Chapter 22

Nothing Worth Saving

Miles drove into the half-circle drive in the grand entryway of her building. He parked, but left the car idling and looked at her, feeling a little giddy. There weren't many women his age in this town that he could bring to the opera—and expect her to appreciate it with him. He smiled at her, Maddy Tailor was perfect—the kind of perfect even Mister Von Karma could appreciate.

"Miles, darling," she said, flashing him with those blue blue eyes before flipping on those dratted sunglasses, "It always seems these nights end too quickly."

"We might go somewhere else," Miles said—and immediately worried that perhaps he was asking too much.

Maddy only smiled, "You have to be up early, don't you dear?"

Miles turned away from her and frowned at the windshield, "It's not so late yet."

"It wouldn't do to keep daddy waiting, Miles."

He forced a smile—why had he agreed to this? Miles leaned over to give her a lingering kiss.

"You make this very difficult, darling," Maddy said. But she gave him a little push and he got out of the car and walked around the front of it to open her door. Maddy took his offered hand and then put her arms around his neck. They kissed again. That's when the cameras started flashing.

"Oh bother," Miles muttered and ducked his head as low as he could into his collar.

"Good night, Miles!" Maddy said as she ran toward the safety of her building. Her doorman had already assumed a fighting stance—ready to pommel any paparazzi that ventured too near.

Miles only paused a moment to see her make her escape, before ducking into the safety of the car. At least the driver's door was against the curb—it made the logistics of escape slightly more advantageous.

He left his flat early the next morning, and took the stairs two at a time. Wellington was waiting at the car with his clubs and a bag for his cleats and gloves.

"Have a good time, sir," Wellington said after Miles had unlocked the car and they put his clubs and gear in the trunk.

"I don't know Wellington," Miles said, "I've only ever met her father in passing."

"Ah, sir," Wellington smiled at him like a doting uncle, "Just be as charming as only you can, Mister Edgeworth."

"Heh," Miles said as he got into the driver's seat, "You must have me confused with some other Mister Edgeworth."

The drive to the club was long and out of the way, but at least there was no traffic. Miles was glad he'd left early, and was certain to arrive well before tee time. And he did.

Maximilian Tailor was a trim man of middling height with dark hair graying at the temples and a moustache that longed for the roaring twenties. Miles approached him and offered his hand. He tried to smile as congenially as he could muster with his nerves shot like they were.

"Mister Tailor," he said, "good to see you again."

"Please, sport," he said gruffly in a voice incongruously bluff and large for a man of his size, "You can call me Max. I'm certainly relieved to meet you outside of the courthouse, I'll give you that, Mister Prosecutor."

"Miles, sir," Miles said and motioned toward the cart he'd rented and had waiting, "Please."

"Oh, you're a thoughtful fellow," Max said.

Max had a caddy that rode along with them. Miles drove—it was better that way—and they made their way through the tidy asphalt paths surrounded by the rolling manicured greens and the sun coming up over the trees that hid the city from view.

"So Miles," Max blustered at him, "How long have you been a prosecutor?"

"Almost five years," Miles said.

"Well!" Max exclaimed, "You're a prodigy! Aren't you twenty-five?"

"Twenty-four," Miles corrected, his ears were growing warm.

"Well," Max said, "Your family must be very proud."

"Yes," Miles said—no need to bring up this messy orphan business just yet.

"Where did you go to school?"

"Err… Well," Miles said, "I lived overseas until I was nineteen—and I was privately tutored in law. Though I did spend some time at Oxford and I was fortunate enough to do a summer program at Harvard."

"My Maddy did two years at Harvard—but I'm sure you already knew that…"

"Yes," Miles said—this kind of small talk was so painful.

"Tell me, sport," Max said, "What are your intentions?"

Miles swallowed and brought the golf cart to a screeching halt, "Um," he said and started driving again. What was this guy thinking jumping to a subject like that when they haven't even reached the first tee?

"M-my intentions, sir?" Miles said.

"Please, call me Max…"

"M-max…"

"Unless, you're going to tell me that you'd rather call me dad?"

Oh boy. Miles thought.

Miles stared at the closed door of the High Prosecutor's office. He was feeling more than a little trepidation. He took a deep breath to fortify himself and knocked.

"Who is it?" Mister Von Karma's voice was curt and grating—like it always was.

"It's me, Edgeworth," Miles said. Von Karma didn't respond and Miles started to worry—he was surprised when Mister Von Karma opened the door himself.

"What's wrong now?" Mister Von Karma said. Miles didn't remember ever coming to him with any problems, and he wasn't sure what to say in response so he just walked in and stood quietly in the door tugging at the cuff of his jacket with one hand and his gaze tilted to the space under Von Karma's imposing desk.

"Do you have something you want to tell me, boy?" Von Karma settled into his chair and glared at Miles. The window was pale and bright behind him and it made his features darker, more menacing.

"Actually, sir—"

"Miles Edgeworth," Mister Von Karma said and tossed a newspaper on the desk, "Look at this."

Miles walked up to his desk and stared down at the paper. It was a tabloid paper, and there on the cover was a picture of Madeline Tailor with her arms around his neck. Miles choked and picked up the paper as if staring at it closer would make the details change.

"I thought you were going to put an end to this silliness?" Von Karma said.

Miles frowned and set the paper back down, "Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about, sir."

Manfred Von Karma glared at him; his lip was already curled in disgust. Miles swallowed, did he already know? Did he guess? Miles hadn't told anyone.

"Spit it out Edgeworth, I don't want to stare at you all day while you make fish faces at me."

"Well, sir," Miles said, "I asked Maddy—uh, Madeline Tailor to marry me."

"Did you?" Von Karma said impassively.

"Yes, sir," Miles said, "and she said yes."

"Edgeworth," Mister Von Karma said coldly, "Why do you think I care?"

Miles sighed—it was hard for even him to believe—but that hurt. He felt a tugging in his chest, and he might've been nine years old again, alone and forsaken in the world.

"Um, Mister Von Karma," Miles said after a moment to find his voice, "She wants to have a wedding, and I don't have any family to—"

"Edgeworth, why don't you ask your butler to attend your wedding? Don't bother me with trivial things."

"Right," Miles said, "I'm sorry sir."

Miles was sitting on the divan in front of the TV, with Pess at his feet, when Franziska came in. He glanced at her for a moment and then laughed at the antics of the characters on the screen. Franziska frowned at him and his lack of interest in her.

"What are you doing?" She said.

"I'm watching the telly," Miles said, "Obviously. Where've you been?"

"I stayed over at Dagmar's house, then I went to the prison to see Papa."

"You didn't think that maybe you ought to call me?"

"Why?" Franziska said, "I thought we had come to an understanding Little Brother."

"You didn't say anything about staying out all night," Miles said, "And after that business at the club, I thought you might've realized that friends like that aren't exactly in your best interests."

Franziska groaned wearily, "You're not my father."

"Thank god for that," Miles said and crossed his arms before turning his attention back to the television. Franziska eyed him sidelong.

"You're still dressed… You've been out all night too. How is it fair that you—"

"I was working," Miles said, "I don't have to explain myself to you."

"How can you expect me to—"

"Because you're seventeen, Franziska," Miles said, "Your father's in prison, so I'm responsible for you as a legal guardian—"

"I don't need—"

"Yes you do!" Miles stood and glared at her, "While you're here, in this country, you will abide by the laws in this country. That's how it works, Franziska."

She glared at him with that icy Von Karma glare and then turned away from him with an impatient noise, "Fine. Whatever you say Little Brother!"

Miles was still frowning when he turned off the television and went back to his room to shower.

Franziska refused to accompany him to the psychiatrist's office, and Miles arrived alone, half-dreading the encounter. When he checked in with the receptionist—a gawky young man barely out of adolescence—he was told to have a seat, as the doctor was on a break.

"Tell her it's me," Miles said, "Prosecutor Edgeworth."

The kid looked at him warily and then pressed the call button on the intercom and at Chihiro's inquiry, he relayed Miles' message. He was told to enter the office.

When he entered the tidy, modern office, Chihiro was seated and facing the window with her back to him. The doleful sound of a lone cello filled the room. Miles closed the door behind him and stood listening. He didn't mind this.

The music stopped and Chihiro turned and grinned up at him.

"You're a musician too," he stated.

"Hmm… Well," Chihiro said, "We all have our secrets. What can I do for you, Mister Edgeworth?"

He held up her letter and let the paper rattle in the air, "You tell me."

"Oh," Chihiro said and she stood and carried the ungainly instrument to its stand in the corner, "I was only trying to help."

"Thank you?" Miles said with uncertainty.

"Where is Albert Sheinheilig?"

"We're working on it," Miles said, "He was taken into custody a few days ago—in Nevada—but apparently, we can't charge him with any crime that would warrant extradition—it's complicated."

"Oh," Chihiro said, "Please have a seat."

Miles looked around the room; there was a sofa in the center and a leather recliner. Across from the sofa was a chaise lounge draped in patterned throws. There was also a desk with a chair behind it. Miles glowered at her, "I'm not staying long."

"So according to the clerk at the district court, you're going back to trial on the 24th, is that correct? They want us to deliver his CST by the 21st. It's already the 17th. Miles what—"

"Don't worry about it," Miles said, "Ultimately, I am the one responsible for all documentation related to this case, so I can slide your deadline to the right a day or two if need be. Really, you didn't need me to come here to tell you that."

"Oh," Chihiro said, "I just wanted to see you again."

Miles' glare went cold and he tugged at his vest, "If that is all, Doctor Young, I'll take my leave now. Don't call us, please—we'll contact you if—"

"Are you wearing a ribbon on your neck?"

"It's a cravat," Miles said.

"Oh, it's very old fashioned—don't you think?"

"Doctor young—"

"You're so supercilious, you won't even give me a chance."

Miles' continued to glare at her, but his eyes widened—he wasn't comfortable with very forward women. Most women got the hint right away—but these women…

"I wouldn't want it to interfere with our working relationship. The Honeymoon case is very important to a lot of people," he said.

"But what about you? You said you had some... issues..."

"You're just making stuff up," Miles said, "Now, I really don't have time to play—I am a very busy man. Good bye, Doctor," Miles said and opened the door to leave, "I will let you know when we have Albert in our custody. Thank you."

"Always a pleasure, Mister Edgeworth," Chihiro said.

Miles was starting to look a little beaten down by the time he entered Chief Skye's office. He frowned when he saw Chief of Police Gant and Detective Goodman in there as well.

Chief Skye nodded at him and motioned for him to take a seat beside Detective Goodman on the sofa in her office.

"I'm assuming you all know why you're here?" She said stiffly.

Miles nodded and Chief Gant grinned.

"We have seventy-two hours to get Sheinheilig from Nevada before he is released from the custody of Las Vegas police. Prosecutor Edgeworth, have you completed the necessary documents to serve hi—"

"Of course, Chief," Miles said impatiently.

"Detective Goodman will be accompanying you to make the arrest—as well as two other officers to help with the escort. Chief Gant and I are hoping you can leave by tomorrow morn—"

"Chief," Miles said, "I've been subpoenaed to provide testimony in a trial at the High Court."

Chief Gant clapped his hands and started clapping, "Ho Ho! Little Worthy, you like to cut it close, don't you?"

"I'm sorry Chief Skye," Miles said, "Unless, perhaps we can convince the judge to turn over this subpoena...?"

"Not likely," Chief Skye said, "Tomorrow night then, you, Goodman, two patrolmen—oh and the Doc is going along too… She's going to assess CST before you leave Nevada—what would be the point of bringing him all the way here, only to find out he's not able to stand trial?"

Miles put his face in his palm in exasperation.

"Hey, Edgeworth," Phoenix was giving him an odd look. Miles straightened his posture and flipped through page after page of testimony. He just wanted to finish so he could go home and get some sleep.

"Miles," Phoenix pressed.

"What?" Miles said.

"What exactly are we looking for?"

"I-I'm not sure—I just want to be ready in case…"

"Miles, you know the truth now. Isn't that what you're always saying? That the truth is most important—truth will out? Nothing new can come up in that trial."

"I know," Miles said, "This is mostly to determine his sentence. If… What if I say the wrong thing and they put him to death?"

"So what?" Phoenix said, "He's a murderer. And a psycho…"

"How can you say that?" Miles felt defensive and couldn't grasp why, he hated Von Karma—right?

Phoenix set down the folder he'd been perusing and leaned forward to put a hand on Miles' shoulder. Miles' didn't like being touched—but he didn't react. Phoenix stared earnestly into his eyes.

"I don't think you need to worry about this… Let's get something to eat," Phoenix said, "We've been here for like five," he glanced at his watch, "almost seven hours."

"You can go," Miles said absently, as he thumbed through the remaining folders.

Phoenix put both hands behind his head and stared at Miles, but he made no move to leave.

"They put me in an orphanage, you know," Edgeworth said, "If Mister Von Karma hadn't taken me in—"

"You wouldn't be here right now," Phoenix crossed his arms and glared at him, "What kind of person murders a guy and then raises his kid so he can frame him for murder? All the while making the kid think that it was his fault the whole time… Psycho…"

"You're over simplifying," Miles said.

"You're over thinking," Phoenix said.

"Let's go eat and we can come back after—"

"I'm not hun—"

"How can you not be hungry? Are you some kind of robot?"

"If you don't want to help, then go," Miles said.

Phoenix shot him a dark look and grabbed another folder from the box and slammed it down on the table in front of him.

"Miles," Phoenix said and Miles leaned over to see what the other boy was cradling in his outstretched hand. The alien triangular face of the praying mantis stared up at him pivoting oddly on its tiny neck. The insect lifted its long front legs slowly as if it was going through kung fu poses. Miles grinned.

"Where'd you find him?"

"He was in the bush next to my door this morning," Phoenix said.

"Are you going to keep it?" Miles asked.

"Yeah," Phoenix said, "I'm going to train him to fight."

"Ooh," Larry said leaning over Phoenix's other shoulder, "Let's put it in Jilly Baxter's hair."

"No Larry," Miles said, "Phoenix is going to train him to fight and we'll feed him peanut butter so he gets real big. If we put it in Jilly's hair she'll freak out—then someone might step on him before he has a chance to reach his full potential."

"Um, yeah," Phoenix said, "He's got to reach his full poe um poten shun."

Larry glowered at Miles, "You're a nerd."

"Stop it guys," Phoenix said and upended his pencil box into his desk. He put the praying mantis inside of it. The teacher came in then, and asked them to pass in their homework.

Twenty-four fourth graders moved to pull their papers and books out of their bags. Miles has his neatly placed in his trapper keeper, Phoenix's homework was missing half a page where he got a little over zealous in tearing it out of his spiral notebook, and Larry didn't have his at all.

"Somebody stole it!" Larry said.

The teacher had just begun to lecture him on lying when the classroom began to shake. Books slid from the shelves and the plant on the teacher's desk fell with a crash. Twenty-four fourth graders moved to sit under their desks while the windows rattled and the world around them shook in an unnatural way. Phoenix stared in shock as the pencil box fell off of his desk. He hesitated before flipping it over. Miles leaned over to look inside; the mantis was gone.

"Stay where you are," the teacher said, "The principal is going to announce when you can come out again, there may be after shocks."

"That was like the worst earthquake ever," Larry muttered to Phoenix, "This place is going to sink into the earth."

"No it won't," Miles said as he looked around for the praying mantis.

"I hope he's all right," Phoenix said, concerned about the insect.

"I think there's been more earthquakes here than anywhere else," Larry said.

"That's because we're on a fault line," Miles said, "Where the plates that make up the surface of the earth rub together. That movement is what causes earthquakes."

"Nobody cares, Miles," Larry said.

"Here it is," Miles said, and cupped his hands over the mantis.

Phoenix held open the pencil box to receive the mantis again. He clutched the box worriedly to his chest. Miles smirked a little at him and sat down on the floor under his desk.

The aftershock was a lot shorter, but it seemed more violent.

"There'll probably be little tiny earthquakes for the next few days," Miles said pedantically beside Phoenix just as everything settled from the aftershock.

Phoenix looked at him oddly.

"Do you like earthquakes, Miles?"

"They're kind of neat, aren't they?"

"I guess…"

Miles startled awake in the pale gray light of early morning. Pess was lying at the foot of the bed with Franziska at her head. Franziska was standing and staring at him owl eyed and wearing the shirt she'd stolen from him.

"What are you doing here?" Miles' voice was still rough from the late night he'd had the night before and it came out like a croak.

"I'm sorry, Miles," she said, and to his dismay she climbed up on the bed and crawled up to sit beside him.

Miles' looked around for his pajamas, a robe—anything—to cover up. He had to settle for the comforter on the bed. He grimaced a little when she settled right up against him—actually she was leaning against him.

"Franziska, this isn't a good time," he said.

"I'm not as smart as you are Miles," she said her fingers fell on his forearm and she began to trace circles there, until he pulled away.

"Franziska just tell me what you need and leave. This is highly inappropriate."

"I've never been as smart as you. Even Papa said as much when I went to see him, last," she continued as if she couldn't hear him.

"Don't worry about what he says," Miles said.

"You're just—" Franziska said, "You never went to see him… He asked after you every time I went. Because he thinks you're better than me."

Miles felt the heat rise to his face, "That's not true. Your father loves you."

Franziska sat quietly for several minutes as if organizing her thoughts. Miles was still exhausted—he still felt the consequences of his late night. If he had his way, he'd sleep all day. Franziska leaned against his arm and looked up at him. Miles startled.

"Are you going to see Papa before his trial at the High Court?"

Miles tried to slide away from her and ended up dangerously close to the edge of the bed, "No."

"Will you go to the trial?"

"I have to; I've been summoned to testify."

Franziska paused and met his eye. She seemed focused now, like a lioness about to pounce.

"You can still save my father's life, Miles," Franziska said, and she leaned in closer to him. She slid her hands up along his shoulders until she had her arms around his neck she pulled his head down roughly so that they were nearly nose-to-nose, "Won't you do that for me?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but couldn't speak. She stared up at him, pale blue eyes glinting icily—just like her father's eyes. Miles wasn't sure if he felt more shocked that she would ask him, or that she thought he might comply. Miles closed his mouth and felt his jaw clench involuntarily. She must have noticed the shift in the muscle of his cheek because she pulled away slightly.

So this was what it was about. She was worried about her father—and why shouldn't she be? But if anyone in the world had a reason to hate Manfred Von Karma, it was Miles Edgeworth.

"Miles, don't you care about me?"

Miles reached back and took her by the wrists and pushed her arms away from him. Franziska made a huffy noise and crossed her arms, she stared daggers at him. That—at least—Miles could deal with.

"Of course I care about you," he said, "I don't know what else I can do to show you that. But I don't have any love for your father—especially now. So don't ask me to do anything for him."

"But he's my Papa," Franziska said, her tone pleading and painful to hear.

"You'll be fine without him," Miles' voice had gone cold and low.

"You don't understand. You don't know him like I do," she was on her knees now and leaning toward him her arms waving emphatically, "He cared about you too—can't you see that? He only meant to scare you—you wouldn't have been hurt."

Miles' brow furrowed, "How can you believe anything he says?"

"Miles," Franziska said.

"Obviously, you've been given a different story. I wish I could make you believe the truth. I wish I could open your eyes, Franziska."

"You're the one who needs to open their eyes. You want to blame all of your problems on Papa. You think that if he dies everything will be perfect for you? Do you? You're a child Miles Edgeworth—a foolish, selfish, child!"

Miles stared back at her—he was too angry to speak.

"Papa, didn't have to take you in, he could have left you there—in an orphanage—where you could rot with the rest of the garbage. Everything he's done for you and all you can do is stand back and watch while they cut down a great man. A greater man than you can ever hope to be. And everything else! All of your neurosis and fear—that came from you, how can you blame my Papa? You're the one that's weak and crazy—"

"Franziska Von Karma…"

"That's right! I'm a Von Karma—we're perfect! You make Papa out to be some kind of monster—a devil on your back. All he ever did was care for you! You're worthless Miles! All the Edgeworths are worthless. Your father was a lying, conniving little snake that tried to ruin Papa all those years ago. He died because you killed him—because he was weak. All of his sneaking and plotting—that festered in you. You carried it all in you—even though Papa tried to save you! You—"

"You really should just stop talking," he said coolly. Even Pess' hackles rose at his tone.

"Why? Are you afraid of the truth? Is it too much to hear it? You were always a little feigling, Miles Edgeworth. I remember you with your little nightmares and all of your crying—foolish fool…"

Miles hadn't wanted to jump out of bed, because he wasn't wearing pajamas and he wasn't really sure if he was wearing anything at all—but he suddenly wanted very much to hit Franziska. So he stood and backed away from her. She's only a girl, he told himself, and she didn't know what she was doing.

He glared down at her—it was way too early in the morning for all of this.

"It isn't fair!" she screamed suddenly and shrilly, Pess barked once and jumped down from the bed to stand beside Miles. His fingers found the top of her head and he scratched her there, absently waiting, trying to find his calm.

"You can save him! You can save him but you won't! You won't!"

"You know why he's in prison, don't you?" Miles said, still dangerously calm in his anger.

"Lies! My Papa wouldn't—he wouldn't!" Franziska curled up and started to sob on his bed, and if Miles wasn't so angry right then, he might've moved to comfort her. As it was, he already felt guilty that he made her cry. But he couldn't move, because she was there like a monster picking at every wound that trial had reopened and rubbing the salt cruelly into them. He closed his eyes and started to count his breaths—something Maddy had taught him.

"Papa wouldn't…" her fight was wavering now.

Miles had the presence of mind to find a distraction and found his robe and put it on and then shooed Pess out of his bedroom. Franziska had quieted by the time he returned to her, but she was still crying. He frowned at his little sister; she had always come to him when she was hurt or upset—why was he fighting with her?

Miles sat beside her on the bed and pulled her up. He let her sob against his chest and kissed the top of her head. He held her until she calmed.

"I can't make you understand," He said quietly into her hair, "You can't know how every minute of the last fifteen years has been like for me," Miles paused and looked toward his window, where the sun was starting to rise golden and bright outside.

"No one can understand it…" He said, "I don't even think I understand."

"What will happen to me?" she murmured into his chest.

"You'll be fine," he said, "I'll look out for you."

"Like my Papa looked out for you?"

Miles didn't answer right away—he didn't want to make her cry again. He almost told her that he'd never frame her for a murder he'd committed. He kissed the top of her head instead, and left it at that. There was nothing in Manfred Von Karma worth saving.

A/N: Thanks for Reading!

*gag* I hate golfers… I worked one of the pre-PGA tournaments a few years ago as a volunteer—you could literally scoop up the pretentiousness and put it in jars… But I didn't think I could get away with letting Miles play baseball without setting him out on the links at some point too…

First flashback is from spring of the same year Miles faces off against Phoenix (their first trial is in September). The second flashback is from when they were still in school. In Turnabout Goodbyes, they make a big deal about Miles being afraid of earthquakes, but Phoenix is genuinely surprised by this—implying that Miles was not afraid as a boy.

UPDATED 7JUL2015 – Removed some clumsy dialogue. This scene originally followed the aftermath of the nightclub shooting, so some of it didn't make sense.