Hospital chairs really were hard and cold, Ludwig realized. He couldn't sit still for long. He had to pace, or his mind would work itself into overdrive and he felt - no, knewthat he would go mad. As it was, he was stalking from one end of the hall to another, sometimes pausing briefly to look outside the window. There was no view. The neighbouring annex gifted the original hospital building with a close-up, personal view of its white-washed cement wall. But Ludwig would stand a moment, anyway, looking with faraway eyes until the jumble of thoughts swirled once more inside his head and he had to start pacing again.

Halfway through his second hour, a young officer took over his window spot.

"Hey," the officer said with a tired smile. He held out a monstrous serving of coffee. "Here. For you."

Bewildered, Ludwig took it and mumbled his thanks. He was wondering whether to turn around and go back to his pacing - but only half of the E.R. now - or to stick around for a few polite words, when the officer made the choice for him.

"Heard you're Gilbert's little brother," he said.

Ludwig's eyebrows went up.

The other chuckled. "Heard from my mates," the former explained, jerking a thumb backwards in the general direction of a cluster of police officers. "And Edelstein said to watch out for you before he left on Chiefly business, so here you are. You're our bro now, too."

Ludwig nodded awkwardly at the hospitality. "My name is Ludwig Beilschmidt."

"Yo, Luddy. Name's Alfred," the blonde officer winked. Instead of shaking Ludwig's proffered hand, Alfred gave it a quick sideways slap, and then a fist bump. "Secret handshake and all that, you know?" he tried to explain. "All bros have got one." He grinned, teeth flashing. "Want to sit with us? We're the boys - and Elizaveta - on the team with Gilbert. We'll be waiting the night`till his surgery's over. Why don't you come with?"

It appeared he had no choice. And so quiet Luddy found himself in the company of a team of policemen who thought him the best new curiosity. As soon as Alfred announced him as "Gil's little Luddy", the questions came pouring in, and Ludwig was made to sit while the officers flitted around him.

"Gilbert said so much about you!"

He never really knew how to shut up, Ludwig privately thought with a bitter little smile.

"You sure aren't as 'little' as he always made you seem!" laughed another.

Well, if it was any consolation, Ludwig felt five years old...around officers who probably weren't much older than he was! he tried to nod politely, but ended up feeling lost and covering it up by taking a long draught from his coffee instead.

"Any plans of jumping on the bandwagon and attending police academy, too?" Alfred suddenly asked, plopping down beside Ludwig with his own gargantuan cup of coffee - but slushy cold and sporting an impressive chocolate-drizzled whipped cream tower.

Ludwig relaxed a little. finally, a question he knew the answer to. A question he was asked a lot.

"No," he replied. "I'm in law school."

There was a collective murmur.

"Gilbert neglected mentioning that," someone said.

"He might have spoken of it once," another remarked, a timid-looking blond boy who had not spoken a word until then. "I think it was during a party..."

"A party that went too far," yet another officer agreed. Ludwig noticed that he clutched a packet of cigarettes and was repeatedly clenching and unclenching it. "Think it was that time he got drunk and tried to arrest two kids making out in front of the bar." He snickered. "Biggest mood killer of all time!"

"I remember!" The only female officer - the 'Elizaveta' Alfred mentioned, Ludwig supposed - laughed. He was stumbling after them, yelling things about how kids should be studying, making good grades for their future and all that, just like his little Luddy in law school!"

Everyone laughed at the memory. Ludwig cringed.

"So what kind of practise do you want to do, Ludwig?" the shy blond officer asked.

"Criminal law," he replied without hesitation.

Silence met his words. Then the officer with the cigarettes let out a low whistle. "Don't you start, Alfred," he said, dragging a long sideways look at the latter.

He was too late. Alfred was already sitting up straighter than he ever did, and looked so much like a proper officer of the law that Ludwig braced himself for interrogation.

"Not defending criminals, I hope?" Alfred said, his tone suddenly dry.

A strange, morbid itch came upon Ludwig at that. He longed suddenly, unreasonably, to launch into a speech about why criminal defense was necessary, how it was just as honourable as any other practise, and why it wasn't as seedy and dishonest as laymen thought it to be, if for no other reason than to see Alfred's reaction. Luckily, Ludwig still possessed enough restraint to check his words and said instead,

"I want to be a prosecutor."

The tension in the group immediately dissipated. Ludwig could almost feel the sighs of relief. Surprise replaced Alfred's seriousness, and the officer with the cigarettes patted Ludwig's shoulder. "Well done. We won't have to listen to Alfred's rant today." He stood; stretched. "I'm going out for a celebratory smoke."

"Abel, smoking isn't good for you," the timid officer called out after the former's retreating figure.

Abel waved a dismissive hand. "I know, Mattie, but if we're all going to die, anyway, I'd rather die having had a good smoke. Later, boys."

"And Elizaveta," Alfred absently, mechanically added. He was still staring at Ludwig, transfixed.

Elizaveta rolled her eyes. "Seems you're his hero now, Ludwig," she grinned at the younger man.

"Damn straight!" Alfred yelled a tad too loudly. Mattie caught a nurse's glare and offered an apologetic nod. Alfred noticed only Ludwig. And the gigantic serving of coffee he was slurping.

"Man, oh man!" he exclaimed between mouthfuls of coffee slush and whipped cream, "that's the first time I've heard of a dream like that! Most kids go straight for corporate - big bucks there, they all say - and other want to go into private practise, even if it includes," he wrinkled his nose, "defending criminals. But you're a fine one, Luddy -" slurp.

Ludwig internally shrivelled at the nickname.

"-and you'll be the best damn lawyer the whole world's gonna see!" Sluuuurp!

People were starting to look their way. Ludwig hunched his shoulders and tried to hide his face by taking long sips of his own drink. Mattie shrugged helplessly. Elizaveta shook her head.

"People who break laws should be stuffed in jail," Alfred went on. "We need more prosecutors, not defense lawyers. Defense scum just get criminal asses back out into the streets, where they create more trouble. And all that jazz about Miranda rights and warrants - complicates law enforcement! Makes it so difficult you might as well throw in the towel and let the crooks run the town!" Alfred made a disapproving noise. "You know someone's a crook. In a perfect, practical world, you'd just haul them to jail and that'd be the end of it!"

Ludwig said nothing throughout Alfred's tirade. A crude part of him wanted to agree, but a firmer, legal side was crying out, begging to be allowed to set this man straight. And yet louder than those two sides was a third - a side relieved that he didn't have to admit that his first legal job was to defend a man everyone believed to be a criminal.

That side, Ludwig was most ashamed of.

~oOo~

M-14 rifles, flame throwers, crates of grenade. Guiliani was arming himself for war. But now that the Famiglia had his weapons, what would he do? They had him cornered. A desperate man resorted to the most desperate of measures. What if he turned full traitor? What if he went to the authorities? Turn himself in as state witness, execute an affidavit, agree to testify that his shipment of arms was with the Famiglia? What if the State came knocking with a warrant? What if the armament was discovered?

Felice's head ached as she lay sleepless, staring at the blackness of the ceiling. The answers to her questions were not forthcoming. Finally, she got out of bed and padded downstairs for an Ibuprofen.

The light in the kitchen was on, and there was a constant thudding sound coming from inside.

She peeked.

Lovino, slacks and dress shirt flour-dusted, was kneading pizza dough. She had to smile.

"Lovi?"

He jumped. The dough missed the island and instead clattered into a nearby mixing bowl. Lovino jerked around. "What the - oh, it's you." He retrieved his dough and went back to slapping it on the counter.

"You're making pizza this time of night?" Felice asked, eyeing the ingredients lined up before her as she plopped down across him.

"Margherita," he replied proudly. "We just had some fresh basil come in from the garden."

She looked on in doubt, musing, "Didn't you say margherita shuld be made delicately? Peacefully?"

Lovino raised his eyebrows but continued to work. "What? You don't think I'm being elegant as I knead pizza dough?"

"You only cook in the dead of the night when you're upset," Felice pointed out. "And anyway, you look like a delinquent having the time of his life throwing a plaything around."

Lovino muttered under his breath and retorted, "What about you, huh? Doesn't the siesta queen stay up only when a worry has her insomniac?"

"Of late, I also stay up to get readings done," Felice said, feigning insult. But she sighed and admitted, "Tonight, though, it is worry that's keeping me up."

"Please don't say it's because of that German lunkhead."

She looked at him blankly. After a moment, "Oh! You meant Ludwig. No..." perching her chin upon her palm, she sighed again, "I'm worried about the arms. Worried that Guiliani will spill and the Vineyards will be searched."

Lovino paused. "Why do you think he would do that?"

She shrugged. "He wanted to tear down Famiglia, doesn't he? Well, he can't do that now without weapons. The next best thing is the law."

The elder Vargas held her gaze long and hard, then reached over to flick her forehead, rolling his eyes as he returned to his dough. "You're forgetting a few things, little worrywart. One, that Guiliani isn't waging a revenge war, but a revolt. He wants to be the next leader of the Famiglia. Two, a seizure of the arms would do him no good. At most, someone will be jailed. But there's still you. There's still Feliciano. Francis, Antonio, and scores of men loyal to us. That pig will never even kiss the throne of Nonno's empire. And three-" satisfied with his dough, Lovino rolled it into a ball and set it to rise under an overturned mixing bowl. "-IF the police ever find the entry to the armament."

He grabbed a couple of tomatoes and began slicing them. "So you see, there's nothing to be sleepless about. And anyway, if worst comes to worse, Guiliani can be persuaded to keep his silence."

Felice knew full well what he was talking about. She could see the glint in his eyes. She knew she had to stop Guiliani; knew that at least she had to find ways to keep him quiet, keep him from even thinking of going to the authorities. But the knowledge that Lovino was there inn the shadows with his hit men, ready to clean up just in case things didn't go as she hoped, was familiarly, disturbingly, comforting.

She couldn't then help asking, "So why have you kept him alive all this time?"

Lovino had cleaned off one tomato already. "Don't you need someone to practise lawyering on?" He shrugged. "So just do your best, apply what you leaned and all that, and I'll take care of the out-of-court details. "Just don't forget Famiglia."

~oOo~

Breakfast that morning was the first light one in a long time, despite the busy night and the two obviously bleary, sleepy-eyed occupants of the breakfast table, and Feliciano was beyond pleased to see the difference. Ever since the Guiliani fiasco had broken out, Lovino and Felice seemed to be only snappish towards each other. The youngest Vargas sibling was glad to note that this time around, though, the two elder ones were exchanging knowing looks between themselves and grinning.

"Lovi, you loo like you haven't slept much," Feliciano remarked, taking his place at the other side of Felice. Usually, after a night of work, Lovino wouldn't get up until noon, and even then, he would be crabby the whole day over having had to deal with wayward men overtime. But today, Lovino was relaxed, and even chuckled, of all things, as he and Felice raised their eyebrows at each other.

"That's because he was being a glutton all night, Feli," the sister said with a smirk.

"Oi, you're one to talk," Lovino protested. "You insisted on having half. And you didn't even help make it," he grumbled half-heartedly.

Felice waved a dismissive hand. "Give me a break. Most of the week, I'm a starving post-graduate student. It isn't hard to share once in a while, surely?"

Lovino snorted, muttering about how it was her own fault for being too lazy to cook.

"I don't have time for that!" Felice retorted.

"You're the only Vargas who doesn't cook!" Lovino teased right back.

Feliciano listened to their playful banter with a smile, thinking about how much he had missed this and wishing these serene family breakfasts could go on forever, when Francis walked in, looking a little sleep-tousled instead of his usual effortlessly sophisticated. He also looked particularly annoyed over something.

"Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, princess?" Lovino couldn't help jeering a little.

"Woke up too early and to what is likely new work," Francis sighed, too tired to snap right back. "Apparently, one of the officers involved in Lovino's late-night skirmish was supposed to testify in court today. But seeing as how he's currently in the ICU, it looks like I will have to report to work early to re-set three months' worth of hearings just to clear up a day for said bed-ridden witness. IF he even survives," Francis threw Lovino a withering look.

The latter shrugged, looking slightly smug. "What can I say? I'm a good shot!"

Francis only shook his head. "Judge Braginsky's overly-cheerful morning voice is not the best thing to wake up to." He reached over and switched on the TV. "Ah, that boy better get over his injuries by the date I clear for him. It's the least he can do in return for all my hard work."

Felice knew, of course, that Lovino having had his fair share of kills before, he was never hesitant and never had any qualms about taking a life when necessary. She had had to live with that fact for so long that it did not really bother her anymore. Lovino knew that. And that's why he was a little surprised when the morning news came on and Felice gasped.

"...All of the suspected smugglers were killed by unknown assailants. The local police suffered one injury. Officer Gilbert Beilschmidt was shot in the chest after initiating a return fire against the gunmen..."

There was no mistaking it. It was THE Gilbert Beilschmidt, Ludwig's cocky older brother. Ludwig's only relative. His only family.

"Foolish boy," Francis was saying, shaking his head. "He was practically asking for that gunshot."

But Lovino was more interested in the sudden guilt that passed over Felice's face. "What is it?" he asked, "Did you know him?"

Felice nodded. "It's Ludwig's brother. You remember Ludwig - my co-intern at the firm. It's just the two of them brothers now after their father was killed in action."

Francis at last turned to them. "It's a terrible thing you've turned out to have done, then, Lovi."

"How would I have known?" Lovino demanded. "He started shooting at us - he almost got me, too!"

"Oh, Lovi," Felice cooed, wrapping both hands over his tightly-clenched ones. "I know. It's not your fault. But it doesn't change what is now, does it? I'm sorry, too, Lovi..."

"Sorry for what?" Lovino said, yanking his hands from her grasp. "It isn't your fault, either. This is just a bit of rotten luck."

Felice sighed, clearly still distressed. "Maybe I'll go see Gilbert and Ludwig today before dropping by the office."

"If you'll give me ten minutes, I'll drive you," Francis offered, already on the way back to his room. "I need to be at the court soon, anyway."

Felice, still clearly distressed, murmured her thanks. She had pushed away from the table and was also leaving when she paused, returned to Lovino, and leaned her cheek against his temple.

"You did what you had to. It was your job. It was just a job, too, like Gilbert's. I understand," she murmured. "And I'm sorry that all the dirty jobs seem to go to you. But thank you. For everything, thank you, big brother."

Feliciano watched Lovino sigh, already appeased, and pat his sister on the shoulder. "Just don't waste my efforts," he said, so softly that Feliciano almost didn't hear. "Then it will all be worth it, no matter how dirty the job."

Felice's nod unnerved the youngest Vargas. That wasn't sweet Felice, his sister, smiling and nodding. That was Felice, Lovino's accomplice when he was being the Little Boss. Felice, who believed Lovino was right, no matter what.

Feliciano bit his lip. Perhaps, when he wished for peaceful family breakfasts, he wasn't specific enough. Or perhaps, he just wished too soon.

~oOo~

Intensive Care was essentially a long hallway of glass doors, soundless but for the beeping machine sounds. A nurse directed Felice to one of the tiny glassed-in rooms nearest the nurses' station. She wasn't surprised to see Ludwig's broad back to her, shielding the figure on the bed from view, and was debating whether to let herself in or to return another day when Ludwig turned and saw her. He slid the door open, smiling gratefully for her presence.

"Do you want to come in?"

Wordlessly, Felice stepped into Gilbert's room. The later was peaceful in sleep, but his lips were bloodless and he looked exhausted. She peeked at Ludwig and thought that he, too, looked worn.

My big brother shot yours, Felice thought, the idea making her stomach twist uncomfortably.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Thank you," Ludwig murmured in response.

She couldn't look at him. If only he knew just how sorry she was and for what... But she she said instead, "How is he?"

"Just got out of surgery early this morning," Ludwig said in the same quiet tones. "The doctors don't expect him to come about until maybe this afternoon."

"Where-" she began, but stopped, not really wanting to know just how close Lovino had come to killing Ludwig's brother. Felice let out a long breath. "What about you? How are you?"

All of a sudden, it seemed as if strong, dependable Ludwig's shoulders sagged. "I'm all right," he said, although his face revealed fear, anger, and confusion. "I've been thinking."

Felice waited.

"You know how Atty Vainamoinen wanted me to do Jones' cross-examination?"

Felice nodded, remembering how Ludwig had very gravely accepted the job, and how much he prepared, going over the case files, anticipating the testimony Jones was going to make, writing and reviewing and refining the questions he was going to ask. "You'll do well, I'm sure."

Ludwig's mouth pressed into a thin line, and he looked pained. Blue eyes travelled to his defenseless older brother who, only the night before, he believed he was going to have to say good-bye to. He looked at Gilbert because he couldn't look at Felice. To him, she represented who he should be, despite the roiling thoughts in his mind asking him to choose honour over...well, over honestly. And at the moment, Ludwig wanted to damn honour to hell and back.

"Would you...do the cross-examination in my stead?"

Felice looked startled at first, but her expression quickly softened. "If you're afraid you won't have time for it between looking after Gilbert and everything, I can help you." She smiled a quick, supportive smile. "Don't give up, Ludwig. You worked hard on this. You deserve to do this. And you're more than ready."

Ludwig shook his head, gripping the cold railing of Gilbert's bed as he confessed, "I met Alfred Jones last night. He and...the rest of Gilbert's mates at the squad."

"Did he let anything slip?"

Ludwig shot her an ironic grin. Trust Felice to be thinking still of getting one up over the opponents' head no matter the situation. "No," he replied. "But he did ask what kind of law I wanted to work in. I told him I wanted to be a prosecutor."

Felice grimaced. She could almost guess where that thread of conversation went.

"Alfred was very happy about it. He's the kind of guy who hates criminals with a passion and who thinks criminal defense lawyers are the lowest of all scum."

"You set him straight?" There was expectation in her tone.

Ludwig laughed mirthlessly, hollowly. "I couldn't bring myself to. Not when a part of me...agrees with him."

Felice had nothing to say to that. How could she, who could afford to fight for the freedom of a man she wanted to see behind bars only because her family saw him as no more than an experimental mouse who could be easily dealt with? For people like Ludwig and Officer Jones, the like of Guiliani were unstoppable outside the law.

Her silence dragged on for so long that Ludwig finally asked, "Are you angry with me?"

Felice finally met his eyes. "No." I understand more than you think I do. "But I hope you're not running away because you don't want to disappoint Officer Jones."

Ludwig coloured. "A little bit," he admitted. Alfred had been so warm, as were the rest of Gilbert's friends. In those couple of hours they spent together, comforting each other, Ludwig had begun to feel like a part of their brotherhood, the comfort it brought intensified by the fact that his own blood brother, the only family he thought he would have for the rest of his life, was in those moments standing with one foot in, one foot out, of death. So when Ludwig was inducted into the squad's camaraderie, he wished he didn't have to surrender that feeling of family anymore. He wanted to keep it, even if he had to squash his honesty to do so.

He thought Felice would refuse, but after regarding him a moment, she nodded. "I'll take over then," she said, "but only for now. The hearing isn't for another few days. Think it over before you tell Atty Vainamoinen."

Ludwig didn't think he would change his mind, but he agreed with her proposition anyway. "My case notes are in a drawer of my desk at the office. Topmost notebook."

Felice nodded. "I'll have a look at it, then."

"Ah. Thank you."

She turned to go, but lingered at the threshold just a moment longer. "You can't run away from this forever, Ludwig. You're still Atty Vainamoinen's right hand in this."

"Ah," he said again, although the apparent lack of real concern in his tone made her turn to narrow her eyes at him.

"You're not going to drop out of the case, are you?"

His reply was a mild smile. "It will all be all right after this cross, Felice. I guarantee. Atty Vainamoinen needs only this cross-examination."