Alright, so I've had this idea bouncing around in my head for a while. I love to write and I don't do the whole Film Noir thing very often, or present tense, so this was a challenge for me in more ways than one.

Despite the title, this does not have anything to do with any hot action between Franny and Phoenix. I apologize as well if this conflicts with anything from GS3 or 4, because I have not done much reading on them as I hate spoilers.

That being said, this contains spoilers for the first two games, most notably 2-2 through 2-4, and mild ones for GS4 although I'm not sure what case they would be classified under.

This is my first fic posted here, and I have some ideas for a few others. This is a oneshot involving interaction between and

Thanks in advance for reading!

Any comments are appreciated!

Steam

A Phoenix Wright/Gyakuten Saiban fanfic
by Kusanagi

Steam.

What a perfect metaphor for her life and emotions over the last two years.

Rising up slowly, dancing in the whims of the breeze. Rising, to either twist in tortured agony at the merciless assault before losing cohesion, spiraling off into infinity beyond in a silent scream to be replayed in dreams on countless nights.

The vapor also dances, forming figures full of life and energy, sheer joy unbound as the wind lifts it and carries it, before it flutters away to be tucked into a secure corner of the mind to give comfort and warmth, like the memory of a kiss with a loved one, or the smile of an old friend.

Regardless of the form it takes, it’s never solid, never lasting, nothing more than a thought of definition. It’s all doomed to disappear into nothingness, the shadow of a memory. Changing from one moment to the next, never achieving clarity, always beyond understanding.

How appropriate. The perfect way to describe the foolish emotions in this foolish girl’s heart.

As she walks down the busy street, past the vent that the vapor emerges from, she still hears the voice of her father. That authoritive, commanding voice that he had practiced for twenty years before using it on her. Telling her that she must strive for perfection. That she must be the best at what she does. But no words of encouragement. No words of praise when she succeeded. Just fear.

Her eyes could betray her. That cold stare she fixes on whatever she fancies show that she is not a creature with a use for emotions. Fear was the only emotion she is intimate with. Either being afraid, or instilling it in others. It was a means to an end. Even though her father is gone, his words still live on in her mind, correcting her, taunting her, commanding her.

She shakes her head to keep the demons at bay, as more steam rises from the vent, shadowing her face from the bright lights.

Click, clack. Click, clack.

Her shoes, flawless in shape and appearance, as she is accustomed to, stab the ground with each step she takes. The noise brings the attention of others, who turn to look in her direction. Let them stare. Let them see perfection.

You are not perfect.

She scowls visibly at the voice in her head, full of mocking indignation, tinged with a sadistic smile.

You were defeated. You have no right to bear the von Karma name.

She had heard that voice many times before, in her dreams, in her sleepless nights, and even during the day, when she didn’t busy herself in her work. It was a weak protection to keep her doubts chained away, a feeble defense that failed too often to count.

This time, the voice belonged to her father, but it was also her own. A blending of voices, like a harmony at the crescendo of a song. The voice in her head that had been her father's was changing into one she recognized, one she felt in her body and soul, as it was the messenger of both.

All thanks to that Phoenix Wright. If there was anyone the steam in her mind fogged around, it was he.

A taxi beeps its horn at the young woman, vying for her attention, and ultimately money. She turns once, then continues walking, ignoring the outburst. The chorus of her footfalls ring in time with the other sounds of the busy city, maintaining a steady beat.

Click, clack. Click, clack.

She clutches her light jacket further around her. The blue-haired spitfire has come back to America to finally find closure against the only one to have ever bested her in court. She wants to defeat him, and restore that stubborn pride that was ingrained into her since birth, but at the same time…she wants to know what it was like. To fight for truth, and not oneself.

Her “little” brother – Miles Edgeworth, had found an answer for himself as to what it meant to be a prosecutor. Before she had left to return to Germany, he had told her. It had sounded so simple. It had sounded too simple as a matter of fact. But still…a part of her wanted to latch onto it, to embrace it…but she couldn’t. Not easily.

But, she had been trying. Little by little.

Click clack click clack. Her pace quickens as her mind wanders towards the unknown and uncomfortable.

A part of her is thankful to them both. After being pressed upon so hard by her father, so much more viciously and ruthlessly than he ever pressed anyone in court, Phoenix Wright had dealt her the most crushing blow she had ever experienced. And with that blow also came a freedom that Miles had let her see. She was free to make her own choices, and free from the horrible burden of perfection.

You are not perfect.

I know, Father.

She stops as the wave of people around her continue to surge. Drawn by instinct, she looks up at the stars, trying to see them over the bright lights that crowd her vision. The majestic front of the Gatewater hotel stares down on her, the lights of so many rooms winking down at the peons below that would be destined to only look and never be able to afford a stay. Memories continue to come back to her. Why had her feet led her to this place? She inadvertently clutches at her shoulder, where she had been shot…

The first time she had ever felt true terror was during that moment. The hot, burning pain tearing through the entire right side of her body, the shock that anything could hurt that much, the mental realization that she was not invincible and could truly die. Those few seconds after the first shot, waiting for a second one to end her life, one that never came, were the longest eternities she had ever faced.

She looks across the way, towards the other buildings across the street. A few have lights on, but none we as majestic as what lay across from them. The plain facades have wording, letters, and signs that mean little to her. Down by the street, graffiti adorns the gray walls. She scans them all absentmindedly, until she comes across a name that rushes into her thoughts.

Wright & Co. Law Offices.

The building is completely dark and silent. No lights from inside showing the labor that would determine the terms on which a battle would be fought.

So, this was where the fool worked? She had no need of ever knowing where his office was, except that it was in the general area. Perhaps her feet had led her here due to the news she had received. Barely two hours ago, a phone call had let the girl know that something serious had happened.

“This is Miles.”

“Hello, little brother.”

“Franziska?” he said, with a touch of surprise in his voice. “What’s going on?”

“Fool,” she said, but without her normal bite. “There’s only one reason I would come back to this country. It’s the same reason you returned, Miles Edgeworth.”

“I…see,” he said. “Then I am happy to hear that, Franziska.”

“Good. I have a favor to ask you, little brother.”

“Please, go ahead.”

“Do you have any trials coming up that I could repay my debt to you on? I am…eager to try my hand again.”

“You mean, the Engarde case?”

“Yes.” She held the phone to her ear, apprehensive, hoping that no signs of weakness would show through. She hadn’t prosecuted in over a year, not since she had lost, and Miles most likely knew that.

“I believe I can arrange something.”

“Miles…do you have any coming up where Phoenix Wright is slated to be the defending attorney?”
Silence descended for a few seconds before he answered. “That…is not possible anymore, I’m afraid…”

“What happened?” she demanded.

Miles had told her everything about Phoenix Wright’s last case and his resulting humiliation and downfall. How he had been accused of using faulty evidence, and had admitted to it. Miles did not believe that Phoenix was guilty, when he heard the story, and deep down, neither did she. Phoenix Wright was a fool of a man, but he had such strong convictions that would never allow him to do such a thing.

His review is tomorrow, he said. To decide what punishment he will face, or what charges he will have brought against him.

Click, clack. She keeps walking, dancing around the streets, making her way towards a small bar that she visits during her covert and public trips to America. She had never even told Miles that she had come, the last few times. She wanted to be left alone to her own thoughts, and to think about what had happened. Until she understood it perfectly.

The small pub resides on the corner a few blocks past the Gatewater. She walks past the front entryway, leaving the entire world back on the noisy street. It always gives her a pleasant assault on her senses. The way the old lights shine off the bottles and glasses behind the bar, where an old man faithfully dusts; the old booths that had seen better days and countless history discussed by their patrons; the way even the old wooden floor muffles the sharp noises her shoes made.

She walks up to the bar, ignoring the stares of all the men and women that gaze at this steel blue beauty that walked in their midst. She orders a cocktail with a practiced ease, more content to relax and serve her patronage than achieve any effect from the alcohol itself. Nobody dared question her.

She allows a cursory glance around the establishment, feeling entitled to do so as she had been so scrutinized on entering. A few people that spend more time there than they do at home, discussing life with old trusted friends; a few people out on the town for a good night and not finding anyplace more lively; and a few others that sit by themselves in suits and ties, drowning away a plethora of sorrows.

Then, she notices him. Seated in the back, farthest from any window, farthest from any light.

Those eyes. That spiky hair. That face. It was none other than Phoenix Wright.

He sits in street clothes, dark jeans and a wrinkled button-up shirt. The colors in it might be vibrant in the right light, but in the dark luminescence of the bar, their muted tones are gray and dull, adding to the ambience surrounding their wearer.

He is staring at a glass he has cupped between his hands, passing it back and forth between them, sliding it across the top of the table. He must have been at it for a while, given how smoothly the glass coasts, its base slick with condensation. There is no color in the glass, only a few clear pieces of ice, melting slowly.

She finds herself staring at how foolish he looked, and feels a flash of ingrained indignation. Here was the great Phoenix Wright, the man that had defeated her father, herself, and her little brother. Why is he sitting in a dive bar acting like a fool?

The steam in her heart shifts one again, and she feels a part of it go out to him. Even though they are rivals, she still respects him, for fighting so hard. To see him in such a state…it is unsettling, to say the least.

“Bartender,” she says, the words leaving her lips before she realizes it. The older man saunters over, putting down the glass he was holding and the rag he was cleaning it with. She points towards the far corner. “What is that man drinking?”

The bartender squints through the light, trying to get his eyes to recognize the patron, and recall what he ordered. “Ah, he was having a scotch, ma’am.”

“Bring him another if he wants it, and put it on my tab,” She instructs. The bartender nods once before turning around and reaching for a bottle on the bottom shelf.

Oh please, she thinks in disgust. At least have the decency…

“Not that one,” she says, causing him to pause. She points towards one on the top shelf, lit up brilliantly by the light behind it.

The bartender raises his bushy eyebrows in appreciation, before stretching up to remove the top shelf liquor. A coating of dust blurs the label and dulls the contents inside slightly, but a quick wipe from the rag restores it to its former glory.

Franziska leaves him to his ministrations, and turns to look at Phoenix once more. He stares out the window this time, and his shoulders are slumped.

Pitiful.

The bartender places the glass of scotch down by her hand, making the correct guess that she would be the one to take it over to him. She nods curtly in acknowledgement, and takes the glass along with her own to make her way back towards his booth.

If Phoenix hears her, he doesn’t make any indication of it. She marches right up to his booth and stands at the end of it, unnoticed for several seconds as he stares intently at his empty glass. She decides to just stop being subtle as she sits down in the booth across from him, placing the drinks down between them.

He starts, obviously taken aback by this intrusion into his own little world. His eyes grow wide as in shock as he looks at a woman who just sat across from him, and even wider still in recognition at who she is.

“Franziska?” he says, his voice thick and raspy, and full of surprise. He clears his throat with an embarrassing smile and tries again, in a much clearer and calmer voice. “Miss von Karma?”

She looks at him, his uncomprehending face and his clouded eyes, and lets herself give a small smile of satisfaction that he had remembered to address her like a gentleman.

“Hello, Mister Phoenix Wright,” she states, matter-of-factly. “Please, indulge yourself of something much better than that foolish swill they pass off as good scotch.”

Phoenix stares at her, then the full glass, than the empty glass, then back at the full glass before slowly taking it. She senses his hesitation, and retorts with a snort. “Fool. It’s not poisoned.”

He brings the glass up to his lips hesitantly and takes a small sip. He grimaces at the bite of the alcohol, but swallows quickly. It must burn, she thinks. Well, only the best will do that.

“…thank you,” he manages. “Although,” he says with a sheepish smile, “I suppose I should be the one welcoming you back by buying you a drink.”

“Nonsense,” she replies, while taking a swallow of her own drink, the cool liquid sliding down her throat. “I am more than capable of supporting myself and buying someone a drink when I feel like it.”

The man has nothing to say, but continues to stare at the scotch, the smile slowly bleeding from his face.

She was never good at small talk, but decides to try anyway, in as delicate a manner as she knows. “What happened?”

Phoenix gives a long, heavy sigh before picking up the glass and bringing it to eye level. His face, once clear, is shattered through the lenses of the ice, and the curve of the glass – a dozen faces all twisted. A fitting effigy to reflect the feelings of the man behind them.

“I don’t know,” he finally says, quietly. “So, you heard?”

“Yes, I did. You admitted to forging evidence used in a trial. You were found guilty of it, and have a hearing tomorrow to decide to strip you of your badge.”

He winces, each word cutting into him, as it had no doubt been doing every time someone said it. “That pretty much covers it…”

Franziska’s mind is frustrated that the man was forever beyond her understanding, yet wanted to know the truth. “Why?” she demands in a loud voice that causes a few people nearby to look in their direction. She bristles, realizing her mistake, and then asks again in a softer tone. “Why?”

He does not misunderstand the question, to his credit. She is not asking why he had forged evidence, but is rather asking why he would willingly take the blame for such an action.

He takes a deeper swallow of the liquor, not even pausing to taste. “It doesn’t matter…I have no proof, and I even admitted to it.”

“Phoenix Wright. You are a terrible liar. I do not believe you knew the evidence was forged, and neither does Miles Edgeworth.”

She sees Phoenix chuckle to himself, a move that is more unsettling than it is comforting. “Edgeworth was in court that day. He saw what happened.”

She pauses for a few seconds, but is unable to find an answer to that statement.

“Why, Mr. Wright? If you did not know the evidence was forged…then why did you admit to it?”

“Miss von Karma…I’ve asked myself that many times…” He stops, and looked at her, a sudden clarity in his eyes, mixed with regret. “Do you remember the trial with Engarde, and how we all worked together to bring him down?”

She nods, the image fresh. “What does that have to do with this?”

The sullen man carried on, looking into her in a way that nobody except her brother could. “Edgeworth…before the trial, he told me he found out what it means to be an attorney. That we fight the hardest we can, so that the truth should come forward. I didn’t realize what he was talking about until that trial…”

He twirls the glass in his hand in a lazy circle, causing the ice to spin freely in the dark liquid. “When I found out Engarde did it, it was the hardest decision I ever had to make. I wanted to save Maya but I couldn’t let Engarde go free…if I said he was guilty, then Maya would be killed…if I said that he was innocent, then he would go free and Miss Andrews would be charged with murder…”

“What did you choose?” she asks softly, mostly for his own benefit, but she had always wanted to know.

He leans forward on his elbow, spinning the ice some more with the tip of his finger. “It didn’t matter. You barged in with the last pieces of the puzzle, what we all needed to put Engarde away.”

He stops, and stares suddenly at her. “Why? Why did you help me then?”

She shrugs it off, closing her eyes and crossing her arms, an old habit she uses in the courtroom. “His assassin shot me. And Miles was adamant. You weren’t the only one who wanted to see him brought to justice, you know,” she finishes with a small smile on her lips.

“And what if you were the one defending him, trying to maintain a perfect win record?”

Franziska feels a hot flash of anger and glares at him, but sees no malice in his eyes, but a faint twinkle of mischief. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist…”

She thinks about it for a few seconds, then decides to dismiss it with a grunt. The old her would have railed into him with a whip, and would have had a hard time stopping until he no longer moved.

“I…I decided that the truth is the most important thing. It’s why I became a lawyer. But Edgeworth was right. I’m too simpleminded, to a fault.”

“Cease your foolish blubbering. You defeated all of us in court with that simplemindedness. It is your greatest asset, Phoenix Wright.”

He eyes shift down at the glass again. “I guess it was my weakness too. I was set up so easily…”

“I ask you again, Phoenix Wright. Why did you accept the blame for the evidence? I know that you would never act so foolishly. There has to be a reason. Why throw away your career as a defense attorney?”

His eyes return to hers once more, and his body gives a small, tired smile. “My client was innocent. If I hadn’t accepted responsibility for it, then he would have been found guilty…”

The fog in her mind was trying desperately to clear so she could understand what he was saying. “What concern is that of yours?”

He glances down at the table between them, and closes his eyes in thought. “You asked me what choice I made during the Engarde trial. I was willing to side with justice…I was willing to throw Maya’s life away…”

Her lips part in shock. It is not a large gesture, but to anyone who knows her, she would appear alarmed. “You would have purposely gotten your client declared guilty, even though you knew your advisor would die?” The older man turns his head to the side, and his eyes even further, shame creeping into his cheeks.

“Yes.” A bare whisper. “Franziska…not a night goes by that I’m not haunted by that decision…I’m so grateful everything turned out alright…but if they didn’t…I don’t know if I could have lived with myself…”

Franziska is as much taken aback by his confession as his breach of protocol. She almost feels offended that he calls her by her first name, but under the circumstances, she knows that his pain is too real. “Mister Phoenix Wright…” she struggles, at a loss for both words and the method to deliver them. “I…it is not something you have to deal with. Engarde is behind bars, where he will no doubt stay for the rest of his life, and the girl is safe. Where is she now?”

“She left, before the last trial. She went back to the village. I left her several messages…but she hasn’t called me back…”

“I see…” she says, mulling over that statement.

“I guess,” Phoenix starts again, playing with the glass in his hand, “I realized what I needed to do. Not for myself, but for justice, like how it happened with the Engarde case…”

Everything in Franziska’s mind suddenly comes to a screeching halt as she realizes what he was saying. He was never fighting for a perfect win record or personal pride. If he were, he would have let his client take the fall. But he believed in his client, until the end.

Can I be so selfless? Could I ever put aside my pride for the truth?

I don’t know.

How could this man, who had been through so much – his mentor being killed, his assistant having her life threatened, his win record obliterated, his honor and dignity stripped from him, this fool, how could he still sit there and give anything resembling a smile?

Why can’t you?

The voice is as clear as if someone behind her had said it. It cleanly pierces through everything in her mind. She had lost her father, a man she never loved so much as feared, and she had been shot and suffered no more than a small scar on her shoulder. What is keeping her from smiling? Why is her own heart so heavy?

Was that what Miles meant by finding himself? Is that what Phoenix Wright has come to accept, that putting the truth above yourself is the most important duty of one in law?

“Miss von Karma? Is something wrong?” Phoenix asks, looking concerned, seeing the look of sad shock on her face as the flood of self doubt and questions play across her face, storming in her eyes.

Could she ever do that?

“I can…” she says in a whisper to herself, the last sentence of a silent prayer she has been reciting in her head for years.

“You can what?” he suddenly speaks, looking confused. She snaps back to reality with a visible shudder, then addresses him.

“I am fine. I just don’t feel to well after my flight today, is all.”

He seems to accept that answer, and nods. She can tell he still doesn’t believe her completely.

“Miss von Karma…may I ask you something?”

“What is it?”

“Did you find the answer you were looking for?”

She is shocked again as her cheeks flush slightly, the intrusiveness of that question no less serious than if someone had just confessed their love for her. Before she could realize it, she was answering honestly. “I…don’t know. Perhaps I have, perhaps I have not. But…I know I am closer to finding it.”

He smiles at her, a warm, genuine smile that nobody has ever directed at her. She blushes deep red, picking up her drink quickly or the distraction.

“So what will you do now?” she asks him, finishing the liquid in quick fashion.

“I don’t know…I know I’m going to have a lot of free time on my hands. I’m sure I can think of something.”

“You’re giving up?”

He shakes his head in disapproval. “No, I haven’t given up,” he says, a slight edge of steel bleeding into his voice. “I’ll figure out who set me up…I have an idea, but I know that tomorrow, well…”

The man reaches a steady hand into his pocket and pulls out a dull piece of metal. It bounces down on the table, a clicking noise rapping out through the bar. The ornate edges reflect off the smoothly polished surface of the wood, before it comes to rest, facing her. He stares at it sadly. “I worked so hard for that little piece of metal. Hard to believe tomorrow I won’t need it anymore.”

Franziska understands what he is saying. She knows that he has no chance of coming out of the review unscathed. He will be stripped of his badge.

“But you know?” he ponders, before draining the rest of his scotch in a single gulp. “I’m okay with that. I know that somehow, everything will work out, the same way it does in court. I know I’ll be fine.”

You are a fool.

She stopped.

Wait, was that directed at him or me?

…

“Do you require any assistance?” she found herself asking suddenly. Knowing Miles, he had already asked, but she would be damned if she didn’t as well. She isn’t sure where the question, or it’s answer, would lead her, but it felt right to ask.

He shakes his head again. “No, I don’t. I know what I’m doing. It’s still painful but…” he trails off before looking into her eyes. “Thank you.”

Franziska finds it possible to look into his eyes, and turns away slightly. “You always were a fool…”

He smiles. “It was good to see you again, Franziska von Karma. Thank you for the drink.”

She nods. She realizes that this may be the last time she sees him. She may never have another chance. There is one thing left that she needs to do, one thing left that she needs to say. She reaches into her purse idly.

“Phoenix Wright…you remember the trial with Engarde very clearly…” she begins, her words losing force the farther she progresses them. “Do you remember the evidence I brought to the court in Scruffy’s coat?”

He pauses for about half a second. “The video, pistol, and uniform, right?”

She dips her chin. She sees his brow furrow as he puts the pieces together.

“Gumshoe said there was a fourth piece of evidence, but then never mentioned it again…” he pauses, to look up at her. After waiting for her to respond, something she had no intention of doing, he finishes his thought. “Was there?”

Franziska nods again, her blue hair shaking slightly around her face.

“Then…what was it?”

The woman slides to the end of the booth and stands up, reaching into her purse. She removes a few crisp bills from their secure location, and deftly places them on the table, underneath her empty glass. The confused man just watches her as she hesitates slightly, and then pulls out a small card as well. She scrutinizes it briefly, then places it face down next to his hand.

“I made a promise that I would keep this safe for you. I don’t know why I did such a foolish thing, but something…compelled me.”

Phoenix picks the item up and turns it over in his hand. It is a white card with a pink shell emblazoned on the front, with drawn lines racing across the surface. It takes him a few seconds to realize what he is holding, and the importance and all it implies. Tears form at the corners of his eyes as his fingertips trace the crudely drawn likeness of himself.

“Even where she was,” Franziska starts to say, “she was still believing in you. We may not understand why you did what you did, or what your reasoning or rationale behind doing this is, but…we believe in you.”

I believe in you.

Phoenix looks at her, his eyes clouding with tears that start to run down his cheeks. “Franziska…thank you so much…”

“Dry your eyes, you foolishly foolish fool,” she scolds in a low voice. Phoenix laughs, the tension momentarily gone, as he wipes his eyes with the back of his shirtsleeve. When his vision clears, he sees that her hand is extended to him, a stern look on her face.

“Good luck, Phoenix Wright.”

Phoenix hesitated for a moment, letting what she is saying and everything that she isn’t sink in. He takes her hand, surprised by her firm grip.

Well, I AM a von Karma after all, she thinks to herself with a smirk.

She watches as Phoenix sits down again, holding the card in both hands with a warm, sad smile on his face, his eyes starting to water again. She turns and walks away, thankful that her shoes make no noise on the old wooden floor.

Her hand waves to the bartender, indicating the money is on the table, and giving her leave. He smiles at her and waves back, wishing her a good night.

She steps out into the cold night air, a puff of vapor escaping from her lips at the sudden temperature drop. She briskly walks up the street, wasting no time, past the last window of the bar, where she can still see his silhouette through the tinted windows.

Franziska von Karma only waits a moment before she continues walking.

Click, clack, click, clack.

If you ever do find out who it was that did this to you, Phoenix Wright…I’ll be the first one in your corner, whip in hand, ready to take them down!

She smiles inwardly at both he promise and the fact she had made it, a smirk appearing on her face. Of course, I’ll probably have to fight Miles for that particular job…

Looking down the street and the twinkling lights of the city, she knows that life goes on. It went on for her, it went on for Edgeworth, and it will surely go on for Phoenix Wright.

A large cloud of steam blasts up from the grating as she walked by it. She pauses to watch it, as it dances beautifully in the air, twisting as if to affirm all that she had realized tonight. With a grand flourish, and not a single sound, the cloud spins apart into smaller hopes and dreams, all twirling away before winking out.

You know…maybe the steam isn’t so bad after all.

~Fin

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Changed a few things and a few typos/grammar errors.

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I have to say that this is the first fanfic I read that is set between PW3 and GS4, and I think you did a good job of it. You should consider expanding it.

Oh, BTW- no, there's no real conflict between anything in here and the GS4 canon.

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