Chapter 28

Concessions

Franziska jumped up from her spot on the stairs when the front door opened and she bolted toward it before the caretaker could open it. Miles was finally back!

"Oh! Brüderchen!"

"Hello," Miles said and he had to step back when she bounded up and hugged him.

"I missed you," she said, "Usually you come home from school but this time you didn't and Papa told me that he was going to meet you somewhere, but he di—"

"I missed you too Franziska," Miles said, and he put a hand on her shoulder and entered the house.

Franziska followed him and his meager luggage up the stairs to his bedroom on the other end of the house. She sat on his bed swinging her legs while watching him fumble with the white cloth he wore around his neck. The silk was stark and white against the black shirt and pants he wore.

"You look like a priest," she said after he'd removed the neck-cloth and stored it in the safety of his dresser. Miles looked at her and then moved to grab his travel bag.

"That's a little disconcerting," he said as he emptied the bag.

He didn't have much in it, a few small clothes and some pajamas—the bare necessities for travel. Franziska leaned over and stared into the bag with some disappointment.

"Why didn't you—" she began and Miles frowned at her apologetically.

"We were busy," Miles said, "I didn't have time to—"

"You mean you and Papa were busy? What were you doing?"

"Mostly we were in court," Miles said.

Franziska turned away from him and frowned into her lap. Papa always had more time for Miles. It wasn't fair—she was so much smarter than Miles, not to mention exponentially cuter. Why didn't Papa ever bring her along instead?

Miles seemed to guess what she was thinking because he was throwing her remorseful glances as he unbuttoned the black shirt he was wearing.

"Papa only likes you more because you're a boy," she crossed her arms and glared at him as coldly as a nine-year-old could muster.

Miles chuckled and it only served to raise her ire.

"I'm also seven years older than you," Miles said tugging the black shirt off to reveal a plain white tee shirt he had underneath, "I'm sure he'll bring you along when you're older."

"I'm ready now, Miles Edgeworth!" she shouted and swung her riding crop toward him.

He dodged her swing and shook his head at her, "Perhaps you are," he said, "But when you do things like that, you're saying that you're not."

He reached for her riding crop and she screamed swatting at his arm until he pulled away.

"I am too ready!"

Miles sighed audibly and turned to leave his room, "Don't throw a tantrum, I just got back."

"I'm not throwing a—"

He paused and looked at her before leaving. Franziska crossed her arms and glared at his retreating back, "Someday, little brother, I'll show Papa how much better I am than you, and you'll stay behind."

When she woke up, she washed and dressed and went immediately into the dining room to take her breakfast. Of course, breakfast was waiting, but Miles was nowhere in sight. Franziska sat huffily at the table. He was either still asleep or he 'd awoken early to walk that dog.

Franziska had just returned from the sideboard when the door opened and the blustering and panting told her Miles had returned with his dog. She left the table to greet him only to find Mister Wellington struggling to unclip the big dog's leash. He was disheveled, as if that dog had dragged him through every bush in the vicinity.

"Where's Edgeworth?" she said impatiently.

"Ah Miss Von Karma," Wellington said pausing to look at her, "Mister Edgeworth is in his room."

"Still asleep," she said derisively.

"Would you like me to check? I'll tell him that you want to see him."

"Very well," she said and she squeezed her hands into fists—she didn't like not having her riding crop.

Franziska went back to the table and took her repast.

"Franziska," Miles showed up a few minutes later. She didn't turn to look at him.

"Little brother," she said.

"Wellington said you wanted to see me," he said.

"Hmm, I didn't want to see you," she said, "I just wanted to make sure you didn't sneak away before I saw you this morning."

She turned and glared at him. He looked tired and irritated…? Miles always looked irritated. He had a dark blue dressing gown over his old man pajamas. His hair was messed up and it stood up in the back. It might've been cute if Miles wasn't such a jerk.

"Well, Little Brother?"

Miles stood leaning against the doorway but did not enter, "Good morning," he said blandly. He held up a newspaper and waved it at her before straightening and approaching to drop the paper beside her plate.

"What's this?" She asked.

"Paper," he said, already turning to walk away.

The headline read "Take Two: District Attorney renews case against Honeymoon Killers". Franziska frowned and rolled the newspaper sloppily and pushed it aside. Miles was bragging again—he was always so full of himself.

She relocated to the sitting room after breakfast so as to catch him on his way out—he was not going to get out of here without giving her the answer she wanted to hear. She sat tapping her fingers against the arm of the divan. Wellington eventually came in and offered to turn on the television, but Franziska did not want any distractions and told him so dismissively.

Miles entered the sitting room mostly dressed—he wasn't wearing his suit jacket—and carrying a saucer and teacup. He glanced sidelong at her but did not pause on the way to his desk in the library. Franziska waited a few moments and then got up to follow him.

"Miles Edgeworth," she said loudly and he looked up in surprise from whatever he was doing.

"Is there something you need?" he said turning back to his work.

"Will you take me to the courthouse today?"

He looked up at her again—startled. He nodded at her before looking away from her. He was always like this—giving more care to his work than anything else. Something he'd learned from Papa. She stared at him for several minutes, frowning. Then she cleared her throat impatiently.

"Did you need to go now?" He asked.

Franziska stared into his lovely gray eyes and smirked. She was only going to visit the court records room—she wasn't on any kind of schedule.

"Yes," she said.

"Oh," he said glancing disappointedly at whatever he was working on. He checked his watch with a frown.

"I wasn't going to leave for another half-hour or so," he said, "But I suppose we can leave now—if you're ready."

"Of course I'm ready little brother," she said and turned on her heel. She watched him disappear to the back of the flat and a minute later he came out with his jacket over his arm and his obnoxious metal case in the other hand. He said nothing to her when he got to the door, pausing to set down the case and put on his jacket. With only a glance at her he exited the flat.

Franziska wasn't going to leave his side until she'd had a chance to settle the awkward tussle from the previous night. It was obvious to her, Miles was in love with her—and he'd probably felt like that for a long time. She just wanted him to admit it.

Going down the narrow stairs was a bit of a challenge in the shoes she was wearing and Miles got ahead of her. Her eyes were locked on his back. He had broad shoulders—probably genetic, because Miles went to the gym very infrequently and she was sure he'd never touched a dumbbell in his life. But, still...

She startled when she bumped into him. Miles shot her a piercing glare and then said, "Edgeworth."

He was on his phone. Franziska crossed her arms impatiently and stared at him. After a minute or two, she pushed past him making a show of bumping against him, and continued down the stairs.

She made it all the way to his little red car before she saw him exit the stairwell door. He was looking more irritated than usual.

Miles was pretty distracted when he unlocked the car and held the door open for her, he didn't bother to make her take off her shoes.

"Something's come up," he said as he settled in the driver's seat and put on his seatbelt, "I'm going to have to drop you off, call me when you're ready to leave."

"What happened—?"

"I'm not completely sure," he said, "I'll find out when I get to the office."

"Good thing I got you to leave early," Franziska said.

Miles smirked a little as they exited the garage, "Yeah."

They drove in silence for a while before Franziska said, "Wouldn't it be better if you went into your office straight away?"

"I thought you had to—" He started.

"It can wait," she said, "Obviously, you have something much more imperative to attend to."

Miles had his eyes one the road but he smiled a little as he changed lanes to get on the freeway, "That's very thoughtful of you."

"Don't act so surprised, Miles Edgeworth," she said.

His smile spread a little more as he shifted to increase his speed. Miles Edgeworth was very handsome sometimes.

Like always he was a madman on the highway—jumping lanes to get around the other cars. She cleared her throat audibly as his speed left fast and started approaching crazy. He glanced at her and slowed the car.

"Sorry," he said.

"Does this have to do with the case you have going to trial?"

"She didn't say so directly," he said, "but I have a feeling that's exactly what this is about…"

They fell into silence again—she couldn't believe him—acting as if nothing had happened the previous night.

Franziska cleared her throat again and she clenched her empty right fist—she really missed having that riding crop. He startled a little and looked at her.

"Did you say something?"

"No," she said, "But I was wondering…"

"Yes?"

"I was wondering when you were going to apologize to me."

Miles looked at her, his eyes wide in shock. When he turned back toward the road he slammed on the break and they crashed into a water barrel near the exit they'd just missed.

"What!" he said incredulously.

Franziska raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms—Miles Edgeworth was always so oblivious.

"Papa is so angry with you," she said as he held the car door open for her, "What did you do?"

Miles made a grimace, and then closed her door. He was still angry as he dropped himself into the driver's seat, "I turned twenty-one."

Franziska was surprised—Papa hadn't explained anything to her. He didn't even want her to spend time with Miles—even though she'd been waiting to see her little brother all year. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Miles put his forehead against the steering wheel; he still hadn't started the car.

"Does he think you'll start going to get drunk?"

Miles laughed, "If only it were as simple as all that."

"Will you take me to a bar?"

"No."

"So what is Papa angry about?"

"He doesn't want me to talk about it with anybody—neither does my lawyer."

"You got in trouble?"

"No," Miles leaned back in his seat.

"Well? Are you going to tell me, or not?"

"Promise me you won't tell anyone? I'm still not sure what will happen to me."

"I promise," she said.

"Cross your heart an—"

"Miles Edgeworth," Franziska said and she crossed her arms, "I have given you my word."

The look he gave her attested to the seriousness of the news he was about to tell her—and it also told her that he wasn't convinced that she could keep it secret.

"Miles, I can keep your secret," she said.

He swallowed and then said, "I just inherited nine hundred sixty-eight million dollars."

Franziska gasped in shock and stared out the windshield at the sky. Miles was gripping the steering wheel for dear life. Franziska frowned at him.

"So why did you buy a stupid little car like this and not something better—like a plane or a mansion?"

Miles only shook his head. He hesitated and then said, "So, as soon as I'd learned about it, I told Mister Von Karma. He's been angry with me since then."

"Why?" she said, "What exactly did you tell him?"

"I just told him," Miles said, "and I explained the particular situation with my trust."

"What do you mean?"

"Most of that money is tied up in real estate—about sixty percent or so. The rest of it is invested and regulated by a trust. I get a stipend twice a year for life."

"How much is that?" Franziska couldn't hold back her excitement—Miles liked to buy her presents—maybe the extra cash flow would be to her advantage.

Miles frowned. He'd released his hold on the steering wheel and started tapping the bottom of it with his thumbs, "It's just over forty thousand—just shy of eighty-five thousand per annum."

Franziska stared at him, mouth agape. Miles crossed his arms and stared down at his lap.

"You can live very well off of that," she said, "You wouldn't have to work."

"I'm not going to stop doing what I've been training toward for most of my life," Miles said.

Franziska frowned at him. She'd never seen Miles so troubled—and at the same time she couldn't fathom why he'd be so unhappy.

"I wonder why Papa is angry with you," Franziska said tapping her chin thoughtfully with her riding crop.

"Maybe you could ask him," Miles said, "He won't speak to me. He made me move out as soon as I'd shared this news with him."

Franziska laughed, "Couldn't you buy your own mansion? How can you be upset that he kicked you out?"

"I'm staying in my Aunt's old condo—apparently I own the entire complex…"

"You should let me live there for free," she said.

Miles only frowned all the more.

"The estate manager sold my father's house," Miles said without any sign that he'd heard her suggestion.

"Did your father have a mansion too?"

Miles shook his head, "My aunt was rich—my father was a well-known defense attorney. I don't recall that he was very wealthy, but I was never wont for anything."

"Miles why are you worried about your father's house?"

"It was the last home I lived in before—" the color rose in his face but he kept his composure, "I don't know why Mister Von Karma is acting this way toward me. I didn't ask for this."

"Well, you could always just give all that money to me," Franziska said, "I'd still take care of you."

He laughed suddenly and it made her smile. Then she saw the tears roll down his cheek.

"Miles?" She said, "What—?"

He only shook his head and ran a sleeve heavy with brocade over his face.

"I hate this jacket," he said.

"You look so cute in that jacket."

"You're not allowed to think I'm cute," Miles said regaining his composure.

"Whatever little brother," she said slipping her arm around his, "When are you planning to get lunch? I'm hungry now."

Miles chuckled and started the car.

He drove apprehensively, still not used to driving his new car. She kept her arm on his; still absorbing the news that Miles Edgeworth was suddenly filthy rich. He was so silent that it made her nervous about breaking his concentration. After several minutes he glanced at her.

"Thank you Franziska," he said.

"For what?"

"For not letting this come between us."

"Oh, well, I know you'll always buy me nice things. Rich or no."

Miles shook his head, but he was smiling.

"I was well within my right to take it away from you," Miles said and he held open the stairwell door for her.

"And destroy it? There's nothing right about destroying the property of others!"

"Property?" Miles said, "You mean a weapon. One that you've used against me on several occasions."

"Only because you deserved it!"

"No one deserves that," he said.

"You did," she looked down at him, he was behind her on the narrow stairwell. Miles looked up at her through his bangs, which seemed to fall out of place as he grew more livid at their argument. It was rare for her to be in a position to stare down at him—he was very handsome at that angle. If she weren't wearing those shoes, she might've taken the stairs backward the entire way up.

"Obviously, this vacillating argument is grating for both of us," he said, "Why can't you just let it go? Last night never happened."

"I might've been able to do that if you hadn't lost your mind and broke my crop!"

"Hah! I lost my mind? I seem to remember your sudden tantrum over nothing. Stop twisting the truth to serve your own needs—you're worse than your father."

Franziska stopped where she was and Miles all but ran into her.

"Tantrum! I did not have a tantrum! You just—"

"You're doing it again," Miles said coolly, his face only inches from hers.

She raised her hand to slap him but he caught it, "Don't," he said.

Franziska made a noise at him like a growl and pulled her hand away forcefully before continuing up the stairs.

"Franziska," Miles said, he was following closely behind her, "If it makes you feel better, I'll go and see Mister Von Karma, but I'd like to get this trial out of the way first."

"Oh shut up!" she said without turning to look at him, "You always say things to placate me, but you wont actually follow through."

"Oh always?" Miles said with condescending incredulity.

"It's true," she said stomping up the stairs. When he didn't respond she fumed some more and said. "What do you mean 'I'm worse than my father?'"

Miles didn't say anything, and she turned to look down at him again, "Miles Edgeworth explain yourself."

"I don't want to hurt your feelings," Miles said under his breath.

Franziska stopped on the stairs and faced him, he stopped before he bumped into her and took a step back. He was glaring at her and they were standing nearly eye-to-eye. Franziska felt a nervous trill through her chest and shoulders. She liked that look on him—just not quite so much when it was directed at her.

"Since when have you ever cared about my feelings?"

Miles gritted his teeth and put his head down, grabbing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

"Why do you insist on making trouble for me?" he said.

Fine, change the subject, fool. "Don't blame me for your troubles Miles Edgeworth."

He closed his eyes and sighed. She glared harder at him. When he opened his eyes their angry stares met and they stood there in stubborn silence. Finally, he pushed past her and continued up the stairwell.

"Miles Edgeworth!" she shouted at him.

"I don't have time for this right now," he said without bothering to look at her.

Franziska stomped up to the next landing and exited the stairwell. She took the elevator the rest of the way up to the twelfth floor. Fuming all the way. Her brother was such a difficult person to deal with.

He was coming out of her father's office by the time she reached his door.

"You wasted no time did you?"

"What?" he said.

"You went and claimed my Papa's office," she crossed her arms, "Even before the sentencing trial too, I'll bet."

"Believe me, it wasn't my choice," Miles said, "the door's unlocked if you would wait for me there."

She snorted at his back derisively as he went in the opposite direction down the corridor. Aside from the few articles of furniture and that detestable brocade jacket mounted and framed on the wall, Miles hadn't changed her father's office. One wall was lined with several case files—the same case files her father kept there. She walked toward the window and stared down at the haze and the city below. A small window box with assorted flowers resting on the windowsill caught her eye. Miles was so fruity sometimes.

He still had that silly tea set and an electric kettle there, but the set was missing a cup. She opened the wooden box he kept his tea in and perused its contents before deciding that she didn't want any tea. She sat at the desk instead—its surface was polished to a mirror shine and everything, pens, papers, paperclips—everything was kept meticulously tidy. Franziska rolled her eyes and started going through the drawers of his desk.

Mostly he kept additional supplies—pens, ink, envelopes, and that sort of thing—in those drawers. But she found one that was a little more random. Miles had a set of small screwdrivers, a small pocket knife, a string of assorted rubber bands knotted in a long chain, a card box with a stack of collector cards depicting that stupid samurai show he liked, a letter she'd written him a few months ago—that made her smile—and a small velvet box. She picked up the box and examined it in her hand. Definitely jewelry—a ring or a pair of stud earrings. She shook the box near her ear and glanced at the door. Surely, he'd gotten her a gift to make up for his rudeness the last couple of weeks.

Franziska opened the box and frowned. It was definitely a ring box, but in place of the ring there was a folded note. She hesitated and then pulled out the note. She glanced at the door again before unfolding it.

'Miles darling,

We really should talk. I know this ring was important to you and I don't want you to think that I intend to keep it after all, but I don't know how else to get you to come round. I think you're being rash, darling. Daddy thinks we need a second chance—and I feel the same way too. Please call me. Don't make me wait.

Maddy'

Franziska stuck out her tongue and made a gag noise—what a sappy fool! She laughed to herself. Franziska folded the note sloppily and stuffed it back into the box. Miles had never introduced her to Maddy—all she knew was that they were engaged to be married and suddenly they weren't.

There was only one drawer left and this one was locked. She dug around in his stuff drawer for a key and unable to find one, she pulled out his little pocketknife. She paused and examined it first—the handle was colored like the suits he wore in court and there was a little white bump at one end. It took her a minute to recognize it as a little cravat. This was really weird, she giggled to herself—it was probably a gift, but the thought of Miles having the little knife made in his image was too funny.

She flipped open the blade and stuck it into the lock on that final drawer. No dice. She jiggled the drawer and tried to stick the blade between the drawer itself and the desk. She didn't notice the door open.

"Ah, at least you decided to behave," Miles said entering the office with a notepad and his organizer under his arm.

Franziska startled so hard she let the knife slip and somehow the little white plastic cravat popped off. "Oh, hi Miles."

He sat on his sofa and started flipping through his organizer. She closed his stuff drawer as inconspicuously as she could. He paused suddenly and looked up at her with a furrowed brow.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Franziska said. He made a face at her and stood to move toward his desk.

"Is there something you needed?" He asked her with a dangerous glare that swept over his desk.

"I found your stuff drawer—it was interesting," she said and grinned.

Miles frowned at her and picked up the velvet ring box she'd left on the desk by accident.

"This was my mother's," Miles said and his expression softened.

"How sweet," Franziska said, "But you knew it was empty, right?"

Miles frowned at her and opened the box, "What the—?"

He tugged the now crumpled note out of the box and his frown deepened as he read it.

"I don't believe it…" he said.

Franziska raised the still open knife above her head, "You want I should cut her?"

Miles grabbed it out of her hand, "Give me that before you hurt yourself."

Franziska rolled her eyes, "There's no need to condescend."

"I wouldn't if you'd stop acting like a child," Miles was glaring her as he flipped the knife closed and stuck it in his pocket.

"I wasn't—"

"Franziska, would you please stop fighting with me? For a change?"

"I'm not fightin—"

Miles made an exasperated noise and pointed at the door.

"You can't just kick me—"

"Now," he said.

"Am I supposed to walk—"

"I don't care what you—just go bug somebody else while I take care of some business. Then we're going home."

"What business do you have to take care of? I'm a prosecutor too. I can help."

"Franziska, I just want a moment to—"

"Why do you insist on keeping me at arms length?"

Miles raised an eyebrow at her.

"We used to be friends—but now—"

"We're still friends Franziska," he said softly.

A/N: Thanks for Reading!

Something different, Franziska's POV. She seems very childish in most of this story—I wanted to point out that it's because Miles sees her that way. Also a little insight into Miles' fortune and hopefully a reasonable motive for Manfred Von Karma to frame him for murder.

So I'm still rolling along—when I get the whole story out, I'll repost the whole thing in it's entirety (minus misspellings, inconsistencies, and the extra blah-bity-blah rampant throughout. Thanks for input on language stuff—I know nothing of German so it was a big help!)

UPDATED 9JUL2015- Minor edits. This chapter inspired Manziska! She's fun to write...