you will shut up and wait for me to finish talking!"
"Actually," he says with a pointed forefinger, "You had told me to shut up and wait for you to start talking--"
"Silence!"
"Yewoooch!"
"Any further interruptions will met with appropriate punishment! Consider yourself warned!" With that, Franziska puts her whip away and continues from where she'd been most rudely cut off. "Yes, I am seeing someone. But that's not the point. That is-- it's not the entire point. You see, that person is..." No, it's too direct. For whatever godforsaken reason, she just can't say it straight-out like that. Grimacing, she tries a different approach. "Did you know that among giraffes, up to ninety-four percent of the males--" -- was this nonsense seriously coming out of her own mouth? She's never felt so foolish in her entire life-- "Nngh...!"
He opens his mouth to say something again, but a harsh, well-directed glower shuts him up before as much as a syllable can escape. Instead, he pulls out a pen and writes down on the napkin, which he then holds up--
'Franziska, you are aware I'm dating Wright, are you not?'
"-- What?!"
"Ow!," he cries out as the whip once again comes into contact with his shoulder, and then scowls. "Why did you--"
"Miles Edgeworth! You're dating Phoenix Wright?!" She bangs her fist down on the table. "No, more importantly-- how dare you make this about you?!"
"I was not!," he exclaims, clutching his sore shoulder defensively. "I was simply trying to make you understand there was no reason for your nervousness!"
"Who's nervous?!"
"Yeoww!"
--
Franziska cannot believe they'd been made to leave. The nerve of some people! "Making a racket", "Inconveniencing the other customers", honestly, how dare they?! She was more than willing to tell the waiter exactly what she thought of him and his foolish cafe with her whip doing the talking, but then Miles had the gall to pull her away by the wrist, and even left a large, entirely undeserved tip in the way of "apology". As if they had anything to apologize for!
"So, how long has it been?" he asks her once they're a few feet away from the cafe, and he's finally let go of her arm. She's not happy with him, and she makes a point of letting him know that, arms folded across her chest and face insistently turned away from his. Still, since that is what she came here to talk to him about, she figures she might as well reply. "A little over four months."
He doesn't say anything else right away, and Franziska allows herself to steal a glance in his direction. He's not looking at her, but rather at the street ahead, and there's a thoughtful sort of expression on his face.
"Are you happy, Franziska?"
This time, it's her who takes a moment to reply. Not because she doesn't have the answer -- no, she doesn't even have to ponder the brightness of Adrian Andrews' smile, or the warmth of her body pressed up against hers, or the way her hand fits so easily in hers, to know what to tell him. But exactly because it's him, it feels almost strange to admit. Because it's something she never expected him to ask.
"... Yes, I am."
There's a softness in his eyes when he looks at her, and it seeps into his voice when he speaks. "Then I'm glad, for you as well as for Ms. Andrews."
She grumbles something under her breath. He smiles. For the next couple of minutes, nothing else is said; a surprisingly comfortable silence hangs in the air, as the two of them walk side by side.
"... You and Phoenix Wright. Honestly?"