Chapter Text
Phoenix learned about Franziska when Miles made them stop at the library on their way to go get ice cream, because he wanted to check out all the parenting books about raising toddlers. Halfway through the fifth book, Miles was interrupted when Phoenix tugged on his sleeve, looked at him solemnly, and said, “Miles, do you have a new baby?”
Miles didn’t really know if Franziska could be classified as a baby. She hadn’t said a word since Father had brought her home, which did seem to fit with most babies. But she’d also look at Miles with big grey eyes while he was doing his homework, frowning slightly, as though trying to puzzle him out. Miles wanted to know if any of the books said anything about two-year-olds who watched you quietly, didn’t say anything, and didn’t seem interested in playing with your Steel Samurai toys. Most of the books were just telling him about the different developmental stages. None of them were very helpful in terms of Franziska. Miles was a little annoyed with these books.
“Miles?” said Phoenix again. He seemed a little confused by Miles’s reticence.
Miles chewed on his lip, then said, “I have a Franziska.”
“What’s a Franz—” Phoenix stopped, resigned, and very clearly aware of the fact that he couldn’t pronounce Franziska. “What’s that?” he said instead.
Franziska was hard to explain. “Do you want to see?” said Miles.
When they got back to Miles’s house, Father was making dinner in the kitchen, and Franziska was sitting on the couch with one of Father’s law books. Miles had heard a lot of stories about babies ripping things up, and this seemed to be evidence that Franziska was not a baby: she was careful and gentle as she turned the pages, looking seriously down at the book as though she completely understood it. Some of the words in there were too big for Miles to understand.
“That’s Franziska,” said Miles. He considered, then added, “She’s probably smarter than me.”
That got Franziska’s attention. She looked up from the book, and for the first time, Miles thought he saw a tiny smile.
“Who’s she?” said Phoenix, visibly jealous. “Is she your girlfriend?”
“Don’t be absurd, Wright, she’s two,” said Miles indignantly, “and I told you I don’t like girls like that anyway, and she’s my sister now so that would be illegal.” He considered. “And icky.”
Franziska shut the law book, then hopped off the couch in a flounce of petticoats. All the dresses she’d come with were big and poofy, which made sense, because Prosecutor von Karma had dressed like that too. Miles had seen Prosecutor von Karma once or twice before—well. Before. Anyway. It made sense that he’d have dressed his daughter similarly. Miles dressed just like his father too.
“Hi, Fran—” Phoenix stopped. “There’s a z in her name, right?” he whispered loudly to Miles.
Miles wasn’t sure. “Probably?”
“Can I call you Zee?” Phoenix asked Franziska. “I can’t say your name right.”
Franziska looked at Phoenix, taking him in. Then she went back over to the couch, pulled herself up, wriggled into a sitting position, and went back to the law book.
“Is she gonna be a defense attorney, like your dad?” said Phoenix, a laugh in his voice.
Franziska whirled, grey eyes flashing with fury, and very nearly toppled off the couch. Grabbing the armrest to regain her balance, she said fiercely, “Prosecutor.”
Miles blinked. Putting aside the fact that that was the first ever time Franziska had said anything, he hadn’t met many prosecutors who were very nice. “Why not a defense attorney?” he said curiously.
“NO,” said Franziska.
“Whoa,” said Phoenix. “She sure knows what she wants to do when she grows up.”
“Studying,” said Franziska. “Like papa.” She then turned back to the book.
Miles didn’t think she meant Father when she said that. Father didn’t do a lot of studying when he wasn’t at work—only on days when he had a particularly tough case. And even then, he still made time to listen when Miles interrupted his studies to talk about Steel Samurai, or about the ladybug on the windowsill, or about anything. Father liked being a father more than he liked being a lawyer, Miles thought, and Father liked being a lawyer a lot, so that said something.
Prosecutor von Karma was known for never taking time off work, even if he could afford to. Miles wondered who had raised Franziska these last two years.
“Who’s her papa?” said Phoenix to Miles.
“Shush,” said Franziska, her voice changing slightly. When she spoke again, it sounded a little like she was mimicking someone. “Go outside while I study,” she said. “I don’t have time for this nonsense.”
Miles considered this for a few seconds. Then he moved over to the couch and sat down opposite Franziska.
“Go away!” said Franziska. Her voice trembled.
“Do you know what that word is?” said Miles. “It’s a long word. Al-le-ga-tion.”
Franziska looked up at him, eyes wet. “Papa left, didn’t he?” she said. “He left and he didn’t take me.”
Miles bit his lip. He didn’t know a lot about what had happened to Prosecutor von Karma, but he did get the sense that he still knew more than Franziska. “Um—” He swallowed. “You know your papa’s a prosecutor, don’t you?”
“Yes,” said Franziska. “He’s the best.”
“You know what he does?”
“Uh—um—” Franziska screwed up her face, concentrating, then said, “law.”
Phoenix seemed to have decided to give them some privacy. In Miles’s peripheral vision, he saw his friend sidle casually into the kitchen. “Hi, Mr. Edgeworth,” came Phoenix’s voice. “Do you have any Popsicles in the fridge?”
“Law,” Miles agreed. “Do you know what law is?”
This seemed to take Franziska off guard. “It’s law,” she said, frowning. “Papa says you can’t break it.”
“Do you know what happens if you break it?”
“You’re bad.”
Miles felt that the law wasn’t really that simple—at least not according to Father, the books he’d read, and a particularly abhorrent class trial a few months ago—but he also figured that it might be difficult to explain the nuances of the law to a two-year-old who still didn’t understand what had happened to her father. “Right,” he said instead, deciding to work with what Franziska knew. “Well—someone who broke the law, they, um, they went after your father. You know about murder?”
Franziska’s eyes widened. “Murder,” she said, in a small, thin voice.
Suddenly this really didn’t feel like a good idea. “Yes,” said Miles. “Well—”
“LIAR!” screamed Franziska, and started hitting him with a tiny riding crop. Who even carried something like that around? “LIAR LIAR LIAR YOU DON’T KNOW ANYTHING YOU’RE SO STUPID—”
“Franziska!” Father swooped in, scooping up Franziska before she could do more damage to Miles’s smarting face and bruised ego. “What is going on?”
Franziska wailed, burying her face in Father’s shoulder. That wasn’t fair! Miles had only been trying to help!
“Oh no, Miles!” shouted Phoenix, running up to Miles and taking Miles’s face in his hands. Miles was reminded, very vividly, of the time all the girls had thought Phoenix should play Prince Charming when they were reading Cinderella out loud in class. He thought he kind of got it, now. “Are you okay? Your face is all red.”
“I’m probably going to die,” said Miles, leaning into Phoenix’s hands. “I need medical attention.”
“W-well—” Phoenix fumbled, awkwardly patting Miles’s cheek, “I can stay with you forever until I know you’re okay!”
Miles was extremely all right with that.
They watched the new episode of Steel Samurai and ate popsicles and tried to pretend they couldn’t hear Franziska crying upstairs. After about ten minutes, the crying got softer, and Miles could hear the gentle murmur of Father’s voice. Just when the villain was about to be stabbed through the chest, Father came back down with Franziska in his arms and set her down in between Miles and Phoenix. Her skirts fluffed up and she had to push them down to see the screen.
“Sorry,” said Franziska to Miles, after a few minutes. She didn’t sound very sorry at all, but for some reason, Miles had the distinct sense that she really meant it.
“Don’t hurt Miles again!” Phoenix said fiercely. “I’ll fight you!”
“Phoenix—” began Miles, mortified.
“I’ll win,” said Franziska matter-of-factly. She leaned a little into Miles’s shoulder. “What is this?”
“Steel Samurai,” said Miles.
“Boring,” said Franziska. “I want the law book again.”
“Can you even read it?” said Miles, indignant at the slight against his show. “This is Steel Samurai!”
“Miles,” said Father pointedly.
But Franziska considered, turning her attention towards the screen. “I want a sword,” she said.
Miles really didn’t think Franziska should have a sword, especially considering the kind of damage she could do with just a riding crop. “When you’re older,” he said diplomatically.
“I’m older than you!” said Franziska. “You’re a baby!”
“You’re a baby!” said Miles, outraged.
Father seemed to be trying not to laugh. “Miles, Franziska,” he said, “if it helps, you two are both fairly young to have swords.”
“HA,” said Franziska, and went back to watching Steel Samurai.
She was so annoying, Miles thought, tugging an arm around her to tuck her into his side.
Phoenix had to go home, so he gave Miles a kiss on the cheek “to make the hurting part better” and then skipped out the door to meet his mom at the gate. Miles beamed like an idiot for a good fifteen minutes until Franziska said, with interest, “Is he your boyfriend?”
“No!” said Miles, turning bright red.
“You said you don’t like girls,” said Franziska.
“W-well—that’s—shut up!” said Miles.
“I like girls,” said Franziska. “I don’t like boys. They’re boring.”
“You’re boring!”
“And as much as I hate to break up the defense and the prosecution,” said Father, who still sounded kind of like he was trying not to laugh, “it is getting close to bedtime. Miles, can you help get Franziska ready for bed?”
“You’re boring,” said Miles again to Franziska, taking her tiny hand in his and tugging her up the stairs. He walked slow, because Franziska still walked a little wobbly, and the giant, poofy skirt didn’t exactly help with her balance.
“I have a nightgown in my room,” said Franziska, and darted away from Miles, running down the hall. By the time he’d reached the guest bedroom (which was now being transitioned into Franziska’s room), she’d gotten herself stuck trying to get out of the dress.
Miles started laughing.
“Fool!” said the dress. “Foolish fool!” Then, giving up, it said, “Help!” and sat down on the floor with an indignant thud.
Miles crossed the room and helped Franziska with the dress. There were probably a million little buttons. “You should wear something easier to take off,” he said. “That way you won’t get stuck if you want to get ready for bed by yourself.”
“I always had help,” said Franziska. “And I still have help right now, don’t I?”
“No you don’t!” said Miles indignantly, carefully folding the dress to place it on the bed. “Now get your shoes off and I’ll find you a nightgown.”
“I want to pick my nightgown!”
“They’re all the same, aren’t they?”
“No,” said Franziska, kicking her shoes off and gracelessly pulling off her stockings. “I want the blue one.”
Miles opened the dresser to find what looked like probably a thousand blue nightgowns. And one pink one. “This one?” he said, lifting up the pink one.
“NO!” said Franziska.
Miles pretended to put the pink one back, then lifted it up again. “This one?”
“Blue,” said Franziska, glaring at him.
“Hmm,” said Miles. “Which one’s blue?”
“You’re bad at everything,” pronounced Franziska, and crossed the room to try and peer over his shoulder. The dresser, however, was much taller than she was, and so Miles had to lift her up. She picked up one of the blue nightgowns, handing it to Miles when he set her down. “Now help.”
“You can put on a nightgown yourself!”
“No I can’t,” said Franziska smugly. “I’m a baby. You said I was a baby, and if I’m a baby, then you have to help.”
“What if I said you weren’t a baby?” countered Miles smugly. He was so amazing at being a defense lawyer.
Franziska considered. “Then you’re my little brother,” she said.
Miles decided that being a little brother was much better than helping Franziska with another stupid dress. Besides, it wasn’t like she’d remember calling him her little brother. He was so obviously her big brother, and a good prosecutor always looked at evidence. “Fine,” he said. “I’m your little brother. Now get your nightgown on.”
Franziska giggled, and beamed at him, the first real smile she’d given anyone since Father had brought her home. And it was for him. “Baby,” she said. “Little baby brother,” and after she tugged the nightgown over her head, she wrapped her arms around his middle, almost experimentally.
“What,” said Miles.
“It’s a hug, little brother,” said Franziska imperiously. “I am giving you a hug. Big sisters always have to take care of their little brothers, and you looked like you needed a hug.”
This was patently absurd. Miles was opening his mouth to tell her so when Father rounded the corner, saw Franziska hugging Miles, and looked at Miles with such pride in his eyes. “Well,” he said. “You two seem to be getting along.”
“He’s my little brother and I’m going to put him to bed,” said Franziska.
“Ghhh,” said Miles.
Franziska refused to leave Miles’s room after he’d gotten ready for bed. “I’ve read about this,” she said. “When you put the littlest one to bed, in a family, you have to tuck them in and say goodnight.”
“You’ve read about this?” said Miles, frowning. “Didn’t your father—”
Franziska looked away.
“Oh,” said Miles. Bits and pieces of Franziska’s life were beginning to make sense. He considered, then said, “Can you come here? I do need someone to tuck me in.”
“I thought so,” said Franziska with satisfaction, but she also sounded a little relieved. She clambered up onto the bed next to him, made a big production of tucking the covers around him, hesitated, and said, “Now what happens?”
“Do I get a kiss goodnight?” said Miles, amused.
“No,” said Franziska. “Yuck!” She smacked the side of his face.
“Maybe less of the hitting,” suggested Miles.
“Papa said—” Franziska stopped, and chewed on her lip. Then she looked up at him again, and said, “Your father said that hitting people isn’t nice, because it hurts them.”
“Yes,” said Miles, “a bit.”
Franziska considered this. “Papa said hitting people shows you’re not weak.”
Miles definitely didn’t know what to say to that. “Your papa sounds terrible,” he said, almost without thinking.
Franziska bit her lip. “He never had time for me,” she said. “Will you have time for me, Miles Edgeworth?”
Miles thought about his father, putting aside his papers to listen to a detailed list of grievances regarding the Steel Samurai’s romantic subplot. There was other stuff to do—for Miles, it was stuff like ice cream with Phoenix, or watching TV, or getting his nice alone time before bed—but it was stuff that could always expand a little to include his new big sister. “I think so,” he said. “I have time now. Do you want to stay here for a little while?”
“No,” said Franziska, but snuggled under the covers.
Miles woke up at three in the morning because someone was crying. It took him a moment to understand that that someone was Franziska. “Papa,” she was sobbing, “Papa Papa Papa,” until the words ran together into a long, steady string of sobs. He realized, suddenly, that she was still asleep.
Miles rolled over onto his side to face her, and tugged on one small hand. She woke up, still sniffling, and the look in her eyes was so fearful—like she expected him to get mad at her for being scared. And Miles knew it was bad of him, but suddenly he felt so glad that Franziska was here with them and not with Prosecutor von Karma.
“Hi,” he said awkwardly.
“Hmph,” said Franziska, and gripped tightly onto his pajama shirt, cuddling into his arms.