Prompt: Franziska calls Gumshoe "scruffy" for a reason. One day, she decides to do something about it.
Franziska disapproved of a great many choices her foolish little brother had made. He was well aware of most of them, since as a rule she scolded him clearly and thoroughly for each new mistake. Unfortunately, the new perspective gained after her father's execution, her losses to Phoenix Wright, and the time afterwards spent considering just what kind of prosecutor (what kind of person) she wished to be – well, in retrospect a fair few of his mistakes weren't mistakes at all. They were still incredibly foolish, foolhardy fumbling farces, for the most part – but brave, as well. Often kind. Morally solvent, and sometimes even admirable.
His association with Dick Gumshoe was one of those choices.
In the beginning, Franziska looked down on the scruffy detective as nothing but a bumbling fool. If this was an example of the sort of detective America had to offer, she thought, then it was no surprise the institution was corrupt to the top, and so terrible at investigating as to let down its own prosecutors so often. He was an imbecile, unable to notice the simplest of clues or piece together the most obvious connections. He spent days running away from her without ever noticing that she had a tracker stuck inside the lapel of his hideous trenchcoat. In addition to all that, he was far too chummy with the enemy, one Mr. Phoenix Wright.
The case against Engarde changed all that, as it did so much else. Dick Gumshoe's actions remained the same, of course, but there was another side to them revealed to her over the course of those three days. His loyalty to Miles Edgeworth was… admirable, even if it had led to him betraying her. He was dedicated to his job, however bad he was at it, but did not hesitate to throw it all away for the sake of rescuing Maya Fey. He was still a fool, but brave too, and reckless in the same kind of way that she scoffed at Miles and Phoenix Wright for. The sort of way that she thought about later.
Dick Gumshoe was a determined man. He believed in the work he did, and wanted earnestly to help people. He was often not treated well by his coworkers and superiors alike, but he didn't let that stop him. He was loyal and good-natured and stubborn. He was just exactly the sort of fool Franziska should have expected her little brother to fall in love with.
Not that Miles knew it, when she'd first grudgingly admitted to herself that she approved of his choice. He didn't clue in for years after the events at Hazakura Temple, too wrapped up in his own head to even notice as he grew to rely on the detective more and more, for less and less work-related matters. And while Franziska may approve of him for her brother, it didn't mean she found him any less annoying to work with herself. She wanted to avoid every single one of those foolish fools her foolish little brother and his foolish friend Phoenix Wright foolishly surrounded themselves with, as often as possible.
Still, they did run into one another. And Franziska was not called a genius for nothing. She noticed Gumshoe's extreme nerves one day, at the end of another shared case with her little brother. Miles Edgeworth was oblivious, no doubt chalking it all up to the difficult case if he noticed at all, but Franziska saw the way the detective stuttered even after it was solved. She noticed how he glanced nervously at Miles, then away, how he chewed his lip and hesitated before sighing and turning to go.
It was entirely on impulse that she called out to him.
"Scruffy Detective! Stop where you are!"
Gumshoe ground to an instant halt, shoulders tensing. At her side, Miles turned back as well, raising an eyebrow.
"Franziska, what are you…?"
She cut him off, marching determinedly over to Gumshoe and taking hold of his sleeve. It was rough, an odd texture difference where her thumb and fingers touched it most likely due to an old stain stiffening the fabric.
"I have an errand to run and the detective is going to give me a ride," Franziska explained, tossing her head imperiously and waving a dismissive hand. "Scuttle off to your office and finish your paperwork, little brother."
"I – you can't just use Gumshoe as a taxi," Miles protested. He looked alarmed, though doubtless he felt unsure exactly why, Franziska scoffed internally. The oblivious fool. "I'll take you wherever it is you need to go after I finish—"
"At the speed you work, all the stores will be long closed," she said. "Besides, he doesn't mind. Do you, Scruffy."
"N-No, sir!" Gumshoe yelped, stiffening further and even throwing his free arm up into a salute. "Not at all! Just say where!"
Franziska smiled up at him, reminded of a few of his other good qualities. She did like the way he called her sir. Even when she had been a teenager freshly arrived in the country, he'd given her the respect she deserved right away. She hadn't even had to whip that into him, not like so many others.
His fear of her – well, that was due to her whip. Still, it was nice.
"Then we'll be going," she said fondly, and tugged him in the direction of the parking lot.
-xxx-
"Speak," she told him, as soon as they were comfortably seated in the little café with their drinks delivered. She'd originally planned to confront him in the car, but his vehicle was small, old, and made an unpleasant grinding noise from the moment he turned the key in the ignition. Certainly not the place to have any sort of actual discussion.
(She didn't have to hold to complete silence the entire drive, and throughout the wait for their orders, but she didn't want to be interrupted once they got started and she certainly had nothing else to say to him. Besides. His nervous expression was very funny.)
"I – uh – w-woof!?" Gumshoe stuttered. At her withering gaze, he immediately blushed and began rubbing at the back of his head. "S-sorry, I just thought… you know, it's a joke. When I tell Missile to speak, he… sorry, sir."
He hung his head. Franziska sipped her tea, thinking with great disgust how exactly well suited this lummox was to Miles Edgeworth.
"You were nervous today. You kept looking at my little brother and hesitating to say something to him," she said, finally. "Speak about that."
"O-oh. You saw that, huh?" When he lifted his head, Gumshoe was blushing even more. His expression could only be described as 'hangdog'.
"I'm not an oblivious fool, like some others I could name!" Franziska snapped. The detective flinched, and quickly hid behind his coffee cup. After a moment, she realized he must have interpreted her comment as referring to him. She'd meant her brother, but – well, if the gum fit the shoe. She let his impression stand. "I already know what's going on, so just tell me the truth. When will you ask him?"
"I – I-I scheduled a meeting for next week," Gumshoe confessed, sheepishly setting down his drink. "Um, I just was feeling… nervous about it, haha. I wanted to ask him for advice on what to do, but…"
"You're making an appointment." Franziska repeated. That was… "He'll say yes."
"What?!" The detective looked at her with disgustingly blatant hope in his eyes. "Do you really think so?"
"Of course he will. He'll be extremely moved by your consideration of his work schedule, and it will put him in mind of the loyalty you've shown him all these years. He'll know that you're taking this seriously, and he will take you seriously in turn. He of course hasn't considered you at all before now, but after you tell him what you want in such a way, it's obvious he'll realize he's been thinking of you all along." Franziska eyed the detective. "I'm impressed. I didn't think you were so cunning."
"I wasn't trying to be cunning," he protested, flustered. "I just thought it would be, um, respectful? Normal?"
It definitely was not normal, but he had one out of two, at least.
"But asking Miles for advice, of all people?" she changed the subject. "I'm glad you realized what a foolish idea that was. I can help you far more successfully."
"You can? You will? I mean… you know the Chief Detective?" Gumshoe asked.
"Of course I can; I wouldn't be here if I didn't plan to; and knowing the Chief Detective is entirely irrelevant."
"Really? I mean. I kinda thought it would help to try and tailor my approach to him specifically," Gumshoe said, nonsensically.
"You're already doing that with the meeting."
"Well, but I just thought that since he's such a, um, unique guy, that I'd need more? All I've got going for me is making the first dancing Blue Badger. I don't think he even notices me outside of that," Gumshoe sighed. "I mean, I've been trying to show off a little, but things always seem to go wrong and then I just usually get my pay cut…"
Franziska froze.
"And that's not what you want," she said slowly. "You want a pay raise."
"Well, yeah, I think the job comes with one," Gumshoe admitted. "It's not why, but it sure would be nice. Chief asked me once what I was eating for lunch; he doesn't even know what weenies are. Can you imagine that?"
He sounded wistful. Franziska chose not to mention that she too had no idea what a 'weenie' was, instead confirming her sudden new theory.
"Is Mal Inger retiring or getting promoted?" she asked, attempting to sound casual.
"Oh, the Chief's retiring!" Gumshoe said. "He said that he's realized he won't ever get promoted, and now that the Blue Badger has reached ultimate fame his work here is complete anyway. He's planning on taking his family on road trip to visit every Badger in the country, apparently. But he hasn't said anything about who will get the job after he leaves, and I wanted to, um, throw my hat in the ring."
"…...I see." And she did. She saw clearly, now. Of course she had been wrong. Of course. This was Dick Gumshoe. Obviously, of course, indubitably he would just as enormously foolish a foolishly foolish foolhardy goddamn fool as her fool of a little brother…
"So… since you offered to help, what do you think I could do to make the interview go well, sir?" Gumshoe stared hopefully at her. Franziska clenched her whip hand under the table furiously. She stared at his dumb, eager face for a second, then looked away, cursing in German under her breath.
Two years ago, he'd be unconscious on the floor by now. But Franziska had done some growing in that time. She knew now that lashing out at others was not the way to solve her problems, at least most of the time. And besides, in a way this was her own fault, for expecting a fool to surpass his own capacity of reasonable thought. No, she couldn't blame Gumshoe for his inherent imbecility. Rather, she ought to be impressed that he was displaying even the merest shred of ambition. It was unexpected.
And, once she knew the actual truth of the situation, Franziska found that she still wasn't averse to helping. She'd already offered her assistance, of course, and naturally she would never admit to being mistaken about what was actually going on here, so she was trapped into aiding the detective. Even outside of that, though… he would do well in the job. He'd been improving somewhat over the years, his sense for a crime scene getting better. He was experienced. He worked well with all manner of people. And at least he cared about the job. That alone qualified him more than most of the nincompoops over at the police department.
Franziska drank the last of her tea and stood.
"Follow me, Scruffy. I will ensure you get your promotion."
-xxx-
The first order of business was obvious. There was a reason she called him what she did. Gumshoe was a mess of a man to look at. At first glance he appeared to be no more than a slovenly, disorganized, bumbling mess. And of course she knew why – it was because on the inside, he was a slovenly, disorganized, bumbling mess. But he was also other things, one of which was poor, another of which was ignorant.
He cringed when they entered the suit store, eyeing the price tags with terror. However, when Franziska led him towards the back, he actually seemed to take comfort as those price tags disappeared. Apparently, in his mind, the absence implied the prices were going down.
Franziska didn't waste any time enlightening him, instead speaking purposefully to the staff and approving or dismissing of the various pieces they brought her. She was going for something simple, classic and understated. Gumshoe could not be seen to be showing off too much, or his chief might feel offended rather than impressed. Therefore, ordinary in appearance but made with enough quality – and with a decent enough fit – to stand out regardless was the way to go. Not to mention, putting Gumshoe in a nice suit would serve excellently as revenge against Miles Edgeworth.
They spent several hours in the suit store. Gumshoe was so flustered by the end of it, from all the measuring and discussion, and the many outfits he'd been commanded to try on, that he didn't even notice when no one gave him a bill. It wasn't until they were already waiting at the barber for the next available appointment, that he finally realized.
It was mid-coaching on what to say. Franziska felt she was providing a very good example of what 'assertive' and 'confident' sounded like, but Gumshoe still struggled with getting all the way through 'I want you to give me your job,' without stumbling or hesitating. No matter – his meeting was scheduled for Monday, which gave them nearly three full days to practice. She would whip him into shape, literally if need be.
"'I want you to –' huh, wait." Gumshoe blinked. "The suit. How am I going to get it?"
"I made a rush order. It will be delivered to your apartment on Sunday."
"But, wait – sir, you can't! Delivery costs so much!" He gasped. "I can come back and get it, and – hang on, how much did that cost, anyway?"
Franziska looked him up and down, assessing. "One hundred dollars," she said after a moment. "The delivery is included, and the bill will be paid then."
Gumshoe's face went white.
"A – a hundred?" He asked, wide-eyed. "I – oh. Okay. I guess that makes sense. Clothes are e-expensive, I know that. It's why I haven't bought any in a while, but I – this is important, right? I can budget. I'll just eat weenies next month, and… maybe I shouldn't get a haircut too? Do I need a haircut?"
"Yes," Franziska said firmly. "You need a haircut."
He slumped miserably in his chair, counting on his fingers and muttering to himself. Staring at him, Franziska felt something she had never felt before, or at least never this intensely. It was an odd sensation, a kind of… churning uneasiness in her gut, mixed nauseatingly with a desire to see him succeed.
How had her brother allowed this to happen? Was he truly that much of an idiot?
The person at the desk lifted a hand to get their attention, and Franziska nodded their way. Then she reached out and laid a hand on Gumshoe's grimy sleeve.
"Detective," she said. "Leave your coat with me while they work on you."
-xxx-
Gumshoe did not take well to the news that she had taken his coat to the dry-cleaner while he was getting his hair trimmed. In fact, he came impressively close to actually yelling at Franziska.
"That wasn't your job to do, pal!" He snapped, face red. "I might be poor, but I can take care of my own things! I can take care of myself! I've been doing it since you were a baby!"
Either he was exaggerating, or he'd been working nearly as much of his life as she had; Franziska was fairly certain he was only twelve or thirteen years older than she.
"The coat will also be delivered on Sunday," she told him. "You can pay for it then."
"I wasn't even going to wear it," he moaned, deflating in front of her calm expression. "I have a nicer one. The one Maggey gave me."
"I know you do," she said. "You've bragged about it before. I chose the suit to match that coat, not your green one."
"Then why'd you have to –"
"You can pay for it on Sunday," Franziska interrupted, not telling him 'because you love it' or 'because I wanted to do something nice for you' or even 'because it was filthy', all of which were regrettably true. "Or you can pay me back with the raise from your new job. It's your choice."
"I might not get the new job!"
She glared at him.
"That doesn't sound very confident or assertive, Scruffy," she said. "Come with me. We still have lots of work to do."
She walked away, leaving him no time to protest. He caught up to her after a minute, walking slightly behind her and to the side as always.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "Thanks for your help with this, sir. Do you… do you really think he'll give me the job? I know it's a long shot."
Franziska didn't dignify that kind of quitter talk with a reply. She huffed, annoyed, and walked faster.
-xxx-
When she arrived home that night – she stayed in the guest room in her little brother's home whenever she was in town, not to spend more time with him but because Pess was a very good dog – Miles tried to ask her about what she'd needed Gumshoe for. It made sense that he would be curious; however little Franziska enjoyed driving, she would normally have opted to borrow his car if she didn't feel like waiting for him to drive her, or simply gotten a taxi.
Franziska probably should have been nicer to him, given that his foolish unknowing pining was apparently going to remain the status quo for a while longer, but she was too annoyed still. A little bit at herself, but mostly her brother. It was all very well and good to punish Gumshoe for his numerous failures, but he should not be that hard up. As far as she knew, he didn't have any especially expensive habits, so his financial state was probably due just to the police department's terrible salaries. And the pay cuts.
She hadn't noticed before either, but then she wasn't attracted to the man, and didn't work in close proximity with him on a regular basis. He hadn't been her loyal lackey for nearly the entirety of her career. If she were interested in being understanding of Miles, Franziska might concede that, given Gumshoe had always been there for Miles, and that he didn't often complain in a serious way, it was possible that nothing had stood out as unusual.
She was emphatically not interested in being understanding of Miles.
"How I spend my time is none of your business, little brother," she sneered, and whistled for Pess. As soon as he trotted into her bedroom, she shut the door in Miles' face.
"Fr- You can't just steal my dog whenever you're mad at me," he complained through the door. "And why are you mad at me?"
"Sit. Shake. Up. Bow. Good boy, Pess," Franziska said, until Miles gave up and went away.
-xxx-
She spent the weekend coaching Gumshoe through interview etiquette. After the events of the shopping trip, Franziska devoted an entire section of her course to salary negotiations. He protested, complaining about putting the cart before the horse and other such nonsense, but one of her first and most important lessons was that he should walk in expecting the job and focus more on making sure he was compensated fairly.
His apartment wasn't quite as bad as she had feared. It was small, and somewhat slovenly, but not to any egregious degree. She had unfortunately been exposed to Phoenix Wright's office when Maya Fey was not around, so Franziska had definitely seen worse. Missile was a significantly less well-trained animal than Pess, despite being the working dog out of the two, but he listened when Gumshoe told him to stay out of their way, and he neither attacked her nor hid when Franziska got annoyed and cracked her whip on the table. From the looks of his bowl, Gumshoe was feeding him the good, expensive kibble.
In general, Gumshoe remained as he ever was – foolish, but hardworking. His greatest issue throughout all the interview prep was his inability to praise himself. He was altogether too modest, which did accurately reflect his lackluster abilities, but wasn't any help in this situation.
"Without your assistance, Maya Fey would have been killed by Shelly de Killer," Franziska listed. "You were able to find the true crime scene in the Hazakura Temple case, you helped uncover the identity of Calisto Yew– Gumshoe, I want you repeating after me."
"Hoh hoh hoh hoh hoh," he laughed in a weird voice, rubbing at the back of his head and averting his eyes. "Was that all really me? Hoh hoh hoh."
"It was, and Miles Edgeworth has told me of many more examples of your being useful when I wasn't around to see it. Stop laughing and start talking about your accomplishments!"
It was no use. At the mention of Miles praising him, the detective became completely distracted, and Franziska was forced to resort to whipping the table violently to get him scared back on track. Even then, sometimes he would grin to himself and make that weird laugh under his breath.
It was aggravatingly charming. Franziska was deeply displeased that she had to witness it. When she arrived home she stared Miles right in the eyes while calling Pess to come with her on a walk.
"-don't know what's bothering her, Wright," she heard him saying as she arrived back from a very pleasant stroll, during which Pess had made friends with three other dogs and allowed himself to be petted by five children. "…No, she hasn't whipped me but she's stealing my dog and—"
He put the phone down hastily as she entered the room. Franziska stared down at him and wondered how on earth such a pathetic creature could have raised the best dog in the world.
"I'm half-convinced you don't deserve him," she said, and took Pess into her room again. She wasn't entirely sure which 'him' she meant.
-xxx-
On Sunday afternoon, the suit and coat were delivered to Gumshoe's apartment and Franziska demanded a dress rehearsal. She would play the role of the Chief Detective – or, of a professional, at least, which would probably be much more challenging an interview than the actual Chief Detective.
But first, she had him shower, and wear his new clothes, and brush his hair neatly. She convinced him to shave, as well, because the stubbly look he usually sported looked tired and lazy, and there was no time to grow out a full beard. All this done, and wearing his nicer tan coat, the detective looked very presentable indeed… with one exception.
"Take that stupid plaster off," Franziska demanded. "Why are you always wearing that, anyway?"
Gumshoe's hand went up to his cheek. A moment ago, he'd been grinning at himself in the mirror and saying, "wow" and "not bad, huh" and that sort of thing, but now he went quiet.
"I don't know, sir," he said eventually. "I think I look better with it on."
Franziska didn't understand.
"You look like a fool who doesn't know how to shave without cutting himself," she said decisively. "Take it off."
"I won't be able to concentrate on the interview with it off, though," he mumbled. Franziska crossed her arms and glared at him; inevitably, he crumbled as always. "Okay, okay, just stop glaring at me, please…"
He reached up and peeled the plaster off the side of jaw. For a long moment, he stood there, his hand covering the spot, before finally breathing out a quick sigh and turning to face her. He pulled his hand down and fisted it by his side.
Franziska had to work not to react.
It wasn't terrible, just – unexpected. Gumshoe's skin was indented in a slightly twisted white scar that dug deep into his cheek, and traveled up to the edge of his jaw. It looked old, certainly long healed, but the wound must have been large enough that the scar still hadn't vanished many years later.
She couldn't remember ever hearing of Gumshoe getting wounded. Her brother would definitely have told her about something like that, if he'd known about it happening. This must have been from before they'd met.
After only a few seconds, Gumshoe lifted his hand up and rubbed it over his cheek, hiding the scar from view again.
"I – I know it's silly, pal, but I get real nervous about people seeing it," he apologized. "Can I keep the plaster on?"
"…No," Franziska said, and cleared her throat. "No, there's no need for that. We can use concealer to cover it up, just for your meeting."
Gumshoe just blinked at her, confused, and so the planned rehearsal was soon pushed back until later, as Franziska got out her purse and began applying concealer carefully, blending it in to attempt to match his warmer skin tone and cover the scar without looking out of place. The end result wasn't perfect, but it at least looked better than that large plaster, and Gumshoe stared at himself in the mirror with delight.
"Wow," he said, turning his face from side to side. He shrugged his shoulders and put his hands in the pocket of his suit. "Whoa."
"We'll have the interview after dinner," Franziska said. "We can go out or –"
"I made you something!" Gumshoe exclaimed. "I – um. I mean, it's nothing much, sir, but I wanted to thank you for… all of this, and um. You said you liked weenies, so I made us some weenies in case you got hungry while you were here today, so. We can have those for dinner?"
Franziska had definitely never said she liked weenies. She had never said that word aloud in her entire life.
Gumshoe was gazing hopefully at her again, eyes wide and earnest and (always) just a little pathetic. He reminded her somehow, horribly, of Pess.
"Fine," Franziska said. She tried to bring herself to say 'thank you', but that was definitely too far. As soon as Gumshoe brought the weenies, she began to regret even going so far as 'fine', but… she let him play host anyway.
The weenies were bearable, after all, so long as she reminded herself repeatedly that she would be leaving the country in three days.
-xxx-
On Monday morning, Franziska borrowed Miles' car and went to Gumshoe's apartment. She ensured he was dressed, showered, shaved, that his teeth were brushed, his hair was combed, and he didn't have a pencil behind his ear. She even gave him a little bit of Miles' cologne, since the scent he usually wore was lackluster at best. And, of course, she put concealer over his scar.
"You look much less scruffy, Detective," she said finally, pleased with her work. "Now, remember – what is that."
Gumshoe grinned up at her, tapping at the Blue Badger pin on his tie. It wasn't even a tie-pin. Just a pin, stuck to his tie. Of the Blue Badger.
"I think the Chief'll like it!" he said. "I helped make the design for these – look, you can move his arms to dance."
And he fiddled with the horrible little rotating arms on the horrible little pin, rumpling his tie in the process.
"No," Franziska said. "No. Take it off right now."
Gumshoe did, albeit sulkily, and Franziska told herself again to have low expectations. She ran him through what to say one last time, reminded him to be confident and assertive, and then went back home. For the first time in days, she felt properly sympathetic to Miles.
He was a fool too, but at least not that horrible of one.
-xxx-
Franziska was at least mildly invested in her success, and it was easy to contrive to have Miles Edgeworth drive her to the police station. He'd already been heading there to take a look at something in the evidence locker, so all she had to do was follow him into his car. He kept glancing warily at her, obviously trying to figure out what was going on with her, but Franziska's latest reminder of the fool her little brother was in love with made her feel pity enough to ignore him.
Not pity enough to spare him the sight of Gumshoe in his new suit, though.
Miles seemed to choke on his own saliva a little bit at the sight of the detective trotting up to them in his fitted suit. He wasn't wearing his coat, just the suit jacket, which Franziska privately thought was a better look anyway. She'd known the detective wouldn't go entirely without a coat, but at least inside the office he didn't need a trenchcoat, no matter whether it was his 'good one' or not. This way showed off his form rather than concealing it.
"Detective," Miles said, tone slightly strangled. "You look… different today."
"Oh, yeah! It's a new suit! Cost me a hundred dollars!" Gumshoe exclaimed proudly. "It looks pretty good, huh?"
Miles nodded dumbly. Then he frowned at the price, opening his mouth as if to comment, so Franziska stepped on his foot hard, with her heel.
"Yes, it looks good," she said, as he sucked in a pained breath between his teeth. "So. The meeting?"
Gumshoe brightened even more, beaming widely and looking around the room before leaning in close to whisper: "I think it went well, sir! I – I mean, I'm pretty sure it did! He called me 'chief' when I was leaving afterwards!"
"That does sound promising," Franziska acknowledged. "Did you follow the talking points?"
"I did, mostly. I think he liked them! He said he'd completely forgotten about having to hire someone, and that agreeing to all my requests would be easier than trying to interview a bunch of other people!"
That… was sadly typical of this precinct. Franziska sighed. Still, at least it worked out in their favor this time.
"Also," Gumshoe hissed, leaning in even closer. Miles was holding very still next to her, his breathing unusually loud. "He liked the Blue Badger pin! Oh –" he placated, when Franziska reared back in a fury, "I didn't put it on my tie. Just my lapel. But he noticed it right away, and he said, 'someone who wears the Badger over their heart is someone I can trust,' so I think it was the right choice!"
Gumshoe was breathing heavily as he leaned right down into her face, eager and obviously proud of himself, and still horribly reminiscent of Pess just after performing a new trick. Next to her, Miles was holding incredibly still, his shoulder stiff against hers in what was probably some kind of disgusting lust-induced panic that he would deny away later. Franziska shuddered, overwhelmed by both of them.
"Yes, well. I suppose wearing that counts as assertive," she conceded, reluctantly. "Never again, though."
"Yes sir!" Gumshoe cried. He leaned in even closer for a moment, arm coming up almost as though he wanted to give her a hug. Franziska took an instinctive step back, and luckily he straightened up into a snappy salute at the same time. "Thank you so much for all your help! I'll make you another box of weenies as a thank you!"
"Don't do that," Franziska snapped. "Just – go back to work. Prove your work ethic to him."
"Yessir!" he grinned again, then nodded happily at Miles before turning and striding away.
Miles just stood there for a moment, staring bewildered after his partner. Then, slowly, he turned to her, both eyebrows raised high.
"What was that?" he asked. He probably intended to sound interrogative, but his tone was a little too dazed still. Franziska blamed Gumshoe's rear end. Without the trenchcoat on, there was a much better view of it in the new suit.
"Hah! Are you too much of a fool to even figure that out, Miles Edgeworth?" Franziska scolded. "Obviously, I helped the Scruffy Detective with an interview."
"Yes, I got that much," Miles said, trailing after her as she turned to leave. "But…" he seemed to struggle through several different questions, before finally landing on: "why?"
"He's far too hopeless to manage on his own," she said, somehow unable to keep an edge of fondness out of her voice. And then, just when Miles seemed to be ready to say more, she added: "But he means well. Like a foolish older brother."
"Wh- y- I'm your foolish older brother!"
"Oh, no," Franziska stopped in the elevator, and pressed the button to go down to the first floor. Miles halted just outside the doors, staring at her with a frown. "No. You aren't at all."
His eyes narrowed, just daring her to speak further. He was a little pink, confused and flustered and obviously irritated, probably jealous of this unexplained sudden closeness. Franziska looked at him and thought, this conversation would be such a nice memory in a few years, once he and Gumshoe realized they were foolishly in love.
"No, Miles," she said lovingly. "You're my foolish little brother."
Then she pressed the button to shut the elevator doors.
-xxx-
(It took them over half a decade, fools that they were. Still, eventually the pair of them did finally notice what had been obvious to more genius prosecutors all along.
Miles called Franziska, at two in the morning in Germany, to tell her about it. Apparently, Gumshoe had scheduled a meeting with him, and then shown up in an unusually nice suit to tell him, 'I want you to be my boyfriend.' Miles had said yes in the heat of the moment, and was now panicking about doing so, claiming he had to take it back. When Franziska asked why, he was unable to answer, and his alarm finally trailed off into a sort of disgusting mushily disbelieving delight that she soon couldn't stand and needed to hang up on.
Gumshoe had sent her a text message while she was in the call. He thanked her for her advice and offered to make her a plate of weenies next time she was in the country.)
The Chief Detective's name is now and forever Mal Inger, as far as I'm concerned.
Gumshoe's scar, and possibly even his comment about how long he looked after himself, are references to his mysterious backstory. Namely, the scar is related to that event he referenced when discussing Angel Starr. ("Why, I remember it was winter... I was 16. She was the only one who ever got me to talk about what happened.") I didn't get into it much further because that's not the focus of this fic, but I had fun putting that in there.