Chapter 17

Midnight Vigil

"I don't want to talk about it," Miles said.

Herschel paused and glared at him, "Why? What's the big deal?"

Miles was startled at his reaction—usually if he said he didn't want to talk about something, the party asking would stop asking. Miles frowned at Herschel.

"It drums up a lot of bad feelings," Miles said.

Herschel shrugged, "Maybe you need to drum up those feelings—so you stop feeling them."

Miles ignored him and focused instead on tying his cleats and strapping on his shin guards. It was Herschel who started him playing impromptu football games with some of the other boys in the dorms. Miles didn't know anything about football, but he was curious—especially since Carlos was such a fan.

He slept better on those nights that he stayed to play with the other boys. The first time he actually played on the main team, they won—not necessarily because of him—but Miles found he liked that feeling. Winning was something. It was tangible and euphoric. Miles wanted to keep that going—it made all of the other bad feelings crowd into a corner of his mind.

Miles tried out for the school's football team in the late spring of that year—he didn't make the cut—but he made it this year. The first time he tried out he'd brought it up with Mister Von Karma and Mister Von Karma made it clear that he thought it was a waste of time. Well, Mister Von Karma wasn't here, and what Mister Von Karma didn't know wouldn't bother him.

Herschel, on the other hand didn't make the team last year either, nor did he try out this year. Still Herschel seemed particularly stuck to Miles, and followed him to nearly every practice and watched nearly every game. Miles supposed one would consider them friends—he didn't spend nearly so much time with anyone else.

If one would consider them friends; then one might consider it odd how little they actually shared. Neither boy was very forth coming with personal information. But they were together most of the time—breaks between classes, meals, study hall—you name it. Miles and Herschel had a few classes together this semester—not as many as they had the first semester together—but Herschel always seemed to run into Miles. Miles didn't mind him, because Herschel could be as laconic as he was.

So Miles couldn't figure out Herschel's sudden morbid curiosity about his father's death. He didn't know how the subject had come up, but now it seemed that it wouldn't be dropped. Miles stood and started toward the pitch, Herschel didn't move from where he was sitting. Miles paused and looked at the older boy.

"What's gotten into you anyway?" Miles said.

"It just reminded me of something," Herschel said.

"I have warm-ups," Miles said, "So I can't talk."

"Edgeworth," Herschel said, "I lost someone who was important to me too."

Miles glowered at him, "I said I don't have time."

Herschel rubbed the top of his head, mussing his own hair, "When I was eleven my little brother died. It was an accident, but still—"

"I'm going now," Miles said and walked out. He didn't have time for that sort of thing.

Miles walked alone down the stairwell; he had his coat under his arm. He rubbed his face with his free hand and checked his watch. Seven minutes to one. He passed an enormous red number four that glared out from the sickly green of the wall in the background. He kept going until he got to the large number two and then exited into the main corridor.

He stuck his free hand in his pocket and walked head down toward the reception area. It was crowded with family and friends of the other victims—and there were many of them. Between the shooting and then the unknown substance released on the unsuspecting partiers, there were a lot of victims.

"Mister Edgeworth," Miles looked up to see Gumshoe walking toward him carrying a small Styrofoam cup, "Coffee."

Miles accepted the cup and stared at it in his hand with a frown.

"Gina and Chihiro left," Gumshoe said, "They took that Mei girl home too."

"Good," Miles said, "It's late."

Gumshoe looked at him like he wanted to speak—but wasn't sure if he should. The detective rubbed his head instead.

"She's fine," Miles said, still staring at the cup in his hand, "She wasn't hit, but she may have been exposed to a significant dose of whatever that was—fortunately, it's not believed to be poisonous… If she remains stable, they may discharge her tonight—because of the sheer number of other victims…"

Miles trailed off and stared blankly at the cup in his hands before downing it in one draught. Gumshoe sat in one of the chairs and covered his face with both hands.

"The Karlssen, girl is very injured," Miles said.

He pulled out his phone and stared at the screen frowning hard at it in his hand—he didn't want to be the one to do this—and then he dialed.

"Hello, Mister Karlssen? This is Miles Edgeworth," Miles said, "No, sir. There was an accident and Dagmar was injured—she's fine—I'm at the hospital now. I'm very sorry, sir. No, it happened in a nightclub. I really can't say, sir. Yes, sir. Goodbye."

Miles looked around at the other people standing in the waiting room—a great majority of them were glued to the television—where news of the attack on a downtown hotspot was probably already making national headlines. He stared down at the empty coffee cup in his hand.

"Gumshoe," Miles said, "There's no point in both of us losing sleep over this, you should go home."

"Sir, I don't want you to wait here alone," Gumshoe protested.

Miles smirked at him, "Go get some rest—this isn't going to be resolved tonight, we might as well rest while we can."

"What about you?"

"I have to meet Mister Karlssen, but when they release Franziska I'm going home."

"Take care, pal—Mister Edgeworth," Gumshoe said, but he didn't move.

Miles looked away from him and stared up at the TV with the others. He could still feel Gumshoe's presence near him as the man hesitated another moment and then left.

When Miles turned to look at him, Gumshoe was already headed through the door. He sighed and looked around at the others in the crowded hospital, joined in the same anxious vigil. An older woman met his stare and frowned at him, "People are sick, you know?"

Miles only nodded at her—people were sick.

Miles held her hand tightly as they pushed through the crowded train station. Franziska had been here many times before, but he'd never been. In fact, Miles was a little upset that Mister Von Karma had sent them on the train alone. Miles might've been fine if it were just he alone, but now he felt responsible for Franziska too. She tugged at him arm and pulled him out of his reverie.

"Los Miles! Las uns gehen!"

Miles swallowed and let the five-year-old take the lead for a little while, as he stared up at the signs in German and frowned. His nerves made the letters incomprehensible.

Adelheid was waiting for them near the station exit, with a bright smile and hugs for them both. Adelheid was quickly becoming Miles' favorite German.

After a few minutes to share greetings and ask how they were, she led them toward the parking area to the small sedan she drove. Franziska sat up front with her and Miles sat in the back seat with a box of paints and brushes and other art supplies he didn't recognize.

She lived in a small flat that her father paid for—mostly to keep her and her corrupting ideas away from the mansion. These little visits were only done out of necessity.

Adelheid let them wear regular clothes when they stayed over—although Franziska seemed to take this as a bad thing and usually had to be forced. It made for one less thing that Miles had to worry about.

"How long did Papa say he'd be gone?" Adelheid asked.

"For a month," Franziska said kicking her heels for emphasis.

"Wow," Adelheid said, "Where's he off to?"

"He's got something to do in Borginia," Miles said, "But then he's going to California afterward."

"Ah," Adelheid said, "Miles why are you frowning? I'm sorry you're stuck with me for the month."

"No, I like staying—," Miles said, with wide-eyed concern, "Adelheid, I like staying with you."

"Please, Miles—just Heidi," she said and he could see her smile in the rearview mirror, "Papa is the one that always calls me Adelheid."

"I won't see Herr Detweiler for a whole month!" Franziska said with a pout.

"Did you want to go to California, Miles?" Adelheid said, ignoring her little sister's complaint, "Do you have friends there?"

Miles was staring out of the window as they drove, "They probably don't remember me anymore."

"I have friends in Frankfurt!" Franziska said.

"Franziska, baby, don't be rude," Adelheid said.

"I wasn't being rude!"

"Franziska, Abbo will take care of your pony, don't worry," Miles said, "And you can ring your friends if you want—I'll help you use the telephone."

Adelheid smiled again.

When they arrived at her building, Adelheid helped bring their luggage upstairs and she let them change out of the clothes Mister Von Karma insisted that they wear. Franziska was fussy about it—like always—and Adelheid let her take a nap. Miles had her all to himself after that.

The flat was large—for a student—but it wasn't designed for a family. It had three bedrooms, a guest bed—where Franziska was now sleeping—as well as Adelheid's own bedroom, and the third bedroom was converted into a studio area. There was a small living area, where Adelheid had a small sofa facing a small television that was nearly crowded off of its stand by small potted plants—several leafy vines and ivy and violets. There was an overcrowded bookshelf filled with notebooks and sketchbooks—the bottom shelf had several law books crammed onto it in a way that indicated they weren't intended to be read any time soon.

Adelheid returned from putting her little sister to sleep to find Miles sitting on her sofa gazing around the crowded room.

"Hi Miles!" she said and joined him on the sofa, "Do you want to watch television?"

Miles looked into her pretty, honey-brown eyes and shrugged, "Okay."

"Papa said he's sending you to the International School," Adelheid turned on the television and started flipping through the channels, "That's too bad."

"Is it a bad school?" Miles asked her.

"Oh, it's fine—I think you'll like it," Adelheid said, "But you'll be far away."

"Mister Von Karma said I'll come back during the holidays," Miles said.

Adelheid looked at him and smiled, "Is there something you want to watch?"

"Um," Miles said, "I don't care."

"What's your favorite movie?"

"I don't know," Miles said, "I don't really watch a lot of movies… Well, my dad and I watched Seven Samurai and Yojimbo together…"

Miles trailed off, he didn't mean to bring up his father again. Adelheid smiled sweetly at him and brushed back his hair.

"Do you like Samurais Miles?"

Miles nodded emphatically and Adelheid chuckled, "You're such a cute boy… I don't have any Samurai movies, but my friend—you'll meet him tonight—he's got a few movies like that—I'll ask him if we can borrow some."

"Heidi," Miles said, "How come you don't stay at the big house with us?"

Adelheid frowned for a moment and looked away. She forced a smile and turned back to him, "My school is here, Miles. It would be very difficult to commute all the way from there."

"Oh," Miles said, "So when I go to the International School—"

"It's a good school—don't be worried. I went there, too. It's a boarding school, so you'll live there. You're not worried about it are you Miles?"

"No, not really," Miles said, "But who'll watch over Franziska?"

"What a good little man," Adelheid said, "You want to protect her all the time."

"She's very little," Miles said.

"Franziska will be fine whatever happens, she's made of very tough stuff."

Miles looked up at her, wondering what she meant by that.

Miles pulled into the garage and parked. Franziska was slumped in the seat beside him still wrapped in his pea coat. Miles touched her shoulder, but she didn't move—he sighed and looked at the two doors at the far side of the garage. One led to the stairwell, where there were ten long flights to climb, and the other led to the elevator.

Lifting her wasn't a problem, but carrying her ten flights might be. Plus it would take longer, much longer. Miles didn't want to prolong her discomfort, nor did he want to risk making things worse. He tapped her again; maybe he didn't have to be in there with her.

Franziska moaned, but didn't stir. He frowned again.

Miles sat in the car for several minutes, trying to work up the courage. He cursed his weakness, his phobia. He couldn't leave her like this. Finally, he got out of the car and walked around to the passenger door and leaned in to lift her out of the car.

Miles pressed his mouth into the sweet scented tangles of her platinum hair and whispered in her ear, "Fran, love, help me here," she stirred in his arms.

"Can you put your arms around my neck and hold on?" Miles said.

She didn't respond and Miles had to do what he could to maneuver her into a position where he could carry her without dropping her. Several awkward minutes later, he pushed the car door closed with his hip and made his way toward the doors at the far end of the garage. He hesitated and looked at the familiar stairwell door almost longingly and then punched the call button with his knuckle.

His hands started to shake as the numbers counted down toward the basement garage. Miles closed his eyes and waited for the door to ding. The car arrived and the doors whooshed open, the elevator dinged. Miles swallowed and stepped inside.

He pushed the number nine. He glanced around once at the smooth steel walls and the cheap chintzy pattern on the carpet. The door closed and his knees started to shake, so did his arms. Miles leaned against the back wall and hid his face against her neck. She smelled sweet—clean, like flowers and soap and the warm faded scent of her perfume.

Miles slid to a seat against the elevator's back wall with Franziska settled in his lap. He was hugging her so tightly she groaned. Miles kept his face hidden in her hair, pressed hard against the spot where her shoulder met her neck. He felt like the floor had fallen away and they were floating, his heart pounded in his ears.

"Oh God," Miles whimpered. He couldn't breathe. He held Franziska close and cursed himself for letting this happen to her. What kind of big brother was he? Did he resent her because of the father she had no choice about? The upbringing she never asked for? Couldn't he see that she only defended these things because they were all she's ever known?

The elevator dinged. Miles opened his eyes and stared stupidly at the open door, dazed by his terror. His mental tirade had distracted him at least, and he was coherent enough to try and stand up. It was hard to stand only by the strength of his legs and with Franziska's dead weight in his arms, and by the time he was upright the doors had started to whoosh closed again.

Miles stuck his boot out to jam the doors and he felt the pressure of them as they attempted to crush the hard leather for a moment before the doors opened again and the elevator dinged a second time. Miles rushed out of the elevator and ran awkwardly toward the door to his flat.

He banged the door once with his head and Wellington opened it. Pess was barking in the entryway turning circles, she must have sensed his residual fear.

"Mister Edgeworth!" Wellington said attempting to take Franziska from him.

"She just needs to sleep it off," Miles said, "Is Mrs. Harris still awake?"

"Leave it to me, sir," Wellington said, "I'll have a maid up to help her, just leave her to me."

Miles dropped her legs and Wellington put his arms around her. Miles felt his stomach lurch and ran for his room, "Take care of her Wellington!" He shouted as he disappeared into the back of the flat.

Miles tore off his scarf and tried to pull off his dress shirt. He ended up tearing through the buttons as he entered the bathroom and they made little beady sounds as they hit the tiles on his bathroom floor. Miles stumbled toward the toilet and lifted the lid and the seat as one and threw up in the bowl.

He continued to retch and heave after his stomach was empty, and he started to shiver violently. The light in the room around him faded and dimmed and then returned. He tried to stand and wash his mouth out but his legs weren't cooperating. Miles fell against the bathroom floor, his face pressed against the cold tile, and fainted.

"Mister Edgeworth?" Miles stirred slowly. He was very cold and he had the terrible taste of sick in his mouth.

Miles groaned, "I never want to eat chili cheese fries ever again…"

"Sir?"

Wellington was kneeling behind him where he lay in a fetal position on his bathroom floor.

"Should I call a doctor, sir?"

Miles was still shaking, but he put his hands up on the sink and pulled himself up. He leaned against the sink and tried to focus on the drain.

"Mister Edgeworth?"

"I'm fine Wellington—I just need to go to bed," Miles was still staring at the drain.

Wellington moved to help him but Miles gripped the counter, "Please, just go Wellington. I'm fine."

The man hesitated and then went to flush the toilet, "Sir, why didn't you just call me? I would've met you in the garage."

Miles turned on the sink and then grabbed the mouthwash. He fumbled with the cap with his shaking hands but eventually got it open. Why hadn't he done that? Miles suddenly felt very stupid.

"You're right Wellington, perhaps I should've done. Perhaps there are a hundred things I should've done differently tonight."

"Sir, I didn't mean…"

"I'm fine now, please leave me alone."

"Very well, sir."

"And Wellington?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Don't say anything about this to her—I don't want her to… I don't want to upset her."

"Very well, have a good night, sir."

Wellington hesitated but Miles had already turned his attention back to the sink.

There was very little Miles hated more than vomit, and after rinsing his mouth with mouthwash, then water, and then brushing his teeth and rinsing again with mouthwash, he finally felt clean enough to consider sleep. A glance at his reflection in the mirror told him he'd had a nosebleed and Miles washed his face. The tee shirt he had worn under his dress shirt had blood on it so he pulled that off. He unbuckled his belt and slid out of his trousers and socks while he walked to the bed and dropped himself wearily on top of the covers.

He closed his eyes and felt a nauseating vertigo, he wasn't sleepy, but he didn't want to move. He cursed into his pillow when he heard Pess scratching at his door.

A/N: Thanks for Reading! Wow! This is the first time I've ever gotten over a thousand views in one month—you guys are totally awesome! I want to thank Indochine and GeorgiexxxSuarez especially for their reviews! It's always so encouraging to get feedback—even a one liner!

Miles braved the elevator for Franziska…if that's not love, I don't know what is…

Miles is about 14 in the first flashback and 12 in the second one.

UPDATED 6JUL2015-Had to fix the ages to reflect a 7 year, vice 5 year difference.