Chapter 48

The Hangover

Miles sat on his bed, feet planted firmly on the hardwood floor and hands clasped in his lap, and he brooded. This was happening so much lately.

There was a knock at the door and he gaze shot up to meet his recent visitor.

"Brüderchen," Franziska peeked apprehensively into his room, "Are you still in there?"

Miles only stared at the door and waited for her to push in—as she was wont to do.

"Papa is still angry," she said, as she entered and walked up to him, "What did you do?"

Miles only shook his head, "He's always angry anymore," he said.

Neither of them said anything more, but Franziska climbed into his bed and sat beside him. She swung her little legs and stared around. Then her tiny hand found his and she rested it on top of his. Miles swallowed.

Outside the sun was starting to set and the room was awash in golden light. But Miles was too upset to enjoy it. Franziska's little fingers grasped his.

"Miles, when you do bad things, you get what you deserve," she said.

He raised an eyebrow and looked at her.

"Papa is so very angry," she added.

"Franziska," he said, "Is there something you need?"

"I just wanted to see you," she said cryptically, "In case Papa sends you away."

Miles let out a snort of derision, "If only," he muttered.

The silence fell between them again. Miles glared surreptitiously at her stockinged legs as she swung them forcefully against the bed. Thump thump. Thump thump.

He supposed it was comforting to have some company.

"I don't know why he is always so angry with you. You're always so very quiet."

Miles cleared his throat. He gave her a sidelong glance and found the girl staring up at him, studying him. Her ice blue eyes catching fire from the setting sun.

"Franziska," he said quietly," You're my friend, right?"

She smiled sweetly, "Of course, Brüderchen."

At ten years old, her father had allowed her to start wearing make-up and more mature clothing. But today she had on her Sunday dress, a charming compilation of ribbon and lace. She wore white stockings and patent leather mary-janes in black. She looked every bit the little princess tonight.

"I'll always be your friend," she said.

Miles swallowed and smiled at her. The sentiment was rare and bittersweet. But even this tender moment could not quell the feeling of dread welling up inside him.

Another knock sounded at the door. They both looked up. Franziska in startled curiosity and Miles in utter terror.

"Herr Edgeworth, er wird sie jetzt," the footman said and stepped aside for Miles to exit his room and follow.

Miles stood and glanced once at his little sister before following the footman.

The man led him to Mister Von Karma's study, and was gone before Miles had a chance to acknowledge him.

"Miles Edgeworth," Mister Von Karma said.

"Good evening, sir," Miles said and took a seat in front of the old man's imposing desk.

"Don't think you can get away from this matter with pleasantry, Miles Edgeworth!"

Miles frowned and sat still and stiffly waiting for his reprimand.

Mister Von Karma did not look up at him, but continued to do whatever work he had in front of him. Miles swallowed and stared at his hands in his lap.

"Do you know why I called you in here?" Mister Von Karma said, finally.

"I'm sorry sir, I didn't—"

"It wasn't to listen to your excuses," Mister Von Karma said.

"I made a mistake," Miles said, "A poor judgment call."

"You've never been very bright," Mister Von Karma said, "But you've always been well behaved, at least, as best as I could hope for from someone of your ilk. I've never expected this."

Miles shook his head, what could he say? It's not like he'd planned on it happening this way. He stared at his hands, he couldn't bring himself to meet Mister Von Karma's eye.

"They were going to put you in jail," Mister Von Karma said, his words soggy with disdain.

Miles nodded. He was grateful the old man had connections like he did.

"Really," Mister Von Karma said continuing without looking up from his correspondences, "I'm at my wits end. What am I going to do with a troubled and troublesome boy like you? I'm embarrassed to see you in public."

Miles nodded without looking at Mister Von Karma.

"It may be prudent to move your debut back," Mister Von Karma said, "and perhaps to another country."

This time, Miles looked up to meet his eyes. The old man was glaring coldly at him.

"Perhaps it's better that we plan to return to California."

He nodded again at the old man. Mister Von Karma glared scrupulously at him.

"Miles Edgeworth," he said after a while, "How long have you been drinking?"

Miles shook his head, "I was... It was just—"

"Don't stammer at me you fool! You've almost ruined everything! If I could hand you back I would. You're a complete waste of time."

"Sir, I never—"

"Are you trying to lie to me?"

Miles shook his head. He knew he'd messed up. But Mister Von Karma had the wrong idea. He always blew everything out of proportion.

Miles awoke in the cold light of early morning and pushed himself to a sitting position. He looked around bewildered. He was in his own room.

He didn't remember coming back home.

He ran a hand over his face and sighed. The room was spinning and a wave of nausea coursed over him. There were certainly some poor judgments made last night.

Pess barked in the hall and he heard the click and jingle of her movements as she rushed toward his room. She always seemed to know when he was awake.

"Hello, girl," he said gruffly. He voice was gravelly and his mouth felt dry.

"Er, Mister Edgeworth," Wellington had followed after the dog, "How are you feeling?"

Miles looked quizzically at his butler, "I've done something embarrassing and foolish."

"Ah, sir?"

"I mean, I think I'm still drunk," Miles said and he frowned at the old man.

"Sir, I'm sure things might've gone much worse for you. But you have a very good friend in Mister Wright."

Miles' brows furrowed, "Wright came here?"

"No sir," Wellington said, "He called me last night to pick you up. Seems you were acting—well, rather out of the ordinary, sir."

"I see," Edgeworth said, worry starting to creep in with all of the other crap he was feeling.

"Take this, sir," Wellington held out a tiny silver platter with two white tablets and a glass of water.

Miles made a face but accepted the medicine. He gagged after draining the water and some of it dripped over his chin.

"Carry on Wellington," he said dismissively, "I'm going to try and straighten myself out."

"Very good, sir," Wellington said, "I'll have Mrs. Kucharka, ready your breakfast."

"I don't think I can eat," Miles said as he stumbled out of bed and headed toward the bathroom, "I still feel sick."

"I don't think it will hurt," Wellington said.

Miles waved him away and closed the bathroom door behind him. When he'd showered and brushed his teeth, he was feeling a little more himself.

He walked out of his room and into the nook wearing his slippers and a dressing gown. The vertigo at least was starting to pass. He paused in shock at the spread on the small round table.

"Who else is coming for breakfast?" He chided in the direction of the kitchen where he could still hear the cook bustling around.

Mister Wellington brought him his paper and a teapot. Pess joined him at the table, lying with her head on her front paws and her nose against his ankle.

"She's really outdone herself this morning," Miles said as he poured his tea, "I wish I wasn't feeling so..."

"Sometimes a good solid meal can perk you right up after a bender," Wellington chuckled affectionately.

Miles frowned, "It wasn't a bender... It was just a party out in town..."

"Don't worry, sir. No one can fault you for wanting to let loose once in a while, especially after these past few months."

Miles frowned, couldn't they? Mister Von Karma would—oh wait, he's dead.

Miles chuckled and leaned over to lift the cover and peruse the contents of the nearest tray. Waffles and fresh berries with a little bit of homemade whipped cream.

He dropped the lid back onto the tray and rattled his paper, staring hard at the crowding black and white print. Yeah, he was definitely still drunk.

"It's one beer," Miles said and leaned back in the deck chair, "One beer after three and a half years is not starting again."

"But why? You've never felt the need to drink—"

"Beer, Franziska," Miles said glaring at her, "You should be yelling at your cousin Hans. He's the one that brought it."

Franziska tossed her head. The short cut was still strange to look at. It wasn't ugly—she had a good face for short hair—but it was still so marked a change for him to adapt too.

They were sitting in her father's California Mansion, on a balcony overlooking dunes and cliffs. Mister Von Karma couldn't quite afford a view of the beach, but it's proximity was obvious.

Miles flipped through the book he had and frowned. He was still wearing his charcoal gray suit, though the jacket had been discarded somewhere else in the house. Diana was livid after their meeting with the estate executor. Most of them were. Hans managed an air of clumsy indifference, and Heidi seemed more upset about Diana's reaction than what her father had bequeathed to her.

Miles frowned at the book, he and Franziska were basically hiding out from everyone else. He could feel her icy glare on him. But he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of his concern. He and Franziska had made out the best in Mister Von Karma's will, which Miles wasn't surprised about considering that he and Franziska had the closest proximity to the man. So why were the others so upset. They didn't even bother to bury the bastard.

"What are you reading?" Franziska said.

Miles glared sidelong at her, "Nothing, since you keep interrupting me."

*CRACK*

Miles jumped up from the deck chair and threw down his book, "Stop it!"

"You stop," Franziska said, "I'm trying to talk to you. I'm leaving soon and you just want to lie around and not talk."

"What is there to talk about Franziska?" Miles said, running a hand wearily through his hair.

"Papa gave you this house, are you going to move here?"

Miles shook his head and bent down to pick up his book. He eyed her warily and cautiously sat back down in the deck chair.

"There's more to that story than you know," he said, "But no. I don't want to live here. As soon as I can get the auditors out here, it's going on the market."

Franziska frowned, "I'll miss this house."

Miles glanced sidelong at her without turning his face from the book, "Why? You barely lived here. I suppose you've lived longer in my flat than you have here."

Franziska bit her lip and looked out into the fading daylight, "I remember good things here."

Miles made a derisive snort and turned a page in his book.

"Do you remember that day?" She turned to him her eyes suddenly bright.

Miles frowned, "You're going to have to elaborate, Franziska, I remember quite a few days—if you can believe that."

"Don't be mean," Franziska said, "I'm talking about the day we had our contest—at the Mack Rell trial?"

"Oh," Miles said and turned another page.

"Do you miss Papa?" Franziska said suddenly.

Miles looked up at her. She was staring at him longingly. He frowned.

"I know he cared about you a lot," she continued. She turned back to the dunes and drew her knees up hugging them, "That's why he left you so much."

Miles made a noise and shut his book. He turned in the deck chair and stood up, "When are they going to start dinner? I'm starting to feel faint."

Franziska glared at him.

Miles agreed to let Wellington drive him to work—just in case. By this time, his vertigo had subsided into a pounding headache and a general feeling of malaise. He wanted to go back to bed. But then, one must keep up appearances.

He took his time on the stairwell, pausing to catch his breath several times. He really ought to be back in bed. Sleeping it off seemed like the only reasonable solution.

He exited the stairwell and stumbled into the corridor and all but dragged himself into his office. Grateful that no one was around to witness his walk of shame.

He dropped his briefcase onto the divan and sat at his desk and stared at the black screen of his computer. He wasn't really up for any of this.

Miles got up instead and turned to shut the blinds and block out the encroaching morning light. Then he turned on his kettle before returning to his desk. He put his head in his hands and tried hard to remember the previous night.

Apparently Phoenix Wright had been there. Miles frowned.

He nearly fell over in shock when his desk phone rang. He let it ring twice more before picking it up, "Edgeworth."

"Hey it's Steve," Steve the mail guy said.

"Who?" Miles asked, "Why didn't you call my secretary?"

"Steve, the mail guy? She's not in, but I saw you come in. I've got a ton of stuff—"

"Why are you calling me about it? Just bring it up," Miles said.

"Yeah," mail guy said, "I just wanted to make sure you were okay with that—since it's early."

"Yeah, it's fine," Miles said and hung up. He rubbed his face wearily. Then he put tea in his teapot and flipped on his computer while he waited for the kettle to finish boiling.

He'd been invited to a singles party at the Gatewater, he remembered that. He wasn't going to go, but Larry had called him and wouldn't stop talking. He thought the night out might have the dual effect of placating his ridiculous friends and taking his mind off of... things.

The kettle clicked off and he got up to pour hot water over his tea. He stood over it while it steeped. The warm earthy scent of pu erh started to claim his office. He closed his eyes wearily. He could just lock the door and go to sleep, he thought, eyeing the divan longingly.

He was just setting his teapot back on its stand having just poured himself a cup when someone knocked on the door. Miles startled and then realized it was probably just the mail guy. He opened the door and nearly fell backward.

A crowd of Mylar balloons burst in through the doorway ahead of mail guy and his cart. Mail guy was laughing at some anecdote proffered by Detective Gumshoe.

Miles glared at the detective as he and mail guy started to unload dozens of vases and stuffed animals, many of them with a balloon or two attached.

"Detective Gumshoe," Miles spat out incredulously, "What! What is the meaning of this? Did you tell anyone I'd gone—you know... there?"

Gumshoe grinned innocently at him, and rubbed the back of his head, "No sir. These are for Valentine's Day."

Miles frowned and looked more closely at the balloons. Most of them were pink or red and they all bore messages like, 'Someone Loves You' and 'Be Mine'.

"Who sent them?"

Gumshoe laughed, "I haven't looked at all of them, but I guess they're from all of your admirers."

Miles looked at him with his eyes wide and mouth slightly agape, unable to hide the horror.

"My—my admirers?"

Gumshoe chuckled, his big shoulders quaking, "You're a pretty popular guy in spite of yourself."

Miles grimaced and returned to his desk to retrieve his teacup. He sat in his chair and sipped his tea, glaring now and again as mail guy and Gumshoe unloaded all of the ridiculous trinkets and flowers and balloons. He had double the correspondence today as well and the corrugated plastic box mail guy set on his desk was nearly overflowing with pink and red envelopes.

Miles started sorting through his mail. Filing the cards directly into his trashcan. He didn't notice when mail guy left and only looked up when Gumshoe placed something heavy onto his desk.

"Wendy says 'between a rock and a hard place'. I don't know what that means," Gumshoe said. His hand was still resting on the large Steel Samurai statue on Miles' desk.

Miles raised an eyebrow, "I have no idea either," he said, "but this Wendy person does seem to understand me better than the rest of these... people..."

He took up the statue and placed it on the window sill.

"I also wanted to tell you that you beat everyone else," Gumshoe said grinning.

Miles looked at him inquisitively, "I don't follow."

"You raised over twelve hundred dollars for the department," Gumshoe chuckled and with one box of chocolates too!"

Miles frowned, he remembered the chocolates. But he didn't remember—

"How did you get the money?" Miles said brow furrowed.

"That lawyer guy—Phoenix Wright," Gumshoe grinned, "He brought it by the station this morning."

Miles frowned, "Hmph, I didn't think that guy ever woke up before noon."

"How did you do it?" Gumshoe asked.

Miles shook his head. He didn't remember how it happened and he was starting to think he didn't want to.

Gumshoe nodded and scratched his cheek, "Well, sir, I'll let you get back to your work. You're going to be real busy with all that mail. I just wanted to check in and see how you were and thank you for helping with the fundraiser."

Miles glared at him, "Gumshoe, you don't have to check on me."

"Mister Edgeworth, sir, I—I just want to make sure you're okay."

Miles wanted to shout at him, but he thought better of it, "I understand, detective. But there's nothing to worry about. It's all a gross misunderstanding."

Gumshoe frowned but he nodded and said, "If you need anything, sir."

Miles watched the big detective walk out of his office and close the door. He bit his lip and then muttered, "Thank you," to no one in particular.

A/N: Thanks for Reading! OMG, I hope the chapter title didn't throw anyone off—this isn't THAT kind of story…

First flashback, Miles is 17 or almost 17... What's that you say? This was totally out of the blue? What! I told you about this in chapter 12 and 44! (fist bump for tying up loose ends!)

Second flashback, Miles is 24! Yes, it's from a few chapters back. He just finished the trial but he doesn't know if he lost yet. I guess he didn't learn his lesson until he was 20 or 21-;)

So I know everyone is angry that I haven't updated for so long. I don't know what I can do to make it up to you, other than trying to stay consistent with further updates from here on out. I do get pretty busy—I have a demanding job and a family now—so I hope you can find it in yourselves to forgive me. I'm sorry very sorry, and I'm trying my best.