perverbially: (Default)
perverbially ([personal profile] perverbially) wrote on May 4th, 2010 at 10:20 pm
Title: My Impure Hair
Fandom: Ace Attorney
Spoilers: Case 4 of Justice for All, vaguely.
Pairing(s): Adrian Andrews/Franziska von Karma.
Genre: Fluff, angst.
Warnings/Rating: PG-13, mentions of mental illness.
Notes: This is a drabble that became a ficlet, not that I'm complaining :) The title is from a Blonde Redhead song, "My Impure Hair", which is... well, not really related to this fic at all, but it's a beautiful song, so go and listen all the same. Unbetaed, as usual, because I'm still frightened that if I get something betaed I will automatically assume any con-crit is code for, "YOU SUCK, AND YOUR FIC IS A WASTE OF VALUABLE BANDWIDTH. PLEASE DIE." Because I'm balanced like that.
Summary: "Do you ever think I might be doing it again?"

Adrian lets herself into their hotel room as quietly as possible: her logical brain knows all too well that it's highly unlikely Franziska will be asleep, but the guilt if she did accidentally wake her is always worth avoiding, as Franziska so rarely gets a proper night's rest.

As usual, her logic wins this bout. When she enters, the room is bathed in the light from the evening news, and Franziska is sitting straight-backed on the sofa, a stack of case notes balanced on her knee, speaking tersely into her cell. She covers the mouthpiece with a finger when Adrian kisses her on the top of the head, whispering, "You look tired."

"I am tired," Adrian replies, dropping her purse on to the coffee table and sinking down beside Franziska. Stifling a yawn, she lets her body relax into Franziska's side, closing her eyes and listening distantly as Franziska finishes up her call.

"...Very well, I will speak with you further tomorrow. Good evening." She slips the handset on top of her papers with a sigh, wrinkling her nose. "My apologies, love... it seems the foolish police force in this country is still incapable of fulfilling its duties without me there to hold its collectively foolish hand."

"Mmm, I noticed," Adrian mumbles into Franziska's shoulder. Franziska looks down at her, raising an eyebrow. She shifts the papers off her knee carefully, relocating them on to the coffee table alongside Adrian's bag, before gesturing back to her knee somewhat self-consciously. Adrian curls her legs up and under her body, dropping her head gratefully into the softness of her girlfriend's lap.

"Is something the matter?" Franziska asks, in the most gentle voice she possesses. She brushes the hair back from Adrian's face, running her fingers deftly through the loose ends.

"Just a long day."


They are quiet for several minutes, the kind of easy, warm, comfortable silence they so often share at the end of a day, when both of them are too tired and drained to do anything but finalise their diaries for the next day before curling up on the sofa with a bottle of wine. Franziska would never admit it aloud, but she actually quite enjoys playing with Adrian's hair in these moments - it's long, and so shiny, like her father would never allow her to have; the kind of foolish vanity she would wish for in quiet moments when she knew her Papa couldn't read the weakness on her face. She toys with a silky blond length thoughtfully, letting it run through her hands like water.

"Do you ever think I might be doing it again?" Adrian says eventually, so quietly Franziska almost thinks she's imagined it at first. She shifts her knees, smoothing Adrian's hair neatly over her thigh.


Adrian sighs. "My problem. My... dependency."

Franziska frowns, nonplussed. She flicks through her own diary mentally, coming to a stop on today's date - she sees the small, scribbled letters in her own hand, "Adrian, psych. appointment, 7pm." Understanding comes like the proverbial light-bulb.

"The longer it takes you to reply, the worse I think the answer's going to be," Adrian says, with a thin chuckle. Franziska rolls her eyes.

"You know how I hate it when you assume you know what I'm thinking," she scolds lightly, tracing a perfect impression of Adrian's jaw. "Do you think you might be doing it again?"

Adrian turns over, looking up into Franziska's face searchingly. "What do you mean?"

Franziska doesn't speak for a moment, her attention apparently focused on unraveling a knot in Adrian's hair. When Adrian thinks she can stand it no longer, Franziska finally responds.

"It doesn't really matter what I think, Adrian," she says, with the frankness Adrian has always so admired. "You are no fool. You are an intelligent, capable woman - the best person to judge your own wellbeing is you. Do you think you are dependent on me?"

The honest answer comes to her in seconds. "No." She pauses, searching for the right words. "I mean... I love you, but we have our own lives, our own worlds, don't we? And... I'm happy. I'm looking after myself, I have a career I love, and it feels good. There's none of the desperation I remember from before."

"Then, you have your answer."

Adrian narrows her eyes. "I can hardly believe it is that simple."

Franziska raises her eyebrows, a small, teasing smile appearing on her lips. "And you honestly think you might be dependent on me? You have proven my point, Adrian Andrews." The hand in Adrian's hair wanders to her face; she runs the pad of her thumb over Adrian's bottom lip. "You are still worrying, aren't you?"

"Only a little," Adrian smiles apologetically. Her own hand reaches up for Franziska's, entangling her fingers in her girlfriend's. "It's what I do best, after all."

"Indeed," Franziska concedes, and she presses a kiss to the back of their entwined hands, lips against Adrian's pale knuckles. She smirks. "Although I believe that these days, they're calling it 'management'."

"Oh, you're paying for that one, Franziska von Karma..."

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